Best Squabble Poems
“Mama, please make Brenda get off the piano now,”
My twin sister Barbara whined with a scowl.
“I have been waiting forever for my turn to play.”
She was a 10 year old picture of dismay.
Mother did not have to twist our arm to practice.
Weekly music lessons had turned us both into fanatics.
My Mother scrimped and saved for our weekly music lessons.
Then we took up the flute and clarinet for an additional blessing.
The band and piano were our weekly delights.
Thank you Mom, for all you did to brighten up our nights.
Music is a lifelong pleasure,
A gift that we will always treasure.
A squabble of white seagulls dance and twine
with v-shaped wings aflutter in the breeze;
above the ocean's whitecap-wave design,
they greet the day with joyful calls that please.
With v-shaped wings aflutter in the breeze,
creating whirling patterns that unfold,
they greet the day with joyful calls that please-
squawks echoing- united, loud, and bold.
Creating whirling patterns that unfold,
they mesmerize with flutters of their wings-
squawks echoing- united, loud, and bold,
while hunting food amid their gatherings.
They mesmerize with flutters of their wings
above the ocean's whitecap-wave design,
while hunting food amid their gatherings-
a squabble of white seagulls dance and twine.
December 9, 2019
~2nd Place~
Contest: A Flock of Birds
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Judged: 10/07/2022
~1st Place~
Contest: Seagulls
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Judged: 12/20/2019
~3rd Place~
Contest: Your Best December Poem
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Judged: 12/26/2019
(a group of seagulls is called a squabble)
It counts a lot who is in Control:
In a venture he is The Petrol;
To tell The others The Relevant,
Fish out those who choose to gallivant,
Workers warn to be not Sycophant:
Those chasing the size of Elephant!
It matters a lot who does control:
Early fights his Catarrh with Menthol,
So that it staggers not his patrol
Or him reduce to one we console!
The one in control like Football Coach;
To be The one you mostly approach:
The Fellow to new topics broach
Upon his Province not dare encroach
The one to The ‘Bad Guy’ call Cockroach!
On A Pedestal who’s in control:
Then, eyes closed to sharing of Dettol
Over The Squabbles merely quibble
Or one’s barraging voice make feeble …
Who has found himself in control
Has for himself found painful Vitriol.
A SQUABBLE OF SILENCE
Staring at this wilderness around,
Weakness and vain, death and shame !
This is an inverse of time past, a revolution gone wrong,
How did our white turn to black? How did hate become our name?
The changed can be changed and permanence learned.
The oasis of hope can overflow, it just needs to rain.
This negative revolution can be penned,
and the wild cats tamed.
From old and new squabbles sprouts!
After some side boundary rules flouts:
Its own list of blood-freezing deaths submitting;
A number that would send the humane vomiting.
From time to time sharpening local knives,
Not excluded the spears one into a body drives:
A free pillage of hard-to-replace property
And rubbishing of harder-to-replace liberty.
A resting community becomes a fleeing one,
Seeing as a farm tool metamorphoses into a weapon:
The hitting awareness that Javelins aren’t kinder than bullets
And poisoned arrows sure in hospitals to drain wallets:
Yesterday’s guiltless eyes are today’s mischievous pair,
By their furtive glances at the secret graves detected:
Undeniable witnesses to the killing The Normal wouldn’t dare
But badly wanting to ever remain protected.
Journalists at scenes of immoderate temper emerge,
Their jotter pads for anxious details and sluggish ones;
Stark junks remember to twist and color every dirge;
There ought to be chances for overstated ones!
A time for a police to swell his slim account
And police officials their pressure mount,
Their motivation and blueprint: concern for Humanity:
For the once precious things from some maternity.