Best Impolite Poems
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
I would stack your hearth with firewood,
and we would sit together on your couch,
you, your feet tucked under you,
your head against my chest,
while I would hold you close
and breathe that faint and lovely fragrance of your hair.
And we could dine on pizza and red wine,
in the softly glowing firelight.
One day, perhaps, if I could spend the night.
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
there would be no haste,
no urgency in either of our lives,
and we could have another glass of wine,
while speaking soberly
of matters sombre,
if we felt that way inclined.
Or,
we would have that other glass of wine and laugh at matters impolite.
One day, perhaps, if I could spend the night.
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
when we were ready we would go to bed
and kiss
and make unhurried love.
Or,
equally unhurried, we would not.
And we would listen to the wind and rain
and kiss and make unhurried love again.
Or,
equally unhurried, we would not.
Then we would sleep,
egg and spoon together.
With each of us at peace.
And everything, in both our worlds, would be just right.
One day,
perhaps,
if I could spend the night.
Once, in a thought, it seemed how everything
stood without color, either black or white
or marbled grey, were sparrows tipped in flight
then pitched to the barn by a bastard wing
as feed for that, that unthinkable thing,
that thing which hunts and haunts confounded night,
and taunts with words, good morning, impolite,
on afternoons left without anything.
And in that thought, I think, I ceased to be
a thinker, but a thoughtless totem-pole,
stacked to the measure of deformity
forced on my feathered friends if lacked a soul,
their judgment passed at trial exclusively
not by a robe, but pigeon shot and coal.
Sillhouetted branches,
At the top of tall trees,
Stretch to kiss the last of the light.
A full moon ascends,
Casts out femine hands,
As she smilingly heralds the night.
He pulls me toward him,
Like the moon and the tide,
I move close and he holds me tight.
I feel him flow under my hands,
Heat emanates out,
My desirous flames ignite.
He kisses my cheek,
Gentle friendly ease,
Another pang from love no requite.
Dammit! If I just turned an inch,
And kissed his lips,
Would he think me impolite?
Or would he suddenly realise,
I hold true loves kiss,
And let his hidden passion take flight?
What does all of this matter,
If only one of us knows,
And I will never take the first bite?
Just let it fall.
© 2013
Ruby Honeytip
…or Hey! Who you callin' fat?
There is no subterfuge
In the hippopotamus,
She's just naturally huge
From top to bottomus*.
She loves the rivers more than lands,
On stubby little legs she stands
And grazes 'cause she has no hands.
For losing pounds she has no plans,
Such as Jenny Craig or rubber bands.
Obesity for her's no plight,
To be big and beautiful is her right,
So about her weight, she's not uptight,
Nor loses any sleep at night.
Some say she's rude and impolite,
But she just takes another bite
And says, "So whattamus!"
*My thanks to the Cowardly Lion from "The Wizard of Oz".
Stealthily and with no invitation,
Wicked Mischief rides into my night,
dismounts and strides inside. How impolite!
For rudely she intrudes - this aberration,
bearing that unholy “deprivation”
strongly brewed with venom of her spite,
and if I can, I’ll try to expedite
her speedy flight; thus my liberation.
My desperation’s growing all the while.
Can I fight her power? Can I flee
her whisperings unceasing that so rile
me? Oh, precious seconds gone! I see
light of day. Sweet sleep she did defile.
Insomnia has wrought fait accompli.
March 9,2014
For the Love or Hate, Pick a Subject 2 Poetry Contest of Shadow Hamilton
I hate Wicked Mischief!!
Scuba diving, oh! what a dream
In the Gulf, amidst the Sardines
With a Florida blond
Whom I've grown to be fond
It's dark, is it all that it seems
Our dive is going oh! so super
Boo! said the nosey big Grouper
Och! do you have to be mean
To these little Sardines
Your just a big party pooper
Told of he goes in a mood
Just like a big bully should
Hey! next time take better care
To these Sardines you did scare
It's impolite, and you've been oh! so rude
Wonderful
I see the curves in the murky dawn
In the straight lines, lined up like pawns
I see the morning
In drunken sunshine
The life is so wonderful
Young and full of love
WONDERFULL
When you gaze at lovers pissing on waterfalls
I am neither impolite nor rude
Excuse the poetic ruse
If only.... if only
The clocks traveled backwards
If only you could know me
Yesterday
Once more I beg of you
Shout how wonderful I used to be
Aurore you were so wonderful
Me I was so pathetic
I sing to the morning commuters in the rain
About the sickness of lovers and cheaters pain
Wonderful
So wonderful to be here
If only the metro runs me over
The pathetic, I would be gone
Wouldn’t that be so wonderful?
Some watching my ease
Of execution of the self
The latent anxiety unteased
Writes me off in simplicity.
Some denuding me of honor's wealth
Wait in turmoil
For a scab to fall and unveil its pus
And if I do not flinch for pain
Writes coward beside my name
Some deck out in borrowed jewels
Could not stop me looking at the stars
They heard only my polite conversation
Saw my faith
And did not understand the transformation of desire
The restructured purpose of the heart
The difference in whose I am
They frightened ran
Frantic to recompose themselves in fear
They judged me like the world again
But O how deep the flow
Of divine grace
That such may come and find nothing in me.
I am a man of firm convictions
I know the way all things should go
Before they go
I watch the frightened blunder
Inventing old salvation in new fora
I do not yield to that
Peace is a vision of the broken self
The spontaneous abolition of lies
Do not give the heart too much grandeur
It blinds the vision to the soul
Reeks havoc of self interpretation
For before the strong delusion
Comes the lie
Do you not remember how impolite you were
How disrespectful
How nasty the tone of argument and action
And how he opened not his mouth
Waiting for you to come to confession
That gives a man a sense of justice
To execute judgment without compassion
And yet, great Christ, you wait for repentance.
You have your Barabbas
And yet you have no peace
How can right disturb the heart at rest
We weave a tangled mess
In a world of pride, but patience is a a door
I left it open
Without pain
For what you have become, what you manifest
I would not cry, could not cry for cess
Barabbas means himself well
But his history is a figment, his tale a lie
And then again
What power could sin have over sin
Poor, weak, wretched, vain
How your pretext falls like dusk
How bewildering the edge of night
If you see me again
Please note that I am the same
And through my door
Comes those who have forgotten pain
For I built it so
To admit the naked form alone
Be mortified at my door
You cannot come until you are purged
It is your life
I have neither haste nor urge
Only you can make right
I can only hold the light
For under my cosy exterior of ease
You will find again
Just what you see outside.
A scourge on subways is the guy
Whose legs are widely splayed
So those who want to sit won’t try –
They’re shy or just afraid.
His manspread takes two seats at least
As if it is his right,
Though others think this selfish beast
Is more than impolite.
The MTA*’s creating ads
To focus on these guys,
Though likely such obnoxious cads
Will never compromise.
I wish I had the kind of nerve
To challenge such a man
And give him what he does deserve –
A kick right in the can!
*Metropolitan Transit Authority
MY PORTRAIT OF YOU
You have gorgeous eyes that mesmerize
I sit in awe, as in a daze
It's hard for me to turn aside
I scarce can avert my gaze
I know it's impolite to stare
But your face is so tantalizing
Framed by a golden mane of hair
It has me fantasizing
Complexion so smooth, bronzed by the sun
Lips that shimmer and glow
A dazzling smile brings thoughts of fun
Showing teeth as white as snow
I'm in a trance, totally spellbound
I know I should get up and leave
But if I do, I feel I will drown
In sorrow and forevermore grieve
But life is not what we wish it to seem
So, sadly I go on my way
From the woman of whom I've always dreamed
Perhaps she'll be mine one day
And like the Mona Lisa so greatly renowned
Your beauty will be universally appealing
You'll be loved by all wherever you're found
And the world will experience what I'm feeling
Curtis Moorman
21 August 2013
(All right you scallywags of questionable seaworthiness, we begin with an up-tempo step-liveliness.)
Send him aloft, high into the crow's nest,
He'll keep watch with his keen young sight.
Let me out, the wind is a-freshenin',
Roll me up in the middle of the night.
Over to the hatch and have a check within the hold, lad,
So we know that down below, the ship is nice and tight.
Roll into the galley, and fetch the cook potatoes,
But throw 'em in the water if they've got the bleedin' blight.
Roll me out into the wet heart o' the glossy sea,
Hand me down a whoppin' tankard o' rum,
Tomorrow, on the hunt we'll be,
The Captain knows where that foreign vessel's from.
Roll me into our sheltered island hideaway,
We can sleep a while before dawn's early fight.
Give us one drink but we're gonna cut it off right there,
Gotta wake up in the mornin,' gotta wake up feelin' right.
Roll me out, now we're after a prize, boys,
Watch out for the shallows in the middle of the bight,
Roll me away, don't let them hit us broadside,
They'll soon surrender to our mighty pirate fright.
(Okay, me hearties, slow it down a shark's whisker...)
Now we're all as happy as the humpback whale,
We'll treat the prisoners fairly, or it's impolite,
The sun slips below the rail, the briny dark will then prevail,
The crew's asleep, full fathoms deep, of moonlight take a bite.
Roll me easy, there's peace upon the ocean,
The softest wind, and stars a-burnin' bright,
Drift through the water with that slow rockin' motion,
When we make it back to shore, our tales they will write.
(Avast ye now, slow it on down until yer barely makin' a wake...)
Roll me quiet when I think about my lost girl,
Nothin's bigger then than me a-wonderin' why,
Roll me back because I can't forget the dead boy,
And turn your head away, before I start to cry.
Why people somewhere so kind and gentle
and somewhere not?
Why people in Saint-Petersburg ,
Moskow, Astana, Bishkek
Look so impolite, inhospitable and unfriendly?
Ask about it the happy inhabitants
or better look himself for what
is the best product of free society
this kind of people who lived in Basel, Antwerp, Quebec
with Oslo or those
who fast transformed for better sort of governing -
Turkian, Philippinians and Ukrainians possible also.
The people of free society and reason
or those who going out from ruling prison
appreciated choice and initiation
and marvelously transformed own identity
as those who better controlled themselves and government,
they hoped for only for freedom and own diligence
and make wonders gradiently
under the hand of free market invisible and patiently.
And what do you say about authoritarian and enslaved nation,
there are all people depended from will of corrupt guidelanes ,
where freedom, honesty and choices in total deficit?
Poor citisens there mentally downgraded
early or later hardened and stoned their souls to anthracite
for surviving in merciless and no free circumstances.
That was a clearly answer
for such sorts of questions -
why people somewhere so kind and gentle
and somewhere not?
Honking geese and loud barking dogs
An impolite disturbance just before dawn
There should be no morning traffic, or so I thought
Until a flock of Ansers declared, this is our spot
Escaped from their wetland, to my courtyard lush green
Tropical vapors set the scene, the overcast sky composed
The script, collaborting with the Northwestern spring
Golden retrievers barked again, the geese blared loud
Spreading tuxedo-ed wings an array of feathers cream and brown
Positioned in stances exposing thier pure white down
Honking vocals chorused by a few, who brazenly announced
We’re just passing through, their unscheduled performance
On a cool misty morning, turned the mundane into quite interesting
Incontinence
(A misery of getting older)
By Roy Merritt
I have to see the doctor I’m incontinent I’m sure
And I’m not very certain that my bladder will endure
Yes I’m incontinent with each of nature’s call
And that my prostate is as big as a basketball
It seems I’m always running with the need to go you see
And if I don’t make it it’ll be all over me
And when I see the doctor the greatest thing I fear
Is that he will tell me I have to quit drinking beer
I’ll have to quit drinking and other stupid things
To avoid looking the fool and making a dreadful scene
And have many a rude person an impolite crowd
Making fun of me as if a little child
But if they thought on it gave it some consideration
They’d realize many of them too will face this situation
I’ll have to do what the doctors say their educated advice
And of course I’ll check with one and another to make it twice
I’ll take their pills to all they ask adhere
And if they say I should darn it I’ll even give up beer
My mom has eyes like a hawk.
They‘re in the back of her head.
In town, she told me not to gawk.
I followed down the path she led.
We saw a tiger wearing skates
I stared and saw her scowl!
There was a basket full of snakes.
Still she glared a look most foul!
We watched a ferret playing dead
I laughed and thought she’d faint.
When I petted the eagle’s bald head
she tapped her foot in complaint.
We spied a coyote wearing boots
and I smiled a big wide grin.
Amid the monkeys howls and hoots,
she warned me once again.
We heard the cry of the muted owl
and when I ventured forth to see
the warning I had heard her growl
stirred a sudden fear in me.
We passed many a strange sight,
and I could not help but look.
She told me it was impolite.
That was the last trip we took.
21 September 2022