Best No Offence Poems
O POVERTY!
You who paid a courtesy call to that peacefull affluence home
With a diamond portfolio
And at your departure enquiry unveiled it a Pandora's box
That the son turned rebel against the father
And the daughter hearken no more to mother's rebuke
O poverty!
You, who dragged that man of irrationality to the court of nature,
And there in gave him an ignoble defeat.
O poverty!
You apprehended that woman of extravagancy tortured her
And taught her the lesson of frugality
O poverty!
Your fruit is sour, insipid and intoxicating.
The man who live by it for long jeopardizes his span
O poverty!
He who accommodates you accommodates sorrow
He who embraces you beckons doom
O poverty!
You, who vandalize a whole land without a nuclear explosion
And pour water of tears onto that healthy face
Having robed off her hope.
O poverty!
You silenced that wise retched man in the gathering of the intellectual
And gave that rich fool the privilege of giberish.
O poverty!
You, who strikes your victim with a sword of broken heart,
The one who compete a path with you mocks his life
For no offence in calling you one of the sibblings of death.
im livin in a world, where all eyes on me.
trying to curve my own route.
but route 66 keeps finding its way to me.
ive been plenty sick, in all the events layed before me.
even when i reflect to my lowest points
i dont regret any of the choices
That I’ve deployed in my era
A lot of it by error, but hey
We live in hell conditions and there ain’t no air condition
Or any guidelines when life throws you in the sidelines
But when hindsight twenty twenty hits
You’ll begin to understand life’s a bunch of equations and you in the mix of it
An you’ll have to think twice, before running into a situation and becoming the best of it
Situations
it’s what got me here, it’s what got us here
Ran with my thoughts blazing up to her place and
Guess what happened next
She opened up heaven’s gate
And just before late I slipped out
Simply put
I’m a Grown ass man
Doin his thing, waitin to blow up like an old land mine
In doin what he drools over
But time after time
Something decides to creep up and cover the light
Lost my way
Then I revoked to ever know, I ever thought that way
But in the in between time, that in the mean time
Spent a lot of time
Gettin pissed off just to medicate and lift off
Don’t need Don Perion to sip off
Already had my way with the bottle
Even thought to get back with the trouble and rejoin the hustle
That’s just what happens to a man who really knows his old ways
Whos tired of making ends meet and ponders getting back to the streets.
Memory sets in and he remembers an O.G. saying
No matter how tall your pockets stand when you ball
Eventually times gonna make you fall
Fall
And I as I pull myself together
I don’t wanna end up like the twin towers rubble
I mean no offence to nine eleven but at that time I probably could have used a reverend
But all that’s irrelevant now
because i live with a different perspective now
there you go you made it to the end :-) comment if you like, constructive criticism wanted as well.
She shed her clothes; fur and silk first
Petrichor lingered in her hair
Seraglio was the holy-grail
For most women of the enlightened age.
Not for her; Chatoyant lady with her lithe body
Was a warier of her country.
She was here to collect dirt on Sultan Milas
The Holy Mattoto King.
Enchante, she offered her slender hand to
Sultan to kiss
Sultan took no offence
Just kissed her hand, taking her hand into his own
She caught a reflection of his penumbra in the
Crystal framed mirror. Long and tired.
Yes, even his shadow was tired in his later years
Ruling a declining empire was no easy feat!
Sultan’s wives sang lullabies to their tots in the adjacent rooms.
So what brings you here madam? Milas probed the Chatoyant lady
I am here to stay, she said curtly.
As what, forgive me lady? Sultan hesitated
As your wife of course, the lady said. Didn’t my good father tell you?
‘I am afraid that won’t be possible, I have already many good women as my wives
And Myriad sons to succeed me!’
Sultan played with his ruby ring as he delivered
His solemn speech!
“But! I will be the best wife to you! I promise you!”
The lady pursed her lips.
“Look lady! I can barely satisfy my harem of forty!
Sometimes I seek the aid of my viziers
So that I don’t know who are my sons
And who are my Viziers’s!”
“But I will bear the strongest son
For you, I promise you!” Pleaded the French lady
“I can’t suffer the indignity of going back!” She let a faux tear fall
Freely down her cheek.
A pause.
“OK!” agreed Milas, “you can stay but not as my wife but
my Chief Vizier’s!”
A persian cat walked into the room
And leapt on to Chatoyant lady’s lap
But Chatoyant lady was no Ailurophile
Despite her name! So she pushed the cat away.
Violently. Then the Sultan knew something was
Not quite right about this woman of feline beauty.
Standing before him semi nude.
He was not prepared to lose what was left of his empire
So that he banished the lady spy at once from his palace.
Alas she had already collected the dirt on the Sultan.
His virility and his sons legitimatesy to the throne were in question now.
It's Thanksgiving Day down in the States
Here's to all my many Yankee friends
Wish all you folks have a wonderful day
All my good wishes I do send
Florida was mostly my destination of choice
The Gulf Coast almost exclusively
Siesta Key is just a little south of Sarasota
Where the theme is semi-nudity
Those vacations are less common nowadays
Money's not flowing like it once did
However before the big man calls me upstairs
Wish to relive my days as a kid
Nostalgia I guess is what you would call it
Actually been there on your Black Friday
No offence but you guys are nutso
“Sorry, didn't mean that!” he said slyly!
Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving, I'll say it again
Enjoy this day with your families
There's nothing more loving and rewarding
Than to share a day of geniality
Here's to all my many Yankee friends!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Why is it that we as black (we being the black people who do it) have this sad tendency of thinking that white is the ultimate thing? What do I mean?
She's so pretty,ungathi ngumlungu?
She thinks she's better then everyone,and acts like a white person?
Look at the way she speaks English( normally because the person speaks fluent english) she thinks she's white?!
Did you hear what she said? She said she likes rock music (she must think she's white)
Her hair is so long and silky ,she must have European blood( as if a black person can't have beautiful hair)
We oppress ourselves by thinking that "white" is the race to aspire to be,when we actually really know nothing about the white community because we barely even know any white person (no offence to my "white" friends??) but really,maybe it's time we take the good things that with being "black" and make them a part of who we are as well.
Imitation is the best manner of flattery,
Growing up in a dysfunctional family.
You were the only person I ever wanted to be,
A real life super hero no offence to marvel,
Every pearl of wisdom I treasure until I lay beneath this earth.
Style and class was like your second nature,
Always on a mission like 007 going on solo adventures.
I drop a tear when I recall 99's December,
When the father I hardly knew departed to a memory only to be remembered,
My physical maturity
Had not even reached the conquest of puberty
I locked eyes with insanity
Though I had a youthful mind breaming with curiosity
I now realize the depth of the calamity.
All appear denuded
When you set in;
Forests, hills, rivers, winds and
The nymphs.
Even the angels look disrobed, and
Seem lying spread-eagled on barren clouds,
Sans their birthrights;
The luminous crowns.
On one of your bare branches,
My poetry perches, reminiscing
Spring days, in a mirage of
Dewy images cringed by summer heat, and
Under your pale sun
My Shakespearian forehead
Reflects thawing metaphors, in anticipation of
Winter verses, surprising the muse
With make-believe shivering, occasionally,
With no offence to your grey indifference.
I'm no disciple of H.G.Wells.
But when it comes to your love,
I'm a time traveller.
Believe it or not.
Way back,
When I was hardly eighteen,
Miles apart from you,
I observed your tender bosom,
In my adolescence fantasy,
Growing silently like twin plum buds
In your village's moon-washed nights,
Amidst blinking glows of curious fireflies;
To become what I now call
My musing rabbits.
Wasn't I travelling to your future?
Now,
When I'm mistakenly addressed
By your peers as your maternal uncle,
And I make love with you
Pretending, with bitter-sweet helplessness,
I'm the boy who gave you
your first kiss.
Am I not travelling to your past?
With no offence to those
Who were before me.
I'm a time traveller.
Believe it or not.
When there’s more writers that write
Than readers that read
Does the future seem bright
Or,
Perhaps poetry’s in need?
Was the melody mangled,
when the words lost their beat?
Was the common man strangled,
by the highbrow box seat?
_____________________________
Once weaved upon a well formed path
Before structure fell, in disarray.
Prose a casualty to a hectic world?
Precious time has claimed its prey.
Shall verse be trapped inside a card
Twisted inside an ad campaign
Power of words eternally scarred
Excepting in song, tinged in disdain.
Did amateur poets misuse their voice?
An internet pillage of chance.
Nothing to savour, digest and rejoice
Divide and subtract, but never enhance.
Will mankind once again enjoy,
subtle pleasures of the poem?
Will a modern poet attain celebrity,
as did the greats once held a throne?
*No offence intended. Just a thought piece
Dreams of tomorrow I must steel myself myself to a lonely sleep
Waking
I find my pillow wet with tears and discover that I have been biting my lips
our piddling worn-out planes did we think we could win with these toys
how stupid and there the high school girls waving our farewell
with cherry blossom branches
My imagination a Hayabusa III taking off towards Okinawa on a suicide mission April 12, 1945.
please no offence meant to either side (or middle).
Us Little Urchins A square of hair trussed neatly back
Tightly as uniformed Venetian Ponies
We girls trotted home in a gorgeous bright Orange sky
We laughed and leap frogged
Over the line of three bent
Over
Bodies
Being fourth and leaping to the fore
Giggling and wobbling all over the shop (floor)
Barefoot in the park
Out prior to the lark
Ill-fitting hand me downs
We were each others painted clown
We seeped within the curled clipped wire fence
Took no care, twas no offence to tear our aged cloth
Nor scratch our olive knees past the stinging nettles which forever had us tip toeing carefully
But still clung to us
As we clung on to each other
Our washed brown hair forever shiny from
The sweat which dripped as we took a sip
From the rusty water fountain
We had mountains and trees to climb
Barefoot but all was fine
As one always cupped her hands upon her knees
As. One giggled climbing trees
Laughing and sweating for the forbidden fruit
Scrumping fruit from posh peoples gardens
Leaping the wall
As burnt Orange urchins headed home with their fruit
greengages and apples
stored in a tied up shirt
laughing at a world full of us four urchin fools
POEMS ABOUT FEMMES
Digging down deep for some poetic gems
So far I've found only poems about les femmes
The kind that prance
Wearing no pants
Just love 'em all, I sure mean no offence
When I act like a baby?
So innocent at heart , full of life
Making no enemies of none, free mind
Baby cries, a sudden switch to laughter
And as they play, to catch unlimited fun
I am your man not by muscles
Responsible, so lovely and cool
Determined and very ambitious
But in some ways, somehow
Will my silly acts be tolerated my darling... ?
When I act like a baby
When I come home, so stressed up
And the pain, unintentionally transfered
Will you my nerves cool down?
And my mind, serves water for a cooling
Will you fetch me water to bathe?
And my sweaty clothes help me removed
Oh my darling, I will sometimes act like a baby
A man is strong, yes, he is masculine
Strong for hard work, to feed his home
He keeps a lot of thought in his mind
Some dreams hidden to manifest
He cares, even when he doesn't show
But to his wife, the soft part of him
He still cannot but as a baby act, sometimes!
Darling, will you like my mother act?
Giving me your shoulder when I like a baby cry
Wiping my tears with your bare hands, so comforting
Calming my Souls with your sweet words, so soothing
Will you please take no offence at my babyish acts?
Please do, honey, when I like a baby act
I will, your man, forever be
A father, brother, in your whole life
Bring you coffee while you lay in bed
Takes you places you never dreamt of
I will come home, early, my damsel
My weekend spend in your lovely arms
I will, yes, be your everything
But all I for now ask of thee
Please take me as your lovely first son
When, though a grown up man, I acts like a baby
Mr Legend
Pomegranate days with a twilit moon at night,
never parting ways even when a silly fight.
Staying up late and laughing over tea,
for love is everything he is to me.
Racing hearts connected-
sweet passion collected.
Never being neglected-
character defects accepted.
The center of a universe when compassion is needed,
weak walls fallen down with a strong castle completed.
When at your best appreciated beyond compare,
always knowing he will care and be there.
A need so intense,
a fever with the chills-
Take no offence,
embrace the thrills-
Love is a moment lasted in time,
proven through sweet rhythm and rhyme.
I’ve seen much love in my short-lived life,
but no love compares to being his wife.
December 18, 2016
Afghanistan! would anybody give a damn
perhaps had a chance, under Uncle Sam
They gave them weapons, to fight Talibans
enslavers of women, for pleasures of man
Kabul was thriving, the west brought calm
young ladies attend school, sitting exams
Mullahs hid in exile, with extremist Imams
Allowed back in, by surrendering Afghans
Another failed state, turns hardline Islam
say they've changed, nah just a big scam
The door was opened, they choose to slam
right back to poverty, from where it began
Religious fanatics, resume same old sham
beheadings, torturing, cut off some hands
Warped Sharia law, interpretation of Koran
no A la carte, only one recipe, Allah flambe *
US couldn't stay forever, done all they can
must watch Russia, China, Nth Korea, Iran
In tragic war situations, there's no exit plan
want to point a finger, start with bin laden
* Play on (A la Flambe) no offence intended
to moderate peaceful Muslims*
Afghanistan Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
25/08/2021