Best Jest Poems
A collaborative poem, written in renga format, or "linked-verse", by Timothy Hicks and Jesse Whitehead.
Verses in normal font are by me.
Verses in italic are by Jesse Whitehead.
January jest
drawing mustaches
in the newspaper
coffee to warm the hands
walking the railroad
refusing
to stay put
a child's balloon
spring in her step
red moon overhead
has dusk come already?
the field of tulips
seem to say
unwavering and gentle
strong as stone
mountain peaks
wind through summer meadows
a tender caress
lying there still
a heart-shaped mark
steady rhythm
ebb of the tide
broken shells
spiraling earthward
the last golden leaf
fading in and out
memories sweetly touched
a dancing flame
burning through pages
another x on the calendar
NOTE: This was my first attempt at a Renga poem, written in collaboration, with one of my best friends from Idaho, Jesse Whitehead. He's one of the few friends of mine whom I could discuss writing with. Though he typically writes fiction and stories, rather than poetry, he was willing to give this poetry format a go; and to my knowledge this was his first time writing poetry. It's a fun little challenge that I hope you all will give a try!
Licky butt, oh, licky butt
Lick your bum my lovely puppy
Gonna feed you a dead guppy
It's belly up
So feed it to the pup.
I'm baked
I'm baked
One toke is all it taked.
Jesus was a carpenter,
he worked with saw and hammer.
He pounded, banged, for 20 years,
it was an awful clamor.
Then he spent three years a'preachin',
he never had a stammer.
At last they nailed him to a cross,
nevermore to yammer.
Ty Tot Ty Taw Tay Tater Tat
Ty Tid! Ty Tid!
Ty Taw Tay Tater Tat!
better ways to heal
therapeutic poetry~
a dance of feelings
spoken verse trending
curbs obsessive impulses~
when we meditate
breathe in and speak out
demolish your obsessions~
share and overcome
I hope and pray, I never die like this.
For this would not have any bliss.
Running to a room with pain in chest,
Maybe from something I did digest.
Hoping to get rid of something thwarted,
Dying from heart attack as it departed.
Sitting upon a white porcelain throne,
This is not the way I want to be known.
Though hopefully my actions will pass,
Maybe oh maybe, it’s only a little gas.
If I were a king, then I wouldn’t mind.
Upon a golden throne they would find.
That I had died in gracious peace at last.
Though, my before mentioned place aghast,
Since I am no king, to pass away in jest,
There’re worse ways to die, then doing my best.
Written for
Sponsor Natalie The Rogue Rhymer
Contest Name Die A 'Fun' Death Contest
Not everyone who makes a jest
is able to make a jest suggest.
Volodymyr Knyr
2017
The Gods above are
playing a vicious trick by
only giving me
big sips to drink from
Mnemosyne instead of
few drops of Lethe.
She was seventeen when she was crowned the boy’s queen
They had all had a turn by the time she was eighteen
And the jest of it all had her floating on air
But when she was alone she was simply a child again
They had led her to indulge in her hedonism too
There was no time for morals or lessons, she knew
For the jest of it all was as tempting as sin
Still she’d pray to a god, every night she was a woman again
The alcohol in her, she never could handle
But to her drunken remarks, no one could hold a candle
It was the jest of it all after shooting up Fridays
But when she came down she was sober like Mondays again
In her twenties her ignorance was put on for shows
Her pretty young eyes were as deep as she goes
Though the executives went in even deeper than that
The jest of it all and her body kept her floating again
Her family ties were as loose as could be
And her legs were open for her weekly jubilee
So when an unwanted surprise grew inside
She began to wake up from her directionless ride
And the jest of it all had subsided to life
For the queen, once a jester, was only a mother to them
You said it in jest
Laughter can shatter a heart
Pieces still missing
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Obsession with what's
Politically Correct
Is a moron's job
I but jest a bit
I do not mean to offend
All so serious
Nothing personal
Old jokes are now new insults
I laugh at myself
They do take offence
To a bit of funnery
I won't be PC
To offend a few
Before there may be no one
Left here to offend...
I hope that you don’t desert me
And that my feelings don’t desert you.
I hope that whatever we have may be,
And whatever it is we share is true.
I hope my heart is not the only one that beats twice as fast
And that you know whatever was done is now in the past.
I actually feel truly happy,
Which I hope is not a jest,
Played by life on some hopeless feeling quest.
I hope I am not the only one anxious at the end of the day,
Knowing there’s a possibility for my stress to be left astray.
Or just to see your beautiful face,
With the eyes that always make my mind race.
I hope you feel just as strong,
For this one I don’t feel wrong
Which I hope is not a jest,
Played by life on some hopeless feeling quest.
For I am to you,
Like the sky is to blue
And you are to me,
Like the flower is to a bee
You compliment me in our differences
And somehow surpass all the undiscovered preferences.
So I put my blind trust to you,
Hoping that whatever it is we share is true
They say the old must surely die
to allow the new to thrive
a sacrifice that bears new fruit
from the ash of kernels cast
the promise for the hopeful flesh
shed with cocoons in the light
a cheerful plan without regard
for the outcome that then transpires
this is the jest by the gods
revealed as the greatest lie
when the reverse is the truth
culminating in a hollow life
what may be new is no more
put aside before it’s born
rotting while the old conspires
to pretend that life will thrive.
I guess I am just a joke,
never to be taken seriously.
Gave pieces of myself out too generously.
Even though I did it cautiously,
The evidence shows it was still done dangerously.
Ive fought for the wrong ones furiously.
Trying to hold on to that memory,
now seems more like a stupid fantasy.
Does everyone think I don't have the mental capacity
to handle the truth or deserve honesty?
I don't hide awful intentions masked by chivalry.
I may have flaws, sometimes rather clumsy,
there's not much of me
Ive become somewhat shaky,
But when you're all in, so am I entirely.
I think people think I am a joke, sadly
I've learned that curiosity can come off as acting suspiciously
Being anxious or nervous can turn into a catastrophe.
Inner commentary
Acting awkwardly
Try to approach things delicately
Failed miserably.
To Be continued...