Best Ked Poems
....in retrospect
There were mirrors there
Behind it, where all the Jews would hide
How can someone blame the black despair?
All You were, was a mirror over there
Flooding naked imagery
Flowing naked mercury
Proof there were no fa-ked lies
Unless words were pressed against the frame
Somehow you couldnt recognise...
your name...
Half blinded..
Besides, you would deny it anyway
One day while searching for those wandering Jews
Purple flowers in my garden winked at me
" we are they, if so you choose"
The mirror held was upside down
(It never mattered anyway)
So I kept on walking on and on
Until this very day
Ive heard it said just the other day
They used it to flash the sun
Hoping it would shine away
As some were hiding in its shade
A million miles away
Behind that fragile pane of glass
The looking glass kept looking past
And keeps looking for today
Looking at the torn disguise
And the lying enemy eyes
Though their lips were moist with movement
As yet the sound remained unheard
The spoken word was truth
One day it all may come to you
Whispered by a little bird
Ive held so high your high regard
And so your high esteem
Your badge of broken Jew
And friends by lives devided seen
I tried imagining I was you
Walking, standing in your wretched shoes
To us were done similar things
They also covered up the truth
In fact its happening here and now
How much cover do they need?
In honour tried to imitate , sometimes even emulate
Your cheeky contraband
Conducting your own orchestra
While playing your own band
This mirror holding up I see
If I was ever to wear those clothes
Emblazoned by a David star
Embattled with a Jewish scar
I wish to have your nose
The link between us circumcised
A covenant yet not broken
A people not yet broken by the blues
My love was found
Intact profound
In around
the nation of the Jew
Categories:
ked, anti bullying, holocaust, mirror,
Form:
Free verse
Winne the poo, had nothing to do, one dank and dismal day, as he sat in his chair rather filled With despair, when he heard a noise just plainly as day, it went kinda like squeek..!
Did his little chair creak? 'prhaps he had eaten too much honey.. ! Got carried away?? he was fond of that Chair, just perfect for a bear, painted a bright emerald green,with scrollwork in blue; he was Afraid it might break, oh..! Just where would he eat cake? & would his feet always ache? His thoughts they were all a to do.!!!
He got up slowly with great care, ( which is harder for bears ) it looked quite strong,
As he gazed at it long..... Then loud again came that squeek.." he followed the sound,
That came from low down.. To a rug right behind his small seat, and there was a mouse."
The first he'd seen in his house, he wondered how-why it was there, he bent down low
Hey.." the mouse didn't go..! It L 00 ked into his eyes, that was such a surprise...!
Then he saw why it squeeked and squeeked so.." Its small tail was trapped,
And yet had not snapped..? It was under the leg of his shiny green chair.." He lifted it clear,
Then continued to peer, at the mouse with two big black ears, now how are you named
Winnie exclaimed..." Mickey it said rather high, and my tail needs a repair, can you help me My bear?? as I don't have a spare, just you wait right there, Winnie said I will share, maybe There's a bandage somewhere, perhaps in my box of repairs..?? with the patches & string, needles and
Things,,! so he quickly ducked under the stairs, and searched it right through, then to mickey he Threw a bandage; to wrap round his tail, for repair, they became such good friends, as the bear made Amends, Mickey said you are fair, a really nice bear.!
For now; this poem has come to the end.)
Categories:
ked, childhood,
Form:
Rhyme
Your ways of logic are fu*ked, gutted, and thrown to the wolves. A weaker metamorphosis can never survive. Alone with us, you’ll never make it out alive. Your ways of belief are fu*ked, gutted, and thrown to the wolves. Useless thoughts are now obsolete. Your only purpose is to be stripped of your meat. You’ll pray. Beg for death. This pain never ceases unless by my hand. Hatred flows through this human form like sinew,…yet as I watch you die…I feel nothing. We’ll slit the throats of the neigh Sayers and witness the approaching dawn. With the morning dew collecting on glossy dead eyes, hand in hand we feel nothing.
Categories:
ked, adventure, angst, art, garden,
Form:
Carpe Diem
The whole truth
and nothing but the fu(king truth
That laws, and math, only help solve
local temporary problems,
All of which fall way short
on the infinite needs scale
were we rely on estimates, theories,
and other manmade truths
Still here we are,
alone on a goldilocks planet
All 8 billion of us milling around,
living our lives
guaranteed nothing
other than this moment
and whatever came before
To think otherwise
would be presumptuously human
As for choice is there really any
other than try feed ourselves
and sate the instinct to survive and thrive
We are a civilisation built on
disparate societal values and creeds
Each day is an imperceptible handover
from one generation to the next,
with no guarantee they’ll do a better job
But the real problem is not truth,
It’s why!
Why anything at all,
Why life
Why the fu(k am I asking these questions
I’m apostate, No!
I have little faith, No!
I am honest, No!
A nihilist, No
It’s because I have a sentient,
curious, unapologetic mind
that compels me to ask why!
Sometimes I think
i’d be better off a sponge
floating in crystal clear turquoise balmy oceans
Soaking up oblivious unintelligible surroundings
Indifferent to mortality and the universe,
popping off a few buds every once in a while,
or whatever sponges
brainlessly do to further their species
Such basic life is so very tempting
but just doesn’t sit right
Never to experience love
however fleeting,
Never to endure pain
However crushing,
Never to feel like throwing in the towel,
Even if just to mop blood
off the floor like a sponge
See, I’ve had moments
unimaginably beautiful,
Alongside unconscionably awful ones,
Moments so real
they can’t have been synthesised
by any stretch of any imagination
I believe a God or the universe
created me as a vessel of interpretation
to perceive itself
from my unique perspective
Well not unique per se,
more a personalised handicapped view
I am nothing and everything
in the grand scheme of things
No more! No less!
One that uses swear words
language you may not like,
yet clearly understand
The weirdest part is not the feeling
I’ve written this fu(ked up poem
in previous carnations
It’s my swearing
just seems to be getting worse
By
David Kavanagh
Categories:
ked, how i feel, life,
Form:
Free verse
My dad is bigger than yours she said.
It made me mad; I wished she was dead.
Took my anger to my Uncle Ned.
He started laughing, happy instead.
Most serious now, sick in my head,
Ran to my cousin, Goofball named Zed.
He chased me off, his face spitball of red.
With laughter shaking his feather bed.
I decided to sit in my little she-shed.
Devoured Ritz crackers ‘til I was fed.
Refused to talk to my Uncle Ted.
Who was spitting a story about Brother Ed.
I rode off on my purple and pink Moped.
Had an accident, needed bandage and a med.
The nurse who helped me was named Mrs. Ked.
Beautiful, she was a recent newlywed.
My dad is bigger than yours she said.
I was shocked for a second, but then I read
A book, settled down, no longer in my head.
Seeing the humor of Ed, Zed, Ned and Ted.
Categories:
ked, repetition,
Form:
Monorhyme
Fragility of Wealth
by Odin Roark
He had known riches,
This man wandering desolate landscapes,
Once so generous of harvest.
But now…
He had seen it coming,
It was but a matter of which dawn,
Which sundown
Which star-filled night
Would be the last.
Acceptance was hard.
Most everything was gone,
Leaving behind a barrenness,
Likely past any will to start over.
Nature was tired.
And…
He too was wearing down.
So much.
So fast.
It was only yesterday
That he lingered there,
Peering inside the darkened diner,
A favorite he so often visited.
The lingering image of its pink and green neon,
Now but broken glass,
Its always bright surroundings
Just another dark remnant of what once was.
Only the ghost of his friendly waitress remained.
Enamored with her focus, he used to tell her
As he read her philosophical scribbles
Just below her “Thank You” part of the breakfast check,
“You’re an idealist in a funeral parlor.”
But he looked forward to the always provocative thought
To help another twenty-four hour stretch of fear,
The ever-present rich man’s curse.
“Happy people are the only people, the rest are only human.” Fullmer
“The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved.” Hugo
And then there was the quote that brought him to where he was today.
“Most men pursue pleasure with such breathless haste
That they hurry past it.” Kierkegaard
He’d lost track of the miles covered,
But glancing down, incongruity stared back at him.
Why here?
Why this place?
Why a star fish?
This once deep-water testimony to life,
Reduced to a still life intransigence of purpose,
Insisted the man consider his own evolution.
So…
Why had man been made to challenge
The many storms and waves Nature had in store?
Had civilization just plain f**ked up?
Yeah…
Well…
He too would soon be dead,
With only his dapper suit
And plastic boutonniere
To die with.
Perplexed, he gazed down at the once alive creature.
How does such beautiful simplicity
Retain so much of its treasure?
Categories:
ked, life,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Walking, talking and skipping stones by the shoals
Caress, hug me tender while shining bold eyes
Sparkle, playful promises until fall fades
Sensibility flew
Example: Red cheeked boyfriends tenderly kiss me sweet mouthed
under Boulder coverlets winter springtime
hug me naked laughing & telling girl friends
gossip til autumn
Translated
RED cheeked BOY/friends TEN/der/ly KISS me SWEET mouthed
UN/der BOUL/der COV/er/lets WIN/ter SPRING/time
HUG me NA/ked LAUGH/ing and TELL/ing GIRL friends
GOS/sip til AU/tumn
Categories:
ked, girlfriend-boyfriend, love, me, sweet,
Form:
Sapphic stanza
Upon the first date (decades ago) with the gal,
whose troth aye did pledge allegiance to wed
we agreed to dine at an ex-mex eatery
in north Wales, Pennsylvania, where angels feared to tread
carefully scrutinizing bon appétit the menu selection,
a touch of Latin lick QED
all American version sans south of the border cuisine –
Quod Erat Demonstrand – translations spit out in rapid fire Hispanic
by a beady eyed inked kid named Ned
whose couture favored a punkish style
with spiked gelled green hair, piercings galore and
necklace with a genetically modified sizable
entombed glass encased amber ked
which beastly fully intact organism with a miniature grisly bear like head
momentarily hypnotizing me tell nudged out of trance sans this egghead
who make a selection by randomly
landing finger on an item feigning to be well bred
unbeknownst to the arbitrary choice this senior made
within an ample number of mouthfuls
of beans and rice that quelled hunger pangs
mine lower gastrointestinal tract,
felt a bubbling sensation played
though impropriety struggled with gaseous mounting perturbations,
what promised to be hot malodorous, would induce an air raid
from this “wind bag”, whose saving grace divine, when wallet of suede
discover herd visa vis tubby devoid of cash, thus and excuse to beat the tirade
of volcanic eruption found me bolting
out the restaurant door fortunately not waylaid
and madly dashing (like some comet fiery dancer)
performing a cheeky number hopping on one foot than the other –
since forceful blast triggered kidneys to be tapped, thus prancer
two step extemporaneously incorporated while await the ATM to disburse cash
legal tender coveted akin to Cupid sprinkling spell of romancer
while expulsion of noxious fumes from thine sphincter from this hob er dasher
brought relief as aye nonchalantly strolled inside
the cozy diner and slipped into me seat
disinclined to relate vents to future spouse,
the bodily aeration and stream of urine from me magic flute
which amazingly synchronized with the Maximus glute
from consuming food triggering tushy to toot.
Categories:
ked, animal, anxiety, desire, fate,
Form:
Blitz
HOW TO UNBLOCK THE MUSE
A stiff-penned young poet from Soup
His writing developed a droop
He needed his muse
But used only booze
Wine-o writing line-o, the dupe
The words flowed so easy and true
He was better than me or you
His poem’s design
Was there in the wine
A heady concoction and brew
He just epic-ked and kyrielle’d
And limericked and villanelle’d.
Quatrain or quintain -
- Was his to attain :
His poet’s ******** excelled
. . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . .
Written 23 June 2011
for Francine Roberts' Contest Bottle of Wine,( fruit of the vine, when........)
Categories:
ked, funnywriting, writing,
Form:
Limerick
One day the sky was overcast;
I slept 'till half past noon.
Woke the dogs and laughed with them;
we howled about the moon.
Ate some mushrooms and went out
into the desert with a smile.
F**ked a girl named Chastity
and laid with her a while.
I slept with her, I sullied her
I brought her to her knees.
And, in her touch, I felt
the gentle fingers of the breeze.
Met a man named Solomon
and walked back into town.
Drank a lot and smoked a lot
and lingered in our cloud.
He asked my name, I said it loud;
O, Mephistopheles!
He burnt that tavern to the ground
and fed me to the thieves.
Suffering and sordid now,
I stumble to a stream.
Clean my wounds and bandage them,
and think of wretched deeds.
Categories:
ked, addiction, allegory, faith, music,
Form:
Lyric
F'ked in the ass,
f'ked in the ass,
f''ked in the heart
Categories:
ked, angst, confusion, introspection, lost
Form:
Free verse
Being a woman is a gift.
Whether you’re black, white, red or blue.
It doesn’t matter as long as you are you.
Being hurt and punished by the men you love.
Is it their fault you f**ked with no glove?
Beaten, bruised, obeying all his rules.
Why not just refuse; refuse to be his slave, refuse to be his punching bag, refuse to be his last choice.
It’s time to stand up and raise your voice.
Tell him whose boss and why you took it all.
Remember the time he f**ked your best friend
Remember the times he said
“Baby I’ll be there until the end”
Remember the beatings, burns, cuts and bruises;
It’s time to tell him who loses.
Be the woman who can stand on her own two feet.
Be the woman who refuses to be with a man and be beat.
Life is too short to stay locked down
He continued to knock you down
But its time to get up and get off the ground.
You’re free to be the woman you were meant to be…
Categories:
ked, daughter, dedication, faith, family,
Form:
Free verse
It is Christmas time, again
I am an errand running
Supermarket slave with
feet tapping, eyes downward
I can't find any scuffmarks
on the polished desert floor.
Check-out line impatience
eavesdropping on stupid
pointless conversations and
f#*ked up weather mawing
I long to strangle the cashier
who offers to help me out
to the car with my groceries
Secret sideways guilt
I smile and say "no thanks"
then I trudge out to the
empty desolate parking lot
Maybe I will feel okay
if I up my medication
just for the holiday
Soul sucking family dinner
too much eating and drinking
as thoughtless words careen
into a minefield of pain
The words are swallowed
by the ceaseless coughing
of my phlegmatic Auntie Depressant
Blinding headache highbeams
Sea to skyway driver
stuck shuttling relatives
home from the holiday
I scan the road ahead
and pretend I can't hear
their wicked whispers and
constant bickering
Nagging backseat demons
The car reeks of old lady perfume
as angry words stab into
the back of my brain
If I jerk my steering wheel
a little to the left
how different things would be.
Categories:
ked, angst, confusion, depression, life,
Form:
Hilary Billary Shmock
The lady is purebred shlock
She 'Bill-ked' the Nation
Via Libyan abdication
Hilary Billary Thwock
Her tongue's a nerveless nock
She squawks and squawks
Paranoid deplorables-crock
Hilary Billary Shlock
Give her the old hemlock!
April 15, 2019
A Realistic Hilary Clinton Poem contest
Sponsor: Michael Wegman
Categories:
ked, abuse, anger, satire, sick,
Form:
Rhyme
He worked all day and he worked all night to get each shoe in line
people came and people went," how much, can you fix mine ?"
"take a number" he would say and then, he sewed in time..
The cobbler man was one of a kind, he never robbed them blind
Each day they would return to find a polished pair so nicely shined
Over by the shelf there sat a pair of ladies chocolate coated shoes
Size 9 fits all , the sale tag read, for you, only $9.99
He rang up the sale and with a smile he gave her a warning wad
"Never wear them in the rain, and oh ! "Happy Valentine's Day"
She wore them out that day 5 feet six inches tall and very proud.
but when the rain arrived with pelting drops of wet she cried
"Oh no !" The chocolate shoes turned velvet red, the color of
the devil's ked. But Cupid knew that Satan had no hand at love,
so he aimed and shot the target right, and a gentle man with
chocolate shoes arrived and said, "The cobbler right ?" She smiled
a nervous smile "Yes" I know, I paid him too, only 9.99 right" "Yes"
Then she knitted a frown and said," but your shoes are still brown"
"Ah yes, well, they got varathane. "
and suddenly her eyes began to shine, "would you be my Valentine?"
Categories:
ked, cute,
Form:
Narrative