Best Parry Poems
Featuring: Keith :)
----------------------
Fresh sand garments
The Mental Colosseum floor
Self-infliction's--waging wars
----------------------
~ AND THE POEM BEGINS ~
A mask, tiny holes
Breathing heavily
Dancing around my toes
Broad carbon steel
Safe behind my will
Equipment of revenge
Fencing the world with my eyes
I bow, with the morning dew,
My mind a dual in its own world.
When the curtains lift,
I prepare myself with a weapon--
Epee Crest to protect my chest
A sword sharper than fangs
I circle my blade around the door knob
Ready to face the world
Practicing --in hopes today, I won't retreat
“Fencers ready!"
ATTACK!
A magical knightress
Painted in white
"Let's dance!"
~ THE SHOW BEGINS ~
Queen Amri "VS" The Damsel
Wishing it was over
Stainless steel echoes
“Every poke counts”
Hoping & Taking
No room to disengage ---I retreat
Peacefully I secure my stance
On Guard!
I lean in, I disengage ---I flee
Back again, I lunge
The Queen is too smart to retreat
I -Amri, parry away from the argument of the lunge.
Recoil & Double tapped
In and out….. I'm struck
Boldness---
Back to the drawing board
On guard, I stand like a statue
Out of breath; feels like I'm dying
Yet I am still fighting.
The Queen knows what to do.
TODAY~
I Yield, She Wins!
Raising our foils
---At the on guard of another day
I move in swiftly, cutting like razor blades
Using refreshed energy
24 / 7
I attack, She provokes!
Sand runs its course
Victorious against the queen
Touch – tied – triumph -- Touché
Standing on my own 2 feet
I am the
-Grand Finale Show-
Conquering The Battles Inside
TODAY~
-I WIN!-
by; PD
Categories:
parry, adventure, art, beauty, body,
Form:
Free verse
Yield? Not to you, I certainly won't.
I'll parry on hot coals, I'll lunge to your affront.
Succumb? I'll not breathe your air of lies,
Since no honeyed sweetness makes me compromise.
Supplicate? Then throw down your armor at will.
Once freed from this battle, you will be my love still.
Categories:
parry, love, war,
Form:
Rhyme
I've been contemplating the tastelessness of the soup being served on site.
The difference between what's sweet and sour is noticeable in every bite.
It's not just the infusion of artificial intelligence that leaves the soup bitter,
but poetry that's been stolen from others that stinks worse than kitty litter.
Months ago it was perceived by many PS poets, that there had been an influx
of so called 'poets' posting 'poetry,' but quite frankly... most of it just sucks.
And then there is the returnee woman who holds contests entering her own
with names who returned with her in a scam that no one should condone.
There remains the do-goodies, who continue to claim they've been victimized
but that story is so old that it is known as garbage and needs to be sterilized.
A butcher, baker and candlestick maker, who burns his candle on both ends,
still hangs around but nothing he says is believed and cannot make amends.
A quill is meant for writing and not for fencing with neither parry nor thrust.
Take care who you accept to be a friend for it's not always one you can trust.
I've turned off commenting or the trolls will be feeding on my every word
those floating in soup's toilet bowl, who should be flushed like a stinking turd.
I'll also post this as a poem in the usual manner of poetry on this flawed site
for those who wisely don't pay attention to blogs where bullies post smite.
The soup kitchen needs a Gordon Ramsay visit to free it from rats and mice
because it's been infested with toxic waste that some have labeled 'spice.'
Categories:
parry, community,
Form:
Rhyme
Two impish girls by a ridge of the sea
frolicked with wavelets lapping merrily
as pink buckets swayed, in each little hand
where clusters of moistened grains polished the sand
bedecking castles on bright August skies;
mermaids we dressed in ferns waiting to dry.
Patty and I guarded the moats from the bad trolls
with candles on gates as swooshing tides cajoled;
a vignette we held in deep friendship’s mind
when crests besieged our kingdom, how unkind
as we fought the tides with shovels dug around,
our legs standing firm to parry the roaring mound.
But on our twelfth year, she caught a fever;
Patty grew hazy, our beach empty right where
all sandcastles dissolved from red to gray
and no more turrets to chisel away .
Now, summers without pails are a memory
of two impish girls, on ridge of the sea.
………………………..
Memories of The Sea: Isaiah Zerbst’s Contest
5/14/2015
Categories:
parry, friendship, nostalgia, sea,
Form:
Couplet
Myself, Armed Only With A Dying Flame
Dark travels in such a long life
early days of hungering strife
A child born to fight for it
tasting ton of salt in every spit
Lost on pathways that breathe my aches
Prod me restless as I sever the chase
Between day and night and promises I made
To myself, armed only with a dying flame
Days sinking past like a slow tide
no softness, that one could abide
As years sent life into a dark spin
easy came toughness, pain and sin
I have seen more than I ever could
Branches of bitterness carved deeply in wood
Wandering eyes dismissed them as facades of a man
Who fell victim to the ride as the years fell down
Is there saving grace if I stop at none
I may have foreseen it all but I doubted I’d come
To terms with myself and make me turn around
From the edge of this cliff and fade away void of sound
Then came love trying its very best
softness, weakness in every test
Blade drawn to parry each thrust
to live on never daring to trust
Swiftly gone like a bygone air
I may be nothing more than despair’s heir
Constricted by premises that haunt every corner
Shutting my eyes will mean absolute surrender
A weak moment, hell bore on down
life melted, each day a new frown
Love had been accepted with grace
she left without a path to trace
Sad night , the fight no great cause
clocks stopped, universe hit pause
Time yielded no forgiving reprieve
love lost, nothing , nothing to retrieve
I was again left to remain
I have but myself to blame
When the rain comes to ease the pain
I know I’ll be whispering your name
12-3-2014
Collaboration write, Robert Lindley and my very talented friend, Jake Ponce.
Here is hoping that you may enjoy this humble team effort .
Has been my great honor to write with my friend Jake!
Categories:
parry, beautiful, conflict, creation, heartbroken,
Form:
Rhyme
Through drowsy quivers of wired thoughts
I lose an hour in the morning
to parry every second of vengeance,
as if to hasten my night rituals
from the unrelenting pace of dawn-break…
and as tunnels honk, my eyes forget
to relish the yellow buds-in- waiting.
Again, Mr. Time… you steal my fresh hours
while my soul wanders far beyond
a metered compass for a rendezvous
with my day’s free- flowing motion.
Now, my hands crave to make love
with the softness of earth’s clay
or bathe in a camphor sun, lapping a wind.
Your meter is not mine to rent or borrow;
and by the glory of night and moon
the bards’ tale knows my songs...
allow me then to age here,
groping with the endless fingers
of sweet eternity.
Funny how time seems to fly contest
Sponsor:Brenda Chiri-Carroll repost 10/6/2016
Categories:
parry, day, time,
Form:
Free verse
The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.
I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.
And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.
But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,
As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.
And here I am, pouncing at ground before me,
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.
Categories:
parry, angst, art, confusion, dedication,
Form:
Free verse
There is a hostile villain that lurks deep inside,
turning the human body into a battleground.
With disdain, it causes pain one cannot abide,
but the fight goes on until a cure can be found.
It strangles hope like an noxious climbing vine,
One that I wish overwatering would simply rot.
It stains a body with a toxic mark. I recall the line
as Lady Macbeth cries, "Out, out damned spot!"
It arrives unannounced, without an invitation.
attacking vital organs of an unsuspecting host
In self defense, the body fires back with radiation,
but the enemy has a cavalry to parry a riposte.
It lies in wait, stealing courage, and moral spirit,
burying itself deeply inside trenches of skin.
It's proven to be a killer; no wonder we fear it!
And yet, we ask, "How in the hell did it get in?"
The battle rages on, leaving the inflicted weak,
and it becomes a struggle to continue the fight.
Faith to conquer the adversary becomes bleak,
but don't surrender by waving the flag of white.
The battle can be won. Cancer can be treated.
A positive attitude helped many who have healed.
Speak with a survivor who was not defeated.
Attack that enemy who lurks within; concealed.
June 10, 2021
Cancer Ivy Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Categories:
parry, cancer,
Form:
Rhyme
Men of Honor in the mist Kokoda 1942......
Men of Honor in the mist,...
Sometimes by a bullet kissed,...
Shoot the buggers they'd insist,...
Threeo plonked, lee enfield .303cal.
Japs dead, not missed....
Men in khaki dyed to green ,..
Kokoda men so bronzed and lean,.
Fought the bloody Jap so mean,...
Die did run till khakki/green....
Move in silence in the green,...
Keep your mouth shut, be unseen,..
Pull off a shot when you are sure,...
Head shot got him, yes one more....
Jonesy shot as we pulled back,..
Found him eaten on the track,..
Kill a Jap for sure today,...
Shoot the buggers make em pay....
Walk with death there every day...
Fix your bayonet, smell of hay?...
Keep your guard up, bayonet parry...
Butt slap drongo Jap, old Harry... Don Johnson
As Don Johnson2/25th Aussie Btn. said of his time on the Kokoda track in 1942, you would
smell the mouldy hay smell when the Jap was close. The dyed green Aussie uniform became 2
colours in the constant rain, green and khaki patches. (did we invent camoflague
uniforms)You heard the rattle as the Jap put a bullet in the barrel of his Arisaka rifle.
After his 5 shots the predictable Jap would come for you to bayonet fight you. So you'd
spike him or plonk him with unit .303.. The Japanese were losing many cargo ships to Yank
Submarines during the war, as payback they put American, British and Aussie prisoners on
board to be sunk to die on their way back empty to Japan....
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942stoush
Categories:
parry, adventuregreen,
Form:
Rhyme
He’s always So Behind
Hasten,
Mason
Heavenly Guy
Sky glow
Milo
A Great Guy
Maxwell
acts swell
Sure Not Dickie Nixon
Tricky
Micky
Spoiled Guy
Bratty
Mattie
Why We Follow
Moses
Shows us
Such a Cheerful Fellow
Jaunty
Monty
Hope he Doesn’t want Kids
Sterile
Merrill
The Stoic
Spartan
Martin
He Keeps Them in the Family
Newel’s
Jewels
The King’s Favorite
Jester
Nestor
He’s Just so Tall
Shorten
Norton
Almost got Left off the Ark
Noah’s
Boas
I Have . . .
Faith in
Nathan
The Shrewd One
Heady
Neddy
The guy in Charge
Foreman
Norman
Never Sits Still
Goin’
Owen
Stuck at Home
Snowed in
Odin
A Nobody
Zero
Nero
Put Him on a Diet
Fatty
Paddy
Give Him a Shave Please
Hairy
Parry
Never Finished Med School
Nursie
Percy
Kind of a Loafer
Restin’
Preson
Mr. Popular
Tweeter
Peter
His Magic
Patrick’s
Hat Tricks
Worm Man
Wriggly
Quiggly
Categories:
parry, men,
Form:
Footle
The vibrant popinjay has gone.' The harlequin no more really
Spins in song.' The magic's now all in a can.' Younger female backers
Parry times looming advance plan..' The age'd icon takes his glances
Across the acres, of yearning souls in hopefull trances..Parody banners they lie.' beneath sultry skies.' Echo the effigy of the past, See it burned in the mans eyes.'
Actions Describe.' Writ large the irony of life.' Youth has
Flown.' All hail its ghost, Ronnie strums, the speakers hum.'
Geri-acrity...Fumbles combinations and with alacrity..' 0yet theres really not one chance.' No way back.' All I see is false hope.' Rod Stewart is a husk.' Not yet voiceless.' Nor danceless yet
Its the back end, of the romance.!
Categories:
parry, age, allusion, celebrity, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme
She'd been staring at me since I can recall.
A da Vinci saccharine smile painted on her lips
that I'd traced with fingertips in my youth.
Forsooth wondering, "Who are you, comely lady,
and why does no one ever mention your name?"
Eyes of melancholy, but not a tear had she spilled.
For years now, I'd asked that the truth be told
why she'd been given a place on the parlor wall,
yet no one speaks of her with honor or a trace
of how gracefully she sat on that stiff backed chair.
A fetching look adorned the face of this exquisite lass,
whose lustrous raven hair was released from its chignon.
What sin had she committed that's kept her story hidden
and her name omitted or deleted from the family Bible?
In gold gilded frame, what blame does she still carry?
What thrust and parry duel must she have fought,
perhaps for love. Her presence hangs in oils but despoiled.
Aged painting of this alluring woman remains a mystery
to me, but I see in her eyes, a familiarity I recognize
each time I peer into the mirror on the vestibule wall.
Categories:
parry, family, history, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
A wild flower, grew up through
a crack in the pavement, I wondered,
why already not trampled
by so many preoccupied feet?
Sat I down on a
park-bench, further pondering this yellow
charmer, to which I cordially gave greet --
“little tenant,” oh just missed another!
Thinking I saw it, knowingly parry aside;
(one wild flower, persistent, determined
not its beauty to hide.)
Unaware came a team of training joggers,
in colorful, striped briefs; legs and tennis shoes
thoughtlessly-trouncing-everywhere –
Feared I this brave little trooper had finally been
dealt its fatal wild share -- the wind of the runners' healthful,
self-indulgent passing, seemed more a cyclone of careless,
petulant stomping – no sense a little blossom would
they spare!
Deeply rooted in soil, it could not retreat, without vocal
cords it could not plead a shriek – could not shield itself
from such crushing, annihilating defeat.
Sat there I a sad bit longer -- would not dare open my eyes, felt
a tear slipping, my heart seeming knee-deep in morbid dripping.
Smeared blossom, and grieving sunbeams, saw I like a funeral's
dark-arm-band – a segment of my bright world, had just tragically
ended...gone with the lone blossom's, last futile, floral stand –
till a child opened my eyes, making me take peak,
a sweet little voice, not the least tinge bleak, as they carefully parted: “Oh
mother, isn’t that dandelion so dashingly chic!?
Categories:
parry, courage, cute, emotions, endurance,
Form:
Free verse
I wish I was a wee Willy Wagtail.
I've always wanted a tail to wag,
and Willy, really struts his stuff, just so.
With a wiggle waggle
a parry, on garde, touché!
"Now that's a Tail!"
Willy Wagtail is willy-nilly, with attitude!
Flitting onto branch or wire
waggling his tail all about,
so bossy and belligerent.
"Hey what's your game?"
"Can anybody play?"
Categories:
parry, animal, bird, word play,
Form:
Free verse
One Against Many
Where a man has a principle,
and a bug in his head
Forms a view that no matter what,
won’t go away
His heart will control
every thought, every thread
He’ll not veer from his stand,
by night nor by day
He will face up to those,
he believes to be wrong
He will speak from his corner
and wave placards
Stand there his ground,
ever straight, ever strong
Opposing the tyrants,
their ways and their guards
When the furies are gathered
to break like a storm
He will parry and fend
every threat that is thrown
His mind will not bend
by the weight of the scorn
But remember the giant
brought down by a stone
With no aim to destruct
or words to impose
Just a flame in the darkness
to shine there a light
Deep from the depths
where confusions shadows
May release, rise and soar
newly imagined flight
When the voice fades away,
to deaths calling of time
The actions are measured,
of those now set free
Who forged an alliance,
stood there in line
To judge by the means,
of hypocrisy
To the memory of Brian Haw
Categories:
parry, anti bullying, judgement, political,
Form: