Best Reeked Poems
With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath,
laid a sheet of slippery freezing cold by my feet
and then whispered in my ear right to the drum
that echoed in my brain with excruciating pain.
She, his wife was of a complete different temperament
quietly without fuss she crafted blanched cotton flakes,
each a masterpiece, unique as if she retained every design
she had ever imagined so each time she could create anew.
He however with his bravado with his swelled chest
would pepper speeding glass-like pellets into the air.
Sting our faces without regret. Salt our wounds.
Mercilessly bite into our flesh with his frosted fangs.
Daintily she'd sprinkle the sky with the magic of her cheer
feather the atmosphere in a delicate splatter of alabaster.
Layer by layer she laid soft sheets of snow to the delight
of everyone alike creating a playground of endless mirth.
His breath reeked of dreams frozen, nipped in the bud.
Already he had high jacked his sisters, the Autumn twins
sent them packing, hurried, gathering their rustic garments.
He had no love of his siblings except his baby sister, Spring.
His wife loving and caring would temper his yearly onslaught.
She knew of his pain, deep, abandoned by his father Summer.
At times she'd blow slightly warmer air to provide respite for
us mere humans and allow the sun to warm our weary bones.
They would sit together and it was her would bring out
the albums of family photos view pictures of his mother.
Her smile like music would soothe his stone cold heart.
He loved, when she'd visit in the guise of an Indian Summer.
With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath.
I felt her presence there to temper his harsh avail.
Winter had arrived but when they walked as one
this magnificent couple dressed in their royal winter whites,
without a second thought you would bow in front of their regal
stance, a sight to behold, one that encompassed the entire land.
04~01~2015
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Seasons
Categories:
reeked, winter,
Form:
Personification
Metallic city howls like a wounded animal
scraped by nocturnal vigils
of grandchildren and elders
emaciated like tuberculosis lungs
gasping from chug-chugs of tobacco soot...
and the face of a night is hammered by
ripped moans like plucked strings in motel rooms;
pagan women opening limbs for a meal in silent fury.
This is the other side of town, so real...
beggars peddling hope; factory shoulders
ranting over shuffled cards and fired gin
as wives’ blistered fingers
clean rented pots, gibbering same monotone of hymn,
“give us daily bread, daily bread”.
Outside, the pier coughs off
the commercial honks of weighed cargo
reeked with labor’s perspiration,
where pawnshops buzz with greed's snicker...
the evening owl attempts winks
under the grime of bloodied moon…
it spits the larynx of tenants’ raged hoots
wishing morsels of fresh sunset
would pour some grace of life’s salve. I weep
before the shrill of red sets in... again.
------------
Truth Contest sponsored by Anthony Slausin
Re-post 5/28/2019
Categories:
reeked, anger, angst,
Form:
Lyric
A phantom horse came galloping
beneath a silver moon
across a field of recent war
where corpses’ bones lay strewn.
With thunder in his hoof beats,
again and then again,
he raced along a river which,
like blood, ran through that plain.
Though frightful he appeared to be
on land that reeked demise,
a sole intent gleamed strongly
in his sad and ghostly eyes.
Then finally, as dawn began
to paint the broad stretch red,
the unrelenting stallion stopped
and seemed to bow his head.
He briefly knelt, then stood upright
and bore away, with speed,
the spirit of the knight for whom
he’d been a trusty steed!
2014 post for Angela Tune's A Ghost Story Poetry Contest
Submitted Oct. 13, 2022
for Mark Toney's 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 17 Poetry Contest
Categories:
reeked, war,
Form:
Quatrain
with passion’s brilliant mediocrity
we sparked a flame with tragedy
it was our common fantasy
what a candid lie we chose to sing
while watching worlds were turning
we rubbed two thorns with yearning
we set emerald cities burning
what a candid lie we chose to sing
adoration reeked of haughty claim
adulation played a sordid game
affections viral... would not tame
what a candid lie we chose to sing
what a candid lie we sing
in the graying dawn of age
as with our trembling hands
we turn a bitter page
you gaily pierced the side of me
a garden weeps inside of me
anguish eats the soul of me
since you have forsaken me
what a candid lie I chose to sing
worlds keep on turning
affections keep on yearning
young men keep on learning
candid lies they gladly choose to sing
your last kiss came on my last dime
a greyhound bus rolled down the line
empty seats filled up with time
maybe yours
maybe mine
Categories:
reeked, betrayal,
Form:
Lyric
I encountered her on a dark stormy night
Her huge trout like lips were a scary sight
Strands of white spittle formed on angry lips
huge folds of fat spilled over her wobbly hips
With scaly grey skin and blood red eyes
and legs so fat they chafed her thighs
Hair tangled and matted like limp seaweed
She reeked like a fish of an ancient breed
Reaching out for me with her claw like nails
Slime dripped from her hands like rancid snails
I tossed her a coin and hurried on my way
She’s not been seen since that stormy day
03-28~17
Categories:
reeked, beach, fantasy, humorous, woman,
Form:
Rhyme
The traveler reeked of weariness,
His companion was Fatigue
Wear upon his clothes suggest
He'd come a million league.
Gaunt were eyes deep set and brown
Above his cheekbones high
His being was pure somnolence
And I heard his silent cry.
Hard roads had been his travel
The pains chiseled on his face
In lines of furrows on his brow
Permanently enlaced
Around I saw no motion there, then ...
His head began to rise
Finally he looked at me ...
Suffering in his eyes.
So quietly I attended
And with a heavy heart
I wanted so to speak to him ...
But knew not how to start
Within his labored breathing
He then began to speak
His words, when finally spoken
Were truthful and unique
His lips worked to form the words -
Then said; "My name is: Common Man,
I'm a father; I've worked hard;
' always done the best I can.
"The road's become uphill and steep with
Burdens I can't propel
I've tried to move on forward -
But, I stumbled here - and fell.
"There are others on me
Who so do depend
I must move on forward,
This mustn't be my end.
"Now I must reach out to you
'Cause before I've never failed
I'm turning now to you
'Fore on hardships I'm impaled".
A calloused hand then extended
Toward my outstretched hand
And I want to heed the call
For this Common Man.
But, Greed and Avarice have won
And assistance can't be lent -
Wall Street, you see, owns me now:
I'm Your Government.
Categories:
reeked, america, conflict, corruption, discrimination,
Form:
Rhyme
Today, meandering through the clutter of the local antique store,
I almost tripped and fell over an object partially hidden on the floor!
My hands came to rest on an old-fashioned school desk sitting there.
It reminded me of the one I occupied in my school days, I do declare!
My thoughts drifted back through the misty past to reminisce and ponder.
As I caressed its oaken surface with my fingers, I began to wonder.
Did it once grace a simple one-room prairie schoolhouse in Indiana?
Might it have come from a rustic schoolroom in the state of Montana?
The slanting top of the old desk was scratched and with ink was stained.
I saw faint initials carved by an idle lad whose attention span had waned!
The varnish was worn off the folding seat by many a squirming kid.
Wads of chewing gum still adorned the underside of the folding lid!
I recalled sitting at one of those uncomfortable desks trying to stay awake!
As Miss Ruth droned on and on, all I could think of was the recess break!
The room reeked of oranges and fried egg sandwiches we'd bring to munch.
Kids of means paid a dime to eat finer fare in the lunchroom for their lunch!
I recalled the thwack on my knuckles of Miss Ruth's ruler to get my attention,
And what awaited me at home for misbehavior with growing apprehension!
(A clerk noting my glazed eyes asked, "May I help you sir? Is anything amiss?"
"Nah", I replied. "If you please, I'd like to stand here awhile and reminisce!")
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
reeked, nostalgia, school, school, me,
Form:
Rhyme
Privilege
When the privilege first was given
When it was still crisp and new
When it had all others craving
For which is granted a small few
Then you reveled in its status
’Cause it gave you eminence
Yes, you teased with your position
And you reeked of confidence
You would make sure that they noticed
You would make sure that they knew
And you even made it public
You were from a certain crew
All of this was soon accepted
Everybody understood
You were better than all others
You alone could set the mood
So the others came together
And someone brought this to the fore
And they all took a decision
From now on they would ignore
You, your pride, and all your antics
For it didn’t make no sense
They would not allow much longer
For you to shine at their expense
For your shining was too costly
And it really took its toll
It caused anger and confusion
You respected no one’s role
So while you still enjoy your privilege
It is now just seen as work
For you gave the wrong impression
By behaving like a jerk.
Wendy Nipas
Categories:
reeked, confidence, work,
Form:
Ballad
He was young, small, perhaps malnourished
Looking out from deep set eyes, rimmed with neglect
I could see, he wanted ...
To know why?
To know what? ... I did not know.
I sensed he was trying to form the words
And the questions in his mind
The words did not form on his unwashed face
He just stared.
I wanted to say: I understood
That I remembered, what it was like to be small
Surrounded by huge ‘Grown-ups
Pushed by bullies stronger than me,
always in groups of three and whispered at
by clean starched girls with bright blue eyes
Laughed at or even worse, pitied.
Years later, I saw him again
Now he was taller and tougher looking
His jeans and jacket still reeked of poverty
His eyes deeper set yet, acne skin
and oily pits around his nose.
He didn’t have that same searching stance
Now I could see he no longer cared
Now he was ready to fight
His fingers yellowed by cigarette smoke
His fingernails filled with dirt and grease
As was the collar of his shirt.
Shoelaces broken and then re-tied
with a knot covering the shoes tongue
His own tongue tucked behind thin lips
and decaying teeth.
Many years have since passed
as I happened to see his reflection
In the passing of a store front glass
Except, now I see,
He was and has always been, me.
Categories:
reeked, child, life,
Form:
Free verse
The Bullingdon Club
In the hallowed halls of Oxford's elite,
A secret society did convene,
A gathering of privileged retreat,
A club known as the Bullingdon team.
With tails and bow ties and polished shoes,
They swigged their champagne and plowed their way,
Through the city's streets, with no excuse,
Causing damage that others would pay.
Their laughter and shouts filled the air,
As they smashed their glasses and tipped their plates,
Their wealth and power beyond compare,
A reckless display of their estate.
Their arrogance reeked of entitlement,
As they wreaked havoc with their brawn,
A display of wealth and refinement,
With no regard for the damage they wrought upon.
For they were the privileged few,
Born with silver spoons in their mouths,
Their actions were beyond review,
And their behavior beyond any doubts.
The Bullingdon Club still reigns,
A reminder of the power of the few,
Of how wealth and privilege retains,
An insidious grip on the world's view.
So let us strive to topple this regime,
To dismantle this system and rebuild anew,
For the world deserves a just and fair esteem,
Where all have the right to thrive and pursue.
Bullingdon boys Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
Categories:
reeked, adventure, angst, friendship,
Form:
Rhyme
Lament
The day that music died, singing wept.
Into the sea of melancholy voice crept.
Each word spoken reeked with pain.
When could we ever be whole again
Under the rug good lyrics were swept.
Praise
Singing is really a magical thing.
Everyone agrees music has a ring
It sates all involved, fills to the top.
Once you begin, you hesitate to stop.
Your imagine yourself to be the king.
Consolation
There are none too old to learn, they say.
Never again we give our song away.
We'll sing, we'll sing never quiet.
We will sing, until we start a riot.
Music for ever and ever and a day.
8 Aug 11 Charles Henderson
Categories:
reeked, music, music, music,
Form:
Elegy
The abyss so deep so profound
It didn't thwart our efforts
It made us strong of mind
Gave us a sense of unity
To see thru the light
At the end of this
endless Tunnel
this is today,but yesterday's
Gone by recalling a time
When our bodies ached
Working 16 hour days
16 hour nights at 50 cents
Working long tedious hours
Without a break and getting fired
For unknown reasons
No protection or job security
Low wages day in and day out
Our clothes reeked of sweat
Our hearts cry out to deaf ears
And Our souls bled
We held the bastion
And the flicker of hope
As we stood shoulder to shoulder
Man woman child
Reclaiming and the denouncing
Those who wanted to break up
Our beloved union 1199 Seiu
Call it what you may
This is a message of hope
Unity sacrifice and survival
Brothers and sisters
United we stand
Divided we fall.
And die.
The fight will continue...
All rights reserved
A.Camacho jr.
1996-2015
This was an opening monologue that I recited
For job security and cutbacks
In Harlem,NY
For ratification of a contract
For 1199 SEIU Health care workers national union
Attended by hundreds of workers and city officials
The struggles and the fight continues
Thank you
Categories:
reeked, america, dedication, new york,
Form:
Narrative
This is a small part of story that I am working on to be published in my book of 12 stories.
She resumed in trekking; still searching for a way out
When something caught her eye which appeared to be a route.
Confidence grabbed the reigns in her chest, filling it with air;
Her breathing and her heartbeat tripled for she was almost there.
But as the path ended so did her mirage of nirvana.
It led her to a basin filled with red-bellied piranha,
Caiman alligators, and electric eels
Imagination was the one in her head turning the wheels
Sending pulses down her spine which reeked of fear
Forcing confidence to be evicted through each crying tear.
But her cries for help could not be heard
For the jungle’s trees kidnapped every word
The sun squinted his eyes through the trees in the west
“A bridge!” she gasped. She began to feel blessed
Sarah had to move quick; a race against the clock.
Night plus blood equals animals on the stalk
Please rate =))
Categories:
reeked, adventure, hope,
Form:
Couplet
Sir Henry Morgan was a privateer,
And a ruthless, mean buccaneer;
Considered a pirate by the Spanish,
He became, in time a millionaire.
Henry was born in Wales to a farmer,
Gaining fame and fortune by valour;
He made a name for himself in Jamaica,
Soon he joined the Navy to become a sailor.
Captain Morgan and his large fleet,
Plundered the coast of Cuba to defeat;
Torturing the residents for their riches,
His ships and men did not know, retreat.
He enriched himself and his crew,
With hundreds of men and many ships too;
They attacked the Spanish Main,
On armed galleons, swiftly they flew.
Life on a wooden ship was not romantic,
Damp and cramped, filthy and botanic;
Pest infested; food spoiled and water reeked,
Sailors died, and some jumped ship, frantic.
He was ordered by Jamaica's Governor,
To return to port as a lawbreaker;
Morgan refused and gathered more ships,
He found the most daring pirates ever.
They set sail to attack Portobello with hopes,
Storming the Fort with ladders and ropes;
Staying for two months gathering and looting,
Collecting wealth, then leaving on their boats.
Morgan continued for years to plunder,
Talking enemy ships and prisoners;
He was finally arrested but found not guilty,
And he was appointed Jamaica's acting Governor.
___________________________
August 19, 2015
Rubaiyat
For the contest, A Storm On The Spanish Main, sponsor, Joe Maverick
Second Place
Categories:
reeked, history,
Form:
Rubaiyat
It's not impossible that my house stink.
At times there festers garbage in a sack
behind a closet door, and once the sink
got clogged with who-knows-what; sent water back
up filthy and all black; I dished it out
scoop by nasty scoop into a pan.
That damn disposal broke. There was no doubt
my kitchen reeked, so I turned on a fan
and dropped some baking soda in the drain
(I'd heard it stopped most odors), but the worst
came next: a stench which I could not explain.
I searched my rooms. Six days my house was cursed
until I found it dead and hidden well -
a mouse I bet inhaled the kitchen's smell!
(true story but a little exaggerated!)
For Susan Burch's
Offensive Odors or Noise Pollution Poetry Contest
Categories:
reeked, funny, house, house,
Form:
Sonnet