Best Inopportune Poems
When the author of forever sang
his serenade,
‘twas longing in a virgin’s heart,
the strings he played.
So liltingly and stirringly
did words cascade,
they conjured scent of rose bouquets
in serenade.
Of everlasting love he crooned
in serenade.
Bliss never is inopportune.
His lure was laid.
As sweet refrains flowed through her veins,
the vow he made
was happiness without an end
in serenade.
Upon the troubadour who sang
the serenade,
she smiled, led him by the hand
to grassy glade.
And there beneath a blushing sky,
beguiled maid
succumbed with heady soul that rang
with serenade.
The author of forever, who
croons serenades,
woos the maids, then into the
horizon fades.
His lyrics penned are fiction; he’ll
be not delayed
from moving on, oh vagrant bard
of serenade.
Posted 5/30/2021
NA for Charlotte Puddifoot's Open Poetry 5 Poetry Contest
for Brian Strand's All Yours(Jun 8) Poetry Contest
i tried to notice without noticing.
i tried to fit in by not standing out,
but i knew i was different.
their walls much bigger.
their yards much nicer.
in elementary it seemed everyone
was in the same class: lower class,
but this was junior high across town,
on white burb avenue
and i was poor.
they weren't.
of course i resisted.
i mixed and matched the clothes i had
as if i was a designer preparing
for the new season.
they let me into their world
for a little while.
i hung out in huge basements,
chilled in hot tubs with bikini clad young hotties,
taking part in all the gossip.
until my illusion wavered
and they slowly pulled back--
as my clothes got holes in them,
as my shoes wore down,
as i grew out of all i had gotten
that one time my mom took me school shopping.
goodbye, Stephanie Bach.
goodbye, Anne Murry.
goodbye, Lori Larson.
years later i would remember them
at the most inopportune moments--
drunk in a dive bar in Harlem
talking to an ugly girl i was thinking about doing,
in the dirty bathroom of a crack house before i
put the pipe to my lips,
in line at the welfare office.
i think i was bitter for a while,
thinking about how they all probably owned homes
not far from each other and how they would
throw little upscale cocktail parties
around the holidays and kiss each other
on both cheeks when they greeted
but at the same time trying to stay hip by listening
to commercial rap and sexy pop music in their suv's.
yeah, bitter
drunk, and very early in the morning,
i came across a tiny neighborhood jazz bar
where a trio group had their hands
on the heads of everyone and was shaking them
to the electric sounds of their primitive instruments.
a boxing gym had less bobbing and weaving
than that jazz bar on the corner of 106th and broadway.
cats were healing up in the place that night.
my head was going ten rounds while my eyes were closed
when those girls popped up only for a second,
but they didn't fit the scene,
so for the first time, i felt sorry for them
before i forgot about 'em.
later, outside, the sign that said 106th st.
had another one below it that read
duke ellington boulevard
i stared at it, making room for a new memory.
goodbye, Stephanie Bach.
goodbye, Anne Murry.
goodbye, Lori Larson.
Squeaky and his buddies resided somewhere deep within the church's organ.
That elusive rodent was the bane of the pastor, The Reverend Doctor Morgan!
The reverend almost lost his religion a time or two dealing with sneaky Squeaky,
Since he and his troublesome pals at inopportune times could be rather cheeky!
The doughty Ladies Aid Committee "religiously" prepared the communion bread.
There were 500 saints at The First Baptist Church whose souls must be fed.
For Communion Sunday, each Saturday they stored the bread on kitchen shelves.
'Twas an invitation for Squeaky and his squad to "commune" and gorge themselves!
The formidable Miss Freda Wringerhands had been the organist for forty years.
Hitting a wrong note on the old pump organ was one of her greatest fears!
She was puzzled by a strange "mousy" squeak that was occasionally heard.
The reverend doctor gave her a very reproving glare whenever that occurred!
Just as the reverend doctor finished his prayer and prepared to preach,
A screech awoke Mr. Clyde Backslider who shouted, "son uvva beech!"
His wife Grace fled down the aisle screaming, "Lord, have mercy on me!"
Squeaky had abruptly scaled her panty hose and was playing about her knee!
The Reverend Doctor Morgan did all he could to bring about Squeaky's demise,
But his kith and kin multiplied and produced generations of impish mice!
With the antics of Squeaky the tolerant congregation was somewhat bemused,
But the long-suffering Reverend Doctor Morgan was not at all amused!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Jealousy is crimson
Envy is green
They can make you vindictive
They can make you real mean!
They raise up their heads
So ugly and cruel
At inopportune moments
They can make you a fool!
You blow up in anger
You take a great fit
To find you're in error
And now must admit!
Why do we do it?
Why are we prone
To fits of frustration
When proof is unknown?
It has no place
In a loving affair
So have faith in your partner
Give them some air!
It will go a long way
To a happier time
If you trust each other
And your hearts are in rhyme!
Jealousy is crimson
Envy is green
They can make you vindictive
They can make you real mean!
© Jack Ellison 2014
"Socks"
(Extra, Missing, or Clinton's Cat)
Written: by Tom Wright
3/12/99
Where do socks go when they disappear
Is my question of the day?
They always remain, but the question is where?
Please let me know I pray.
If I have two feet and wear two socks
Would there not be twelve on laundry day?
Should dresser drawers come equipped with lock’s
To keep lurking sock Gremlins away?
Do rules exist for laundry which say,
Please enlighten me, if any, I beg,
That man wears one sock on wash day?
While one lurks in some pant leg.
Will my lost sock suddenly re appear?
At some most inopportune time;
Perhaps still sporting a huge grass smear
Wearing last week’s dirt and grime;
Would one dare crawl from hamper and hide,
Until laundry day has long passed?
Content in Its odor to there abide,
And finding honor in being washed last.
Is this some game that my wife play’s,
To try to slip inside my head?
Simply her effort to occupy my days,
which could be used fishing instead.
Why are not socks sold in threes, not twos
And call them treys not pairs?
In just your basic colors, blacks, browns, and blues
is there any but I, who cares?
I've even thought of year Y2-K
Or the possibility of one being cloned.
The answer to this dilemma I cannot say,
Or if to Science, one was loaned.
At any rate they seem to always return,
Once I've thrown the other out.
The answer to this I try to discern,
whilst from the couch I sit and pout.
By now, you think that I've no shame,
but I'm tired of having odd socks.
So, in an effort to end this silly game,
I'm fitting drawers and hamper with locks.
The world in our hands would impair devils
An unthinking thought more blissful
Than a wish fulfilling shooting star
Our missions would be charted out
To go on our victory dance one step at a time
For peacefully unifying the global eye
The lines in the hand of child would be uncorroded
With the scavenging paedophiles detonated
And their gardens be filled with natural joys and play
Food for the starving would be an essentia
Hunger and water a distant call before going to bed
Appetising the poor rather than greasing over fed palettes
We would delve deep into the human vein
Gushing with a universal religion of tolerance
That binds all colours rather than undermining faiths
Gigantic deeds would keep gory bloodsheds at bay
And young valiants would keep hearts of their fair
In strongholds for inopportune cataclysms
Global warming would be of a season gone by
Aerial reforestations and seed bombs for divergent climes
Would be the neatest stuff rather than bloody nukes
A day will come when life begins once again
When dragons burn out the archetype evils and
Dying values will sprout worldwide deliverance once again
April 9, 2016
Dan Kearley
“Good Morning Mr Wolf”
What an inopportune time
to fall in love
with a
new conceptual dream
of wrapping my body
up in blue skies
viral love robotic
you're somewhere
lost in the machine
cyber eyes
undressing
words hypnotic
that fly off my page
to you
soft as silk lingerie
another velvet Winter night
drowning
in the elemental you
desire closes in
around my naked skin
under covers of arctic fur
alone in a King’s bed
the monarch missing
lack luster luxury
you, the one
who was once weary
awake now
and it’s another
mourning howling
start to a long Summer’s day...
a lone wolf prowling
masked city streets
still breathing
hungry
for words
and the salt of satin skin
following that unknown
silk trail, the savage
forever beckoning
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
“Good Morning Mr Wolf” / Patrick Watson
https://youtu.be/c5ORy8jyDpc
“Love Songs for Robots/ Patrick Watson
https://youtu.be/TgpRVGDfvxg
"Aren't you getting tired of wrapping the sugar around your ears
Cause all the flashy people putting the candy in their eyes
And all I wanna do
Is lay there next to you
Instead of staring at the black mirror all night long..."
"Day by day
watched you wandering through the streets
smiling through the window shield
How you doin' today?
Are you sittin' in the mad man's hands again?
I want you to know
you ain't alone."
“Good Morning Mr Wolf” / Patrick Watson – LYRICS
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/patrickwatson/goodmorningmrwolf.html
the Medicare, an undeserved fund the patients spend,
which seems extremely excrescent,
must be crushed immediately without any mend.
No coverage serves them right! Be they gravely ill or convalescent.
In his favor, all the rules the Capitol shall bend,
prosecution immunity, business chance----each prerogative coming on end.
His flagrance in abuse of power, plus republicans' acquiescence, plunges to a state perversely putrescent,
in consequence, honest individuals wizened while tower of liar and mar-a-lago mire tumescent.
High as the staff's passions hit, perfectly as their patiences fit, more than half at last have to quit.
What has ground away every panjandrum's wit and grit?
His inopportune blah-blah and twitter tantrum bit after bit,
the latter a globe-mocked target and also, often a globe-shocking tool kit.
Atmosphere of allies only too calm and bland,
against them, with his single hand,
he stirs up trade wars amid the entire world's guffaws.
Prostrate shall be the security of homeland,
prostrate shall be the competence of diplomatic corps,
bolt upright frontier walls shall stand----
but stand only in his brain, which constantly bolts out lunatic lore.
Pants on fire, collars on fire, hard and fast is this refractory liar.
Really a refractory and prolific liar, really a refractory and lifetime liar,
boasting his lying score higher than the steepest steeple's spire,
never plans to retire, until one day he has to expire.
Nonsense the globalization trend, nonsense what the majority attend,
abandoning all oversea interests and renouncing all international duties are the cause he shall defend.
And the itinerary of isolationism, his pilgrimage route.
Endorsed by none, would he be alone? A point nothing moot.
Epiphanic from Roman catacombs, arms open, ecstatic and naked----an epiphany non-faked----
Nero comes up to embrace him grinnily, like a kindred spirit in long pursuit eventually slaked
acting as his soul mate cum his sole friend
and escorting him all along to his final end.
His final end, Nero's end, that's who could brazen out the mass hoot.
His final end, Hell's end, that's where he takes root.
Distant notes adrift of a lone melancholic mandolin
Astride a gentle breeze covetous caress to my skin
Seductive and voluptuous a most impassioned plea
Bursts a sunset with fervent shades of lush alizarin
Promising nonchalant sensory whispers of ecstasy
Gardenia jasmine honeysuckle and stargazer lily
Sweet alluring seductive magnetic pull of my heart
Disintegrating it to a unique trickle of precarious filigree
Tantalizing lure elevated to consummate succulent art
How can I tolerate for us to be any longer apart
Each night my dreams reach for you though a pinhole
And tears in my nights only long for you, mine sweetheart
Nightly ritual to engage you in a slow dance with my gallivanting soul
Somehow soothing as I refuse to let myself fall through a sinkhole
A most inopportune war keeping us separate and in distress
Longing to touch you to hold you and arm in arm go for a stroll
Reminiscing feverish tête-à-têtes with such unambiguous finesse
Reduced to anything I would acquiesce rendering me breathless
Yearning burning craving for a fiery and steamy rendezvous to dispel chagrin
I would do anything at this point there is nothing I would not transgress
AP: 2nd place 2020
Submitted on May 4, 2018 for contest NEW POEMS (8 DIFFICULT WORDS) sponsored by EMILE PINET - RANKED 1ST
P.T.S.D.
Pain is a close companion,
Obsessive compulsion an annoying friend,
Self-loathing is an acquaintance,
Trust issues never end.
Terror always lingers,
Revulsion follows close behind,
Anxiety is a regular guest,
Unfortunate thoughts throughout the mind.
Morbid anticipation in abundance
Abhorrent visions from times gone by,
Tormented by the memories,
Inopportune moments to cry.
Creeping into the darkness,
Storing feelings away,
Talking helps occasionally,
Remembering hurts every day.
Ever present episodes of anger,
Swallowing you up inside,
Silently fighting the battle,
Demons difficult to hide.
Ignorance from others,
Support from those that care,
Over bearing emotions,
Reaching for something, somewhere.
Don't give up, it will be worth it once you win,
Express each emotion, from the power within.
Realisation and understanding of the warriors that fight this invisible battle every day, will support and help them know that there is someone out there to hold their hands during the bad days and laugh with them through the good!
that fish patiently wait
at interface of water and fate
burping bubbles for their troubles
water bugs and mosquitoes
unwilling, unsettling for nibbling placebos
acting on a deeper, more hungry drive
to ascend today, eager to stay alive
jaws set wide for voracious consumption
sweet thorax collapses to juicy bite
hooked into a jarring compunction
steeling the air now, a painful insight
to bait, to fish, to hunger, to wish
to fish, to bait, to consume, to sate
ichthyes pisces, jumpin' Jehovah might these
waggin' winged fins fly these troubles away
jumpin' the air and pulling the lines
hard to believe that the mettle redefines
the parts played of the hunter and hunted
penetrating mistakes are now confronted
shoulda looked at bit harder towards a bait
to now spit out this damned curved harpoon
at any rate, it's beyond meaningful debate
escaping unlikely - freedom inopportune
panning to sky, maybe panned over fire
maybe that end ain't so bad after all
peckishly satiating lifes consuming desire
fish for a fisherman so that life takes all
© Goode Guy 2013-06-19
I hear that you have been a bit under the weather, not feeling as well as you’d like.
No doubt, your illness took the most inopportune time to strike.
Here’s hoping your illness totally and permanently disappears real fast.
The handwriting is on the wall, soon you’ll be feeling much better and back to your regular tasks.
All the energy and professionalism you possess will again take center stage.
Hopefully, these few words will help with your recovery in some small way.
They are written to help speed up the process of you feeling much better fast.
Periodically refer to the words of this poem, so you feeling much better will hover and last.
Life throws us uninvited curves at times, ones sometimes tough for us to avoid. They
steadfastly block our progressive path.
Thank goodness we, as human beings, find ways to circumvent and heal. Happy to hear,
you’re feeling much better fast.
Al Johnson, aka Alfredo Leon
Low Self-Esteem states of affairs differing impressions
religiously surround us/me? Uncovered at an inopportune time
range of possible options channeled to social pressures, sensing
to belong are we clones? Do you sense being on the same wavelengths?
swayed to authoring and bad decisions? Low Self-Esteem borrowed
from childhood tribulations and bad habits and decisions, t. Lorust
issues? job and health uneasiness, unhappy childhood, physical and
emotional issues compelled to Low Self-Esteem of the self void of self
expressiveness growth of self-abilities, and confidences of Low Self-Esteem.
We met in June, on a fine afternoon
Our hearts did swoon,under the full moon
You said we'd meet soon, my heart was in tune
We were so attuned, in our sweet cocoon
Each day was our honeymoon, as we spooned
It was inopportune, love bloomed in June
Contest: Rhymers Delight- Internal Monorhyme
Sponsor: John Hamilton
A short dissertation on a natural phenomenon
That takes place many times every day
Sometimes at the most inopportune moments
Like in a theatre at a Shakespearian play
If the emission has a really pungent odour
Folks will certainly notice the foul breeze
However, the criteria is it must be silent
As you inadvertently cut the cheese
An essence of chutney is actually not bad
If accompanied by a hint of geraniums
But these highfaluting people must be warned
It can sometimes damage their craniums
So that's all I will say about this taboo subject
Hope you enjoyed it as I did from the start
Please don't call it a vulgar flatulence
Just call it by its happy name... fart!