Best Indelicate Poems
INSPIRED BY “SCENTED LEAVES” CONTEST SPONSPORED BY KIM RODRIGUES
Aromatic avenues with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you grace with your presence
Those delicate feet treading the petalled pathways of his heart
Enticing a new spring in the Autumn of his life
Autumn
A cold bleak reminder of the rains that are still yet to fall
And yet, he sees the smile that your soul wears just for him
And the seeds are sown in the depths of his heart
A heart that he thought no longer beat
A heart that he no longer wanted to beat
Because a beating heart can bleed
Faster
Harder
Making him weak
He is a man
He cannot afford to be weak
He must be strong
He must prepare for torrential downpours
He must retain his shelter
His armour
He must not wear a smile for you
“He will not!” he tells himself.
Yet somehow those scented leaves make him forget himself
And it’s Spring again
And he dons a secret smile
You intoxicate his senses and he wants to indulge in you more
He needs you. Craves you.
He loves it
He hates it
He no longer knows what to feel
Trapped
His tortured pragmatic mind
Wrestling with a drunken heart
Wanting to be loved
Afraid of what will become of him
If love walks away
So, he aspires to become love
That way he gets to be the one to walk away
He will love you a little
And discard of you a lot
He will maintain control
Control of himself
Control of his fears
At least
That is what he thinks
YOU
With the look of adventure in your crystal blue eyes
And your aromatic fragrance of freedom
Wafting, as you inhabit all who inhale your inner beauty
It’s a scent that lingers
You are that scent
The smell of what could have been
He will forever wear it
Carry it in his heart
Or his mind –
Whichever wins at the end of each dreary day
Now Autumn is not just a reminder of death
Of life
It is a reminder of death
Of love
Still those aromatic avenues are filled with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you once graced with your presence
Those indelicate feet trampling the putrid pathways of his hardened heart
Enticing a new harsher winter in the awful Autumn of his lonely life
Midnight Aurora
November 12th 2019
Ain't nothin' like a steamin' cup o' coffee to greet the early morn.
It'll calm yer nerves and git you goin' just as sure as you wuz born!
With mixin's added to suit yer taste, it must be scaldin' hot,
Decaf, regular, chicory-strong or mild, it really matters not!
Some folks prefer a styrofoam cup, others a massive mug,
But those proffer an indelicate way to down a gulpin' slug.
Others, a dainty cup and saucer, pinkie sedately bent,
Sippin' delicately so social faux pas one is sure to prevent!
I hear it ain't acceptable to dunk a donut in yer mug o' java,
Or pour coffee in a saucer to cool, tho' it's hot as flowin' lava.
But I ain't concerned about it bein' a great big social blunder,
As folks disdainfully stare at me as if I wuz some alien wonder!
Docs debate the merits of caffeine, whether it's healthy or not.
Let 'em bicker, I'll decide what to percolate in my coffee pot!
My dear old Dad had his daily caffeine fix, livin' 'til ninety-four.
I've done the same fer years and I'm approachin' nigh four-score!
Nowadays, fancy concoctions are brewed for the discernin' taste;
Expresso, mocha, cappuccino, even Irish whiskey laced!
Such exotic ambrosia to others I'll graciously defer.
I'll keep on slurpin' an ordinary cop 'o joe, which I much prefer!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Summer boulder-boots wear my thoughts
Thoughts warmed by winter coat maligned in poison oak
With an indelicate left-breast
Pocket inscription stating the obvious
“Boys Don’t Cry”
(Simply put and rich in depth, obviously)
All together, together all.
All together one we go
Neurotically traipsing unreceptive asphalt
Summer boulder-boots wear my thoughts
Warmed-Itchy thoughts are spoke-spun thoughts
By a girl…ewww
(And also by the she I’m so unwanted by, obviously)
With an indelicate left-breast and dysfunctional vocal-cords
Who fit me for the boots and gave me the coat
(I paid for the boots)
The receipt for the boots, under the total
Obviously (or incidentally) stated
“Boys Don’t Cry”
All together, together all.
All together one we go
Neurotically traipsing unreceptive asphalt
Summer boulder-boots wear my thoughts
Dizzy-Swarmed-Bitchy thoughts deplete the air
The air is cosmonaut thin
(Though I suspect thick by astronaut standards)
My lungs protest
With dysfunctional vocal-cords
From an indelicate left-breast that has a flippin’ boot receipt stapled to it
I remove my space helmet to smell the roses
And then
(Quite obviously)
Cry Like It’s
1999
All together, together all.
All together one we go
Neurotically traipsing unreceptive asphalt
Muah!
2/2/2016
I was reeking of spilled grape juice yesterday.
Today I stink like cigarettes.
In less than two weeks I have gone from new to old.
From crisp to filthy,
from sticky to stiff.
I shudder as my aggressor pulls me apart.
She yells something to her partner.
I don’t recognize the words, but….
Every time she yells this,
my belly hurts for days from her wickedly
insensitive manipulation, and indelicate prodding.
After fishing around with her hands, stirring
Green gum wrapper carcasses from one
Side of my tummy to the other,
She finally lets me catch my breath.
WHAM! I am completely dizzy when she
twists me upside down and shakes me hard,
Slapping my bottom with long, angry slugs.
I throw up pencils, pens, erasers, a variety of multi-colored
Toys, a washrag, crackers, cellophane wrappers,
A half-eaten candy bar, gritty stomach acid pills,
Paperclips, a baby’s shoe, two headbands, dust mites,
A dog biscuit and so many receipts it is ridiculous.
“Here they are!” Her partner calls.
She pops all the junk back into me, throws in
Her car keys for dessert, and off we go for more receipts.
I long for my clean shelf in Macy’s, and my relatives.
She was a high born whore,
who lived luxuriously
Didn't have one ounce of compassion for the poor
She licked the seethed bones
with a viper's tongue
Guillotine parlor games fed her bloodlust for doing wrong
Marie Antoinette
was as stone cold-hearted
as they get
When told there was a famine in the land,
and the people had no bread to make
She boorishly replied: Well, let them eat cake
Life under her evil reign was pure living hell,
thus the people rose up and violently rebelled
So she suffered a most indelicate fate,
got her head lopped off ...
sweet justice served on a pie plate
DID YOU SAY RESURRECTION OR ********?
Pardon me Mister Sinister Minister
But you are not so much teaching as you are screeching and reaching
While preaching to the choir about brimstone and fire
As I deem you a damnable liar
And a prodigal prostitute who should be destitute
While I remain resolute against your irreverent and irrelevant irregularities
And you raise my ire to a dire decibel
Because I am not a disciple
Nor am I a member of your congregation
Because you are an abhorrent aberration whom I abhor
You unholy whore
Your soul on the whole is the goal of a ghoul
And I anoint you a fallacy and a freakish fool
While you duel with a demon whose semen is sanctimonious and erroneous
And I point to the error of your wretched ways
Until the end of days
You serve an ironic idol who is an iconoclastic and bombastic bastard I berate with hate who makes me irate…..
And whose fate is forecast by the force of a phallic symbol symbolized by the simple minded followers of a fraud
Who, quite frankly, leaves me abominably bored
An impossible imposter who fosters the phoniness of a fake who can’t make a pretender into the defender of the defenseless
Only the senseless hordes of impious who hear and believe the pretense you preach about
And fill me with undiluted and indubitable doubt
Because someone should wash your mouth out with soap
Hang you on the end of a rope
As you grope with grievance for the allegiance of the almighty
Since your facts are based on flightiness and reprehensible rhetoric scorned by the sensible and seen for the tripe it is
Ripe and rife with ridiculous conclusions
And the illusions of illusive, insidious, insipid and all inconclusive information
As I repeat
I am not a member of your congregation
Mr. Sinister Minister of misery and miserly compassion
Whose ration of ridiculousness is reclusive and replete with completely indecisive and indelicate ideologies
And what you preach and teach about is simply old hat
And so Mister Sinister Minister
Take that!
© 2012….copyright..PHREEPOETREE...~free cee!~
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it's really not bad at all, it seems false advertising is the only way i get any numbers despite the fact that i write the truth so well:
DID YOU SAY RESURRECTION OR ********?
Pardon me Mister Sinister Minister
But you are not so much teaching as you are screeching and reaching
While preaching to the choir about brimstone and fire
As I deem you a damnable liar
And a prodigal prostitute who should be destitute
While I remain resolute against your irreverent and irrelevant irregularities
And you raise my ire to a dire decibel
Because I am not a disciple
Nor am I a member of your congregation
Because you are an abhorrent aberration whom I abhor
You unholy whore
Your soul on the whole is the goal of a ghoul
And I anoint you a fallacy and a freakish fool
While you duel with a demon whose semen is sanctimonious and erroneous
And I point to the error of your wretched ways
Until the end of days
You serve an ironic idol who is an iconoclastic and bombastic bastard I berate with hate who makes me irate…..
And whose fate is forecast by the force of a phallic symbol symbolized by the simple minded followers of a fraud
Who, quite frankly, leaves me abominably bored
An impossible imposter who fosters the phoniness of a fake who can’t make a pretender into the defender of the defenseless
Only the senseless hordes of impious who hear and believe the pretense you preach about
And fill me with undiluted and indubitable doubt
Because someone should wash your mouth out with soap
Hang you on the end of a rope
As you grope with grievance for the allegiance of the almighty
Since your facts are based on flightiness and reprehensible rhetoric scorned by the sensible and seen for the tripe it is
Ripe and rife with ridiculous conclusions
And the illusions of illusive, insidious, insipid and all inconclusive information
As I repeat
I am not a member of your congregation
Mr. Sinister Minister of misery and miserly compassion
Whose ration of ridiculousness is reclusive and replete with completely indecisive and indelicate ideologies
And what you preach and teach about is simply old hat
And so Mister Sinister Minister
Take that!
© 2012….copyright..PHREEPOETREE...~free cee!~
To Journey throughout the Seven Seas
Refereeing all their mysteries
Once one has captained his own ship
And avoided all manners indelicate dealing with the drip
God's Nature shall set you free
With abundant sustenance for all to see
Challenges met thru the toughest of degrees
Makes you a Man/Woman
Born from Adam and Eve
Falling in love
Is a decent manifestation
Of emotional full growth;
Falling out of love
Is an indelicate indication
Of emotional immaturity.
Author's note
Inspired by the immortal words as intoned by
Sir William Shakespeare
that needs to be reckoned with.
Not given to shades bolder
Opting to render her view
In the softest of pastel
Soft voiced soft hued
though iron clad willed
brush stroke gentle to canvas as well
Unable to see the unseemly side
The gauche vain
Indelicate sight
I wanted so to be like her
Failing miserably
try as I might
Keep your eye simple
Incorporated no
Cemented into her heart
Filtered once was filter enough
A glance
Needed just a start
The exit road to
Perdition
A way she fully dismissed
As an errant child sent to their room
to rue
the way remissed
Her eye sight beginning
to fail her now
Lenses covered in dust
Her vision yet still as
Clear as new day as
to where to put her trust
This I learned from my sister
A delicate flower
A force
To be reckoned with
As she made her point
Without ever raising her voice
Graceful sits her hand upon his arm as they enter
He in his tails and best, she in silver splendor
His eyes scan for those that would covet her form
Her eyes search for men rich, widowed and forlorn
His goal tonight to catch her in a situation indelicate
Her goal to continue in high society and sophisticate
Thus, the dance begins
As she flirts with coy and non subtile implied ways
he roves the crowd waiting for her to finally stray
She has culled out her next meal ticket
While he is hiding, waiting in a laurel thicket
To be a mistress, aging, is the death knoll
For one who never put away for future goals
She and her senior aged new par amour
stroll along the garden, into the darkened core
just when it is she is about to close the deal
Out he jumps, proclaiming his true love he does steal
And thus he is free to find a younger soiled dove
And she is thus inclined to marry, but not for love
Thus, the dance ends
What pleases man whose hard as steel,
And in his heart, he cannot feel,
Injustice, injury, insult?
Hard as steel, with blunt device,
Effective when he needs to strike,
A deal, a triumph, a price!
Blatant in his way, he conquers forth,
Indelicate; but sure with zeal,
He’s strong, and he has won his worth!
Consider a man as instrument,
Delicate, complex; heart contends,
Injustice, injury, insult?
Sensor, senses finely tuned; designed,
To facilitate endless rules,
Be real, be friend, be nice!
Hard as steel can smash him down,
Indelicate but he will frown,
I’m wrong, and I have lost my precious crown.
- Show quoted text -
Keep forever magenta memories,
chased in fields of old mud, barefooted,
allow disgrace and stigma to reveal,
fading amber secrets,
of indelicate curiosity,
scarlet laughter invited burgeoning confidence,
callow and covetous intrigue dissatisfied,
Mother Mary's flower bud sinned against,
when carnal instincts overwhelmed,
aching wounds of then still burnish,
but clemency is forever void of her embrace,
when the sullied clothed in midnight blue,
wept for fading Spanish guitars,
and thunder rumbled to the turquoise sea.
With fine motor tremor, in rapture tilts the head,
Half shut eyes, swathed scant scent,
Fresia and wild strawberry haunts nakedly
The throat.
Up close and personal, magnified each
Singular contour, tincture and pore
Of facial ambiguity.
And traces fingerprints on her cheek,
Relaying no Braille revelation;
Probing uncertainty, sensors brush nerves,
The bee sting of her lips.
A gleaned iota of prophecy foretells nothing
Of the kiss or the kiss not to be
Reciprocated at the nectarine integrate;
Evolve of moist realism.
Or, perhaps, to hang there unfulfilled,
Indelicate of savour and incomplete;
A torment, a frozen gasp for eternity,
To hunger?
To be blown of glass in a delicate nature
To be light of air when held in one's hand
To be paper thin in the tearing of iris
To constantly fear you'll return to the sand
To sigh in discouragement when all the world's snowing
To pick up oneself and hang weeping to dry
To wish these emotions would latch on to brevity
To be all but broken, to silently cry
To yearn to be held in your delicate nature
To wish that the world knew your name on it's tongue
To break your own heart into mosaic pieces
To be less indelicate, or just to be young
To sleep without darkness or white noise or heat
To soak up a bath and wash dust off your feet
To shine up the glass skin and blow up your lungs
To be in your solitude enigma complete~