Best Quaintly Poems
after The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe
(Is this microphone turned on? Testing one two, Poe was a dip, Poe was a dip, testing.)
Once upon a daydream, faintly
whilst I watched the boob tube, quaintly
Jerry Springer 'bout half over when I nodded off to sleep.
Show was boring, soon was snoring
when suddenly I heard my bell ring.
Outside it was really pouring,
pouring there outside my door,
perhaps a preacher to ignore,
I'd be a beanbag chair and nothing more.
(By the way, this is the reader's digest version folks)
Beanbag pretense wasn't working,
freak outside just kept on twerking
(Wait! I forgot what that means)
then through my window climbs this guy who looks a bit unstable.
He stops and stares as though a zombie,
asked him could he be from Bombay,
I think his jeans were Abercrombie.
I showed him kindly to the door,
pointed clearly to the exit,
pushed him onward 'cross the floor,
he stood there shaking, nothing more.
"Now look" I cawed with all my muster,
"Get this through your thick head buster,
Spongebob's coming on soon and I've still to take my nap."
He looked at me with subtle smile,
those crazy eyes had me beguiled,
[karma's spanked me with this trial]
on my knees (Ack! I don't have knees)
on my knees I now implored
would he please just take a hike.
I then got up from off the floor,
he stared and said...
"uh, I gotta tinkle."
EPILOG
That's right folks. You now have the edited, abridged version of what really happened back in 1845. Now I know what you're thinking - 'Gotta tinkle'? But it doesn't rhyme! Well, I can't help it folks that's what he said. And it may explain why he decided to turn things around to make me look like the nitwit in his classic poem, The Raven.
This is Barrymore T Raven III, signing off
*did they have TV in 1845? Hmmm...
Categories:
quaintly, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
A tribute to young daffodils
may grace the poet's page:
new grass, full streams, or nesting larks,
as Spring takes center stage.
To write of faith feels natural
when pondering creation -
to render praise in poetry
with words of exaltation.
When wisdom is attained in life
not cheap or lightly earned,
and life throws shadows on our path,
we share what we have learned.
A little romance warms the heart
to reminisce of youth,
though tales we weave of loves long past
might quaintly stretch the truth.
A word or two of elegy
while contemplating death,
lamenting those we've dearly loved
who've drawn their final breath.
From time to time one must admit
it does the heart some good
to set one's sense of humor free
to lighten up the mood.
Yet other times a sharp protest
upholds the poet's creed
to fight injustice, hatred, war,
or poverty or greed.
The common thread that drives a soul
to take up pen and ink -
is being human to the core:
to love, to feel, to think.
written 29 April 2023
Categories:
quaintly, death, faith, poetry, poets,
Form:
Rhyme
Lived it
Like a daydream
Sunlit!
Faintly
Floated - Befell
Quaintly.
A note
Scented in love
She wrote.
Maurice Yvonne
11~28~2014
Sponsor: nette onclaud
Contest Name: WHISPERS OF A MUSE
Categories:
quaintly, love,
Form:
Verse
Wood Hills Creek
All is quaintly quiet on Wood Hills Creek
The day after Christmas a silence unique
No shaking hands or exchanging of smiles
Only symmetrical snow as it pleasantly piles
All is fractal frost on Wood Hills Creek
The air chilled and damp a barometer bleak
No warming of hands and hearts left cold
For Christmas is over now back to the old
All is blasphemy bitter on Wood Hills Creek
With shivering silences no words they speak
Goodwill toward man nowhere to be found
Only merchant materials that keep us bound
All is lamentingly lost on Wood Hills Creek
As greed gracefully falls a morphic mystique
The Spirit of Father Christmas left far behind
Until next year...just one day...to be kind.
Dec.21.2016
The Day After Christmas - Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays...
Categories:
quaintly, christmas,
Form:
Quatrain
Pardon me Quaintly,
my DEAR FRIEND...
For how would you feel,
If I brought the End?
My eyes are empty,
and my soul is Black...
Nothings to living,
there's no coming Back...
Everyday,is a waste,
I waste my Breath...
I await the call,
from my friend DEATH...
His presence, I've found,
I know he's near...
I'm ready to step out,
out of life's fear...
Oh, the wonderful thought,
*DEATH* to Die!!!
TO experience it now,
beats being alive...
I imagine it to be,
an incredible masquerade...
For I fear life,
*DEATH* I am not Afraid...
It's a seclusion of Peace,
it's simple to be free...
out of this Body,
and away from Me...
To drift away amongst,
the beginning of Time...
On a complete Disconnection,
On a short term Line...
DEATH, DEATH my friend,
I'm calling Thee!!!
I'm awaiting your call,
to let me be Free...
I want to sink,
to fade away...
Away from this world,
I see everyday...
Slowly, Slowly I like,
*TO DIE* my friend...
So I can feel all the pain,
Of my tormented End...
Why, Why am I,
Am I still Here?
For I tell you *DEATH*
I DO NOT FEAR!!!
written 07-21-2000, CCJ Experience - a suicide letter-
Categories:
quaintly, deathme,
Form:
Free verse
though I cant remember her face
the love still penetrates
with the radiance of suns, and the cadance of tons
of the rhythym of heavens embrace
though I cant remember her voice
the emotions still lift with a hoist
strong vibrations through ether strive to hold all together
and take aim toward the lust I still chase
though I cant remember her touch
the emotions still flood with a flush
as the crashing waves roll
and erosion takes toll
this thought quaintly ends with a hush
Categories:
quaintly, life, loss, love, philosophy,
Form:
"Highlights of New Jersey"
New Jersey is quaintly known as the Garden State for fun
with sandy beaches kissed by ocean waves beneath golden Sun
amusement parks and midway piers stream wooden boardwalk
arcades offer magic machines with flashing lights that talk.
boat rides on blue Atlantic coast and fishing by the bay
surfing upon white capped waves as marble tourneys play
shopping at the mini malls, stopping for frosty treat
funnel cake or snow cones to alleviate the heat.
racing monster wheels doing 'wheelies' in beige sand
as lovers stroll the promanade in love while hand in hand
bed and breakfast hideaways to feed the appetite
miniature golf on hotel rooftops close to the Moon at night.
Memories in Margate with The Geeter With the Heater*
Convention Center marathons for dancers digging beaters
casino trips for tourists and residents alike
a visit to the Cape May Zoo or riding cool mountain bike.
roadside stands selling vegetables and fruits
plants and flowers beautiful from full grown or from roots
the scenic drive through highways or back roads share greenview
still munching on hot Curly's fries in circled crunchy chew.
a seashore paradise and a Summertime resort
with Christie at the helm with a positive report
museums of great art and historical conquests
a friendly atmosphere New Jersey loves to welcome guests.
sports reign supreme, with many choices of teams to cheer
fans follow scores from near and far in sports clubs drinking beer
good education for all children schools excellently rated
and seniors are protected in communities so gated.
a native of the Garden State am proud to boast and say
once you visit all the magic places to take your breath away
even Hurricane Sandy could not dissuade the residents
everyone joined in unison to assist with dire events.
New Jersey towns will build again in love with this great State
positive outlooks count so much .. even erases hate
and when we lay our heads down at night to pray
we thank God for His blessings in a very special way.
*The Geeter With the Heater - Jerry Blavat, D.J. at Memories in Margate Club.
*For Richard Tarr's New Jersey Contest.
Categories:
quaintly, places, education, garden, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Could it be?
Can it be so?
A place for me?
Does anyone know?
Where can I see?
Which way do I go?
I could land upside down
After falling through a rabbit's hole
Zero smiles turn to frowns
Everyone in their own control
Odd makes the most wonderful sounds
Causing greater difference to be their goal.
Are there things of all shapes and sizes?
Like people, animals, food that makes you taller?
Talking flowers and caterpillars in disguises?
Mushrooms, bread, cookies that make you smaller?
Mad hatters with foolish surprises?
Angry queens who never falter?
I would explore for all days to come
I'd make friends near and far
Weird songs with unusual hum
Day is night and the sun shines as one big star
Always happy, never glum
All surroundings quaintly bizarre.
Written and posted on September 28th, 2016.
By: Michelle Corbin
Categories:
quaintly, adventure, fantasy, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme
Rainsoaked fields,pastel green,
perennial impressions of country scenes.
Shire counties cramped and compact,
neither temperate,changeable and in exact.
Seasons merging into one,
winters' mild,summers of sometime sun.
Ancient,historic and quaintly modern,
pub-grub,village greens and cricket squares sodden.
Precedent law,judged by our peers,
diverse opinions expressed sans fear.
Reserved,resolved and resolute anglais
a national flag,in April its national day.
re-post inspired by SO 's contest
Categories:
quaintly, patriotic, places,
Form:
Verse
THE DISTRACTED SCHOLAR
Across the page in gothic script
Your clever hand has made a word
It gently sits upon my ripped
Peace like a singing bird
The word is proof you’re in the world -
I touch the page, it whispers faintly
With your voice, when the questions hurled
Against what you said was stone quaintly
Dead, when life itself was resurrection -
Or rather: You are at the edge of my dream
Waving to me like a mood – like the confection
Of deeds I uttered as if the lip of seem
Were nothing. Why trouble you with this?
- you have written on the page your kiss.
By Rosemarie Rowley
Categories:
quaintly, angel, hero, inspiration,
Form:
Sonnet
My unusual physical appearance
Was enhanced by a striking thinness,
And enormous long-lashed blue eyes.
Less charmingly, I was also the kind of
Deliberately malicious little hooligan
Who'd remove some periodical
From a neighbour's letter-box
And then mutilate it before reposting it.
The sixties' famed social and sexual revolution
Was well under way, and yet for all that,
Seminal Pop groups such as the Searchers
And the Dave Clark Five;
Even the Fab Four themselves,
Were quaintly wholesome figures.
And in comparison to what was to come,
They surely fitted in well
In a long vanished England
Of Norman Wisdom pictures;
And the well-spoken presenters
Of the BBC Home Service,
Light Service and World Service,
Of coppers and tanners
And ten bob notes;
And jolly shopkeepers
And window cleaners.
At least that's how I see it,
Looking back at it all
From almost half a century later.
Categories:
quaintly, childhood, culture, history, london,
Form:
Free verse
Angered by the smallest things
Bipolar disorder is my king
Conveying thoughts, hard to do
Distratctions overwhelm; I'm subdued
Energy level at an all time low
Frustration beyond reason is my foe
Going places; standing idle fast
Hanging onto, "normal" visions of past
Imminent danger, doesn't seem real
Justifying my reasons; unable to feel
Kidnapped my soul, without a fee
Learning to cope and trust only me
Manic depression, or so they say
Negotiating terms of a mindset betray
Oppressed memories, trailing behind
Paralyzing thoughts, not hard to find
Quaintly waiting for me to confess
Raging temper at its very best
Selective my hearing, taking my soul
Tearful manipulation is my goal
Unconventional ideals; lies I must bare
Venomously I have waited, for my share
Wishfully longing for your return
X-rays show a mental psychosis learned
Yesterday's genious, today's broken plea
Zanily awaiting for my turn to be FREE
Categories:
quaintly, depression, introspection, life, loss,
Form:
ABC
There is a name falls on my ear,
Like an aria, so soft and clear.
It rings with a melodious sound
With vision of maiden quaintly gowned.
I never saw my Grandma Hannah.
She lived far away in Indiana.
I knew her by picture on the wall,
Demurely dressed in gown and shawl.
My daddy spoke so fondly of her,
I wanted so to know and love her.
I was just ten the year she died.
I remember how my daddy cried.
At advanced age of eighty-seven,
The angels took her up to heaven.
In modern age it was deemed absurd.
The name of Hannah was seldom heard.
Like all things old, it was reborn
And early on a frosty morn,
A bundle fell like Heaven's manna
And lo and behold, they named her Hannah.
On my grandma's picture there's a smile.
It's been there now since first the while
I whispered that we had a Hannah
Who would some day go to Indiana
To find the stone that marks the place
Where Hannah of the lovely face
Was left so many years ago,
Before this namesake she could know.
This great, great, great granddaughter who bears her name,
Has dark eyes very much the same
As she in the picure on my wall.
I've met my Hannah after all.
A Rambling Poet's contest "Even a Name Can Be Poetic. took 6th
Categories:
quaintly, familyage, age, granddaughter,
Form:
Narrative
Teardrops of dews glistening
Breaks the days of dawn
Caterpillars shedding shells of cocoon
Awakening with yawns
The little fairies quaintly appear
Dancing their favorite dances, all the day long
But, where do the butterflies dance to
When the sun hides her head...
And the days are shamelessly gone?
They fill up my gardens
Frolic from tip of tulip to end of the rose
Next to sunflower, daffodil the flutter flies flown
Never attempting to speak even one little peep
Keeping their precious secrets
From sun up until the sundown
A parade of floats
Viceroy to the Monarch whom he tries to pretend
Royal and regal, ginger and black
Passes the hours while waltzing with flowers
But where does each of them go as processions end?
Dainty, the Painted lady curtseys
Among the swallowtails that swan through the weed
And the Admirals through the blade
But soon to hide away
Flying rainbows of season’s beginning to fade
And my magical gardens now they are bare
The little fairies all have disappeared
Following the whisper of wisps, of a new winter’s air
It’s the beginning of autumn
And soon will come the billows of snow
Did they take journey to a summer, in a far away land
Where oh, where did the butterflies go
Categories:
quaintly, autumn, beauty, butterfly, dance,
Form:
Free verse
She stared out the bleak window,
the countryside boredom engulfs her thoughts.
He stared out the bleak window,
the countryside boredom engulfs his thoughts.
Two similar souls, lives so different, in the game of love: they are caught.
She who has the innocence of youth,
he who has grown tired of trifle glamor.
Her eyes caught the gentle sabre-tooth,
His eyes caught the gazelle of innocuous candor.
But it wasn`t enough to revive his lost interest in ardor.
For him she might be just another lady,
but for her he is the core of her first passion,
she spent sleepless nights feeling quaintly.
But when she gathers her valor for a confession,
he turns her down brusquely with a sermon.
Her heart burns with agony and distress,
he still feels nothing, nothing for the poor girl.
When she has moved on she has become a lady who impresses.
Far from her now well-sought existence,
he realizes his past foolish resistance.
He seeks her once again but is left astounded,
as he sees not a child of naievity,
but a lady of elegance who not a tear she would shed.
Chasing her, he tries to break free from their past`s captivity,
but she turns him down as he once did, with a sermon, without sensitivity.
**written December 9 for Francince Roberts English Quintain contest :)**
~for those who might`ve noticed, yes, this is based on Pushkin`s Onegin. ~
Categories:
quaintly, angst, daughter, faith, family,
Form:
Quintain (English)