Best Stodgy Poems
No tickee, no washee
You pay as you go
There are no free rides
As everyone knows
Yet some people try
Their gol' darn best
To beat the system
Get ahead of the rest
Like everyone else
They must play by the rules
Do they think we're all
Just a bunch of old fools?
To take advantage
Of us trusting souls
That way of thinking
Is all full of holes
Writing us off
Would be quite premature
We've still got the smarts
And that is for sure
We may appear stodgy
And slow to react
But years of experience
Has taught us the knack
Of dealing with shysters
And disreputable felons
These guys are operating
With screwed up melons
They'll get their comeuppance
One day down the road
When they meet their maker
And have to unload
And explain why they acted
So poorly down here
They won't have excuses
For not playing fair
Banished to purgatory
And left there forever
To never experience
Heaven's glorious weather
No tickee, no washie
A familiar old refrain
From the beginning of time
The rules are the same
Treat fellow beings
With love and respect
You'll get back in spades
The admiration you expect
© Jack Ellison 2013
Unlikely
this romance between
Miss Cricket
and stodgy
Buddy Biddle, so stagnant
set in his ways, stuck
While Cricket
eighty-nine years young
dances rings
around him
full of impish energy
mischievous antics
He proposed
but Miss Cricket won't
marry him
knows better
she's outlived countless lovers
and won't be tied down
She's having
way too much fun- so
fancy-free
no one to
boss her, tell her what to do
woman on the loose
Anyway
he's too old for her
'though only
eighty-four
he can't keep up or begin
to understand her
And he has
hang-ups about sex
proper, prim
prudish ways
appalled at her passionate
kisses, advances
Waggish grin
wild, irreverent
she enjoys
shocking him
with outlandish behavior
incorrigible
Some days he
says he can't take it
she's too much
gone too far
with her pranks- but he gets so
lonely without her
And 'though he
hates to admit it
life is dull
without her
she makes things interesting
by being herself
(NOTE: Although I listed this as a Free Verse, it is actually in Shadorma form...)
I will be blithe tonight.
The wind is high
I will walk alone beneath the sky
I will not let it happen, this tendency
To see oneself so righteous, so sober
The monotony of age overcoming
Rejecting what is curious, young and free
Because they are young, never will I act
As though their wholeness could be packed
Into that fragment of their knowledge, their youth
I will be a person, a growing cell
I will retain the right to wish and rebel
I will throw octopus arms that will invisibly grow
To squeeze a thought, which once ran swift and keen
Not into a stodgy pattern of routine
I will look at the sky tonight
And count the stars tonight
And I will make a wish
And I will dream of young things....
If I only had one day to live on earth's fragile dimension
I would pass by all fears that kept me standing like rock,
Dismissing stodgy impulses to win in a concrete contention
For my instincts to release, as new Gates arise and unlock.
Oh!The unfair world would carry on it's endless course
And Time's vanity would sell promises still to human mind,
Yet, I would weep not for my Fate's erring horse,
Even if my ticket was expired, a Golden path would be defined.
Maybe I would send letters of love to lovers I craved all those years,
Or I would spend last moments with faces familiar and close,
Or even maybe I would find the one to die with me and plan our steers,
The beauty of this land I walked to leave and expiate near windy blows.
My soul ready for return would seek redemption upon the starry sky,
Reaching my Home I will wave to earth's wisdom, hearing it's long ''bye-bye''.
My wooden dappled rocking horse
Chomping at the bit
Eyes deranged with fearsome fire
Does make my stomach flit
And whilst we race
At perfect pace
Within the purple yonder
No time to sit on laurels dear
Blow dandelions nor ponder
In hot pursuit
And silver soup
Carrots golden tempt refined
Forgetting where from whence they came
(So pitifully mined)
Past burnt glades
And auburn maids
All leaning at the fence
Smiling cheering so enthusiastic
Glorious pretence
The finish line is not yet raised
Nor shall it be
If ever
So I'll just smile and veer off course
And stroke a peacock feather
For in it's eye
Down to it's base
Generous shades to bring a smile
Hues of horizons past and fore
To relish for a while
Once I de board my rocking horse
And accept what is my fate
Mushy peas and stodgy pie
Upon a paper plate
My cloche has stains
Yet it remains
Firmly on my head
Whist ladybirds move in deceived
As they are born and bread
A spotted array
On golden hay
Smiles at nought at all
Just tinkers on dreams of better things
Wishing....
That is all
(please note the rocking horse represents my sense of urgency when i was younger to achieve something... anything)
Pleasant spring like day January 12th, 2020
Courtesy climate change
(think global warming),
I would never wish to exchange
unseasonable temperature
way out of range
far to balmy, undoubtedly
ole man winter
weather did shortchange.
Once thermometer readings rise
even smidgen one moost not minimize
Earth way out of balance,
I haint gonna catastrophize
as bajillion acres plus
one after another ocean dries
even the skeptic cannot turn
blind eye and believe contrary lies
when every species practically extinct
and self proclaimed éminence grise
doth trumpet and stubbornly tries
to claim plethora unearthed resources
as sudden goldmine
against wages of sin
former traitor joe redeemers actualize
to catalyze nth industrial revolution
teaching as heresy
ecocentric, which material basket
of deplorables power mongers bowdlerize
Concurrence toward meteorological
trend most all people agree
toward adapting, experiencing,
and witnessing increase -
fair in height degree
bestowed upon Thomas Newcomen,
Richard Arkwright, Samuel Crompton,
Edmund Cartwright
and James Watt first Industrial
Revolution conferred as honoree
appellation not necessarily
in retrospect donned as noble pedigree,
now hundred of years
later downside we see
of belching, coughing,
disorging... yes siree
foul, (née deadly)
cancerous, gaseous, noxious... pollutants.
Decreased dissension
grudgingly did abate
unclouded protests trumpet
Trump to abdicate
irrefutable proof generates
activist voices to accumulate
linkedin over Green Party
blessedly to administrate
hoop fully figurative tide
will turn and aerate
political atmosphere whereby
progressive minds will affiliate
otherwise business as usual,
cuz spewing deadly particulate
will only aggravate
dire straits, where series
of unfortunate events will airdate
prophetic apocalyptic fate
especially if nonprogressive
stodgy commander in chief re-elected
flush with bigotry and hate
increased chance (chants) ripe state
for revolution avast swath
of population to amalgamate,
and overthrow anachronistic government
absolute zero survival unless dramatic
nondestructive strategy eschewed
to supplant exploitation and mandate
radical transformation, which dramatic
shift off grid if lucky requisite
Earth friendly manufacturing
can possibly ameliorate.
Waliking towards you with a smile on my face,
I promise in my life no one can take your place...
Looking at you with those twinkling eyes,
Within you my life lies...
With my head on your shoulder, with my fingers entangled in yours,
The minute you leave me, my life takes a pause...
A No to bouquet of flowers, A No to bar of chocolates,
Coz, you have freshen up my stodgy life like the rain droplets...
Every single moment with you seems to be beautiful,
We are still standing 'Toghether'- This thought makes me gleeful...
Our Love is pure, Our love is divine...
I promise to love you even when I'm ninety nine...
Estranged to a lonely room
Littered with trash and splattered gloom
Fettered and sentenced to early doom
Distressed and distraught to a sordid mood
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
To make sure the windows latched
To make sure the door to match
Hope to God to soon to catch
Before settling to an unworldly nap
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Late night battered darkness broken
Metallic taste in my mouth beholden
Bathroom rush with my mouth open
Rinse the mouth and nose thus salted
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
I never see the imp come or go
Only disturbance in light or dark shadow
Low to the floor slither and flow
Dash under the bed, I don’t really know
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Maybe it is up on the ledge
Or under the bed or behind the case
Or cowering in a corner or place
Peeking out from a closet embrace
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
In my dreams I see a sordid face
Withered and shriveled and contorted with hate
Laronian imp with purpose of fate
In my mouth it squirts the paste
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Again I wake and bolt for the sink
From the corner of my eye I see the imp
He disappears in wink or a blink
Invisible to the man with a limp
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Pint sized demon un happily born
Raised to hurt and kill with poison
Never seen in a man with reason
Punished in a life of torture and scorn
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
In the darkness I see a leap
Up to the ledge an amazing feat
For a tiny thing at most two feet
Hiding until I fall asleep
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Needles inserted into my feet
Slow painful sore legs they do retreat
Hope to lord my soul to keep
Late at night in darkness deep
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
In the blackness I hear a click
Grab a sword and after it
Under the bed in a squealing fit
Damaged with a warbling tweet
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Should I slowly pass away
Hopefully my children remember me
Horrible taste with it at bay
Awakening to a brand new day
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Should I survive to tell a story
Of terror, pain and faith and glory
Unbelievable unreasonable stodgy and gory
Peering in as I swoon with sedated foray
Creeps and crawls and stalks at night
Remember all those rebel poets
and their bizarre ways
How they spooked their stodgy elders
with contra-poetic displays
Dispensing with meter and flow, accent and rhyme
penning metaphor-less, image-free lines
Treating verse as a curse and a sonnet much worse
vulgarities popping up like landmines..
Well, it's gotten worse instead of better
~ Just read a poem without letters
Sigh
Someone say
Something
Sate my starving
Synaptic surges
That slowly but
Hopefully won't
Succumb to so
Stated selfless
Self-proclaimed
Salesmen and
Women
Selling
Subjective
Sylabbic
Alphabet
And omega
Steamed
Stodgy
Soup
That
I seemingly
Stir slightly
Swirling
With a
Spoon
While
Staring
Some
Where
Where
Babel has
Fallen into
Babble but
Silas sings
Off these
Shackles
So sing
I while
Silent
Stupid
Sheeple
Graze on
This page
And no one
Says anything
Sigh
Poetry is an expression that should come from within
Unencumbered by stodgy rules that are meaningless to the masses
If as a poet you feel it important to follow the course developed by others
God’s speed to you in your endeavor but ask yourself one important question
Do you feel comfortable that the originality of your works is yours and yours alone?
Or does doubt creep into your mind as you apply a template not of your own making?
I see you on stage, accepting your badge
Looking like time erased all definition
From your stodgy face
Sometimes I wonder if you realize
what you've done-
In interviews, always cagey
Mercurial like the days of England
prancing on half-beaten guitars
With a litany of melted stories
We salute you from coast to coast:
A sultan of piercing lyricism
Making time stand still with song.
When nuclear war towered,
Belting out when I die in my footsteps
You are a rare animal trekking
Through a wasteland of fear
When I was a teenager
Crawling through mirrors,
Visions of Johanna blasted my skull
Making a temple for me to grow
Though Mona lisa had the highway blues
I can feel the spine of your voice
As I round early adulthood
Learning the deepest reaches of love,
Speaking like silence
There's no way to catalogue
the impression you've had
So as you stand there on stage
Being hung with the President's medal
Know that you've made an impact
Your life will inspire
Humanity for generations to come
Just like this familiar song
That was never sung in tune,
Tell me, “Where do I belong?“
Scrolling this random playlist
Unplayed in my memory,
Bringing weight on my crumped chest.
As boring as this classic melody,
Everything became stodgy--
Music stopped in tragedy.
Brexit Sonnet No. 36
‘Pancaked’
It's pancaked, this great idea now bashed and battered,
This stodgy mix of odds and ends whisked up,
Our hopes of future fortune cruelly shattered,
Wine with lemon laced, our bitter cup.
Our choice for Lent has never been less clear,
What to lose for forty days, what choice!
Lose it longer, I’ll shed no bitter tear;
Cliff? Be tempted not by Brexit’s voice.
So enjoy the mix for just this single day,
And habit not to make of frequent use.
For extra pounds and stones may come your way,
But by measures valued, you will surely lose.
So mixeth not your muddled mix of woes,
Be gone foul Brexit - your tempting chapter close!
©Keith Murphy
gingerbread cottage was waiting for the right family
their kids were too loud
there was no discipline
this was not happening
she showed them her meanness
this family ran out screaming
why are you so picky? realtor asked after they had left
next couple was too old, stodgy, set in their ways
she was irritated that they were still alive, let alone looking at houses
gave the wife chills up the back of her neck
I am never going to sell you! lamented the realtor
gingerbread finally found a couple she liked
she thought she could tolerate them
they were giggling and fun
unfortunately, they set a fire in her closet