Best Loathes Poems
she’s a faithful friend
a mentor, a confidant
a trusted teacher
of poetry forms
loyal, loving me for me
with no conditions...
on one occasion
she set aside precious time
to study ALL of my work
yes, from first to last
offering kind opinions
on what she thought were my best...
she loathes the lazy
practice of copy/pasting
bland, boring comments
or: ‘Nice work! Love it! Congrats!’
(short but not so very sweet)
enough already!
she’s funny and fun
honorable and honest
sometimes brutally...
(she knows I need it)
confidence sans cockiness
now THAT’S a lady...
8/14/2014
Categories:
loathes, for her, friendship,
Form:
Choka
The A.D.D. poet, knows not of forms.
His mind is adrift, his thoughts move in swarms.
He loathes punctuation, he oft lacks the words.
To convey his whole meaning, to strike the right chords
He has no control, of what he retains
He tries to make sense, of what little remains.
He's left with an archive, of incomplete visions
Forged of distractions, which breed indecision.
He jots every line, with the best of intention.
Trying to conclude, despite fading attention.
Then he has an epiphany, if explored he could finally be free!!!!!
Then he gets hungry, makes a sandwich, and is off to watch TV.
Categories:
loathes, confusion
Form:
Rhyme
What I feel can't be denied;
when I watch her sleep at night.
For feeling all warm inside;
seconds pause as time takes flight.
She's in her fantasy place,
where dreams get steeped in pleasure.
And an aura frames her face;
almost too bright to measure.
Venus loathes rising at night;
to traverse ebony skies.
For She cannot match her light,
no matter how hard She tries.
Nuzzled awake with a kiss;
loving lips welcome my charms.
And we share feelings of bliss;
snuggled in each other's arms.
Categories:
loathes, feelings, girlfriend, heart, imagery,
Form:
Quatrain
One of two thieves
You can only be
One of two thieves
Better choose wisely
One of two thieves
One scorned and mocked Him
Which of two thieves…?
One had to love Him
Which of two thieves…?
One joined the loud crowd
Which of two thieves…?
Which one are you?
You saw His glory?
Which one are you?
Laughed at His story?
Which one are you?
Helped make Him feel worse?
Which one are you?
Malefactors
Only two were they
Malefactors
One condescending
Malefactors
One, oh, so humble
Malefactor,
Choose this day your side
You, criminal!
For sure are you one
You, criminal!
State what you have done
You criminal!
Do you Him deny?
You criminal!
Do you Him defy?
You, Criminal!
Must be guilty
Then say, why’d He die?
Must be guilty
Yet, you mock and sigh
Must be guilty
He died in your stead
Must be guilty
So praise Him instead
Must be guilty
Hands stained, oh, blood-red!
Yes, ‘tis true guilt
Will you then appeal?
Yes, it be guilt
Take for granted still?
Yes, ‘tis your guilt
But the Father’s will
Took away guilt
How will you repay?
Remain in guilt?
For dear life you’ll pray?
Or embrace guilt?
There are two thieves
But one loves so dearly
Of the two thieves
The other loathes— clearly
You are a thief
On borrowed life, merely,
Day-to-day you live…
Wryly, or merrily?
Did He life give,
That you might live freely?
Be grateful, thief…
Saved undeservingly
Categories:
loathes, appreciation, christian, forgiveness, god,
Form:
Life and Death in two separated clusters, Klimt draws conflicts.
The serenity of his cycle of life is bright in pure color, he depicts.
A modern dance of death, yet he offers pause in what is inevitably set.
Death savoring in anticipation, musing with the decision “Not yet”.
Idly, death looks on, a sinister smile upon the gruesome face.
He has no semblance of human form except a skull in place.
Bones clutch a scepter as he seems to have found something to amuse.
His robe of blue adorned by crosses, is he deciding which one to choose ?
The manifestation of death at a distance from the slumbering cycle of life.
A child to the young women, a muscular male and the old, fear no strife.
Beautiful rounded forms clad with gently patterned clothes,
Seemingly unperturbed by the grim reaper, everyone loathes.
There is an eternal confrontation between death and life.
Depictions of death usually show as dangerous as a knife.
Opposed to the life depicted in a passive sleep like state.
The purposeful asymmetrical balance is to differentiate.
Death lies in wait in his blue robe with many a gaping grave.
And yet hope of a reconciliation, seems that he will save.
Not the evil lurking death, tempting them from their bed,
Time to tell with the circle of life, will he allow them to live on instead?
Categories:
loathes, dance, death, life,
Form:
Ekphrasis
The lass is lonely her life weary
Her stormy days restless and not easy,
She seeks of giving yet the weather dreary
Perceiving her world through bountiful eyes.
For sure therein her highest of mind
Yet for not of the common woes,
Gifts she loathes of many tributes
To handout the most regal of rose.
Yet a copper coin here a penny there
A wholesome batch of homemade bread,
To those the scruffy village urchins
She pursued the ragged poor instead.
Her father M’lord at his table rife
Silver sheen catches the sunlight,
Tis’ head waiter swings the liberal knife
Sweet daughter of protocol pretends.
For I was of urchin the village claimed
But she was educated and filled my head,
For now I am M’lord of the manor
Did grieve not when M'lord pronounced dead.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Categories:
loathes, angel, care,
Form:
Quatrain
Behind the smile
She has the body you desire
Her presence an enigma
She lights up every room she enters
Fills it with charisma
Her smile is perfect, like her hair
She’s all you’d like to be
Somebody who has it all
Is the image that you see
Her body she despises
She battles with her mind
She hates the person that she is
To her beauty she is blind
She loathes the way she
Laughs out loud
The colour of her hair
She sees more imperfections
That really are not there
Her life seems so together
She’ll dance until she drops
She parties hard and pays her way
With every cork she pops
She travels to exotic shores
Filled with style and grace
Everyone admires her
And will recognise her face
She’s battled with an illness
Watched loved ones suffer too
She bares the scars that life has dealt
And struggles to get through
She’s felt the pain of grief and loss
Been bullied and betrayed
Wounded by a broken heart
Felt lonely and afraid
Don’t be fooled by your perception
Of how things seem to be
Everybody struggles
Disguising what you see
Learn how to avoid envy
To yourself be true
You won’t feel the need to criticise
If you’re satisfied with you
Tracie Heard 01/03/20
Categories:
loathes, anti bullying, anxiety, beauty,
Form:
Rhyme
Born in the merry moth of June,
For my little sister I did swoon.
My little sister taken for granted,
we do nothing but fight.
We hate and hurt,
Yet never love.
She was my best friend,
Now she's my enemy.
She does not trust me,
not even to swat a bee,
I am the one who ruined it all,
The one who shut it off,
The care we felt for the other.
We used to dress in matching clothes,
holding hands and discussing loathes.
Now all we loath is each other.
I am the girl who seems so happy,
yet is really broken inside.
I miss the days when we shared,
Ice cream from a cone,
I miss the times we would,
stay up late at night,
Just to give each other a fright
I miss the hugs, the laughter and the jokes,
I miss the fun, the trouble, and the pokes
The tomfoolery and the horse play.
I miss my little sister
Categories:
loathes, best friend, caregiving, family,
Form:
Free verse
Lost souls that always roam the lonely roads,
Ever searching for that spring they shan’t find
In melancholy souls of their same kind,
Whose burdens break their backs with heavy loads,
Intertwined with heartbreak which bodes
Of darkest baggage from a life defined,
Containing sorrows leaving them maligned.
Though living within these confines one loathes,
Irrespective of profound loss of pride,
They deign to keep their loneliness repressed.
Old shadows follow, adding to their woes.
Seems almost an eon since last they cried,
Echoing in deaf ears how they’ve transgressed;
Yet hope glimmers in those sad eyes, Lord knows.
April, 18, 2014
Categories:
loathes, life, loneliness, lost,
Form:
Sonnet
HOLY COW! It's Bigfoot, there in the brush
Lower your voices- he's skiddish
Now, hush
I know his habits, I'm privy as hell
An expert and scholar, I've studied him well
While in line at the grocery
For years I've immersed
In various tabloids becoming well versed
I even speak sasquatch
Oh, you don’t believe?!
It's a cross between Latin and baboonanese
His dads a zookeeper, his mothers a chimp
Her name is Chin Chin- his name is Chip
He's a renaissance man
Well at least is half way
The other halves savage in need of a shave
Just stash those cameras he hates paparazzi
And Jack Links commercials
And rappers with posses
He loathes boy bands and people named Josh
And meat from a can
And Spicegirls called Posh
He's against any wars
but supports the troops
And completely abhors
When his fur cakes with poop
detests media bias
mainly FOX NEWS
But believes Bill O'reilly
has interesting views
He enjoys fine wine and deep conversation
Flinging his poo and masturbation
Those would be two of his favorite hobbies
The world calls him Big Foot
His pops calls him Robbie
Categories:
loathes, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
She walks along the stage
Looking at him
And him
And him
With her deadened eyes
He looks back at her
Every one of him
And fantasizes
Perky breasts
Milk white thighs
He feels
What’s familiar rise
Music plays
She feels the moments press
Skillfully
Removing her dress
He screams
He whistles
He wants more not less
Five dollar bills
Tossed at her feet
More from him
And him
She starts to feel the beat
Moving through her like a wave
Is she the master
him the slave?
She has her money
He’s left to crave
Dreaming of the place she closely shaves
The music stops
She puts back on her clothes
Looks at him
And him
And him
The ones she loathes
Hates who she is
Her stage name Rose
Takes a bow strikes a pose
Her act is done so off she goes
Wonders about next time
How many of him will there be?
Each with that hunger
It's not her they really see
They want pleasure
Yet inside are empty
As long as they come
she will never be free
Each practiced move
is her high heel misery!
Categories:
loathes, dance, desire,
Form:
Free verse
No Maria -
when a Bernstein motif lingers.
No rosary beads -
they'll simply slip
through bourbon-stained fingers.
God carved the seven continents,
with skillful guise,
and Puccini cries.
Adam's rib was imminent
when his chest burst splinters
into a scorned dodger's eyes.
No Turandot tonight, please -
Father willed him this disease;
a cancerous curse
Ben's learned to despise.
No Rodgers -
when Oscar Hammerstein is dead.
No hammered halos -
they'll merely desecrate
the madman’s head.
Ben abandoned rued religion,
with toxic breath -
as Mimi wept.
Noah made a revision,
as the pairs filed two by two,
and into his mouth they crept.
No La Boheme, does he dote -
Mother’s cocktail glass
cuts his throat.
A souvenir,
from his childhood,
he’s kept.
No Sondheim -
when one loathes another's company.
No steel wool ragcloths -
to dry the bloodshot eyes of thee.
He minded the duet’s jargon
endorsing the macabre,
and Calaf sobbed.
Judas rethought the bargain,
knowing the silver pieces
wouldn’t save the soul he robbed.
A lost weekend sates Ben's day -
two severed hands on his chest,
he’ll lay; never feeling
a heart
that once throbbed.
Categories:
loathes, on writing and words
Form:
Rhyme
Preeminent nurse, pet topic in the land
Love supplier that unfolds every loops
In her wand melts ice cold heart at hand
Love will she turn every loathes in a troop
Moves and words confidently she unfolds
Not just the physical or emotions she restores
But the spirit as well carefully she succors
For she’s the nurse every client adores
The procedures she makes ethics she observes
In the OR, ER or CPR she meticulously performs
All the times she share worth the times we lose
For hearten words she’ll nail in your norms
Categories:
loathes, care,
Form:
Free verse
Winter Leaves
by Odin Roark
Seemingly adrift
Without care
Emblematic of interim homelessness
Yet
They rest unraked
Awaiting the next frost
The next thaw
The cyclic disintegration
The sequence they know so well
Still
We
The conscious ones
See not the wisdom of their seasonal trial
That arctic-like mission
Taking them to where they need to be
Come spring
The mulch of the winter
Delivers the gift
The nutrients for realizing
Spring’s glory
The cycle’s inevitable reconnect
Some might see it like love
Except nature knows
Without the up down
Bloom /wilting
Life/ death
There is no continuum
Blossoming
Lest we forget
The same tree
Bush
Vine
Doesn’t pack it in
Just because
Temperatures go seasonally cold
When will we learn
The heart
The mind
The being
Like all of nature
Is meant to be susceptible?
And
Like our favorite flower
We too
Are vulnerable
The difference is
The plant knows
Cycles are not only innocent
They are like the nature of everything
Knowing reality loathes tampering
And perhaps
The reason leaves naturally go on
Nurture the next generation
Without agenda
Is they’re gifted over us
They don’t have sentience
To mess them up
Categories:
loathes, nature,
Form:
Free verse
It seems at least one dorm room is the dwelling of a bum.
I visited my son and saw big piles of grungy clothes.
leftover fast food, open garbage--things a mother loathes!
Sloppy sons so seldom seek to scour sickening scum.
Categories:
loathes, growing up, mother son,
Form:
Quatrain