Best Off Hand Poems
Enter the arena
Buckle down
Ready?
Set?
Kill!
A gong sounds
We're off
The Hunger Games have begun!
Blades of swords and knives crash
Arrows whizzing.
Run. run, run
Away from the cornacopia!
Blood splatters, staining the earth
Bodies splayed on the ground
Some survive
Others die right off hand
Only one left to be the VICTOR!
Welcome to The Hunger Games!!!!
This is based on a very good book called The Hunger Games (well good in my
opinion). This future distopian science-fiction novel is about future North America.
The Capitol is a very dictator-like establishment and starve their citizens then throw
them into the hunger games, a fight to the death on live television.
It’s an open ended kind of life;
I know not where I go.
I hold you close inside my heart;
I know you’re in the show.
I see behind me clear as day,
but forward dark as night.
I know I love you come what may,
but there is no foresight.
There is no map or plan ahead
I’m strictly walking blind.
I have no future thoughts off hand;
I hope you do not mind.
Sometimes I feel as if I’ll fall
if I don’t turn to light.
But always know that you are there
to catch me in mid flight.
So yes sometimes I am afraid
I have no future plans.
But one thing is clear for all my life
I’ve had your helping hands.
Christmas Day has arrived; the thought fills me with such dread
For over twenty years they’ve come to me; it's doing in my head!
I get up at the crack of dawn to get the turkey in the oven
Gran moans about my cooking – she belongs in a witches’ coven
I always arrange the festive table last thing on Christmas Eve
I don’t sit next to granny; her table manners make me heave!
My sister is so overweight; you should see the size of her fanny
She belches loudly when she eats, so I’ll sit her next to granny
The taxi arrives at twelve o’clock and I crack open the sherry
When they sit down at the table they are starting to get merry
I slave over a hot stove; no one moves they act too grand
I’ve given up asking for help, they treat me so off-hand
Well this year I’ve rebelled and put laxatives in their soup
I’ll smile secretly when off to the toilet they will all troop
The soup has been devoured and I clear away the plates
When the laxatives take effect they’ll be in dire straits!
The turkey has been carved; all the vegetables are piled high
Uncle Albert grosses out; he needs a trough in a pigsty!
Turkey, and all the trimmings they will quickly devour
Granny moans about the sprouts she said that one was sour
I quietly sit seething whilst they get all get steaming drunk
Uncle Albert farts loudly – he’s worse than a blinking skunk!
Christmas pudding is eaten, followed by juicy mince pies
Sister Annie stuffs her face, as more fat piles on her thighs
Single handily I clear the table, and then we open up the gifts
It costs me an utter fortune; you should have seen their lists
Annie has knitted me the most disgusting baggy jumper
I smile sweetly and thank her, but I really want to thump her!
At four o’clock the taxi comes and they all go off home
I sit by the fire with a cup of tea, I’m so glad to be alone
Next year it’s going to be different; I’m going to go away
Booked a luxury cruise – I’ll be abroad on Christmas Day!
C form contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
12~30~16
A Soldier's Story of A Tale
Had Raymond, and I not ever met
By some old and tethered Ancient Inn
We should have sat down and probably set
Besides an eccentric novelty of bumperkin
But inside the open ranges thus the infantry
Has faced many a demonic faces of a face
A soldier has blasted him as he shot at me
While my tears have fallen with utmost reality into his place.
Never did I realize I shot him dead because
For he was an injured fallen soldier thus he was a foe
No one will ever know, he was my enemy of course he was
I truly have to say that's clear enough even though.
The soldier does walk; he thought he'd enlist perhaps
His armed artillery took off-hand like a blast said I
He walks out on his work thus selling his many traps
Needless to say, he had given no reason - why.
Now all through many various and curious wars there are
The untimely deaths of the fallen' soldiers were shot down
Are filtering out and are not met where many a bar there far
For these soldiers have met or helped with a heartfelt half-crown.
Written: Nov. 10, 2014
Theresa Marie W-C
When we were kids we used to climb trees,
Get grubby hands; scrape the skin off our knees.
We jumped in deep puddles and made big mud pies,
But what you said next made me shudder inside.
You sat in the sun; I sat in the shade,
With mum’s homemade ice cream and pink lemonade.
We shared all our secrets, our comics and toys;
Had the same pin ups and kissed the same boys.
As we sat with our wine and thought of the past,
Of the fun that we’d had; a shadow was cast.
You said I was black and the dirt didn’t show,
I was speechless with shock, but you didn’t know.
As you sit in the sun, turning darker than me
I try to figure out the way that you see.
How do I tell you, will you understand?
An off hand remark, burns inside like a brand.
In our lives filled with lofty goals,
We may reach for much beyond our means,
And as interest is piqued and grows,
We sell wisps of notions as our pipe dreams,
Yet while news breaches concerned factions,
Of those who would off-hand discount our plan,
You may well consider these actions,
To be the final throes of a desperate man,
Watch me rush headlong at windmills,
Listen to my brave and salient battle cries,
For with nothing I easily afford the shills,
This puffery of pipe dreams which may sink or rise,
Take account of what may be lost,
Incredible credible reputations,
So to me the onus is tossed,
And I afford pipe dream facilitations,
But as prospect becomes tangible,
And peppered pipe dreams begin to spin,
Overt liability then manageable,
The need for my Quixotic services thin,
The writing’s on the wall distinct and clear,
Yet I long for the impossible it seems,
Where I keep the company of the grand seer,
And remain the nexus of fantastic pipe dreams.
- Before I get too much bad press here I want you to know
the term ‘Puffery’ means to build something up with flowery language.
There's a legion of doc-ologists to keep us on our feet.
A glance in the telephone book reveals a list complete!
Seems there's an "ologist" to care for us from head to wiggly toes,
Prodding, poking and dosing to ease our miserable woes!
Praise the Lord for geront-ologists who care for folks my age,
To ease our minds, hold our hands ushering us t'ward dotage!
Then there are the psych-ologists who meddle in our head.
The practice of the proct-ologists is better left unsaid!
The dermat-ologists who cleansed our faces of acne as a teen,
Now hassle us about slathering ourselves with sunscreen!
I'll never understand how anesthesi-ologists operate off hand,
But I know their potions ease the pain as we relax in la-la-land!
Gynec-ologists specialize in treating ladies' singular ills,
Including that vexatious time marked by hot flashes and icy chills!
Cardi-ologists are vital for keeping us alive and kicking,
Checking aortas and such to ensure our hearts keep ticking!
I'll coin the term "the-ologists" who deal with our languid souls,
Directing our thoughts upward beyond mere earthly goals!
Radi-ologists, ur-ologists, "other-ologists", I could go on ad infinitum.
Lastly, there are cosmet-ologists to pretty us up when we succumb!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
"Bold" was all I could think about his plan
To just go fishing and not go to school
Brilliant was what it was - on or off hand -
All who saw it that day thought it was cool
Worms was what was lacking - and that was all
So I dug around until bait was had
Slimy things fishing worms, just a gross ball,
But it's a thing for bringing fish to hand
So slipping out a school room door that day-
Two boys, a can of worms, a fishing plan -
Until Mrs Smith then caught on to our play
And stuck a hand into our wormy can
Sounds that I did not know - but did Mrs Smith
Still may stay in that school room air forthwith
7-15-20
Contest: Lipogram Poem
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Welcome to where I stand or sit
Mostly the latter to be real
In my twilight, or golden years
Where the land of old man's the deal
My retirement is impending
But in the land of old man you'll see
The "Golden" years of retirement
Aren't all they're cracked up to be!
My giving up punching the clock
Was looking great to me off hand
But Arthur Rightus said, "Hold on,"
"You're now in the land of old man!"
So as I sit here on my throne
I realize I need some more bran
Though hard to chew, it helps me through
This place called, "The land of old man!"
It was over in Brooklyn,
No, not a Met’s game.
God forbid that.
“The world was, it was, in some off-hand manner, never meant to go right.”
In which the first man jumped.
It was all over really,
That 12 million people were out of work,
There were already poor people,
But at this point a man could not just “Whistle off, and march on.”
Because he was in the same situation,
So he jumped too.
It was day after day,
That 12,000 people lost their jobs,
Wall Street for some was a “Fairy land to visit, but truly it was a desert to live in.”
And so the men who lost their jobs didn’t want to go home to their wives,
They didn’t want to tell them what happened,
So they jumped as well.
It was nationwide,
That 20,000 companies went bankrupt,
The banks went bankrupt,
As they trembled in their offices waiting for the inevitable.
They got tired of it, so they did anything to “Vary the detestable monotony”
A few more jumped,
A few more died,
All because the found that
“The universe makes a rather indifferent parent at times.”
Enter the Arena
Buckle down
Ready?
Set?
KILL!
A gong sounds
We're off
The Hunger Games have begun!
Blades of swords crashing
Arrows whizzing
Run,run,run
Away from the cornacopia
Blood splatters,staining the earth
Bodies splayed on the ground
Some survive
Other die right off hand
Only ONE left to be the victor
Welcome to the Hunger Games...
MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR!!!!
“Hey, Jack, I’m so pleased to meet you.
For years now I’ve been fascinated by the dangerous
situations you find yourself in everywhere you go.”
“Thanks, man, I've had quite an incredible life, indeed!”
“I look forward to your latest adventure each year.”
“Well, it takes Lee Child that long to write one up,
I think. What is the most interesting, or quirky,
characteristic he has given me in his books?
“Off-hand, I’d say your ability to take on five or
six bad guys at the same time. But your uncanny
ability to tell what time it is down to the minute is
mind-boggling. You are your own alarm clock!”
“You know, it might be hard to believe, but many
people possess the ability to do that, and if
you practice it, you’ll find you probably can do it, too.”
“So, what brings you to this god-forsaken place?”
“Just passin’ through, my friend, but I can assure you
I won’t get out of here without someone trying to
kill me…. Or maybe you! Or maybe both of us! Don’t
know, but we’ll soon see. Right now, I need to get a change
of clothes. Where can a fellow pick up a pair of jeans and
a shirt dirt cheap?”
“Uh, there’s a big men’s store in the next block. You
Take it easy now!”
“You, too!”
[Jack Reacher is the hero of Lee Child’s novels.
Mr. Child writes a new one every year, for which
his readers can hardly wait.]
THIRD PLACE WINNER
Written January 30, 2022
For “A Conversation with a Fictional Character” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L. Scragg
The Blue Bandaid
on the track to the river
the red shoe
green skirt
blood stained knickers
splatter on the trail
the hacked off hand
the offhand remark
brings you back
to where you were
the blue band aid
on the river track
was forensic evidence
of a gruesome
rape murdercase
of yet another
innocent child
No message to send
No corner of light around the bend
Nothing profound to say
Nothing to lift me or any soul this day
Never has this been
Never have I not seen
Bottom of the bottle seems to have the answers
If I dare may ask
Bottom of a bottle,My God,past is past
Then I hear something I can't describe with neither pen nor brush
A sudden calm,A simple ''hush''
''Why do you combine letters and words?''
Why do you write
I couldn't answer off hand nor now.......
It was cold and windy, always seemed to be the same
whenever he dug out a grave and often it would rain.
Grave digging was something he knew someone had to do
that was his job and he always took pride in doing it too.
People knew him in the village where he’d made his home
this strange young man, who was always on his own.
But he was just a lonely man, as harmless as can be
who wanted to live a normal life, just like you or me.
The girls always made fun of him and were a little cruel
he looked a bit simple and they treated him like a fool,
When he tried to tell them, a new joke he’d heard one day
they wouldn’t listen to him and just told him to go way.
Looking for company, he’d be in the village every day
he’d try to talk to the girls, but they would just walk away.
Really he just wanted a girlfriend like any other guy
not wanting to be alone until the day he would die.
Most evenings he would spend at home on his own
without any one to talk to, not even a call on his phone.
But just the other day, while he was in the churchyard
checking out a plot he was to dig for a Mister Trenchard.
A young girl said hello to him, the first person to that day
and she listened very carefully to him and what he had to say.
Her eyes watched him closely, reading his lips as he spoke.
even smiling at his difficulty, in trying to tell her his joke.
They started to spend time together, she with the silence she knew
he with all his strangeness and their for each other just grew.
He would look at her so tenderly as they walked off hand in hand
and then they’d gently kiss each other, like any couple in the land.
Happily their lives were changing, knowing the love they’d found
and now you hear him singing, as he digs his holes in the ground.