Best Lacklustre Poems
I am the environmentalist in love with wine,
my shoulders carry and reside in the cutting edge side of life,
the establishment craves to be the human race
while I stroll the memories of “Sailor fields”
amongst ancient Jurassic stone.
Is this! The only way for me?
My saline tears run freely now a days,
it’s time that governs one’s sentiment,
no doubt the plague of waiting relates to this.
What! Of the future,
hey , i want to forget about futuristic wars,
may be the media are in gross error of judgment?
I’m told I’m only a little man, at last now I know why I’m the
one that society chastises every day,
Why this mortal flame in constant combat becomes
life’s tomb stone around my neck.
To feel freedom, another swig so my lacklustre eyes again become stimulated
as the view overcomes my immobility and bids farewell, to the great lady
that glides portly on the outgoing tide.
Curse this elemental wind
that curls in from the east,
“Mother” i cry
“Is this the clarity of our beginning.” the start of all this crap,
as astringent thoughts flow through my urban bucolic mind,
seeing or feeling nothing of the moment, only a repeat of the actions of many insensitive men,
those that flourish, those that sentiment cannot stain those that walk tallest amongst men;
because they were hungry for appurtenance.
I remember well , in the far off lea of my mind,
down on the farm thousands of miles away across the Pacific,
where enamel clashed against concrete
there , where foolhardy dreams were dashed,.
when the heart pursued
the warm flesh , she that gave her
reflection to the swan song
of an innocence.
Alas should one be compelled to expire
as one would, a chardonnay basking in the hot sunshine?
Should one fall foul of a politically correct society
that , outside of one’s comfort zone,
because one feels , want , in choleric veins?
Even the sullen white cross, dotted upon the highways
become burning embers, a constant reminiscence,
an emotional monument to many inhibited memories.
Yet I beg this deportment shows me a realization,
that death is imminent,
so why this perpetual waiting, this constant urge,
for this vein dependency to be infringed upon ???
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Forget-Me-Nots
Across the field, I trampled a path
When I held back and marveled to see,
Near the babbling brook beneath the trees,
A sea of blue of scorpion grass:
Tiny blooms asway in waves of glee,
Of forget-me-nots, and thirsty bees.
From end to end, as far as I could see,
In the serene lea, they spread their petals,
Exhibiting beautiful visuals
On the gentle slope, swaying in the breeze.
I looked back at the path and then ahead,
Enthralled as to where destiny had led.
The sun shone down with warmth unsurpassed
As the wind blew over cool, fresh air.
They fluttered about extraordinaire
Expressing their amour unabashed.
I was enamoured by their charisma
Under the sky of terra firma.
And when I’m dismayed to see storm clouds brew
And lacklustre negative thoughts prevail,
I reminisce their presence in the meadow,
Of powder blue amongst a greenery view.
Then, my eyelids succumb, and I envision
Fields of forget-me-nots abloom in heaven.
***
Note:
The Myosotis (meaning mouse’s ear due to the resemblance of the shape of their leaves), aka forget-me-not flower, is also known as scorpion grass because of its spiralling stem leading to its flower head, which looks like a scorpion tail.
Forget-me-nots are biennial plants (i.e., they have a life span of two years) that emit no scent. They bloom from May to October and are associated with the birth month of September, along with the aster and morning glory. Forget-me-nots symbolize love, respect, and remembrance.
With the classy curved beak
You nudge your mate's cheek
And you both give a romantic look
Oh! That's my favourite click
Those slender zig-zag legs float
on water like the beautiful boat
And amidst that seren lake
emerges my angel to ruin my ache
White gown, the normal angels don
On you, the pink and red hues drawn
Such a special archangel you are
And so shining like a pink star
Lacklustre lake it was; neglected
Until your graceful advent
You dipped the dull monochrome frame
in reddish hues, the place now, a fame
Oh my dear Flamingo
Your colors, flaming! Oh!
My pain you take and go
Oh my dear Flamingo
Dedicated to my dream bird Flamingo.Yearning to see it atleast once in my lifetime...
consuming grapes and pickles
dig deep
passed the shovel
filled with detritus
don’t whine about today
tomorrow already eats the clock
ideas dance
like sugar plum fairies
Through a head
cotton wool as Pooh’s
brain storms turn to chaos
ideas fade
leaving tantalizing hints
of their greatness
if they had been captured
like finches in a fine net
pickles and grapes
tart and sweet is life
consume them at my desk
my memory numb, lacklustre
prompted with fruit and pickled cucumbers.
Loneliness lurks like a live leprechaun,
Leering at her loss of love and laughter;
She leads a luckless lamentable life,
Lacking light, leaning towards lunacy,
Laden with longing and lacklustre lies;
Listlessly lingering in lethargy,
Labyrinthine lady looks lachrymose.
03.25.2021
So you think you’ve reached the age of maturity
Even old enough to draw your old age security?
Not so fast! Listen to what I have to say.
Everyone hopes they will reach that day,
Certainly it’s expected, that when retirement
Thoughts begin to dominate, you’ll lament:
It’s far too early for you to have reached the age
That’s called senectitude! The intervening stage,
Undoubtedly it’s seen as a sign of advancing age!
Dotage will be your next goal - if you survive?
Engage in energetic exercise like me. I’m still alive!
Take it from one whose gone before,
Having the right attitude, is far more
Essential as the years add up. Although
Arthritis, and other aches will grow,
Gaining ground no matter what you do,
Exercise! Not only your body but your brain too
By writing, letters, poetry, songs, lyrics or prose.
Even if the end results are poor, as some suppose,
Follow a rigorous daily routine and be diligent!
Overall this regime will improve your temperament.
Remember, this age can be a blessing or a curse
Except you take steps to avoid senility or worse!
Dotage will inhibit some of us in later years;
Often limiting our capabilities, until we have fears
That life has little to offer us, for we grow old.
Agreed, this could prove true, unless we’re bold!
Giving in to lacklustre thought, imposes restrictions
Exacting a severe toll, unless our avowed convictions
Allow us to surmount all physical constraints.
Rational and positive thought, denies restraints:
Razes barriers that would deny us a happy life
In our later years, unless we curb stress and strife.
Vicarious and pointless thoughts when denied,
Eventually prove, that when positivity is applied,
Standards of living, are neither curtailed or denied!
Rhymer. January 20th, 2017.
When you cried for me, heart
Fallen on calloused knees as I supplicated
Blood thrumming in my ears
yet running cold to my finger tips
Face distorted, eyes tightly shut
but in my mind's eye images projected
in vivid details of learned self deprecation
Crumpled over I surrender to my bloody fate
My insides turned to ash
I'm all but hollow,
weightless and adrift
my essence as it bleeds out
I let go to the numbness. . .
When I cried for you, heart
A collage of said colourfast images
washed lacklustre by a calculated manipulation
Resignation and surrender hung on a pair of windows
barely translucent they give a glimpse
of space as vacant as their dwelling
Oh, I cried for you my heart
but my hands were tied fast twines wound
tight biting and marking my skin
limbs paralysed by a fear of self liberation
So still I lay, lay in this bed of thorns
naturally piercing and commissioned for my benefit
Then, you cried for me, heart
The thrumming quieted
I heard your rhythmic injection
continuing to give me life
Warmth gradually seeped into my being
hollowness filled with a gushing stream of hope
Release me captor of my soul!
Here I stand the sun is yet to set
as I look up, sigh,
My strength regaining I limp, then walk
never to return. . .
My muse is on fire, she burns at the stake
guilty of poetasting, and glaring mistakes
Inferior rhymes with old Monoku outtakes
blaze all around her, as embers are raked
Badly blistered syllables, spark and flake
Whilst lacklustre stories, continually bake
A bard fans the flames, but he too’s a fake
for mincing his own words, with juicy steak
Making ado about nothing, soliloquy spake
Glory to the Efilist god, ha! give me a break
A dedication of respect
for rendering down a bard
# # #
However unpalatable
and repugnant the suet tastes
# # #
From March madness to April fool’s
digesting copious amounts of insipid tofu
# # #
Only to wipe it off
in an all encompassing
persistent vegetative state
By
David Kavanagh IV
Unresolved
lacklustre sky
confronting iron sea;
Hesitant horizon disconcerting me,
contumaciously
Absurdity walked this path of a whorish lane,
Dauntingly decked in a dark seductive garb
Egregiously seeks the thrones by craftiness,
Nebulous transverse for the wayfaring man.
Illusions of a well worn thigh concealed with facial mascara.
Killjoy bipolar nagging for control, demanding dominance by demonic antics,
Eccentric public commodity makes it the brothels for quickie.
Acrimony well taught from the market square by “Iyaloja”
Damaging defiance conscripting father to “garri Ijebu” and Fish
Egomania derailed from home and deprived of morals,
Sagged and perforated lurid frame perfumed for a prey
Offensive forlorn factious feigned facades
Lacklustre and noxious mien seduced the prey by lewd bait,
Absurd Incentive the goal, merchandise of greed, A week of affiance.
Life is grim,
perpetually dim,
Don’t know what’s missing,
It belongs within,
Everything I eat,
tastes the same,
Drinking no better,
insipid and plain,
Can’t be bothered,
to answer the door,
Lost all interest,
in peace and gore,
Walking upstairs,
Brings me down,
Climb even higher,
I’m still underground,
At my best,
reach mediocre,
When worse wishing,
life was over,
Walking in quicksand,
up to my waist,
Encrusted with faeces,
Completely encased,
How come the sun,
won’t shine any more,
perhaps it does,
oblivious I ignore,
Future is tomorrow,
Black with decay,
My past the same,
Lacklustre yesterday,
Happiness a joke,
does it exist at all,
Must be an illusion,
from when I was small,
Try to hit lotto,
down on my luck,
What I deserve,
with this outlook,
My hero Cobain! swore,
“I don’t have a gun”
Best lyric ever,
considering what he done,
Push nails in my eyes,
helps numb the pain,
Stand naked in thunder,
Soaking up shame,
Life morphs one sleep,
into the next,
When I wake up,
a world of utter detest,
Is this a rhyme,
or even a poem,
No your right!
Crawl back under my stone,
What can one do,
when despairs all you’ve got,
Look forward to death,
I do quite a lot,
At least It’s a new year
just piss off away,
Sorry! what you expect! “Hip Hip Hooray.”
COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(41)
any theme any form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand 16/01/2021
The City
Outside the city where the pomegranates grow
In a land where they never see rain or snow
And where the sun only shines every other day
Is where it’s always the twenty-fifth of May.
We find a people downtrodden and tired:
Lacklustre, bored and uninspired.
It’s been this way for many generations
Ever since mutually respectful relations
Broke down suddenly one fateful night
When an alien and a resident got in to a fight
Over a girl (of course, couldn’t you guess?)
The alien lost the fight and in his eagerness
To regain his superiority and the upper hand
Placed a dreadful curse across the land:
He condemned the residents who were there that day
To relive over and over again the twenty-fifth of May
And to find sunshine only every forty-eight hours
It was a vicious abuse of his alien powers
The people cried “This is cruel and unfair!”
He told them “Give me the girl with the golden hair
And I’ll give you back the lives you had before
And I promise that you’ll hear from me no more”
The people consulted, talked and reached a decision
That they would never change their position
“The girl is one of us and does not want to be
Taken away from her family, her friends, her community”
They told the all-powerful petulant alien being
Who was reluctantly forced into agreeing
To remove the curse he’d placed upon that place
But he felt no sense of shame or disgrace
For he had learned a lesson about human-kind:
That when they are all of one mind
It was almost impossible to defeat them by fear
And that it’s their principles that they hold most dear
Above fear of death or brutal subjugation
And they shrugged off hardship and intimidation.
But it was their love and caring for one another
That was their greatest strength above all other.
The alien realised he could not win the battle
And that the people he ruled over were more than cattle
Now, outside the city where the pomegranates grow
Kids and adults revel in the rain and snow
And May twenty-fifth is celebrated as a holiday
Because it’s the day that the alien rulers went away.
Prattle And Witter
Midst rumours
and rustlings
And hastily
scribbled notes,
Upheavals
and bustlings
And endless
clichéd quotes.
Out of the chaos,
surprisingly calm,
Arrogant yet
sweetly coy,
With an air of
flamboyant charm
Emerges
a sequined boy.
He smiles
like a lady,
Proper, graceful
and defined,
In a corner,
quite shady,
With beauty
on her mind.
And the gossip
of fishwives
In their aprons
and strings,
Who scupper
people's lives
With unmentionable
things.
A dame
or a man?
And "well I never's"
bigots call,
But she listens
when he can
With an ear
to the wall.
Like a lady,
discreet,
Where no utterable
sound
Cannot sweep her
off his feet
Nor knock him
to the ground.
A nod, a wink,
and a blatant stare,
A tut, gesture
and a frown,
He glides oblivious,
unaware
She's the infamous talk
of the town.
And of love,
she is unsure
If to kiss him
or to tell
His unsuspecting
procure
That he's not really
a girl.
For when the lights
grow dim
And the audiences
fade,
His nakedness
will shine grim
In the reflection
of a blade.
In time
the prattle and witter
Like stone hearts
will destroy
The now
lacklustre glitter
Of someone's
innocent boy.
Dewdrops stream down boisterous
children’s freckle-strewn mischievous dials,
as they dash in cartoon costume faux denim
apparel amidst the pale yellow sunlight glare.
Marble stone button twiddle on a blue
rinse wrinkle t-shirt,
Sumptuous ice cream raspberry blobs
tantalise the cheeky taste bud imps
whose chocolate brown eyes swell with
every morsel glutinously gorged on.
Doting parents wantonly indulge
their dawn glow
offspring’s shrieks of antic wonderment,
the honeysuckle fragrance that
releases germ-stuffed
nostrils a portentous spring nectar booster
shot for folk and kin alike,
effervescent yodel from young sibling and the
young at heart zeal of golden realm guardians
elevated to this neon sign paradise,
purple sleeve lacquer layer hydrant, surreal spirit saviour
of parched embryonic throats.
Picklock to that universal perfume
cloud that hovers
over asphalt stain urn and
stoic mint green
pristine luscious lawn,
playground for the butterfly wing vernal innocent shrouded by an orange peel citric soft fruit haze.
Age span infant euphoric zoom on fountain spume,
where families in a Ferris wheel hubub rejuvenate the
lacklustre greyness of their far too often
monochrome existence.
Posted ; 4th May 2022
No Love Lyrics
No resting arms
Nor bosom smitten,
Where conflict harms
Once shy, twice bitten,
A virgin riled
Soon does goad
The wrath of a child
As cannons reload.
Hidden in history,
A languid heart,
Conflicts in mystery
As lover's depart,
Two hearts betwixt
With regrets intrusion,
Midst stones and sticks
The finale, an illusion.
Not lovelorn rage
Nor wailing wenches
Can pay death's wage
In silenced trenches,
A king's shilling,
A christmas box
'tis woefully willing,
Unspent, since lost.
No love lyrics
Nor smiling song,
In peace war mimicks
A poppies throng,
Medals for the brave
Sway too grim,
Lacklustre to the grave
Eyes flutter dim.
Impoverished souls
Forlorn and lost,
In bullet holes
Shall count the cost,
Survivors dwindle
One by one,
Perchance to rekindle
The song of the sun.
No loves missed
Nor heroes unsung
For widows kissed
And tyrants hung,
A dead man's shame
Is no greater loss
Than the unknown name
On yet another cross.