Best Roughly Poems
There once was a poet who despaired
though blessed with a fair amount of flair
that he was way too thick
to master limericks
counting words an arduous affair
Limerick-writing he'd master not
count sillybulls, meter and whatnot
the elusive punchline's
too troublesome to find
with his thoughts roughly tied up in knots
Spatial dimension impediment
a meter doubled in measurement
at the best of times three
lopsided prosody
shoddy despite its being eloquent
Sillybulls ignored and miscounted
charge around angrily, discounted
with their hoofs on the slam
they step up the bedlam
bewildering chaos uncounted
With pep talks and deliberation
resolved: they're too high 'bove my station
so to rhyme he should stick
and give up limericks
where wordcraft counts naught but summation
*Sillybulls = syllables. My thanks to Ephraim Crud for the loan of the word.
To Wignesan: am I stooopid or what???
By different lovers I’ve been kept,
some skillful and a few inept.
I always respond, unafraid.
I rather enjoy being played.
A Spaniard picked me up one time.
His classic strumming was sublime.
Notes poured from me like a cascade.
I rather enjoy being played.
That man released me, and soon I
was picked up by a strange punk guy
who stroked me roughly. Though betrayed,
I rather enjoy being played.
My strings broke often from his touch,
yet thrilled was I by his thrum. Such
unique new tunes from me were made.
I rather enjoy being played.
His sister held me awkwardly,
but then she sang so beautifully
it mattered not my sound would fade. . .
I rather enjoy being played.
She and her brother gave me to
some plucking fools without a clue
till an artiste came to my aid.
I rather enjoy being played.
He pressed my frets, this handsome boy.
My stings were vibrating with joy.
I climaxed with his smooth glissade.
I rather enjoy being played.
With him I hope to have remained
in years to come. His love’s unfeigned.
Although I know at times he’s strayed,
I rather enjoy being played.
It's easier to tear things down
than it is to build
Fewer every day have love
many more are killed
Some would rather look away
than to lend a hand
when a needy person's day
doesn't go as planned
Ripping someone else apart
by word of mouth or pen
is the latest social craze
done time and time again
You just insulted someone's mom
with fingertips on keys
but never knew she's suffering
a horrible disease
That young girl who is overweight
your comments cut her deep
and you all had a hearty laugh
like herds of rabid sheep
Some who came across your path
had nowhere else to go
but hatred and sarcastic wit
were all you cared to show
People aren't obstacles
to roughly push aside
humanity is family
from which one cannot hide
Strangers might be future friends
whose names you don't yet know
just open up your hearts and minds
and see where life will go
I shouldn't have to say these things
they should be understood
but human beings typically
choose evil over good
Spread kindness everywhere you go
so little is the cost
for it could easily be you
whose life is nearly lost
Let someone lean upon you
if they find it hard to cope
you never know when you'll be called
to be someone's last hope
Today I awoke with a foreboding and a heavy heart.
A contest of good and evil has torn my world apart.
I never even imagined that evil would rule the day.
My faith was greatly shaken in a most disturbing way.
What began with joy and promise quickly turned to grief.
Roughly half the country cried in disbelief.
A cult of hate and selfishness found a way to win,
By lying and blaming others for a nation's sin.
It's the same dangerous playbook employed by madmen in the past:
One man delivers the soliloquy and silences the cast.
I never thought my country could ever stoop so low.
Liberty is hiding her face with no freedom to bestow.
So, throw away all Illegals and close our borders tight.
We don't need friends and neighbors to stoke our country's might.
Once a beacon of freedom but soon to go it alone;
Our new slogan is 'America First' so World you're on your own.
Janece Terry
November 6, 2024
In a ballet of restrictive and
stifling carriage, we strike into
the depths of our imagination
and boundless intuition on a
rollercoaster soaring free from
rigid clips, venturing into a cosmic
sphere where dreams take flight,
on Saturn's rings,
exhilarating twists and turns.
Firm on the grand stage,
we play roughly and smoothly,
each length, a part of nature's layers.
Flames cannot be known by names
alone, until a touch signifies its
friendliness, an improvised whirl
flows from each planet's curves,
a feeling extended to its neighbours.
We shamelessly surrender to
the rhythm of the divine,
navigating each realm
through our inner voice,
slowly bringing it to reality,
where we find our worth in
positive existence.
Nature's wings sting through the
murmurs of rustling trees.
The twirl of the winds sings
whispers of vibrations.
Silent energy embraces the soul
of the moon, giving us insights
where we paint through without
worrying about the result.
Entangled in the sweet rhythm
of unknown tones with languages
that stir you into another dimension,
beating to the smile of strangers,
soaring high just to see low.
Play tags without keeping taps.
Read dialogues to friends with
no lines, go unnoticed in perfection,
craving attention so you live without scripts.
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 this with the universe
We dance without the need to rehearse.
She pleaded to me with a blushed body,
ready readily for the holiday my maintinance could muster for her pink engine,
the electricity my overtime bedtime love ryhme induces, innerbody outerbody attention,
my woman pled and I fed, her skin smelled like sweet leather, expensive and exotic,
her taste, oh her taste,
a salt infused with inimitable vanilla extract of erotica,
shes my virgin tonight, shes my soul purpose, my handicraft her sole investment,
my rough hands ceaselessly surveying the surface of her vulnerable and vital being,
no flaws are found, because no flaws are sought, no resistense, nothing fought,
upright together, gripping her nape, kissing the pulse on throat,
flaxen hair swiming across my focused face, one arm around lower curve of back,
in unison the slots inbetween my thumb and index sweep upon her breast
cleverly turning & tightning into nipples elevated for enclosing excitment,
eyelashes grazing my cheek and her moist mouth on earlobe
elicit the need for perpendicular laying, for ramming motion ritual,
I unfold her, with fingers lovingly clasped on that nimble neck of hers
as I insert and glide with a job to do, a love to pursue,
the words came latter, instinct inspired now -
J.A.B.
wrap your arms around me a little too tight
let yourself be the noose that ends my life
tear ladders in my tights while holding me down
pull a little too hard and drag me to hell
take my heart, its in the center to the left
its yours, my darling, take it right out of my chest
clutch my hand a little too roughly
shatter my bones and call me lovely
take me to the Eiffel tower, guide me to the top
hold me from behind and give me a gentle shove
rip my ribs out with your teeth, one by one by one
play them like the grand piano, show them how its done
lather your lips with venom, careful not to taste
kiss me until my last breath, simply watch me break.
Down where the wisteria's leafed
Blossoms gone but not forgotten
The magnolia buds are poppin'
And clouds cover morn's risin' sun
The distant dove coos at daybreak
And I've never seen a fiery horse
What were Elisha's thoughts right then
Or this an everyday sight of course
From Gilgal to Bethel and to
Jericho the two did depart
On down to the Jordan where
Waters Elijah's mantel did part
On the other side of Jordan
Elijah asked Elisha his desire
Elisha wanted a double
Portion of Elijah's spiritual fire
Elijah could not promise this
Only God could be the giver
If you see me when I'm taken
Then this gift too will occur
As the chariots of fire and
horses pulled them asunder
Elisha saw Elijah taken
Quickly in a whirlwind's dust stir
As the thick clouds and fog drip mist
And roosters crow in the hollow
Will this wet day be the day
When lifted up all Christians hallo
Finis'
Based roughly on 2 Kings 2: 1-22
Verse 12 is very important
Hallo_to cry with a loud shout or voice
Image if one will, a field where paper roses grow,
Each color an emotion, it's variations symbolic to
Feeling felt, and yet expressed.
Compositions of love letters, shaped into delicate
Blossoms, growing or dieing within the fragile human
Heart.
A unique species of floral design, enchanting the
Raw essences of it's creator, with a mystical fragrance
All it's own.
Passions spice crimson red, romantic sensuality
A white splicing with reds undertow.
Blues calming peaceful shades of hew,
and a navy's hardened edge exposing devotions
Everlasting love in beauty's open petals of the divine.
A golden sunflower opens wide, a visions friendship flower,
Seeds cast to the fertile soil beneath the kindred of humanity.
Compassion's evergreen bouquet,
So many multitudes of description,
It is impossible to describe all,
For change is the one constant rhythm
Of life itself.
Death's black rose, a crumbling love letter that melts away,
A disintegration of thoughts emotion unto the river of dust.
Not completely forgotten,
Living only by memory's remembrances,
Of past echoes,
Left alive in shadows contrasting shades faded by time.
Fragile is the human heart, made of crystal glass,
Shattering easily to the touch, if handled to roughly.
But even more delicate are the emotions held within,
A prism of reflections.
It's light leads to the inner garden of the spiritual soul,
Where the paper roses do grow.
Imaginations field of wonders, thoughts glorious
Bouquet of possibilities to draw from.
A limitless expressive well, for the poet's ink pen,
Lightly dripped onto the empty page of white,
To write upon, vivid are these roses to the poetic heart.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
There's an old timber, farm gate at the end of a track.
You wouldn't see it driving past unless you looked back.
It's made of roughly hewn wood more than a lifetime ago,
time and weather has worn it down, as the seasons ebb and flow.
A rusty abandoned ute lays near, covered in pine tree nettles.
Where weeds and braken make claim to it as in the earth it forever settles.
Late sunlight filters through the trees, casting shadows through the gate.
Where once cattle on the other side for feed would stand and wait.
Young children used to play on the gate, stand and swing it open wide.
Then climb through the cypress trees for another place to hide.
Atop the rail the magpies perch, warbling away without refrain.
Intently gazing across the fields, the kings of their domain.
The children have all gone now, grown up and moved away.
For many years the gate lay untouched, its frame in disarray.
Who knows? maybe someone will see its worth and fix the old farm gate.
Embed it back into time, for another's memories to recreate.
Full title:
LIFELONG, MEANINGLESS MUSINGS MEAN EVERYTHING OF NO VALUE
aka
OFF THE WALL RAMBLINGS
After upscale meals, I know no relief
until I somehow pick my un-fancy teeth.
Serve me good food in my own home
and these same teeth leave me alone.
At work, when I am approached by someone
who wishes to run some questions by me,
I silently laugh at an image most fun –
question marks toting briefcases as they run.
When my hands are dish-washing sudsy
or toting a large box for some distance,
an air fairy enjoys itching my nose nutsy
until I concede and scratch it roughly.
Any new clothes I hang up that are white,
closet creatures beat with yellow chains
and their marks will not wash out of sight.
The more I love it, the more yellow remains.
Things do grow legs and then walk away.
I tend to nest surrounded by my stuff.
I will not move, but my stuff will parade,
decay, migrate, and evade me, sure enough.
There exist an invisible, rude agitator
who throws dirt inside my refrigerator.
Every week or so, this frig mini-meanie does put
grime, spots, ice-hard raised trails and odd soot.
My air fairy, closet creatures and frig mini-meanie were all to me, assigned.
I know this because I often move and still, it is where I go that they find.
... CayCay Jennings
November 24, 2016
Hark, it is the sea that lures me,
It murmurs slowly, it roars out loud.
It brushes lightly on the shingles,
It washes roughly brackish crags,
And as its moods yields to its whims,
It holds me firmly in its spell,
It holds me in its everlasting thrill.
Every blessed day it sings to me
Just like a siren, magical and forlorn,
And calls me back to her enticing grip.
Oft I may wander in some country glen,
Or climb a mountain high,
Still in my mind I hear the call,
Haunting and taunting,
Enticing and beckoning,
Till my lonely soul would yearn
To smell the briny spray of mighty waves,
To sail upon the gentle breakers,
To feel the salty wind ruffle my hair.
Quick, quick, I run towards the shore,
I launch my little boat onto the choppy waves,
My tiller quivers, my sail flutters,
Soon around me I behold
Vast endless expanse of celestial hues,
And smell the mighty fragrance of the blue.
The wondrous breezes gently blow
As smoothly as we glide to islands Greek,
To new adventures and delightful views,
That kindles warmth within my ancient soul.
Shores fade away, mistily, afar,
I am alone at last like a lonely cloud,
Horizons loom or recede so near, so far,
Inviting, luring, restless as my love.
Mesmerized I steer my little boat away,
Ahoy there, let no one stop my way.
For now I am alone and tranquil,
Alone at last with my delightful dream:
The sea that I love so much.
Life greeted Death
with an epoch
from the depths of dusk
with a dawn,
the sun rose lucid
with it's soft spotted infant rose
now awake,
hanging heavily harnessed
in the steaming swaying sky,
the sun's aura
lit the sands of the silent Sahara
liked an aged ocean of butterscotch beauty,
and the starch strung clouds
maneuvored like vanilla lace
avalanching outward
kissing the hips of the woven horizon,
my sight probed to ponder
the powdered blue glow
of the desperate distance,
where the shadows
of the dune's palms
insult the posture
of the ivory sanctuary
that sat balanced for sake of Bethlahem,
I sat megerly meditating,
watching the subtle creases
in the Meditterraniean Sea absorb the sliced brass shingles
that weave the waters wealthy,
as the morning properly transcended Westward
manipulating nature's maturity
by rambling roughly to the seas
for wandering waves of bolted blooms of blue
for the twinkle of a jewel
which sits on a stool as a star
as far as North,
soon the violet velocity of night
approached the set,
electrifying the ending day,
and the Sister of the Sun
landed on the sky's chest
like a sheild on a knight,
as I listened lightly
the Moon politely announced,that evening is back to stack
the black symphony -
J.A.B.
How chafed the foot bereft of sole,
when unshod thoughts meet splintered floor.
Known terra firma drifts from whole,
as reason loses sight of shore.
I’ll wander where the breeze seems kind;
sweet apple blossom fairies lure.
Away from those who cage the mind,
indulging revelations – pure.
I’ll play the bride in quaint repose,
replete in sagely fettered yearn.
A farm house dowry, heaven chose;
soon I will quell all mused concern.
Old voices join the pipers tune,
a melody once clear – opaque.
Reality lies roughly hewn,
upon this page; my soul awake.
**29 May 2017**
. any way
youwant toseethem
theblotches inthispicture
represent
you
they
canonly
symbolize
thoughts that were
alreadyin your mindall
youcandois try tomakesense
ofthemand piece thisbroken
puzzle back together
hardly
aneasy
task
http://www.rorschach.org/ -the inkblot to the left of the title banner was my 'inspiration'. I
was hoping to pull off something roughly in the same ball park.