Best Ill Luck Poems
SELF AWARENESS
I pass days after days through several colours of rays,
Yet not confused when life is dark,
but enthusiastic and zealous,
confident and decisive to overcome ill luck.
Never pessimist, always optimist
whether free or got stuck.
Endured enmity, not lost dignity.
I honour my ego till it supports self esteem
to fulfil desired dream.
Always brave, even in grave.
Life is a challenge to explore transcending death.
12/09/22
A Brian Strand Premier Choice No.54
Contest by Brian Strand
Just a poetic (souper) side note courtesy chief
wordsmith brother unaware ye experienced grief
diagnosed as walking pneumonia please bull lief
yours me, he doth care and breathes sigh of relief.
Gratis the miracle of modern medicine wife
of Richard McGeehan, he offered succor
during serious bout when ye suffered strife
lovingly tendering lifelong counterpart
spelling finis regarding any galavanting nightlife
nurturing mother of their grown son (Brendan),
who immersed her whole self as housewife.
How aware ill luck of the draw
found thee inexplicably stricken
with serious malady against the law
nearly necessitating travois
(maneuvered by Kit Carson)
to transport thee to medical center.
The above stanza unbeknownst to you
analogous to current reading material
myopic eyes of mine view
historical fiction titled
"A Most Desperate Situation"
authored by Walter Cooper,
I just might maintain as keepsake
among various and sundry other books
lined up like soldiers upon shelved queue.
Courtesy perusing selective material
not so much to become boastful
self pedagogical ace,
but merely to expand knowledge base,
whereby latest erudition
preoccupies mindscape with displace
called realm of imagination
allowing, enabling, and providing me
to travel into hyperspace
only welcoming family members
like thee dear sister into myspace
a beloved sibling
thirteen plus months older
glad ye got begat December 1st, 1959
whereby ye got fifty two plus weeks headstart
to join (chance throw of genetic dice)
entrance into human race.
Though Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan born
more than three score and three years ago
if series of unfortunate events would befall thee,
this sole brother would certainly mourn
and with futility emasculate and scorn
himself until... his own plaque
designating his buried cremains
in lieu of tombstone worn.
Look at the floor of heaven
Laid with patterns of bright gold
For us, they are but little orbs
But in his motion
Like angels, they sing
So many songs of harmony
To the souls of immortals
And while this muddy vesture of decay
Does gross in them
We mortals cannot hear it.
Hold your fortune for your bliss
A gentle scroll
A diamond ring
All gone
Loss upon loss
Life upon life
Death upon death
Pain upon pain
A man of the people
The villainy the beasts taught him
That he executed
Until things fell apart
Judge him not
And mourn him as a legend
Chinualumogu!
For whose sake
The Arrow of the gods granted justice.
Christopher Okigbo called them beasts
David Diop called them vultures
For me
They were weeds on our soil
Colonial masters
Who awakened our sleeping lions
Achebe threw the bomb
And died before it exploded
This cooled his friends
And awakened his enemies
They laughed at his losses
And scorned all his gains
He sought no revenge
Yet his silence scrapped all nations
Thwarted their bargains
And with two heads of fools
He repaid them for one
And then There was a Country
He chose not what many men desired
And rejected the barbarous multitude;
Crystallized the inferiority complex
And fought back to back
For Africa.
No ill luck stirred at first
No tears but of our shedding
No sighs but our breathing
Various creditors sprang
Enemies arose
Yet he'd give up nothing for the wilderness of monkeys
Nor for the generation of wolves
An ambassador of love rarely seen
His pleas were for the taunted and corrupt
And with his graciously seasoned works
He obscured the shows of evil
What damned error!
But some superior would bless and approve it with a text
Hiding the grossness with faint ornaments.
Look on beauty
And you shall see
It is purchased on the weight
Often have you been told
That all that glitters is not gold
Farewell, the hope of Africa
For now, your suit is cold
We love and miss you
But our prayers with you shall be
Oh, Lord!
Arise and await
For his gentle spirit
Unto you dear God
Commits itself to be directed
The Beautyful ones are indeed not yet born
But the born indeed are most beautifully precious
Adieu Albert!
Miracle dinner
Benny had gambled away his last buck
Hungry and couldn't believe his ill luck
He fell down and prayed
His neighbour's bird strayed
For dinner, he had a dish of roast duck!
July 2, 2017
Tut, the Sklent Age!
where fire of faith?
the cursed, do ache!
no need more hate.
No sip of remnant,
my bread like sweat,
as ill luck eminent,
has salty bet.
Go cap in hand to it,
bend down an’ down,
into the deep a slip…
attain renown?
No dark! be bright! –
break in forever,
by chance ignite,
extinguish never!
Ill fated
Life was so smooth
until one condemned evening
They bundled her up in a van
and then took to a deserted place,
She could sense her misfortune
to their sarcastic smiles,
A sense of hatred and agony
watered clear in her helpless eyes,
Treated as a vegetable
for no fault of hers,
Stripped of her modesty
was it a male pride ?
Five of them and her subtle being,
not a stitch on as the body shivered bare,
Hunger for flesh, scarring the soul,
wonder her strength to survive that scare,
Not a human being, she was just a consume,
rights can we talk as insane hooligans roam ?
Pity them for the crime not so heinous ?
or punish for murder of the soul as well ?
Unconscious they threw her on road to die,
to hospital she was taken by a passer by,
There was no end to the ill luck,
label of a rape victim dumbstruck,
Inquests, courts and then the ugly game,
in name of law, it was such a shame,
Her bubbly heard bled, stabbing cry,
Ripped soul could heave no sigh,
An year now, guilty roam free as tears burst,
as if females are born to quench their thirst,
Why not teach our sons to respect ?
Ill fated or is it our bringing up neglect ?
Quick justice the need of the hour,
she is no lust, she is a man's power,
Can sons ever prosper at daughters' price ?
Hold the flame high against gender crime rise !!
Written Sept 12th, 2015
For Charlotte's "controversial" contest
dedicated to all brave victims- lost or won the battle, but have given a tough fight.
As we raised ridges on reluctant lands
Our poor spirits wallowed on dwarfed harvest
Castle offered solace to her drudging hands
And she threw my sanguine name off her chest
In the king's arms she twit our blooming love
And rummage pride and diamonds at his feet
Such towering aloft drudge and ill-luck
That spread arms around the girdle of my wits
Her face neither subdue' darkness like sun spark
Nor blur the lustful glimpse of curious eyes
But like shy stars, she twinkles in the dark
And time would not her virtuous glows short-size
I pray passionate venom leaves her flesh
That my gray love might possess her afresh
Hear the hated song
Think things will go wrong
Cannot relax, on edge, scared
Expecting illness
My fate seems hopeless
Sweating like a creature snared
Play the remedy
Callas works for me
Relax, unwind, heave a sigh
Play again for luck
Lets me off the hook
Smile and wave ill luck bye bye
Jack Horne for Nette's Aloutte your Cleansing Ritual
FATE
Fate may step in life
as best friend
or puts me in strife,
beyond prediction,
beyond prevention,
somehow compulsion.
Sometimes silent,
sometimes loud,
flashing bright or
showing cloud.
Fate’s footfalls
may be slow or rapid,
accessing success
or making stupid.
Good fate may appear
on sudden gust,
doing miracles.
Ill luck when came,
putting me in shame.
Failed to overcome
hindrances.
Uncontrollable
happenstances.
Fate the Dictator !
04/12/ 21
First Place
'Anacreontic Verse ' Contest by Silent One
Wasting a Monday morning mooning
Till dawn creeps west in a slowly crawl
Across cunning cliffs of clouded sky
Bade dawn drawn down to noon bye
Bears a clear day brought so cheerfully dear
Soft as your loving grace in my soul
But my might at midday melt my mood
Sin made bad-luck rush ill-luck like lust
Hamstrung my strong stern faith so tight
Thro' tremendous traumas from friends and foes
Though a virgin moon on this Monday night
Brought smiles on my angular jugular frame
Smuggling my sins and iniquities to set me free
As my licit Lord gives me a loving leisurely lease
Drowning my doubts of musing morning mooning
And awakening my silent soul to sorrow no more
So when i feel like crying, i prayed and smiled
'Cos cant spend time crying about wrongs
Which my good Lord has nailed on the cross
I set about trying to make things right
And my life worthy of serving thee
For it isn't right crying instead of praying
It's no kind of example to set for kids or oneself either.
GREED
While cutting woods beside river strand,
axe of an wood cutter slipped from hand
and fell into stream.
Then, he had to scream
on such a big loss, too tough to stand.
Angel appeared out of the river.
Being kind, asked, what was the matter.
He was lamenting
‘My axe is missing.’
Angel assured to search in water.
Angel again came with axe of silver.
‘Is it yours? I have found from river.’
‘No Sir. This is fine,
but cannot be mine.
Oh! Ill luck. I lost that forever.’
Next, Angel appeared with axe of gold.
‘Is it yours?’ He casually told.
‘No. This is not mine.
I can’t imagine,
axe of gold to be built and sold.’
At last by Angel real axe was brought.
Delighted wood cutter thanked a lot.
Gold axe came as prize,
Great and grand surprise
The lesson of honesty was taught.
One cunning wood man heard the story,
dropped axe into water in hurry,
started loud laments.
Within few moments,
Angel appeared, ‘Why are you sorry?’
‘Sir, in deep water my axe is lost.’
‘Silver and gold axes, I have got’.
Angel showed the pair.
‘Which is yours? My Dear.’
‘Gold axe is mine.’ His answer was prompt.
‘Liar! Simple honesty you do lack!
Greed has painted your mind and heart black.
Gold, you cannot own.
You have lost your own.
You do not deserve to get that back.’
Syllable count 9 9 5 5 9
02/27/17
Fable Contest by Nayda Ivette Negron
Second Place
Battery (for Hyundai Sonata) Needed Today
Frugality worn by fiat generated
by alternate fickle finger of fate,
the plus side being said vehicle
parked here in public Salem's lot,
where I live with said diabolical mate
at highland manor apartments
penury run me underground in potter's
grave adversity doth unfortunately accelerate
curse to finance repairs of titled automobile,
more'n six months ago plus of late,
where saving impossible mission more
difficult than resurrecting the dead
even an atheist (like me) could activate,
thus this poet blithely doth adumbrate
posthumous renown much more likely than
mine corporel flesh (a complex conglomerate
edifice), essentially if present automotive
woe continues, one beastie boy aggregate,
oven ironic steely dan sing nature
unstoppable trooper, respectable,
and likeable rubber re: soul apostate
ascending, bridging, and
crossing unscheduled airdate
not set, whirling wide arms akimbo
webbed spirit world whose
self worth did depreciate,
this future disembodied
essence death will alleviate
he can deliberately leverage,
imagine, and envisage, I do articulate
mean, kickstartering (ill) luck knowing
postage overdue, I anticipate
outstanding debts unpaid
monies ash should urn
at grave robber's rate
within an eternity and
credit debits to eliminate
delay getting transported
into another dimension
NO colorful bedecked Apartheid
of time space, nonetheless
perhaps choosing reincarnate
entity formerly matter
of Matthew Scott Harris
doth unconsciously assimilate
painlessly whatsapp pining
for xfinity (away off into
verizon) accommodate
ting with easy equipoise no
difficulty to assimilate
linkedin with alternate
universe, where "FAKE" prelate
will presidentially usher
trumpet, shutterfly, annunciate
one successful Earthly gadfly,
donning imprimatur to communicate
with bone a fide skull fullness!
Funny passengers entered my taxi
Rich, schooled and powerful they look
Yet their heads are as hard as coco-nut shells
People laughed at me every town I passed
As every passenger refused to board off
Saying they will never quit even at gun point
Security patrol seems to be close to all
Each time I reach stage, tears and blood flowed
Not a single rider respected travel laws
Guys tell me they can set fire on the taxi
Every stage they shout threats and show me bombs
Riding on and on I do with these wry travellers
Sincerely, why is it my taxi facing this ill-luck?
Started on a happy note that foggy cold December day
School being closed, for adventure, our spirits craved
After breakfast, with my cousins, I joyfully set out to play
Catching fish was our pastime, ill luck we always braved
That day, into the pond I fell, but by a stranger, miraculously saved
Dec.7.2022
A December Memento Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Andrea Dietrich
You poor Imprisoned
Butterfly
Why do you in your
misery lie
Burying your head in
your cocoon to cry
After one hit of ill-luck,
deciding to die
When you to this mad-
ness, can say goodbye
If you just Spread your
Wings to the sky