Best Self Satisfied Poems
courtesy of management in general
and particularly Jackie Geiger
assistant property agent.
One benefit living social
at Highland Manor Apartments
until decrepit and bent...
constitutes qualifying for reimbursement
direct deposited into checking
as chump change event,
hence one generic grateful gent
feels self satisfied as Clark Kent.
After broken wing and prayer
granted courtesy The Flying Tigers
at long last located valuable information
issued December of each year
surprisingly enough exactly where
social security (2021) 1099 form
remained untouched, I swear,
yet earlier yesterday April 5th, 2022
at 1500 hours though very near,
and finally located necessary documentation
(think rental rebate) here
with unexpected discovery
birthed following poem aware
many if not all avid readers
will not care, nor give rat's a$$
regarding humdrum minor dilemma
involving one bonafide
*****sapiens merely
bruising himself – common Joe
garden variety generic biomass,
nonetheless, he fetes, lauds, tauts...
rental rebate tantamount
approximating financial reimbursement
without being unduly crass.
Thus reasonable rhyme
yours truly doth aire
without stut... stut...
stuttering, yet no guarantee
wordsworth their weight
in gold will ring clear
more likely receive
frosty reception everywhere
across world wide web,
perhaps with unwelcome glare,
yet profuse apology
if man with wit - me,
(i.e. Whitman) didst unwittingly interfere
with unwanted distraction
courtesy bobbing square
pants donned sponge
soaking up precious time (yours)
foolish longfellow rushing in where
one capricorn long since wed
not nsync, but alone,
cuz angels fear to tread
"quod erat demonstrandum"
forgotten Latin accessed
at least once year
when yours truly crafts poetry
more familiarly recognized as Q.E.D.
(shares close pronunciation
with ska quid word)
ditch costs extra nay saying
horse sense according to Ned,
whoop sorry, I meant mister Ed.
Long before dawn
we find
the most incredible
silent energy.
A line of cars
and trailers
packed with
questionable treasures
idle,
waiting for their
booth assignments.
In the field,
in the light of headlights
hushed merchants
set up their tents
and tables startled
only by an occasional
tent pole striking
the pavement.
Some, self satisfied,
have been set up for hours,
these are the "professionals",
who calmly wait for the start.
Various degrees of chaos
marked the rest
as they try to decide
how to best present their
once prized,
nostalgia wrapped,
discarded, rejected,
hopefully priced right,
wares.
In the half light
a question permeates the air.
It is a question that goes back in time
before mini-vans and pick-ups
to push carts and horse carts
and before.
Will I make enough to cover
the booth fee?
Will I sell enough to cover
the check I wrote to pay
the booth fee?
Will I make enough to pay
rent, feed my children?
What will I do if this doesn't
work?
Part 2.
Into the wasteland he flies
To bury the souls of lies,
Beneath the leaves of time,
Dirty deeds must dirty die.
This then the watchman must do:
Step on the fingers that try,
With downward pulls to pry,
Into doom flower faces,
These flowers must not die.
--
The conquistador arrived.
He gazed at the unscathed bounty standing
Respect-less before him and squinted.
Surveying the laughing land,
He made up his mind with astute rat-like grace
And thrust with self-satisfied lust his mighty sword into the sand.
God’s word thus bespoken he listened, breathlessly.
The jungle though could not understand
Tectetan, tectetan, tectetan
Nor chose to hear or fear
This little man,
Oh thou little man, thou little man
What is your plan,
Little man?
The jungle laughed, unbothered
Unmoved it ignored
Untouched it continued
Unfettered it roared
With sparkling green verdant song to sing,
It sang.
The conquistador fumed
Scarlet red
Vino roja bottled fumes
Of smoky rage
Stomping he retorted
Thou art doomed
Veni Vidi Vici he screamed
Satisfied, mesmerized
With scroll in hand he did announce
All that is yours is mine
It says so in this paper
The King has made it divine
Mine Mine and only Mine
Did he but announce
Without a golden ounce
Of irony’s feathered face
Whose trace,
With obsidian plans to erase
Surely soon he would get to know.
Breathlessly he stood once again, the conquistador did
Assuming
The noise, ploys and feathery joys
Of the jungle toys he heard
Marked abdications hour
At work already
At hand
To make this land
His.
Impatient
Making up his mind
Marching straightforwardly
Towards the eye of the jungle
Sacking with gaze the mighty maze
Of spider green vines hiding before him
The craze of ores whose mint would course the earth
Soon to raise his rank to that of Jerusalem’s teutonic bearded men
He was surprised when he saw
Three sets of steely indian eyes
Peering through the jungle wall
And the flying hatchet hit him hard and true
And for all we knew he never came back again
“Ecab cotoch”
Who are these?
Pinstripe assassins,
That stride; self satisfied,
The world is theirs,
To do as they wish.
Sipping coffee,
From little white cups
Guardians of the system.
Soldiers of capital,
Unreal.
Joyce K
There is this Lady I know, I thought I knew.
Could I have been so wrong, from my point of view ?
She perceives herself, a cardboard silhouette of a soul,
a papier mache doll, an image we all should know.
A shallow pond residing in the middle of this human ocean
is how she sees herself to be – a very strange notion
for me to comprehend as I look into the depths of her mind
and reflect upon all I know, that has shown her to be so kind,
deep, thoughtful, caring - giving her all throughout
her living a life of advocacy, concern and no doubt,
much, much more than I know or of my word
- in this attempt at poetry – that she might have heard.
This Lady with such a fine mind – a model for man kind –
who looks back in time, within, and cannot seem to find
one moment in a long ( seventy eight years ) life time
to recall, remember, feel her humanness in a flake of love,
a speck of joy, a line of happiness, a pool of blissfulness from above,
a stream of contentment, satisfaction for and from all the good
she has done for this world of troubled mankind, where he stood
the self. the self-satisfied, the self-destructive, and the lost.
I want to believe she has known a flake, a speck. a line tossed,
a pool, a stream and that these have been a part of her experience.
Are known, if not in the conscious, in the subconscious existence.
Is she to be, not but – as we look upon and within – veneer ?
A mosaic overlay on cardboard papier mache, she wants us to hear.
Not a mighty Oak, Maple, Mahogany, Teak, Burl just a paper doll.
Is this the carefully contrived image she believes ?, is this her fall
from grace ?, she thinks herself to be ?, - not the beauty of soul, of acts,
of the face I know, - but a mask to hide what?/, what are the facts ?
Is she this hollow, empty cardboard papier-mache doll ?, devoid
of feelings, of love, just walking through life, living it, must avoid.
I think not, nor can I – not even in my wildest of dreams believe
or perceive of such possibilities - but then, who am I to conceive,
to question the perception of the one who should truly know
herself, intimately better than anyone else on this planet could show.
So all these assumptions I have put out there, I should retrieve.
B. J. “A” 2
May 14th 2005
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXXI
IF you pull a long lagging-behind face
You deserve your copycat status in more than one way
Marco Polo brought back cracker-power not to powder face
Noble Savage Injuns and Indians shuddered and gave way
Now if you pull a long WOG face
Aping the Colonial Master in every bourgeois way
No use straddling neck feet dangling front of face
Giant still supports the Dwarf while striding away
If you still will pull that long sullen " heathen " face
Thinking how easy the tidal wave you'd turn back anyway
Vasco's galleons rained broadside thunder balls on village place
While your loin-clothed turbaned ancestors scurried in fear
If you then pull your long self-satisfied face
At your hosts' Midas touch riding main fleets of Raleigh
To stud Crown lapis lazuli rubies opal spice and maize
Needs he as much now you to beg fawn and yeah-say
If you must then pull your long infra-dig face
Hankering after titles prizes rubbing shoulders in hallowed hallway
Colonial caste of mind gives exacting the Shylock pound of flesh
Smites your integrity dignity breaks spirit robs merits if " I YOU DARE ! " say
© T. Wignesan - Paris, February 8, 2019
an attentive passerby can hear the full bloom raucous
gardens have been awakened by the iridescent sun
tulip orchids, with their gray-green leaves of glaucous
heed to chimes of silver and blue bells, rivalry has begun
in full flower, cherry blossoms bask in their self-satisfied beauty
exotic birds of paradise scoff, deeming uniqueness more pleasing
rainbow irises snicker at dahlias, labelling them snooty
lilacs and hyacinths gang up on jasmine with their teasing
competition is fierce, as crocus and primrose compete
impatiens can’t wait to hear who gets the “first spring flower” title
***** willows attempt to tame the tiger lilies, but face defeat
the gerberas were right; this will be one lively spring recital
April 09, 2012
For CONTEST - where have all the flowers gone (Lisa Hiatt)
You
will find
your
next victim.
You
will be
sexually attracted
to her.
At First:
But you
will soon
get bored.
Then
you will play
the game
of tearing
her apart.
Because
you will
have
Utter Contempt
and
Pure Hatred
in your heart.
Then
you will
start to
suggest
that
she kill
herself already.
Because
in your eyes
that is
the perfect
murder.
Get
a woman
to
commit suicide
then claim
that's she's
Nuts and Crazy
anyway.
And
you think
you can
walk away
Self-Satisfied
that you
got away
with it.
But God,
My true God
is
watching you
along
with
his angels.
And
believe me.
They
will deal
with you.
You
Unholy One.
"The Unholy" song by Slash
(This is nonfiction)
My cat went a roaming to find a new home.
Sing kitty,sing katty,sing Oh!
This cat was so clever he had his own comb.
Look up,now look down,stone the crows!
He went into the neighbours' and drank all their milk.
Sing,fridge raiding kitties.No,No!
Then he laid himself down on a piece of fine silk.
Sing,what the dickens,my lovely pillow!
He went to the butcher and ate all the steak.
Sing greedy,he's ruined my flow.
Then he went to the hairdresser for a shampoo.
Where else can a puttitat go?
He had no plastic,no money,no cheque!
Sing,cheater,sing creature,sing woe.
She sent for a Copper who paid the cat's bill.
And so my puss came out all aglow.
Now my cat was glossy and plump and refreshed.
Sing:fancy,it all goes to show.
So he came home and said this place is best.
And he picked up his cello and bow.
He scraped some Sibelius and also some Grieg.
Sing: Northern lights can always glow.
But,he looked so self satisfied,I felt annoyed....
One should not let one's narcissism show.
But he was so handsome,I was glad he came home.
Sing,grateful,sing katefull,sing Ho!
And I hope he will never again want to roam.
Sing glory.sing story;Sing So!
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXI
IF you pull a long Moon face
Watching our Earth clad in sparse swirling white sarée
Her aqua-marine waters cuddling her reddish brown body-surface
The dazzlingly rare Pearl now throttled by deadly débris
If you then pull a long Other-Moon face
Rolling weightless in a space-ship bathed in thermo-dynamic ray
You turn your thoughts on the marvels of the man-made science race
And then give the credit to Our-Nation GOD Is this really okay
Then if you pull a long bright Sunny face
And forget the reasons why this World of ours has gone astray
Man's inhumanity to Man how warring nations destroy Nature's grace
Pollute the depths of oceans cancer in the bowels flora and fauna sans say
If you continue to pull a long self-satisfied face
In the name of the Lord for every national achievement His blessings pray
Then repeat non-sensical myths and rituals in His Honour according to race
Reduce the United Nations to hypocritical inner politicking yeah-say
Thus if you must pull a long-travestied face
All through the Ages on the dictates of your incontrovertible DNA
Seek by every economic ruse power of class and caste on skins of race
Sing not of the beauty of this rare Pearl decorating space Put the blame squarely on Divine Lila play
© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 20, 2019
It existed, backwoods,
Since the peaceful childhood;
Where only tranquility,
Warmth and tenderness
Bordered our intentness.
However getting into life..
Absorbing experience,
Getting well-known to what's novel,
Taking hard fortitudes,
Contributing all accessible chances
Attempting for a better eventual,
Leading for a self-satisfied grownup,
Are snatching it from me.
Whatever authorities were,
Hard decisions must be picked up.
Requesting luxurious serendipity,
Requires much sufferance
And acclimates the envier thirsty,
But at least confident,
For assuming it in a misty finality.
The anger gurgled up my chest painfully, hurtingly explosive -
That she would interpret me like that.
That she might be right -
That there was an element of truth in what she said.
Her preaching self-satisfied face looked ugly
With the complacent smile
Of having made her point.
She might be right indeed
But something for her died in me then.
All the warm feelings that wanted me
To give her my soul
Died in me then
I could not - would not respond.
I will not respond -
I will play the game of
'Everything is perfect'
And survive this time
And never say and walk away!
Without you I feel things differently
No longer my lonely content
My self-satisfied substance
Now it seems vacuous, blank.
Without you, I cannot imagine
That I have not changed
A new globe of enchantment
Now possesses me.
Without you, I cannot tolerate
The absence of your smile
Your gentle words
Your wisdom
Without you, I'm drifting
Past desolate shores
Suffering these thoughts
Without you
I am a true contemporary
who knows how to acceptably
write a poem. First with a tangible
aroma of burnt toast, I will run on
my imaginary couplets like a stroke
victim of the modern prejudices.
(Strophe’s choice is put aside, and
Iamb not going to count my feet.)
Once cute, most common figures of speech have
worn out their fashion like poorly matched metaphors.
(Do not rhyme, remember, do not rhyme,
as you wax nostalgic for some childhood time… damn!)
Pent up pentameter oozes with therapeutic
confessionals that spring or dance or likewise
incongruently twist uncomfortably on the page,
while conjuring an image both shamefully personal
and embarrassingly boring from a tourist’s slide show
or the shoebox full of faded, classic Polaroids.
Sardonically satiristic, I’ll reach-around to reference
an obscurely erudite portrait of some saint, like
Christina The Astonishing’s flight into the rafters
of the church to avoid the stink of her own kind.
And at the end of a turbulent typhoon of irregular lines
washing deeply into the recesses of nowhere in particular,
I will, after too long a time, finally and hopefully declare:
une mule morte sur les clefs du piano.
Self satisfied, I’ll end my rant -- non sequitur but unchallenged…
or would you prefer a tantalizing inquiry of you, Dear Reader?
Which one is your chosen poison?
I dare you to say none
But both you and I know
Out of seven there will be one
Let's go through them one at a time
Come to a possible solution
For if you're going to go to hell
At least know for which Deadly Sin
Are you always yearning for something?
Possessions or wealth, do you feel a need?
Constant thoughts of want on your mind
All bought out by Greed
Sumptuous feasts with plenty to consume
Indulging in delights with no company
Excessively eating more than is required
Extravagance brings with it Gluttony
Desires that need fulfilment
Thoughts and actions to some disgust
Craving pleasures of the body
Satisfying the craving of Lust
What someone else has do you desire?
Think you're better than many?
Jealousy to some it is known
That green eyed monster Envy
Unwilling to get too physical
Lazing around like a loath
Failure completing that which is required
Characteristics common with Sloth
Always in a rage, seeking out revenge
A vindictive nature enabling you to bash
Extreme anger coupled with hate
A furious temper known as Wrath
Belief that you are superior
Always feeling very self satisfied
Called vain on many occasions
This arrogance is Pride
No one is perfect these sins are proof
But now you can try to dispel
Behaviour and actions of any given sin
You may even stay out of hell!
05/02/2016