Best Overblown Poems
An ancient twilight tree now stands alone
with weakened cries of olden creak and groan;
winter’s rattling winds do rise and shake it -
in stark silhouette shriveled and reaching
wizened limbs thirst for Mercy beseeching;
prides the deep roots he laid down that did knit -
Nature bemoans as old oak's overblown.
Susan Ashley
November 29, 2018
~ Second Place ~
Contest: The Last
Sponsor: Silent One
*Overblown: to blow over, away, or across. Late 15c., blown over, passed away. For the purpose of this poem, ‘overblown’ means to fall over by force of the wind.. ‘overblown’ can also be defined as ‘passed away’, which in the context of this poem means ‘the death of’
*Rhyme scheme: AA B CC B A*
**For Ruben O, My little Bro**
(This poem was written and a recording made for the contest sponsored by Team Poetrysoup which was deleted before it was judged. I wonder if this would have received a placement?)
Alarming, how analog clocks can tock back,
sound-off each morning like those hungover barflies
at the laundromat who dive-bomb
buzzing dryers as bleached belles
in heels attack threadbare tiles
with a stomach-turning, M60 click clack,
click clack. All night cafes fare
no better, terrify with their red-eyed twit-ter-
to-woo owls, their jingle-jangle spoons.
Heartlessly, the freaky knock-knock joke
of a barista smacks-down the expresso machine —
grounds for a massacre behind the counter.
The plink-plunk of rainfall deafens.
Birthdays send you into a panic. Too risky,
the onslaught of jubilation, the grenades that wait
in overblown balloons. New Year’s Eve brings histrionics.
Nightmarish, the yellow chimeras of construction
and every screaming chick-a-dee-dee-dee...
Ear plugs are a given.
Heaven is a soundproof room.
Even that plan holds more than a hiccup or two.
Horror resounds everywhere.
Babies thunder by in hot-rod strollers.
Frightening: the gurgles, giggles, ear-splitting rattles.
In the nursing home, an awful rasp of life
roars behind a tissue-thin curtain,
the horrendous lisp of oxygen, so deathly loud.
Warm fuzzies
and butterflies
Blushing smiles
and starry eyes
Emotional reactions
that may seem overblown
From a fairy tale land far, far away,
far beyond the grasp of those who are fully grown
But for those of us who are compelled
to sigh and swoon
at the sight of two lovers, holding hands
and strolling by the light of the moon
This...is for you
This is for...the romantics
Those who like to take their time
For him, who knows she'll get lost in the rhythm of his heartbeat
And she's assured that for her...there's no mountain he won't climb
These words are meant to remind the lady that
his lips do indeed taste like honey
And the gentleman will recall, that her smile
can make even the stormiest of days, appear sunny
These verses represent..
A picnic for two atop a grassy, secluded hill
feeding each other strawberries until
they both have eaten way past their fill.
An exchange of odes and sonnets written from his and her quill
Even after the last page is shared, candied thoughts linger, still
Thus sparking a poetry slam for two, reciting heart shaped rhymes at will
Some still gleefully agree
that even in the day and age that this is
a luscious... lingering,,, kiss is...
a soft...soothing... bliss is...
Warm fuzzies
and butterflies
Blushing smiles
and starry eyes...
1/28/16
The Deamon Faire
The Deamon Faire
a paroday of a novel
the awful ugly was moving slightly impaired in the fire was slowing it down
it was the deamon faire come to the home
the little child asleep in the hay
the pussy willow cat came to catch the deamon faire
she crept near the crypt
the deamon faire lumbered near the mill
the mill was turning wheel almost captured pussy willows tale
she sounded like a deamon cat all wound upp and upp too bat
indeed the deamon faire looked like a hairy bat in a suit with the tie
the cat pounced at the deamon faire and missed the splash was a wet pussy
willow cat
she hissed the deamon faire sounded just like this
a long burning howl pulled over a wool scarf then turned into a screech
the outreach tried to reach the scene of the crime was an old pond milling and
lumbering and long
overgrown ivy trailing
meandering overblown moss
the author was right up to this point and then she lost her train of thought the
end of the book never tells us exactly what happened to the
The Deamon Faire
ed,note,ed
did you read Faire as FAIR or FAIRY oh what a Happy Birthday Paroday
a real live dead poet charlax poetry poem
In That Magical Moment, Stars Align, Happiness Reigns
In that magical inner sanctum where heart truly sees
far more than the banks and eddies of the rivers we swim
there colors of Life in vibrant idiosyncrasies
far exceed and outshine saddest gasps of our fleshly whims.
In that magical realm, one's soul may meditate and grasp
wake new morn, to mortal breath and Cosmos Fated decrees
embrace Hope with knowledge that we need to finally clasp
firmly true love of Life in earth's many bountiful seas.
In that magical sight, dreams may gift deeper countenance
of the many deeply blinded trails we foolishly tread
setting us on sweet paths of Light and blessed sustenance
wake us to reality, Life ends not when we are dead!
In that magical moment, stars align, happiness reigns
We can find anew Faith, Light and Love gifts eternal gains!
Robert J. Lindley, 4-25-2020
Sonnet, ( Looking past the black cloud that storms against us )
Note: New day, morn says yesterday's footprints are dusty
reminders that life continues ever onward, despite our worries
and too oft overblown fears. Fate will not be thwarted, and
what will be- will be..
Know a sweet lady who was once a nurse
In a home for retired folks
A perfect personality to take care of the aged
Such tender caring she evokes
Her sweet loving nature was a perfect match
They must have really adored her
A tender loving soul with a heart of gold
A one-in-a-million type girl
Honoured by her friendship and dear sweet love
Fortunate to have met this charmer
Would sure love to spend a couple of evenings
Talking, some nights in the parlour
Hearing sweet tales bout these elderly folks
Their long and interesting lives
Tales of a joy with their dear loving families
Loving husbands and dear sweet wives
For some, their memories are all they have left
Abandoned, forgotten and alone
Such a sad and unhappy way to end a life
Golden years can be overblown
So if you have folks tucked away in a home
Please visit these precious dears
One day you'll also be thankful for those visits
Talking about your bygone years
I am an afterthought,
Unnecessary to the plot.
A seed so frail,
Poured out an empty pail.
Like a weed I grow,
My roots running shallow.
Look in envy,
At these walls so empty.
Just something to bring a smile,
But only last a while,
Then go away,
Before you stray,
Into that unconvincing truth,
Away from youth.
A mirror knows,
Not what it shows,
But wonders all the same.
Could it be,
That what I see,
Is still unknown,
Not imagination overblown.
I look into myself,
And see an empty shelf,
Of empty frames;
Dreams I cannot claim.
I cannot fill,
But cannot be still.
Against myself I rage,
With every single empty page.
A template incomplete,
Still supposed to compete,
Against their highs and lows,
And heaven only knows,
The dream I cannot claim.
The rules may not apply,
But not because I’m sly.
I did not come to play,
Yet here I have to stay.
You tell me its unfair,
But politely lend a chair,
For me to sit and wait,
Careful not to complain.
Yes, regretfully stare,
At your lended chair,
Shake your head,
At this undeveloped head.
Call me a martyr,
I’m not trying harder.
Call me a tyrant,
My screams are silent,
For I have suffered nothing.
When you’re stupid, it’s hard to succeed.
When you’re stupid, you’re always in need.
When you’re stupid, every moment is fear.
When you’re stupid, nothing is clear.
I’ve never been stupid, at least that’s what I thought.
I’ve never been stupid, learned all I was taught.
I’ve never been stupid, gotten all that I sought.
I’ve never been stupid, then one day I was caught.
Now I’m stupid, my lifestyle is not fun.
Now I’m stupid, I‘ll forever be done.
Now I’m stupid, no value to none.
Now I’m stupid, my wits no longer have won.
Advice to you stupid, hear these words that I’ve said.
Advice to you stupid, you’re still breathing, not dead.
Advice to you stupid, keep at it instead.
Advice to you stupid, life is beautiful, not dread.
Why am I stupid, I’ve lost all that I’ve known.
Why am I stupid, over 60, broke and living alone.
Why am I stupid, each day I’m overblown.
Why am I stupid, can’t find my way home.
OK, Stupid, your life’s in the gutter.
OK, Stupid, your heart’s all aflutter.
OK, Stupid, you’ve lost your life’s rudder.
OK, Stupid, it’s one way or the other.
Listen Stupid, you have only one choice.
Listen Stupid, celebrate every day and rejoice.
Listen Stupid, the world will hear your voice.
Listen Stupid, From that the lives you will hoist.
You’re not stupid, the world has changed.
You’re not stupid, it’s just been rearranged.
You’re not stupid, things just aren’t the same.
You’re not stupid, just have to keep playing the game.
I’m not stupid, I’m sharp as a tack.
I’m not stupid, just watch me react.
I’m not stupid, I’m prepared to attack.
I’m not stupid, You’ve not seen my last act.
Sitting alone in the magazined room
Reading health trends at our local GP.
There was a group of eight, down and out,
Thinking there’s places we’d all rather be.
I hear my name, “Yes, this should be quick”,
I go and sit on the examination table.
This doc should be able to fix everything up,
A few pills to make me feel stable.
He then gets a call, leaves with a smile.
“Bugger” I hear myself think.
So I sit there and observe the eye charts,
Reading glasses, computers and little white sink.
And this gets me thinking, I wonder what ills
People come here to this surgery to fix?
Who needs the penlight, hammer, and scale?
Who needs the tongue depressing lips?
Are these for acne, sore arms, sore legs,
Colds, sneezing fits, small limps or runny noses?
How many are hypochondriacs just wanting a talk,
Saying they’re allergic to little red roses?
But then I see the defibrillator, catheters,
Blood pressure gauge, gloves and needles.
It’s clear some folks are really crook, with arthritis,
Strokes, cancers or measles.
So I get off my overblown, inflated high horse,
And appreciate what this doc goes through.
And then he returned, diagnosed my affliction.
Smiling he said “Rest, drink water and use a tissue”.
You can see, yet you do not see
A hole, where a heart should be
You can hear, but do not heed
The screams and cries of those that bleed
Can speak, but are strangely quiet
Oblivious to the disquiet
You can clearly see the discrimination
But are programed by the oppressors narration
Your humanity has turned to stone
Your hatred of the oppressed way overblown
“They are a different faith. Their colour isn’t right.
They are the enemy we have to fight”
You’re taught they are evil, your side is always right
Is it right? That people are harmed?
The child, the father, the mother, sister or brother
Who these tyrants say are bad, so they kill and smother
Beleaguered and desperate, they had arisen
Millions now sealed in an dilapidated prison
and still their homes and land being forcibly stolen
These unfortunate wretched people
The world has left alone and broken
Your logic, “the invaded should sit and take it,
We are justified to kill and maim as we see fit,
Slay all who oppose us, scare them straight,
How dare they fight for liberty,
They should just accept their fate,
If to the occupation they don’t submit,
Stamp them into the ground, defiance we can’t permit”
The women, the children, the men, and the old
All a viable target, a fictional tale can later be told”
What can be done? Pause. Let go of hate, Just a fraction
Give peace a chance, stop the territorial expansion
Split the land and each to his own
Let go of the loathing, leave each other alone
Just stop the killing, every life is dear
Better to live in peace than in fear
(just my thoughts, your free to disagree)
OK then, it’s really a postulate
Which means that it cannot be proven
Instead is, now this you may rue,
Just fact that’s “supposed” to be true.
But let my math brain try to formulate
If right, then what sense can be woven?
Ideas that wind up emerging are
Quite new though they may be of interest.
It seems that Euclidean rules
Are not really much more than tools
And Spherical theorems like caviar
Can make your mind spin like a tourist.
In this foreign landscape the rules say that
Straight lines cross, their birthright declaring
And claim to be all parallel
Which seems to me some kind of hell
With no by your leave, waiting turn to bat
They touch more than once without caring.
With straights now curvaceously singular
They too now can play with each other
Great circles that can’t go alone
Propinquity so overblown
Might kinkiness turn them all angular?
Or sameness make them ask why bother?
Brian Johnston
February 6, 2016
First class brains
Streets populated with them
Flaunting certificates--useless
Plus innate knowledge practical,
But unrecognised
Tightfisted bourgeois;
Alienated job opportunities
Reserved for own kids born and unborn
Capitalism overblown;nauseous
Grab and keep philosophy elevated
Who do you know?Who don't you know?
Keys to haven
You could trudge to the Sahara,
Build sand dunes,clamber atop
To reach the top and maybe sunlight
Slight wind,and you are on the floor:
No foundations
Pack sands,feed on them
Who cares?
Hollow eyes witnessing a party
The favoured few,on Owambes
Overfed.Toothpicks in mouths
Dogs too,fed fat with flesh
Dogs now reject bones
Leftovers left to sour,thrown away
First class brains,crawl in dustbins
Vultures competing
Some days,vultures feed too
On first class brains' corpses
Hollow-eyed pleas.Unheeded
Gentle songs of plea,
Didn't make them yield
Clangs on empty sardine tins
Music violent,tempo risen
They glanced at them,and looked away
Then one day,hunger and anger fired desperation
Bread knives came in handy
Well-fed guts are carved apart
All energy used
Denouement.
The vultures came in the evening
And held a huge feast
Seeing you
standing there what to do?
I smile to bridge the gap, you have grown,
by plane I have crossed a continent to atone.
There's been too many harsh words, tirades overblown.
My son, please come, I mean you no harm.
He crosses to my arms.
Smiling, charmed.
Date:5/18/14
Deborah Guzzi
Contest:TROIS PAR HUIT A BRIDGE
“One more word, just one more word!’’ before I start to break,
I feel the anger rising up, I tremble and I shake.
I try to think it’s not their fault, their only little kids,
But it isn’t enough to stop the anger breaking through the lid.
I leap to them with vacant eyes screaming “that is it!”
Grabbing at their little arms while I curse hiss and spit.
Dragging them to their bedrooms, throwing them to the floor,
Storming out to get away, slamming at the door.
Next I’m in my bedroom, my head held in my hands,
Trying hard to calm myself while I figure out a plan.
“Help me someone, help me please,” I mumble quietly,
“I just can’t take this anymore,” I pray to god, I plea.
10 minutes pass, the storm has gone, I’ve realised how I’ve been,
The calm makes me aware of this and guilt has now set in.
I slowly make my way into the quietness of their rooms,
Their little red faces wet with tears from their mother’s angry fume.
“I’m sorry darling for hurting you, I just got really mad,
I never meant to make you cry, or meant to make you sad”.
I hug them tight and tell them that I love them very much,
Hoping that their still comforted by their mothers touch.
“I need you to be helpful, I need you to be good”,
“Ok” they say in solemn tone, with hope they understood.
Wiping away remaining tears of the sadness that had been,
Hiding every single trace of the anger that they’d seen.
Now once again all is well, this feels a happy home,
Motherhood is oh so sweet when the angers overblown.
It’s all so unpredictable, when push comes to shove,
One day it fits so perfectly, the next it’s hard to love.
The trials and tribulations of motherhood, I’ve had,
Some days it comes so easily, some days it seems so bad.
I used to think I’m teaching them the ways and how to be,
But as time passes quickly by I cannot help but see,
That their the ones teaching me, in many ways then one,
They’ve taught me of a selfless love that comes from being a mum,
Self control is what I lack, they’ve taught me how to see,
If I don’t control my anger, my anger controls me.
So next time that you feel you just can’t take it anymore,
Don’t grab their little arms and shut them out behind a door,
But realise there’s a lesson that their teaching you right there,
And hold them close gratefully, with tender loving care.
Recipe For My Poetry:
! Cup of release from reality
2 tbsps of too much time on one’s hands
As many cups of McDonald’s coffee you wish
So easy! No pots and no pans…
A generous pinch of ego
A lot of long lost dreams
Some healthy bites of breakfast burrito
Not a lick of respect and self-esteem…
1/2 cup of feeling of failure
4 shot glasses of Tennessee Honey
Smidgeon of feeling of being put out to pasture
Mixed lightly with a minimum of money…
A dollop of overblown sentimentality
A handful of memories and loss
A pinch of penance and a spritz of banality
Add a bit of joy…at never having a boss…
Stir in with a grin, lots of rainbows and sunshine
Blend in memories of days warm and sunny
Don’t skimp a bit when adding red wine
And don’t forget… 6 shots of Tennessee Honey…
Blend these ingredients all into one
Then pour them all into an open mind
Then set it aside…til you think that it’s done
Might want to moisten it, with a bit more red wine…
Dust it a bit with some cinnamon and cynicism
Make sure it’s firm…not too dry or runny
If it doesn’t measure up to your very own criticism
Just moisten it up with another cup
…Of good ol’ Tennessee Honey…