Best Lambaste Poems
Four kegs, they’d left on the rye field’s bare crest
gone were the skittles and the balls of wood.
Four kegs empty of magical brew, strewn
upon the hill’s breasts, where gnomes had stood.
They’d left long ago, twenty years today.
Here’d been a mountain, where now a farm stood.
They had left their tipple as each strike thundered
to lambaste lightning from stacked firewood.
On the rye field’s bare crest now shrouded in snow
beneath a Wedgwood sky, stood kegs of wood.
On the rye field’s bare crest each keg turned stone
marking the bones where rebels once stood.
Gone ‘till tonight, the gnomes and jack tars
until the moon’s magic topped the keg’s wood.
Gone till tonight were the hard balls and pegs
this night spirits would dance where we now stood.
Published 2017 by Illumen
Woo the woman
Love the lady
Mellow the maiden
Manage the maid
Garnish the girl
Dazzle the damsel
Bar the bimbo
Latch the lass
Silence the siren
Moor the mermaid
Net the nymph
Madden the madam
Tame the tart
Court the courtesan
Nudge the nurse
Null the nun
Shun the spinster
Strap the stewardess
Venerate the virgin
Vex the vixen
Vacate the vamp
Curb the coquette
Con the concubine
Whack the whore
Whip the wench
Pooh-pooh the prostitute
Slam the ****
Harem the harlot
Screw the shrew
Dally with a divorcee
Eschew the enchantress
Wallop the witch
Garb Godiva
Jail Jezebel
Lambaste Lilith
Dump Delilah
Gore the Gorgons
Harness Hecuba
Xpunge Xanthippe
Wed the widow!
~03/08/2013
~Contest: Your Personal Favorite #2
~Sponsor: L Milton Hankins.
Behind the parchment screen and eye to eye Punch chided.
Who are you? Who is she? He’d point it out. You’d see.
No marionette with strings was he. Their paths collided;
Judy stands and faces his animosity
The play is writ by man and maid and staged to teach,
the right and wrong of woman’s position, our place.
Standing on two legs, she meets his gaze without speech.
What shenanigan have brought on this crutched lambaste?
Let us ponder Mr. Punchinell’s stance, his missing leg
let his two-eyed profile tease, has Judy been upstaged?
Stumped by the shadow lore, the punch, the audience begs
for the stiff-necked tirade to end her pick engaged.
Speared by humour, we see two realities spar on
with no means to run, the missing third prong’s a pun.
First Published by The Ekphrastic Review
Written: June 22, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lovely, two-week luster.
lasting sylvan smell,
lavender, blue, crimson, lilac, pastel
light lifts people's mettle
leading light is a liking illustration.
loamy land leaning of landowners.
Lubed language is silky and crucial.
land lightly in people's whimsy
locution of literalism logicality
lasts for a lengthy time, if not longer.
Lapis lazuli lanes link labor.
limitless loop layout lends a look of light.
lost from landscape left walls in flux.
looking for love losing out
learning to love may launch
letting love lurch may be a loom.
lift by living a loving life.
lasting love is pulled to lead
Living every day, listening to the wild.
learning life lessons by laughing
lifting lethargy, limiting lemons
loving our Lord, love one another.
love talk leaks recall, lie seal.
loving recalls rekindle love's loyalty.
lips locked, long-lasting.
long, salty lacking friends.
love, latch loss, live for those who care.
looking for a soulmate alone looks cruel.
limping life’s path, listening to voices.
lambaste the bamboozled mind.
laugh, scream your feelings loud
Lustrous eyes reveal loneliness.
lost will, loyalty remains.
lockets and lullabies depict it.
lyrics praise long, dull winters alone.
lacking friendship, grieve less.
Licensed to fix wrongs, omit loopholes of lies.
lure rivals to confess, and learn their lies.
To hoard your gifts, to sit upon
the dust and ash - this life won’t last.
I n a c t i v i t y bores, i n v i t e s
the demons in…these beasts lambaste.
7/5/2022
Sin of Sloth
Margarita Lillico
abcb
Used Rhymezone
Listening to voices,
living in my head, they
lambaste my troubled mind,
leaving me no peace. I
laugh, cry, scream for them to
let me go! There's no hope.
Life spins out of control.
3/16/17
The tempest kiss of seaweed miss.
Her temper heard ~ his heart stirred.
His ship astern and fast.
The siren’s scorn lambaste;
Blind youth’s reality is blurred.
The satin hair of Whitney bright
A pearlescent veil, the tide ~
Calm! Calm! It’s all a lie!
Her body movement spry.
O serpentine witch, her smile, her glide…
Her bright white fangs aglow, move slow.
The magic of her song moored
In his terrified glance;
The seaman’s in a trance.
In former life, he would have scored.
She slowly sucks his soul, and then,
One by one she tenders them.
The fishhooks through their eyes,
Amuse her with goodbyes.
Rehearsal of fatale la femme.*
2/5/2020
*femme fatale order of words was switched to aid rhyme.
A poet’s prerogative:)
A Jim-Jam Mickey-Mouse Poem
I think that you might never see
A poem as weird as this might be
For I’ll use luscious words
That otherwise might sound absurd
This poem may turn out silly-sally
Or even a bit dillydally
In hindsight this whole kit and caboodle
May come across as dipsy-doodle
I’ll find a rhyme for titillated
That’s quintessentially outdated
I might include a foxy lady
But not written like my friend Slim Shady
So there won’t be some randy blowhard
Gender-bender sleaze-ball retard
No hooligan with gizmo manikin
No easy rider glissade shenanigan
No penny pincher prude nitpicker
And of course no cowboy old ****-kicker
And I would be recalcitrant
If I were to use this poem to rant
Though I know at times I vacillate
I shan’t lambaste this tete-a-tete
I haven’t worked in balderdash
Bloke or codger or mish-mash
No Tallulah, no Colleen
No rambunctious Charlie Sheen
And there’s no dubious diddlysquat
But that’s abso-bloody–lutely all I’ve got
Mdailey 3/30/12
There is no time like the present
The only time you can embrace
moments lived in absolute grace
There is no time like the present,
Not be wasted in discontent and lament.
With alpine mountains saluting you,
vibrant seasons and countless vivid hues,
Nature as if celebrates every minute,
why not honour the vast beyond compute ?
Digging the past and stay aghast,
setting soul to uncalled for lambaste,
Or anticipating that future be bright,
and waking up in distress past midnight.
Inhale positive vibes of torrential flow,
Appreciate seven colours of the rainbow,
Now be the secret, now be the song,
As needles of clock keep ticking along,
Feel the mystic fragrance as of today,
every today and each day after day,
If we could introspect and reinvent,
Be sure there is no time like the present.
Written March 31st, 2016
For contest "cliche" by Silent one
Now entered for "Premiere contest no 12" by SKAT A
Hungry for munchies, on his way to the lunchroom,
a rambunctious, persnickety,“fuss-budget”, elderly
jittery, fidgety, geezer, named Cassidy…
whose questionable dexterity, aghast by a massive sneeze,
teeter-tottered precariously.
at the edge of the thingamajig, ...jigging one way, jagging the other!
Minding his own beeswax, without any rigmarole,
topsy-turvy on his feet, he reached for the balustrade,
became quite flabbergasted, and very discombobulated
when the doohickey provided for his ambidextrous aid
jiggled free from its screws, and found him footloose!
It seemed the doo-dad, put there by some nitpicking pipsqueak,
some flat-footed, hooligan, who knew diddly-squat, who obviously,
recklessly, constructed a railing, only worthy for failing!
Such foolhardy shenanigans! Was it some practical joke
to lambaste aged codgers, eliminate lodgers, and boondoggle the old folks?
Cass, was an old rabble-rouser, considered a blabbermouth,
was thrown off his epicenter, while his cane went a'sailing, appendages flailing
Onlookers, were outraged, ....in stage of amazement
but laughs grew contagious, and cock-eyed hilarious!
Those carpetbagger carbuncles of society….can’t stop this old fogy
Cass, brushed off his hinny, would not be blind-sighted..
Barbaric bedevilment, won’t halt his felicity!
Some even predicted, with his acid tongue lashings, and his eccentric behavior,
he would stir up entanglement, kibosh the haranguers
and strangle the caboodles, who hooted and hollered!
His face turned beet red, but no meltdown,......instead
He held his chin high
to the dining room, ahead....he ordered French bread
Ordered some bouillabaisse, toasted with balderdash and a shot of rye
He dined with the multitudes, ordered some strudel, and one snicker-doodle
Then he told folks a riddle, "There was a man with a cane, who slipped on a noodle, a handrail came loose, he injured his caboose….and cooked his goose!"
.....................................................
When darkness surrounds you and sadness stalks,
When you are lost in labyrinth and stagger in walk,
When you are broken and your memories haunt,
When folk lambaste and bitterly taunt,
When your towering strength washes away,
And you find it hard to adamantly stay,
Let not darkness drive you to the madness,
And turn your happiness into sadness,
All the worldly things secretly contrive,
It is you, who must survive,
And fight your hidden demons and foes,
Be the waterfall and stream that elegantly flows,
And change its path and make its way,
Be that stream and make your day.
A person who empower his energy,
Can defeat the world with infinite mystery.
Let your life to spark and ignite,
And forget your erstwhile plight.
M. Shahid Hussain 22 Nov, 2020
Here is a poem on etiquette, about which
I barely know the subject from the predicate
It seems to me that etiquette's all stuffy
It's for royalty's ilk, haughty and puffy
Who the hell cares how you hold your fork
One way for fish, another for pork
Of course, eating soup's a precarious matter
Make sure not one drop is carelessly splattered
As for zupping up the dregs straight from the bowl
That faux pas will land you in etiquette gaol
Then there's the matter of how to drink tea
Proper form being, up with one's pinky
And effeminate gentlemen tuck in their napkins
When carving a bird with all the trappings
Well, I hope you've enjoyed this sacrilegious romp
Dripping with sincerity, and a dearth of pomp
And now that I have etiquette happily hammered
I leave it to you to lambaste English grammar
PSYCHEDELIC SUNSHINE
psychedelic sunshine,
with cephalopod rays,
stretches upward
to the blue-eyed heavens.
commander of sea and skies -
the waistline of the bittersweet sun -
under the tendril waves.
sweet suckers stamp stars,
visible in twilight hours,
kissed and sent to bed until then.
effervescent overtones,
bubble and foam,
with toy ships that sail
with mighty magnitude,
limited by the mercy of the sea.
a savage, boiling beast.
tis crossed precariously.
cephalopod rays, can plunge
suddenly, into the ocean depths.
clouds scurry to lambaste
the sailors, without warning.
enjoy the euphoric waters,
but don’t be fooled
by their siren daughters.
9/15/2017
Mid-September Premier contest
Your list of words is *dubious,
so many came from slang.
I fear my up-tight mama
would forbid the whole shebang.
*Affaire de coeur is French of course
and we may only borrow.
I also know what’s slang today
could be correct tomorrow.
If I write an Irish poem,
I might use the word *Colleen.
Throwing it in just willy-nillly
would seem a bit obscene.
*Ethereal, is my favorite
and lies easy on mind.
*Fuzzled? I think you made that up.
It is not there to find.
*Interstitial? Show me a sentence
where that one could be used.
The *quintessential meaning
of this poem, is that to me,
not every word is equal,
some should be used sparingly.
Don’t think that I *lambaste you,
this is written quite in fun,
just as the list you gave us,
when all is said and done.
*Hither and yon is old English
and out of vogue today.
*Rambunctious, *vacillate, *usurp and *titillate
are in the dictionary
and are good words to be added
to a poet’s vocabulary.
On most of the others
I will simply have to pass.
I would have failed the course for using them
in my English teacher’s class.
She exudes the struggle of acquiring autonomy from her “faux mother” charmingly characterized. dramatized, and energized by Jamie Lee Curtis. The ladder reputable, suitable and quantifiable role as Doctor Tess Coleman transfixed at the larger than life superb therapist.
Despite the countless unflattering run ins with the law (sans, the emotional travails regularly broadcast afflicting the particularly mid/late twenty year old Lindsay Lohan), this chap can empathize, realize and sympathize mental health issues.
A substantial proportion of thine lviii birthdays counted from this anonymous fellow experienced profound anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, panic attacks, and as an added bonus schizoid personality disorder.
Thus, as the media hounds ferociously, meanly and vicious tore into the private antics of a starlet supposedly plagued with mailer daemons, I lamented the constant besiegement of popular culture craze to glean scads of disheartening, demeaning and daring to lambaste (who I presume to be) an exceptionally beautiful, justifiably gainful, and opportunistically lustful questing toward worthwhile peacefulness, stillness and to remain anonymous amidst the madding crowd.
No ulterior motive incites this astute, destitute, and glute (joyful my poop site works) tea us Maximus (palm pilot size) chap to cast his commendations in regard to one personality who found a figurative soft spot within the bosom of this beastie boy.