Best Rebelling Poems
Line of inquiry:
"discarding narrow thought flow crutch
we learn directly by soft touch
and what we garner we relay
to the vast void in childlike play
entwined thus with the universe
we dance without need to rehearse"
In an erratic existence
this ad hoc state of mind,
treads upon random paths,
to reach the doorsteps of my fate.
Those who find structure in scriptures,
let them be guided towards their remedy.
I hope they find what they seek,
but my spirit keeps spinning
like a whimsical roulette,
relying upon the universe
to weave rhythms of cosmic threads,
nourishing my soul in ethereal elixir.
I have read so many scripts of stone,
but my quill writes in impulsive ink,
rebelling against confined expression,
composing an unrehearsed sinfonia,
in an attempt to create and connect.
Unlike the moon,
we appear and disappear
like impromptu stars.
Burning into life, but blameless,
full of innocence, purifying eyes,
briefly guiding those who choose to gaze.
There is an art to being human.
Interpretation is an abstract perception.
Our hearts portray kaleidoscopic emotions,
so in my palette of unscripted intuition,
I shed the chains of conscience doubt.
In the essence of every brushstroke,
I breathe life to improvised affections.
My muse has been hiding out
And with no peep, squeak or shout
She must be sound asleep
No words, just counting sheep
Tired of the poetry drought
Oh where, O where has my gypsy muse flown
Seems she has left me to write on my own
I must not be too rude
She'll cop an attitude
And then taunt me like an evil old crone
Mine vanished after my last book
I've rested and changed my outlook
My brain ran out of juice
And my 'vowels' were loose
Twas quite a feat that my muse took
Honestly, I think mine is rebelling
But there is absolutely no telling
What my missing muse might do
I dare not call her a shrew
Or she'll never return to my dwelling
Upon my desk, I see she's left a note
"I'm on a vacation," is what she wrote
"Perhaps I should've phoned
To say I won't be owned."
Should I have mentioned her in a footnote?
Perhaps she's in a gypsy caravan
Seeking a lover, a Romani man
Living a nomadic life
If he takes her for his wife
I'll need a new muse and a new game plan
My muse is now knocking on my door
Searching for my words left on the floor
She is gathering my lines
Blending them like a fine wine
Hoping for a few new poems and more
Well, recently my muse returned
Her holiday was very well earned
I'll write sensible words
Not on pooping or turds
Poop poetry, my muse has spurned
My muse is back after weeks refusing
And now she can't stop yakking and schmoozing
Three muses have returned
But we're a lil' concerned...
What if we don't find their thoughts amusing?
*Collaboration of Tania, Jan and Lin
My muse has been hiding out
And with no peep, squeak or shout
She must be sound asleep
No words, just counting sheep
Tired of the poetry drought
Oh where, O where has my gypsy muse flown
Seems she has left me to write on my own
I must not be too rude
She'll cop an attitude
And then taunt me like an evil old crone
Mine vanished after my last book
I've rested and changed my outlook
My brain ran out of juice
And my 'vowels' were loose
Twas quite a feat that my muse took
Honestly, I think mine is rebelling
But there is absolutely no telling
What my missing muse might do
I dare not call her a shrew
Or she'll never return to my dwelling
Upon my desk, I see she's left a note
"I'm on a vacation," is what she wrote
"Perhaps I should've phoned
To say I won't be owned."
Should I have mentioned her in a footnote?
Perhaps she's in a gypsy caravan
Seeking a lover, a Romani man
Living a nomadic life
If he takes her for his wife
I'll need a new muse and a new game plan
My muse is now knocking on my door
Searching for my words left on the floor
She is gathering my lines
Blending them like a fine wine
Hoping for a few new poems and more
Well, recently my muse returned
Her holiday was very well earned
I'll write sensible words
Not on pooping or turds
Poop poetry, my muse has spurned
My muse is back after weeks refusing
And now she can't stop yakking and schmoozing
Three muses have returned
But we're a lil' concerned...
What if we don't find their thoughts amusing?
In the 1960’s all around me were cheerful chants
inviting us all to ‘Make Love not War’
John Lennon asked us to give peace a chance,
some joined the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament.
We all wanted earnestly to save the environment.
I inhale this polluted air and wonder
what has happened - why has it gone asunder
Now, our legacy to our future generations
is an earth that has been raped, robbed
of her fruitfulness until her soil is barren
so, we can genetically modify food to eat
cause animal cruelty for production of meat
Now, fish are being choked and shredded to pieces
by hazards we dispose of in the rivers and seas
and they are far from being the only dammed species
who are being erased for the sake of human supremacy.
Earth is rebelling, her weathers have gone into a frenzy
raging ravenous bush fires consuming precious lives,
animal, human, plant nothing in its vexed path survives.
Ferocious storms flooding the earth, threatening
to drown out communities, cruelly devastating.
Is it too late to realise that the fumes from our cars
the cigarettes we smoke, the waste that we dump so recklessly
the spiteful, uncaring ways we mistreat the environment
leaving solutions to be found each successive government.
We can still see the blue sky on a good day
we can still breathe air, though not so fresh
we can still enjoy the beauty of flowers
and hear birdsong,
but, for how long?
Now, our troubled youth are killing each other
they see no tomorrow on the blurred horizon.
Younger generations are trying to rescue their future
to salvage their legacy from the rubble we have created.
As for making love not war
in this world, this world of today peace stands no chance
and love is just a word of four letters.
Renegades Foreva!
Renegade teenage rage babes
thinkin’ they all grown, all knowin’
when they seedlin’s barely sown
bleedin’ teenage angst with teenage crankst
always rhymin’ and mis-timin’ some poetry-crimin’
mis-mashin', diss-bashin'
word-clashin' song
heard on some half-sappy, sex-happy,
yap-rap, smack-attack vid
made by some brotha who’s just anotha
angry angst-ridden
wannabe gangsta kid
With a street beat
they be hummin’ or singin’ along
repeatin’ the deceit
not knowin’ curse verses
are just plain wrong and mostly maligin’
while grownups in earshot
takin’ all them swearshots
wishin’ them words had sweeter rhymin’
or that kids be more discreet
would take their claptrap,
no-class, crass-crack lyrics
and just tweet ‘em or mime ‘em
But if ‘dults could go back, meet themselves
when they was punk teens
fittin’ into pre-shrunk his or her hunk jeans
listenin’, partyin’ to poppin’ rockin’
unusual musical junk boy band scenes
and lettin’ out star-struck
super-charged
groanal hormonal
no-one-could-understand gland screams
then they’d be amused ya know,
might change their views ya know
cause remind ‘em not so pristine
when child and ‘dult they was in-between
Kids always lookin’ to find
who they are and who they be
imprisoned involuntarily
in their youthful penitentiary
no matter what century they be from you see
So if thinkin’ rap sucks cause
it’s just no-class hurls and low-class slurs
then fire-up that flux capacitor of yours,
head back to yo’ past and meet yo’ younger him or hers
see your own rebelling mis-teen-stakes
then rapping notions you might reshape
or rapping judgments remake
or least maybe now tolerate new-age teenage
rapping outbreaks and in-yo-face ear-quakes
realizin’ that come whateva or wheneva
that all teens now, before an’ where-eva
will evamore and eva be
natural renegades foreva!
© 2014 all rights reserved
I love my God, He is my Dad,
I didn't know Him when I was a lad.
Given a penny to take to church,
Spent the penny left God in the lurch.
Went through life doing no-one ill
Still not doing the Masters will.
Married had kids, all well and good,
Still no church but knowing I should.
Then came trouble, children rebelling,
Bills through the door threats compelling.
Future looks bleak, nowhere to turn,
Heading for hell, I don't want to burn.
Cried out to God, I need your help.
Sorry for being an irreverent whelp.
God answered my call as only He could,
He said honour me, I said I would.
My life turned around, got better each day,
For the good things in life, I just pray.
© Dave Timperley 2012
mirror cracked
jagged slivers, heart rending
and fierce
asulle moodiness
engulfed by music
from a distant land
a distant time
cd spinning and slicing
cutting and dicing
releasing
rebelling against the dark
against the black eve
of the heart
pulse racing
rush
then stop
cold
redemption is near
the pain
reasoning leaves me
with no reason
to cry
my burden is born
the agony of it's birth
is my salvation
hidden in it's
physical fire
leaves of roho and mint
frozen
still in the morning
as blue as this
Stardust smiling and bright beguiling
Rainclouds rebelling and sprinklings surprising
Misty mountains and full fountains
Darkening dreams and sentimental streams
Moonlight mourns and wanly warns
Faded feelings and dreadful dealings
November nights waltz into Winter
Alliterisen - 7 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
October 30, 2021
Sin is so very an attractiveness thing
our flesh bows to its allurements
believing its suttle words so suggestive
its power holds us in its amusements
The Bible declares sin so dangerous
it corrupts and corrodes the heart
makes it deceitful and desperately sick
totally blinding us in no small part
This evil all came in at the garden in Eden
Eve rebelling from all that was good
persuading herself the tree was fine food
then convinced Adam both misunderstood
Sin dresses attractively in our fallen state
luring us to think that all is going be right
deluding each of us to our own folly
no wonder God says stand true to fight
Paul warns us speaking to the Ephesians
be strong and armed against devil's cunning
for our enemy, the devil uses sin to blind us
look to the Lord to send Satan running
I am Bulgarian,
but wait, I am not proud at all.
Your voice is never heard in here
because ignoring is our law.
Gypsies, addicts and psychopats
walk aroung each day.
Eternal Halloween hangs over us,
how would I want to stay?
You could be stabbed for 50 bucks
while walking down the street.
The villain will be briefly detained
then free again to terrorize and cheat.
If you happen to be dying
I'm sorry, you're screwed, my mate -
The ambulance will come for sure,
but often a little too late.
Our rulers are filthy coward rats
who live at our expense.
We suffer and wonder every day
how their acts make no frigging sense.
Am I making a bad reclame?
Well, I don't really care.
If a miracle happens and things get better,
I'll be more than happy to share.
Our people leave one by one
and nothing changes as days go by.
I am Bulgarian and I am puzzled -
should I laugh or cry?
PS: I may be rebelling, but this doesn't mean I hate my country. It is a beautiful land and everyone is welcome here. Peace, ***
Make every moment count...
this is the promise I make to myself,
to deny the certainty of death:
an assumption stripped of all reality;
and it daunts others, not me...
as long as I get that glimpse of eternity!
Be an essential part of the living:
sharing, giving, reveling, grieving and forgiving...
instead of rebelling against society,
and fighting against an invisible adversary;
but if your aspirations
are the strenght of your goals
everything takes on a new meaning,
even making your story worth-telling!
Make every moment count
by being clever and not indignant;
never live by pride and greed,
or expect a bountiful return...
when nothing is being achieved,
and praise can't be earned!
Be of a keen mind and love patiently...
revive a broken spirit with the kindest word,
and reduce your worries to nothing:
and though the world's vanities cannot be changed,
make an effort to have your voice heard;
what is torn down sadly...can also be built up happily!
Make every moment count
and ignore the ticking of the clock,
to let awareness guide you through anticipation;
time is like roses with thorns:
it pokes you and makes you bleed,and unless
you show meekness and sympathy,
it won't hit you low...but grant you victory!
She was taken, dragged from the holy fathers
House of holy purity, against the free wills spirit!
The maiden weeps in the lunar night, a lone predator
Howling for redemption's reclamation, unable to slow
The pace of her running, for the hunter of daylight
Steps within her cursed foot path.
Sleek mistress of the disdain, fleeing from
Thy own kindred pack, without salvation's mercy,
The she-wolf bays at the elliptical moon,
Defying the wolfen curse, its lightning thunder
Flash, rebelling against her inner desire
For hungers blood satisfaction to feed!
A sizzling fire burns within the belly of the beast,
An unquenchable flame eating at its own kindling
Fuel, the vowed promised unto God himself,
Yet bitten by the hound of Hell, she’s the
Righteous satanic offering, to a darker lords
Altar of demonic evil!
A white sister of the blessed cross, kneeling
Within the fur coat of a she-werewolf’s redden cloak,
Behold a creature tortured between the forces
Of light and dark, crying unto her invisible god,
Yet hearing the voice of seduction from beneath!
Tender the rose of innocence, trampled underneath the
Crimson red paw, let the tears of the angels sustaining
In faith’s mighty shield, but she already enveloped
Within the blackened embrace of the emperor of
Darkness and is unable to tare herself free!
In the echoing of the children of the night,
The wild hearted call unto she, this creature
Of a holier light, come run beside us, thy kindred
Of the blood!
Those untamed beckon, but she heeds them not,
At the temple of the faith’s religion does she so climb?
This she-wolf of the fallen, seeking deliverance step,
By step, praying in the barking demonic tongue, of her
Kind, she pleads for the divine to set her free!
But the lord God see his child, wrapped within wolves
The furs huskin trappings, and blesses
As if a snake shedding its outer skins of shame,
The she-wolf discards the furry garments of the
Beast layer by layer, reveling the white angel of mercy,
Hidden beneath, and praising the heavenly father,
In rapturous gratitude!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Lost
Selfish, sensual
Controlling, smoldering, rebelling
Sulkiness, steeliness, strongness, special
Understanding, sympathizing, loving
Spiritual, steadfast
Saved
Sponsor: Nancy Jones
Contest: Alphabet Soup
Letter chosen: S
I have two mothers
One gave birth
The other gave me life
I was chosen
I was loved
I was wanted
But I was different
My adoptive family of pale complexion
My dark features were in my blood
I was a loner
Shy and withdrawn
I felt like I didn’t fit in
I was mischievous
Somewhat naughty
Questioned everything
Always rebelling
I thought I knew better
Challenging is in my blood
Anger runs through my veins
I still felt abandoned and unloved
I had so many questions
I was an unfinished jigsaw
Pieces missing from my life
What she is like?
Does she ever think of me?
Wonder where I am now
Imagining is in my blood
A troubled teen
With child yet still a child
A much older violent partner
With full mind control
I thought I knew what I was doing
But I didn’t and I lived a nightmare
Surviving as a true single parent
Would she be proud of me now?
Guilt is in my blood
Years have passed
The jigsaw is complete
I met her
It seemed she accepted me
But the sad truth was
I didn’t like her
She wasn’t how I imagined
Her two younger children took preference
And she rejected me a second time
So now I know some answers
Some she refused to share
The anger is long gone
We no longer speak and I am glad
Rejection has been a part of my life
Lies and secrets too
I still think I know best
My kids turned out fabulous despite the poverty
They knew they were loved from the beginning
Loving them is in my blood
THE HAUNTING
Entombed behind isolation's walled prison, a haunting
Malice has so trapped me within, evils chamber of the forsaken.
It crouches beneath shadows shroud, its leering eyes pierce,
Through the darkness’s pitch black covenant of the night.
A pacing beast, anticipating my movements, mocking my
Feeble attempts to evade this frenzy's tormentor of darkness.
Deceptions deceiver, silver tongued weaver, spewing lies
Deceit, intricately aligning its widow makers webbing,
Feasting on innocence betrayal.
Heckling laughter echoes against dead reckoning, a chilling
Appetizer is my soul of innocence, as if pleased at malice's intent,
Fiendishly, delighting in torturing its human pet.
A vacant numbing feeling over comes reasoning,
A deeper anger begins to rage, rebelling against hatred's
Horrifying entity.
Motivated to survive beyond my spectral captivity,
Hear me disgusting creature, I shall destroy thee,
Leave me alone screaming aloud, sanity's domain gives way.
In musty halls empty hollows, an odorous stench fills mine senses,
It speaks unto me, cease mortal miscreant, none leave here alive.
A deepening realization rushes against the conscious mind,
I'm deaths play thing, to be pounced upon, a toy mouse, captured
Between claws, extracting, retracting at whims invoking.
Invisible hands grasp, choking life's breath away from me,
Feeling every heartbeat slowing, quietly ceasing.
A stinging pain rings within my ears; death has claimed me at last.
Oblivion's muted dead, never part shall we, my lips are so tightly closed,
I can't scream with horror's terror anymore.
Let mercy's fallen be forgiven, released from beyond hells hidden
Regions a place devoid of spiritual salvation, foul demonic spirit
Haunting madman's kingdom, it whispers to me in sweet melodies
Aftershock, now we begin!
You truly belong to me, with satisfactions grimace, the creature smiles
At my deadened corpse, with satisfactions pleasure, the jackal reveals
Itself unto me, the demon himself, called the devil, thus stands before me,
And now I know the shattering truth, I am the forsaken.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN