Best Petty Poems
But they already had a cat
ME
Meow
How could they
Making me share my chow
My bed
My toy rat with the ripped head
My nip, my nap, my blue blanket with the frayed ribbon
I don't know if I can ever forgive em.
But they already had a reader in the group
ME
M is for Mitten, can't you see
We did not need an Elenore
She steals my lines and interrupts my joke
She makes me gag
She makes me choke
She sat in my chair
How will I go on from here
But they already chose first chair
ME
My violin solo was so sweet
Now I have to share
Not fair
No treat
Another fiddler I can't beat
The agony of broken bows and stepped on feet
I have no harmony left inside of me
They try to shrink the world into their
Deplorable size
For to magnify their insignificant selves as great men
To appear to be
But
They fall into the abyss of vindictive
Vanity
Where lost shall they remain into
Eternity!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
17 MARCH 2014
* Dedicated to fair fight!
it may be petty
reading and not commenting
Reciprocity?
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
The Present:
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
Your actions are so cruel
So calculated and quick
Within an instant
You take what you want
Because you feel entitled
You've destroyed trust
In those you should be closest to
By coveting others
Your needs outweigh
Close relationships and bonds
Why must you destroy
Others memories of joy
Be taking treasured things
You've destroyed the joy
And replaced it with scorn
Your jealousy overpowers
And feeds this evil task
Of stealing things
From those you say you love
How can you live with yourself?
Do you have no conscience at all?
Yet you deny deny deny
And never own up to the truth
No one believes you
But you.
Your M.O. Is the same
You reorganize to hide
The things you placed in your hands
But remember that dirty spot
Cannot be washed off from your hands
Once you've stolen you've destroyed
Any trust you ever had
I thought this may be a illness
A sickness or disease
But when you broke instead of took
I realized it was the emerald
The jewel at its purest state
Crystallizing within
The ugliness in your heart
I no longer pity you
I'm angry at the destruction
Created by your taking
Of the things
So important to others, yet not to you
Coveting is jealousy and that is
A sin against those you steal from
"The Petty Coat Checkmate"
out out damn spot
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
I had just woken up feeling great
like I barely had gained any weight.
But not so says my scale!!
The despair I can't quell.
So I go pile more food on a plate.
Next, the car on a side street I spy
pulls out quickly in front of me. Why?
I'd been going 60.
But now I'm at 50.
Why can't slowpokes let fast folks pass by?
Then the store checkout line is not fast.
So I change to line two. I'm aghast.
The first just got quicker
Line two was a trickster.
Yes, the last shall be first; the first, last.
I race home because there is something
I've recorded. For me, that 's a big thing.
But I mope and I pout
The power had gone out.
While away from my home, I taped nothing.
And so I've proceeded to bake
A costly and chocolate-filled cake.
A most horrible taste!
Salt for sugar I'd placed,
and I've got no more flour for a remake.
I'm in bed. There's this really good show.
But my eyes won't stay open. Oh, no!
In the a.m. it's one.
I awake. My show's done.
Like in life, the end I can't know!
Petty people lurking, preying on us all
Watching, waiting for someone good to fall
Staying out of sight, but never very far
Thinking they can influence feelings left ajar
Standing tall and strong, never showing fear
Maybe the best reply is to grin from ear to ear
Petty people lurking, hiding who they really are
I won't let them bring me down or leave me with a scar
When you look in the mirror, you count each imperfection you can find instead of the lovely details you truly hold. You feel too short, too tall, too skinny, too fat. You see acne and tangled hair, chipped nail polish on your delicate fingertips and running mascara smearing your face. Your mind is burning alive with every thought. You think that he will not give you roses painted the color of romance if you are not a size zero. You think he will not stain your lips with his name if you are not 100 pounds even. But if you could see that you were made to love yourself before others, it would be such a beautiful sight. Destroy the mirror, my dear, you were made in the eye of yourself, not the world.
The reason that she didn’t come to my last poetry reading
Was that I had but faintly praised her hat.
It was a monstrous thing which Mrs. Thatcher,
the Queen most certainly, would have shunned.
It was sort of like a jerry-built bird’s nest
Jammed full of something like seaweed,
Yes, like something straight out of a horror film, a “thing.”
My “Er, yuss, rather .. er .. interesting”
Evidently was not good enough.
She stamped her foot,
Picked up her cocktail
And left her corner – in a huff.
My hat! How petty can you get?
Perhaps my not getting too smitten by her hat and all
Had something to do with the fact
That that snooty husband of hers
Never acknowledges me when we meet.
The most joy I can get from him
Is a barely audible grunt.
I’m not petty, just very sensitive.
Quite different.
Maybe I’m just growing cynical. As I see it,
Most ordinary run-of-the-mill individuals
Can’t forgive a slight
More than just once or twice,
Let alone seventy times seventy times,
Like your true saint actually might.
Most folks keep accounts.
Come off it. You know they do,
Of course, they do,
Or a points system,
Except true friends.
But even there
I have my doubts.
True, friends like friendly bank managers
Wouldn’t dream of mentioning your overdraft.
No, they will lean over backwards
To extend generous terms of credit.
There are such things as
Interest-free loans, write-offs,
Grants and gratuities, but
Not even the IMF has limitless funds.
Only the most officious bank clerk
Actually likes bouncing checks,
Allowing no time lag between tit and tat.
But in the longer term
A balance sheet is drawn,
And even a benign auditor
Must draw a line somewhere
Between the troughs and peaks.
Whispers passing from broken ear to broken ear.
Words laced with knives ready to pierce.
the devil's comedy station.
Malicious smiles mask the pain of the last blow.
Snarky remarks through all mediums.
Words of hate in black flashing letters lay upon a colorful screen.
Or sayings of detest flying around.
I hate her,
she hates you,
I hate her,
she hates you.
She said
he said
she is such a
Why would she do that
How dare he
She will pay for that
Words rolling around in my head,
ears in anguish hearing them whisper.
Not involved, but affected.
Whole lives revolving around spoken enmity.
joy fostered from the win of a battle.
While their selfish war proceeds on,
destroying all and any who get in their way.
Hours spent,
data wasted,
mindless acts dominating the stream of life.
Voices competing to beat down on the other.
On the other side of the world,
People vie for food,
Walk miles for water,
Wear same thing for years.
Yet, focus holds on what the appearance of the moment.
What a strange world I've fallen into.
What a Petty little world, before my eyes.
Roads We Chose
If you travel down the wrong Lane
where humanity is swept away
with hate and viral diatribes
well then you know
Tom Petty
has inseminated his seed
they knock on all doors
if a narrow mind will answer
ring ring
oh ,my hatred sings
do not be a little mind
unless genocide is your thing
In her ivory tower, she was raised,
A sheltered child, a life of ease,
But Alice's tale, Lorina's heart had seized,
Her mind now set on a different phase.
Married at twenty to a man much too old,
Her life as a trophy wife grew stale,
And so she plotted, her heart gone cold,
Her husband's demise she'd avail.
With her inheritance, she set out to be,
The White Rabbit, a villainous spree,
Robbing fast-food joints, with hi-tech toys,
Spider-Man and Frog-Man, she'd often annoy.
But one day, a Kwikkee Burger spat,
Refusing to serve her breakfast repast,
She beat them up, two cops arrived,
And Judge Elkhart's son, poor Dan, he died
Elkhart sought revenge, in the courtroom,
He shot Dodson, a thundering boom,
A court reporter died, and in the hare came,
Her giant rabbit mech, saving her name.
The Terrible Two, with Walrus by their side,
They caused havoc in Brooklyn, no longer tied,
To clumsy matches with amphibians, they sought,
Vengeance, with the help of the ones they'd caught
But Spider-Man, Leapfrog, and Frog-Man too,
Defeated them, their victory in view,
White Rabbit resurfaced, with new help in tow,
But Mad Hatter and Dormouse were there just for show.
Grizzly and Gibbon stopped her bank heist,
She tried to ransom them, but they didn't bite,
Bombing the city, demanding five billion,
Spider-Man and his team stopped her, just winning.
She fell for Arcade, his deathtrap design,
Kidnapping Wolverine and Black Cat, he'd be fine,
But the heroes they won, leaving Arcade and her,
Abandoned in Savage Land, whining loudly as churr.
Joining Hood's Gang, she fought for more power,
Against Mister Negative, she never did cower,
But dealing in drugs, an effort foiled by M. Jane,
White Rabbit, was defeated once again.
March 22, 2023
Marvel Superheroes Supervillians and Superanimals Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
you gave me my girl
but you treat her like a pawn
to get back at me
Where there is a petty imitation
There'll be pests, posters of sensation
Grouping of hesitations
Complaints to order, servings of hallucinations
There'll be soap-box amatory slander
About walking coat-hangers slender
It ain't working girl, it's a waling green guile
By his friend in business uptown a mile
By his wife who paints her mirror image
Shades against her daughter's non-marriage
Her tea drained in company of photo albums
Of good old days of bottomless bums
And motherly mums and wives' tales true
But the fashionable unreasonable is turning blue
All the codified glory of yesterday's innocent shame
Now he's not got a gamut of trust in a game
He calls out to his dog, his faith, his fellow
"Round up the gambits and youths in yellow,
'cause I can't move from my comfortable stump."
But his companion is old, stands to wearily slump
Back to the ground to emphasize to his master
That's four legs or two there'll be no muster
Just a dusty breeze of his wooden-coat happening
As diamonds were coal, the rough is hardening
Like a baby can't talk, but it knows what it wants
No you can't understand it, you guess as it taunts
Your patience and moral, your air of knowledge
That you've blown so big you need no tutelage
So you sit and you moan, you grumble and point
You don't dance no more as it'll gnaw each joint
Like you grind your teeth as the heartily speak
As the laughing weak working each day of the week
It's hard but they know it won't last forever
'cause cursing your bread will put you in the gutter
Now that's something you could never understand
Just as your father's father both bit and fed the hand
Now you sit pious in a dynasty out of your control
You had to spread it thin to bank each and every toll
So rest you ill and tainted soul, the blind see more
The deaf hear more, as the mute speak ancient lore
Rewritten as it were to be - a changing people's democracy
An evolution from your pollution and non-decency
A smile for a smile not an eye for an eye
And you'll cry and you'll cry when death strolls in to buy
Your soul at less then half you thought it worth
And bury you down inside the cold, cold earth.