Best Shrewish Poems
Cecil the Magician knew a heap of tricks,
But, alas, couldn't get himself out of this fix!
Carl was laid to rest for his eternal snooze,
Brought about by guzzling too much booze!
Pete was a rock-hard liberal Democrat.
Lord, be merciful and forgive him for that!
'Twas well-known that Cletus was such a crooked politician,
That he had to be screwed in the ground by the mortician!
Buster was shot while fencing his plunder.
Now he lies a-moldering six feet under!
Clarice was an avid tea party conservative Republican.
Democrats need her vote - Lord, convert her if you can!
Fred met his doom when his plane malfunctioned.
To make matters worse his parachute disfunctioned!
Here reposes the mortal shell of Marty McCall,
Who met his doom in a barroom brawl!
Bob sank without a trace and things looked grim.
He tried to tell them that he couldn't swim!
At last he found peace when he suddenly died,
But now his shrewish wife dwells by his side!
The doc warned him about all that cholesterol.
Too much meat and taters brought about his fall!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
So slick and sexy. Purred past Temple Bar.
That throaty engine advertising punch.
All legal London, strolling out for lunch,
with turning heads declared, “Now that’s a car!”
So many barristers are – if not losers,
low earners and slow learners. I was one.
I, plodding back from Penge, felt put upon:
a plea, a pittance. Now for Holborn’s boozers.
That mean machine was not for saps like me.
I turned my face towards the threatening rain,
and started wearily up Chancery Lane.
A cup of tea and, hopefully, a fee
awaited me in Chambers. Alloy wheels
slid sleekly, silently – stopped at my side.
That car again! I watched the window glide
wide open. And I almost had to kneel
to see the driver. Handsome. Tall and thin.
The shirt was pastel pink, the tie was silk.
The suit was Savile Row, or of that ilk.
His words astonished me. “Well, clamber in!”
And then the penny dropped. It’s Alex R!
Agility has never been my thing,
so Reaney waited, engine idling,
as I shoe-horned myself into his car.
We’d known each other at the School of Law,
but then our paths had radically diverged.
Me, in pleas and poverty submerged,
and he, the wide blue skies of Libel to explore.
“I’ll run you back to Chambers – beat the rain.”
He asked me what had occupied my morning.
For him, the King’s Bench judges were adjourning.
I’d copped a plea in Penge – how to explain?
The major stars had Alex at the helm
when they unleashed their lawsuits on the press.
Defending thefts of bicycles – and less –
was my domain. He ruled a regal realm.
His clients of the moment, man and wife,
were household names. They’d sold their wedding day
to paparazzi, who refused to pay.
The plaint was something weird, like “Stolen Life”.
The man, from Delaware, big hair, and Jewish.
They crank out movies like there’s no tomorrow
(Chicago, Basic Instinct, Traffic, Zorro):
the girl, from Aberdare – think Cher, and shrewish.
To talk of money is a vulgar thing,
but I was desperate to know his fee.
The forty quid I’d earned, I wouldn’t see
for months to come. His wrists were dripping bling.
We’d be at Chambers in another minute.
“So, Alex,” (best to blurt the damn thing out),
“a case like that. You’re looking at … about …?”
He grinned at me and said, “you’re sitting in it.”
A hiding place, a warm and darkened room,
A lit doorway, bright against the dark,
Cold against the warmth, a frame for odd
Assorted stranger-forms whose faces loom
As quarrels over (what?) convulse and rend them,
Leering laughter giving in to vicious
Sneers, bared fangs, silent snarls
Of wretched, clutching, atavistic mayhem,
A terror once removed. Inside that hole
Distant from the proximal horrid window
Where twisted evil shadow-puppets fight
Peculiar faint amusement seems to roll
Like waves around the cave, detached and born
Of safety via distance, of certainty
That out would never be in, that warmth was safe,
That war above, so far away, forlorn,
Could be watched as from a languid seat
Far recessed in a darkened empty theater,
Nestled snugly, listening to the voice
Which comments on the raging battle heat.
From somewhere up, behind, not left nor right,
But from the center, voice and fight both
Directly sensed, as if they each occurred
In a vacuum, touch and smell, sound and sight
Being interchangeable and void.
The fighters jab and poke, madly gouge,
And neither gains advantage, being justly
Matched, as both are faceless, the man
At left pitted fair against the shrewish
Plot of his opponent, evil woman.
Both in turn appeal for judgment, turning
Away from fighting to glare and wave and hiss
Silently for a verdict on the ghastly driven
Feud which now has stopped, as it began,
Abruptly, and receiving none, for in
The silence no answer can be given
(Besides which, being taken by surprise
And overcome by sudden fear, aware
Of change in circumstance) the watcher is mute,
The murderous woman lunges at his very eyes
In deadly assault, bent on maiming, killing,
Groping fiercely at his open throat
For no apparent reason; and the comfort
Of the soothing voice utterly halts.
Words without sound fly like spears between them
Accusatory fingers gesture madly
And spittle from their half-crazed livid mouths
Wings through air in visual acid anthem
To this grisly deadly tandem fight
That seems the worse being set in relief
By the rectangular hole that serves as both
Window and door, divider of dark and light,
No protection, as threshold battle threatens
Him within, as blind hatred rages
In deft slashes of lengthy fingernails
While foe from foe extracts macabre debt.
Woman
Vain, visceral,
Temptress, shrewish, fickle,
beguiling, bewitching, winsome
Woos man.
~Contset: A Brian Strand, 4 or 5 line Poetry - Cinquain.
~05/26/17
~ Cinquain Express Train contest by John Anderson.
Anchors Aweigh...Destination Unknown
Weather beaten cap'n,
and watertight bewitched craft
time tested since maiden voyage
(circumnavigating the globe
back in the day
of my youth),
I ranked tough as a pitbull,
when severely pitted
against raw elements
of swiftly tailored,
harried stylish nature
against leathery faced
reptilian skin, hard drinking
(actually as corked
poetic convenience - vermouth
arbitrary bottle of choice
if for no other reason,
than to rhyme
with the above line),
and tobacco spitting, while
colorfully swearing as an uncouth
Furies (of Agamemnon) fighting (tooth
and nail) Pirate,
where rickets, scurvy,
and thrice unconscious,
currently ample proof
could not forsooth
bring me to
Davy Jones's locker,
cuz I never wanna
get relegated to an underwater
whale schooled booth,
this raconteur can nonchalantly,
glibly, and blithely attest,
with braggadocio, despite
no warm welcome will
ever greet mine tinnitus
pained ears, I can plainly
imagine acrimonious retort
upon me behest
his far more'n lifetime
bobbing (like a sponge)
buoyed atop crest
longing e'en for
(carping, caviling, hen pecking,
or shrewish) wife,
and loving family
forsaken, sans living
antisocial upon briny deep divest
many opportunities to
experience wedded, webbed
and whirled bliss,
and hence for everest
as bachelor, especially
at present junction
of twilight years,
my crude manners
makes foreign (for
an) ill suited guest
boot e'en if yours truly
became inured to life on land,
(as a "FAKE" father figure
feathering his nest
my coarse behavior, as basic
electric koolaid acid test
would force even
the most tolerant proprietor,
perhaps a bank
manager at Univest
would utter VAMOOSE,
e'en if eye covered up
my heavily pierced,
and tattooed breast.
When Miss Doubtfire moved in
to their heart,
she entered dragon tail swinging
Plastered smiling walls of bachelor resistance
got knocked down
at every single candlelight date demolition
And as the henpeck frowns
rose from the rubble,
an arthropodic shell of a man
was kinda ready
to take a somewhat hard jellyfish stand
But those invertebrate indecisions
would most assuredly get a soft-belly planarian,
a silver hook-thru-the-nose golden band
As the calendar monthly moved closer
to the barracuda tied-knot day,
there was no getting away
from the starfish flip-flop stardust ...
betrothed mollusk ...
pillowy, bent-knee promise made
And that melted-butter, ducky vow
to firmly shut close
the proposed wedding plans gate ...
it went fence straddling again
With the solo living
nearing an end ...
finish line fast approaching —
That ball-and-chain, bold bunny hop jailbreak
was docile, turtle slug running late
Now every waffling, pansy beefcake
who dare procrastinate,
gon get the ring finger ‘cuff-link embrace
Any indecisive invertebrate
who care-free, foolishly hare hesitate
to skip the altar aisle gait —
They will receive
a Groundhog Day mirror fate:
Their spineless soul shall wake each morning,
with Little Boy Blue hard eyes ...
gazing steely
at their shrewish schoolmarm mate
Sadly looking with granite eyes,
at a face
they’ve come to learn to love to hate
Since I began my poetical journey, Mister Guest has been my inspiration.
To emulate this extraordinary poet has ever been my motivation.
He had that rare ability to portray the ordinary wonders of every-day life;
Impish children, the warmth of home and an occasional shrewish wife!
'Twas in my high school English classes that with him I was smitten.
Since then I've enjoyed nearly every poem that he has ever written.
He has gladdened my soul with his wide range of emotions.
His is poetry that has touched hearts here and across the oceans!
"It takes a heap o' livin' in a house to make it home!"
Ah! That splendid line of his evokes warmth of family in my dome!
His is verse that folks can associate with that will stand the test of time.
No haiku or blank verse for him - he wrote with rhythm and rhyme!
He wrote about the joys of youth and the contentment of old age;
Of the vicissitudes of life, dispensing words of advice so sage;
Of the value of work, of beggars and kings and the miracle of love;
The camaraderie of true friendship and guidance from Above.
Dear to my heart shall always be the poetry of Edgar Guest.
His works have inspired generations and we've all been truly blessed.
His legacy will every be the poetry he left behind for the human race.
He has crossed that mysterious veil and now rests in God's embrace.
From poverty to superrich,
A Prima Donna - some say witch -
But what a voice that lady had.
Oh, she was Tosca, driven mad,
And she was Norma, Butterfly,
And many more who loved, to die.
She died alone, a broken heart:
Maria Callas lived for art.
(witch wasn't the word I originally wrote, but it wasn't permitted - witch in this
context means shrewish woman).
He's rode the rods from California to the state of Maine.
Long ago he rejected ordinary life with absolute disdain!
He loves the gypsies' life - he craves neither hearth or dwellin'.
Where he'll lay his head tonight, there just ain't no tellin'!
He travels in boxcars with bums and thieves eludin' the 'bulls',
That bane of tramps who'd just as soon bash their skulls!
He cares not one tittle about its routin' nor final destination.
Shucks! To him it's another all-expenses paid vacation!
He may choose to visit Florida to enjoy its balmy breezes,
Colorado, Texas, Wisconsin or anywhere he pleases!
He'll need some cash, though steady work ain't his style,
So he may head to Oregon to pick apples for a while!
He'll stop here and there for a repast of hobo jungle stew,
Addin' cadged onions and taters to that pungent brew.
On his bourne he'll look for hobo signs on every gate and pole,
That might mean beans and bread from some charitable soul!
He gladly forsook the vexations of a drab and mundane life.
Ain't no way he'll be saddled with bills and a shrewish wife!
He's content to abide by the hobo's uncomplicated code,
This free roamin' vagabond, this hardy Knight of the Road!
(25 April 2012)
A shrewish March wind horangs the night
like a carousing husband
tossing stray sticks down alleys.
Dicey bits of street refuse
fight with the upward thrust
of crocus and daffodil
spearing the bosom of frost heaves.
The world seems torn with indecision.
scratching and clawing at the overcast night.
Battalions of crisply dead brown leaves
surge toward gutters
clogging the escape routes
of winter's troops and the rain.
Soon, Spring will rip new life
from the dripping jaws of Winter
once aboard the desert submarine
anchored by the golden sundial
outlandish and phosphorescent
we crossed the greatness
of many drowned landscapes
fluxes of algae and shrewish freesias
cloistering up
dans le château à la lune
where the ragman’s lantern announces
the arrival of the fearful butter knight
he’s tattered and salted
the endangered specimen
straight from the cabinet of Walter Potter
the missing piece of a lifeless diorama
the granite giant of bronze ages
walking at the speed of light
he’s an itinerant vendor
and with his grand dexterity
he’ll get us before we
summon the witnesses
his crime forgotten
his crime simply victimless
once aboard the desert submarine
we’re outlandish and phosphorescent
and we’ll have our moon Halloween
and honeymoon of adolescence
The Ravens had a fight this morning.
She threw him out of the house.
Not sure what she was yelling at him
But I think she called him a louse.
So outside the nest he went
And found a branch outside the door
And there he sat and sat and sat,
Guarding the nest and more.
No matter what has started the row
It's obvious to my eye
That he's a protective father
Who chose to stay, not fly.
So now her shrewish voice has stopped
Harping at her poor mate.
I feel sorry for those babes in the nest
If to listen to her is their fate.
The Ravens had a fight this morning.
She threw him out of the nest.
In a few months they will have moved on,
I guess that's for the best.
elegantly dressed
her black hair in a tight bun
above her proud head
like a coiled up rattlesnake
flared hood and ready to strike
"Tanka 3" contest by Andrea Dietrich
I Roundly Square Prayer...
Despite imprecations
yielding "FAKE" impact
upon the head of this atheist,
especially when thy
(untamable) shrewish wife
takes umbrage against this beast
tee boy up hoar excuse for a
husband precariously
bass (sic) lee perched
on a figurative
tightrope in creased
when withering tension (such as
chronic money woes
raises an ugly head
imploring a sudden cosmic deist
convert to pluck me
out this marriage well greased
with decades of vitriolic
verbal eminent amber gris,
where envisioning being swallowed
by Moby Dick haint half as bad
as incessant thrashing from spouse,
who expatiates, then gets cross
at this near expired dad,
when aye experience her
off fish shell reel
(hook, line and
sinker), where (when),
she looses (and loses) wrath
of Queen Kong sprinkling
unladylike cringeworthy
four lettered laced profanity largesse
(Sargasso Sea sunned)
favorite foul mouthed fad,
which "sailor blushing" gasp
finds me swallowing
hard syllabic retort (consonant
effe f**k hay shuss
m*th*r - f*ck*r) "EEE GAD"
bringing to ma mind, how parents
used to bad mouth me
(their only son),
when he hapt tubby
a passively aggressive lad
where booth me
late mum, and papa
got red red hot
poker (faced) mad
cuz, aye got born this way
at those accursed moments
futilely half heartedly praying
aware oye vey
knowing full well beseeching
divine alien abduction
all for naught!
Anchors Aweigh...
destination unknown
for this Earthling
stardate: February 26th, 2022
At sea since time immemorial
I relish being alone
upon oceanic expanse
yours truly doth bemoan
me gal Sal (one among
numerous female confidantes),
no matter, she easily
mistaken as a crone
magical powers keep
her manning far aloft drone
as surveillance hovers above me
(to intercept encrypted
communication maintained
courtesy bluetooth earphone)
the two of us sol survivors
I feel like a foreigner since
global thermonuclear war
bombed webbed wide world
into pulverized power
vaguely similar landscape
to age of Fred Flintstone
and Barney Rubble
recurring memories redolent
of yesteryear, whereby I groan
though simple living
such as me and the missus
did Potschke coaxing homegrown
organic fruits and vegetables,
though, I attest we did
get violently angry with each other
and unwittingly cross interzone
where brickbats exchanged,
especially after she discovered
an illicit extramarital affair
between myself and Joan
since kindergarten her I known.
Weather beaten cap'n,
and watertight bewitched craft
time tested since maiden voyage
(circumnavigating the globe
back in the day of my youth),
I ranked tough as a pitbull,
when severely pitted
against raw elements
of swiftly tailored,
harried stylish nature
against leathery faced
reptilian skin, hard drinking
(actually as corked
poetic convenience - vermouth
arbitrary bottle of choice
if for no other reason,
than to rhyme
with the above line),
and tobacco spitting, while
colorfully swearing as an uncouth
Furies (of Agamemnon)
fighting (tooth
and nail) Pirate,
where rickets, scurvy,
and thrice unconscious,
currently ample proof
could not forsooth
bring me to Davy Jones's locker,
cuz I never wanna
get relegated to an underwater
whale schooled booth,
this raconteur can nonchalantly,
glibly, and blithely attest,
with braggadocio, despite
no warm welcome will
ever greet mine tinnitus
pained ears, I can plainly
imagine acrimonious retort
upon me behest
his far more'n lifetime
bobbing (like a sponge)
square pants float
buoyed atop crest longing e'en for
(carping, caviling, hen pecking,
or shrewish) wife.