Best Mocking Poems
Here I stand before hundreds of moss grown graves
There is a mournful silence that extends
Through the weed grown path, no traveller walks
The place, some morbid warning portends
Hush.... hush is this place, here no bird sings
The wind here sighs in silent pain
There is a muffled horror all around the place
Even the leaves chant a sad refrain
Here, Death sits on his imperial throne
Mocking at the relics of human glory
Zealous with the task of deleting the old
To script a new chapter, a new story
In these ancient graves sleep the silent dead
Their toil and trouble ended with life
They must have been perhaps heroes of the land
No more are they part of world’s victory or strife
Nor its sad commemorations or triumphant jubilees
Though released from the shackles of oppression
Each dear presence has now become an absence
Here they lie anonymous, without a single possession
Did they perish in a battle or struck by some pestilence
However, their names are blotted out from life’s tome
They are knocked down and mocked by time
And they lie here uncared, expelled from their home.
Generations pass and their progeny comes
Unmindful of who lived before them
Neither thankful of the legacy left behind
Nor thinking that all comforts, from their toil stem
Vacancy alone greets my pensive eyes
Each life here is a volume shut down,
To be cast aside and eventually forgotten,
Or erased forever with no name or renown
With a heavy heart I stand beside these wrecks
Thinking I too shall lie here, devoid of all opulence
Leaving all my hard-earned possessions behind
With no trace, mocked by time and forgotten by the populace
~ Monotetra form ~
No man's eyes will ever conceive
the things another mind may weave
If this counsel you don't believe
You are naïve You are naïve
What lies behind a masked facade
is oft' unfit to praise and laud
Tread lightly when sipping pernod
Beware the fraud Beware the fraud
One cannot brush away with paint
the darkened soul that's ripe with taint
With deceivers do not acquaint
They ruse and feint They ruse and feint
From mesmeric masks turn away
Treacherous hearts tend to betray
A friend becomes a mocking jay
And you their prey And you their prey
You cannot lift the wicked veil
of the beast with forked tongue and tail
Though legions have tried to assail
To no avail To no avail
Mocking the dead, is that a thing?
How many ways can one be disrespecting?
Laws that cause offenders to be free?
Rape kits that exist only to be not breached.
Little lies and big divides of right and wrong genocide.
Our forefathers could not ever predict
We would be as disrespectful as this.
Ancestors bones surely roll like river
As the wicked become powerful while weak lips quiver
Fowl language and worse ethics morale and actions
Political powers that endorse for private satisfaction.
Mocking the dead what about the little kids
Who inherit the earth in the shape of it
We enjoyed youth clean air and water
And dirty it up for son and daughter.
Looking back only with limited views
Erasing the truth of ill will and abuse
A country started by taking from the natives
Blended into a melting pot of many races
Mocking the dead playing music head like fiddler
Warming the red bed of fire for Hitler
Are we so pompous we can never admit faults
Until it is too late and we too are lost?
Written 9/21/23 For Mocking The Dead Contest
Sponsor Silent One
Mocking the dead,
the vampire on the hill, high
above the cityscape. Why
does his cloak wrap around?
It moves with a hissing sound,
blackened on the outside,
blue on the molten graveside.
Sharpening incisors on the crag,
but
the villagers with their worn rags
tight fisted with their goodly lights -
those lanterns, infused with salt
of garlic, compelled forward in the dead
of night. Mockers and murderers, fed
by rage, want to dispel the wine and bread.
Hell,
the strangulation of fire, lava rolling
down the hill. Mocking, laughter -
the shivering of the old church rafters.
The reborn, new creation, settled
on roof-blowing praise. Nettled,
old Nick, the vampire king unsettled.
Mocking the dead,
making his own bed, jutting at jugulars,
darkening the atmosphere, drawing
congregants, unholy. But, someone holy
has his heels on the vampire’s head.
He’s been banished…dead heads’ rolling.
The glorious light of the lamb, consoling.
Mocking bird sitting on a twig
Filling his craw with those ripe figs
Babies are grown flown from home
All that responsiblity long gone, gone
The farmer said to the cow
Be quiet you old sow
To which she replied
I am not a pig, I am a mooing cow!
He looked at her mockingly
Saying "That is yet to be determined"
She huffed and puffed as he called the butcher.
Whether she was a cow, or a pig or even a one legged chicken
She is now the silent one.
For on the table she sits
A rightful dish along with the haggis
The Fox shall enjoy his menu de la soir
Roasted and basted
Merry Christmas to one and all!
The greatest pretender in the sky
is a thief in wings
and sings and sings in purloined folly.
A burlesque bird first loots a throat
then coddles every stolen note
and assembles every syllable
Then one by one in choral mime
as though true specie in the air
acts with incipit pompous dare.
And what honest notes could sound
that author care the see
that invention were an honest gift
achieved with authenticity.
There they sit, those mocking reminders, on my nightstand table.
I wish I could just throw them out, but I find that I am unable.
There they sit, reminding me, of the life that we once shared,
Before the tragic, life-changing attack, on towers no longer there.
The playbill dated, September 8, in the year 2001;
The last time we went on a date and enjoyed a life of fun.
Three days before he started work in the Trade Center Towers;
If only I had known that day, my life would change in hours.
The cell phone with his last voice mail, which I will never erase;
His calming message, I can replay, next to a picture of his face.
I wasn’t there to answer it when he said his last “good-bye”
It still sits beside my bed always there to make me cry.
A pair of his bifocal glasses that he used to read at night,
Completes the set of memories when my life was still alright.
I know it’s been almost 15 years, and people say I should let go
But I don’t want to forget this man, who I used to love to know.
There they sit, those mocking reminders, on my nightstand table.
I wish I could just throw them out, but I find that I am unable.
The Mockingbird sits,
on a wooden chair singing
away its own death.
Wake, slumber no more
Buzz,buzz, buzz!,join in the buzz
Time waits for no man
Mocking Bird
Mocking Bird Mocking bird can't fly,
Mocking bird can't sing,
Mocking Bird is unable to walk.
She's not allowed to do anything.
Cold naked, all alone,
in dark dirty room that,
daddy calls her home.
Strapped in a straitjacket,
and chained to a chair,
hosed down and beaten every day,
never even allowed to cry.
not a word,
Her daddy wanted it that way.
Daddy called it love.
The last exit to hell in,
in the city of angels, a town they call L.A.
For twelve long years,
Her daddy kept her that way.
At night her daddy force feeds her slops
then chains her to her bed.
They found her when she turned thirteen
Labelled her the feral wild, child.
So she blames herself,
for her life that never was.
And She dreams in echoes of a life that might have been.
The experts and lawyers fought over her night and day,
At the last exit to hell
In the City of Angels, a town they call L.A
Mocking bird can’t sing,
Mocking bird can’t talk,
Mocking Bird cant even walk.
But she can only hop like a rabbit.
And She is now a free bird,
but she is still locked away,
At the last exit to hell in a town called L.A.
She dreams in echo's,
of a life that might have been,
And the mocking bird is now a Mocking Jay
Foe, she does not exist either way.
Even now She's locked in dark dirty room
that's black, blue and gray .
that The State of California calls her home.
Locked away in the City of Angels
A city they call L.A.
Echoes of a life that might have been.
Locked away in the City of Angels
A town called L.A.
Echoes of a life, that might have been.
that might have been,
In HELL a HELL they call L.A.
(c) London F. BuSS 2022 Coochie Road Australia.
Note. this is a true story, when she was discovered, she couldn't walk (she could hop like a rabbit). She was chained to a chair for 13 years. She couldn't feed herself; she couldn't cry, she couldn't talk (even now she cannot speak whole sentences. She is regarded as highly intelligent but State of California still has her locked away in hell.
Day and night, my ears are ringing,
Never does that bird stop singing.
There just HAS to be more than one,
A second takes over, when the first is done.
I know that hate's a nasty word,
Nature is a glorious wonder,
though, when it comes to mocking birds,
God made his worst, big blunder.
I have to close my door at night,
I put on ear muffs, what a sight.
He doesn't care, it slows him not,
he ramps it up, gives it all he's got.
I'll take the city with all it's clatter.
Give me murder, give me mayhem,
steal my money, take my gems.
choose your torture, it won't matter,
Just save me from that damned mocking bird's chatter.
* None of our feathered friends were hurt during the writing of this poem....yet !
.
Mocking Bird sat
Ruffled tails bouncing...
Cat stealthly approaching
Non-traditional
Tick…tick… snooze time for night
morning’s face peek.
I Stretch out my wings
a prayer song out my bill
every morning’s ritual.
Across the land dash
where to I sweat my daily bread.
Deep my head here and pick there
and as usual, drawn I am from now
by my rhyme, verse, lyric slices;
this time, down an aisle of ballads, narratives and sonnets.
From their smell I pick an ingredient or two for my stew
for within always is a simmering pot
half baked songs, yearn to fully cook.
Mockingbird: finding your soul purpose, recognition of abilities
Contest: Picture yourself as a bird
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
*Image of Mocking Bird At A Lost by Pixabay.
Hawaii's mocking parody - hiku
shrewd mocking birds
stay docile in passing
we must mock them
2022 February 12
*1st Place*
A STRAND (1075)
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 February 17