Best Slapdash Poems
The Shepherd asked the poetess-
Who are you?
Twinkling her eyes, the poetess
said-who am I.
Am I a breath or a death;
breeze or a storm;
am I soothed or havocked?
I am blazed and ashed.
Am I a flower or a crackling leaf;
sand or a sea;
rock or a snow?
I am a droplet and a wavelet.
Am I a mystic sky or a fog;
cloud or a smoke;
hazed or dazed?
I am a dew and blue.
Am I a moon or its shadow;
real or a fake;
peace or a mayhem?
I am resting and running.
Am I desired or scraped;
slapdash or deliberate;
gem or a junk?
I am nerdish and doltish.
O! dear shepherd
who cares and
wonders who am I?
I am a treasure of pleasure,
I am a glow and a blow,
I am tender and blender,
I am your treasured flow.
**************
Categories:
slapdash, beautiful, blessing, emotions, imagery,
Form:
Rhyme
Sweet September, see how splendidly she shines!
Subtlety submitting seasonal splendour, she
swamps summer’s splendiferous sights,
by stealthily shrouding splendid scenery,
with suffused sensuous, sybaritic, scenarios!
Sublimely serene, she spatters and splashes
slivers of saffron, sepia and sienna shades,
slapdash over the sedentary summer scene, sending
sightseers silly! Soon, spooky spectres sporting skittish
shadows, surprise and startle singularly sensitive givens,
seeking soothing solitude someplace. Suspicious solo
sentient stalkers, suspecting solo sailors sometimes, shiftily seen
spying on sequestered sibylline, spectator savants, stay silent.
Such suppressed servile sophisticates, spotting smart
Seedy Senators, sitting sloppily slumped - some silently
supine - send sensual suggestive signs to sexy secretaries, as
subdued sartorial suitors stand speechless. Some, sober and staid,
state spasmodic spates of salacious, and sometimes sanctimonious, statements.
Seemingly superfluous, scores of servicemen and seniors suggest
specific superficial senile support services, should shut shortly!
Studious spokesmen suggest scads of spurious suggestions in September,
send scrambled signals, since severely symbolic sentence structure,
should seek speedy severance from sedulous speculative stricture, and
stimulating scattered sophomore senses and sensibility is senseless!
Since scathingly scanning this alliteration, it seems successful!
Hopefully a fun filled frolicking folio with ‘fin-esse?’
Rhymer. September 6th, 2016.
Categories:
slapdash, giggle, september,
Form:
Alliteration
Gravity keeps our feet on the ground,
Stops us from slapdash flying around.
This force of attraction ‘fictitious’ gives weight
And makes all fall down at equivalent rate.
(Albeit in flights of fancy it seems
That gravity follows the laws of dreams.)
Relativity caused Newton’s view to shatter,
In positing spacetime to be curved by matter.
So objects will take a particular path
That must correspond with Einsteinian math.
(The upshot is bodies have odysseys
Appropriate to their geodesies.)
Gravitons, a gravitational source
Of controversy, are seen as a horse
Of a quite different color altogether.
But then scientists aren’t birds of a feather.
(Some sit upon their a priori-based fences
And come up with theories defying the senses.)
Weak or strong, short or long, what is this thing
Called gravity? Wide hypotheses swing.
There are those who suppose that it’s this, others that.
Maybe someday, they all just might have it down pat.
(Meanwhile gravity, though we resize and shape it,
Will still have its own way— for who can escape it?)
– Harley White
Categories:
slapdash, earth, math, muse, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
How to
Capture
Between pages
Or pixels
Or caught between
Stitches
Do memories catch
Between the threads?
Does love
Linger in the ink?
One can pray
In the silence
Where laughter once rang
Find the steady beat
Of a sewing machine
Where your heart used to beat
Trying to sew
Myself back together
If I just keep
Sewing
From the heart
I can bind
My heart up
Fit pieces together
Here is where it tore
When Elisif’s laugh was lost
Here when Phil’s light went out
And here, this big one
When my grandfather died
These old stitches are fraying
Starting to come undone
Here the slapdash job
From when Jackie put a gun to her head
Here from Steve being ripped away
So suddenly
This bit holds up well
For an eight year old’s
Handiwork
And here a spot needs darning
My heart is worn
It needs
Many a repair
But I have little time
For the careful stitching
Of so many holes
Yet they wont
Close
On their own
So I keep busy
With fabric patches
Categories:
slapdash, absence, grief, loss,
Form:
Free verse
Rear view mirror
Objects, objectively put, are closer
than they appear. But it doesn’t say it all.
With the fair signs that spewed forth once turning to
a slew of pre-twitter pseudo- tweets since.
I once put it down In form Octa-Tri :
In rhyme scheme: aab, bb, ccc .
(“ At the wheel
At night. Uneasy feel.
Narrow misses, though, in nobody’s midst.
Rows of reflectors mark lanes glaring through the mist,
Comforting coolness and sultry night coexist .
Cell service zones change, ding-dongs the phone
Heart fluttering alone
Night unknown”.)
A row of earthy images it failed
rather than showed ,images with eerie
librations and weary nutations .Which
was not Physics, but physiognomy of life.
Like when bashed by kiddy badasses and
basic arithmetic, or when up higher ,
combative but math a behemoth
all the same, and guided perfunctorily
often, and rarely with the right intent.
In the peccadilloes- round, the Tintern
Abbey Sycamore also loomed dour sans
creativity , but the three trees on
the low sky made sense , and then on to
T.ds. equations and tedious times
soured by sleep and steep sloth.
Ingenious in fair measure , now turning
ingenuous on the proving grounds , after,
in the space of a couple of cusps of
light and sound mom was no more and we
whimpered and simpered under a dad who cared
but did not seem to, in his straight-faced mode
Then came falsely flashing , faintly fuming ,
slapdash years of machines and mega hertz,
eggs and vegs, sex and senescence to remain
for ever weighed down by the wayside whey.
Bringing-up-kids-banality apart
( fed mainly on meds for just cough that recurred);
preferring palm-frond’s loftiness cum
deprivation to urban up-for-grabs
benefaction; and the mess of docs, deaths
and a mossy crock of living pain since.
And all the dicey way , never patted
but p(f)anned; tweaked , untweaked ; harmed, ex-harmed;
banked on , debunked ; short-changed, sort-of-changed ;
lumbering on , alive and a-slumbering
and if anything wondering if it’s
not all the mirror’s prim fault
which never once showed my face.
Categories:
slapdash, life,
Form:
Free verse
OLD PLANET EARTH
our globe balances precariously on its fragile
axis
a space spinoff awaiting weights inevitable
demise
hanging on an abused thread from this universal
life
consuming all resources daily from the inside
out
reflecting slapdash mindless human nature
traits
accountability entrusted from creations
launch
heeding oceans bounty--salient bird-filled
sky
land creatures vast uniqueness in custody
ours
God spoke plainly: prosper, produce, care and take
charge
I made you in My image, protect My planet with
pride
Instead…
we try to outshine the moon
as shooting stars fall in gloom
with tears and blood
with fires and flood
with ignorance and gluttony we turn the last page
© Kim van Breda—May 2014
Categories:
slapdash, creation, earth, nature, planet,
Form:
Free verse
This bliss rover I.
Lazed fresh muddy-smoke,
In hot-rate envy.
A digital glow moans,
2 am, lighting my skin.
She easily, nameless,
Just left.
My mass sweat,
On my cotton-mix.
She a slapdash, I letting.
Hour previous, world dyed in smut.
Three ago she open, breathing.
I flush, on decernables,
Day ago, I was settling,
On her far possibilities.
Shame thinking
Justice grasping.
"All in all" apes right.
Upright, stone carving.
Tailoring white pillows,
With black market Viagra.
Her last words.
"Your precious"
Cleverly my eyes
Nuzzel wood floors.
Then sleep, a push to morning.
I did see her to the door.
Categories:
slapdash, introspection
Form:
Free verse
A closer look at a fantastic word
And no, I’m not talking in bafflegab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
To absquatulate like a fracas herd
Throw a foofaraw over a little jab
A closer look at a fantastic word
A uni-brow is a glabella furred
And whirligigs hung too slapdash to grab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
Scuttlebutt schlepped to sassafras by bird
Skedaddle from a skirmish of stone crab
A closer look at a fantastic word
A quibble over razzmatazz occurred
Doohickey from a lummox, easy nab
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
So scrumdiddlyumptious I may have slurred
Like tintinnabulation, it’s not drab
A closer look at a fantastic word
To not repeat this speak is just absurd
Categories:
slapdash, fun, words,
Form:
Villanelle
A MIND SEEKING REVENGE
IS LIKE A PRISONER WITH NO JUSTICE
IT WON’T TAKE ANY RESPONSIBILITY FOR ITS ACTIONS
FOR IT WILL PLOT AN ILLEGAL PLAN OF DESTRUCTIVE EVIL
IT WILL FORSAKE AND TERRORIZE ANY SIGHN OF A CONSCIENCE
IT WILL FORBID ANY FORCE OF INSANITY
AND WILL BARRICADE ITS TEARS
ITS DARKNESS IS INEVITABLE
IT WIL BECOME ABORTIVE
IT WILL FLAUNT ITS FALSE EMOTIONS
BUT IT WILL EXTIRPATE ITS PLAN
AND IT WOULD LEAD TO A GRIDLOCK
THE MIND WOULD THEN HAVE HYPOCHONDRIA
IT CHOSE ITS KISMET
BUT IT STILL HAS A PLAN TO LYNCH SOMEONE
BUT IT WILL THEN MARTYR
THE MIND SEEKING REVENGE IS NOW NOXIOUS
AND OVERPOWERING
IT’S SLAPDASH
BUT A TYRO IN ITS NEXT SCHEME
IT WILL JAB THROUGH ITS CARELESS THOUGHTS
BUT IN THE END IT WILL HAVE A FEELING,
A FEELING OF PIQUE
AND IT WILL RUMINATE OF ITS DEEDS
Categories:
slapdash, sad
Form:
Assembly.
Disassembly.
Reassembly.
When the bell tolls
it tolls for me.
Alone I walk in crowded
concrete corridors;
feet, doom-laden,
slapping thermoplastic
floors.
Years we will do this.
Years we will be taught.
Years we all will walk in
concrete corridors.
Walking unto the light,
freedom's light;
walking unto the world of
women and men.
Armed with bestowed knowledge
that two and two makes four,
the Battle of Hastings was fought in 1066,
energy can neither be created nor destroyed...
wandering lonely as clouds...
Freedom fighters,
guerrilla's armed with this
potency
and so much more.
The echo of the concrete,
of slapdash feet on thermoplastic,
may well reverberate,
reaffirming their message of
doom.
Yet that is further away than
the eye can see.
Now is sweet honeydew Summer,
the best years of a life
yet to come.
Assembly.
Disassembly.
Reassembly.
Man,
are we up the
Swanee.
And though we know it
now is not
the time
to
care...
Categories:
slapdash, education, history, life, social,
Form:
Free verse
All heaven struggled, good and evil clash;
Lucifer's crowd was cast to earth in shame.
Babel's plot to reach heaven, mere slapdash;
God upset language; words became a game.
In His hometown, Jesus bound His powers;
miracles in Nazareth were blocked out.
Were their skeptics so different from ours?
God clouds the ears of those who dare to doubt.
Sovereign insight is way beyond man's light.
Facing death on a cross, no small bother;
repentance from sin brings life eternal.
Christ's vision requires infinite foresight -
mankind united with God, the Father.
Existence sans God is life infernal.
July 10, 2022
My theme: a quatorzain about life,
I used Rhyme Zone (abab, cdcd, etc, etc) and How Many Syllables (8 per line) to check
Sponsor Constance La France
Contest Name It's All About Three Q's
Categories:
slapdash, 11th grade, betrayal, evil,
Form:
Quatorzain
Sundial
My passion is the silent weather vane
The gambrel brought such sorrow
Much I marveled this roughcast cairn
Eagerly I looked for the lintel
I have dreamed of the clocks
Eagerly I looked for the masonry
It was heterodox
Somewhat louder than the freemasonry
Back into my memories rewinding
And the clapboards never machining
Deep into that darkness watching
Still is notching, still is notching
The graves seemed happy botching
And so I screamed, 'Is that a weatherboard?'
I crave the dissident, derelict dormer window
My mind always strays to caryatids
Much I marveled the dissident gazebo
Much I marveled the eighth patio
I crave the baronial, balcony breezeway
You warned me about the indigo
And so I screamed, 'Is that a drift way?'
Take thy landscaping from out my heart
What time is it, And the megaliths never grinding
What time is it, And the masonry was nonbinding
I heard an italianated, slapdash roofing
It was fireproofing
I discovered the statues
Take thy picket fence from out my heart
I discovered the vases
Deep into that darkness listening
'It's that plaster work,' I muttered
My passion is the silent weather vane
The gambler brought such sorrow
Much I marveled this roughcast iron bane
Eagerly I looked for the lintel barrow
It's a new day and yet dark now,
What time is it on the sundial?
4/7/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2019 ©
Categories:
slapdash, adventure, analogy, time,
Form:
Free verse
Fresh home from therapy,
and resonate with zeal
tush air cerebral cogs a turn'n
analogous to and pinion wheel
hence attempt made to bare soul,
sans thru poetry re: veal
ling avidity, asper barreling neurological
daily kos loaded truck full
heading toward figurative
lifelong landfill deposits
on weekly psycho
logical session I unseal
manipulating bothersome issues
controlled via bot size thumbwheel,
which grave undertaking i.e.
professional counseling allows,
enables, and provides opportunistic
gradual process at selfheal
ling oft times necessitates
reviewing silent Virgina reel
comprising the story
of earlier life piecemeal
akin to a slapdash montage
chronicling existential ordeal,
now referencing adenoids
(removal first mention within
poetic endeavor, when young boy)
loosely linkedin with nasopharyngeal
pseudo oral palate
highway tucking each meal
across miniature bridgework,
ma late mum meekly
acceded to doctors orders,
said operation sub
sequently deemed unnecessary
affecting negligible decreasing nasality
predicated on split (bifid
or bifurcated uvula), viz laryngeal
utterances finds me speculating
speculating now, whether taking kneel
ling pose possibly coo dove
wrought divine intercession
giving me super powers ideal
for fighting off being bullied
gloating this instant imagining
bringing beastie boys to heel
actual reality visit my kid self,
a most convenient scapegoat
socially withdraw puny size lad
internalizing hateful barbs glom
ming up significant emotional gearwheel
inferiority complex predominating
supplemented with cumulative
anger, a potent feel
ling exacerbating anxiety prone disposition
courtesy chromosomal
(pop'n mom genes) art of the deal.
Categories:
slapdash, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
when it comes to renovating
I'm definitely slapdash
in fact it would be fair to say
that I can be rather rash
sanding bores me senseless
and it's a job I try to shirk
because I lack the patience
for the preparation work
I’ve slapped the paint on badly
it’s dripping down the door
oozing over skirting boards
to decorate the floor
spots are on the window
and spilled upon on the stair
unfortunately I've got most of it
stuck on my face and hair
they say patience is a virtue
a saying I should not ignore
because now that it’s all finished.....
I wish I'd sanded more
Categories:
slapdash, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
12/26/21
Time I make a splash
Got to fulfill important tasks
Can't rely on hiding behind masks
It won't always be what you asked
Staying intact or full of bug splats
Broken and cracked windshield glass
The wings of bats
Continuing to flap
Before returning to the cave for a nap
Out to get snacks
Packs of rats
Eating trash
Watching their backs
Looking out for cats
And traps
In a flash
Another clash
On train tracks
Or in the grass
Followed by maggots and gnats
It had nothing to do with cash
Just the way of the animal world, real facts
No cap
Comprehend and imagine that
A lot comes with a catch
It goes by fast
The good things in life rarely last
Live a life full of laughs
And have a blast
Close and far from flax
Just about everything getting a tax
Whether or not in burlap sacks
Often outmatched
Souls being snatched
By the batch
Evidence buried underneath a hatch
With a locked latch
Hundreds of feet below a vegetable patch
Never went to mass
Pushed it to the max
Then ran out of gas
So I ate some bass
Then took a dab of wax
Back to work on this obstacle I slash
And smash
I'm causing cracks
From swinging my pickaxe
Originally, I was barely making a scratch
For the last time I'll rehash
It was slapdash
So there was backlash
Wrote about it in my raps
Often I'd relapse
Perhaps
It's time I detach from all this crap
Too many chaps
Obsessed over apps
And others fighting over scraps
The curtains getting pulled back
Not going to keep it under wraps
Before it all turns to ash
Learn from the past
And other despicable acts
As time continues to pass
What's the haps
Do you truly have a clue?
Do you know the half
Or are you an ignorant ass?
People harass
Cause others to feel like an outcast
No wonder they eventually snap
And are full of wrath
Causing bloodbaths
This is turning into a plague, not a rash
Why are we going down this path
Where most burn and crash
Categories:
slapdash, dark, deep, life, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme