Best Swaggers Poems
It might be called Electrifying Pink,
that color painted on her toes
for it glows amidst the grime of her feet
winding filth up around her ankles
as if dirt were the newest chain
to make a fashion statement.
Pink does move the eye away
from all the silver hanging off eyebrow,
nose, lip, ear and yes,
she speaks with a silver tongue ...
which has taken on a whole new meaning.
Or was that a fork-ed tongue?
Then there are the young blonde boys
standing around in jeans hung below their butt
to show somebody something ....
handsome, sweet faces belie their
lopsided macho swaggers
looking like marionettes from a rap video.
Where have all the flower folks gone?
Bring back beautiful bare breasts
and dancing bodies in tiedye to replace all these sad,
frozen faces covered from head to toe in black!!
Hasn't Goth yet runs its course ... ?
No, dark death hangs out at the mall
or, perhaps, I have just become
the judgmental old lady I used to resent
who gave my hot pants strange stares.
How quickly in this play of life the roles do change.
I seem to have forgotten my next line.
Donald Duck Chancellor of this fowl kingdom
wearing an upside down smile's raging hypocrite backwards
this deranged Duck twitters to and fro as his unhinged subjects
unwittingly applaud him onto a victory march that never appears equal
except in his alternate universe of oneness
Calamity Jane perchance is on the horizon
while war looms close by this feather prides himself
on his big show asking for a mirror to check his orange glow
he jokes and preens fading in and out so it would seem logical
tearing down all good morals he alienates with his constant magic escapades
Sleight of hand reflections move
with this fake news it gets exposed
the big top rotates under an eclipsed lie
fire breathing condemning all those against his way
entering the arena for the next late show
Now Big Bird has been caught fibbing
just when they thought everyone was safe
getting off the band wagon or so to speak
Just signing the pact with her feathered friend
letting on they are getting on so well for the world to see buddies
Almost joined at the hip like in their loyalty reigning over truth
in this ungodly circus of the vainest sort
Where the funfair clowns abound
under fabrications an orangutan watches on
beating his chest in an ape like manner and solid hands
he has no way to express words
puffing and panting swaggers
living under thee umbrella protected from the truth’s influence
Alvin and his chipmunks sing the national anthem
while the confederate flag waves goodbye over democracy
begins the three little pigs stages as they enter the building
their houses from clay flamed with truth
ransomed for vanities sake no good ending can come
Earthquakes separate the earth
floods come with grave disaster
hurricanes winds rise from the greatest source
even this cannot deter or distract this awful Duck
one mission under a selfish chant of
quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack
which only translates to me
only me, me only me, me only me!
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam Mcdaid
Donald Duck Chancellor of this fowl kingdom
wearing an upside down smile's raging hypocrite backwards
this deranged Duck twitters to and fro as his unhinged subjects
unwittingly applaud him onto a victory march that never appears equal
except in his alternate universe of oneness
Calamity Jane perchance is on the horizon
while war looms close by this feathers pride himself
on his big show asking for a mirror to check his orange glow
he jokes and preens fading in and out so it would seem logical
tearing down all good morals he alienates with his constant magic escapades
Sleight of hand reflections move
with this fake news it gets exposed
the big top rotates under an eclipsed lie
fire breathing condemning all those against his way
entering the arena for the next late show
Now Big Bird has been caught fibbing
just when they thought everyone was safe
getting off the band wagon or so to speak
Just signing the pact with her feathered friend
letting on they are getting on so well for the world to see buddies
Almost joined at the hip like in their loyalty reigning over truth
in this ungodly circus of the vainest sort
Where the funfair clowns abound
under fabrications an orangutan watches on
beating his chest in an ape like manner and solid hands
he has no way to express words
puffing and panting swaggers
living under thee umbrella protected from the truth’s influence
Alvin and his chipmunks sing the national anthem
while the confederate flag waves goodbye over democracy
begins the three little pigs stages as they enter the building
their houses from clay flamed with truth
ransomed for vanities sake no good ending can come
Earthquakes separate the earth
floods come with grave disaster
hurricanes winds rise from the greatest source
even this cannot deter or distract this awful Duck
one mission under a selfish chant of
quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack, quack a doodle quack
which only translates to me
only me, me only me, me only me!
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
...inspired by 'A Soldier of the Great War'
by Mark Helprin
The old man stumbles, the young man
swaggers with assurance.
Stars of grace and suns of perfect
promise point to journeys yet uncharted
on their pathways to fulfillment.
The old man dreams of childhood,
cherished memories and golden opportunities.
The young man yearns for sexual expression.
Companions, self-possessed, growing
in respect for their astonishments and fears.
The old man a philosopher,
a master of life's unpredictabilities;
the young man just a neophyte,
the world at his behest.
Together, yet alone, storied travelers
with different versions of the universe.
She swaggers over to our table
Whips out her pad from her apron
Pencil poised
What’cha want Hon?
She drawls
Soft pink lips in a little twinkled pout
The white frilled design
Bust’n out in all the boxum places
Our “Two Specials with coffee” reply
Brought a smile
I like it fast and easy like that
she laughs
as she saches her swagger back
to place our order
you can’t help but notice that
her perfume lingers
in still air
as if the shadow of her swagger
was left behind
written 9-5-2019
SWAGGER Poetry Contest
My cat is gray,
with chirps- she meows a serenade;
and she has a swagger, sashay, and sway,
believes I am her maid !
With her toy mouse she likes to parade and to prance,
and sometimes she just lays on my lap in a trance;
and will nip if given a chance,
instead of with her toys play !
She loves outside,
strutting- she has a pompous gait;
as she walks, swaggers with blustery pride,
I leap to close the garden gate !
After checking each corner she finds some shade,
but, if there is noise she comes flying to me- afraid.
Must drink my tea and my cupboards invade,
and far under bed hide !
"But no matter what, I love my cat to pieces,
and pieces and pieces . . . "
__________________________________
August 28, 2019 (Edit December 9, 2019)
Submitted to the contest, Your Favorite Animal
sponsor, Gregory Paul
“With grandeur and beauty melded into rhyme, poetry is painting
that is felt than seen”
by Poet
From my window I lazily watch,
The phenomenal transition from dusk to night.
The evening’s brilliance giving way to twilight haze,
And the reddened sky turning sallow as a sick patient.
Darkness like downy feathers descending,
Wrapping the Earth in a gray woolen mantle.
Light and darkness embracing in a breathless kiss,
Like shocking colors blended on a wide canvas!
The night has now grown mysterious and enigmatic,
Putting the weary Nature into indolent repose.
Before my eyes, stretches a vast plane,
Whose boundaries have dimmed beyond all trace.
Here and there some monstrous shapes peek out.
I see the dark silhouettes of trees supine,
Brooding sage like, in the thickening gloom.
I watch the wide panorama lying still,
And the clear star-spangled sky above.
The moon has begun her stately round.
In flashing dress, she swaggers past the clouds,
As if patrolling to guard the sleeping Earth.
She has taken the place of the ousted king of the day.
A calming breeze caresses my face and ruffles my hair.
Though darkness envelops all around me,
I hear the whispered promise of a day that shall soon unfold.
As I hear this rhythm of Nature falling in my ears,
In every beat, I hear God’s kind of poetry recited.
Looking at this night, God’s artwork of sheer beauty,
I feel heaven has descended down to Earth.
Never is a moment more glorious than this,
When darkness has accentuated the heavenly lights!
Jan. 23. 2023
~ Placed Second~
Submitted forStrand Premiere. No.1196
. Poetry Contest
2022, Marathon Mile. 25. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mark Toney
WISDOM WAS FOUND
The day moves me into this ultimate search
Of the principality that Lords over life
And rules over Kings, nobles, aged and Princes
As my desire yearns for that which is profitable to direct.
Steadfastly aiming to avoid the natural consequences
Invited by my wrong actions and life's fitful fall,
I grope for the path of the higher realm,
Then realise that even the word of God
Is searched and tried in the furnace of fire 7 times.
I surrender my eyes to her rebuke
And embark further into the land of the greats
Even the discouraging and slothful wind
Couldn't strangle my lamp
Amidst intimidating and daring storms
Where men's soul stagger not
But swaggers into celestial hall of fame,
Owing to grace, persistence and doggedness.
If only I find her, discretion will preserve me
From the perversity of the diabolic whose path is crooked,
I thought of the rags of time,
How I had stalled in movements in life's race
Where I was born to take the lead;
My heart cried for an ornament of grace.
Who shall then buy me one?
Still I hear no answer but one from me
Then I sell all that's within me just for her bosom.
Even my manliness and ego holds me not.
Who can withhold himself from speaking?
For real you have instructed many,
You have strengthened weak hands,
Your words have upheld him who was stumbling
And have strengthened the feeble frigid knees.
By the blast of God you were let loosed
And all your enemies are subdued and fade away.
God understands her way - ask Him 'how'?
And He knows her place - find it now!
For He looks to the ends of the earth,
And sees under the whole heavens,
To establish a weight for the wind,
And apportion the waters by measure
When a law was made for the rain
And a path for the thunderbolt,
Then He saw Wisdom and declared it;
Prepared it, indeed, He searched it out.
To men He said, "the fear of the Lord is wisdom
And to depart from evil is understanding."
Written by: Vick Manuel (VickWizzy)
Copyright© 2013.
Reference: New King James version (NKJV), Thomas Nelson [1978], copyright 1982, Job 28v23,28; pg301.
She is whimsical midst-escaping
blackness & beige stagnation,
reverberant betwixt musicality &
fictitious paisley fabrications,
recognizes the actuality of her
enigmatic spirit's frivolity,
well-defined by her quirky
quintessence serving her far beyond
periods of reflective flourishes,
has never been a slave to social
expectations nor gravitas of
worldly-minded undertakings,
materialism is not her cuppa tang
nor an applicable proposition,
heartfelt inclination is e'er creation
and the freedoms it relishes,
you may catch glimpses midway
seascapes & ocean's roar or
summits of splendiferous
mountain's sumptuous loftiness,
swaggers 'bout configurations
and milky way's artsy effulgence,
plays amidst wistful forests with
nymphets and poisonous toadstools
sashays 'round wildflower meadows
blanketed yonder moon blushes,
sun-kissed & star dusted she's
collectively nightfall 'pon daylight,
envisages building soaring air castles
amidst macrocosms high-rise skies'
timelessness whence humankind
shall humbly recognize enlightened
ceremony of incommensurate
resoluteness & obsessive commitment
furthermost nature's conceptualizations
Building Castles in the Sky Contest -Steven Henderson
****-kick boots, chains on the belt,
Harley on the jacket,
pate crowned with felt...
you can swoon, you can die
at a glance of his eye.
No one seems to notice
that he swishes more than swaggers.
Strut through the room,
dance with all The Gals,
low'r the boom on troublemakers,
joke with all The Pals...
Sally really wants him but she
worries 'cause she staggers
and she never seems to notice
that he swishes more than swaggers.
Last dance, closin' time.
The Gang leaves with a shout.
It's breakfast at the Flyin' K,
but Sally passes out.
So once again, the joke's on them
and really, does it matter?
His newfound trucker friend is glad
he swishes more than swaggers.
A dry stone wall
of moss-grown granite
staggers,
lush undulating plains
swaggers,
fields ablaze with wildflowers
bows
at a curvaceous hollow
where a copper stream gurgles below.
Sheep fluff velvet meadows
mirror cotton clouds above.
Stooped,
they graze
on buttercup fields
Blotched blurs,
they climb
to higher ground
where
Lilting melodies
lace the trees
sweeping the air
with apple blossom
on a dove day afternoon
Written for Francine Roberts contest "Flowers" by Eiken Laan 27 January 2011.
Buttercup Fields
Sevilla, the evening pins flowers on your hair
A pirouette of tasselled gown rustles by
Igniting a lusty swirl along theater’s wing,
Over spotlights on red liquefied hips
That kiss of flamenco gyres into a dance ;
Relishing the wine which drips as you lift
And tap those feet through moonshine’s gloam:
O, such swaggers devour my senses
While Latin music sets the castanets ablaze--
Then a pause, a sensuous movement, jigging.
Sevilla, you are a luscious pageant of a song,
A brief canticle gliding on my bones, that I
Fondle you in the dark caressing scented nape:
What endless thrill you bring on an August dusk!
Then together drunken madly , recklessly
I will be love's sunrise, and you my finale's art,
As this heart etches a twirl in flamenco sighs,
Clinging to each refrain of such possessed trance.
For Silent One's Contest:
Poems That Paint a Picture-3 9/24/2017
~ a most memorable dinner in Sevilla
watching a Flamenco concert~
Ah! The Golden Years of Hollywood
And those old black and white movies
Some were cinematic disasters
But some you could call quite groovy
Even now, my heart skips a beat
When one appears on the late night screen
I choke up a bit seeing John Wayne
As he swaggers in and out of the scene
Today with its technology and trickery
We don't know if people are real
Or made up computer animation dudes
To me, it seems way too surreal
Take me back to the Spaghetti Westerns
The gangster films of Cagney and Bogart
The Three Stooges, Abbott and Costello
Loved them all, that was cinematic art
The stunning sensuality of Ingrid Bergman
The glamour of a young Liz Taylor
The bombshell beauty of Marilyn Monroe
Bardot, Betty Grable and more
The newsreels, the cartoons, the travelogues
And the giant blockbusters of the time
Sure was a lot for twenty-five cents
Plus popcorn and a drink for a dime
Ah! The Golden Years of Hollywood
Great musicals like “Singing In The Rain”
“An American In Paris” with Gene Kelly
Sure wish I could go back there again
© Jack Ellison 2014
Shorter than a candles curtsy, lower than its holders brim,
Half a glass holds no full measure
So ever seems the future dim.'
Dim before the light is gathered; from the folds & fields of dawn
Where no cockerel struts and swaggers,where no pillowed cloud is torn'
There the angels watch below them; man upon his prideful course
In The higher heights above them, sits the One upon his horse,
Bridled saddled shod and ready, waiting for the call to ride
Many mouths's commiting slander, buy and sell some tend to scorn.'
Lives of people sold and traded, slavery rife from west to east
Who will own to death and torture, can you see; mark of the beast?
Very large, the furnace growing 'consuming' all is its true course
False prophet finds the need/reasons; a certain tool its tour de force
Airway 'media', t v occult involvement, once its name was 'medium'
Elijah fought it many times, as on mt Carmel; in fire answer came to him'
The truth is I have nothing important to say
The world keeps on spinning day after day
My opinion means squat smoldering away like a boiling pot
I speak of events and worldly causes
Not even an interested peep or cunning applause's
OK I know you say what makes you so different anyway?
Well I speak of truth; I speak in rhythm and rhyme
I speak of happiness, I speak of borrow time
I speak of familiarity, OK maybe I’m a little out of line
But what I really hope is that my words bring a connection
During such a peculiar worldly decline, or perhaps resurrection
Yes the streets are filled with flooded faces
Each one bearing the loneliness from inner places
Maybe just one victim of my written test
How shallow and harden is my lily-white breast
My tongue swaggers hot and cold,
Stop laughing I’ know I’m growing old
But I’m afraid I can’t end this given fight
No rest for the weary and this inkwell tonight
The truth is I have nothing important to say
The world keeps on spinning day after day