Best Rebelliously Poems
Withering wandering waves of a wasted will
The Nomad stands in solace within the silent still
Universal laws that lock and securely seal
Metaphorical minds that soon rebelliously reveal
Lachrymal light years that have gallantly gone
Pensive prisons meticulously molding a mortal pawn
Methodical madness mocking a soulless vessel
Where the deceived desiccated lie numbly nestled
A spirit stimulated by satiated slings and arrows
Barely escaping the narcotized narcissistic narrows
Vigilant valorous voids pleasingly passing through
To help distill the poisoned biotic bacterial brew
In the realms of the Nomadic turbulent tribes
Stands one alone with votive vibrational vibes.
June.08.2016
For Contest...
DISTANT THINGS...By John Lawless
HOMEWARD BOUND
DR. JAMES E. MARTIN
July 13, 2006
Based on the story of the prodigal son
After being gone for several years,
He returned home amidst many tears.
He had thought so many years ago
That he would to others his independence show.
Thinking that at home it had been so tough,
He rebelliously left with a great huff.
“I’ll show them all!” was his frequent thought,
As with his own conscience he often fought.
At first he enjoyed this new freedom he’d found,
No more would rules and regulations abound.
Finally now he was in control,
He could now go where he’d choose to stroll.
As he began the quest for those purposes of life,
He wondered why there had been so much strife.
He gradually discovered as from his stupor he awoke,
That, at the rate he was going, he’d soon be broke.
He reflected on memories he had of home
And wondered why from there he did so speedily roam.
He finally decided that to there he’d return,
And with his family his fellowship he’d re-learn.
Amazed was he that the family showed such joy
At the return of this lonely, wayward boy.
Fully expecting to be rejected by all
Their unconditional love on him did fall.
A lesson he in his absence had learned.
Something was missing in freedom he thought he had earned.
What had once been so unbearable and not much fun
He now was ready to return to on the run.
I have not ceased—
I have not.
The things of the past
Do not rot, do not decay,
But I have not ceased—
I have not.
Once the pitchfork's prongs
Did so deafeningly twang,
I shriveled and cowered,
And found myself prancing
With the headless chickens.
Beneath the naysayer's feet
Are six cockroaches:
One for good luck,
One to ward spirits,
One to find holy favor,
One to initiate a curse,
One for venting,
One for simple disgust;
And the massacre was denied.
I stopped,
Trapped in translation,
A transparent body in an opaque cage;
Bleeding profusely on a sterilized table,
Compromising the hygiene of this place
And questioning my helpless wounds.
Please, where is the salt?
The bitterness to cleanse me?
Pain before numbness before death?
He blinded me with a sound,
With the violent beat of drums
The size of islands,
Jarring my excitable pupils
Forever.
Who is she?
Then came a day of mourning:
On the morning of a day
Of mourning
Of a day,
Lost.
Belief is philosophy.
An idea was conceived,
Was found to be nonsensical,
And standardization transformed
Into an inert totalitarianism,
But who are we to rebelliously be
The pompous leaders of nonconformity?
We write poems
That influence books
That influence manifestos
That influence wars
That influence consciences
That influence bodies
That influence wars
That influence wars
And wars
And wars
And dullness
And brokenness.
Why do we detest exhibitionism
But complain about kept secrets?
When the first snowflake fell,
She was a star of beauty,
And lauded by many,
For she was unique and unmatchable.
The Satan cursed his creation
For being whiter than the pure,
And she melted, never to return.
And then she said,
"Hell spoke to me to say,
"'My little girl, come hither,'
"And I went and was felt
"For insecurities,
"And they were removed from me.
"I was like the waterfalls
"And tingly with bees beneath my skin."
This is a poem about loss -
The sun and songbirds rose,
to see the snowshell soften,
to see the light less low,
to see the tropics-green
crocus leaf
spear! rebelliously!
through the thick and the heavy
white.
Green, all but forgot these last months.
Life, all but without faith these last months.
The sun and songbirds and greens rose,
this day.
S trangely Secretive, Social, Sensitive, Strong, and Sensual,
C autiously Courteous, Charismatically Critical, and Caringly Compassionate,
O bservant, Obstinate, and Obsessive,
R ational, Rebelliously Resentful, and Resilient,
P articularly Perceptive, Profoundly Passionate, Powerful, and a Procrastinator.
I mmensely Intense, Imaginatively Intuitive, Individualized, and Inspiringly Inspecting.
O utspoken and Opinionative,
Felt as if I were a stranger amongst family.
A mere shadow puppet on the wall.
The whispers that enraged me deeply.
From all the distasteful, shameful,
ungrateful words that had been spoken.
Utter silence drifting away,
the darkness starts to reign.
Sincerity's all so superficial beauty shines brightly,
blinding us from the true light burning within.
Rebelliously our selfish motives,
and lustful attitudes,
ruthlessly are felt thru out the land.
Emotionless thoughts,a lack of wisdom,
Aimlessly wandering about,
consuming everything in it's path.
Leaving "heart aches" as distraactions,
felt dining the war within the chains of bondage.
Keeping us slaves of death.
Our "seeds of faith" never failing,
surrendering to our human nature.
Repenting with our bankrupted souls.
His grace,given with forgiveness
and love.
The tax bill came;
They could not pay.
Their bank foreclosed
That very same day.
They dejectedly walked away!
Another child;
One too many to feed.
The abortion clinic
"Took care" of their need
They callously walked away!
Young evangelist preaching;
On the corner of the street,
Desired that the people
And their Saviour should meet.
They rebelliously walked away!
They left this existence,
Very far behind.
Their names, in the Book of Life,
God was unable to find.
They sadly walked away!
Charlie Pelota
Felt as if I were a stranger amongst family.
A mere shadow puppet on the wall.
The whispers that enraged me deeply.
From all the distasteful, shameful,
ungrateful words that had been spoken.
Utter silence drifting away,
the darkness starts to reign.
Sincerity's all so superficial beauty,
shines so brightly.
Blinding us from the true light burning within.
Rebelliously our selfish motives,
and lustful attitudes,
Ruthlessly are felt thru out the land.
Emotionless thoughts,a lack of wisdom,
Aimlessly wandering about;
Consuming everything in it's path.
Leaving "heart aches" as distraactions,
Felt dining from the war within,
the chains of bondage.
Keeping us slaves of death.
Our "seeds of faith" never failing to.
Surrendering to our human nature.
Repenting with our bankrupted souls.
His grace,given with forgiveness
and love.
Thought I had the ugliest hair
in the whole neighborhood;
rebelliously stiff and coarse, hard-headedly
thick and crude;
long or short, gel and comb it fought
like it was made of wood,
like a furious porcupine bristling at you
if you're rude;
but then at our high school reunion
it made me feel good;
though unkempt 'twas the object
of salivating envy
of those who paid dearly
for a hair transplant or a toupee;
so now about my hair I have a happier
point of view:
just comb it slow,make it glow, so it won't
abandon you!
There was an old dear
She is no longer here
As one day she fancied a bath
Her son said, she was too old for all that
To shower instead and don’t be so daft
A cantankerous old biddy
And ignoring his pleas
She began to feel giddy
And sunk to her knees
The pain it was awful
She could not get out
Tears welled in her eyes
As she started to shout
But no one was there to hear her pleas
As she tried to kneel on her knobbly knees
And the poor old dear
She is no longer here
She was finally found
In her bath - she had drowned
So after the age of seventy
Try not to act too rebelliously
Do not cause a furore
See the moral of this story
If you don’t want to drown in your bath
Leaving others with the aftermath
To die in your bath is not a pretty sight
As when you are found you will look such a fright
All wrinkled and red, as you will be dead
So listen when told if you want to grow old
No bathing for you, try a shower instead
30th September 2018
EARLY POEM CONTEST
Sponsor Brian Strand
Felt as if I were a stranger amongst family.
A mere shadow puppet on the wall.
The whispers that enraged me deeply.
From all the distasteful, shameful,
ungrateful words that had been spoken.
Utter silence drifting away,
the darkness starts to reign.
Sincerity's all so superficial beauty shines brightly,
blinding us from the true light burning within.
Rebelliously our selfish motives,
and lustful attitudes,
ruthlessly are felt thru out the land.
Emotionless thoughts,a lack of wisdom,
Aimlessly wandering about,
consuming everything in it's path.
Leaving "heart aches" as distraactions,
felt dining the war within the chains of bondage.
Keeping us slaves of death.
Our "seeds of faith" never failing,
surrendering to our human nature.
Repenting with our bankrupted souls.
His grace,given with forgiveness
and love.
Jennifer Hedrick-Finch
Names intrigue me the most.
Even mine does!
Come to think of it,
I was named even before I knew
About it.
Later, I was cleverly consoled -
What is in a name?
Now I know,
How names manoeuvre life.
I choose not to vouch for others,
But for me my name contradicts:
My belief,
My faith, and most importantly
My face.
Let me explain.
Once upon a time,
In my homeland,
a king changed his name,
With a tutored name, and
With him we lost our names,
Our belief,
Our faith,
Our language, and most devastatingly
Our faces.
Now I don't know,
What my name tells me
About me.
But it has told others
All about me.
It betrays me every time
I say it to someone.
But for my father,
Who gave me the strange name,
I was keeping it.
Father died on a Christmas day.
His head was resting on my chest.
His breathing was slowing down.
His eyes were struggling, infrequently,
To remain open, and
I heard his feathery murmur -
Son, say a prayer!
With my fingers gently pressed
Beneath his jawbone, feeling his pulse,
I bent down to his ear, and
Said the Lord's Prayer, and he closed his eyes.
The neighbourhood Brahmin came along,
And (re) christened father - Bhakti Mohon Das.
My father was never known with that name -
I protested rebelliously.
The revered broker of names grinned and replied -
What is in a name?
And I changed my name.
looking up into an after breakfast blue morning sky
at a rapidly fading wind brushed skeletal sailfish
floating as high as I'd like to be
Half cup of cooling coffee beside me on the patio table
Beside the freshly opened green stained pool
That robot Guido is pulse eagerly cleaning in
One trapped corner. While rebelliously ignoring
The greenest section of the shallow end.
Such fixated repetitive robotic persistence once conquered the known world
Hence the name Guido.
The sun beats heat into my seated back
As all the colours of early summer
Stubbornly resist their urges to pastel
Flowers have waited through many cold wet days
To colour this morning in brightness
Even Breeze pauses in rapt admiration
This still life masterpiece is broken by the sound
of filtered falling water and of course the songs of birds
I drain my late beloved mother in law's favorite cup, now mine,
And reluctantly leave these momentous reflections
They were in disagreement about the basketball foul line.
Soon yelling and screaming, boys numbering eight or nine.
Some of them ran off, but two became rebelliously loud.
Sportsmanship tested, said their fathers, feeling proud.
Amidst battered clouds drawn east
from gray heavens imbalance,
joyful kites loop mindlessly never
obstructing picturesque quietness.
Rebelliously swooping through unhappy
visitors who xenodochially yield zest.