Best Scandalized Poems
Gussie Moran, a tennis star,
Created quite a stir
When she wore lace-trimmed underwear,
Created just for her.
In 1949 this was,
On Wimbledon’s staid courts;
The British folk were scandalized,
According to reports.
Designed by Teddy Tingling,
A tennis pro and Brit,
The all-white skirt (above the knees!)
Had newsmen in a snit.
They said she brought “vulgarity”
And even, more so, “sin”
Into a sport that prior
Only let the proper in.
Along with her obit, there was
A photo of her wearing
These very clothes; to us, today,
They’re anything but daring.
But bravo to this fearless gal!
Her charms she did assert
When she gave fans at Wimbledon
A shock beneath her skirt.
The Tramp Persona
Who was this boy, a pauper born?
Existing in despair and continual forlorn
Scandalized, accused of communist sympathies
Encompassing both adulation, and social controversies
Charlie Chaplin how can I take you seriously?
Chucklesome slapstick injecting tragedy
Awkward, little mime tugging at the heartstrings
A cathodic empathy he brings
of all those around him, a famous clown
A wiggled walk, a cane, a grin, a frown
The Great Dictator, as plain as black and white
In the struggles against misfortune, the tramp persona typified
A virtuoso kid he found at a hall by chance
A four-year-old child, he saw him dance
A gift he gave to us, a sharing alliance
The Tramp who mastered the power of silence
I was hardly aware of a crisis because we lived in a continual crisis; and, being a boy, I dismissed our troubles with gracious forgetfulness. —Charlie Chaplin, on his childhood
Marylin Monroe “She was a tramp.”
Without her contracts at 20th Century Fox and Columbia (which had both been dropped) who were hungry for denial and headlines. Instead, Marilyn said this:
“I was broke and needed the money.
Why deny it? Tom Kelly’s racy nudes of me
You can get one [a calendar] anyplace.
Besides, I’m not ashamed of it, I’ve done nothing wrong
I was a week behind on the rent and it’s here where I belong
I’d never have done it if I’d known things would happen so fast in Hollywood for me.”
Her candor and honesty charmed everybody
You have this sense of having met a wounded little canary not a peacock. Only when you pick it up in your hand to comfort it … beneath the wounds, vulnerability, and innocence, you find raw strength, and a big heart—I Am Anaya
Lady And The Tramp
A warm and loving story
For dog lovers, in the sense of humor
A carefully nurtured cocker spaniel, Lady
Born in New York City a Baby boomer
Natural beauty overwhelming, a pedigree no vamp
And a rakish, debonair, freedom-loving wanderer
of a dog who wares no man's collar, Tramp
Blind World
Men they were who’d die with Him,
as they said on Simon’s lead;
but the world has criticized them
when to Him they did take heed.
He said that they would scatter;
it was written, yes, indeed.
He said the written must be done;
in the end they took His lead.
He’d taught them how to follow Him,
who it was they should deny;
and when our eyes are opened,
we will know the reason why.
You see, He had prepared them
for the thing that must be done.
Losing sheep was not the thing,
but His words, “I have lost none.”
For two thousand years the world has judged the apostles of Jesus deficient in loyalty to him when they scattered at the scene of his arrest. It has been a judgment according to appearance.
Truly, the apostles of Jesus were men who would die with him. That is why they were scandalized when he told them it was written that they would scatter. But at the scene of his arrest, when he declared that the scriptures must be fulfilled, they saw in his declaration a cue to scatter; and they scattered on cue. (Mark 14:49,50) They denied themselves as the men that they were, men who would die with him, in order to follow him. For each, to scatter was to take up his cross.
In showing his disciples what must happen at Jerusalem, Jesus faced opposition from them. His corrective to this opposition was the instruction, "Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me." (Mark 8:31-34)
Here is righteous judgment: The disciples of Jesus followed him when they scattered at the scene of his arrest.
Nevertheless, I say this only in my own name.
In carnal desire, let me weave the magic of love rattles
in twisted curves, and exposed lines, full of gorgeous battles
for the story line I follow rage on, always to baffle
antidotes, in images with performing joints to scuffle;
Blue eyes in tender tendrils, longing passion
cheek’s burning, red blushes with shame and, joyous rant
in avarice, and quivers to crush, each warmth
bound to my pleasure, in her unique softness.
Flayed hair lashed to my chest, deep hugging fingers
enticed, exposes her crazy raptures
to my cuddles, in scandalized ecstasy
and I gain, her irrevocable surrender.
Push her over the limits, to tremble and quake
As I tame reason, to live only for love.
Though her life span was less than a week,
The Pink Lady of Malibu was a glorious sight,
Never to be forgotten by anyone who was lucky enough to see her
The daring escapade spanned six months
Timing her final foray on the cliff to coincide with the full moon
On October 31st, 1966, seemingly overnight
there appeared on the sheer cliff wall
above the Malibu Canyon tunnel
a 60-foot-tall painting of a nude woman
gamboling freely with her black hair flowing behind her
and a fistful of yellow lilies
No one knew who had created this guerrilla artwork
but scandalized Los Angeles County officials
Fearing traffic congestion and looky-loo accidents
They had decided she couldn't stay
House paint and a giant stencil to accomplish the artwork
The paint had soaked into the porous rock
Finding it impossible to remove her
The county ended up covering the Pink Lady in beige paint
Before the blind, do not put a stumbling block Major denominations advocating the abominations In which hand in hand, they all fall in the ditch I do I do I do’s they speak evil, so bid them adieu A rooster crows, yet they repented naught
Today, he’d be, affectionately, Gus.
At fourteen, his talent was precocious
But his paintings of women caused a fuss.
To this, his reaction was ferocious
Ending in apoplectic rages plus
Tsunamis of swearwords quite atrocious.
A lot of Klimt’s patrons were mesmerized
But critics and public were scandalized.
His paintings, too erotic for that time,
Those works of wonder from his Golden Phase:
“Tragedy”, “Judith”, and “The Kiss” still chime
Striking instant chords with us as we gaze
At the work of an artist in his prime
With flowing lines and colors that amaze
As magical as ancient alchemy
Creating his own immortality.
Klimt’s conduct with women was outrageous.
Although it appears he never married
Females within his reach were courageous.
He wore no undies and those who tarried
Found this naked state disadvantageous
As many were bribed, cajoled, and harried
Such that he fathered fourteen kids, at least.
He must have been a really sexy beast.
But this aside, he had the Midas touch
That turned his paintings into solid gold
Literally and commercially - so much
He never worried about being sold.
Buyers came knocking at his door as such
Begging portraits. So, in the money rolled.
His art charmed both Fascists and civilians -
Gus’s paintings now cost many millions.
I once knew a little girl coming of age. She often put her trust in people, places and things. She met liars, cheaters, users, abusers frequently in her mind, soul
her self esteem broke, her kindness taken for weakness she was labeled a fool,
crazy, stupid because she cared too much. ungrateful individuals seemed
to be captured by her presence. places she treaded searching for an escape
only to face mental abuse on repeat that turnt to broken trust, disappointments,
and physical abuse that turnt to brokeness. weariness seeking to regain her
Self-control, spiraling out of control, continously lied on, her name scandalized. She's wearing these labels for game? and often the topic for belittlement, She
was ridicule . This little broken, despite that she is overcoming, striving to stay
on track for this little girl is blooming into a woman that holds love in her broken
spirit to dim her light yet stillness and tranquility remains in her heart.
Joined by the funeral, we sit down,
under the blue sky, fire watching, sequentialling
the processions. Ultimately one by one they come,
to dust, hands turned down. After close of the rainbow
there is an explosion and a transition
censored by stone age. They flee from the shrapnels
to swathe in bioluminence of death. The penury
makes a fanciest atrocity.
A pockmarked moon stands there to listen
the scandalized whispers of crulest legends
in century’s hopelessness, guilt’s bleeding.
You never chained the voice of booms. A god
mourns in fading light.
SATISH VERMA
On some painted wall they pee,
Funnily straightening themselves like a tree:
The peremptory command of their finished evil tea
And now complete rejection of a toilet with key!
The guys keep doing their thing with utmost glee,
Diametrically feeling incomparably free
A bashing of Propriety, never to such agree
And daring of sanitation department or their frightening fee
It is pointblank, a sight to not see,
All too obscene a urinating spree
That stings worse than does a bee
And only last week scandalized Sensitive Lee
From just the scatterbrained Eliciting “A Gee!”.
The whole lot, Maladjusted Adults,
To be not spared calculated insults!
Joined by the funeral, we sit down,
under the blue sky, fire watching, sequentialling
the processions. Ultimately one by one they come,
to dust, hands turned down. After close of the rainbow
there is an explosion and a transition
censored by stone age. They flee from the shrapnels
to swathe in bioluminence of death. The penury
makes a fanciest atrocity.
A pockmarked moon stands there to listen
the scandalized whispers of crulest legends
in century’s hopelessness, guilt’s bleeding.
You never chained the voice of booms. A god
mourns in fading light.
SATISH VERMA
Form:
Tattered like an old love letter
Grasped too often in withered fingers
Folded and unfolded in an effort to remember
A long ago romance and those secret trysts
Beneath bowers of summer flowers
And too soon ended by elders
Shocked and scandalized by a love
They could not fathom and could not endure
Existing in the shadows of unsanctioned socialties.
The words in the letter are faded
But what does that matter to the eyes
Of the aged whose life has been tattered
And torn and then reborn in the image
Of what was patently proper in the minds
Of the neighbors and then sent the carriage
That carried her far from the arms of her lover
And trysts beneath bowers of summer flowers
In the long gone days of her youth.