Best Jests Poems
In the outskirts, where whispers weave through the wind,
there stands a farmhouse, its timbers groaning with secrets,
a silhouette etched against the horizon’s fading light.
Once, it was alive, pulsing with the beat of day-to-day,
but now, it’s shrouded in a cloak of solitude,
walls lined with the echoes of laughter long gone,
rooms filled with the heavy air of stories untold.
The woman who lived there, a mystery, a shadow,
wandered its halls like a ghost, her presence barely felt
but in the gentle ivory caress of piano keys
that floated through the night, a sorrowful symphony
played to an audience of moon and stars.
Folks in town, they gossiped, cruel jests hidden behind closed doors,
labeling her a recluse, a witch, a specter of the past,
never understanding the weight of loneliness she carried,
a burden that bent her shoulders and dulled her eyes.
She found peace in her music, notes rising and falling,
like the breaths she drew, deep and resonant,
a language only she and the night could comprehend.
The farmhouse, with its peeling paint and creaking floors,
stood as a testament to her existence,
its decay mirroring the abandonment she felt,
doors no longer opening to welcome guests,
windows looking out with a yearning for the world.
Inside, the piano waited, its keys now silent,
dust gathering like a blanket, a comfort in the stillness,
each particle a memory, a moment frozen in time.
And so, the house remains, a relic of loneliness,
a monument to the misunderstood,
its story floating with the wind, carried through the fields,
a melody played on the strings of time,
eternal, echoing, alone.
*Author's note. This one was inspired by some lovely yet sad pics by the artist destinyblue. This was very sad and emotional for me to write. Here's the pics that inspired this. Hope you enjoy the poem.
http://t01.deviantart.net/PT4gysSpsSUExkUce60aKwsl3Ps=/300x200/filters:fixed_height(100,100):origin()/pre03/49a7/th/pre/i/2012/292/f/4/behind_the_smile_____by_destinyblue-d5ibfov.jpg
http://t06.deviantart.net/OR87RThVOWvGdS2hbtAXGDJeVmI=/300x200/filters:fixed_height(100,100):origin()/pre02/50ab/th/pre/i/2012/197/4/6/i__m_fine___lineart_by_destinyblue-d4yvarw.jpg
http://destinyblue.deviantart.com/art/Depression-534485738
What do we see when we look at people?
Oft times people say seeing is believing
Yet what they see most is but a mask
A stoic impassive face, seemingly emotionless
A gentle smile that doesn't reach the eyes
A quiet gentle voice saying I'm okay
We oft take these at face value
And believe the lie of the mask
But what would happen I wonder
If we were to dig a little deeper
And watch a little longer
What I have seen too oft
As I've searched a little deeper
Is a lonely heart beneath
The exterior mask they wear
They might be saying "I'm alright"
In a quiet tender voice.
Yet as I've watched them carefully
I've seen a trembling hand.
The mask hides our deepest hurts
And our most bitter memories.
They say on the outside "I'm okay."
When inside they're saying "Save me."
Tis the world that teaches us
To hide behind the mask
Boys are told while very young
“Big boys don’t cry”,
“Crying is weakness”,
Girls are told while still a child
“Crying is manipulative”,
“Don’t cry, they’ll laugh at you”
What we most fear as little ones
Is the mocking jests and jeers
Of the people around us
We learn to keep our tears inside
And say within ourselves in pain
“Maybe tomorrow will be a better day”
Thus we see the sad tale
Of a world filled with people
Being taught to wear
The mask of loneliness
I pray that we may have the eyes to see
Beneath that cheerful mask
And see that lonely soul inside
That needs a friend, a kind word spoken
And that we may have the ears to hear
The painful cries of the soul beneath
When they say the words “I’m fine.”
Garish should be the undertone
so say the ones who hold the line
desiring only that mutes explain
the breadth of life beyond the pale
until the souls who dare to dream
demand expression beyond the veil
with vibrancy of color’s swatch
and actions stated to justly shock
these statements exclaimed without regard
for sensibilities in fashion’s realm
instead the giants are thrown down
by admiration of damning jests
extracting praise for substitutes
the flagrant over the sadly tamed
a mystery that gods disdain
while beauty fills the latitudes.
In twilight's grasp, the world meets its demise,
Oh, Christian soul, who claims the sacred name,
Within God's church, where fervent spirits rise,
Contemplate now, the end, a burning flame.
What if it was the end, the final call,
Would jests and levity your stance define?
Regret, a haunting echo, would enthrall,
As time, a gift, was squandered, not divine.
The freedom granted in the fleeting hours,
Yet, dedicated not to Heaven's plea,
The call to be a savior in your bowers,
Neglected, as a futile, vain decree.
Oh, heed this warning, ears that bear the weight,
Prepare thy soul, for God's impending fate.
What if it was the end, a solemn plea,
To face the judgment of eternity
What will you say?
Zillion supporters screaming, a loud buzz,
Yearning to return home cheered by victory.
Xerox machines preparing the next day’s papers; Max
Wit for the shame or fame of a member of the show.
Violent vitriol from commentators like engine rev
Unites with supporters’ glee at likes of Eto’o or Kanu
To spur skill at each minute to get even one stunning stunt
Spirits soar, sink, so it is, for here serenity bores.
Roulette, lifté, counter-attack by one party raising the roar.
Quick kick! Oh no! Replay?! Why not? That must join the FAQ
Pray the corner kick slays the opponent; oh that header was sharp!
Oh he missed that goal again! No replay?! Hell no!
No! Now he’s channeled that ball too late for the man,
May the coach coach correctly and call him to quit the team!
Leave the pitch you little loss-bringing imp! LOL!
Khaki-wearing “messer” I can even get your reek!
Just as our jests are about to milk out laughs, I couldn’t find a word to end with “J”.
Instead I had a whole lot of them J-starting words. So I
Hunched to think, but then looked up at the BROOHAH:
GOAL GOAL!! Oops the scorer is the "Mr. Bug"!
Fooled? No, I’m still for him leaving,( Scoring oaf!)
Even though this elation, release and joy, came from his device!
Defensive tactics, offensive backing up, I can almost get mad
‘Cos the best defense is attack Doc!
Bye losers, we took this easy. Supporters bob
Away, and the whole stadium sleeps in the starlight bathed by mother Luna.
(c) Nyonglema
GTF
Wizened skin like burnished leather
Thin, grey and long, disheveled hair
Clear, sharp blue eyes that seem to stare
Through sun scorched face, alert, aware
A ‘lived-In’ face that’s so expressive
Tales he tells read like a missive
His arms and hands he flails about
To all he jests, he seems to shout
Belying age with youthful vigour
He starts his day with seeming rigour
But, easy going, he always jokes
With folk at whom, light fun, he pokes
He’s up each morning before the dawn
Striding, planning, never forlorn
Before sunrise you’ll hear with luck
His famous catch-phrase, “Get Tae F***!”
He’s worked on rigs for oh, so long
With everyone he gets along
On the “fine old lady” Stena Clyde
No deference – ALL he does deride
From owner, manager and high paid “suits”
To lowly boys who clean the boots
The tone the same, The grin, the look,
The cheeky laugh, the “Get Tae F***!”
Sub zero frost or tropical heat
His ardour you will find hard to beat
Old habits die hard they say
Not his – he does them anyway!
Does a place exist he’s never been?
That has a port that’s never seen
This tall slim figure filled with pluck
Or heard his raucous, “Get Tae F***!”
They say he’s always been a sailor
From Antarctic wastes upon an ancient whaler
15 years old in the South Atlantic
A hardy life, forget romantic!
Steam driven ships before motor’s advent
He sailed near and far. Came and went.
A story true with each port of call
His audience he holds in thrall
But all through this, both feet aground
Though invitations still abound
To high profile golf tournaments
The best hospitality at these events
He mixes with the best of them
The rich and famous golfing men
Yet on the course when he mis-hits his ball
Not “fore” but G.T.F. to all
And so it seems his time has come
To rest upon his laurels some
He’ll sure be missed – God Speed, Good Luck
It’s been a pleasure Jimmy, “Get Tae F***!”
No dismissive snort from any here
From us, a greeting, a hearty cheer
Received with grace, a smile - a look.
You grin then tell us, “Get Tae F***!”
Joyful jolly jigs and jests,
Jump and jive, no time to rest.
Joining hands, a joyful crew,
Joking, laughing, joy anew.
Jazzy tunes, a joyful beat,
Jingling bells, a jolly treat.
Jovial smiles, a joyful sight,
Joyful memories, day and night.
Jeweled skies, a joyful hue,
Jubilant birds, singing anew.
Jocund laughter, fills the air,
Joyful sounds, everywhere.
Joyful hearts, a light so bright,
Jubilant love, shining so right.
Joyful souls, a shining star,
Journey on, to where you are.
So let joy fill your every day,
With jolly laughter all the way.
For joy is like a treasure trove,
Filled with love, and joy and hope.
Being a dreamer is never boring,
Its like a boat without its mooring,
You can pretend to be a fish,
Swim a bit, laugh, act so childish,
Or you can fly to the nearest tower,
Dig a hole and plant a flower.
When the moon is howling full,
Pensive ideas make their pull,
Grinding, grueling, gritty grains
Stenciled stuttering standing stains.
Eyes transfixed by things oblique,
Ennui is only of and for the weak.
In rapid jests of poemy words,
Vowels flutter like milky birds,
A leap of faith in corrupted phrases,
The rhythm amiss like crooked faces.
You take an apple but taste a pear,
You brush your teeth but get white hair,
It’s never boring like I said,
A pickled world can’t raise its dead.
(Which methinks is kind of like saying:
Signs and symptoms are always dismaying)
Play is a losers infinite no-end game,
You draw some circles straight and same,
Make from the hip and cross a heart,
Go figure out how, just promise to start.
BEE-HAVE
church was abuzz with matrimonial mass
and we were mesmerized by the goofy voice
of the master of ceremonial priest don’t laugh
my husband’s pinching his skin so thin
i dare not look at him at the same time, a few rows
back my cousin has his own planned attack
leans up near my sister-in-law and finds need
to mention her hand in my brother’s pants pocket
oh how he jests “how unsuitable for church”
now she’s ahem just staying warm so i’m
trying to keep it all together you know
church face and all but now there’s a bee buzzing
smack against my brother’s face perhaps it also
disapproved of the inappropriateness the indiscretion
aggressive move of his wife (tears rolling, ready to burst
like an ice cold pipe in deep winter) i smooth down
my dress pinch my husband’s skin (okay mine)
and try to keep my eyes front-facing ...but for that voice
our side of the family might even have tried to be
….civilized ;)
10/23/2017
Light Poetry
Resting there, beneath the sod,
Lie two young, bosom friends.
They shared the joys and toils of life,
From childhood, down in Texas,
To this grassy knoll where their story ends.
Now, the mysteries of life and youth
Are hard to understand.
Especially in times like these,
When winds of restlessness and change
Are blowing wild across the land.
Both, Tom McQueen and Billy Barnes
Were fine, but reckless boys.
Bill had a fiery temper,
While Tom just lived for teasing--
Jests and jokes were his favorite toys.
Though friends, they often mixed it up,
In their rough and tumble way.
Billy's boiling point was low,
And Tom, who only spoke in fun,
Always knew which words to say.
Their tussles never lasted long,
Though sometimes they were rough.
They thrived on scrapes and bruises,
But no grudge could come between them;
They were made of tough, forgiving stuff.
They joined us on the cattle drive
When both were seventeen.
They pulled their weight from dawn to dark,
And I never heard them once complain.
No braver lads I've ever seen.
--continued...
26.
The low level haze
Carries the smell of smoke superbly.
The morning cooled daze
Leaves no room for joking.
Silence flies a dove.
The May early Sunday
Marries the peace of two lovingly.
No serendipitous replays
Sighs for attention provoking
Reverence stays above.
The grayness of this sky
Expires the normal jests remarkably
The quiet does not lie
Takes no verse evoking
Guidance He is love.
All eye admiration flood upon your presence
Beyond words, this mind bleeds,
Crushed by your metaphysical yet practical brilliance
Deafened by the hilarity of your quirks
Envying those that may embellish in your jests
Frozen in tears where the past brings smiles
Groveling beside the untouched potential
How is it you excel among such fetid company?
Initiating your moon-shines like the sun is your god
Jumping jacks pounding these ever depressing soles
Kittling the fingertips mindfully so
Lackadaisically glancing upon our stranger-friend relationship
Mustering the audacity to surmount your eccentricities
No one could ever quite notice before
Opulent in knowing you have captured so many
Pained inside to the very last penny
Quenched from courage, I remain caged in your glory
Rabid to agitate your unacquainted waters
Suckling upon the overflow—
The leftovers that offer richness I will never know
Understanding you wholeheartedly—I quiver
Violated by the comfort tease of your words
Wondering how love can surface upon unsteady oceans
X chromosome searching for a sharp fool within a current of chaos
Y chromosome spinning, slightly hidden with a small, sparkly smile
Zealous in the frivolous chase—I was latched from the start
The blaggard:
The loathing heart like black sack cloth for him, the blaggard.
Begrudge all and everyone around him, the blaggard.
A small petty hoodlum in no other terms.
Conceited, boastful, so grim is the blaggard.
Oh he jests and plays at others expense.
But such a small mind, so dim is the blaggard.
Filled with so much vanity.
Tom foolery his every whim for the blaggard.
Inside he knows only darkness and despair.
To earn respect of others, so slim for the blaggard.
Steven Beesley (c) 2006-01-09
THE BECKONING OF OSSIAN’S CAVE
Sense the ancient Celtic rocky entrance beckon onward--
Heard the time-past warriors clink their ale-blown jests--
Willed my dwindling courage plunge me, blood soaked, to the doorway;
Breath spent--I leapt....
A Celtic myth claims that Ossian welcome's slain warriors & soldiers into an afterlife where they join slain warriors of all clans and times. (to see Ossian's Cave, check Wikipedia)
Victoria Anderson-Throop
2013
Assured by the Almighty, I wish to abide always in His authority
Blooming beautifully in His blissfulness’ bounty.
Cared for, I wish I could constantly convey compassion
Delighting the Director Who drives my divine devotion.
Enabled through Christ toward extra-mile engagement
Faith-fervency is my wish to fortify stewardship fulfillment.
Geared by God for good works’ graciousness greatly
Healthy heart of my body wishes to excel in helping hopefully.
Instructed by Scriptures, despite infirmities, to keep on inspiring
Jubilant wishes jolt out vain jests and inhumane jeering.
Kindled to know more from the Sovereign of His kingship
Love-wishes of mine lean toward His light-filled leadership.
Marveling at the Master’s moves midst His magnificent might
Nourished soul* is what I wish through His nurture day and night.
Offering to me reaching-out opportunities to optimize
Prince of peace, and His fellowship, I still wish to prioritize.
Quitting never to leave my Redeemer’s restive quietude
Revival is my wish rejuvenating spirituality’s rectitude.
Settled in the Saviour; in His sufficiency I’m satisfied
Triumphant thanksgiving is my wish to have, all the time, testified.
Upheld unto godly undertakings --- unlimited
Vision heavenly --- I wish to vouch my vows --- victoriously-vented.
Working of the Holy Spirit I wish and pray not to wane
‘Xpecting for miraculous wonders only His ‘xcellence can ‘xplain.
Yearning to please my Creator Who welcomes my “yieldedness”
Zealous am I to live for Him, wishing for His favor’s zestfulness.
*3John 1:2 Beloved, I wish above all things that thou mayest prosper and be in health, even as thy soul prospereth.
January 16, 2020
(ABC and Abecedarian with couplet and alliteration forms.)
6th place, "What Are Your Wishes" Premier Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on 1/23/2020.