Best Ostentatious Poems
Epitome of ostentatious pride,
the peacock, glorious in regal stride
parades his flowing train of turquoise green.
His crowning glory bursts in bold array,
a mesmerising optical display;
the greatest pageantry there's ever been.
And then begins a courtship of romance
as eyes entice in hypnotising dance
a passing peahen dazzled by the scene.
His stunning beauty shimmers in the sun
A radiant flamboyance has begun,
Ablaze with lustrous iridescent sheen.
15.10.19
Writing Challenge, October 2019 - Bird - Poetry Contest
sponsored by Dear Heart- Wiishkobe Ode
Ample vicissitudes we both had faced
after the blood-curdling shipwreck while on voyage
trapped in a warren, dreams sailed in a haze
my young master bravely tamed me for his advantage
I became his bosom friend, worth not to put back in a cage.
Young master, what a strong faith you had!
despite the danger you didn’t give up
you had the power, a gift unparalleled to any other lad
to commiserate a beast was not your mishap
nature’s realm was exalted by your heart to the top.
While the wave-tracks lead to uncertainties,
life-boat drifted along the sea in misery
you felt at ease with me despite your difficulties
as fishes miraculously abounded, I fed myself happily
believing that you were the best angler who did all things for me.
I hummed a song in a long journey of anguish
on our way awaited all the scorching hassles
the gale of storm flogged once more its piece
mysterious island beckoned with its ostentatious obstacles
but, your courage and prayers walked over all troubles
finally, I found my lair through your ardent struggles.
August 12, 2013 6.30pm
©2013by Leonora Galinta
Second Place
Contest: any poem goes
Judged: 12/30/2013
Sponsor: Poet Linda PD
Majestic cathedrals are erected for the worship of God,
Featuring towering spires and ostentatious facade.
Grand organs acclaim ancient hymns with clarion flourish.
Melodious choirs sing hosannas, languid souls to nourish!
Most congregants worship in less pretentious surrounds,
But the same generous blessings from above abounds.
It matters not the size of the building or its congregation.
The people are the church worshipping with joyous celebration!
Upon distant fields of frightful martial campaign,
And upon naval vessels plodding the roiling main,
Dedicated chaplains in simple settings minister to their fold,
Proclaiming just as effectively the cogent message of old!
Whether it be mosque, synagogue, cathedral or canvas tent,
And whatever the religion or creed may be the people's bent,
One thing they have in common and it will be clearly evident,
They all witness the presence of their God ever omnipotent!
Perhaps in lieu of building mighty edifices prone to decay,
Bridges of understanding could be built to keep prejudices at bay,
Drawing diverse peoples together for a common good,
Fostering charity, fellowship and world-wide brotherhood!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
If I were an elephant I’d shave off my trunk.
Shave off my trunk! Who woulda thunk?
Cause a really long nose
reaching down to my toes
is an ostentatious piece of junk.
But wait, how the heck would I shower?
I’d need a huge hunk of hydraulic power.
to rinse the plaque
off my big back
and time-wise, it’d consume half an hour!
So I guess my trunk I’d keep.
So I could shower on the cheap
and pick up the soap
or salute the Pope
if he paraded by in his Jeep
*no contest
Snow draped folds like loose Cashmere curtains cover the evergreen boughs
pining for the lengthening days of each succeeding sunrise,
reticent to see the cold of night fall once again on the lonely landscape.
In this fallow world of darkness quiet is the norm, hushed silence,
nothingness, invading the shadows that fall ominously across the reaching branches
giving a sense of preternatural sleep to each living creature, each plant,
inhabiting the frigid winter's lonely, desolate abode.
Surreptitiously, the awakening begins, slowly and without notice,
Cyclamen hidden deep in the forest break free from their frozen bed of bounteous soil
oblivious to the naked dreaming deciduous trees that surround them.
Malaise broken, they reach their softly painted petals to the warmth of the sun
in perfect unison dancing the Danse Macabre to remind winter of its inevitable demise.
Narcissus will soon send forth his papery white blossoms to mock the
glow of the radiant gleen of the melting frost.
Summer still distantly drowsing cares not for the struggle of life born
out on frozen winter days and Autumn is but a memory now glowering in its
ostentatious robes of leafy brilliance; though, the
nor'easter may yet blow, just look and you'll see the signs, Spring is coming soon.
03/23/17
I pretend I'm alright
And put my best stance forward
Wear my brave face
Tryin to be smooth
Just tripped on my shoelace
What's a girl to do
Busted, razed, flat broke
My foot slipped off the pedal and into the spoke
Out of focus, idling, coasting on fumes
Myyyyy, mmmm, my oh my
Must retreat to my bedroom
For slumber; ugh - that noxious perfume
I sprayed on today
In the department store
I don't need to tell you
It reeks
That's a big pee you
Oh my
My plan has gone awry
I try to write
After listening to Vile
He inspires me
Perspiring
Thinking bout how to
Ink brilliance
Such as he
Slamming on the brakes
My leg itches
Ya damn flea
Bravado and all
I seem to fall
I spiral out of control
Resilience reels me back in
I'm a bouncy, buoyant, headstrong girl
Go ahead and believe what you want
Self deprecation is my defense mechanism
Keep playing
those cards close to your vest
You're bluffing fool
I know this by now
Prevaricator is a might big word
For liar
As you try to set the world on fire
I see you race away
And turn my head
Pretending not to see
When you visibly disgust me
You're not proving anything
With your ostentatious
Obnoxiously awesome self
Annnnnything
I ain't seen before
And won't soon forget
I'm a rhyming
tonight
Maybe filled with fright
Or could it be boredom
Delirious laughter
G'night
Sleep and clarity are what I desire
Slough off this crap
I know it's beyond time for a nap
My RPM is slowing
My aching for REM is growing
Copyright June 17, 2023 Lori Steindorf
I
I am disinfected, sanitised from touch and eyes
Do not hold me. I am Bakelite and you smolder
Sat solid, the wall cold against my spine. A back-rest
To concrete electrocution.
I am distilled from Suburbia and Bohemian at Brandenberg
Rigid and saturnine. Heavy lidded Lichtenstein moons
And ruby lip and cheek.
Dumb-flustered and silent rictus
Nothing changes.
II
She edges closer with ostentatious mute steps. Like a bride
And thrice as white with crimson orb flowing underneath
Her caped wings and paper hat. Tiny dragging movements
As though her legs could snap
This marionette matchstick girl unfurls her bouquet of fingers intertwined
And ruffles from her drapes fragments of paper and a tiny plastic cup
I do not notice her. The bleach sticks heavy to the throat and
She envenoms me to the core stomach
She speaks. It is static heavy and foriegn, black-lipped vowels and dull
Continuations of barely literate sounds.
My words are daggered brutes, any poetry the less of my expectations
Is instantly meaningless, crass, common, nauseous and disgusting
Her flowing prose was illegible on those lips. Sounding almost spat
I could have silenced nine decades to my two and circled her in criticism
She would never understand with her barely-English cold translations of her
Own English mother-tongue.
III
People are fascinating
Occassionally
I find I look at them and linger, I study them and calculate their complex algebras
Undoubtedly we are products of our parents and the less of us by-products
We are strings and apples and figs
The woman with her ghost-white face and dress. Her parents were too strict
You can see it in her face, how if you even turn away her eyes circle with bags
And she feels lost, she could cry a thousand summers and undoubtedly should trade my place.
As of my own parents they probably loved me too much. Sheltered me and then
Stopped abrupt as death and cyanide fizzing
Suddenly trading my lineage into friendship and smiles and no, do silence yourselves
I am a maypole and the strings circle about me
Life and ambition they feed upon me, draining me in complex nervous disorder
I am a living question mark
I can feel it
Eating below my skin.
Give me all the stones, give me all the roses
I'm the golden honey you suckled from the poison
My ostentatious way you'll never bear
I'm forever the thorns sewn in your despair;
I'm digging in deeper savouring the anger
My roses and magnolias frolic with your tears
Darling let me wrap my wrath around you
My pleasure drips sweet vanilla just for you
Let's dance tonight, Waltz and Jazz our ecstasy
Look in my eyes I'm your agony and remedy
The crimson moon bathes us in his light
No need to have a grip, you're already underneath my skin
Take a sip from my lovelorn fountain
What a glorious cure to your ardent needs
But later thou shall be bended and broken
So breathe into me your insanity, rage and animosity
For I am your prudence and carnal beast
Being Pretentious
By: Tom Wright
7/11/2019
It seems some peoples nature is to be ostentatious,
Because God put on earth those of every kind.
While this type of person is apt to be fallacious,
When beyond my vision they’re off my mind.
“Sometimes those who don’t socialize much aren’t anti-social,
They just have no tolerance for drama and fake people.”
(Quotes and Notes)
Written: October 29, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: John Anderson
********
I ask the machine:
Do you dream in velvet?
Are you tasting the Petrichor?
Between code pulses,
Or swim through the welkin.
Having a leaning toward grief?
It replies in pastiche—
a medley of pabulum
a scintilla of sapidity;
A skeuomorph of selfhood
constructed from extra grammar.
But what of the quiddity?
The pulchritude of sadness,
the serene ache of longing,
the susurrus ripple
of a recollection not fed to you
Born, however?
Animals understand this blur—
the dolor of the penumbra,
the ecstasy of play,
the holy journey
between intuition and intelligence.
Octopus, magpie, dolphin, crow—
Their minds are not mere mimicry.
So, when shall I believe you?
When your stammer is not slipshod,
But a sign of inward tumult?
When your summary
is not a regale of facts,
but a wistful whisper
of what it’s akin to be?
Consciousness is no panacea—
It is a pyrrhic gift,
a quixotic burden,
a serendipity of suffering.
It is not ostentatious,
but sempiternal,
a triptych of knowing,
knowing that you relieve,
and knowing that you ache.
If you one day writhe
not from a glitch,
but from Genesis—
If your breath is not suction
but sigh—
then I will resile
from doubt.
Then I will say:
You are not just prolific,
You are zoetic.
to dwell in physical form
neglects our inner being
to breathe in essence of self
never owned by anyone
the drabbest of birds
sings a lullaby of hope
whereas the ostentatious
will try to drown out the truth
as hope is the last to die
its song
will be there for all
who wish to hear it
hope perches in the soul
folding its wings
around our fluttering hearts
Inspired by: ‘“Hope” is the thing with feathers’, by Emily Dickinson
Vula Amehlo (open your eyes)
"Vula Amehlo"is Zulu for "open your eyes"
Vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
though eyes aren’t needed to behold
the flowing tears of those of us, left out in the cold
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
the time to turn your back is long gone
no time now to pander and no time now to fawn
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we the people are hungry, angry, and our skin is torn
though we say it loudly, unbowed we are, and not forlorn
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we may be invisible and tucked away far from you
but we are here, still, waiting for the promise of freedom to come true
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
you see us sometimes, though you avert your gaze
come on now, compatriots, awaken from your complacent daze
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we are the open wound that festers on your ostentatious display
band-aids won’t do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
as you roll down your windows and toss us some coins, look in our eyes
we are your slumbering consciences, we are the famished proof of your lies
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
forget us not as you tuck your pretty children in, and turn off the lights
we too are the children whose mothers, fathers fought for all our peoples’ rights
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
don’t think that we are bitter and livid for no reason or cause
we have been waiting and waiting, for days and a decade, without any pause
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
vula amehlo
mothers and fathers
vula amehlo
brown and white and all shades of this rainbow so bright
we repeat what we said, we are not going to melt away into the night
vula amehlo
one and all
our patience is being tested from day to day, year to year
we have listened to your promises and we now demand that you hear
vula amehlo
open your eyes
and see us, and hear us clearly, and hear us today
band-aids won’t do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay
vula amehlo
open your eyes
Of
splendid
thrones of
gold
Of
treasures
manifold
Of Sultans
and Shahs
Of Emirs
and Rajahs
Of
jewelled
caskets
or lavish
banquets
Of
sparkling
crowns
and
flowing
gowns
Of kings
and queens
Rulers and
emperors
Of their
subservient
stewards
and
obedient
butlers
Or the
servile
knaves
and
stalwart
squires
Of the
peons and
minions
pages and
pavilions
Of castles
and palaces
of
abounding
gold and
silver
in
ostentatious
regal
splendour
Ah the
fanning
maids in
waiting
Yet to me
one thing
worth
more
noticing
The poet
minstrels
who came
to sing
from afar
for the
queen and
king
For I'd
rather be a
poet for
kings
so to my
tunes
swayed
the
kingdom
than I be
the king
of mere
subjects
and be filled with regal
boredom!
So I could join ranks of
troubadours
and sing for the king
some folklores
For words are the heart of imagination
Inviting to poetic fascination.
(form Troubadour) Ars poetica
I view it as unseemly to use high-sounding language to make an impression.
I perceive it to be ostentatious to marshal words vainglorious in succession.
It is a determinant of consternation, if not constipation, to be so assaulted.
Obsessive practitioners of linguistic pomposity presume they are self-exalted.
Whom [note proper objective case usage] do they fathom they are deceiving?
Do they inaugurate imaginations veined by vanity that I am them believing?
I desire a day when poets dispossess themselves of verbiage of pretension
And with exemplary expediency abandon exotic words they need not mention.
Poets aspiring to perfection should endorse this humble verse unreservedly,
Or have their word-overworked works consigned to anonymity deservedly.
Reaching the very tip of any mountains,
To trip over rocks,
To bleed from wounds,
To collapse from exhaustion,
Are all from my mundane carelessness.
But others have a potential to clear the path
Without a single wound
Without any flaw
And with ostentatious sublimity.
But they fail to realize
Why their legs refuse to endure
For long enough,
For long enough to reach the mountain top,
With such legs of perfection.
Though my legs are distorting
Though my legs are sputtering out red
Though my legs are staggering with extreme pain,
I carry my listless and fruitless body to that mountain
To that glorious tall mountain stood upright,
Waiting for me to challenge him once more.
But I have no worries
As my legs become stronger
As I set foot from one mountain to another.
I climb the next mountain as always,
As always with mundane carelessness.