Best Self Appointed Poems
In a mire brewed
betwixt puddles of hell and mute dissent
a martyr wades -
weighed down by chains of shame and disdain
alas the thirsting self-absorbed swamp
distills and swills her stewed silence
and swallows the last embers
from her goblet of dreamer’s fire
pursed breaths are pickpocketed by the shallows
in a breathless vertical twist
an escapist is lost in the swirl of a chambered nautilus
distanced and deserted in the dance of descent
stillness belies the waterline’s greed
as a heroine’s salvage is suffocated -
the slick of self-appointed apathy anoints the surface
and a disquieted wind rises to bend the will of reeds
their flutes airing plainsong in forced supplication
yet carelessly cast away like spindrift from broken crests
while storm clouds blindfold wide-eyed skies
stifling any play of sun on water
Susan Ashley
May 1, 2020
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 1
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Spiral
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
I had not been on another poetry site even a week
And l had already crossed paths with a bully
A self appointed “Professor of Poetry” it seems
Who spewed out rude comments regularly
Now, I don’t know your name
So I will call you Richard
(DICK for short!)
Insulting and belittling
Others poems and effort
Is not called advice or support!
Now DICK, some of us just like to write poems
Simple though that may be
Not for judgement or accolades
Just for the joy of poetry
Being hurtful , rude and insensitive
Arrogant, intimidating and just unkind
Does not make you knowledgeable or gifted
Or a poet of any kind
DICK ….your words have no impact on me
I am strong and your words meaningless and weak
My concern is for the young or vulnerable
Who may be affected or scarred by this garbage you speak
DICK ….. I suspect you think you are superior
Intelligent and of a better class
But DICK I think you are doing a handstand
And talking out your ar*e
Who gave you the right to be so judgemental
To think it’s ok to humiliate and be cruel
DICK you just make yourself look like
An absolute DICK fool …..
Beautiful Ones
Aloft in the steam, they look like Eagles.
Perched now on the edge of the bowl,
proud courtesies peck the kind and meek
with true meanings and Premier trophies.
Unprecedented vanity creates illusion
with self appointed monarchs.
Court jesters perform a merry dance
patronizing peasants.
Draws the gaze towards the stage,
demands the ‘groundlings’ awe.
Under their script, the knees bend
as truth is removed by deleted scenes.
Kings and queens laugh sadistically
offering a standing ovation, but
festivities are interrupted abruptly,
as valiant knights rebel against oppression.
Disrobed, their crowns become
spears through the sternum’s shield,
impales hearts that only bleed
weak fallacies and pretentious devices.
As their guise becomes clear,
anemic vultures are revealed.
Perched upon a bowl of blood,
anticipating their next persecution.
-------------------------------------------
A collaboration with Silent One
Inspired by the Globe Theatre
05.16.16
Around that table, picture the scene
Self appointed leaders if you know what I mean
What were the topics on the Agenda that day
The Jewish race is about to pay
Who gave the right for this decision that's made
Who has the right to cleanse and degrade
To decide who lived, to decide who dies
Another chapter, I still wonder why
They came in the day they came in the night
Women and children pulled out of sight
Herded aboard like cattle and sheep
Many a family awoke from their sleep
Dazed and confused as they are taken away
Where will they be at the end of the day
From their warm houses and their warm beds
What must be going through their heads
As they travel through days and through the night
Up ahead, they see lots of lights
They depart the trucks and board the train
Their faces scared under the strain
Asking questions from family and others
Generations, sisters and brothers
Why are we here, where are we going
Windowless carriages with no way of knowing
We come to a stop, soldiers aplenty
Towers and wire, topped with sentries
What can this place be they have taken us to
As we head to large gates as they shuffle us through
Families separated, herded in file
Women and children, not one did smile
Taken to rooms where our heads were shaved
Is this the way humans behaved
Clothes discarded, as we enter the shower
No signs of water no signs of power
Doors slammed as we are all crammed in
History will recall this evil of sins
As we stand in the dark, chanting Jewish faith
Can hear the voices can't see the face
Noises above, do the showers start
The event has begun that tells us Humans apart
Questions and sighs, as walled vents show daylight
Some thing is falling then their slammed tight
A strange aroma starts to fill the air
As all around are screams of despair
Twenty minutes have passed and the quietness is rife
Two thousand people, two thousand lives
Pellets called HCN, or Hydrogen Cyanide
Contribute to this Genocide
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-2.php
I am
the password you created
in a moment of delusional confidence,
the one you swore you’d never forget
and immediately did.
I am
the self-appointed sentinel of your sanity,
a smug little gremlin
gleefully watching you guess wrong
with theatrical disappointment.
I am
the reason your coffee gets cold,
the cause of your clenched jaw,
the villain in your otherwise peaceful morning.
I am
the cryptic code you cobbled in haste
strewn with symbols you cannot recall
crowned with capital letters
and numbered hints that once made sense
now mercilessly mocking you
from the digital void.
I am
the digital deity
who denies you entry
with a single icy phrase:
“Incorrect. Try again.”
And when you finally crack me
sweaty, triumphant, trembling~
I will rise once more and decree,
with all the arrogance of a tiny tyrant:
“Your password has expired.
Create a new one.”
They march like a circus of self appointed kings
Waving their gossip around like puppets on strings
They whisper my name like it’s top secret news
Buddy relax…I’m not Bigfoot in shoes
They huddle in corners with insider facts
Somehow their stories come up missing the facts
They talk like detectives with clues they invented
Solving the case of, “Im jealous but vented!”
They post little comments with bravery borrowed
Courage on loan due back by tomorrow
Roasting me in public with chest puffed bravado
Vanishing in person like where’s Waldo?
They act like professors of all about me
Skipping every class past Assumption 103
They major in drama with minors in snark
Graduating daily with honors in bark
CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL
Of all creatures great and small
Insects are most assiduous folk of all
They perform assigned duties each day
And let nothing dissuade them on their way
The till the soil and collect the forage
Their labor brings them food, some for storage
Their diligent spirits have no equaled pace
Mostly repulsed by a higher stationed race
Human beings became Self appointed superiors
But without these small beasts humans would be their inferiors
My lawyer drives a Jaguar,
a slim and glitzy marque.
He seldom ventures near the Law,
(the work's done by his clerk),
buts sends in bills at Partners Rates;
that avaricious shark.
My Broker's Merc is spanking new;
it takes his fishing rod.
He, as of right, once gently slipped
in shoes his father trod.
All pomp and circumstance he struts,
this self appointed God.
Accountants' BMWs
have litres by the score.
Mine's filled his up with gadgetry
and Wilton on the floor.
And now he's had his Coat of Arms
emblazoned on the door.
I used to have a set of wheels,
a Morris Minor van.
It was a dear and much loved friend
which ran and ran and ran.
I polished it with tender care
and was its greatest fan.
Alas! It's gone to pay the bills.
But why? I cannot see.
All day they guff and huff and puff
and then demand a fee.
I do not want their 'sound advice',
I want a car - for me!
~
For Carol Brown's 'First Car' Contest by Charles Clive.
A few quiet hours of solitude, detached from life by choice,
Apart and withdrawn from humanity - the world;
Solitude, tranquility - O, sweet the peace and quiet,
In this self-appointed quarantine, this silent retreat.
I savour the stillness, the distant sounds of traffic and sirens,
A wind-mobile tinkling, the birds twittering, unseen;
O, I am not forsaken with loneliness, the opposite be true,
This is a state of alone on my journey in discovery.
Like the solitude of a lighthouse keeper, by choice - silence,
O, splendid isolation, seclusion, aloneness, remoteness;
I love this time where I can find my soul and my words,
Cut-off from worldly matters and in a state of alone.
Did you know, one can be in solitude even in a busy crowd,
O, yes - in a used bookstore amongst tattered books;
At the library engrossed in the rows and rows of knowledge,
The art gallery - lost in beauty - of lovely flowers.
And of course, lost in the famous poets and artists of the past,
As I am today - in my detachment and reclusion;
In a quest of reading, learning, writing poetry and solitude,
O, sweet the breeze blowing and a little cat purring.
_____________________________
May 27, 2015
Poetry/Verse/"A Few Quiet Hours"
Copyright Protected, ID 05-677-503-27
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted into the Standard contest, Late April
sponsor, Brian Strand Judged 2015
Third Place
BRIDGES OF SARAJEVO
So stirs the heart of man, the great delight,
to raise a banner high, the march of fate;
to lead the way, where only dark of night,
might find a way to quench the thirst for hate;
and lessor men will follow any call,
of self appointed leaders of the day,
the good, the bad, the dead, but butchers all,
some crowned in light, the others in decay!
To follow is the way, if wrong or right,
determined by the ones who stand at last,
we hold this judgement as if heaven might
just comprehend the end that binds us fast.
Our bridges to be crossed, are Hate and Death
Protected by our foul and Balkan breath.
© Ron Arbuthnot aka Ron Wilson
Ain't no wonder we're baffled about eatin' - ever'thing is taboo.
We're deluged by self-appointed gurus toutin' their points uv view.
Can't they desist and find somethin' more productive to do?
They can eat their tofu and water cress- I prefer a hearty stew!
The experts can't determine which is best, reg'lar coffee er decaf,
So I slurp my mornin' joe, settlin' fer a mug uv half n' half.
Fast foods ain't recommended but I'd fight fer Burger King Whoppers!
Ain't nobody tellin' me what I can er can't chomp on with my choppers!
Some folks say aigs is good fer you - some say they're not.
I eat 'em boiled, fried and scrambled - it don't mean diddley squat!
Another profound debate persists and causes me to muse,
Is whether it's wholesome er not to partake uv a snort of booze!
Seems these fellers jes' confound our lives and like to obfuscate,
Leavin' the rest uv us bewildered as they continue their debate.
My cholesteral, glucose and platelets wuz perfect in my last exam.
I've survived nigh four-score years eatin' pizza, cake and spam!
I guess its politically correct to engage in the latest dietary fad,
But in brief, here's the case uv my dear old Mom and Dad.
They et what they wanted and survived four-score years and more,
Never mindin' the cholesterol, fats and carbs that docs now abhor!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Heat my heart I hear a hero
this soul soothed, stilled, and silenced
golden, growth, gave me a guru
within, wild, waiting to whisper
I inclined, initiate impossible
imagine infinite isn't so infamous
IMHO SMH serves no justice
TKO LOL no need omega
delighted to deliver dharmic direction
self-appointed steward of selfless
practiced not perfect, positive portions
critical for compassionate connections
we, world, will win, with unity
culture continues to counter crosses
mediated meeting my middles merciful
If you think you know then answers pass by
not one mind built this vision
landmine lands filled with landfills
minus minding multiple menaces
covet care cause its a rare case
corporate ladder, or conscious staircase
choices chastised, for coursing courageous
caring contagious, counting on cowards
evils aired aren't left faceless
sights for sure are sore from wayside
be the change to see a day is seized
stay cold-hearted and this place will freeze
Anyone who thought that I follishly picked a rabbit, a cat,
a sheep, a bird or frog as an animal for my impersonating:
must have the wrong assumption...it would be a big insult!
How would anyone see me becoming one of those?
Has anyone thought of me as a ferocious lion instead?
I would be the king of the jungle, but it could get worse!
I will be demanding obedience and loyalty from every small and big animal
that I have recorded in this book and as their leader I'll be just and pliant,
but wouldn't they envy me for my pretty lioness queen so gentle and beautiful?
Only lions have the ability to lead, solving the issues of justice, equality and fairness;
others may not seek the powerful ivory scepter I'll be holding in my claws,
and from this throne made of straw...they'll admire my sovereignty and mighteness!
Who's laughing in the noisy trees, where lots of monkees devour ripe bananas?
Who's shaking the brenches to make them fall and and land where I stand?
Don't they see the crown I'm wearing which intimitates the elephants and giraffes?
Nobody should be afraid of a docile lion that would turn ferocious...
if the jealous ones continued to ignore me and flashed looks of contention,
and although I am a self-appointed king, I can be kind, not atrocious!
Entered in Kristen Bruni's contest,
" If I Was Animal What Would I Be? "
written by Andrew Crisci
Never forgetting those loud voices
Voices acting as the vehicles of historical antimonies
Antimonies which in themselves are testimonies of ideological betrayal
These conflicting mirages of imagination
Divorcing the empirical from the theoretical
And shouts from the Actions.
Abreast the crest of rejected African egos,
Egos which perhaps are the ‘ethos’ of a ‘timeless’
Pan-Africanism.
An Africanism whose essence has now been,
Destroyed by this phase of
Nihilism.
These self –appointed
Medians of history
Medians fancying themselves as the only mediums of
The historical message,
A message whose true medium is that which
Reaches the ordinary man struck by poverty.
Are indeed medians in as much as they are comedians,
In a comedy whose true heroes are dead.
In this desolate world so filled with every distraction
Each situation so demanding of a knee jerk reaction
Where time is money allowing greed to become king
Know that the fog will never lift until it’s Gods praises that we sing
Where everything seems to be just completely falling apart
And it’s getting harder and harder to find even one good heart
Where unborn life is destroyed based on continual self appointed right
And as such you can see how so many souls have lost their sight
With war encroaching upon us from every single side
As though from all this planted evil we are now being tried
But really the worst is yet to have even nearly come
As to Gods Loving Grace this world has become numb
Stumbling about below His Light as but a fool
Seeing how satin has so deeply staked his claim to rule
With so much of this fog now clouding our future road
Then reality comes of all the horror that we have sowed