Best Irked Poems
Some people frankly write about their quirks.
If I had any, I would tell you so.
Though no outlandish trait within me lurks,
some folks think I’m a nut. What do they know?
Why do they criticize when I engage
in conversations with myself. What’s wrong
with them? Also, they frequently enrage
me, looking shocked when I burst into song
while jogging through the neighborhood at night
clad in my red muu-muu and army boots.
I overhear them saying, “What a sight!”
I live around mean-spirited old coots!
My grandkids, too, think my behavior strange.
because I check the stove repeatedly
(I must be SURE it’s off!) and rearrange
my papers fifteen times. They’re irked at me
when I repeat myself five times a day.
I do this for THEIR benefit! They just
do not appreciate wise things I say.
One learns by repetition; it’s a MUST.
I surely hope I’ve made this crystal clear:
I have no oddball quirks; I’m truly blessed
with wholesome traits that, I feel, should endear
me to all those who criticize and jest!
FICTIONAL (well--some of it))
Date written and posted: February 6, 2018
Contest Title: Quirks Placed 5th (of ten)
Sponsor: Madison Demetros
April 10, 2019, entered in Richard Lamoureau's Poem of the Day Contest
When I received this honor--POTD February 8, 2018--I was over the MOON!
On a stone wall, by the solitary pavement,
Annoyed and angry, with daggers drawn at everyone,
I saw my neighbor sitting dejected and depressed.
Though known him for years, of late he has changed much.
His eyes had grown so cold, and his mind, so blank.
His vision, I felt was blurred by a hazy mist.
He was seen with his gaze fixed at the horizon far,
Like a block of stone, hardly noticing anyone, he sat.
From a distance, came a barking sound,
It was from his dog that followed its master’s trail.
Seeing a rodent, behind a wild bush
The dog was barking nonstop on and on
The mangy animal was once so loved,
Now left wantonly uncared and unattended.
With incessant bark it was disturbing the calm around.
This greatly irked the man, otherwise annoyed.
Instant was his response and rash, his action.
Picking up a stone and aiming at the dog,
He hurled the stone with all his might,
And sad! It hit hard on his target.
Oppressively hurt by the whizzing stone,
The dog twitched and yelled in pain.
Licking its wound, it ran round and round,
Along the concrete path, mad and wild.
At last, slowing down and turning its direction
Towards its master, it moved fast.
Petrified, on an impulse, he jumped down,
And fearing the worst, he closed his eyes.
But wagging its tail with a pleading look
It began licking its master’s hand.
The hand so rude that clutched the stone,
And had flung at it, causing it to bleed.
It was a gesture too deep for words,
That taught the man the lesson of love:
Love others with every broken piece
Even after someone breaks one's heart.
After years, it remains the best example
Of forgiveness, I have ever seen and assimilated.
It helps me forget all bitterness towards my enemies,
Teaching me the lesson not to curse but to bless them.
I feel it was a message sent down from Heaven,
The most powerful of all sermons so far delivered.
By forgiving our enemies, one can unload the baggage,
And save our wretched lives from serious wreckage!
Cold snow covered all tombs and lanes,
Still he strewed the coffin with sprays
of flowers, to lessen his pains.
He uttered a few words of praise.
But snow showers
Buried flowers.
He recited poetic strains
Could only look down in a daze.
Hot tears fell upon her remains
Yet snow veiled all in a cold haze,
Irked and harried,
All sprays buried.
Rain drizzling on the window pane
Sullen moments, filled with melancholy
Wishes glued to hopes of sunshine
Rays washing away the storm clouds,
The gray day – the tempestuous darkness
Nothing in life ever felt quite as dismal
As the overcast moments when I was left
To my own devices, my own pretenses
Inside the house, where nothing felt as pleasant
As the wonders, the wildness, of the outdoors
As gloom settled into my pores, releasing
Me from the melted boredom, the dullness
Inside, where I only had a tv, books, board
Games and, of course, those imaginary departures
From those homemade paper airplanes…
Who soared, eagerly, riotously – toward destinations
Unknown, into cities and towns where I felt
The racing of my pulse as my heart sped zealously
Reminding me that this was a journey, a freedom
Far freer than any other I had been on…
For this was the flight that would take me –
Into kingdoms, fantasies, imaginary places
Where I could build fictional metropolises
Fantastic castles – rich and amazing moments
That were colored in hues of fanciful inventions
From a mind who was irked by the dismal wet weather
PAPER AIRPLANES Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
August 12, 2022
The allure of mused poems,
No longer visits this nonchalant psyche.
It trickles now, once a roaring torrent
Now a lazy stream
Am like a desultory jaded heaven
Where starry jewels once decked the night,
But are now drossy shadowy blackholes,
And sparks and dreams,
Are ripped in the accretion disc.
No longer avid, but seeking meaning in the mundane.
No longer enraptured by the she said, he said,
And all that jazz, no iota of care; for trifling muses,
Their short goodbyes or critique, no not one,
Their infighting and bad blood, no longer,
No nuts to crack, nor rain to flush, no iota of care.
It was never about who is better,
Neither has it been nor will it ever be,
About any Magnum Opus.
Like doors closing and skies descending,
Each visiting muse devoid of ardor,
Oblivious to the yawning dawn,
Or the scent of sprouting posies.
Jaded, without allure or sheen
And devoid of all its lustre.
Maybe one day soon a spark will reignite
And reanimate this frenetic mused madness
But until then...
I remain adrift in this sea of trivialities,
Worrying about trifling stuff
Like ad blockers and AI opinions
And irked...
By their emasculating knowledge
Poem Of The Week(POTW) -9/15/2024 To 9/21/2024
I wrote what I thought was a 'poem' some years ago,
but it lacked rhythm, rhyme, and had no smooth flow.
Its imagery was blurry, and it filled my heart with grief
to read the overdose of alliteration, so far beyond belief.
To be quite blunt, it was a freakin, fricken, flippen flop.
I was distraught reading what I'd written and had to stop.
"W T F W T?" I shouted at myself in complete disgust!
Had I just said that aloud? Was I so irked that I'd cussed?
The vibrato pulsing in my voice shook the high bookshelf,
and on the floor fell the pimp... the spying Christmas elf!
"Stay there you lil bugger!" I yelled down at him. "You suck!!"
I could've sworn he made a mental note for Santa. W T F?
Threw him in the trash. With greasy, yucky stuff he went.
I sat at my keyboard, deciding time would be better spent
in writing poetry that would supersede that piece of crap.
I wanted to clear myself of fault and put on my thinking cap.
The first line read, "My muse is older, and I should scold her..."
But I heard a loud gasp and felt a hard punch on my shoulder.
Atop my head she beat me with a broom!, Yes, I was struck
from behind. I saw blind fury in her eyes and yelled, "W T F?"
I’m feeling a little irked and discombobulated.
The soup is for all poets It’s not that complicated.
I’m tired of all the whiners and their fits of jealous rage.
It’s time to act your age and move on to another page.
I don’t care about your comments or the contest you didn’t win.
Stop preaching from your pulpit, you are not free from sin.
I’m sick of the conspiracy theories, it’s time to check your clock.
I don’t want to read it here, this is for poetry, it’s not tik tok.
I am fully vaccinated it was my choice to get that shot.
It’s your choice to not get jabbed, stop acting like a snot.
You say my genes are altered, to me you sound like a nut.
I guess I’ll die in three years, until then you can kiss my butt.
1/8/22
King-Size Bull Crap Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Charles Messina
What did you see in me uncle?
How could you even hold me tight?
I was born just a few months ago
My tender body still didn't grow.
I slept by the side of my mom
You have shown her the smell of chloroform
You took me away from my lovely home
You made sure that we are all alone
I opened my eyes to the harshness of your touch
I realised that I'm no longer safe and sound
I cried in pain until your palm closed my mouth
I shook with fear and my eyes searched for mom
You didn't just squeeze my skin but crushed the puny bones beneath it
You didn't just kiss my lips but caused my tender tongue to bleed
Your fingers ran across every corner of my shivering little body
Your pricky moustache irked every bit of my trembling nudity.
I tried hard to shout but my voice melted in the fearsome silence of the lonely night
My eyes searched for my mom's arms but I couldn't realise that they were beyond reach
My breath choked to survive under your violent paws
My life helplessly moaned beneath your wild claws
Who are you to pluck this mom's little flower?
Who are you to burn down a father's happy hour?
Who gave you the right to vandalize my unborn future?
Who advised you rack my bones to showcase your musculature?
Goodbye world, I'm leaving.
Your retribution on him should serve others, a learning
Don't just do a few candle rallies and forget me
For, within no time, another tender stem falls out from a green family tree.
I just tried out Soup’s grammar checker
It graded my work at just three
I smashed my IPad into pieces
You might say it kind of irked me
So I loaded up sonnet eighteen
(Compare thee to a summer’s day)
I copied and pasted that poem
Precisely as Shakespeare did say
Seems it’s a long way from perfect
For ‘owest’ he shouldn’t have said
And he’s gonna need to change ‘growest’
Alas, I believe Shakespeare’s dead
And then checker graded his writing
And set it at one point nine three
So what’s the big deal with this Shakespeare?
It seems he writes worser than me!
[Postscript: This epic ode achieved a 1.93: Cest la vie.]
Quote: "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.
By -Eleanor Roosevelt"
________________________________
I am enraged when coffee makers explode.
The dog barking at neighbor's door irritates me.
Also the vivid couple in bed with loud stomping.
I am irked by those who squawk as such beings.
Pride is typically a fine stone that will endure.
But some find it a tough rock to tumble over.
My reward came from a wealthy aunt's death.
Things rise, and then further challenges emerge.
Moving from a one-bedroom flat to a house.
The bounty of delight has fueled me to excess.
CHRISTMAS ELVES
Come listen to a tale of lessons learned.
How I now cringe remembering when I
Reached up and touched a red-clad elf and turned
Idyllic moments to a time to cry!
Such ignorance! My grandson told me that
To touch an elf will break the magic spell.
My pleas to be forgiven all fell flat
At first. I'm glad to say things turned out well.
Sweet letters to irked elves can sometimes be
Enough to bring their Christmas magic back.
Long flights to Santa Claus can guarantee
Victorious good kids. Gifts--they won't lack.
Each time I see that little elf, I make
Sure I don't touch it so no hearts will break.
The Elf on the Shelf, a book by Carol Aebersold and Chanda Bell, tells of little elf figures that show up at young children's houses just after Thanksgiving, observe the children's behavior, fly to the North Pole nightly till Christmas Eve to report to Santa, fly back, and land in a new spot each time. The elf is NOT to be touched.
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore —?
Was a boy who wouldn’t shut a door!?
Winter came in that year of yore-?
Sleet blew in and covered the floor. ?
Summer came with its bugs galore—?
Flies and gnats, cicadas and more.
?At last his parents, irked full sore,?
Shipped him away to Baltimore.*
*W. B. Rands Square—a shorter Victorian moral
*Mathematics&Poetry—based on a mathematical square: the number of syllables in a line equals the number of lines.
Farmer Dan, was a gambling man, who loved to play at some cards;
So to beat the band, he tried his hand, at the other farm yards.
On one day, he struck pay day, at the home of good farmer Dow,
And walked away, with some hay, plus a seven foot tall beef cow.
Dan looked so small, beside his large haul, as they sauntered back home;
But above all, Dan was feeling tall, and called his new cow, Gnome.
Dan had the urge, to try and scourge, more farmers for some winnings,
And if he surged, he’d go splurge, with pockets that would be brimming.
His plan worked, as he clean and jerked, all kinds of swag from his friends;
Yet they were irked, and went berserk, wanting Dan to make amends.
So farmer Dow, wiped his wet brow, and sought one last game from Dan;
Though he kowtowed, he couldn’t wow, the farmers to join his plan.
Dow demanded, a game two handed, to settle up the score,
Plus he planned, to wager his land, for Gnome and quite a bit more.
Each was praying, because to stay in, they had to raise the stakes.
It goes without saying, they were playing, for more than just ‘High Steaks’.
Tiny little birds perched on cattail stems
Enjoy the swings gentle breeze brings them
I aim my phone for a picture
Off they fly, irked at the gesture
Pardon me birdies, for creating mayhem
Written : 07/17/2016
Contest:"One Stanza-One Only" by Broken Wings
It’s time to board the Aircraft Carrier
You are welcome to step inside
Flying like a nitrous boosted harrier
That’s zooming down a greased up slide
The destroyer lurks on the horizon
We ready the poetic torpedo
In time for our dramatic liaison
Which will increase our verbal libido
I hope you look forward to reading our works
To bask in our poetic manner
Our ponderings have already irked
But our syntax is strong like an angry Bruce Banner
We will not be silenced by the Soup
We will stand tall to carry Aircraft
We will sometimes fly a loop-the-loop
We will poke you with our poetic shaft