Best Scowling Poems
**"And his name was Jack"**
No one perceives what abides above the clouds.
A giant, a harp, maybe golden eggs.
I demand to see and feel before I believe.
A castle, a dream…. I want the magic beans!!!
~~~
I'm the daughter of a farmer.
I have a donkey to ride, a story to tell.
“Jack and the Beanstalk” my favorite tale.
Once upon a morbid dawn.
I inhale a tiny simple yawn
Like the morning sun levitating over the farm,
I rise towards the village square to sell my ass
Along the open path, my ass and I desired a drink.
Near the rustic river,
I'd seen an old Englishman, sitting on a log.
It looked as if time was approaching his brink.
In his hand, he had a sack.
A bag, a bag, embroil of ivory and black.
His eyes were not from this ground.
His body fragile - it uttered a moaning sound.
He was of dirt.
I was pure.
He pledged his life to me.
I debated .... with many thoughts,
Although his eyes...
My eyes... Will never meet again.
"I want what's in the bag!"
In a gasp, he whispers,
"I'll give you anything for that ass.
my legs and bones can’t hold up on their own!”
I knelt down to where he sat
Smelling his essence of rot
I reached forward and grabbed his baggage
He griped, "This bag is all I got!"
I answered, "And this sir is a fine ASS!"
He replied, "I have no cash."
Scowling at him, “NO I want your demon seeds!"
My blood grew thin...
Inhaling and exhaling - his sin
The old man all shriveled and timeworn,
Proposed the birthright of the seeds.
"Yes, plant them! Plant them!"
I cried excitedly!
He pats the field.
Said "there I am done,
now clock as it expands"
To breed this story short...
He dispenses his seeds.
AND, I GAVE HIM MY ASS.
BY;PD
Torrential rain, blinding wind howling,
Dark heavy clouds ominously scowling,
Brilliant radiant light of electric flashes,
Following the lightning, defiant crashes,
Loudest blasts make brave men cower,
Thunder so deafening it exudes power,
I was born of a powerful thunderstorm.
Still attached to its base, I will spawn.
Nature’s most violent, I am called TORNADO,
300 miles per hour, my winds will blow.
A rotating column of air touching the ground,
Violently spinning with a horrendous sound.
I will cause fatalities at a devastating rate,
Buildings, and whole towns, I will annihilate,
People panic seeing my deadly approach,
Over fields and farms and cities I encroach.
Lifting up animals, houses and cars in my wake,
My tempest is unending, with fury, victims I take,
Finally cold down drafts signal my final gust.
I slowly cease rotating and turn to dust.
With shining eyes, the prettiest
advances leading all the rest.
She skips with glee beneath blue skies,
the prettiest with shining eyes.
The second, with a warming smile,
comes dressed in lace, and all the while
she lithely romps beneath the sun
with warming smile, the second one.
And woebegone, the daughter third,
walks, scowling, speaking not a word.
She trudges slowly on and on -
the daughter third and woebegone.
Now comes along a steadfast son
whose sauntering seems never done.
He perseveres though winds be strong.
A steadfast son now comes along.
The second boy along the trail
has charity, which does not fail.
He renders aid and brings sweet joy
along the trail, the second boy.
Another son, now onward pressed,
endures although fatigued and stressed.
He's labored much and cannot run,
now onward pressed, another son.
At course's end, a daughter fair
who rests - lets down her golden hair.
Most cheerful, tender, gracious friend,
the daughter at the course's end.
Inspired by the nursery rhyme "Monday's Child"
What a beautiful, romantic day
Most wonderful day of my life
I soak up the sun, every ray
We're going to be husband and wife
The wedding cake's beautiful but where's the knife?
And where's my dad? He should be here
To give me away, oh my, oh dear!
Oh my God! What a Stag Night
I can't quite remember, what did we do?
Why's there a tattoo on my butt on the right?
And why is half my hair blue?
I'm panicking now about what will ensue
When in the shower blue dye starts to disappear
And the girl's name just dissolves from my rear.
I'm loving the stairs on the cake
A three layer
A triple dare
Of a husband number three
My beautiful day, I swirl for the show
Hubby number three won't be free for a while.
Still puzzling, how did I get here?
A triple trouble stands in front of me
The bachelor party a couple of nights ago
I wish I was free again
The knife in the cake crumbles as the sweet cake is savoured.
As the blushing bride I look all around
My brothers and sisters, eyes open wide
They look at the cake and at the groom frown
But they're smacking their lips but not at the bride
The church doors are locked, everyone is inside
When will the service be over, how long will it take?
Before they can get their hands on that cake.
As the blushing groom I nervously look at a sister
The brothers are scowling, her kids just grinning
Don't think you can back out now mister
My fate is sealed, my head is spinning
The priest calls to order, the service beginning
I glance across at the majestic cake
Like Kilimanjaro no knife could it break.
The wedding day rings dancing on the plate
Waiting to be worn on this forever date
The service ends, the wedding bells still ringing
The now wife and husband each having
A million thoughts running
The groom takes a quick glance at his years of single
The bride not holding back on this mingle.
She loving the stairs on the cake
A three layer, a triple dare
Of a husband number three
He is still puzzling, how he got here
The cake demolished to only one crumb
Just like his chances of being free
The hooves that thundered on the roof,
An awful sound to hear;
And when the mighty steeds arrived,
My heart was gripped with fear.
The horses black as ebony,
A chariot in tow,
A fearsome rider held the reins;
I had no place to go.
The horseman’s face a scowling mask,
So clearly in command;
But racked with pain, I smiled relief
And gladly took his hand.
I will not see the light again;
But here with Death, I feel no pain.
Jack Horne for Gail’s Crossroads contest
We scowl at this great country we live in?
Such ingrates we can be…….almost a sin!
Never appreciating its grand freedoms?
Instead fake news paints unholy doldrums!
We never had cities, destroyed by war.
Instead, we just demand more and more.
Such ugly, scowling crowds on TV screens.
Not grateful at all, just unseemly mean!
The good, the giving, like first responders.
Replaced by crooks from countries far yonder!
Worse yet, by those born on our own shores.
Who want everything free~eternal more!
Perhaps, we can cease being wee, adult babies?
Get a job, get off-line, lazy-daisies!
***Note…There is a plethora of jobs in the USA.
But some have forgotten the dignity of a paycheck.
Of giving to others, which is a true joy. ***
*** Note… this does not apply to those who are
validly disabled or ill…..certainly!. I understand that.
Just to those out to “beat the system.”
7/17/202
~1~
It seems that saucy little girls are rather smitten,
By the playful antics of a cuddly, furry kitten!
Whether she teases it with a tantalizing feather,
Or when they take their afternoon tea together!
The long-suffering kitty must find it hard to understand,
Why it must submit to her every mortifying demand,
'Specially when she places a silly bonnet upon its head!
(It would much prefer that she'd scratch its ears instead!)
She dresses it in a frilly frock and parades it in her pram,
Swaddled in fancy blankets. Oh, what a ridiculous sham!
Most humiliating of all is seeing the inscrutable smirks,
And hearing the catty jibes of alley cats - those ordinary jerks!
She insists that it take tea with a bib tucked 'neath its chin.
For table-mates a chatty doll and scowling bear to its chagrin!
It patiently waits for its bowl of milk to be properly served.
It abhors the many social graces that must be observed!
Though it suffers through the little girl's many dreadful schemes,
It loves to snuggle among her golden curls as she dreams.
It softly purrs in her ear as its little friend goes to sleep,
Making sure that she is safe - only then does it fall asleep!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Note: I am not sure if titles of this form can be something other than the first line of the poem, but my actual title would be "Christmas Figures" if that is able to be done.
Scrooge
sour, solitary
scowling, scrimping, withholding
miser, coins, celebrator, cookies
laughing, welcoming, giving
jovial, plump
Santa
Aug 13, 2022
for Caren Krutsinger's Dazzling Dizzy Diamante Poetry Contest
"Fragments and crumbs of life, all the little pieces"
John Ruskin, 1853
We strolled through the formal gardens,
hand in hand, warm in the rare March heat,
taking in the sights, sounds and smells:
flowing fountains full of fish,
twisted and entwined topiary trees,
showy flowers with such heady scents,
Grecian statues and urns.
Ignoring the crowds, I turned to you
and kissed your smiling lips.
Our kisses growing more
and more passionate,
I suddenly remembered we were in public.
An old woman was scowling
as I stroked your long dark hair.
We held on to one another
and I told you I loved you.
Alas, our love didn’t last,
but those memories are still precious.
Sometimes, I revisit the gardens in my mind
and kiss your smiling lips again.
Jack Horne, 23rd June,
written for Constance’s All The Little Pieces
Why am I drawn
to this scowling girl
selling her poems
in a Shinjuku underpass?
Every Tuesday she is here,
next to a Nikon ad,
threatening commuters
with her cyclostyled angst.
Busy people keep up
with the times,
do a tap dance
on their smartphones.
Only drunks buy poetry.
Grubbing for their last,
sweaty coins, they
mock her with every purchase.
First published in Eclectica Magazine
She glides out of the room on tiptoe,
As graceful as a sinuous ballet,
Sliding past sad memories that flow,
Staring, scowling eyes upon her still prey.
As graceful as a sinuous ballet,
Stealthily steadfast, slipping slowly,
Staring, scowling eyes upon her still prey,
She’s ready to strike bloodthirstily.
Stealthily steadfast, slipping slowly,
Marked double-crossing husband might have guessed,
She’s ready to strike bloodthirstily,
As he unwittingly lies down to rest.
Marked double-crossing husband might have guessed,
Slithering snakelike, it’s his scornful wife,
As he unwittingly lies down to rest,
She swoops in silently with sharpened knife.
Like a surgeon’s slash it’s very precise,
Sliding past sad memories that flow,
With bloodied knife in hand, it’s once, twice, thrice,
She glides out of the room on tiptoe.
Do not go scowling into work today.
For once, be nice to folks. Surprise them all.
Smile, Man! There’s just no telling what they’ll say!
Though wiser than the rest, you earn crap pay
because—who knows? Although the boss has gall,
do not go scowling into work today.
Good men like you, who work while others play,
must fight the mood of misery and pall.
Smile, Man! There’s just no telling what they’ll say!
Daydreams of golf games in the sun now prey
upon your weary mind. Don’t punch that wall!
Do not go scowling into work today.
Your mood is lower than the grave, deep gray.
But march yourself to work. Look sharp. Stand tall!
Smile, Man! There’s just no telling what they’ll say!
And you, job-hating man, till dark must stay,
resisting that strong urge to start a brawl.
Do not go scowling into work today.
Smile, Man! There’s just no telling what they’ll say!
Posted 1-8-19
Date: January 8, 2019
Contest: Villanelle Placed 4th
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Date: January 15, 2020
Contest Title: Your Best 19-20 Villanelle
Sponsor: William Kekaula
We have to write a lot of essays
and I love it - the twisting of words,
the molding of nouns and verbs until
thoughts are clear and paragraphs
sit symmetrical and idealized.
I’ll write a paper, and scowling,
write another version and another
- lavishing them with attention
until every word is perfect.
I miss handing in papers though
- paper is substantial, not virtual
and even if a paper wasn’t well received
at least you took a tree down with you.
.
.
“You have to write an essay every week, 2000 words” the professors say. The classes groan - but I smile.
The Two goldfish Eric and jaws are swimming around in their bowl on a glass coffee table located in a small apartment block just south of Manhattan’s lower east side .
they begin a conversation about the origins of life.
jaws turns to eric and says ,
"there must be more than this" ?,
Eric replies "don't be ridiculous The world around you is the only one that has life ,the great sprinkler in the sky made us in his own image we clearly came from monkeys he exclaimed ",
jaws the other goldfish scowling,
protested at this remark,
"then who built the statue that stands amongst the silent green ? ,Jaws gestured toward the bottom of their bowl .
"And it Doesn't look like us".
Eric swam on a little further before replying,
"our kind made it many sprinkles ago",
as a tribute, they were simple fish back then , savages even !
that were clearly clueless".
Jaws stopped swimming, "savages ? , that were able to build such a magnificent statue ,with just gravel tools ?, we can't even do that today ! .
"Keep swimming"
Eric exclaimed , or you will ascend up wards and the great sprinkler will take you into the sky" !.
At this jaws swam on , " so you think we are all there is and no other life exists anywhere else" ?.
Eric chuckled "we should not question but just except the fact evolution and the sprinklers teachings are the law and the only dictates we need.
And the world is not the way you
Perceive the world to be ,young jaws of that I promise you ".
At this point of their conversation The two fish had made a five second revolution of the bowl which in their time had = their worlds space nicely , one turned to the other and they began a conversation about the origins of life jaws says to eric "there must be more than this" to which the Eric replies "don't be ridiculous .............
When couples tie the nuptial knot,
They hope to leave the lonely lot.
But far too many newlyweds,
Soon realize their dream has fled.
Instead of being bone of bone,
They live as married and alone.
Feelings become easily bruised,
sparking a cycle of abuse.
The childhood wounds that failed to heal,
greatly affects the way they feel.
The hateful words hurt spouses say,
sear the soul and those old wounds flay.
When violence enters the milieu
The victim feels trapped and unfree.
Their mind is numb and thoughts unclear,
As each new day they live in fear.
The scowling stares, they take their toll,
by slowly stressing sore the soul.
The victim, anxious and depressed
Even in sleep cannot find rest.
The careless words of a dear friend,
crass counselors that do not mend,
a church not caring, callous, cold,
engender suffering untold.
Daily existence feels like hell,
as the soul shrinks to a mere shell.
And then the thoughts begin to tend,
To suicide as welcome friend.
Is there hope for this sad state,
When dreams of love explode in hate.
The God of love who made you both,
Desires to foster your growth.
Stop thinking of who is to blame,
End the name-calling and the shame.
The path to wholeness starts with you,
So, look inside and change your view.
Start looking deep inside your brain.
Explore the hurts that cause you pain.
Ask God above to soothe and heal,
And cause your heart His love to feel.
As each of you begins to heal,
And God’s great love begins to feel.
The grace of God your hearts will fuse,
You’ll love your spouse and not abuse.