Best Labelled Poems
Idyllically Odylically Odd I Be
Such is my nature
It is who I be
In an unnatural world
Flapping upstream
I am ruled by the Ods
Not this man made dream
Not a slave to the sway of society
Long labelled weird but "in a nice way"
I am apparently odd
And so odd I will stay
As I find more in common
With birds and trees anyway
For like feathers and leaves I am
Swayed by the breeze
Roots in the earth
Love of nature my wings
Beauty surrounds me
I live it every day
Yes idyllic
And odd
Like a
Dodo
I be
Being an Od bird is okay with me
(even if that means going extinct)
17.05.12
Composed for Broken Wings'
Form O-Only One Contest
Categories:
labelled, appreciation, bird, introspection, society,
Form:
Shape
i’m vinyl baby,
easy to scratch,
easy to gouge,
prone to warping.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
dot dot dot
from the seventies!
you know there’s
my black side,
my dark side.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
you,
you’re my diamond needle.
i'm your music,
you know me,
you play me.
you,
you’re my diamond needle.
gets under my skin
rides my
grooves
you.
still,
even pass these years,
still,
when my time comes,
pack me in my jacket
bury me in your closet.
you know i’m still
your song,
your tune,
dot dot dot
you make my life neat.
spin
like a circle
i’m the black vinyl
on the roundabout
you,
your still
the only
turntable
for me.
you.
i’m a 45 rpm record,
single and labelled,
still got track marks.
play me!
14~12~2015
Maurice Yvonne
Categories:
labelled, music,
Form:
Free verse
"I'm a conundrum. Or an enigma. I forget which." James A. Owen
In a white man's world,
I've become an enigma,
feeling like I don't belong,
trying to break the stigma.
In these mental maladapted creations,
against misplaced monachopsis damnations,
they stare at the colour of your skin,
like it's some dirty unwashable sin.
Be like Nelson Mandela,
you have the strength to fight,
once labelled a terrorist,
he said: 'always shine your light.'
Bob Marley sang loudly about the
Buffalo Soldier held by a chain,
a reflection of courage,
questioning whether to evolve or remain.
Like the lyrics of Libbe Siffre,
the higher you build your barriers,
the taller I become, this is who I am,
walking among the warriors.
I may have a quiet mind,
but you will never silence my tongue,
there is a snarl in my gentle eyes,
I keep proving bigots wrong.
Keep expressing my flawless scars
through the power of my ink,
softly swaying from page to page,
verses that make the ignorant think.
Brothers and sisters, just pause for a while,
we are not colonized minds,
despite their imperialistic prejudice,
we have to be kind to all kinds.
Trust the process of poetic words
and rediscover love for self belief,
even when they try to burn your pages,
rewrite to release your grief.
In times of oppression,
flow like waves onto pebbled shores,
When are you the happiest?
Tell them when they end their wars!
If weak winds rekindle flashbacks,
when you meet the eye of the storm,
against all forms of adversity,
stand strong in a proudly beautiful form,
so, don't shush me with antagonistic tones,
because my peace comes from within me,
as my pen was born to speak the
truth through powerful poetry.
Categories:
labelled, abuse, racism,
Form:
Rhyme
Caustic memories dissolve on my tongue
Lingering tastes of battery acid and nicotine
Cause me to choke on putrid saliva.
Staring at melting walls, clocks tick in unison.
Distorted birdsong hums outside of jagged windows
Under the warped sun, an unrepentant landscape blurs.
Freshly budding peonies liquefy;
Veils thin, evaporating the delusion of reality.
Why must I mould to the edges at your bidding,
Contort to the point of my own dysfunction?
For such fleeting worship, this devastation lingers -
Devours and disconnects my inner workings.
I lie highlighted in shadow, a beacon of quiet distress;
A dislodged scapula desperate to be labelled angelic.
Grounded, wingless, and forever out of time -
Wearing the last face you cared for as a comforter.
Neon venom warming twisted arteries,
Sinister patches stitched upon a breaking back.
A narcissist's crown digging into my head
Like rusted nails plunged into worm-infested wood—
Permanent disconnection, frayed cerebral cortex.
Blurred vision obscures insidious figures hiding in hushed corners,
Whispering in Babylonian tongue. Hallucinatory illusions haunt
What was a once-pristine sanctuary,
Now morphing into a surrealistic asylum.
Revelation exists above shadow in temporal machination,
I'm consciousness not yet swept up with sand;
Closed eyes cleanse my corneas - I rest in a balm of clarity.
Your power superficial, a cankerous cataract peeled clean off.
It is you who is bereft, washed up with the shell you created.
All the walls of your empty room fallen flat,
As I unfurl in the mirror beyond the shoreline,
I realise - it was never me you couldn't stomach.
Categories:
labelled, art, deep, imagery, poetry,
Form:
Ekphrasis
By David Kavanagh
On second thoughts
When instinct becomes
an educated guess
And improvisation
demands quick redress
Like thinking on one’s feet
if too drunk to stand
Be found all at sea
throwing up on dry land
Twisted situations
we find ourselves in
When bundles of joy
reek original sin
Smack on the butt
for showing a bit of cheek
Do everything perfect
get labelled a freak
Gestures, signals,
often appear to confuse
High five or fist bump
sweaty handshake defused
One or two fingers:
the bird a sign of peace
Kneel with respect
submissive purr on a leash
Diversions, promises,
never black and white
Passive aggression
silent treatment for slight
Jack in the box, ripper
jumps out with a knife
Break a leg, for the
performance of his life
Police warning: never
mess around with guns
Gut reaction sparks a
stampede, or the runs
Playing it very cool,
whilst feeling much heat
Praying devoutly,
burnt at stake for deceit
Sticking out one’s tongue
in contempt, no a kiss!
Sigh of relief
they were just taking the piss
Such is living, such is death
come friend or foe
On second thoughts
syllabic verse, or sh!tshow
By David Kavanagh
hms
Categories:
labelled, allegory,
Form:
Lyric
I took a visit inside my brain today
To check what was happening
It has been a little sluggish of late
Like a cloudy day not a clear day in spring!
It was dim on entering
So l turned on my lamp
It was really quite foggy
Felt a little damp
The memory section caught my eye
As there were countless empty spots
A bundle of wires nearby
All tied up in knots
The vision section was labelled
Though extremely hard to see
From a distance
I think it read:
h E L p M e
The emotional section was out of control
Eratic movements up and down
Huge highs , deep lows
Overstressed and unwound
My brain it seems is in great need
Of an overhaul and mending
Overwhelmed , l swiftly exited my brain
Service and repairs left pending
Categories:
labelled, fun, humor, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
When I got to heavens gates and God
wiped away the damaged years
He gave me a holy assignment
As keeper of all tears
I ran an enormous warehouse
Where bottles of tears were stored
God had labelled each and every one
for whatever made our hearts bleed sore.
So a lifetime of tears were remembered
for every living soul
For the day they came to heaven
So God could completely make them whole.
When a soul arrived in heaven
Their saved tears were glowing bright
God took each bottle and poured it over them
Until their robes were shining white.
Their hearts were mended that very day
And pure joy replaced all former pain
For pain in heaven is not allowed
Nor ever will be again.
So always remember each tear you shed
is never cried in vain
For God catches and saves every one of them
To use as heavenly rain
Categories:
labelled, beautiful,
Form:
Rhyme
In a moment of magic I once gave her a juicy innocent peach
Not yet knowing that she harboured a sweet nascent dream
In which as a youngster she knew that she would marry the one
Who handed such a fleshy gift to the gypsy Queen of Fairy Land
Bestowed upon her by night’s prophesy she carried the vision of
Requited love and blissful peace brought by subconscious longing
And spiritual clarity of a Higher Power submerged in compassion
A passionate fruit with soft skin and one huge seed of togetherness
We eloped together into a new dawn
The doomsayers had a field day as they harvested bitter doubts
‘It will only last a couple of months and the peach will turn rotten’
‘You cannot feed on clairvoyant oracles and meek pagan beliefs’
‘They are deluded insane and caught up in misguided romance’
They called her a witch a seductress and labelled me irresponsible
With so much at stake painted pictures of broomsticks and failure
While we had found the jewel in a haystack without even searching
And set fire to the past as we danced naked around a fire of passion
We knew the truth of intuitive feeling
One can never be sure what lies at the end of paths never taken
Whether road blocks and diversions belittle emotions and faith
But they who ignore heavenly signs forfeit adventure and truth
Stay stuck in spent time and hail its dubious comfort at their peril
We travelled and found a small hut on the beach out of sight
Collected starfish and driftwood and caressed wounded souls
Carved wedding bands out of sea shells and called upon dolphins
To witness our marriage surfing along happily ever since then
A cormorant applauded the feast
Under a star studded canopy on the miraculous shore of belonging
We never strayed from what intuition and feelings offered for free
Meandered on the shoreline and set our sails into a magical ocean
Tasted the salt of a mindful earth and soothed our recovering minds
Never questioned the wisdom of our union shared by hungry souls
Treasure pleasure and joy weathered powerful storms and all tides
The cosmos donates all we ever need once we are willing to navigate
Waves and effervescence sparkling desire and in our case a peach
Leading the universal way
13th May 2020
Categories:
labelled, beach,
Form:
Free verse
Dogma Enigma
When the pedophile is god
and genocide is good
when caring for the other
is a never not a should
when race is a weapon
and gender is revoked
when science is blasphemy
and climate change a hoax
Resist the urge to reason
you will just be labelled woke
Categories:
labelled, political, racism, religion, science,
Form:
Rhyme
It's the only land that you can
get all seasons in one day
you name it UK displays it
all the colors from blue to grey
It certainly has loads of great variety
from sun clouds snow and pouring rain
to hail winds storms and freezing ice
has such a staining effect on the brain
The north is such damp climate
having wet damp miserable outlook
fills one with negative thoughts
when sun shines it seems a fluke
In the south where it's bright
as it's mostly warmer with sunshine
for it's labelled the English riviera
where it matures like a good wine
The east has real mighty gale force
as America's conditions effect the west
when they come across from States
on the atlantic waves full crest
So that's Britain's wayward weather
like it or lump it that's your lot
remember you guys across the pond
don't send everything that you've got!
(Just some thoughts on the UK weather and how it varies so much, also a little quip at you guys in US where we seem to get the effects of your east coast storms but rarely your sunshine. but no matter we love you all!!!)
Categories:
labelled, england, seasons, weather,
Form:
Rhyme
She wailed her way into the world...
An avatar they said, Goddess Lakshmi had taken birth...
Her parents' pride, her brother's delight...
She loved and shone her brightest light...
She smiled she laughed in her radiant sight...
She didn't notice the prying eyes...
Pirouettes and piques, with aplomb she leaped...
Fell back on the earth, for a second it hurt...
Not losing her stride, among the cries...
She walked ahead, with her head held high...
Its a man's world, she was warned...
Not true she said, and walked along...
For she was proud of the woman she was...
She did not know of the waging war...
She had no right to dress as she pleased...
Her shorts were labelled as a tease...
She committed a crime when she refused his friendship...
She was punished by a splash of acid...
Pushed and shoved, groped and cut...
She burnt she bled, he simply fled...
It was her fault, said those in power...
She ate noodles, she should have called him brother...
She shouldn't have been out, late at night...
Well, he was justified in playing out his might...
She should have brought a car in dowry...
She wouldn't be laying, a lifeless body...
She gives life, akin to God...
Yet her life is an irony, unwanted... abort...
Lying about the scar on her face...
She tells her friends she fell down the staircase...
For she didn't know how to confide in them...
Of the scathing beatings, by the husband she'd wed...
Killing in honour of the holy mother cow...
Raping the honour of the woman of their house...
They'd given her wings, asked her to fly...
She flew away, and then they pried...
How dare she fly away so high, she was permitted to fly awhile...
Clip her wings, draw a ring...attach her to their pendulum strings...
Stamped her fate, sentenced to a cage...
Live like a prisoner, you deserve it, they say...
Yet they fold their hands in prayer...
To a Goddess, for their share...
For their share of golden glory...
While her life becomes another cover story...
Categories:
labelled, woman, women,
Form:
Free verse
A sprinkle of sage enhances the flavour of rice
A sage enhances the flavour of life.
. ~~~~~~~~~~
A Tribute to Brian Strand
Written: December 30, 2009
An Emily:is a 2(or sometimes 3) line paradox form of poetry created by Brian Strand
(labelled thus, inspired by Emily Dickinson poem 1732).It may or may not have a title,uses a
word with separate meanings,(or one that sounds the same,with a different spelling) with the
intention to mean several things; thereby, to enhance the thought's ambiguity/enigma.
Categories:
labelled, dedicationmay,
Form:
Epigram
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
Categories:
labelled, confusion, dedication, depression, devotion,
Form:
Free verse
A poetry convention is a wow
Our writes we endeavour to plough
We'll meet so many friends
To enhance writing trends
Our strengths are as thick as the bough
To my table I have decided to seat
Three ladies whom I'd so love to meet
They are favourites of mine
And they will be for some time
Their poetry to read is my treat
The first lady to seat is a gem
Her novels just shine from her pen
She's a New Jersey girl
Who makes my heart twirl
Her poetry flows 'tres bien'
The second lady to sit at my table
If given the chance, I'd surely enable
She's Maltese, she's Celene
A Mediterranean Queen
Her name would be beautifully labelled
The third lady who I now show to her chair
Her writing just makes me openly stare
It's oozes life's desire
It makes me aspire
Table Top Mountain, I wish I was there
Not for any contest, but I thank Michael for the idea, ty
Thank you Carolyn Devonshire, Celene Crescent & Wilma Neels for being you,***
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-16.php
Categories:
labelled, friendship, on writing and
Form:
Limerick
~The Unicorn~
There is a woman who has a passion
Not for a man and not for a fashion
Her passion is for a horse, a horse with a horn.
Commonly known as a mystical unicorn.
This mythical beast from days of yore
Did it walk on this hallowed land before?
The Bible mentions this unicorn
But the science says it’s a beast with one horn.
It’s placed where the horn is on a rhinoceros
So what is that trying to tell the lot of us?
Those unicorns did not roam about
I know that’s hard love, please don’t shout
The mythical beast of charm and of love
Is just a rhinoceros to you and me, my dove?
The Bible talks of it with other beasts
Not mythical ones, that now have all ceased.
What it means is a beast with just one horn
But not the mythical mystical unicorn
But for you PD I will start to seek
For a horse with a horn that would be labelled a freak.
I will scour the lands up hill and down dale
I will lift every stone and turn every hay bale
If this horse with a horn is what you desire
I will spend my time searching-until I expire.
For you with a passion for a horse with a horn
I’ll search for ever to find your mystical unicorn
But if I expire before my quest is done
I’ll get an apprentice, and he can find one.
© 10/09/2012 ~GG~
Categories:
labelled, friendship, bible, bible, horse,
Form:
Quatrain