Best Ill Tempered Poems
My works need not be successful
Just when consciousness-centered
Success can be spiritual
Mundane and ill-tempered
If the living Holy Spirit of the
Absolute in me abide
My thoughts, words and actions
Will, indeed, be love-linked
Linked will be my neighbor with me
Each creature of the universe I see
As part of the consciousness fulcrum
And cosmos would flow in free rhythm...
12 March 2022
Consciousness Fulcrum Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Unrest is the tempestous,
world seems out of favor...
malignant beseem the superflous,
sour,ill-tempered neighbors...
But...
The grass is always greener,
at your side of our choosing...
you've made me a believer,
love's hallmark unites fusing...
You are,
The soft to my hard
a sheath for my sword,
like whisperings of a bard
you are the calm to my storm....
My memory is like an ill-tempered old car
that refuses to start
on cold, miserable mornings...
or sometimes stutters
and shudders to life
in fits and starts with rattling parts
Names and faces of those behind me
shrouded and clouded in thick exhaust fumes
'til memory resumes and smoke starts to clear
...oh, what was the year?
Then suddenly (without warning)
the engine revs high, and I start to fly
downhill fast, into the past
brakes not responding, gripping the wheel
too much to feel
that terrible fear- stuck in high gear...
Old trauma impacts like a car crash
re-living events that
don't always make sense
deadly debris and jumbled bits of trash
litter my head, feeling half-dead
confused, in a mild state of shock
Although a car is a useful thing-
sometimes it's safer to walk!
Ill-tempered Elfin Queen, would bully
and demean everyone she'd see
an unruly brat
nasty tricks thought daily that
when on her throne she sat sadly
She had to force her head in a sack
precaution she must engage to hold back
to gaze in a looking glass
so she could surpass
or the magical mirror would crack
Casting curses became her fame
enticing elf’s was her daily game
maidens that were shrouded
and barren were allowed
in her kingdom was her aim
But to her shocking surprise
all of their bellies begin to rise
the Elfin Queen was livid
she had been smarted
was blinded and they criticize
For she hadn’t for saw that right
when the sun goes down and the lights
go out humans are smart
love comes only from the heart
beauty is only skin deep, that brings sight
© 4/29/2015
I’ve come back to the place where I had grown,
a place no more as it once was known.
Not a roof, not a room, not one wall left,
just an old, weathered chimney standing alone.
An ill-tempered wind swept from the hillside tops
that spun relentlessly through the leafless copse
and across fallow fields long now disused
that once had yielded sustaining crops.
The skies oblique with murmurations
of small black birds that, without hesitation,
alit, then rose in tornadic swirls
of airborne dances without cessation.
A tractor sat solemnly by a clattering gate
now a rusted reminder that time won't wait.
And the path that wound to the moldering shed
overrun with thistles that sealed its fate.
And where once stood the old front door
now just a cracked and crumbled floor.
Then, as I turned and faced the chimney tall,
familiar voices resonated once more.
Though perceived, still filled with laughter
and childlike questions of timeless matter
from a once-close family about the hearth
brought a blissful end to life’s daily chapter.
I stood silently, my senses sublimely allured,
while present time was much obscured;
my melancholic thoughts embraced
those voices from the hearth I heard.
Then, all illusions gone, the chimney tall
seemed out of place without a wall,
without a family ‘round it girthed,
a silent sentinel that should never fall.
I turned and walked, my thoughts unspoken,
and knew well now the chains were broken;
but though the chimney, which stood unscathed,
meant nothing more than memory’s token.
John Henry Gardner
© 2017 – All rights reserved
The Labradoodle
It’s clear that the scamp is a Poodle
By its frolicsome dabble and doodle
But add a big part
Of the Labrador’s heart
And you’ve got the whole kit and caboodle
The Labrador Retriever (Lab)
The Lab a friend gave to his daughter
Had a chronic aversion to water
He’d cling to the shore
Like a rug to the floor
To avoid making waves like he oughter
The Lagotto Romagnolo
It caused quite a local kerfuffle
When he called a potato a truffle*
By the time it was done
A committee of one
Went and cancelled his license to snuffle
(*known for their skill at finding truffles)
The Leonberger
There are dogs that are bigger than these
Like some Mastiffs and Great Pyrenees
But few are more stately
Or admired more greatly
For their grace and perpetual ease
The Lhasa Apso
Just repeat: Lhasa apso not ipso
That’s a facto: I’m sharing this tip so
You don’t make a flub
With the whole Lhasa Club
While they contemplate your membership so
The Maltese
I once knew a Maltese named Tawny
Who was quick and ill-tempered and scrawny
While protecting a crumb
Nearly took off my thumb
Now he sleeps with the fish in the Suwannee
The Mastiff
The Mastiff’s a glorious sight
With a name that exemplifies might
Now imagine this house
The size of a mouse
A “toy mastiff” just doesn’t sound right
The Mutt
A mutt may show up with a rat
Do some terrible things to your hat
But he’s happy for sure
Just to roll in manure
And so grateful that he’s not a cat
The Newfoundland (Newfie)
One day on the nearby horizon
He encountered an ornery bison*
And though it was large
The Newfie took charge
Mattered not what the difference in size in
The Norwegian Elkhound
Look honey, look what I found!
It’s an orphaned Norwegian elkhound!
He’ll be easy to raise
With some love and some praise
And a pasture that serves as a pound
Let us deport-- with skill--
Let us discourse--with care--
Powder exists in Charcoal--
Before it exists in Fire.
~ Emily Dickinson
Good words anoint, ill words kill
~ Florio
It's said that sticks and stones break bones
but words can serve as weapons too,
so wield with caution what you write
let civil discourse have its due.
A finely crafted turn of phrase
will prove more winsome than a harsh
phillipic or a raging rant
that drags one's soul down like a marsh.
Are not our writings most effective
when our readers wish to read
our inner thoughts, instead of feeling
whipped by some ill-tempered screed?
When I hear thunder's crash, I flee
from lightning's sharp, injurious ray -
I hear your thunder, not your words
As though you speak a mile away.
I'm not promoting caged emotions;
ire and outrage have their place,
but when the missile shrieks, there's few
still left the message to embrace.
Written 21 Dec 2021
Over this limpid lagoon, without a church's dome,
no ill-tempered wind coming from the stormy East
can stir up huge waves, it can only scatter mist;
here birds thrive, they call this place their home.
The esurient wrens search for breadcrumbs,
Ella hasn't come yet and they hope she will;
the laughing gulls entrap them as they shrill,
the tiny ones flee and hide in blades of grass.
Where's Ella? She must be dancing with clouds,
there the only spectators are the curious swans;
she swirls against a smooth spectrum of indigo
lighter than her gorgeous eyes that delight Fabio.
Another Fall evening ends to bring back all stillness,
finally the painter with the grey cap rests his hands;
his jaunty painting matches the vividness of the sunset,
Ella runs and joyfully embraces her adored sweetheart.
Written on 1/ 29/ 2016
I Cannot Weight To Hmm...
Be Pressed By A Dumbbell
Two fifteen pound
steely danse sing
wrought iron dumbbells
ill-tempered, impatiently,
and intensely a weight
their turn to hmm... press me,
and forthwith dense trait
heavy handed prestidigitation
to yours truly, this primate
currently attempting
to craft sad excuse
for a poem, sans far fetched
notion, aye trite re: late
engendering, foisting, and goading
bizarre lifelike qualities
to inanimate solid helpmate
to build (and/or oven
just tone) muscles bitterly, painfully,
resignedly wince, where washboard
abdomen long a goner
impossible to recoup,
whar hide didst narrate
ting hours sculpting great
former Adonis build
on these, now nada so lovely
bones, and experience
spiritual strife to oscillate,
perhaps witness sing
angst to esse skill late
heady feeling healthy vim within
myself, how just
with verily at least dedicate
half hour exercise can be great
for body, mind, and
soul triage, otherwise...
basic gravitational laws
of physics gladly
hand me unwanted fate,
how gradually physique
will eventually demonstrate
flabby, droopy, and
unwanted addy post tissue create
ting another reason to berate,
castigate, emasculate, where
self repudiation will germinate
(albeit, thence in extremis), yours truly
doth relinquish fitness regime
resulting sparking, and taste
testing casus belli dictate
tête-à-tête, viz hasty
unconditional surrender to
a void mortal kombat,
which latter, would exterminate,
the forces of yin and yang,
re: lee (I rub hurts) loch cur,
thence finding me fraught,
(yule hiss see - uselessly)
grant ting soul
option to disintegrate,
in the event emotional civil war,
rents asunder every fiber
of mine being, which
wrath wracked wraith self destruction
twill woefully satiate.
Armadillo
Armor placed upon a knighted
Rat, defender of the gold, not the
Man whose crown adorns it.
Addled pretender to the throne,
Dunce, in hidden jesters robe
Ill bred, ill tempered,
Lothario, pompous preening,
Lecherous serpent seeking
Only the safety of self.
For PD’s contest
Acrostic Time #1
7/3/2014
Light and airy summer breezes
Make short shrift of springtime sneezes,
Warm and thoughtful gentle squeezes
Undo ill-tempered moody freezes,
A welcomed smile much tension eases
If we would always do what pleases.
Written May 27, 2022
Just quit nagging ‘bout my time in the loo
Or I’ll deck you with that weird platform shoe
Yes, I like to read there, it’s the only quiet place
And the “scenery” is better than that look upon your face
Instead of complaining, make me some breakfast
Heaven knows why my heart you once possessed
Lord, what will this evening have in store
You think I’m gonna watch that chick flick once more
I’ve a better idea; the guys will be here soon
If you reveal my poker hand, I’ll send you to the moon
So warm up some treats and send the kids packin’
It’s bottle-by-bottle the booze I’ll be stackin’
Give me a break and take off that frilly dress
By the time the game’s over, the house will be a mess
And it’s all yours to clean, my ever-loving spouse
If the house isn’t tidy, you’ll hear me grouse
So take a load off now, while you still can
That load you carry needs a moving van
If you find me ill-tempered, then just take a hint
Bounce out that door with the pace of a sprint
*Written April 29, 2014
Rusty colours
Immature eddies
Various swirls by meeting the shallows
Easy life for birds – paddling and schmoozing
Robust banks discipline the flow
Rapid somewhat move through the narrows
Under river fish playing with the water
Naughty fish playing!
Shallow deposits
Steady talking water
Timid waves throw floating leaves
Energetic dog puts splashy paw prints
Along the smoother bank
Diving dipping bird: it has dived to fish
Young river to grand river
------------------------------------------------------------------
Rumblings
Irritable eddies
Violent swirling
Eager fish only challenge it
Rapids
Raving bank smashes
Unprovoked now provoked
Nasty river messages
Surprising depth
Water rush
Ill tempered negotiating
Living a struggle
Deaths
In Halloween week once the days have turned dark
He lurks where the lamplight cannot leave it’s mark
And late night dog walkers whose dogs do not bark
All steer a wide path as he harvests the park
By day he is nought but a grass covered mound
But a light in the night would show flat level ground
His nocturnal quarter a shady enclave
And there he will wait for the dim…. or the brave
This giant whose mouth is a ravenous cavern
To vacuum up strollers too long in the tavern
Each rushing home to an ill-tempered wife
He fillets their bones with no cleaver or knife
His yawn reveals hundreds of stalactite teeth
His tongue is as rough as a storm ravaged reef
And with hunger sated he shall not be found
As he rests for a year as a grass covered mound
15 October 2022
Contest: 12 - 16 lines, Scary Halloween
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
"On Gelid Night" by David Hart
On gelid night, prone amidst this small sea of
faineant coverlets,
A nimeity of somnolent susurrations--
Bombinate and pierce the greyblack night.
Still, the foundling lies on bilious pillow
A radiator's dolorous tintinnabulation
Harmonizes a fan's punctilious paean.
On this gelid night,
A languid pillow kisses this naive cheek.
Vocabulary
Bilious-ill-tempered; Foundling-lost child; nimiety-excess (n);
dolorous-sad; tintinnabulation-tinkling sound; susurrations(n)-whispers; faineant(adj)-
idle; gelid-icy cold; bombinate-buzz or hum; punctilious-precise; paean- a song of praise