Best Ish Poems
I wandered and pondered my bleak isolation
As I slowly perused this wide open space
That one cloud above me seemed, like me, quite lonely
Its passage was slow as it matched my own pace
And then I saw poppies so tall, red and bold
I wished they were daffies in yellow and gold
The lake in its vastness reflected the skies
And sprinkles of sunlight beyond that lone cloud
Peppered the ripples with myriad eyes
And led me to feel like I walked with a crowd
While unopened poppies stand tall with bowed heads
They’ll stand even taller displaying their reds
Could there be any more precious a day
I all at once yearned to be no other place
With sunlight and ripples and poppies that sway
I found that a smile had enlivened my face
For such a sight might make an old poet gay
(Which one should interpret the old fashioned way)
For oftentimes upon my old sofa lain
I reminisce of all those poppies so red
Their petals occur to me now and again
But gold hues hold sway in my head
Though poppies, that day, cleared my mind of its ills
I still wish that they had all been daffodils
Halloween-ish Memories
For Suzy Von Geldern
I miss you most of all at Halloween.
The way you'd greet the 'little munchkins'
as you called them, and praise them
for their costumes. With your laughing eyes
you'd feign surprise or fear -then invite them
to take candy from a basket by the door.
“I vant to bite your neck.” you’d say,
with the empasis on ‘vant’ and we’d all giggle
in our costumes and delight in the escape.
Why, you'd make the hallway dark and spooky
with a flickerin' Jack O Lantern-
a pumpkin face that Ned would carve each year.
My mind fills with memories of the plastic ghost of Dracula
hung each year in that same spot on that same wall-
We’d pull the chord repeatedly
to hear the awful moans .
Yes! It really is at Halloween,
I miss you most of all
Halloween Contest
He packed up all his poetry, even changed his name
It'll never be as good as the name that brought him fame.
but he's here still giving updates by some guy named Sean
a dude we never heard of but heavily rely upon!
True he's never let us down anytime we call
He grins and smirks makes love to us all
talks of great friends that he's found at Soup
holds up the standards of his Cornyish group
Oh he's totally brilliant no one could surpass
Hope he figures out he's knocked us on our azz?
I'm going to have to lie.
Can't admit I'm desperate
I'll say I have an "open mind"
I hope this photo makes them think
I'm under twenty five
Can't tell about the happy pills
I'll state "contagious smile"
Or should I be honest?
"Party girl who likes to drink
until she swims in vomit
Seeks like-minded, big ol' man
Lazy, low attention span,
facial spots, some teeth missing
undeniable penchant for whistling
Must be fun, must be flirty,
must be black belt in karate"
No.
"Voluptuous blonde,
gold digger, white trash
loves nothing more than smoking hash
looking for a loving man
who disregards my hoarse moustache"
Bwaahhh
This is hopeless, this is lame
Cant compete in this dating game
No-one will ever want me
When all I can offer is honesty....
"Are you looking for a fun loving, beautiful intelligent female who's wild in bed?
Well, good luck!!"
I'll have to put off writing my bio because there's something I'd like to ask of you soupers...:)
You might have already seen the notice beneath a few of my recent poems, but I'll post the
same content here:
I'd really appreciate it if you could give me some really hard-core critical feedback on my
writing. The people on this site are so nice and their comments always give me such
encouragement, but I would love some critical comments as well.
Hope this isn't me being too greedy ;)
Will count on you all!
-G
King Arthur
was no Siddartha
Slaughtering Eng-lish not in anger but in a vikingr way nor in rangr using my servo of skald in poetica engraved within you may to wit grafa Dirt don’t hurt so they say, so dig Danzleikr, enjoy, do a little jig Please don’t pull out your har It is not English but not far I am not giving you the renna around nor kindling a fire upon fótr an about Do not worry a freknur on your head It not spoken much but it is not dead You use these words every day but maybe not Thursday Look in your own window but you’re the skipper, you know An ode to the old if to be so bold - A little help - ransack – rannsaka (to search a house) slaughter – slatra (to butcher), Víking meant an overseas expedition, and a vikingr was someone who went on one of these expeditions. Rangr (unjust/ wrong, Servo of skald - sword of artful poetry, window – vindauga (lit. “wind-eye”), foot – fótr
It's these times the brainwaves' brimming
But there's no cored means to articulate
Hooked at a slant of transcendence
Staring down fat glimpses of life lived through death
It clots red-black, thick in the dropper
Junky blood comes and it goes
The eye of the spike, the swell of elation
Death peals, heart drags, blow outs
Headglows
Don't patronize me
With your long, lean laughs
Stretched skin, smoothed skin
Droning wisps of sour-smelt breath
No-teethed, gumless, bone-grinding
Skeletal rasps
What exactly is it that…
Makes you any better than…
The junky in the gutter groove
We all have our button up, fasten, tie-in, fix
Some just subsist in it, with it
Live it to exist in it
It's high time the wavelengths blurred
When your best friends
Wear lab coats
And carry instruments
The steal smiles
And steam the meaningful
stains
Out of your soul,
(The little imperfections
In all of us that
Help sculpt and mold
Our images)
Remaining self-aware for
Self-awareness’ sake
Becomes potentially problematic.
Floating above reason with
A touch of lethargy
Maximizes self-control
But detracts from
Fundamental choice.
Insomnia limited to
Social norms
Slashes and burns
A one-way path to
Narcoleptic days
And where have the
Weeks gone?
Seasons move like
Speed-demon racecars,
Their tornado tailwinds
Blowing up skirts as they pass.
The looks I draw would
Tarnish steel,
Heavy and demeaning;
With an arrogant smile,
I brush off my shoulder
And look through
The wormhole.
The fall of sixty-three, an incongruity!
I saw myself on a Queen's float, a title rare -
"Miss Sorghum" of our Hancock County fair.
I aced the talent part - piano was my art;
but needed practice wobbling in a brand-new pair
of pointy, spiky heels I'd bought to wear.
Fate came about too soon, that fatal afternoon,
my clever escort list'ning for the judge's cue,
had grabbed my anxious hand for our debut.
I stumbled, did not trip but felt my gown unzip.
My hero bravely shielded me from public view;
his jacket 'round my waist and shoulders threw.
My chance was gone, undone. On three-inch heels I spun
and left the judge in awe, escaping with my knight
to a storage room and a most peculiar plight -
A ladder 'gainst the wall, wobbly toddler set to fall.
I reached for chubby feet, my gaping rear in sight
outstretched across the rungs, I held on tight.
A twist, he made a track, came headfirst down my back
as mom returned to see my escort catch the bloke.
(Her child asleep, she'd stepped outside to smoke.)
He'd torn my gown she guessed, and offered me redress.
I refused her check and reclaimed my cohort's cloak.
No float for me - the fall my zipper broke.
A child unhurt - his fall my zipper broke.
September 9, 2013
I weigh two six and twenty-tons today
Fat in unforeseen directions,
I make cars cringe, when I frolic and play
And I welcome no corrections.
Mighty fine in my well-endowed blubber,
Sassy pot-like, in my non-chic.
Whale-ish me, trice big as my mother.
Loud and proud, forgiveness don’t seek,
I have earned this fat, every little bit.
Come by and see me, if you have true grit.
Oh, he’s my man!
But he’s not really mine.
In fact, he’s married and belongs to someone else.
I know, I know… What kind of fool am I,
to get myself into this love-struck mess?
It’s just that I, can’t get him off my mind.
He's handsome, smart, and oh, so darn delicious!
He’s got it all! And that’s what makes me blind.
I think I need some medication (oh, that’s vicious!)
He’s got me going through to hell and back,
For trying to seduce him from his lady.
It’s wrong, I know, but I don’t give a...heck,
Especially when he says “Who’s your daddy?”
One day, I know, he will be mine, for sure.
I don’t know how, yet, but I’ll find a way.
It ain’t me who feels insecure.
That’s all, my friends. Ya’ll have the nicest day!
:)
12.29.2009
© Copyright
Another Love-ish Poem For The Weak
by Cate Rock
What to do?
What to say?
How to act?
Whats the way?
What is right,
Always felt so wrong.
Loving before,
made love seem so wrong.
When he left that last time.
He took my heart.
But its OK...
It was broken anyway.
When he dropped out of view,
I just knew...
He wasn't coming back...
so when I'm hesitant give me some slack.
I know I'm flawed,
I know i always think I'm right.
And i know for sure,
I never give up without a fight.
I gotta lot of love,
Yet i gotta lot of hate.
I also know;
I'm not really that easy to date.
I don't know how to love...
But I wanna learn how...
with all of this...
Could u like me now?
I'm well put together.
Yet a mess in some ways...
With out a hug,
i can go days...
It hurts and it burns
yet my heart, it yearns,
Yearns for something...
Someone...
Someone I do believe...
Who can take my all,
And still love me...
You! Could it be?
Stop standing there,
Come over and kiss me!
Submission date : 2009-06-22
Shall I compare thee to a corpse decay?
Thou smell’st less putridly and more pleasant:
Foul winds escape th’orifices may
Of both thee ‘n’ it (though it’s more “fragrant”).
The eyes o’ th’dead are dull, while thine do shine,
And often is its cold complexion paled
(Be th’body fair or dark, it grays in time).
Thy heart does beat while th’othern’s failed.
From thy nocturnal slumber, thou sure shalt wake,
Thine age progression’ll on as thou grow’st;
But death shall cause the foetid corpse to take
A much more disintegral course, thou know’st:
So long as thou canst breathe and ‘live canst be,
Prefer shall I to corpse my time with thee.
Written on May 19, 2023 for the "Sonnet Poetry Contest" - sponsored by Sotto Poet
All at once it dawned on me
that Trump’s MAGA philosophy
is very Ayn Rand-ish (without all her sharp edges)
~ One reason he’s hated by socialistic progressives