Best Raggedly Poems
THE BOY STARES AT YOU
He is raggedly scrunched up
Against a wall of sweating bricks,
Staring at you with as much pride
As life has thrown at him.
You see he has no desire to make
Conversation with a stranger
To his stale, rank impoverishment
But he smiles anyway with false bravado.
His eyes question your unwanted presence,
Loitering for a possible answer
Which may be forthcoming
And include conditional expectations.
He won't break his kingdom of silence,
Where he reigns supreme
Among poverty's sprawling plague.
He waits for you to speak but knows
You have nothing to say he'll understand
Nor care about. Besides your speech is
Foreign to him, so you can stutter on
Without the slightest effect.
The vultures circle above, letting out
Their dolorous cries in search of the dead.
He and you live but do not engage
Because you cannot relate;
You do not exist to each other.
Among the scattered stones of the houses,
You have found a hidden graveyard
Of dreams where there is no afterlife.
A pencil world, there are marks everywhere
I’m formed by some pencil streaks on paper
She lives on this paper, a grand image
Standing on some raggedly made passage
Lines to form the walls and shadows abound
I see myself in strange footage around
Seeing everything in only line form
Crafts mastery in circular reform
I can sense she’ll approach with her strange arms
And aligned with pieces of pencil charms
This page envelopes me, confines me more
My brain still functions, not sure what I’m for
My world is a bunch of stray pencil marks
Drawn onto a paper as some remarks
Russell Sivey
Standing raggedly
on your threshold, yet you showed
no mercy on me.
DR. PANGLOSS?
Cooler today dear friends
No wind
Humidity 86
Temperature expected in the mid-80s
The leaf crowd hangs
motionless silent
Even the birds sense the lull
One hears an occasional chirp
In these lulls though these periods of inactivity
The mind is able to focus
A good mind will offer thanks not dreading change
A troubled mind it seems is forever looking forward
And backed by a roiling sea of past and present events
only temporarily stilled will invent things that may
never happen places and people with dirty faces
raggedly clothed
A good rational mind will not invent
But see the day for what it is
Will live in the moment
Giving thanks for a beautiful world
On my straw-like comfort,
With smudges just beneath the lids.
Dawn engulfing, still going forth
While the wind’s strength dwindles in its bid.
My ears muffled up to its opening
As musical sensations tingle it.
Same it did from a kit, note after note
So it played, from the plucked to the struck.
In a bus…
On a trip in a bus I was.
Few things I couldn’t tell, but on the drive
I could see the window and all the window could see.
The breakers did make the bus gallop,
Though not as much as it did the fellow beside me.
Of a rare kind he was,
For my eyes beheld the skies
Only to steal a glimpse of his face.
Dark skinned with celeb-like looks.
On Him a suit; yes a pair!
Knitted on Him as though from infancy.
As dark as His covering He was,
So the tux and bow-tie but white was His shirt.
Little wonder! So much of it I had.
Newspapers, I bore with both hands
With my thigh aiding in the raise.
Many headlines; so many paper names,
From the Times to the Dailies,
Unto everyone a glaring caption
Penciled only to steal the eye’s attention.
The kit’s cause, I couldn’t hear him ask
For a snappy glance at my bunch.
Fiddling the leaves after a first refusal;
Flip after flip He spoke, then came a wag.
Still in the trance but lost to His words
As on the bed played it still, and to my ears it tightly did fit.
I felt the slow drain down both cheeks,
While my lids smelted the visions to little drippings.
His lips told me of the secrets He tells
Yet my ears couldn’t steal the words
For my eyes were the only thieves.
And as they took little of what they could,
They clenched to clear the incessant collection
And blinked as they should.
Finally He got to His stop and descended the flight
While I trudged after raggedly, hoisting the bunch.
Sniffing, sobbing, hoping for a last audible spew.
Suddenly He turned,
And so it was that the tiles all found their fitting.
“All you need you already have,
Just let me do the leading”.
Third level CCTV audio recordings
of the last occupants illegally departing the
quasi-safe, Area 4, Sector 9 quarantine zone
— Seventh vol. of the Ghetto Chronicles
We hate to see you all go,
good company is hard to keep these days
Time is marked as being irrelevant here,
idle eyes patrolling
each iron-bar clad window
The klaxon sirens blaring outside,
gives an aural stench
As motion metal beasts come to
an abrupt screech
Slumping sound of a sickly thud
Concrete ground flowing with blood ...
a poverty-racked body: raggedly, last gasp breathing,
has just treadmark died
And the ghetto violence ever abides
We of the pavement sweeping, creeping crowd
have seen this snuff scene a-many times
Abandoned hopes ...
barely living,
desperately cope in deserted buildings
Surrounded by disease and dope,
provides a-plenty self-inflicted killings
Come inside this iron-bar jungle cage,
and feel the rage
of these walking dead lions
Their lionesses and cubs constantly crying
Sadly, the ghetto violence steadily abides
We of the chittering, unclean-up crew
have tragically seen
the mane numbers a-dwindle to a few
Our antennae eyes
are always patrolling
every crumb-laden floor and creaky locked door
We would love if you last oomans could stay —
Disregard the filth
and diseased surroundings
It ain’t that bad,
once your settled mind
don’t ever troublesome ask
why
you in this pestilent predicament
in the first place
Help that was forthcoming,
just got ambulance carried away
Aw, my bad ...
I didn’t know that was yo’ adopted Uncle
But, Sam-bo
shouldn’t been talking back too loud
to the Po-po Five-O
Oh man, all of you be a-packing yo’ bags too
This rat-infested dump gon be cupboard empty
without all of you Good Timey yahoos,
drinking and singing those darkie blues
Alright ... since you put it that way,
saying how’s you all can’t no longer stay
Before you go,
will you do me and my partners —
Us cockroaches,
bed bugs lice and mice,
a favor, please
‘Preciate it, if you turn off the lights ...
before you leave
I am from a place where the sun shines
Full of many many traffic signs.
I am from a place where we play baseball
WHACK
And umpires make calls.
I am from a place where there is an Arch
And where the cheese is full of starch.
I am from a place where runners run raggedly
Rather than jaggedly.
We are home to the ice cream cone, hot dog, and iced tea.
But are not near the sea.
I am from a place that has many teams.
Where two rivers flow as a stream.
Our colors range from red, to white, to blue
Because there’s nothing better than living in the Lou.
early this year
gentle as calm ocean waters
lapping along a weir
thumb and fore finger
of right hand would peal back,
(via diagonally flippant motion
asper calendar
representing progression of time)
gets flipped over to veer
in one direction (linear)
revealing the next month at lightspeed
vis a vis tempus fugit galloping tear
thy head immediately lost hirsute thickness,
i starkly share
male or female pattern baldness
extant along
Harris genealogical trunk line rare
yet divulging distress
about limp decreasing strands
sends shivers along spine,
gloomy feeling linkedin
with old fashioned meaning of *****
and perchance tis foolhardy
reeding this Samson night issue must ap pear
tis unstoppable inching closer toward
as mortality gets near
youthful robustness fades
replaced by senescence mere
really ambling along tragicomic stream,
one evinces gargoyles mockingly leer
loosing sleep and kept raggedly awake
in conjunction dreams fraught
with frightful haunting monsters jeer
ring sound reverberating hair
splitting decibel jamming primary cranial gear
aye tell mice elf nothing to fear...
yet maximizing this plight with poem 'ere
Yukon also temporarily part
blond, brown, gold, et cetera locks mud dear.
Deposited, held in Amazon's Adonis arms
Hidden inhospitably stashed, kite shadow
Curled furtive, stairway stupefied windshield
Hallucinations lag languished in amusement
Monkeys freeze, screech scamper scratch
Egg smooth roof unscathed cubby abode
Jagged gaps hang fur curtain climbing mates
Swung carefree in cramped homecamp humid
Aghast lopped log rest exhales raggedly
Snapped propeller askew salutes defeat
Wing bent lungs transform fortitude into fuel
Crushed accordion bodied anaconda swivels
Lock jaw latch tight to jungle gym frame
Liquid flow flanks scale, giant slug glued
Fork tongue tastes rain drip following day hope
Fangs prong Coconas sour tomato gold codicil
Cluster juice burst berries, bittersweet bulbs
Knobs of Contreu twisted tangerine vitamin
Fibre feeds faith indispensible, thin torsos entwined
Fight against forbode of abandonment, exhausted
Anonymous Minor Survivors
Middle of Jungle June
A crystal-pin prick at the beginning.
A monumental vagueness at the end.
The art of carving peace seems quite lost again.
In between granite slabs-a tangle of black tragedies.
Tiny clusters of downy light upon a peaceful being.
The selfishness of flesh drifting atop the brine.
In an endless maze of the triggered mind.
Where blue devils tap dance so raggedly upon God time.
the sky high above
is murky, and restless.
storm clouds hang so low,
it’s like i could touch them.
i reach out to touch them,
but my hand ends up on your cheek.
i can feel the rivers running
in your eyes and in your mind,
heart raggedly picking up pace.
i can feel it in your chest,
skin on skin—i want to touch it.
i reach out and run my hand through the clouds.
Used to jab the raggedly tagged faggots b/c sad crabby lads have had their tags grabbed badly yet wagged their drab as stag shabbily as it was dabbed from what came from the tab that came from the lab too reserved to gab at the slab of the drab of the somewhat cab like scrap that gave somewhat of crap before it shat itself after meeting the scapula that became like Dracula before it whacked half a spatula sized radically habitual, mystical ridiculously perpetual medically perpetual cyclically repeating ritual that happens to coincide with the Tik Tok enabled cellular tested, wrestled, meticulously meshed, caressed, messy radical, half-hazardously sexual, wrecked ineffectual, critical, still not quite literal, but mimical, of a cylindrical, syntactically, sporadically, lackadaisically, unanimously, fastened to the meticulously dastardly, massed, blasted, gassed, wrestled, brass, brash, bastardly, bass-like, mass mighty, hat-having, hiss-heaving, bereaving, belief-bound of a be more than beneath the beat up and bleak beak bitten breezy bean and cheese pile of raked leaves style bowl of chips and dips script that the lady with the bloods and crips lip gives as people sit with a ship to New York style trip seem to forget as they lose their because of the tip that hits one when instead of their mitt that would grip somewhat of a catch in a fit that would lick the one who sits with the kit of the fictionally fit mystery that blissfully bit into a tic while it in turn was lit with the mix of the hysterically, rarely, heretically, medically dissed fizz of some **** that would knit a new tit because of an antipsychotic, moronic blip on the screen of some that geographically, sporadically, masterfully admittedly mentioned, could cause retention of some invention, that one would mention if only and if one was sick, with a little grit left abreast a messy Mexican directionally challenged malice but talented callous chalice wielding balanced rally style for a carousel encampment trampled on and possibly tampered with tampon treated, bleached, beaten...