Best Prosy Poems
An English teacher named Rosie
Thought one of her pupils was dozy
He’d cribbed off the web
From a man in Zagreb
The language he’d used was too prosy!
In false glory he’d tried to bask
So Rosie she took him to task
She said it’s not neat
if you try and cheat -
when needing some help you should ask!
NB cheaters is an anagram of teachers!
Sadly this is based (with some poetic licence about Zagreb) on a true event in the school I worked at. The english teacher was fully aware of the capabilities of the student and it was blatantly obvious the work was not his and it was merely copied and printed off the internet ... he failed to get a mark
2/2/18
There was a time, when I felt totally undesirable
unjustifiably [I now know] and you being in your infancy
felt so.. un-understood, writhing in a man’s body, seemingly a child
with the heart of a warrior, a man, with all a man’s needs.
There was a time, when time stood still, and time meant nothing,
and age was but an unjustifiable number on a page of societal crap.
I needed you. You wanted me. And so………….we were.
There was a time, so long ago, it seems a passing dream;
we paired, we parted, and life went on…
Now, as time seems to slide by with the speed of passing film
I remember, not without wonder…Who am I?
And where are you? Do you remember?
I am not at all sure [for who ever is…] and I am sorry, if our momentary joy,
brought you anything else...In the deep of night sometimes [often, truth be told]
I wonder, should I say….sorry?
for loving you?
betroth yourselves
to old houses of Charlottenburg
let yourselves be mollycoddled
by the petrified rain king
buy yourselves a shiny armour
of a former seraphim
call yourselves bourgeois,
dear ambassadors of art
prosy playwriters
live futile lives
full of futile effort
we are the revenants of heedlessness
the masses of plastic limpidness
and cubists that paint no more
like vortex and vertigo
we're abstract in a colour gamut
but I only like to whisper
among the lilies of rusty minefields
replacing the city with simplicity
A prosy prose for deity to mourn,
As the hunger stricken wobbles the ground.
Oh! the old retinues that feed besides our ribs.
Come again with their unbearable tax payers,
While the labourers' stomach rumble!
The ignorant chieftains stare from above,
While the Kwashiorkor kids parade the streets!
Farmers clank their basket and hoe,
For nothing to bring homewards when the farms never yield.
As the hard labour tastes no fruit,
Wife and daughter, are forever famished.
The sailor that despoil us,
Snatch the bouquet of our feast.
As we wallow in our hollow labour?
Leaving us despondent at the edge of the farm,
Oh! We are made for you to drain,
When the basket of yam fully stored in there yard.
The old retinues release starvation from its dungeon,
As hunger flay around street, whipping!.
The rise of commodities in the Bazar,
A loaf is bought at high price.
And the grain is untouchable!
This is a prosy prose for deity to mourn,
How housewives turn to modern beggars,
While the toddlers sleep with void bellies and empty jars!
H.astily I traipse “amidst these tombs,” “untainted eye…”
P.reparing the way for the “hidden world of yore.”
Luring lovers in, “lost Nevermore…”
“O’er the midnight moorlands crying,”
Verily to “wreck the solace of the poet’s mood!”
Even now, “drunk of the fog-foetid fountains.”
Cerebrally “reject[ing] the language of the glowing heart.”
Revered and “done are my trials,” “my heart is reposing.”
“All the years of fruitless quest” culminate in this...
For all the “prosy thoughts,” past “ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,” a
“Tale confide[d]” in “the shade of Poe” and I will be forevermore alive.
Quotes from:
“Where Once Poe Walked”/ “Despair”/ “The Bride of the Sea”/ “Fact and Fancy”/ “Nemesis”
Acrostic Homagerie
Poets count on fingies
To get the meter right.
Scribes of prosy thingies,
In randomness delight.