Best Mutinous Poems
I'm near cuckoo
This Monday blue
A day not eas'ly recommended
for making sense
I'm way too tense
And hung-over to comprehend it
My mind's on the bend
my imaginary friends
are threatening to abandon en masse
I was perfectly sane
till they pissed in my brain
negotiations are at an impasse
It pains me to mention
the bone of contention
menacing our peaceful existence
my voices of own creation
went above their station
with mutinous and unfair persistence
Old Mother Hubbard
had sneaked to the cupboard
to steal skeleton bones for her yapper
the skeletons in-wait
welcomed their bait
with little resistance managed to trap her
As to why she'd no clue
their demands were few
and until met they'd keep her as hostage
twixt two skeletons squeezed
the hag was well-pleased
only in dreams she was ever in bondage
The skeletons vacated
on their long-awaited
crusade for their rights to be equal
a sudden scurry in my head
when the voices I have bred
became hushed, which was rather unusual
The spokes-skeleton
passed a colorless wind
voiced their single demand: to remain
"We were made to vanish
to a dark cupboard banished
we demand henceforth to share your domain."
A resounding "No!
You'll stay down below
we're totaling 20, including the yapper
there's hardly space
the din to embrace
and an hour-long queue to the crapper."
"Then the beldam Hubbard
will remain in the cupboard
lore would have it, bare to the bone
the cupboard, that is
not the hag, whose Maltese
diced up raw will be fed to the crone.
We implore you most
kindly engage our host
in negotiations and if necessary plead
we want into his brain
and share your domain
or prepare for a skeleton stampede."
PART 2 TO FOLLOW. THIS MIGHT TAKE A WHILE, AS I'M LOCKED IN HOSTILE NEGOTIATIONS
Eternal granite, crystalline scree, agates, boulders, rise
to hills, towering tors,* mutinous mountains, endlessly growing
rising, lifted, then toppled by the fiery rebirth of draconic lava**
Like the cracked shell of an avian egg***/ **** both molten yolk
and watery albumen mark the passage of time, the swings
of the multiverse, they pacify Charon’s passage on the Styx
Seen and unseen the arched openings spiral, poled in ten
dimensions by exigent mathematical quandaries, branching
boles boldly rooting in islands of primordial I, chained
screeching***** shadows infer larger beings who manhandle
the infinite construct of finite man
*Alliteration Repetition of consonant sounds [
** Hyperbole A figure of speech involving exaggeration.
*** Assonance The repetition of similar vowel sounds [A vian, A gg]
**** Simile A figure of speech involving a comparison between unlike
things using like, as, or as though.
*****Onomatopoeia a word that imitates the sound it represents
London’s Guildhall, John Lilburne is frogmarched in
A man Cromwell considered a friend,
To stand before him accused of high treason
His actions against parliament to defend
As radical leader of the ‘Levellers’
John opposed Parliament fervently,
With his clandestine printing network
Speaking out of its tyranny;
Power, John Lilburne argued
Belonged with the common man,
His pamphlet ‘Agreement of the People’
Defined how, in the ‘Levellers Plan’.
In ‘England’s New Chains Discovered’
He urged soldiers and citizens, ‘unite-
Reject the rule of the Grandees!’
He was arrested and charged with mutinous incite.
Cromwell brought him to the Guildhall
Amid the strictest security
Troubled his trial would cause civil unrest,
Such was John’s popularity
Although eventually acquitted and exiled
He lived the rest of his life a marked man,
And our constitution, today, owes its birth
To the ideals of his ‘Levellers Plan’.
Yo-Ho-Ho And Shiver Me Timbers
Shiver me timbers and loosen me limbers
I sail me sloop until it lin’ers
And drop anchor in t’ nearest lagoon
Bury me treasure chest full o’ doubloons
Then set off durin t’ next full moon
~
“Aarrr!” I’m happy go-lucky sea piratin Cap’n
With a short wooden leg and a limp, earrin’s, and rin’s on every fin’er
Metal silver hook for me left hand
Me cutlass, dagger, and dirk o’ me belt
Not a landlubber at all
~
Not a thin’ scares me that stand in my way
Especially when I’ve had a few grogs in me belly
Aye, I carry around me Ahoy! bucko Polly me parrot on me shoulder
That keeps me on t’ straight and narrow
~
They call me a barbaric and thief I don’t know why
A great insult t’ me, I just laugh into my handkerchief in disbelief
~
Don’t insult me temper because it gets carried away
Sarcasm, rudeness, and insults I cannot help
When swashbucklin’ scallywag get in me way
~
Me hearty weigh anchor
Or I’ll give ye a taste o’ walkin t’ plank
T’ Davy Jones’ Locker you will go and feed t’ fishes for mutinous
Dead men tell no tales!
~
Aye, aye, mates, pull anchor and set sail
I be Silver Hook a feared pirate that sails t’ seas
9/5/2015
Contest Name :A Pirate's Life For Me
Sponsor Name: Kelly Deschler
Like the days of invasive explorers, your plight commenced
You went explosive with yields of unrestrained wealth
Dishing out involuntarily, streams of the inflammable oil and gas
From your natural reservoir, they flowed relentlessly
Filling the insatiable pockets of merciless exploiters
And saves of ambitious tyrants with abyss of desires
When the rain washed through you into the ocean
It saturated their evaporated poison, to your detriment
It rendered uninhabitable, your courses and earth
To flora and fauna, flourishing for your sustenance
And in squalor, you watched your trove emptied to itching laps
And helplessly, you watched your pride develop wings and flew
Because your sons swam in despair and self-pity
They became agitated, restive and mutinous
In attempt to protect and resuscitate your emptied chest
They sank you further into undeserving disgrace
Even your daughters, in shameful act, they marred your pride
Like a frustrated childless widow, you mourned your future
Behold a new dawn, fresh with dewy hope, Niger Delta
Behold your children - calm, sober and improvising
The land and sea in joint effort are returning your glory
With remorse your exploiters are returning
And in search of your face for reconciliation and favour
To your sudden elevated height, they flock to pledge allegiance
Weep no more, treasure trove of a giant -giant of Africa
Weep no more, splendour of a jewel - jewel of Africa
Weep no more, Niger Delta!
WATER LOO
Water water everywhere*
and oh how it did stink
water water everywhere
and all my undies pink
alone amid the rising tide
of baby toys and diapers
I stand in brownish bubbling surf
wondering which is riper
my mutinous crew has left the ship
fleeing from the putrid stench
I’ve also been abandoned by
my “ever-faithful” wench.
Alas as Captain I must endure
consequences of this blunder
hold my nose as I await
my rescue by - the plumber.
John G. Lawless
3/30/2016
My apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge for stealing this line from his poem
“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”
At the packed coastal beach, scents of chrysanthemums’ incenses
Adorned the cool sea breeze, perfuming my mollified senses
The late afternoon sun burned gently, its flames caressed my skin
Snowy clouds ambled the cheery skies, dressed in crystalline blues.
Its picturesque mirrored by the unruffled sea, as I took in
The panoramic scape, seamlessly flowing, forming curls of indigo hues.
The azure shades subtly paled, as flustered vistas grew morose
Soft mumbles preceded grumbles, in a capricious metamorphose.
Spindrifts and gusts conspired, in mutinous unity of quietude’s assault,
Strides of wave crests turbulent, broadcasted their unruly tumult,
The beach, depraved vestiges of the serene, scenic scape pristine,
In solitude rue of the sea's untamed, rowdy routine.
Surges of emotions compulsive, our dispositions rendered visible
Sometimes as the sea’s open sight, our auras discernible.
© Maverick Nyambu
leaves flutter like butterflies,
dawdle graceful path zigzag
down, down, down beneath trees shade
long deep sighs. Settle and snag
among collaborating blades.
mutinous breeze tendrils rise drag
and sweep away the dry leaves
like wings fly and touch the sky.
7/18/2021
My Mutinous Mum
I thought my own Dad was patient and so cool
And Mum’s temper; pretentious as itchy wool:
For no reason her Temper was hot, so I thought-
Its sundry Duties that respite gave her nought!
Iron Amazon now all gone, ideas begin to show;
Ready pinch and her hot rebuke give me chow!
I remember my late Mother’s indefatigable lips
Disciplinarian of Love’s with relentless whips
And Fast Rules like: “You don’t talk when eating!”
Or blatantly: “You stop eating when talking!”
Iron Amazon now all gone, ideas begin to show
Had I reviled, would I’ve got Life’s sweet chow?
A reason had she to separate Grain from chaff:
“A Rod not spared bestows an efficacious stuff.”
So, like a Cowgirl, she cracked the whiplash
In her usual Marching Drill: Left, Right and Right;
“Boy, sleep well and NO bed-wetting tonight!”
Iron Amazon, now all gone, ideas begin to show;
Had I denigrated her, I’d have missed my chow!
Would I’ve heeded anybody and go to School
Had she not stepped in proving no cosy wool?
Her cautious mind got me into a smart spank
Lavished in porridge when lessons I did bunk!!
Iron Amazon all gone, now ideas begin to show;
Her force to resist would’ve deprived me chow!
Mum in my Dad she had a sweet Boy of a Friend
Yet: “Girls, no!” She called illicit love “Ugly Fiend.”
“Old-fashioned Goat”, I thought, she surely was-
Clap-infected, she proved a Goat eating no grass!
Iron Amazon, now all gone, ideas begin to show;
Would you heed Hot Mum to elude Aids’ blow!
That my Mum was hard to inveigle or to please-
She wanted being wild to terminate or decrease.
Lie to your detriment, she could read lying mind-
Caught, you’d get a tanning on the behind!!
Iron Amazon, all gone, now ideas begin to show;
Had I a hardened Liar, would I eat this chow?
A perfect Teacher in Church at Sunday School
Who, one day made me crawl on fours like a fool:
Acting me a Donkey- though Joseph be my name!-
While a girl rode me like Jesus into Jerusalem!
Iron Amazon, all gone, now ideas begin to show;
Had I not heeded God, I’d have faced Sin’s blow!
JM
02nd December 2013
From river to the sea, an ocean of blood, filled with cries of children;
peace is broken, homes destroyed, lives shattered, a sea of refugees fleeing torrential bombs, under the ether of Western civilization resisting a ceasefire.
From river to the sea, Palestine is on the brink, like an express train to unspeakable tragedy befalling a whole nation, slated for extinction.
History's marching backward, to Rwanda and Auschwitz, a clever strategem for land without its original people, invaded by European settlers citing holy book to lay their claims, like Spanish conquistadors, proclaiming an "empty continent."
From river to the sea, a nation rises and put down like new Spartacus, mutinous against their slavery, and the new King Cnut desperately summoning the waves for Eretz Israel, with no more checkpoints and separation walls; they're only needed for an apartheid state.
From river to the sea, priceless treasures, highlighting architectural ensembles of centuries, buried under the chorus 'finish them,' finish them all, old, young, women, children, their animals too. The magic of land that spawned world religions suddenly has dwindled to a trickle of humanity, the catharsis of a crisis of spirit, shutting down conscience, and soon new settler homes shall be built on tower of skulls, with Gaza's unwelcome beaches available to western tourists again, offering kayakers great thrills at discounted prices, with its banks lined with daffodils and new palm trees, so the pleasure boats can anchor for a day to take advantage of the whirlpools of new resorts with a big sign, no Palestinian allowed.
From river to the sea, the light glows within the dispossessed, and with each martyr, their spirit of resistance blooms, and the saga lingers: Palestine will be free, and Jews and Muslims shall live together in peace.
I was immersed in an impervious imagination
of these frail flowers feigning a feel of freedom
I watched their wings whirling in whoredom
Impious, they are implanted with impinged impetus
A dignified dust, decorated and dubbed a domineer
Yet they decided to be detritus on a detour, detrained.
Thronged by thick thorny thoughts, theme and thrust
On a throne of thistles, ever thrilled by thralldom,
Pots parading potpourri, they preen in power pomp,
positioned in a plain, poisoned, they prey on the potter,
O where did you wield those wings of woeful wisdom;
to trail the terrain that will only twist and tame you.
A dust you are, drunk and drenched with delusion
Deluged by derisory dream in the domain of darkness,
you drill and drink from the dust you did not designed
O dignified dust, your destiny is but dross and dust.
Devious: you devise deviltry with the devoiced dusts,
With a magmatic mind, mutinous against your marker
Your beauty, brain and brawns will soon get broken,
And you will be drowned in the dust you dignified…
I grew up proud to be grandma’s favorite.
Some little rules were broken, I must admit.
These were all but childhood caprices.
At youth, my ego was broken to pieces.
When flatly was I refused love marriage.
Settled was I to be with one double my age.
No place was there for protest or discussion.
A puppet was I dancing in a procession.
My lover desperate, gave me his last word.
A step by me has to be taken, all I heard,
To wipe all the drama, if I wish, like a broom.
Faced boldly then did I, my to be groom.
In one deep breath I poured my heart out.
His face paled, looking almost knocked out.
I stood firm and mutinous, ready to retaliate.
With a force in me none could annihilate.
In dignity, my engagement came to end.
Lost prestige and shattered ego, hard to mend.
Slyly, Grandma put a word looking for time right.
There was only one way to escape this plight.
I was called before all to express my wish.
Cost me a lot to convince I was not selfish.
A simple wedding I was allowed, in a fortnight.
But happiness was mine on my wedding night.
27/07/16
Contest: The rule was begging to be broken
(A fortnight - 2 weeks time)
Win 2nd place
The morning is fair and without compare;
desire to escape commotion in motion.
With apologies to Frost, but I’m lost
in sylvan idyll; my thoughts to distil.
I should have turned left or maybe the cleft
ignored as the bend designates the end.
Peering into the void I can’t avoid
the nagging feeling that the sheep bleating
as they’re trudging through the mud, chewing cuds
on the road most travelled and levelled,
would’ve been easier terrain – not bane
of thorns and thistles. As temper bristles,
thoughts turn mutinous. Incongruously
I’ll save either way for another day.
You were an alcoholic, my mother says,
Fixing me with her timid tear-watered gaze –
You lived in paradise, on the wings of angels,
And you were an alcoholic…
So we had to take you away
Like Eve with her apple we had to remove you,
From the temptation – from your final graceless fall
We did it to save your life
She says it, tremulously, and I make no rebuke,
Offer no sharp retort
But she knows, and I know, that tearing me from Paradise did no good
That I am still an alcoholic; always will be
For though the booze was cheap in Paradise, the thirst is in my soul
And wherever I am, it comes along too
A dehydrated demon, crouched in my belly,
A baby screaming for milk – laced with your finest vodka
I crave the drink, I cherish the drink…I hoard it like Gollum with his precious ring
And whenever I can, wherever I am, I thirst and I swallow
And I fly into the air on tenuous wings,
Unshackled from sobriety for a brief tempestuous time
But the hills skimming below me are bleak,
There are no angels with me, and my heart is a cold lump of lead
I am consumed by bitterness
For though the alcohol remains, the landscape is not the same
And all is now black where it used to be shades of grey
And oh God, how the memories haunt me now,
Memories of when I used to live in Paradise, and drink…
How I soared above those Utopian beaches of golden sand,
Over those glossy jungle-garmented hills
They were my salvation, my succor during my drunken despair
But I was cruelly torn away from my precious Eden not so long ago,
And sent to purgatory to repent, still nursing the thirst, deep inside
And now here I sit, on the banks of the Styx, still thirsty – still drinking
Still an alcoholic, swallowing acrid mouthfuls of angst and self pity
But there is no Paradise now to comfort me, no angels with gossamer wings
No one to wipe the whisky tears that stream down my ashen cheeks
I am an alcoholic still, with nothing left to live for and nowhere left to go
So when my mother says she wanted to save my life – to save me from myself
I look at her in sullen silence and wonder;
How the loss of Eden could ever have taken away my alcoholic shades
When the mutinous eyes that stare through them belong, solely, to me?
Mutinous thoughts shunned, else
measured wellspring consumed.
Melodious whispers
motivate me beyond
mediocre and mean*.
May we explore grand dreams;
my hand in yours, my muse.
* mean = average / normal
-------------------------------------
6 syllables per line (howmanysyllables.com)
21st April 2017
For the "Pleiades M" contest, sponsored by Kim Merryman.
(1st Place)