Best Pother Poems
potentates posture positive
pontiff punches prove powerful
protectors pretence premeditated
praetor promptly protects pride
princes' prance precede praise
princess' precious prayer prayed
progeny prose practiced perfectly
predator parades predominance
prey predestined predicament
primitive premise provides promise
preachers play perfect performance
populas position poorly played
powerless pouts past pow-wows
press potshots potpourri pother
penetrates poultry popular position
powder puff polititions perdition
Cocktail parties are an entrenched American custom, I suppose.
A forum to spew inane babble and where the booze freely flows!
I've suffered through more of them than I care to recall,
And I try to avoid them like the flu - they drive me up the wall!
Alas, an invite arrives and a firm decree from my spouse ensues!
"We're going!" I didn't even have a chance to voice my views!
This one to celebrate some guy's retirement or something or other.
I wish they'd include me out - I have little time for such pother!
I retreat to a corner of the room with my drink to gaze about and pout,
But bless my soul, invariably a gregarious boor always seeks me out,
Regaling me nose-to-nose with tedious trifle I really don't want to hear.
I dodge and parry with him but he insists on bending my weary ear!
I strive to be tolerant when such occasions beckon.
And I'm reasonably adept at observing social niceities, I reckon,
But that uncouth, sotted boozer bent on a gargantuan toot,
Makes me a bit fractious since he also spilled hooch on my suit!
I've heard more about his kids and job than I want to know,
The latest obscene jokes and how his investments are sure to grow!
Thankfully, his spouse appears and notes his besotted condition,
And graciously rescues me from his boring, wearisome rendition!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Sweet benign breeze swept my tears dry
When my heart bled and spilling out
On madness, loathing minds awry
Lead to crime where love fading out.
On the streets where striplings beseech
Sweet benign breeze swept my tears dry
For some nibbles, they beg and preach
While some granaries choked and sigh.
Sufferings around, made me cry
Of the pain, life and death pother
Sweet benign breeze swept my tears dry
When resumes I tried to smother.
Then saw the nature joined with me
And flooded the world with her cry
Love and empathy, back with plea
Sweet benign breeze swept my tears dry.
Won second place in STRAND SELECT O ,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
Won third place in Distant Refrains Poetry Contest sponsored by Joseph May
Oh, Triple Androgynous Name remembered by no name
I am now a shooting star falling to Earth in shame
Mother-Father of every single mother and father
I am now an orphan under moon and sun in pother
Oh, shining mirror of the great invisible spirit
I am now the moon without her light for some to see it
The endless universal womb without body or flesh
I am now an aborted fetus with no single creche
Oh, very first human before even Adam and Eve
I am now in the curse of ignorance that Man can’t cleave
The very first thought though not one thought can ever be you
I am now to be forgotten to those I never knew
Oh, holy spirit whose name is forgotten in the Earth
I am now praying for your sole son to give me rebirth
All a platonic trend.
Two brothers and a friend.
Since childhood all began.
From morning till night's end.
Fun times that they would spend.
Till love hath just descend.
A friend with boxed glove.
Brother, more sort of.
The wiles of young love.
A swoon mourning dove.
Played 'pull the leg of'.
Kissing booth scene.
Unraveled seams.
Break by all means.
Nothing but dreams.
None of that.
You spoiled brat.
Love at-bat.
Brother
Pother
Kiss
It is a hole of black
Where I find myself
Cannot retract
I dug the hole myself
Thoughts of murk
Not substance from the mind of I
Yet in this darkness I lurk
Pleasing the sadness of I
O’ how dismal the dirty, gloom
How can you forgive me?
A pother creeps stealthily, my tomb
How can I forgive me?
Small gauge large sound
could be trivia profound
Stations and shunters
red lights for the punters
Small member large auto
mobile cars pars pro toto
In silly banter we trust
French letters a must
But remember the other
Freud had a mother
In Victorian Vienna he toiled
his thoughts rather soiled
In mind he bonked on the couch
dirty old man sought to debauch
Those wicked rationalizations
what a treat for all nations
Kill thy father bonk thy pother
plenty of perversity to smother
So deliriously stupid it seems
it is all in all in those dreams
Yet morbid mortality calls
when the man stumbles and falls
He walked a tight sleezy rope
cocaine was his grand old dope
When the wicked go mad
it culminates bad and sad
High volume tiny shackles
still nonsense’s trifle crackles
All quiet again at the libido check out
Sigmund is dead long live the doubt
Who gave the order?
What hellish scene (pre-packaged for a mime)
watched my startled eyes?
An old man or a young demon
postures in a pother of lies,
a high priest of low ideas.
I ponder, I shake a thousand
chin-wagging times.
I must know
what killer-clown gave the order
for us to obey and nod,
and did they expect instead
this endless laughter and derision
not the devilish division
they had so long planed for?
~~~~
Biden flapping his gums in Philly
Why do you seek
That which is yet seen
And find within not
That which is unseen
Will you not pother
Over that you can reach
Perturb the one
Within your touch
But be that where
Your sight is redundant
Steadily presents the chance
To cerebrate stats of your being
You are defenceless
To what your eyes can't pierce
Why not do
With that you can feel
Live on
Progress on life
Do you know?
Yes, I know
It is my personal space,
which no one should invade.
Do you know?
Yes, I know
That your kinesics are so valuable,
That they should be palpable.
Do you know?
Yes,I know
Your attitude towards elders,
Should be appreciated even by contenders.
Do you know?
Yes, I know
To be aware of the other,
Should not be a pother.
Do you know?
Yes, I know
To be independent, yet inter-dependent,
Will make you splendent.
Do you know?
Yes, I know
What is it?
Can you guess with your wit?
A concept that is multi-faceted,
Makes your life chapleted.
Yes, International mindedness it is,
That's sure to make you an IB Whiz.
Some days i just sit in my room and think
Other days i put my faith in a drink
But most nights i lie awake
and dream of things i could not make
Some days im full of hope and joy
Other days i crave a soothing white noise
But most nights i can hardly speak
cause my minds a constant shriek
Some days are good like no other
Other days my own self creates a pother
But most nights i need a hand,
for im unable to even stand
Some days i miss your voice
Other days i just rejoice
But most nights i drown my sorrow
and lie awake till tomorrow
Some days in my bed i float aloft
Other days my mind sounds a scoff
Because most nights i endlessly think
and my mind does not focus until i drink
Cypress ‘knee's’ lap in the light
as dusk wades in.
Evening parachutes down,
it plants shallow pother
around ankle-deep trunks.
Anhinga necks stir shadows
under a low moon.
This is the gurgling gills
of a melting evening.
Florida ends at every lakeshore
where night-fevers begin.
A heated gloom that thickens
where bugs quicken.
We are locked into the chaffing songs
of crickets,
the drilling buzz of mosquitoes,
as cypress roots soak
in the dark dank air.
I visit my nurse today
who gives me my injection
she always makes me feel okay
and has a superb complexion
There are other carers there
but Jen's the one I allow to dose
one prior orderly gave me a scare
almost fainted came near close
I'm glad we found each other
now there's no need to fear it
there never is a pother
I've found a kindred spirit
Poor maid scurries,
Getting more anxious as she hurries,
Timidly passes on the message,
With a feeling of strong presage,
Grumpy prince huffs and pushes past,
Making the maid bow hurriedly, fast,
Leaving video games sloppily piled on the bed,
Stepfather proposes idea, prince fled,
Inspirational short speech to best friend,
Into the woods, he told he would blend,
Spoiled boy looks for aunt’s cottage in woods,
Massages, spoiled with all kinds of goods,
Rude but has good looks,
Every bit of a fairytale prince in the books,
Princess watches, wishes, wants, and plans,
Becomes one of the many brainwashed fans,
Believing his stories about his ‘evil’ stepfather,
The watching princess made such a pother,
About rescuing the selfish prince,
His terrible nature not once making her wince,
One day a salesman sells calls $10 consoles,
Hope fills the prince’s soul,
The princess is convinced it’s the king,
So out of the tree she swings,
Mind made up she’s saving,
Prince thinks she’s raving,
Screams for her to let him go,
At making people cry, he’s a pro,
Princess realizes she doesn’t need a man to rule,
Prince never uses anyone like a tool,
They both change and grow into better people.
Lost and bewildered within my creation.
Sadness engulfs my life and limbs.
I cry out only not to be heard.
No one seems to hear the plea.
Do I stand alone in this plight?
Do I stand alone in this fight?
Others have endured much more then me.
Expressions upon my face, say it all.
I am not evil: I am not good.
My person within feels the pain,
Agony, I present myself.
Crosswords that I have felt and heard,
Circle in my mind, all around me.
It must be my fate, only to just display.
Severed from others my destiny,
I requite myself without any pother.