Best Repute Poems
I followed you from Galilee
To that sad day on Calvary
Of love You spoke
New hope You woke
Some said I was a prostitute
In me You saw no ill repute
My heart now cries
I watch You die
Sharp spikes that pierce Your hands draw blood
And through my heart emotions flood
A Son so blessed
Is laid to rest
Three days I stayed outside Your tomb
Never to see You I presumed
And though I mourned
Glory's reborn
I genuflect and watch You rise
To join Your Father in the skies
This blessed day
Showed us “The Way”
The sacrifice You made for man
Celebrated in many lands
Easter Sunday
Give thanks and pray
Written in the first-person view of Mary Magdalene, one of Christ’s best known
disciples. According to modern religious scholars, the Gospels of Mark and John say
she was the first person to see Jesus after he rose from the dead.
At center of soul,
Lien my wealth of gold,
In the bible,
You’re very well liable,
To see gold,
In centerfold,
Of soul,
Not in centerfold ,
Of playboy, so bold,
Not in scorn of ****, magazine,
The mind thinks so keen,
Not in your house of ill repute,
Like a flute’s toot,
But in your center,
Is Godly splendor,
She is the real contender,
For men’s souls,
She holds the gold, of souls,
She is your centerfold,
She is your well, and you can tell,
When she begins to swell,
Infinity’s well,
She begins to spin,
And begins to gin,
The gold of soul’s,
Centerfold,
A vortex of power,
Men will declare,
How can this be,
Mein eyes can’t see,
This within me,
So they return to be,
Of mind’s vanity,
As death’s reverse swirl,
Returns them to the world,
Like a natural woman in earth,
Her wealth is her girth,
Not of this earth,
A birth from above,
She is love,
Receive,
Believe,
Within your relieve,
She is your power,
By which you build your tower,
By the hour,
In earth,
Love is her girth,
Not of this earth,
So let her love give birth,
In earth,
Particles of pure light,
Your lady is a holy sight,
Not a cat's fight,
In repute’s night,
She is your mold,
For your life’s unfold,
Unfold, your gold,
Let the outer unfold,
Be the center mold,
Of the Godly Gold!!
7-17-09 [email protected]
Through the shallows,
Through the depths,
The muck and the mire,
With trembling limbs
I succor the dying,
Strip the layers naked...
A conceit of consciousness
In psychic awareness,
I repute the repudiated
Caught in a self made web
Of hubris, malevolent envy.
Wrath projected...as a
Boomerang, must return.
Ashes back to ashes is
The only transformation
Derived in sustained purgatory.
© Connie Marcum Wong
A fearful, jagged place
Yet wondrous to the eye.
A place for hardy mountaineers,
The Black Cuillins of Skye.
No place for the timid
Imposing in their might,
But to stand and look upon
There's ne'er a grander sight.
Interlopers amid rolling hills
A ridge of fierce repute,
Standing aloof, magnificent
They challenge rope, and boot.
We write to you, your elfin crew,
To wish you joy and cheer!
For Christmas is upon us now -
The climax of our year.
We've toiled together - unified,
In our allotted crews.
And now we're stuck in training,
With barely time to schmooze.
The toys are wrapped, the sleigh is packed,
And Rudolph's fidgety.
Soon you will be making rounds,
As is the policy.
But though this yule is almost nigh,
Our merry Christmas vibe,
Is tempered by the memory,
Of those whom we survive.
Let's not forget the bristling sprite,
From northern twinkle-land.
Who's wisdom and composure,
Helped our vision to expand.
And over waves, across the sea,
The imp with shiny pate.
A knowledge store of rare repute,
And empathy, innate.
We can't forget the trollish clown,
Our western-most remote.
Who's antics in the darkest hours,
Kept our hearts afloat,
The reindeer trainers will be missed!
So poised and capable...
Were they in their instructions -
Irreplaceable!
So Santa, sir, we write to you,
That you may not forget.
The legacy of our brother elves,
And the hole which they have left.
Please strive to know our jobs' detail,
With depth and clarity.
And leave us not unbalanced,
Chasing prosperity.
Enjoy your well deserved respite,
As you rest and sip your brew,
We wish you Merry Christmas,
Your wearied elfin crew.
You can all breathe now Zimbabwe
Rejoice freedom from repression
lift yourselves out of depression,
new president, no wannabe
so democratize your Country
repulse anything contrary
be pleased, say goodbye to Bobby
he has had it too good, too long
those hard years all terrible wrongs,
rule with fear is surely shoddy
so enjoy, sing, dance and party
now start your new lives, be hearty,
worlds much better without Mugabe
this evil man of ill repute
who no one will ever dispute,
you can all breathe now Zimbabwe
new president, no wannabe
be pleased, say goodbye to Bobby
rule with fear is surely shoddy
worlds much better without Mugabe.
11/21/2017
for contest Constanza
Sponsored by Craig Cornish,
Iambic tetrameter checked on how many syllables.
Disenchanted with ennui,
I want to my earth
To meet the sky,
To catch a falling star
Outside a ‘Monday thru Friday’
‘Nine to Five’ job,
But traffic on the eight eighty
Enshackles me in the tapestries of my mind.
Amnesia walks me through corridors of lice
Armed with coffee cups, the stock market on the radio,
I have lost all with my nasdaq fall
Into bars and brothels of dubious repute,
All is carnal after all.
Entrapment with Chopin on the alarm clock,
Donuts oozing with cream, wiped away with a napkin,
How do I get away from Tchaikovsky at night?
As the older whores at last snore,
I light a cigarette and lean out my window
To wail a poem, catch a falling star.
Seems like certain politicos toss about the f---word thinking they're cute!
Didn't their mommies teach them that real ladies and gents of good repute,
Don't express themselves in public in such a disgraceful manner and so crudely?
"Profanity is the effort of a feeble brain to express itself lewdly!"
A stick of simple bamboo. .
A wood of no repute.
Hollow, empty, dull...
Deaf and dumb..so mute.
Then..just a few holes they put..
and Oh!! ..how it looked so cute.
Behold the brown bamboo..
It changed itself to a flute.
Fingers flowed..
Sliding the route so smooth.
Acoustics played paradise. .
So serene and so soothe.
Soft humming sound it found..
Pied Pipers tuned in all around.
Breathing melody deep from heart
Mellifluous magic ? or
Music of Mozart?
What an harmony...What an art!
Lord Krishna embraced ...
His immortal part.
The music of the flute..
In resonance with the Truth.
The world bowed down..
to love and salute...
The 'Opera' of life..a divine astute.
I strolled through the local cemetery the other day
And here are some epitaphs I observed along the way:
Cletus O'Toole lies herein
Too much boozing done him in!
Here lies a gambler molding in his crypt
Odds are he was shot by a chump he had gyped!
His spouse spotted him leaving a house of ill repute
In short order she done him in during a heated dispute!
Clyde raced down the mountain and failed to swerve
Meeting his doom on an S-shaped curve!
His plea to the judge was ruled to be moot
He was sentenced to hang for fencing some loot!
Buckaroo Bob was throwed from his horse
And was buried with his boots on as a matter of course!
The town ruffian was our late friend Keith
He met his match and was interred sans his teeth!
Pilot Pete's final radio message was, "Oh! Shoot!"
Seems he forgot to don his parachute!
Farrier Fred was a premier cobbler as a general rule
Alas, he was kicked in the head by an unruly mule!
Butcher Bruce was expert at wielding his knife
But in a fatal spat he was out-wielded by his wife!
POTD 24 June 2021
Her Mother says I'm not that bright
in need of supervision.
A wayward male who would likely fail
to make a good decision.
So I've lost my friends... they've disappeared,
my wife gave them the boot.
To up our standing and improve our branding
with people of high repute.
My diet's better so I'm eating greens,
no beer or fatty foods.
But I tell you plain, I try in vain
but I'm in a foul mood.
I dream of things I cannot have
like burgers doused in sauce.
A chicken wing and some onion rings,
all hidden from the Boss.
But her senses keen as she's rarely tricked
when I try to cheat.
She sets me straight then sets my plate
and tells me what to eat.
Our viewing habits are oft discussed
and we are of one accord.
No tennis courts or winter sports
and no watching zombie hordes.
My gaming suffers as she disapproves
so my Xbox gathers dust.
Though when out of sight, I still sneak at night
to satisfy my lust.
When I talk to her... she twists my words
to points of her own choosing.
A terse reply, she then starts to cry
which makes it more confusing.
What keeps me here? I love my wife,
would never find another.
So I will obey and I'm here to stay
just to piss off her dear Mother.
The End
^Follow my cartoon at Webtoon Bob's Your Uncle.
Homeless, destitute with nothing more then a backpack and cigarettes
down the rabbit hole she went, no linen tablecloths just stricken wood,
in a house of ill repute;.
She could not refuse the hunkering of a horny man who lived by threats
so she counted her bills and tucked them in her brassiere with a tear
She cringed when glass smashed and grinded her teeth when she was cold
it was a bordello made surreal by alcohol mellowed Johns who were so old
A bawdy crib, (bagnio del innocente) bath for the innocent...
a knocking shop that foiled the linen and gave shiners to young girls,
no one cared
in this disorderly place, where the stew was watered down with whiskey float
Then came the raid that brought everything to a halt,
in a gestalt moment she found freedom, perhaps her prayers were answered?
Down to the river she went for a bath and a rest,
it was then that she remembered her first time, it was incest *
The wild caged bird had no other place to hide but in this fortress
she slept for days on the grass beside a great big boulder, ,
all the wild animals in the forest thought she was a Princess.
They let her sleep, and fed her pine nuts from the trees. Until this day,
Gianna never mentioned the brothel to anyone, no even herself.
Feb. 20, 2021
There's been a breaking news report about Santa's reindeer.
While flying over Russia, they were lassoed by vile Vladimir!
"I'm determined to ruin Christmas for everyone this year.
Too many smiling faces in the world," he said with a sneer.
An envelope arrived at the Kremlin. Postage was first class.
And a note scribbled from a poet's hand, that was rather crass.
It read, Here's a gift for you. I found it in a pile on my grass.
I hope it reminds you of the poop that plopped from your ass.
Putin was enraged! Someone took a photo of his snarling jeer.
When it was shown on the news, the world let out a cheer!
He's going to take revenge, and wants everyone to live in fear
but I think there's a hero who's going to take down Vladimir.
The one who'll save Christmas is a jolly man in a red suit.
Usually he's kind to others, but not to one of such ill repute.
He'll get back all eight reindeer and his sleigh filled with loot
and tie up old Valdimir, that obnoxious murderous brute!
Santa wasn't injured when putrid Putin captured the reindeer.
Laying a finger beside his nose, he got himself into first gear.
"I'll nuke him," Santa said, "Blast his butt out the hemisphere!
Then deliver toys to girls and boys. Fly home and have a beer."
there is a brothel there down the street,
built like a palace three stories high,
hear anklets jingle on dancing feet,
with singing and drums as you pass by.
I have chanced within once as a youth,
to savour pleasures of sinful flesh,
in wine and smoke did not see the truth,
the tormented souls trapped in evil mesh.
pretty they who were plying their trade,
vibrant bodies in their early teens,
stained glass windows, moroccan lamp shades
a sale of bodies for living means!
men of wealth leaning on cushioned seats,
aged lustful men aim for a score,
clapping and rejoicing with the beats,
toss money up asking for encore!
men of high repute frequented the halls,
those who spoke morals and values too,
even priests, scholars bought at these stalls,
of suffering they caused, had no clue!
girls were from different parts of state,
some sold through poverty by their own,
some stolen from home or lost to fate,
some orphaned young, some reasons unknown!
here was a trade all chose to ignore,
law makers, elite just let it go,
each year the numbers grew even more,
bodies sold, though their young hearts cried ‘No’!
religion morals preached everywhere,
man’s hypocrisy in full display,
parents showed their own children love, care,
suffering of these girls none would say!
late one autumn I stopped to enquire,
found doors locked, no lights, no sound, no sway,
said one “come morrow, if you desire,
Brothel is closed for Gandhi’s birthday!
4th placement in Premium contest
written 13/02/2021
They closed the brothel contest
Kai Michael Neumann Sponsored
9 syllables each line
7 stanzas!
abab.... rhyme
ILL REPUTE
It was a house of ill repute
And though the occupants were cute
(Or so I gather second-hand,
I haven’t visited, you understand)
The local residents agreed
That, though such places served a need,
They really didn’t think it should
Be sanctioned in their neighbourhood.
Theirs was a clean, God-fearing town
And this would drive house prices down.
That really wouldn’t do at all
And so they marched on the town hall.
But that all ended in despair
(The Mayor was a client there)
But, in the end, they won the day;
Corona virus came their way.
And to the joy of all the town,
They had to close the brothel down.
They could no longer ply their art
With everyone six feet apart.
19th February 2021
They Closed The Brothel contest
Sponsor - Kai Michael Neumann