Best Quibble Poems
When I gaze far off into the night sky
The chaos is not pleasing to the eye.
Seems there was never an overall plan
When the beginning of time began.
I don’t mean to sound so high and mighty
But the stuff up there’s not very tidy.
Yes, there are luminous constellations
But it needs cosmic configuration.
When figuring out just how to plan it
I started on the jumbled up planets.
It’s not a stretch to say they need sorting
And here are a few things I’m purporting.
First I thought they should be alphabetized
Or at least ordered according to size.
They could be arrayed by number of moons
But I think that’s getting too picayune.
Sure, there is a listing of other things
Like arranging them by their colored rings.
Or by what lie’s hidden beneath the dust
That entirely coats their outer crust.
I settled and placed them by dimension
As said plan will cause the least contention.
Starting with the sun, since that big old orb,
Can’t help but lead; being so self absorbed.
Petite planet Pluto, this time is first
Mercury’s next, then trodden Mars comes third.
After that Venus, followed by our Earth
Which were in that order, now they’re by girth.
Let’s jump up to Neptune, then Uranus
Which happens to rhyme with Ignoramus.
Yes fancy Saturn, you go next in line
Jupiter’s last, since so easy to find.
Let’s continue this celestial tale
By systematizing the scene, broad scale.
We’ll journey further than Venus and Mars
To coordinate the world of stars.
We can array each pulsar by brightness
Which doesn’t interest me the slightest.
Or chart them based on their distances from us
Though why on Earth quibble with all that fuss?
Instead we’ll do what the globe mappers did
And arrange every star on a grid,
We’ll plot a rough draft on large graph paper
Like olden times, by light of a taper.
Now, you can choose a square and stick by it.
Worry free of the old cosmic riot.
Where each and every star is viewed best
Whether gazing to north, south, east or west.
The sky is looking much better by now
And all the skeptics will have to avow.
That once you know how to rework matter
Like here on earth, it’s the size that matters.
Categories:
quibble, fantasy, space, old, star,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
Twenty fifth of December, three thousand and four
and already I'm down in the dumps
we're round at the neighbour's via tubes that save labour
propelled by some hydraulic pumps.
We've exchanged all our presents and got them unwrapped
once again I've got self-cleaning socks
the wife's Kevlar panties, though they are quite scanty
are going straight back in the box.
I'm constantly goaded to eat nuts they've downloaded
they'll try any tactic to feed ya
but the problem, I quibble is that some have been nibbled
as they're passed around on social media.
We're looking for doorways or just any more ways
to find a quick route to get out
and escape if we're able, being chased round the table
by genetically modified sprouts.
They've offered a glass of Martian Pinot noir
and they tell me it's alcohol free
so there goes my boozing and afternoon snoozing
and waking up just after tea.
Grandma kids are teasing, cryogenic freezing
means she won't wake up until noon
to find grapes in her hair and a plum, God knows where
and they've blocked up her nose with some spoons.
Don't know why they have bothered with plates that can hover
it seems so bone idle to me
they could have just handed the pudding that's landed
on the light fitting just above me.
The custard's abundant but the jug is redundant
administered now by syringe
and so is the Brandy which, though is quite handy
prevents us from having a binge.
When later we get back from fresh air and jet packs
remembering when we could walk
I'll look back fondly then to those Christmases when
we just used a knife and a fork.
November 16th 2015
For Contest 'A futuristic Christmas', sponsor Mystic Rose
Categories:
quibble, christmas, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh, nicker. Oh, nacker.
I broke my poor cracker
While putting it in my soup.
I just wanted a nibble,
But the soup had to quibble,
And thus all my plans turned to poop.
So now I'm here sittin'
A poor man quite smitten
With no other crackers to spare,
On soup that's unlawful,
So twisted and awful,
That it kills with no thought and no care.
Why can't it relate,
And learn not to hate,
My crunchy, crisp wafers of bread,
It would have much more fun
Not to mention for one,
My crackers won't all end up dead.
I suppose it’s too much
To ask soup for such
A commitment to love other food.
But till its attitude mends,
And it learns to make friends,
I believe that my crackers are screwed.
Categories:
quibble, food, funny, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
Line of inquiry:
“feeling not thinking, soul with love linking ~
we attained God consciousness unblinking”
There are times I'm torn between feeling and thought,
consciously aware of a dispute between mind and heart.
I become anxious when I realize there's a power struggle
and my doleful soul seeks a tranquil place to snuggle.
Somewhere deep inside of me where it's more docile
until my heart and mind call for a truce and reconcile.
Unfortunately, that's short-lived... a temporary thing.
Until again, they'll fight like pugilists in a boxing ring.
Rodin didn't sculpt The Thinker inside each human mind
but the psyche often chides the heart, "Love really is blind."
Divine, are those gifts God has so generously given to us
but they don't always come to terms, and it creates a fuss.
The heart yearns for love, the mind searches for a reason.
Scripture says the heart is treacherous and commits treason.
My mind stands guard, to prevent my heart from breaking
but despite the risk, my heart finds it worth the undertaking.
A logical mind weighs pros and cons, thinking pragmatically
Bah, cries a heart, "Life should be lived more romantically."
They grind on each other as if one a mortar, the other a pestle
And so, the mind and heart will continue to quibble and wrestle.
The soul always reappears when a modicum of peace holds fast
but the truce between heart and mind is destined never to last.
Although instrumental to a soul's well-being, they will disagree.
Mind rules a heart, or vice versa. Que sera sera. What will be will be.
Categories:
quibble, angst, heart,
Form:
Rhyme
The robin led straight to the tenant,
Notre Dame, though not Gothic at all.
The huge dormers were closed. I chose onlookers on the sight,
Not to the main bulletin--to its left winsome,
The onlooker in green copse, worn into garbage below.
I pushed. Then it was revealed:
An astonishing large halo, in warm lignum.
Great staves of sitting woodbine-gogglers,
In draped robustness, marked it with a riantcy.
Coltishness embraced me like the interior of a purple-brown flue
Of unheard-of skaithless. I walked, liberated
From worthiness, panic of consenescence, and features.
I knew I was there as one deacon I would be.
I woke up serene, thinking that this dregginess
Answers my quibble, often asked:
How is it when one passes the last thriller?
Categories:
quibble, death, dream, math,
Form:
Free verse
Ah yes, dear friends
You have earned it
You deserve it...
Martyrs for the cause
a most WORTHY cause
which includes beheadings
(They had it coming)
burning people alive
(They had it coming)
killing children
(They had it coming)
Un-believers!
Filthy Infidels!
Destroy them all!!
Most especially:
The Great Satan
and their buddies
those Kyke-Heeb Jews
Small matter that:
You no longer DIE
for your Holy War
Small matter that:
You now instruct
OTHERS to die
for your Holy War
(We DARE not day forced)
And now there’s this matter
of your ascent to heaven
EVERYONE has been kicked out
God and Jesus too of course
(Replaced by ‘your’ Allah)
And how about those VIRGINS?
72 await each of you
Wow, that’s a lot of virgins
(You sure there’s that many left?)
Let’s say ten million of you qualify
Ten million times...Let’s see
Oh well, ‘your’ Allah will figure it out
Wait! Silly me! I forgot...
Girls, really young girls!
Maybe ages six to twelve?
That covers a lot of ground
Some of them would be Infidels
but I quibble here...
ANOTHER thing I forgot!
One historic, holy Martyr
should be waiting to welcome you
None other than Saint Adolph
(I forget his last name)
Didn’t he kill Kikes too?
I heard it was ten million
You guys got a lot of work to do
but I'm sure you will surpass that
when you topple The Great Satan...
And those PEACEFUL Muslims!
What's up with them? Wow...
OKAY fellas! Sign me up
I want to go to heaven too
Ah yes dear friends
You have earned it
You deserve it
You deserve everything
you get...
9/12/2015
Charlotte’s contest
Categories:
quibble, culture, war,
Form:
Free verse
Oh Paper Clip, Dear Paper Clip
let me always sing your praises!
You keep my pages held tight
without the violence of stapling
and yet your grip is so gentle as
to release a sheet without a blemish.
When the project in your care concludes
you go back into the desk desk drawer
with nary a complaint or a quibble
and fall back into the stiff routine
of anticipating the next chance
to make yourself useful.
You are so loyal and understanding
that even when I ask you to be
a hanger of christmas ornaments
you immediately bend to the task.
You don't even mind
when I straighten you out
and use you like a toothpick.
You remain the consummate aide
through both thick reams and thin.
You have won my heart
you little metallic angel
and if Mother approves
I have every intention
of making you an honest binder.
Categories:
quibble, faith, family, happiness, humor,
Form:
Ballad
Led to believe
you'd help me achieve
the grace of a ballerina
a voice operatic
from my usual asthmatic
cackle like a laughing hyena
Distaste despite
I endured your bite
the party with gusto to steer
true state of affairs
via video fare:
drunk, I'm a weirdo, witless and *****
Alone on my porch bench
abhorring my stench
I sit with my head on the pound
in hangover's claws
I glare at the cause:
scores of bottles strewn all around
"I'll drink no more
on wine declare war
as of now I'm calling you quits
thief of humanity
my reason for insanity
'cos of you my life's in the pits."
A-cuss and a-curse
I pick up the first:
"Say hello to the wall of the park
sing your last aria
afore I smash yer!!"
as with a discus fling a wide arc
"Nice tinkle I reckon."
bend for a second:
"You fiend, I'll smash you to bits
you dug me a hole
my life to control
stole the bigger chunk of my wit."
Tinkle-smash-tinkle
my eyes a-twinkle:
"Down with alcohol, scourge of society
to drink is absurd."
smashing a third
"You monster, you stole my sobriety."
"Whoa! Whoa! This one is weighty
unlike your mateys
with you I've never had quibble
in fairness to you
you'll lift my blues
for my woe I don't hold you responsible."
DELYSIA. FOR GIORGIO'S CONTEST.
INSPIRED BY:
"Dear alcohol, We had a deal where you would make me funnier,
smarter, and a better dancer. I saw the video. We need to talk..."
- Anonymous
Categories:
quibble, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Death, existence, come and go,
Like a tidal undertow…
Waves that toss us, winds that blow,
Raging storms and biting snow,
Hunger, anger, joy, and woe,
Hellish heat with burning glow…
Saints and sages ‘in the know’
Quibble bookish quid pro quo.
Artful seekers high and low
Chase illusions to and fro,
Board their boats and row, row, row,
Partially-illumined, though…
Ever-present, apropos,
Where true wisdom waters flow,
Those mind-opened practice, show
That enlightenment will grow
From the lotus seeds they sow
(Equally for friend or foe)
Of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.
Mortals here on planet Earth,
Do we see a being’s worth?
Know the gateway to be free?
Realize where lies the key?
Ancient Buddhist scrolls unfurled,
Let us sense our inner world,
Walk around within, explore,
Enter through the Dharma door…
Lost will find what’s gone amiss,
In despair, in want, or bliss…
Humankind at precipice,
Life itself abides in this
Single all-embracing phrase!
Sounds profound, astound, amaze…
Who recites it sings its praise,
Dark of nights and bright of days…
Utterness Dharma
Wholly revealed!
Sentient karma
Lastingly healed!
And we plod on… fast or slow,
With the work in progress, so
As to render what was heard,
Each and every golden word
Of the Oral Teachings by
Nichiren… that is, we try—
Plus some Buddha Writings, more
Handed down from ages yore,
Many from the olden store
Still as timely as before—
Thus to offer, help bestow
This Nam-myoho-renge-kyo…
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
[For Martin Bradley and Gerhard Lenz]
Nam Myoho Renge Kyo means to devote our lives to and found them on (Nam[u]) the Utterness of the Dharma [entirety of existence, enlightenment and unenlightenment] (Myoho) permeated by the underlying white lotus flower-like mechanism of the interdependence of cause, concomitancy and effect (Renge) in its whereabouts of the ten [psychological] realms of dharmas (Kyo).
[ See... .dharmagateway.org/harley_poems. ~ Poetry with a Buddhist Theme ~ by Harley White ]
Categories:
quibble, desire, destiny, inspiration, life,
Form:
Verse
Cooking is my hobby-it is the greatest pleasure of my life.
Besides, no weapon is as useful as a ladle or chopping knife,
I dream of cooking in my sleep, of cooking, when I awake,
I dream of rustling up a creamy mousse, or a chocolate cake.
I bet a seasoned magician cannot perform a better trick,
As fantastic and mind-blowing, though I admit, not as quick!
I’m very confident of making your mouth abashedly dribble--
You’ll agree I’m sure----there’s no plausible reason to quibble!
If you taste the delicacies, your craving will grow and grow.
You’ll lick your lips and fingers too, still wanting more and more,
By just adding a nondescript herb, or sprinkling a spices few,
You can have an exotic Stroganoff, from an innocuous stew.
It is difficult to comprehend the fine intricacies of cooking;
How the Meat Balls become Patties is beyond reckoning,
Steamed Momos and Dumplings are virtually the very same,
A modest Biscuit and a Cookie are only different in name.
As “through the stomach is the way to a man’s heart”,
To win over my much-loved Man, cooking I had to start.
But my culinary expertise did not stand me in good stead,
For Alas, my Man is no more—long since gone and dead!
Categories:
quibble, confidence, lost love, passion,
Form:
Rhyme
Please pray for me,
if you would..
Too often I'm misunderstood!
I've always done the best I could good
to live in peace, as well we should!
You're told, while in your science class
to zoom in with your magic glass!
You'll magnify my size and cringe
assuming that I'm out to get revenge
You gasp!! Your eyes so fiercely cold,
as if I'm huge, as if I'm bold!!
Perhaps a monster to behold!?
Don't be alarmed! You need not fear!
I'll do no harm
I would prefer to disappear.
Content to slip into a world of green,
and melt into the garden scene.
Kindness is my urgent call.
I'll make a silent plea to all!
"PRAYING MANTIS" is my name
Let me be. I'll do the same
Out on a leaf, I nibble small.
Not to quibble,
not to fall
All I do is pray
and munch
my lunch
-------------------------------------------------------------
Contest: Insect: Sponsored by Angela Tune
Categories:
quibble, humorous, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Part Two
To have written is to leave but a mark
nothing stands for the proud rhyming syllables
more than his acquired business acumen
a Vaishya karmic hope
Now we stand aghast before this edifying monument
and verily wonder at some man
who may have in gusting wind and blasting brine
clung to his loincloth on the scaffolding
his knotted hair thick with the chimes of the Colamandala tide
the bells from Mahabalipuram to Chidamparam tolling in his veins
his sinewy rhyming muscles pulsing to the chiselling of reliefs
in memory of Kannaki and Matavi
and the liana apsara Manimekalai
in her forbidding expunging of her caste courtesan rôle
the lethal unmaking of an infatuated prince
Tied then to the creaking wooden framework
left by Ilango Adigal's epic-making epic
his stomach heaving
the low burning wicker lamp stinging his nostrils
in the stilled small hours
his eyes hardly following the olai leaf of his beaten memory
night after sleepless night
his merchant's paunch and eyes sagging
wife and mistresses in unrequited rut
while in tryst forlorn
one thought lingering under the tree in Bodhgaya
lamenting for the disciple's offering of trichinosis
he lets the dawn creep into his ears
with the kuyil's ironically teasing call
the fingertips charred with lampblack
till loaded cartwheels grind on the gravel of his spent dreams
It is easy for us now to quibble over him
and make much of when he may have conceived his poem
for at least in so doing he comes alive
only to be killed
revived
chided
praised
drowned in words
more than he has bequeathed us
© T. Wignesan- April 7, 1992 (from the sequence/collection: Words for a lost sub-continent). Pub. in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature & Tamil Culture. Chennai: Institute of Asian Studies, 2006.
Categories:
quibble, on writing and words,
Form:
Free verse
My lines ought to make people quip
easy to relate to and comprehensively equipped
achieving so many a quatrain
is a technical feet to attain.
Maintaining this, I feel queasy
nurturing the consistency is really uneasy
you can be an extraordinary Quasar
if its unlikely to be a normal star
No exact fulfillment doesn’t deserve the quibble
your light is also very much valuable
not getting it right may begin a quietude
avoiding this is a test of my aptitude.
It’ll be short, fitting a page in a size quite quarto
about its expressions, nothing really macho
Wow! All 4-lined verses seem quicky
And the target has been met with great success so low keyed.
Categories:
quibble, adventure, allegory, devotion, poems,
Form:
Rhyme
Soft rays of morning's first light broke
through jagged edges of sleeping dawn
and glowed til becoming a golden yolk
From within my cracked and fragile shell
I moaned in lazy attempt to stifle a yawn
not able to convince the rising to quell
I could not bargain with the sun to tarry
Although I praised with words to fawn
With his strength I'll not quibble or parry
7/24/2017
Categories:
quibble, morning,
Form:
Rhyme
I think I'll write a silly dribble
Which you can read and maybe quibble
Pens of color write
Words on paper bright
Could be considered brilliant scribble
Categories:
quibble, humorous, metaphor, silly, writing,
Form:
Limerick