Best Incur Poems
In the rundown little house where her family currently lives,
the fourteen-year old glances obediently at her glaring daddy,
nodding her head in quiet compliance
to his usual horrible demands of her for the evening.
Not to acquiesce would incur his utter wrath,
and that is something she has learned well by now to avoid.
Things are not like the old days, when she was twelve,
feeling so lost, and he would lavish her with little gifts:
bracelets with charms, cute purses, chocolate candies. . .
With warm aqua eyes, he’d smile his approval
as she whirled around the room, modeling a pretty dress for him.
In those days when her world had fallen apart, he’d taken her in.
His voice would softly soothe her then, chasing away her every fear.
Back to reality. Daddy’s voice now is laced with menace.
And his eyes are ice blue marbles staring through her.
“Do what wifey says,” he instructs her at the door
as she leaves with four other sisters and the one of legal age, her sister-wifey.
Leaning in to her, his breath like chill wind on her nape, he whispers,
“And you better be VERY good with your dates this time.”
The young girl, in high heels, slit skirt, and heavy makeup, has exited the door
when her daddy barks commands to his helper in the living room, and then
Daddy exits too, but through the garage, where a Mercedes Benz is parked.
He drives alone, a short trip across town to his other house -
the one with manicured lawn and garden and a large pool out back -
the large beautiful house where a real wife and a real daughter
await him.
“How was your day?” his beautiful young wife gushes
as he crosses the threshold in his expensive business suit.
“Oh, just another day at the office,” he quips,
leaning in to give her a soft kiss. Then his young daughter
comes bounding down the stairs, broadly grinning.
“Daddy, look at the new dress you bought me!”
She twirls with adolescent glee.
The man, with blue eyes dancing, looks his fourteen-year-old daughter
up and down. “Sweetie, you know I don’t like you wearing lipstick yet.”
“Oh, Daddy,” she teases, “I’ll be dating soon.”
“Afraid not,” he lovingly chides her. “Those boys will just have to wait
at least for two more years. For now, you are Daddy's little girl."
Categories:
incur, family, slavery, , cute,
Form:
Narrative
A BUSH FIRE
One scorching afternoon,
A sudden splintering sound was heard,
The nearest was the buffalo herd,
They smelt the smoke and felt the heat,
And began to charge, they had to beat,
The, scorching red hot fire.
The monkeys who swing and never tire,
Screeched loudly in tongues,
Whilst smoke, stole oxygen out of their lungs.
A mighty midget the porcupine,
Warned chancers that his quills so fine,
Would incur great pain
Not only a red blood stain,
For he dreaded to be turned belly up,
And had no intention, of being anyone’s sup!
The birds began to fly very high,
Away from the smoke, in the sky.
The unfortunate tortoise lost his way,
And sadly, with his life, had to pay.
The giraffe with tall spindly legs
Ran wildly destroying nests and eggs,
His wildness came from his wrath,
And, the chaos along his path.
The animals ran faster away from the fire,
Whilst the flames leapt higher and higher.
A mamba slithered forward next,
Whilst a frightened cub looked on perplexed,
A Zebra, tripped and broke his back,
Causing more confusion in this race track.
The springbok and hyena together ran,
They were now close to the water pan,
The pan was next to a river,
Would they make it,
Each animal began to quiver,
Could the springbok be tomorrow’s lunch,
A tree falls with a thud and crunch,
Distracting the hyena from his would be munch!
The fox cunningly glances from side to side,
Nimbly a burning log jumps wide.
The lions mouth their cubs gently but tight,
As they run from this horrendous plight.
But water is in sight!
Everyone is close to the finish line,
This race has become competitively fine,
The crocodiles are savagely waiting to dine!
They have spotted their first meal,
The frightened perplexed cub hurriedly steal.
Only a quarter,
Can get into the water.
A stampede starts, animals clamber over each other,
The young ones protected by their mother.
Unfortunately only the strongest will survive,
To tell future generations of their strive,
Of what it’s like, living a bush veld life.
Categories:
incur, animal, fire,
Form:
Rhyme
The grist mill stands by the side of the lake
A bustling flour mill of yesteryear
An eerie place where many people died
If you go inside you will sense the fear.
John Grist the miller was a psychopath
Well known for his outbursts of drunken rage
Those that upset him would incur his wrath
Like William Jones who asked for his wage.
Grist was very drunk and went for his gun
Shot young William until he dropped dead
Then shot the workforce before they could run
The floor of the mill was covered blood red.
Grist mill is haunted, don’t go there at night
The dead still moan and you might die of fright.
Written 25th May 2018
GRISTMILL CONTEST SPONSORED BY CRAIG CORNISH.
Categories:
incur, death, evil, horror,
Form:
Sonnet
They say if you don’t use a thing for a year
It’s time to get rid of it, just to be clear
Feel free to sell it or give it away
But to get clutter free, just don’t let it stay
So, I checked my garage for stuff I could lose--
and found hundreds of words I simply don’t use!
Lilliputian and Sprightly stood on a shelf
Elbow-to-elbow with some wry little elf
Bucolic and Bumpkin were squirreled away
Beneath a big bale of bright yellow hay
Garish and Gaudy were in a glittery box
with Trinkets and Baubles set with fake rocks
Surreptitious and Unobtrusive tried to avoid being seen
But I caught 'em sneaking off with Clandestine
Beyond these loose words, which filled many a bin
Lay whole turns of phrase like Much to My Chagrin
I held up to the light a Gossamer Veil
Then dumped it in a Perfidious Betrayal
An Ethereal Cloud, glued to the ceiling
I scraped off with an Ambivalent Feeling
I rolled back the rug to see what I'd missed,
There before me stretched a Yawning Abyss
Into a huge crate, these big words I did toss
Bobbing on top were Flotsam, Jetsam and Dross
Fatigued by these labors, I took a short break
But that little respite may have been my mistake
Soon I was deep in most Pensive Reflection
On how Assiduously I had built this collection
In crept Myriad Doubts about so brash a move
What if I meet some Cad I need to Reprove?
What if some Craven Cur should Incur my Wrath
But words fail me due to this Ill-Chosen Path?
Well, soon that old crate was quite empty once more
And cluttered again were bin, shelf, drawer and floor
But one thing has changed, this is Palpably Clear
My Leviathan Word Horde I now Deeply Revere
Intrepid and Dauntless, I sling without fear
Iota and Mote.. I dust off once a year!
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Feb 2, 2016
Categories:
incur, education, fun, humor, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
I see the shadow on the wall,
my breath catches and hope falls.
He has found me I do despair,
The Axeman is standing there.
Hiding in the house all day,
waiting for the return of his prey.
In the pantry watching through the door,
night is all he waits for.
Silently he makes his way through the house,
silent as a deadly mouse.
Started with dad and mom in the bed,
I silently cry as they are dead.
My sleeping sisters and brother,
without their heads I did discover.
My visiting friends he also found,
he killed them too with a squishing sound.
If only the drifting Reverend did not stop,
invited for breakfast by my pop.
My family could have been saved,
now our future is a lonely grave.
He moves in for the kill,
swings his axe with lots of skill.
The flash of steel as all I see,
slumps to the floor is all that's left of me.
The wind blows through Villisca this cold night,
my family died without a fight.
A small and quiet town,
in the night our screams did drown.
Poked by aleera I did jump,
telling the true story that in the night goes bump.
I see the shadow of Kristy De La Keur,
Now her story you'll get to incur.
Thanks to John Loving III and the Haunting Poets,
the true story of the Villisca axe murders you do know it.
Sad the tragedy is too true,
not a fictional killer to go BOO!
Categories:
incur, deathfamily, night, family, night,
Form:
Heroic Couplet
In the beginning God created the heavens and earth
And some think it all came by chance, what a big mirth
That life arose by itself from chemical soup and from it birth
Soup formed by unceasing rain on the volcanic hearth
For this theory came when none knew the complexities of life or its worth
Formulated by those who deliberately ignore God's love and incur his wrath
For the advances of science and genetics proclaim this theories dearth
Over the earth His Spirit did brood
He spoke again and it happened
In His wisdom all well designed and good
Life in all its different kinds rampant
Every part in its place and functioning as it should
Then God formed man by His own hands
In His own image created He him
He gave him control over all the lands
And home in a garden with fruits to the brim
And a companion Eve as satisfied not animal friends
Eat of all fruits but not of wrong and right
The serpent came and Eve did ensnare
Eve saw the fruit was desirous to the sight
For of the enemy's deceit she was not aware
They did eat and to creation brought blight
Can't blame the fruit on the tree but the human pair
Of their nakedness they now became aware
The creation cursed and in despair
So His only beloved Son, God sent to repair
And for himself a holy people prepare
And if all this you know and are aware
Then God wants you with others share
And to really love others and care
And lift them to God in prayer
That all turn from sins and to God everywhere
Categories:
incur, birth, christian, creation, earth,
Form:
Rhyme
Most people are like electricity,
they prefer to travel down the path of least resistance
They don't want to get involved too much,
they like to be bystanders, sitting on the fence
They don't really want things too hard,
don't wanna struggle like a salmon goin' upstream
Just make it easy for their decision making,
would like to get from here to there on a transporter beam
Get on that old beaten trail,
go down that worn out wide path
It's the easiest way to get to hell,
walking backwards will incur God's wrath
Beware: the devil's gonna wanna trick you
Beware: Satan's gonna be real persistent
Beware: the Trickster's gonna lie to you,
to lead you down the path of least resistance
Beam 'em up on that old beaten trail,
beam 'em down that worn out wide path
It's the easiest way to get to hell,
oh you will instantly incur God's wrath
Most people don't like to feel electricity,
it jumps on you lightning fast
And if you're not a quick thinker,
you will become a tale of the past
I was raised up the old fashioned way,
do what you're told, then you'll have your say
Be obedient, follow God's sacred rules;
move down that shining path, it's up to you to choose
Get off that old beaten trail,
don't go down that worn out wide path
Take a straight narrow road to heaven,
walk forward and one day you'll see God laugh
Beware: the devil's gonna wanna own you
Beware: get you to do what he wants you to
Beware: Satan's lurking in the distance,
so resist taking the path of least resistance
Categories:
incur, allegory, spiritual, truth, wisdom,
Form:
Quatrain
Temperature's hovering at 103
Very much too hot for me,
A/C busted, that's
plain to see...
Tenant's squawking
What can I do, let's see....
Stuck in the middle,
The owners just piddle
All I need is a sad fiddle
To accompany my misery
I didn't break it, this I swear,
And should some say so
They'd better take care,
I have my Panzer grenadieres
On full alert,
And it won't be waterguns
That they will squirt
So get a fan, take a cold bath,
Sleep on your patio,
Don't incur my wrath
Take a chill pill.....
Take two or three,
We'll get it fixed,
This I will see...
Not fun being the manager
Responsibility for everything,
Authority to do nothing,
Frustrations build quick,
Can make one quite sick
But, this too shall pass,
Another challenge will
take it's place
Cause this just is an
endless race.
Categories:
incur, angst, business, life, on
Form:
Free verse
Mud puddles were made for little boys on warm summer days,
In search of tadpoles and frogs and other delightful items of play.
Grass snakes are fine but they’re hard to contain,
They get slick and slimy when left in the rain.
Little boys need big pockets to amass all their wealth,
Momma’s need strong hearts to keep up their health.
They never know the mysteries they’ll incur while sorting those jeans,
What’s lurking in those pockets may be obnoxious and obscene.
Cowboys and Indians with a stick horse named Rex,
Little Johnny told Tommy my new name is Tex.
He said I’m the toughest desperado this side of old San Antone,
The fastest quick draw that’s ever been known.
Momma calls out, it’s time to come in, it’s time to lay down,
Come in right now there is no need to frown.
So off to their rooms they are sent, so momma can rest,
As they both hug her neck and say you are the Best.
Categories:
incur, adventure, childhood, family, love,
Form:
***I am reposting this poem as I think it is my finest poetic creation. I feel the imagery of the piece and its 'fabled' characters are cohesive to create a positive environment that reflects the star's light of hope; the 3rd stanza and the poem's final lines provide a natural summation of metaphysical realities that incur from human emotion and suggests that we all come from the same mold and thus we are not the cause of ourselves; 'a theistic natural priori in the belief of God through the poetic endeavour.'
I awoke to find the tall splendor of the world,
in those cosmic canyons,
shearing darkness ----
in the pallet of some ethereal night;
ancient with desire.....
to Illume the thick shadow of hades itself
Not death nor mortal doubt
couldst thou flee from me,
mighty as Aphrodite ----
Shooting thy silver smile
beautiful as heaven's promise!
In your shimmering I see hope,
for the heart which beholds thy majesty
the world could fade,
yet you remain.....
a friendly face if none should be found,
but you.....
that thou Creator dost reveal;
my soul,
ageless as thee
(am spun from the same loom)
Categories:
incur, creation, god, hope, life,
Form:
Classicism
Often, I fall to the ground in anguish and burst into tears,
not for lack of strength, but to ask for forgiveness;
seldom, I venture down a narrow and unlit road,
fearing the assailant is waiting for my innocent blood!
I call upon the Lord of infinite kindness and mercy
to keep those bad-willed men off my treacherous trail;
how I want to scrutinize the awesome universe
and name a few planets with careful observance!
And although I am unable to spot and discovered any,
with the naked eye: I seek them more than the Holy Grail!
Often, I question with disbelief how fate makes me broach,
affecting my emotions and destabilizing them to incur
dread when the heavy tread of footsteps approach;
are they those of a ghost or is someone at the door?
Not all men are evil and can boast of a massive wealth,
being rich is the privilege of the few, others only dream of it;
I've been assigned a formidable task which requires no stealth:
to make most of this existence, not indulging in excessive guilt!
Categories:
incur, beauty, creation, emotions, endurance,
Form:
Rhyme
Running in high heels
I’ve wondered at times how it feels
To run in a pair of high heels
I’m sure it would be such a sight
I’d wobble from left and the right
And damn if I stepped in a hole
I’d probably lose all control
Go flying out off through the air
Onlookers would laugh as they stare
When seeing the mishap I’d found
Me lying face first on the ground
Enduring discomfort and pain
While drenched by a cold winter rain
Though no sense in being afraid
I’m sure some would come to my aide
And maybe, just maybe there’d be
A pretty girl right next to me
To offer me comfort and care
Perhaps hold my hand while she’s there
But that would just come in a dream
If all of you know what I mean
Now kept off my feet for a while
It’s so hard to muster a smile
But soon I know that it would end
I would be brand new once again
Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen
A pair of high heels in thirteen
And knowing of my fashion sense
Those shoes would incur an expense
And if Pradas don’t come in that size
Then it’s now time that I realize
That I’ll never know how it feels
To run in a pair of high heels
Dedicated to a friend who is in a bit of discomfort right now, hoping to bring a smile.
Get well soon.
Categories:
incur, friend, fun, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
I awoke to her smile and her blinding light
when it came to heart and soul she was out of sight
Shadows of trees bend over in effort to enlighten her
but all they did was caress her cheek, for she could not incur
As different as the stars and the moon, she was unique
she heard sounds and things so loud they would yell not speak,
she felt at the power of God's caress though others in stoic ways
immersed her in chaos, as they served her only betrayals;
Until she was identified by what made her different and quite sharp
then at the cutting edge of life, she became a blessing a soft harp
I awoke to her comment, I can feel her silent acceptance and smile
Oh Julie Rodeheaver, you sure know how to write poetry in style
Take care and know that I appreciate you,
but God loves you !!!!!!
written in honor of Julie Rodeheaver
ps, I'm proud of you and who you are
Categories:
incur, analogy,
Form:
Rhyme
Desperate, I ponder on your death,
scant breath expended twixt the two of us,
and loneliness an ache too harsh to mention.
With pen in hand and no one to subscribe,
I'll never know the softness of your skin,
or search your heart to find what lies within.
Should I be bold, or take a gentler path?
Encourage you... would I incur your wrath?
If you should die I'd never know your truth,
and I would lose the vigour of my youth.
Categories:
incur, hope
Form:
Verse
Beneath the roots of the Tree of Life,
The mythical Yggdrasil,
Live the Three Sisters of Fortune,
Three spinners sit weaving still.
Our fortunes favoured, fortunes damned,
Are spun to dusk from dawn,
The destinies of every man
Ordained before we’re born.
Spun threads of rope and threads of silk
And threads of finest gold;
With every one a path of life
The Spinners have foretold.
Embittered entertainment prompts
Their play with our distress;
They weft and warp our misery
With transient happiness.
Even the most blessed threads
May still incur their wrath,
Sometimes are spun through deeper roots
To weave a darker cloth.
The rarest threads, the bravest lives
Led so resolutely,
But as with gold debase to dust
Corrupted absolutely.
They spin the hopes we seek fulfilled,
And bring them dashing down
They weave our ways to where they wish
Then laugh beneath the ground.
Life’s choices are illusory,
And false we have free will;
Oh cruel Sisters of the Tree!
Oh fickle Yggdrasil!
Categories:
incur, mystery
Form:
Ballad