Best Lambast Poems
How Dare We Ever So Boldly Speak Out
Let me write in obscure and chaotic words
stirring waters tepidly unknown
Yet my spirit refuses to admire such birds
or the massive flattery they are now shown
Why yes, some of us write from poetic hearts
with passion and not merely for fleeting praise
We that sail the seas, using understood charts
are now thought to be in an insane craze!
O' that we dareth to sparsely use archaic words
in poems as way of joining with the past
O' what folly, not wanting to be in a modern herd
or be afraid of those that so love to lambast
Cry thee, to thy Gods of confusing adulation
while we carry on in our simple ways
Content with depth, not writing for modern adoration
full of faith that truth and heart in poetry pays!
Robert J. Lindley, 4-27-2017
Note- Old poet, simple slam and quite tired of elitist criticisms
of poet novices, true hearts writing in understood words and
some that seek to exalt themselves by tearing others down..
Yes, this is a slam, but one done in a simple,reserved and more poetic style.
Subtitled: I'll Walk Again
Some tomorrow soon, I shall walk again,
though not as I walked in days past.
To reach that doorway - my foremost campaign
and thus I'll keep walking my last.
Therapy is pain; it's a stormy fight
taking great effort in this cast.
The doctor reports my future looks bright,
I'll walk again, my grit steadfast.
The memory of the accident still clear.
Walking alone I had just passed
the corner turn that leads back from the pier.
dune buggies race the storm too fast
in sand too deep, too wet for certainty
lightning and collision contrast
In time, I'll grasp life as an amputee.
I'll walk alone, my grit steadfast.
New normal I tackle with amnesty,
I cannot cast blame nor lambast.
For such is pathetic activity
generating storms far more vast
than one which caused my disability.
My good broken leg is the mast
where my banner flies with tenacity.
I'll walk at peace, my grit steadfast.
maudlin
maudlin Monday's mostly mud
halts the weekend with woeful thud
laughs and sillies
get the willies
on maudlin Monday, what a dud
tintinnabulous
tintinnabulous Tuesday
is the second paying-dues day
we head uphill
but it’s no thrill
'cause we’re not there, but we’re on our way
wadd'lin
wadd'lin Wednesday straddles the hump
wiggles and shakes like a wide-angle rump
it’s a little too slow
with way too much show
wadd’lin Wednesday makes us “harumph”
thoracic
thoracic Thursday we’d like to send west
we want to get Thursday off of our chest
we’re not so sure
we can endure
thoracic Thursday'd be a good day to rest
finally
finally Friday, when it gets here
makes one take a look in the mirror
to practice a smile
to reclaim a style
time to get ready for giggles and beer!
sleep in
sleep-in Saturday comes with the blues
has way too many of those chore-ing to-do’s
so get outta bed
with hung-over head
and put off whatever you choose
shuff'lin
shuff'lin Sunday saunters along
changing tempo, just like a song
pretty soon then
it’s time again
for Monday and that is just wrong!
elusive
elusive, the eighth day hides from the rest
we like to think we’d like it the best
but we’d probably waste it
and then we’d lambast it.
an eight day week the Beatles addressed
Angel whispers are heard by the chosen
I hear, but ignore, not feeling worthy.
Their persistence bodes well for heaven,
They turn my keen senses topsy turvey.
Pure angel messages resound in my soul,
I am silent, completely humbled and awed.
Angel whispers of joyfulness lambast me whole.
I do not deserve it, I am completely soul-flawed.
Persistence from heaven forces me to listen.
When I close my eyes, I resume resistance.
Barely asleep, angel wings start to glisten.
I am humbled by their chosen insistence.
Totally honored, I meditate on their message,
Why I was chosen is an anomaly to me.
The voice is persistent, keeping me hostage,
Until passing on the message is what I agree.
Written: 8-4-18
Entered:
Sponsor:
“You stiff-necked people, with uncircumcised hearts and ears! You are just like your fathers: You always resist the Holy Spirit! Was there ever a prophet your fathers did not persecute? They even killed those who predicted the coming of the Righteous One. And now you have betrayed and murdered him— you who have received the law that was put into effect through angels but have not obeyed it.”
Acts 7:51-53
All who were sitting in the Sanhedrin looked intently at Stephen, and they saw that his face was like the face of an angel.
Acts 6:15
THE STONING OF STEPHEN
Before Stephen fell asleep, he gave a sermon.
It culminated into a bold accusation t’wards the leaders.
The Sanhedrin, with the high priest, would determine
The fate of this angel-face. They were breeders
Of contempt, accusing God’s man of blasphemy.
They were teeth-gnashers, stuffing their ears with glue,
indignant, jealous, furious. They would rob Stephen’s vitality.
This follower of Jesus is never alone, heaven’s in view:
“Look,” he said, “I see heaven open
and the Son of Man standing
at the right hand of God.”*
Clasping their ears, they rushed at him,
Yelling in full view of the glory of God, not
Seeing nor hearing, choosing their dim
View of life. It was evil they sought.
They snatched him, dragged him out of the city.
Were those chosen stones unearthed from hell?
Upon a saint of God, they took no pity.
They were underneath Satan’s spell.
This favored of God, they could not ignore.
A Sanhedrin bull in full vent with dust and smoke.
Truth will shake powerful men to the core.
Arms and legs like chariot spokes,
The high-horse pretenders lambast
the great orator with great force.
Stephen would soon meet the holy cast
Of forefathers…most importantly life’s source.
Another man is enthralled, also blind
To the goads he’s kicking at. He’s in his heyday,
a young man giving approval to death, the kind
of man Stephen prayed for in this way:
“Lord, do not hold this sin against them.”*
8/8/2021
*Acts (from the Bible)
THE GHOST BAR
gangrenous chains
rusted and burdensome
lambast the oak plank
etching ethereal gouges
the serpentine length drags
with warlike screams
ghoulish intensity
grabs each bony-disk
with heartlessness
the ice cold floor and
daggered eyes, seem
but a hallucination
to the drunken lot
but the barmaid sees!
she screams
as the breathless apparition
howls with wrathful laughter
she faints, fast and dreadful
the chains coil about his neck
in retribution for his act
yanking him about
the floor gives way like quicksand
and he plummets yet again
to certain death
covered by miles and miles of clanging chain
the barmaid’s brought about by salts
she tells the tale over and over again
until the legend of the ghost bar
becomes famous
detailed in rusty chains and eyes
...one peeks through
10/23/2017
THE PARABLE OF THE TALENTS
The grave he dug, the monument he built.
No one saw the single coin that died so fast.
No time for a blessing, nevertheless knees stained,
In the dingy, dirty dark where seeds lambast.
On topsoil, five coins flitter between a man’s fingers.
The magician amazes the crowd, he doubles his wages.
His master will cheer him on, with soulful eyes.
Of his faithfulness, angels dictate lovely pages.
Yes, those who doubled their score whether small or great
will find favor and a hefty inheritance at the pearly gates.
But for the ones who bury their treasure and sit upon it
a sharp shovel will grovel, gripe and shape their fate.
10/7/2018
Contest: The Parable of the Talents
Sponsor: Holly Hippocampus
A highway to heaven
They who created him above
Claim to have
Despite their hands
Washed in the blood of all who oppose
Their reverential unchanging dogma
Centuries of blinding
Those that willingly believe
Has embolden those that
Profess to know the
Secrets of life and of eternity
How loud they cry of the holiness of
God’s divinity
They denounce all but
The complex mutually exclusive tenets
They forcefully expound
Up on high is salvation
One usually starts the journey
After languishing in a grave
No one has yet returned
To tell tales of nirvana above
You must believe what your senses say
Is definitely untrue
If you do not it’s the inquisition for you
Giving two fingers to
The creed of live as you will
Those that have a control streak
Lambast any wavy interpretation
Of life on this earth
We must cherish our individuality
Groupings abound
But you must never forget
To ask – what about me ?
Religion is a celebration
Of our living on this earth
We should celebrate him above
And not dogma
Preached with bellicose sentimentality
Clues in nature suggest a powerful
Presence among us
A seed encapsulates the wonders
That his might can achieve
A tree is his gift to us he loves
Rods of insensitive philosophy
That the tenets of faith expound
Show humanity as its most brutal
Why cant we just be at peace
And not be harassed by religiosity
When a man needs another to know his maker
He can easily be fooled
No active intelligence is needed
Nor access to a creed
To know him
That fulfils our needs
God is love
Hope gives peace
Kindness and fraternity is to be cherished
Love your brother
No matter what his faith
Love, be not weary in doing well. Since
Love is not love that loves only for praise
And cannot love those who makes the flesh wince
Or make truth gasps, and wisdom be amazed.
We who are mortal love only by faith
Believing in the perfect, keeping trust
With belief, adoring what men must hate:
The polished vanity is only crust!
Dare you snide then who is deformed inside
Whose history gives no higher mound of grace
For the wider berth of self-blinding pride
I would'nt lambast what's written in your face
How the confusion of years defiled you
For jealousy is no right to love true.
Frankly, you blew it, lost your cool;
you let loose and lambasted him.
Seventy-eight years, you ole fool,
frankly, you blew it, lost your cool.
You aren't ashamed? instead you drool.
Going to the pool for a swim?
Frankly, you blew it, lost your cool;
you let loose and lambasted him.
The spirit of Robin is well in France
2023 his ethos advanced
The middle managenent break ranks
In suppirt of freedom for people in France
Free power supplied to homes and schools
Buisnesses hospitals spared daconian rules
The goverments farce is now under lambast
Reason has ignited in the mindset of France
Robin des bois, they play your game.'
People before profit thats purely sane
We can have both..' who says otherwise
Do we a want billions? And much genocide?
Many minds can figure, solutions and ways.'
Stand walk; march, improvise i hear France say.'
Beautiful hearts
Eschewing love
Are philanthropic,
Unfurl sensitivity,
Treasure compassion,
Infringe benevolence,
Forsake comforts.
Unsung brave-hearts
Lambast injustice
January 1, 2016
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Contest: Beautiful Acrostic
My father was locked in on an Alzheimer’s unit of a nursing home.
I asked my mother “how will I know when to leave?”
“You’ll know,” she told me.
So I went. Dad was playing cards with a woman and a man.
I said “Hi Dad!” and the woman jumped up, gave a loud screech and ran off.
I found out later that it is his girlfriend there, he thinks they get married sometimes.
He has told my mother this more than once.
Bob stayed with my Dad.
I could tell that Dad knew that he knew me, but he was not sure how.
There was a flicker of recognition. He gave me a half smile.
He had my Daddy’s face, but he was not totally my Daddy now.
Bob said “Hey, Dick, can I get you a sweater?” Dad nodded.
Bob wandered off, and a guy in a weird walker scooted behind me.
“Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh!” He chanted in my ear.
A woman in a house dress came over and said “What’s wrong with you?”
She proceeded to lambast him “Are you retarded? Stop that!”
“Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh!” Dad and I smiled at each other.
A nurse wheeled the guy away, and the woman left.
I asked Dad if he wanted to go outside. He loves the outdoors.
“I want to go home,” he said. “Take me home.”
I was there for two hours. He asked me to take him home twenty-six times.
I felt sad, but knew he could not go home. He was a danger to Mom now.
He had threatened to kill her. And he had many guns. One was missing.
Mom was right. I knew when to leave. When he no longer responded to me.
So many of them abound
They make for a burdensome crown
Worn by a government needing to be overthrown
Is it time to kick all these bureaucrats
Out of town?
The mangling of democracy by quangos
Is the new autocracy
A daily cross to bear
For which we have a lot of resentment and fear
Straddling every aspect of now
And extending even into the future
These supposedly independent devils
Terrorize us who try
To live independently
Against them we dare not blaspheme
OFTED AND OFCOM and OFGEN et al
Wield enormous power
The bureaucrats are demi gods
Who chastise and never seem to praise
Tied and severely beholden
To a host of unaccountable gremlins
We live and breathe to always please
Those unelected saints
That bless us not
They do as they wish
With scant regard for any common sense or Legality
They rampage through our lives
An unstoppable machine
That is of no moral use
They can maim indiscriminately
Controlling
Rearranging
Flattening
Castigating
They must wholesomely control our daily grind
Hiding behind rhetoric
They expound regeneration
They lambast NIMBYS
They cherish infamy
They never behave like you and me
The dictats of box ticking quangocrats
Is a travesty for common sense and individuality
This oppressive culture of domination
Maligns citizenship and innate responsibility
We are a public most savagely traduced
When we allow a stranger to do with us as they choose
Mallory the cat needs a bit of a rest, he’s older than me.
Nothing to see, I tell the neighbors. He’s just up in a tree.
Gawkers come by and lambast me for letting him rest.
Up in his regular place, his tree where he is blest.
He has been sitting up there since he was a kitten.
He’s fine, I reassure them, he looks rather smitten.
Some want to rescue him, which is weird to me.
After all, Mallory is my cat, he is hurting no one up in a tree.
Cameramen from the paper came by and took a quick flash.
They put Mallory on the front page, and it made kind of a splash.
He’s out there today, sitting stoically, turning away from the street.
Loving it that so many coaxers are offering him a come-on-down-treat.