Best Miscalculated Poems
Once upon a time, Prunella
dwelt amid a magic wood
a dainty pixie most rare
whose temperament wasn't good
Last one of her purple line
in that dreary, dreaded glen
where beasts ever feared to tread
and mankind had never been
For purple pixies were known
to be devilishly mean
they'd terrified the kingdom
wherever they had been seen
So Prunella lived alone
and pouted, skulked and scowled
and dark nights when coyotes called
she piteously howled
Until one day she found them
some children lost in the wood
and scared the daylights from them
just because she knew she could
The children fawned and pleaded
to appease her rotten mood
this only made her madder
so she copped more attitude
But she'd miscalculated
when she made the last one mad
and felt the ammunition
from that slingshot-wielding cad
Wee bits of sweets kept flying
so like pebbles at her wings
until he ran out of those
then he chucked most anything
Around the wood she darted
avoiding him at some length
until at last she gave out
having used up all her strength
He plucked her from where she fell
and plopped her into a jar
then she began to bargain
as the village wasn't far
But Fred, both shrewd and clever
vowed to keep her locked up tight
'til they all were safely home
and ev'rything was made right...
So she charmed the fireflies out
to show them all safely home
bossily shouting orders
from within the jars glass dome
But once they were safely back
the boy quickly changed his mind
decided to keep Ol' Prune'
(as pixies were hard to find)
And 'though she was mad as hell
and her wings pulsed fiery red
she couldn't help but admire
this precocious, wily Fred
'Though he never let her loose
they became the best of friends
laughing with glee as they kept
his parents at their wits-ends
“What's with these wild ideas?”
They would grouse, and groan, and moan
unknowing those mischief-plans
were a pixie's- not his own!
Categories:
miscalculated, fairy, fantasy, humor, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
When the heart feels the
weight of unvoiced verses,
as the verdant embers of Venus
follow the frozen warmth
and the permafrost flickers
of persimmon and cinnamon,
like poetry slipping through
tortured time,
I stand at the cusp of
withering wishes,
like the silver of Luna phasing
above the lamented lighthouse,
cemented with mistrust,
embedded with uncertainties,
afraid of the crashing crystals
cradling my claustrophobic psyche…
O silent scribblers,
scrolling through words of woe,
forgive my impulsive ink.
I’ve long been a runner,
fleeing familiar fickleness,
exhausted and drained
in the midst of melancholy
that lingers across forlorn pages,
like coldness amidst a summer breeze,
like darkness dwelling
in the driftwood dust
of dawning dreams and rising roses,
rinsed with regrets of musky musings.
I race through miles of solitude,
chasing nirvana,
escaping the shackles
of black-thorn springs,
where breathing seems
like a miscalculated
step to misery and interrogation...
I am a misread flame,
entwined with forgotten footfalls,
reveling in solitude,
where sonnets of love
and elegies of sorrow
no longer pierce my soul,
like rusted steel.
I drown in syllables of zen,
alone but not lonely,
silent but not silenced,
anchored in the aesthetics
of self-love and serenity,
hypothesized by
the hesitant galaxies,
as if I am the conceited constellation
that wanes when
storms stir my senses.
But I refuse to pull the stars
into the hellish arms
of vagueness,
so this is me
saving you from
sweltering soliloquies
while homing
fragments of lucidity on
my own astral avenue…
Categories:
miscalculated, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
What happened to poor Easter Bunny, was it murder, misfortune or fate?
What to tell the children when the treats are unforgivably late.......
It could have been the tooth fairy, accidently raining teeth as she flew by
Poor Bunny pierced by sharp teeth, extremely deadly from way up high
It could have been Cupid, letting his haphazardly arrows fly
Poor Bunny punctured by a miscalculated arrow gone awry
It could have been Jack Frost, getting in his last frost before the end of the year
Poor Bunny frozen solid, all that is left sticking out from the snow... a lone ear
It could have been St. Patrick, preaching Christianity in Bunny's ear
Poor Bunny died of an aneurysm hearing bible stories so severe.
It could have been Jack-o-lantern with numerous carvings meant to scare
Poor Bunny had a heart attack, frightened to death, and he without healthcare.
It could have been Santa, driving reckless with mounds of gifts to deliver everywhere
Poor Bunny trampled by reindeer, that he was unable to hop any faster, is so unfair
Which story will you tell your child....why the Easter Bunny comes no more?
Will you confess, that you led your child astray with fabled stories of folklore.
Contest name ~ Clue: Who Murdered the Easter Bunny?
Sponsor ~ Lisa Cooper Poetessdarkly
03-14-2013
Categories:
miscalculated, easter, funny, easter, easter,
Form:
Rhyme
The leer at-
the anointment,
a cruise controlled gear-
gets no appointment,
the gruesome task is
to trust the element-
scarce-
or even just feebly miscalculated,
as another was given the equality one was torn out of the page book,
a traveler,
an infector.
Categories:
miscalculated, adventure, allusion, analogy, animal,
Form:
Prose
Puzzle Pieces
by Odin Roark
How troublesome the process
This jigsaw puzzlement of completion
That piece of apology
Impatiently gnawing at conscience
Never uttered
Forever evading the moment
The congratulatory gesture
Ever studied for the right angle
The approach that would empower
Not merely pander to an ego
The closure unattended
Acceptance of grieving’s unfamiliar form
The not-yet-ready release from
Mistake’s stubbornly suffocating choke
Even saying I love you
Remains held in abeyance
Fearful of misjudged reaction
Forcing rejection once again
Yet…
Patience remains as always
Our least respected
And most willing protector
Might forbearance have but one goal?
The simplest move of all
Acceptance of the game
Oh how we question
Engagement of challenge
The forever-perplexing summons
The curves
Angles
Miscalculated chances
When life’s countdown only asks
We respect commitment
Without need for interlocking
For conquest
Or gain
That winning is non sequitur
To mortality’s premise
That always-alive existence
Provides tireless refinement
For the countless puzzle pieces
Yet to ponder
Categories:
miscalculated, life,
Form:
Free verse
"Hindus" that call themselves,
Regard It as a holy tree
Which alighted from the sky--
Originated from the churning of sea;
One of the fourteen 'Ratnas'
I happened to have a look at,
Which has as its guardians,
A bunch of bearded religiocrat:
Whilst I was nearby it,
I looked at it as I'd at any other grove;
Not even once it occurred to me--
The thought of its sanctity--
I was in a state of emptiness;
I had only come here to enjoy Nature;
This is when I made a move...
...Insensitive to anything but blissful greenery
Prevalent all around,
I made a jump to pluck off a leaf--
Just overhead,
And lo!there were issuing sounds
From the mouth of the sagacious,
And miscalculated words were hurled
For me as a curse...
But what could I do?I stood there,
In an imprudent fashion and kept smiling
At the miserable state of their thoughts:
They abused and mouthed obscenities,
They asked me if I was Indra
Or an inhabitant of Swarga--
The abode of the Holy tree--
I had no answers and no other expressions
Tried to cross my face--
I smiled and looked at them
In a state of serene calmness...
By the by, I took a look at the Parijat,
That Arjuna had summoned to earth;
Then I witnessed the blue heavens
And walked away as another gust of wind
That had rustled the leaves on the Sacred Tree...
Categories:
miscalculated, religion, satireme,
Form:
Free verse
I missed the toilet in the dark,
I'm always deadly as a shark,
I miscalculated -
math is overrated...
think basketball: Shoot with an arc.
Categories:
miscalculated, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
Love is overrated
Misunderstood, miscalculated.
It is the morning mist,
A dew rested on the grass.
In the warmth, it ceases to exist.
with the heat of the sun, it's gone.
Love demands caring,
Demands nourishment,
The constant attention of 5minus4 senses.
Love always dies slow,
Suffocating agony, a hard ignore.
Love is the cancer of the balls.
It's a haunting acoustic of an empty hall.
Echo bouncing off of the wall.
Love is at first,
Stardust, a diamond that shimmers.
Gold that's glistened with worth.
It's the first rain.
The first poetry a poet pens.
It's the first word uttered.
It's all metaphorical yet all literal.
It revolts, it's a rebel and a revolution.
At its pinnacle, it's greater than God.
For Fu*ks!!!
A pomeranian with a pitbull's gut.
In between love is
Understanding, compromising.
a doormat, a doorknob.
It's a lock and it's a key.
It is two different things.
It multiples to cease.
It's the missing
piece, It's all, it is.
A boneless dick.
Puking sick.
It's a nefarious deed of a priest.
Love at last is
An unclean tongue.
A desire of a dying whore to become a nun.
It's constipation,
And stomach cramps.
It's the first kiss and the biting of the lips.
It's a fart that refuses to leave.
It's piss after a drink,
It stinks.
It's a bottled up perfume,
A wild bloom.
It's a ruthless warrior.
A headless chicken.
the vigorous flapping of wings without flight.
It's a dead eye.
And a lie.
It's the heaven of the scriptures,
And a hell of the mind.
It's the sinister divine.
An indecisive crime,
A bell that doesn't chime.
It's screaming on the prayer.
A word unsaid, deed unpraised.
Love is but a suppression of hate.
A mistake,
Poison of a sweet taste.
©su_tshant
Categories:
miscalculated, lost love, love, love
Form:
Free verse
For fifteen years I’ve watched the world,
Seen the flags of ‘we’ versus ‘them’ unfurled,
I may be young, but don’t you underestimate,
The potential I have to overcome, and to dominate.
It seems the powers that be are perturbed,
Their once firm grip on society is disturbed,
For what they miscalculated, or failed to see,
Is that overbearing control does not earn loyalty.
So despite all the censors, the rules, and the lies,
The chaos is growing right before our eyes,
Though we paid for ‘security’ with voluntary cuffs,
There will come a time when the people have enough.
When **** hits the fan, what would you prefer?
To get information from the source, or use the media to infer?
To infer the truth about the goings-on around you,
To know before things happen, and understand the ‘why’ too?
We’re now at a crossroad, a difficult decision,
One road is normality, the other is broadening my vision,
I can live out my life and fulfill normal goals;
I can change my direction and be at the controls.
And though neither is right and neither is wrong,
The question remains, how would you carry along?
Each option results in its own implications,
The effects of this choice could be seen for generations.
Although I am still pondering what I should do,
This crossroad will also pan out before you.
And so, choose wisely which path you will seek,
But commit to it fully, this choice is unique.
Categories:
miscalculated, change, world,
Form:
Rhyme
I created words
I connected lines
All by myself
I re-build people
Fixed holes
All by myself
I ran towards my dreams
With no one
But myself
I span worlds
Always remembered my mistakes
Just to prove
I never forget
But I wish someone close
Would be standing next to me
Till the end
Someone loving
Someone that would love me
Till no end
I created worlds in my mind
And an underestimate you have miscalculated
I created so much
By myself
Categories:
miscalculated, introspection
Form:
Free verse
but to seize
the gold of
your
splintered sun,
must I
m o v e dreams
across
tables of trickery
placed with
forks of forgery
and chalices of deceit
c r a
d l
i n g
the
dust of life and
ticking truth
s l i
t h e r
i n g in silk
among writhing serpents
awaiting the
stroke of
midnight thorns?
and to confuse
my patience with
a pawn is a
miscalculated mistake
for I refuse to
be chained
in citrines~
engrossed in
cruelty
served in
sinister spoons;
threats from
an egomaniac
soaked in
m u
s k s
of dusk
so tonight,
I bid adieu
to
the
eccentric accent
of a ruthless strategist;
the end tastes
sweeter than
sips of silence~
your speech mocking
the stem
of an aching rose,
illustrating p e
t a
l s
glazed by the moon~
as maleficence
in the
narcissistic narratives
there is no
line of empathy
in my arcade of angst~
for the fallen star
armored with daggers
protecting the
cave
of chaos.
Categories:
miscalculated, angst, farewell,
Form:
Free verse
...or Jack be walking funny for a while...
Jack was nimble,
And Jack was quick,
But he miscalculated
That candlestick.
It was skinny and tall,
He was thick and quite small.
When he lit,
It was with an undignified bump,
With a blister
The size of his fist on his rump.
Then a notion occurred
To this game little actor,
Before he tries it again,
Jack will use a protractor.
Categories:
miscalculated, humor,
Form:
Light Verse
The war crimes in Ukraine
Is a monstrosity
It's the devil at work
The piper must be paid
A despot gone berserk
The war crimes in Ukraine
Is far beyond the pale
What was Putin thinking?
He miscalculated
Troops he deployed, shrinking
The war crimes in Ukraine
Is watched the world over
It's hard to look away
Dead bodies on the ground;
Soon they'll start to decay
The war crimes in Ukraine
Can be called genocide
Awful truth came to light,
Absolutely shocking
Russia will lose this fight
Form M - Monchielle - New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Theme chosen: Death
Syllables checked at HMS
Date written: 04/06/2022
Categories:
miscalculated, death, horror, war,
Form:
Monchielle Stanza
O Stephan, my dear Stephan
Where did you go dear Stephan?
One moment we were running free
The next your face I could not see
We ran together in the rain
We ate together, played together
You were my yin and I your yang
I thought we would never part
Now I am old but still I wonder
If this was fate or the design
Of some very unfortunate
And miscalculated occurrences
I ask my parents still till date
What happened to my dear Stephan?
My friend, my confident, my all
In times gone by when we were young
Why did life take this course?
Pulling me from my comfort zone
We could have had a great life
Stephan and I together on our own
Categories:
miscalculated, childhood, together,
Form:
Free verse
Miscalculated the opened door
Spilled those grits on the floor
Well some went on the cabinet top
Some went here and there and flop
These grits were uncooked see
Gritty and runny milky indeed
They went under the coffee keeper
All over the clean coffee steeper
When they finished running around
I thought that they was kin to one who bounds
Like a stud, a casanova everywhere
I didn't make a sound really I didn't make a sound
I could have but I bit my tongue
I held up the shield to my thoughts
I held them captive until my husband
Came in the room and I told him
Do not drop any water on the floor
Categories:
miscalculated, family, funny, husband, imagination,
Form: