Best Shrilly Poems
Fluttering beneath the newly cut
Festive green hollies,
Decked out with heaped drapes
Of freshly fallen snow,
A bold little red breasted Robin,
Busily searching,
Cheerfully hops to and fro.
Darting between the soft, swirling
flakes
Of unique crystalline, driven without
respite,
He alights upon his sheltered
perch
And begins to shrilly trill:
Against the on coming, long
Drawn out Christmas night.
For the drawing darkness is
deepening,
Whilst the harsh wind blows so chill;
And, gently waking
From nonsensical dreaming,
I harken to the old dog Fox,
As, barking, he pads on down
Through the gorse strewn hill.
Suddenly stirred from dozing
Idleness,
As the charred log shifts and
settles in the grate,
I recall with vivid fondness:
Some old memories, good times,
The well meant promises
I did so earnestly to undertake.
Of old acquaintance...
Not forgotten,
And those that were
Or are no more,
Of circumstance and friendship:
And of they
That daily come
To pass through my open door.
But now the flames from the fire,
Dancing in the frosted window
panes,
Are calling for the poker
So I may stoke the blaze again;
For turning my warming back
Upon the locked out winters keep...
I hear that steadfast little Robin
Sing once more -
As I fall back into uncontested sleep!
Categories:
shrilly, christmas,
Form:
Rhyme
Appreciation:
A big thank you Silent One for your splendid narration of this poem.
THE GANGSTER
Through foreboding, whispering, wintery air
A woken Heron shrilly shrieks somewhere
Reflective iridescent gem in a gloomy stream
The gangster with a poetic heart dares to dream
A living testimony to deviates and lost souls.
Where seedy worth defines unsavoury roles.
Perceiving her as a quintessence work of art
Fantasising a new start could transform his path
But his formidable foe of unbeatable might
Silently rejects him from her soulless sight
Scheming secrets spill, in the ruthless thrill,
While Angels weep for innocents who sleep
Nearer to his mark, prey to her game
Shame, oh shame! Like a moth to the flame.
Though only murder glows in her beauteous glance
The man gambles chance at a shot at romance
The bar reeks of treachery and strife
Trust is sporadic in a gangster’s life
Romantic interchange in hidden codes
Not charmed by romance, a single shot explodes
In this world of corrupt nights, where the energy dips
Between Jack Daniels sips, those sensuous red lips
The Reaper is the dealer; Destiny seals
Every gangster bends to the very last deal
An Art film
Art films often "bear the marks of a distinctive visual style" and the authorial approach of the director. An art cinema film often refuses to provide a "readily answered conclusion", instead putting to the cinema viewer the task of thinking about "how is the story being told?
Maria Williams©2024
Categories:
shrilly, art, conflict, love hurts,
Form:
Rhyme
There are those in our society
who scream about fighting bigotry,
claim that we hate people with dark skin,
when you fired for insulting them,
claim that our women fear for their lives,
when the female sex is lionized,
claim that no one cares about the poor,
but nowhere else do the poor have more.
They keep having to go redefine
what bigotry must be in their minds
to find a new foe for them to ‘fight,’
...Or find excuses to smear the right,
when in truth on us they do project
their own prejudice, which we reject,
and in their gaslighting they won’t see
the types of remaining bigotry.
These days if you hate folks with skin pale
nobody gets up to gnash and wail,
no one declares you’re on the warn track
the way they would do if you were black.
In fact, degenerate leftists hordes
instead cry out that we should see more!
That their skin color makes them a blight,
they should apologize for being white?!
That an arbitrary fact of birth
is what should determine your self-worth?
That if you look one way you should bear
guilt forever, and endless despair
for sins of generations long gone?
That you’re responsible for their wrong?
That you alone pay for slavery,
when it was done by all societies,
be it black, brown, red, or yellow shade,
but it’s only one tint that must pay?
When you can shut down discussion hale
by screaming shrilly,”You’re a white male!”
When your claim pale folks are ‘born racist,’
and should not be allowed to persist?
When folks like I note the hypocrisy
the powers then try to silence me,
anti-white racists, the truth is plain,
allow this bigotry to remain...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Categories:
shrilly, america, culture, discrimination, political,
Form:
Rhyme
Late at night I hear their screeching,
Feel their evil arms outreaching
Like some minister a-preaching
In a temple made of light.
How my poor ears get to ringing,
As a band of angels shrilly singing
On some lonely stretch of highway
In the night.
I think I hear the bells
Of a hundred thousand hells.
They won't allow me sleep,
Nor bless my soul to keep.
Oh, how they make me weep
As their awful midnight screaming
Keeps my fevered brain from dreaming.
I toss this way and that,
Like a trapped and frightened bat
As it scrambles for the door
And croaks out: Nevermore!
Categories:
shrilly, anxiety, dream, evil, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
The keenest winter wind so shrilly whistled
In the night;
The fire in the fireplace flared and fizzled,
Giving light
Through the wailing winter night.
Within the cabin all was warm and cozy
In the night;
The children's cheeks were glowing red and rosy
From the fight
In the snowy winter night.
The cabin shook and shuddered, softly creaking
In the night;
The west wind wildly stuttered, as if speaking
Through its might,
In the windy winter night.
The chestnuts loudly crunched as they were cracking
In the night;
The popcorn proudly popped, and lips were smacking
At the sight,
By the fire in the night.
The children in the house are sweetly sleeping
Through the night;
The wind, kept out, is wildly wailing, weeping
At the slight,
While it wanders through the night.
Categories:
shrilly, children, family, night, wind,
Form:
Quintain (English)
I went to the doctors the other day
I was having a lot of pain
I shrilly thought I was going to die
Apparently, all I had were stones inside
The doctor said that’s an easy fix
45minutes, you know that is quick
You’ll be under and we’ll take a part of you out
Still, fear fills my hear full of doubt
Doctors seem to cocky for me,
I know their smart, but some have swollen heads that fall to their knees
They all seem to think surgery is no big thing
I bet he be singing a different tune if he were the one in my shoes
Author's Note: I just found out I have to have my gallbladder removed, the doctor says
it's a simple surgery I go home the same day, but the idea of being cut open and having a
part of me taken out makes me a little scared
Categories:
shrilly, healthme,
Form:
Free verse
Beeping, chirping silicon beasts;
no souls have they, to say the least.
Shrilly, shrieking, cell phones, beeping;
alarms that keep us all from sleeping.
Walking, stalking cameras gawking;
all of our privacy they’re hawking..
What happened to the common sense,
that kept those things outside our fence?
Creeping, sneaking, auto-voices speaking;
Horrid sounds, they are eking.
We’re just trying to digest;
the beastly, techo-mess.
Flying, spying drones colliding with airplanes;
it’s so asinine and insane.
It’s clear to me, we didn’t see,
The moment, common sense, took leave.
Categories:
shrilly, computer, poems, poetry, technology,
Form:
Prose
" The Horse and The Lion ... "
(From The Solomon Studies Series)
(Eccl. 3: 11 / Prov. 6: 6 / Matt. 6: 26, 28, 29)
The Horse and The Lion
Both Have Beautiful Manes
The Horse and The Lion
Both Stand Up To Powerful Claims
The Horse and The Lion
Both Rule Where They Range
The Horse and The Lion
Both Have Battled On The Plains
Tho' One Neighs Shrilly and The Other Roars!
One Is A Mighty Hunter / The Other Rides To Wars!
Tho' One Has Teeth & Claws, Like Sharp Talons
Everyone Bewares The Hooves & Ground of Wild Stallions
The Horse and The Lion
Both Are Like Muscled, Courage Unchained
Yet The Horse, Eats Oats and Hay
and Sweet Apples and Grain
And One Day, GOD Said
... Lions Will Do The Same
Both The Noble Horse & The Pride of Lions
GOD Made Them Man's Super Adventure-Trains
Written & Copyrighted ©: 1/7/2014
by: MoonBee Canady
_________________________________________
Growing up in West Texas (oh yeah, I love horses) ...
there was a riding ranch that opened up near my family's
home. So, I've ridden horses ever since I was in my early
teens.
I came to appreciate that the horse is a sensitive, noble
and beautiful creature. Hence, I felt I had to state my
affinity and admiration for this unique beast, (not just
with one poem but two)
The horse has been in such close association with man
and mankind's history ... So that is why I wrote the posts
enumerating the qualities of the magnificent creature
that is the horse ...
Now, I'm not the greatest equestrian (by any
means, but I've got a good seat for riding (lol)
And if you do, find yourself on a sunny day, with time
on your hands, take a leisurely ride on a horse and you'll
be hooked for life (I know I am) (All you Horse-Riders
out there, know what I'm talking about, I know)
Hope readers enjoy ...
MoonBee
Categories:
shrilly, africa, horse, introspection, nature,
Form:
Light Verse
Slinking silently through the night
on tiny tipped toes, claws withdrawn.
He mustn’t sleep until daylight’s dawn,
prudently prowls, avoiding light.
Clever, cunning crones craft a spell
to purloin his priceless powers,
control them in Eve’s evil hours,
condemn powerless prey to Hell.
Hither, fine ferocious feline.
Soulfully sing your sacred song.
Whiskers hoary, lavishly long
subtle signs of ancient bloodline.
He will not succumb to witches
who wish to control, to command.
Here he makes a substantive stand
to thwart wicked witches’ wishes.
Cruel claws render stinging slashes
slitting through wrinkled, withered skin.
They shrilly shriek their dying din,
melting ghoulish, gray-green ashes.
Categories:
shrilly, cat, death, evil, halloween,
Form:
Alliteration
Mosquitoes Please Beware
With an audible snort of disgust,
I pushed back this chair of mine...
In my head, I angrily exclaimed...
Oh, no! Mosquitoes, they are at it again..
Dreaded mosquitoes, they make my life miserable..
Incessant buzzing and painful bites are inseparable...
I bent forward and low in this chair,
Swept my eagle eyes left and right...
Hoping to sight that obnoxious insect...
Daring it to fly into my area of sight...
Both my palms are opened and poised for action,
Eyes radar sighted onto the insect's flying position...
With the patience of Job from the Old Testament...
I waited patiently, eyes peeled and ears well tuned..
Where is that buzz, the flying sounds I know so well...
There! Out of the corner of my eye, I spied its flight...
I trained beady eyes hungrily on its ziggedy flight...
There is no way it is getting out of my sight...
In my mind I relish the thought of squishing this insect...
Slapping it dead within my palms is only the first step...
Mentally I drool as I imagined my feelings when I get to crush...
This nasty insect which is about to meet its doom in a rush...
A little closer, my lovely six legged friend with gossamer wings...
I'm sorry but I am the Maker your trouble making brings you in...
Smash! What an almighty clap of my palms in your honour...
My palms, they sting, they smart but that does not matter....
I opened my palms in jubilation, I have taken drastic action...
But what is this, both my open palms they are in spotless condition...
Woe is me! My almighty slap, that mother of all slaps, was in vain...
By some miscarriage of justice, this mosquito escapes to torment again...
Here it comes, gossamer wings blurring as it flies shrilly into sight...
Daring me, challenging me, inviting me to again kill it in its merry flight...
Involuntarily, my nostrils flared as again I snorted my disgust...
Bent over in my chair, crouched low as once again I lay in wait...
Fervently I uttered a silent prayer of deliverance from this flying evil...
As once again with the patience of Job I waited to pulverish this evil...
Fly hither, fly thither, fly merrily, fly unerringly into my sight if your dare...
Better warn your brethen, bloodthirsty fiends they are, please BEWARE!
Categories:
shrilly, anxiety, crush, imagination, insect,
Form:
Narrative
I once knew a boy named Billy
I thought he was originally from Chile
Mostly ‘cause he loved his hot sauce and chili
Toting everywhere his jar of piccalilli
It turns out Billy was really the local hillbilly
I should have known, that was really silly
‘Cause Billy craved to barbecue anything chilly
On his boombox would play loudly rockabilly
Going around back roads willy-nilly
And Billy liked nothing girly or frilly
Till that is his eyes fell on fancy Miss Millie
With her exotic palate straight from Piccadilly
At first Billy would get nothing but stares that were grilly
Till he offered Miss Millie a fine thoroughbred filly
She let out a cry that was remarkably shrilly
All she secretly desired was a bouquet of tiger lily
When Billy misunderstood and brought her back a water lily
Seeing through Billy’s shell Miss Millie paused standing stilly
‘Cause Miss Millie was way deep down a wannabe tilly
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on April 11, 2018 for contest HILLBILLIES, BYBILLIES AND BLOWBILLIES sponsored by CAREN KRUTSINGER
Categories:
shrilly, change, crush, cute love,
Form:
Monorhyme
How delightful is the softest sound of a clear and starry summer's night,
You may hear a moth bashing up against a cottage window pane near a lamp,
If you listen really hard you can hear him amongst the many garden leaves,
A boom as the soaring cockchafer passes your ear, into the flowery lime.
The smallest runnel murmurs aloud as do the far rivers over the green downs,
The frogs deep in the marshes sound like they are turning a thousand wheels,
And the dorhawk, the cuckoo and the nightingale sing from meadows far away,
Quails pipe from the ripe green corn, curlews from the far away moorlands.
The sound of a little owl, hooting, he is small, smaller than the blackbird,
He hunts for food in the twilight of the evening, mewing shrilly like a cat,
The little owl lands in a back lawn, and his head swivels like a corn wheel,
It's a fierce little bird and will rid a garden of mice, rats and small birds.
The flowers are in the fields, scabious, companula, glomerata and some thrift,
The flowers in our gardens are borage, phlox, day-lily, gladiolas and many more,
Grasses that make mowing grass beautiful are perennial clover and goats beard,
Filling the air with sweetness that will make you heady and happy, great days.
Categories:
shrilly, nature, sound, garden, green,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I know a boy named Willy Wolly Way
Parties all night and sleeps all day.
He is a boozer. He is a shmoozer.
Like a tomcat,he must stray.
He is a layer.He is a player.
I know a boy named Willy Wolly Way.
I know a girl named Milly Molly May.
She wants a baby in the worst way.
She is a cutie.She is a beauty.
Has her sights set upon her prey.
She is insistent.She is persistent.
I know a girl named Milly Molly May.
Billy Bolly Cilly Colly Drilly Drolly Filly Folly Gilly Golly Hilly Holly Jilly Jolly
Willy Wolly Way and Milly Molly May
Went up a hill,but not for water.
Milly Molly May forgot her pill.
Nine months later,she had a daughter.
Oh,so glad was Milly Molly May.
Named the infant Dilly Dolly Day.
Oh,so mad was Willy Wolly Way.
So indifferent to Dilly Dolly Day.
Milly Molly May took him to court.
Tried to get some Child support
"I'm not the father",said Willy Wolly Way.
The judge said,"Give me your DNA".
The test confirmed Willy's worst fear.
The judge said "ten thousand bucks a year".
Willy Wolly Way,didn't want to pay.
He left the city the very next day.
Milly Molly May,moved to L.A.
Became a stripper to support Dolly Day.
Lilly Lolly Nilly Nolly Pilly Polly Quilly Quolly Rilly Rolly Silly Solly Tilly Tolly
I know a boy named Willy Wolly Way.
A fugitive in the U.S.A.
He's in a jam now.He's on the lam now.
God knows where he is today.
He couldn't bother being a father.
I know a boy named Willy Wolly Way.
I know a girl named Milly Molly May
She got married in Californiay
She is a dreamer.She is a schemer.
Has a kid with another on the way.
She is so happy.They have a pappy.
I know a girl named Milly Molly May.
Villy Volly Yilly Yolly Zilly Zolly Brilly Brolly Crilly Crolly Drilly Drolly Frilly Frolly
Flilly Flolly Grilly Grolly Glilly Glolly Prilly Prolly Smilly Smolly Shrilly Shrolly Stilly Stolly Shmilly Shmolly Trilly Trolly Zrilly Zrolly
Now,that's the story of Willy Wolly Way!
And,that's the story of Milly Molly May!
Categories:
shrilly, anger, betrayal, change, daughter,
Form:
Rhyme
Sometimes Sister Sarah seems subjugated
Sometimes she seems simply silly,
Sometimes she suddenly screeches shrilly
Sometimes she sounds sophisticated,
Sometimes Sister Sarah shrugs surreally.
written August 26, 2021
[playing with words when my muse
was stubbornly aloof!]
Categories:
shrilly, word play,
Form:
Alliteration
Superb the sounds of summer’s soliloquy
So sweetly singing the sparrow’s song,
Sometimes she sounds suddenly sonorous
Since startled sparrows sing shrilly strong,
Summer sounds so singularly sacrosanct
Swallows and swifts sing slow and soft,
Sailing skyward like sandpipers swinging
Standing, then, on solid sand sashaying
Soon sauntering, staying satisfied, sane,
Soothing summer sounds stolidly serene.
Written August 18, 2022
Categories:
shrilly, bird, sound, summer, word
Form:
Alliteration