Best Rankles Poems
I reckon you could call me an old curmudgeon but that's alright!
I've been around four score and three and I have earned that right!
There are many things that annoy me but I'll mention just a few.
Hang in there with me as I attempt to get across my point of view!
Barkin' mutts and their inconsiderate masters drive me up the wall!
The droopy-poopy pants kids wear just makes my wrinkled hide crawl!
Cussin' in public by so-called ladies and gentlemen is so uncouth!
It annoys me that high-profile jerks don't set an example for our youth!
It nettles me when someone says they'll do somethin' and then they don't.
I'm annoyed with people who keep me waitin' which is usually their wont!
Careless drivers bug me especially jerks who think it's cute to tailgate,
And telephone solicitors who the serenity of my castle they desecrate!
I'm disturbed about those who flout the Constitution - 'tis an abomination!
It bothers me that we don't ask God's guidance for this troubled nation!
Pompous bureaucrats annoy me no end with their paucity of breedin'!
It rankles me to pay more taxes for which the guv'mint is ever pleadin'!
I ain't got no patience with a screamin' brat or a loud-mouthed dude,
(Nor people who murder the English language as I just did - it's so crude!)
I could ramble on and on ad infinitum about things that annoy me,
But I feel my blood pressure risin' so I had better let the subject be!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Not for the contest.
From the smallest of handbells to bells that are heavy,
bells of all types make a large bevy.
Small bells are often the tinkling kind
like decorative ones in some stores we find.
There are ring-a-ling bells and bells that jingle
like jingle bells ringing when merry folks mingle.
Sleigh bells on horses evoke for me
lovely white wonderland imagery.
Other small bells women wear round their ankles.
An alarm bell that wakens me, oh, how it rankles.
There are waist bells the belly dancers often will wear
while big bells on churches call people to prayer.
Some bells sound randomly; others on queue.
There are bike bells, school bells, and cow bells too.
Of bells that chime melodies, there's more than a few.
That's what the bells called Carillon do.
Bell bottom jeans were used back in my day
and Hell's bells is an expletive some say.
The most famous bell, what might it be?
I think it's the one that's called Liberty!
‘Twas the night before Christmas in the little town of Oberflugelschweinsaxenmitcracklingewurst.
(There are some that are much longer; it isn’t the worst)
Now hier ist ze haus of ze happy family SCHMIDT
Und Herr Schmidt mit rosenconk giving ze gluwein a hit
Ze Schmidt kinder all excited - Santa Claus kommin to town
Und everyone so merry, mit big smiles, und never a frown
Und zere in ze garten ze liddle haus you know what for
Zose are ze shoes of Frau Schmidt sticken aus unter ze door
Und now here ist gekommin Santa Claus on der grosse toboggan
He is singin Oh! so merry cos he also had a noggin
See ze reindeer geklompin uberhead, leaving Lufthasa standingk
Zen down zey are kommin - all ready fur ze Landingk
Ach! Meine Gott! Zey are heading for ze liddle haus in ze garten!
Kablunden! Blitzen ! Alles Kaput! Ze liddle haus Ist geflattened
Und Frau Schmidt ist runningk aus mit ze knickers round ze ankles!
Zat’s enough to spoil your Christmas; in ze snow it really rankles
Fater Christmas zen ist sayingk: "Shtupid dumkopf reindeer - Heraus!
I gave you clear instruction to be landing on ze SCHMIDT Haus !!!!!"
She came into our lives unbidden,
A pleasant surprise,
Her open heart was never hidden
From her soulful eyes;
She won our hearts with her gentle love,
Always filled with grace,
Her time with us, a gift from above,
Still holds a dear place;
When small, we had fun, running around,
Playing all the time,
Perking up at the tiniest sound,
She raced through life's mime;
With unspoken words, she cared for us,
Active and naughty,
Strutting around queenlike, making fuss,
A little haughty;
Her unwritten absence rankles now,
Blackie in peace sleeps,
For ten years, she brightened our days, how!
Unshed sorrow creeps.
A tiny fish in vast ocean,
Desirous to swim at liberty,
Direction and depth beyond measure,
Delicate with shiny witty eyes is me,
My Upma to a fish stands real true.
I am a thunder in the sky that enlightens,
A fire in hearts that sets one ablaze,
A thought velocious that travels to infinity,
A strong emotion that never unwinds,
Upma is a simile to all and stands true.
A pent up anger that goes in tears,
An endurance of an intense torture,
A pang that rankles after the agony,
Entirely original though comparable,
My rights are absolutely infrangible,
A simile means Upma and that's me !!
Written on 21/12/13 for
Contest- who are you....
The clothes that I'll describe, my age I'll surely reveal.
Recalling clothes worn to school back then now seems surreal!
Not to sport the latest fad, you weren't one of the 'ins'.
Your were a social outcast committing beau monde sins!
The gals wore saddle shoes and fancy poodle skirts,
And instead of a blouse, one of dad's old cast-off shirts.
Girls had to take sewing classes in home economics.
The feed-sack outfits they made were fit only for the comics!
Boys wore loathsome knickers or shapeless overalls,
Or squeaky corduroy trousers slinking along the halls.
High-top boots with a knife were worn by lads off the farm.
Nowadays, the knife would cause the principal some alarm!
Girls couldn't wear jeans regardless of weather conditions.
Dresses and itchy stockings were worn to maintain traditions.
Seniors wore corduroy skirts and pants colored gold,
With pithy notes scribbled all over - a sight to behold!
Today, boys wear droopy pants, the seat nigh the ankles.
Girls wear low-slung jeans baring navels that really rankles.
They say they're just expressing their individualities.
(I suppose we did the same, expressing our personalities!)
people fail to deliver a job with honesty and industrious nature.
when they died, they carried pain and raised worrying rankles,
children never face them, they find the practice has no true feature.
no doubt, they are educated and professional to hide taxes,
then built a house of cheat for a soul to live in peace,
and run a race to maintain cheat for excessive relaxes.
they run community, society and the world with optional benefit,
there is no truth, they produce problems and a solution of cheat,
and seeking reliability, honesty and punctuality to maintain a cheat set.
Progress is based on cheat to produce positive and approachable manner,
they deliver a trustworthy service with 100% warranty to build trust,
if you pay cash, very good, if you need a receipt you pay tax for scanner.
Religion, politics, education; justice based on professionalism,
criminality is growing in wildness mercy and forgiveness is Godism.
Come O rain come, throw your showers
On this part of earth and do not run
All the simple inhabitants of our villages, towns and cities
Are waiting for you with tears in their eyes
Come O rain come, throw your showers sublime
On fields, soil, animals, trees and birds flying
Even the trees and birds, animals and herds, Human and insects
All are gloomy and sad, with rankles on foreheads
With worries on their faces, as their hopes are getting buried
Without a shower to wipe their rolling tears from eyes
Come O rain come, throw your showers
On this part of earth and do not run
I know, why you are offended and not listening our prayer
But the animals and birds, our simple villagers, animal herds
Even fields drying up in excessive heat do not know
Why you are offended and not listening their prayers
Oh pardon them as they do not know
The misdeeds of those, who are spreading cities
And are cutting trees, forest and are eliminating fields
In the name of modern living
They go on spreading cities after cities
And industries after industries
These less blessed species of humans, do not want to know
The priceless value of mother earth
And the value of each drop of water and rain
Which comes due to green mountains and glaciers
Trees and plants, fields and ponds,
Lakes and rivers, they all are the
Darling children of the God of Rains.
To appease you O God of Rains
We are making our prayers with folded hands
You are and you were always our dearest
O God of Rains, on you we have offered our prayers
And have offered since ages our songs and lyrics
And even our heart and souls
Come O rain come, throw your showers
On this part of earth and do not run
The soil of earth and air also is boiling with heat
The birds and animals and all living creatures
Are waiting with their tired eyes on sky
To search a piece of clouds, which can extinguish their fire
With showers on their fields, plants and trees
Bless them O God of Rains, with your sublime drops of rains
Ravindra
Written on 24th June 09 originally in Hindi as a prayer Song
When draught like conditions were seen in a part of my state.
Translated in English with changes and some additions on 5th Dec.09
Incidentally God heard the prayer of someone and
From June end onwards God of Rains blessed us with good Rains.
Kanpur India 5th December 2009
A LETTER TO MY SON
Listen son
Thinking about the memories you have of me
The memories that rankles
It rankles as long as we sniffle off air
Air of life and eternity
A wave of guilt and remorse
Swept off my pillow at midnight
I had been a cross and a spear
That cut deep into your Childhood
I scolded and humiliated your ego
I had been a threat
Rather than be a FATHER
Do you remember son
When I was on the telephone
Quickly your innocent but timid face
Pop into my room with hurt
Hurt and tears in your eyes
You wanted a touch of daddy
A touch of comfort and a hug
Impatient at the interruption
I snapped at you in neglect
You ran terribly with sickening fear away
You were gone pattering up the stairs
I had been a peril
Rather than be a FATHER
Son you grew up fast
So fast with scars
Scars and wounds that may rankle
I was finding fault and blames
Even when you bid me goodbye
Goodbye to daddy yet I frown
I have caused all the mistakes you made
Because I was a pharoah
Rather than be a FATHER
Well son, God did create you
with a kind blossoming heart
Heart so meek and loving
I reprimanded you in all things
Yet you still rush at night
Before bed to kiss me good night
With remorse and shame
I write to you
It was never hatred
But the wrong habit that repulse
I truely love you son
Now I desire you to dwell in my arms
For I want to take back
All the hurts and pains
To be a better daddy from now.
©Michael Edison
6:15pm
28/5/2016
This is the story of Sally Doolally
A young maiden farmer from down in the valley
She kept a keen eye out for Thomas McNally
And dreamed of the day he would say, ‘Can we marry?’
Sally Doolally had once caught his eye
When the hat that she wore was a stale apple pie
She couldn’t find flowers to wear in her hair
So she pinned a half eaten carrot in there
Her lipstick was not anywhere to be found
So she mashed up some beetroot and smeared it around
Because her best dress was still hung on the line
She wore an old curtain she’d coloured with wine
Her shoes were worn out so she put on her feet
Two old cardboard boxes to walk down the street
She had no gold ring like girls wear in their nose
Her bulls all had rings so she wore one of those
She headed for town at a bit of a jog
Attached to her waist by a rope was her dog
In one hand she carried a frog in a jar
And held in her teeth was a massive cigar
She met an old friend and she told her it rankles
That grandma’s old bloomers were draped round her ankles
She took them while grandma was making a trifle
And ‘LOOK!’ she hoped Thomas would like grandpa’s rifle
The old friend said, ‘Thomas is mad about rabbits,’
So Sally could maybe exhibit their habits
Her friend told her Thomas was down at the shops
So Sally rushed off doing mad bunny hops
She saw him and gave him a good humoured wink
But did they get married… well what do you think?
Turns out McNally was doolally too
And so when invited they both said, ‘I do.’
Defunctive smoke
From the brain
Rankles the soul:
An eternity of ignorance.
There are no marrams for skin.
Marquetry of bones
Intricacy assumes
Hoodwinking eyes
That see only nudes.
Whining gin.
Phthisic mind
Transhumanizes darkness
Swaddling rain
In a hollow pearl.
Aperient paraffin.
Happiness now:
Being straddled in the sun,
Juvescence:
Fustigating the sea.
It’s win win win.
Inside the gall bladder,
The unstilted oyster
Is condited:
Redundant sud.
Quite self-akin.
Concite the hymns of Satan
If you find yourself perjured,
Faith is more recondite
Than delirium.
Terribly consanguine.
Win win win!
There are no marrams for skin!
-Pin Dew (01/05/2017)
Words.
They rattle my soul this mourning,
This slim redemptive moment held with in the hands
Of the clock – that lesser god who rankles low the
The vibration of the street; the movement
Of the sheets entwined around my ankles;
I sense the morning brew,
Seraphim dance around my nostrils;
My eyelids, screens of twin rainbow dreams,
The fluid of last night’s dreams has slowed
To level out my desire, for now.
God has banished all illusion,
All sin. All schemes – this moment,
Oh, brother how I breathe,
It stills my swirling soul’s articulation,
Words,
Syntax,
Clarity…
They can each have this day,
They billet back moments true and bright and
Vivid –
Their sense of placement drives a nail deep
Within my awareness…
Signal in the sky
A pumpkin, fierce, glowing
Showing teeth
Tells of a certain graveyard
Where the dead moves again
Ghosts float
Chains rankles along the ground
Surely causing noise
The haunted house
Located right next to graveyard
Inviting the undead
There is a lone light on within
Is there really someone home?
Just a ruse
To get the living inside
To meet their doom
Russell Sivey
We try to forget those who harm
With words which cause us alarm..
For it rankles within,
May even cause sin.
Like a snake which may bite or may charm.
A festering wound must be cleaned
The poison is otherwise a fiend.
The cut may give pain,
But while pus remains
Septicaemia lurks unredeemed.
And as with the body,the soul.
Poison will spoil thus the whole.
We must loosen our hold;
Our resentments unfold.
To perceive all, we must now become bold
A tiny fish desirous to swim at liberty,
In vast ocean and depth beyond measure, is me.
Always elated, witty with communicable smile,
Unique still found simile as my name says.
Fire in my heart not possible to tranquilize,
Touch of a thunder would always enlighten,
Thoughts in my mind travel fast to infinite,
Much of my pent up anger goes in tears,
Emotions beyond control, at times unwind,
I am More of a soul rather than a body.
Alike marvelous and merciful, not knowing,
Intensity of what I endure by present torture,
But by chiefly the pang that rankles after it,
Completely original, I quaff my ale with gusto,
My rights I consider entirely infrangible ,
No matter what else you may take away from me!!