Best Patronising Poems
It seemed at first , a colour burst
Of dots and crooked lines ,
As I watched my "artful expert"
See how he defines
The colourful expression
That is hidden the frame ,
With a twenty thousand price tag
By some non-descript no-name .
" IT'S GOT CHARACTER ; REAL EXPRESSION ,
AND I REALLY FEEL HIS PAIN .
I CAN SEE JUST WHERE HE'S COMING FROM ,
AND WHAT HE HOPES TO GAIN .
FROM THE WAY HE STROKES THE CANVASS
CAN'T YOU FEEL HIS HURT AND FEAR .
IT'S ALL THERE IN THE PAINTING ....
OH SORRY !!!.... IT'S ABSTRACT .... MY DEAR " .
I am aware it's abstract .
I can hear it in your voice .
With your patronising accent ,
And your condescending choice
Of every single cliche ,
They thought you in art school .
And you couldn't draw a line straight
With a pencil and a rule .
Of course the painting's abstract .
How I hate that blessed word .
I found it in my dictionary ,
Between abstain and absurd .
You see ; the word , it just means nothing
And I think it should be banned .
Except , he framed and hung his abstract ,
And now he's charging twenty grand .
Pushed aside, location of home obscured, limited by isolation:
drifting aimlessly - subscribing to a voluntary incarceration.
Outcast by an alternative perspective, a differing sense of direction,
through a desire to develop resolutions to numerable imperfections.
Others recede into bad habits - shirking from every challenge,
placing emphasis on ignoring responsibilities; yet expecting a life that’s lavish.
So it’s hardly surprising when their dreams fall by the wayside,
having taken the easy road too often, they’re fighting against a landslide
to recuperate what was lost, or rather thrown away by being lax and care-free,
they’ve imposed upon themselves a limit, as to what they can achieve.
Armed with the powerful weapon of fore-sight, I clawed myself out of the rut,
but it’s little consolation for having to watch my friends get stuck.
Trying to avoid a patronising tone, I conceal myself into anonymity -
uninspired by foolish games, approaching every overture with timidity.
Wanting to tell them to change, to realise their mistakes,
but sometimes things are hardest to see when they stare you in the face.
It’s their life to live, and do so how they wish -
I just pray they realise: there’s more to it then “getting pissed”.
Unswallowed lumps of lobster immodest
Crustacean returns to pincers persimmon
Waitress whisk indiscernible clears linen
Custom of one equates her eight hour day
Has It All Paul wipes away gourmet residual
Exhaustion frightened by frothy latte
Fingers in pies finance necromancer denies
Bulging funds fail to complete, coins conflict
Periphery rebuffs, enough is finite, endless leers
Goblet of gluttony grape broth overflow inflicts
Victim of vanished virtue, bon vivant declaration
Transmutes rules, outruns consequence
Guidance glued in buttery dough glides rhetorical
Yacht reined in quay quiver, another arrow for Cupid
Entertainment timed to change with shifting tides
Inglots tossed overboard drown in debauch
Drunk playboy Paul while vulnerable divulges
Disdain for greeds' steep scrag, perpetual pursuit
Outdo, prove prowess for those who never realise
Incongruent grapple for further forgets to cherish
Partners relent, resources force caucus to submit
Patronising Paul procures boardroom obedience
Inundating debt retards bombastic boon reward
Promise of association silences indulgent sin
28th June
Plenty Stimulates
dear mr. electrician
you're a man of distinction
thank you from me and the spouse
for rewiring our house.
you have worked hard
no wire out of place
you toiled and sweated
nothing neglected.
but we will not pay you
and here's the reason why.
we will send a patronising letter
tell you there's no-one better.
photos of your work
will appear in an album
top quality, leather-bound
the cost to you just forty pound.
you don't have to buy
if you can't afford this sum
but the album will be a reminder
of a job well done.
Who is disabled?
Is it me, or is it you?
Should disability be based
On an anatomical stock-take,
Or based on what you can do?
For I can climb mountains,
I can soar through the sky,
And I can slay dragons,
With just a blink of an eye,
I can overcome barriers,
Fight against impossible odds,
Ignore patronising glances
And condescending nods.
So who is disabled?
Is it me, or is it you?
It is completely subjective,
It’s just your point of view …
A blot they want to wash, detergents do not work
Ineffectual, institutional and cover ups a stir
Excuses abound, squirming hierarchy found
"Its just a darkie, why so narky"
The corridors would sound
It still goes on, gone several years
Distrustful patronising leaders
A scurge we hope that does not surge
To Nazi ways and olden days
Where races they would purge
"A Recipe for Antonym"
the opposite of
didactic
ulterior motive
Elastic,
bend over for receiving
patronising missives
presumptuous, friendly and deadly
with lol and smiles
then genuflect
then somersault backwards
it’s part of the ceremony
in the soupy wash
Socratic passive is us
plastic, pernicous, piquant and plural
sipped slowly and loyally steadfast
scratching backs towards the shadows
of whispered never me's (sic)
to mirrors gushing sibilant soliloquy
the opposite of lost is now moving in
with a bent halo
and sewn off blunderbuss
inscribed on the handle
I’m sure glad I'm not one of you us
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Twice" / Little Dragon
https://youtu.be/TrpMncSZe-I
I was a total novice when I joined the site
hadn’t got a clue what was wrong or right
You were arrogant with overbearing bravado
patronising me, saying my poetry was trite
In your eyes I didn’t write ‘proper’ poetry
and became hell bent on humiliating me
Acting like you were a poetry aficionado
who’d swallowed an archaic dictionary
You made barbed comments, it was so cruel
and even challenged me to a ‘poetry dual’
behaving like an egotistical desperado -
in the end you’re the one looking a fool
I stopped posting poetry for a short while
got soup mails, folk were missing my style
People preferred my wit to the dull ‘dodo’
he left the site, I stayed to bring a smile!
A true tale of what happened to me a few months after I joined soup - this guy couldn't stand the fact my fun poems were more appreciated that his 'superior' sonnets and he challenged me to a dual to see who got the most comments and reads. In the end I stopped posting for a while but got so much support I bounced back
Judged By A Jury Of Your Peers Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Koplin
20/29/20
Login’s For Me, Me, Me!
Some carers are shite, debasing and all that, not fit,
Because just when I’m speeding to end my session,
When they’ve come in on another patronising visit,
They come over, bend down and adjust their vision.
So I growl in a low voice “Wot?” and they even proceed,
To say “What are you doing?”, so I cover up the screen,
With my fist, glance to the kitchen, sit up and concede,
“Nothing,” then they recede back to where they’ve been.
I change my login each time a new carer starts,
‘Cos they peer, peer, peer at my action of entering,
The numbers, and don’t seem to understand their quarts,
Are not intelligent, that they are myself outmanoeuvring.
I can only change my passcode a certain few times,
Since I am not Kevin on Eggheads so only remember,
A handful of historical events for password recall oftimes,
And that memory efforts are not for my times of slumber.
It’s different if I’m playing a game, that’s communal,
High scores are topical and cheats are conversation,
But I never play, and even if I did, that’s personal,
‘Cos I’m not as quick anymore, feel like a station!
With that invisibilty of age
I can fly my life like a kite !
Uninvited and unseen,
albescent, grey, you know what I mean,
( not the first flush of youth or strong,
the young forget that we were young, )
hold on to that, the string of that
to grip the meaning of it
as I grip the iron balustrade
along the miles of esplanade ;
think the century's wise men are ignored,
each lamp a light, a sage for each lamp.... ...
Drawn to the Sailor's Arms, her kegs
the weight of years upon the legs,
for whispers round an inglenook
where galaxies are in the glass,
to swap a tale, another round,
a golden fleece, a crumpled map !
Or waft around for words, like smoke
along the butt - ends from the tar,
or vanish down into the draught
if Alan Watts is at the bar.... ...
Below, where gulls quarrel in kelp
no harbour there need shelter me,
no life - boat slip to cries for help
need bring my spirit to the lee -
I hear the past with all its murders,
the wind wail through the rusting girders
yet still am I, free to fly with you
who lean against the railings, too !... ...
The world may seem to come in bits -
let nonduality begin ?
Come celebrate your opposites
for all depends on loss to win !
Tribal culture in your face -
to win is everywhere you turn,
if God is losing all the time
then will we ever, ever learn ?... ...
'You'll win' he said, 'its in the bag',
out on the point
what can the mindless wind do
but wave the flag?
Missing the point forever
signalling our nascent spirit.
And the voice said
'raise your head when the night is cloudless
and tell me who you are subject to,
remember the truth of your own story
as your eyes take in the glory'.... ...
Full to be empty, empty to be full -
do you hear the paradox, do you feel the pull ?
I do not mean to be patronising,
have I asked you too soon ?
Do you see what I mean when you gaze at the moon,
when the full moon, lifeless is full of light ?... ...
I sit upon the lobster pots
that decorate the harbour wall,
if you come a little closer
you can see me in the hall,
if you do not hold the key-
Mrs keepings locks the door,
I'll be looking out to sea
after eight but not before.... ... ...
gripping the shards of memories
ignoring the bloodied emotions
why do we torture ourselves
with that which we cannot change
these evocations
vivid
disturbing
invisible to others
but our élan spotlit
driven
instituting mostly patronising
eleemosynary projects
perfect recall
subject to
experiences dictated by
accident of birth
the authenticity of memoirs
tenaciously defended
but ravaged by
subliminal influences
a testimony to its perfidy
(Friend) "Okay dear. Can you hear?"
(Lady) "Yes. Yes! Of course I'm here!"
(Friend) "Your husband is on to second tee."
(Lady) "No. I haven't had my tea."
(Friend) "What a hit! Woah! Ho! Ho!"
(Lady) "Yes, my garden needs a hoe."
(Friend) "Oh no! You've misheard."
(Lady) "You want a cow? We've got a herd?"
(Friend) "Oh. That'll go down in golfs history books!"
(Lady) "I said cows. We have no bucks!"
(Friend) "Phoning you isn't working, I see."
(Lady) "Who? Who has gone to sea?"
(Friend) "We're not at sea! I'm a golfing peer!"
(Lady) "Aye! Southport has a lovely pier."
(Friend) "I have to go. Here's so and so."
(Lady) "I knit a lot. But do not sew."
(Friend) "Ugh... Don't you have a hearing aid?"
(Lady) "I used to be good at first aid."
(Friend) "My train is here. Bye, bye. Choo! Choo!"
(Lady) "He bit off more than he can chew!"
(Friend) "She sure brings out my fangs and claws!"
(Lady) "My name isn't Mrs. Clause!"
(Friend) "One more word and I'd have turned the air blue."
(Lady) "By patronising me, our chat he blew!"
(Friend) "Don't ever ask me to call your wife again PLEASE!"
(Lady) "Ha! Ha! Ha! I can imagine his pleas!"
Written 7th October 2022
For the "HOMOPHONE" Contest
Sponsor: Hat Bueckert
You’re a liar and a cheat
Just like a dog on heat
You lurk behind a cobweb thin disguise
and try so hard to fool the guys
But I’ve seen the way you try play the field
You’ve tried your best to manipulate me
Listen up honey, I’m not blind I clearly see
But I’ve got used to your patronising ways
I won’t take any more of your crap
I’m gonna start to answer back!
You’re a liar and a cheat
Just like a dog on heat
You lurk behind a cobweb thin disguise
and try so hard to fool the guys
But I’ve seen the way you try play the field
You tried to treat me like a fool
Broke many hearts, broke every rule
But sugar you can no longer deceive me
I’ve got my eye on you and note everything you do
Hope I’ve got that message clearly through to you
You’re a liar and a cheat
Just like a dog on heat
You lurk behind a thin disguise
and try so hard to fool the guys
But I’ve seen the way you try play the field
If you continue on this way and all the petty games you play
In time the truth about you is gonna be revealed!
05~10~16
SONNET FOR REALISM IN ACTION
OR: If a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing badly
We’re told with smug assurance patronising
That if a job’s worth doing, then do well with it
But if we doubt our faultless realising
We’re inclined to say in hopelessness ‘to hell with it!’
With projects of high promise I could regale ya
Begun with soaring hope at their inception
But ended, quit because of fear of failure
To live to standards asking for perfection
An alternate motto, different course to plough
‘Keep hope and faith then maybe bye and bye
If we press on, we’ll muddle through somehow
We might as well go on and give it a try’
Here’s a slogan more realist than proverbial
‘If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth it’ - no clause adverbial
It is true,
That once we were so much more,
But through the ages of devolution,
We have become lost within our time,
What once we were capable of now is incomprehensible,
No longer open to interpretation,
So few so close to remembering,
Perverse how evolution has become our execution,
We are echoes crossing dimensions,
Drowning in the obsessions of morbid fascination,
Our inability to conceive our own potential,
Becomes the patronising ignorance of our own progress.
We have come so far by losing so much,
That all we are now is lost.
wM