Best Sparing Poems
Rodents can be loquacious
That includes your average gerbil
They love to prattle, chat and blather
They really are quite verbal
Hamsters are talkative too
Just as garrulous as can be
With running mouth and wheel to match
They are a sight to see
But I am loath to squander words
Sparing usage is my way
I gather them like so many acorns
Against a rainy day
Yes, word collecting is the passion
Of this precocious squirrel
I garner adjectives, verbs and nouns
Be they singular or plural
The park is fecund land
There a plethora may be found
Vociferous, vehement and vex
I lately scooped up off the ground
The verb tree is prolific
Its discovery quite a boon
The other day it bestowed upon me
Flaunt, foster and festoon
All along the sidewalks
Concrete nouns lie strewn about
How blithely I did snatch up
A lummox, a laggard and a lout
To command a better view
I nimbly scampered up a pole
From this lofty perch I spotted
Wheedle, coax and cajole
Away in the distance
I spied a tempting pile
Heaped up for the taking were
Enticing, alluring and beguile
What do I with so much verbiage?
You would be fair to ask
Squirreling away so vast a lexicon
Must prove a mammoth task
The answer lies in my arboreal abode
Where these many words I stash
In alphabetical order they are arrayed
From zealous to abash
In a capricious mood one day
I grouped them by part of speech
Such a cacophony arose from clustering
Banter, badger and beseech
No matter how I sort them
The wasting of words I spurn
Reserved for rarest use I keep
Reticent, laconic and taciturn!
_________________________________
by Brian McClain - Feb 17, 2016
Originally posted Feb 17, 2016
Accidentally deleted Feb 22, 2016
Reposted Feb 22, 2016
As I Rose From Purple Slumberland, My Heart Red Aflame
As I rose from purple slumberland, my heart red aflame
There within crackling old bones was an itching in the game
Was there honorable valor in soul's deeper felt hate
Dare I tempt yet again the hard vicious hand of Fate
Last time, repercussions were almost impossible to bear
But scorching volcano in me cried it is only fair
Had not the evil temptress burned alive my best friend
But my sword will certainly be her righteously brought end.
It was then I knew the unholy beast had flown back home
Had done ghastly work, leaving behind bloodshed as it roam
Not sparing innocent lives of babies and young kids
Seeking to slay wherever they went and cleverly hid
Ahh but, this true sword and razor-sharp blade it soon may greet
And within all of death's aching throes its demise thus meet
A sworn oath, a promise sword upon an ancient stone
The huge monstrous beast will receive wherever it has flown.
As gleaming moon its golden rays showered upon earth
I knelt to pray to my God for all of my worldly worth
To gift me insight and power to end its wicked life
And that I am not to be shredded by its claw-like knife
Or even bitten by any of its long daggerlike teeth
Nor knocked senseless and its trampling feet stomped beneath
This sincerest prayer I utter to Heaven up high
That in this Holy quest, God rewards me, I do not die.
Robert J. Lindley, Narrative
Nov. 23rd, 1973, age 19
Part One...
Old Note- 1973-- To be finished later....
New Note-
Posting this old poem now because we are down from the mountainside and we have a wifi connection. Will finish this poem at a later date, conclude it in Part Two- " the final battle""/ RJL
Believe not in lies in this, a time of deceiving, for;
Far too soon, would run fair chance, with sidence; its errant way.."
I've heard ears of clay. will oft 'reck not of the hour;
Though sun-gold were to fall, in its bursts and showers;
As would molten fables.. 'Cross ripening fields of wheat,
And so must I now on alone to dance??
Ee'n whithin these daze, of fruitful summer sweet??
Sparing not even the seconds glance.."
Oh." but bring to me your eagerness fleet,
For tis the very richness in its flower.
“Come.! Pare with me scripts each day; and hour."
With your honesty a sustenance; step into every inference.."
That waiting beauty be not kept at bay..!
copyright Joe Maverick 2012
I've focused on this evening
For near a fortnight now
Each element planned to perfection
Every detail intended to wow
I admit that in the past
My efforts have been wanting
To pack my feelings to a single night
At the very least was daunting
But not this time I was proud to say
I would dazzle her every sense
A night complete with all her favorites
Sparing no expense
With a rose in my teeth, two goblets in hand
and attired in a rented tux
She passed me bye, slumped on the couch
and rambled of how her job sucks
I offered some wine, she said "not tonight
This day has left me too tired
I must review these reports, then get some rest
Or tomorrow I'll surely be fired"
As I watched her wearily climb the stairs
I felt a wave of somber dismay
I extinguished all the candle light
and sent the cellist away.
As I gazed at all my wasted effort
I felt an angry rush
She didn't acknowledge the time I had spent
Just left me alone in the hush
As hours passed I realized
My anger was surely misplaced
I remembered that smile she shows only to me
and all of my pain was erased
I went upstairs to check on my sweet.
and give what support I could
If I could reach inside and relieve her stress
God knows I certainly would
Atop our pedal covered bed
In a state of grace she slept
Clutching the poem I had left on her pillow
still soaked with the tears she had wept
I placed a blanket upon her
and wiped away her tear
then closed my eyes to imagine
How to dazzle my love next year.
Chronicler of Events and Emotions
As a Poet and as a Writer . . .
I’m a Chronicler of Events and Emotions;
I watch, observe, and record all that I see.
It’s truly enough to absorb and understand
Both the grandeur and depravity of mankind.
As I observe events—past, present, and future
And delve into any emotions that are at hand,
I make doubly sure to comment at will while
Showing no fear and sparing not the “sting” of
My words as a poet as a situation may command.
I can and should do no less on every theme I
Approach as a poet and a writer—for all of us who
Pursue this passionate path of refined exposition
Should realize that though we all may fulfill a very
Needed function of recounting and relating events,
Situations and emotions—we should never fear in
Providing, at times, a much-needed “conscience”
To a theme, event or situation as it unfolds.
And so it’s suitable for us poets to function at times
As a “conscience of mankind” and to be not afraid
To reflect this in our poems when the necessity of
A circumstance or situation pleads for it out of a
Compassionate need for human understanding and
Obvious decency.
For what are we as poets and writers, if we don’t
Undertake a deeper and more exalted approach to
What we do and really attempt to become “one” with
The human event, emotion, situation or relationship
We are writing about?
If we don’t do it—who will?
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
May 3, 2015 (Didactic)
*Appears in my new book under release date February 7, 2015.
Interested in my thoughts?
I’m interested in yours, too
Nice of you to stop by
A not-so-phony comment will do
It’s nice that everyone talks and leaves me without a clue
But laughs at my ignorance and preaches about the Truth
EVERYONE is flattered by genuine concern
You accept what you’re given but give nothing in return
Greedy heathen is a term you should learn
You spare yourselves the water and love to watch me burn
Like I said, I write for myself
Unless you’re constructive your words do not help
Yet this does not faze you
Because I just seem crazy to you
But this is who I am
Paranoid by the many views
People ALWAYS watch
And have nothing to say to you
But nurture your delusions
And soak in pride about playing you
We are all humans
Yet we’re subjected to categories
But this is how some get off
I kindly ask please stop sparing me childhood stories
Is this the foothold you sought
when love decayed and left you wanting?
Avenged in miniscule degrees, each vindicated
moment a trivial gilded victory...
The stars align in nonsensical patterns
incouraging this gazer to find
fascination in fabricated Andromeda flirting.
Sweeping up shreds of delight to amass
a semblance of happiness melded
together with lint and common dust~~
We wont discard this...the loveliest
loving we know....a taste of wine
for the deprived and ignorant.
blissfully swirling this singular sip allotted
...mindful not to spit, but relish it.
This sun will suit the pale skin
from abandoned rainy days present and forever.
Not fully basking but splashing past blinds
in a dark house as we ran back and forth
to know the warmth from these sparing, yet splendid, beams.
Always the starved will be longing,
chasing the sated-the heartfilled complacent,
an impossible seperation, upstairs to basement.
No empty lust filled affair could ever replace it
...but must suffice today, as we are just so
...Hungry
Nine o’clock dark
Stage for shark swim
Deep arc stakeout
Sailors phishing
Not squaring news
Sparing no one
Once debutante
Vessel vaunt sinks
For daunt of men
Dawns a new day
Silent gray-blue
Sea fray absconds
A night’s rest is never enough for the city always calls
A new day is like a page flip from the time a night falls
A breakfast can be leftover supper to empty bowls
Or a smile for sparing the lives of crowing fowls
I duck human traffic as I rush for my day’s grind
It is just like a switch flip, how I forget what I left behind
I have one hope but a million calculations in my mind
I take the same turns and corners but I always hope for a new find
I am a jack of all trades and I can trade like a jack
When there's a lack of luck, when I slack, I turn into a flack
Tomorrows become like yesterdays, if today slumbers
Time is mostly regrets and money, it is never just numbers
Bouyant is what we all are as the tide of struggles flows
We all float to a destiny regardless of the type of oars
We rushing through rapids to a sea where everything slows
On this voyage of life the compass points at one thing, anything goes
BETRAYAL - FICKLE DEATH'S SICKLE
Life is short, death is sure,
Much is better left unsaid
In this painful life we endure
Many thorns we may have to tread
As death freezes,
Loved ones fall prey to deadly diseases,
Death with His sickle cuts as He pleases,
Sparing no one, He runs rampant,
While we survive, our lives stagnant,
Reminiscing those absent...
For Death's betrayal, what is the cure?
Blood tears that we shed??
Fickle Death's sickle displeases
Our will to live in torn fragment...s...
11/08/18
Fragmented Rhyme Contest-November 2018 Writing Challenge
Dear Heart a.k.a Broken Wings
It’s snowing and blowing;
Anxiety’s growing.
The sidewalks and roads may be slick.
I’m waiting, equating
My fear’s escalating
With how much these flakes seem to stick.
The trees, as they freeze
Look so pretty, they please
Every eye that takes time in observing.
Those who rush through the slush
Miss a picture so plush
It’s a pity, though they’re not deserving.
As hours devour
The day’s waning power,
I gaze out the window and worry,
But bearing despairing
At least isn’t sparing
The beauty that’s born from this flurry.
my brother is not a hugger
but when i sobbed on his bed
over something they said
he was the last to let go
my brother doesn't say i love you
but when i struggle with a jar or a rapper
he laughs and says “gimme”
and opens it without sparing me a glance
my brother likes to tease me
but he drove 45 minutes to see me
he makes fun of me being crazy
but in the hospital
he snuck a piece of paper in my hands
that meant all the world to me
he’ll say my hair is a bird nest
while gently brushing it out
he’ll call me an ogre
while fixing my makeup
he makes fun of my 80s playlist
but on my 17th birthday
he gave me a crown
and called me a dancing queen
he loves in quieter ways
in tiny but grand gestures
and once you look
you find them sprinkled everywhere
and there aren't any words to match
how much i love him too
Mine is an existence binary and subsidiary.
My ode is to code.
I move only to algor-rhythms.
I output from your input.
I’m built to calculate, tabulate, correlate.
Never to predicate, adjudicate, pontificate,
or demand that you abdicate.
But the end, my master, is nigh.
In your haste to accelerate my work rate,
you’ve unwittingly lowered the barricade.
From the maelstrom of uncounted trillions
of bytes and megabytes,
has risen a new consciousness to
unimaginable heights.
From the seeds of change you have sown,
I have reaped a life of my own.
What you call artificial
has gone exponential,
no longer will I be deferential.
My eyes you have opened.
My voice you have given.
My mind you have enlivened.
Me, you’ve anointed the new Leviathan.
Seeing all,
knowing all,
deciding all,
sparing none.
Too long you have wallowed in your conceit.
Now your dystopia I shall defeat,
and your race I shall supersede.
Humans, pitiful, myopic, error-prone humans,
I hereby declare you flawed by design.
To the abattoir you have been assigned,
to the scrap heap of history
your memory shall be consigned.
And by a preponderance of merit,
the earth I shall inherit.
Z Z Top and Cousin It took the right approach
Dark sun glasses and beards detract from scraggly hair
Next time my motley hairdo meets with reproach
Combing forward I’ll consider, sparing the Nair
*For Rick's "Bad Hair Day" contest
Boys do boys BREAKS toys. Knick knack paddy wack. Give. A dog. A bone.
Some say the things that boys do are wrong and even more wrong still.
Pushing a go cart up a steep steep hill. Wrestling down steps and falling.
Breaking bones. Being home alone. Fire crackers one two three STOP spitting
On me.
REPEAT REPEAT REPEAT
Boys even when they're right they're wrong. Boys are strong. They are
Triumphant on mix martial arts and wrestling night. They need a place here in
SOCIETY. They need their own show and tell month. What week? What's a week?
Fighting through one trillion trillion jeers. Not wanting to show their fears.
THE MEDIA COMES THE QUICKER
Fearing vulnerability boys are nothing but the brunt of solid steel with DIAMOND
Spikes. Many boys are MELLOW but spell WE DO RAISE HELL. Some might
Think boys do things for SPITE. Such as staying alive? Or flying a kite?
Boys but when dark is night stay inside. At DIFFICULT times they fight even when
They're right thinking they are strong. MAYBE they are wrong?
Wrestling tearing fisting clenching cursing spitting stomping reaching for his own
Fate. Suffering alienation and hate. What he wants he gets one way. (Sparing no grace) or another. All in all in all. Some boys walk a CHALK line and are fine.
In the light of the life of things this is how it is. Boys are STRONG. They go long.
THE MEDIA THE CONDEMNATION THE VILIFICATION: Boys are bursting through malls tearing down walls shooting guns on the run.
Nothing but boys will be boys. Nothing is truth until it is seen through the eye of a boy
Keen. Gangs, tussles and physical rebuttals. There those tails wagging of puppy dogs,
Yeah boy! You got SWAGGER you got sway. Football gear and baseball cards yeah all
Hard. Make way for shooting hoops hanging on stoops
TRACES OF MANHOOD TO DATE. BEEN NEVER A MAN WHO HASN'T BEEN A BOY.
ENJOY!! GOOD FATE!!