Best Thick Skinned Poems
The Ukrainian flag flies again in Kherson, it is a joy to see
The Russian army are running scared from Ukraines military
Russia pulled out its army saying it was a tactical move
But against Ukraines valiant army, they have a lot to prove.
Their so called special military operation is now lying in tatters
Total victory for the brave Ukrainians is now all that matters
Russia have had many setbacks you hear about them everyday
Ukraine will not yield to the Russians and are driving them away.
The retreating Russian army have now pulled back to the Dnipro River
With a harsh winter approaching I hope they get frostbite and shiver
They've behaved like wild animals and they do not deserve to live
It will be a cold day down in the furnace of hell before anyone can forgive.
But Ukraine remains cautious as the Russians beat a hasty retreat
Vladimir Putin is so thick skinned and he will not accept defeat
They've probably laid booby trap explosives, to inflict fatal injury
They don't care who they kill, be it innocent civilians or military.
Vladimar Putin will be removed from power, it is just a matter of time
I hope he's handed over, and in the Hague charged with his heinous crime
But for now proud Ukrainians celebrate, as their flag again flies in Kherson
I pray that in time we'll hear about Ukraines victory, and how the war was won.
Written on 12th November 2022.
Categories:
thick skinned, celebration, conflict, death, war,
Form:
Rhyme
In a cynical realm where truth is tainted in black, rises she,
amidst whirling vortexes veiling reveries where she walks.
Yet society thrums thick skinned lies, whilst morning moon sighs in-
silence, seeing sunrise through eyes that mirror golden beauty.
Her persona resembles firm perennial petals like,
maternal warriors waltzing through wistful winds, singing the,
song of survival in loneliness through every forlorn night.
She's bestowed with selfless angels thawing wicked webs of,
time, freezing the rainbows hidden behind cloudless,
cerulean wrapped in balmy breeze blowing along cashmere climes.
She is her own sorceress with an invisible ring and
silver spells, her unbreakable spirit shines like starry
amulets of faith, sparkling across cold midnight skies.
She still composes calm symphonies in elegance and,
patience, whilst ignorant tongues concoct storms amongst all,
evil that reeks within a community that's-
ready to place names, find fault in words within the chorus of life, best,
written for the unheard voices ostracized, by merciless tunes of,
the past, where freedom fighters were left alone in the dark.
But she sprouts, like a sunflower growing in the cracks of emptiness and,
like an untamable warrior, she serves hope and love, that beams so bright.
“She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies;And all that’s best of dark and bright Lord Byron – She Walks in Beauty”
Categories:
thick skinned, encouraging, thank you,
Form:
Verse
Small babies are unpredictable just like the weather
Often wet; with sudden outbreaks of terrible wind
But would I have altered anything, no never …
Being a parent, you become very thick skinned!
Contest: Grook
Sponsor: Silent One
02~14~16
Categories:
thick skinned, children, humorous, parents,
Form:
Grook
you think it's easy
maybe your heart
doesn't bruise as quickly
maybe your mind
is a bastion of confidence
thick skinned indifference
maybe it's easier for you
could be true
As for me? Well…
I like to stay clear
"once bitten"....20 times as shy
the reason why?
it's not so easy for me
this survival thing, you see
takes a lot of hard work
and my heart is replete
with burdens and cares
my gut wrenched poetic wares
only incite unfeeling stares
the reader unaware
apathetic animosity
guised in hilarity
isn't for me...
No, it's not as easy for me
to pretend I don't care
when my soul I bare
so I don't dare
let anyone come back round
who has ground me into the ground
once before
well….not now
not anymore
it's not as easy for me
so just.....
just please….let it be.
Eileen Manassian
Categories:
thick skinned, how i feel, truth,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
in Pando's shadow a young maiden sings
wander'd to and fro peat bog feet sloshing
auburn locks adorned in daisy crowned rings
quite unaware that something was watching
one with thick skinned carion heart at core
to scavenge Middlemist's red camellia
he too delivered from far away shores
a renaissance ratel in rebellion
Leila leisured in shade of quaking aspen trees
treacle honey joys spilled out across her dress
temptation so strong insatiable hunger needs
dark honey badger lept from a tufted hedge
in presence one so endeared, showed no fear
for all beasts, nature's greatest gift bequeath
proffered morsel from open hand as he neared
inquisitive eyes belied soft heart and sharp teeth
forest branches embraced the two in nosh
as trembling giant's rustling now subdued
ladybugs flit from branch to dew covered moss
fingers stroked rough fur nape to back as he chewed
two walked ancestral shores as newfound kin
sniff'g this way and that among tufted pearls
claws tap entranced her soft cooing voice hymn
face framed in rivulets long carefree curls
long past gone Leila's song through far away gates
honey badger' forest friend rests - Pando waits
Categories:
thick skinned, friendship, heart, life, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
Watching a movie ('Walking Tall')
I spied a cockroach on my wall,
crawling in and out of sight,
the proud homeowner's sorry plight.
Now I see him, now I don't,
a creepy feeling, and I won't
feel better till he's dead and gone,
deeming it a job well done.
The kitchen was my battleground,
I chased the bugger round and round,
('persistent' was the name I christened
my thick-skinned antagonist),
for dodging footfalls he'd survived
the era of the dinosaurs,
avoiding conflict he'd outlived
the perils of unnumbered wars.
Tired, and soaked with perspiration,
craving his elimination,
I, with magazine extended
dealt a blow, his life was ended.
Or was it? Wriggling in his death throes,
wiggling several sets of black toes,
on his back he scarce could right
himself to carry on the fight.
Yet more he fiddled, then was still,
an adversary with a will,
he lay quiescent on the rug,
that bold, defiant little bug.
I left him shaken, (his demise
beyond salvation?), then my eyes
beheld no insect, just a stain,
for he'd crept off to scare again!
Categories:
thick skinned, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
Watching a movie ('Walking Tall')
I spied a cockroach on my wall,
crawling in and out of sight,
the proud homeowner's sorry plight.
Now I see him, now I don't,
a creepy feeling, and I won't
feel better till he's dead and gone,
considering it a job well done.
The kitchen was my battleground,
I chased the bugger round and round,
('persistent' was the name I christened
my thick-skinned antagonist,)
for dodging footfalls he'd survived
the era of the dinosaurs,
avoiding conflict he'd outlived
the perils of unnumbered wars.
Tired and soaked with perspiration,
craving his elimination,
I, with magazine extended
dealt a blow, his life was ended.
Or was it? Wriggling in his death throes,
wiggling several sets of black toes,
on his back he scarce could right
himself to carry on the fight.
Yet more he fiddled, then was still,
an adversary with a will,
he lay quiescent on the rug,
that bold defiant little bug.
I left him shaken, (his demise
beyond salvation?), then my eyes
beheld no insect, just a stain,
for he'd crept off to scare again!
Categories:
thick skinned, funny
Form:
Rhyme
I’m honoured to be ‘Queen of Poop’ -
My title on Poetry Soup
Themes like constipation
May cause indignation
I’ll never not write on brown gloop!
All poets have got their own style
My humour makes some people smile
Folk may think I’m strange
But I’ll never change
My subjects though may be deemed vile!
Been chastised for poems on wind
You’d truly think that I had sinned
I’ll still write about farting
No, I won’t be departing
I’m lucky I’m pretty thick skinned!
Categories:
thick skinned, humorous, me, poetry,
Form:
Limerick
she reaches behind the smokescreen
of her sunken eyed curtain veils
films of tears void of translucence
stoke reminiscent ashes that trace
another blinding thick-skinned defeat
hidden by camouflage and smears
touched up campaigns of bravery
her retinas a web of hallucinations
illusion delusion cataracts and dreams
stirred but not entirely shaken as
she reaches for another glass to empty
while numbness mixes with mirages
of victory over hits and misses
on battle lines of reconstruction
a palisade and shield from truth
her sentience slips into severance
from memories epiphanies and falls
from grace as she applauds the circus clown
and crazy court jester she became to be
in sadness badness insanity while
holding on to fragmented shards
screeching on the palette of many
a brush with fate curses and agony
she is a survivor of abuse and violence
exploitation and deliberate transgressions
and reaches deeply into her resolve
to allocate anger to where it belongs
instead of blaming her own kindness
she lifts the olive branch closer
to her tumbler spits out the hemlock
and trusts that tears will dry
once excoriations have dried up
until then she is not the drunkard
she is made out to be by sycophants
and hypocrites who spiked her
drink of life but merely coping
for the moment and longing for solutions
29th July 2021
Categories:
thick skinned, courage,
Form:
Free verse
Six simpering thick-skinned shifty spinster sisters stiffly sit
Stitching sticky skid-marked scivvies of sixty sick stingy sailors.
Six sick from stitching scivvies of sixty sick scrimping sailors
Stickle over nickels; those insistent six thick-skinned spinster tailors!
For Joe Sandler's Tongue Twister Challenge Poetry Contest
Categories:
thick skinned, funny, sick,
Form:
Alliteration
As a writer, people are my vocation.
As for humanity, men, women
And other abstractions,
Their interests constitute little more
Than my hobby; I can only deal in people.
As soon as I start dealing in sects
And sections, I am either an insider
Or an outsider, and I feel lost as either
And as soon as I feel lost,
I make no attempt to find myself,
But simply retrace my steps
And return to the people.
You can call me detached if you like,
But you see, the only way
I can remain sane as a person
With such an all-consuming instinct
For attachment, is to be detached.
The world of subjectivity
Holds no sway over me,
Because it is paradoxically impersonal,
Being affiliated to partisanship,
Sentimental causes and other such abstractions.
I couldn't possibly belong
To a school of orthodox thought
That accepted me as a member.
I don't believe in myself
Other than as a crystal clear container
For the freshest cream of human individualism.
When I was younger,
I ached to be famous for the sake of it,
But now it occurs to me
That anyone can be famous
Provided they are sufficiently audacious
And thick-skinned, and I desire fame
Not so much for the vain satisfaction
Of being seen and known and heard,
But in order to guide others
Towards a happier way of being,
The only precept for celebrity,
Indeed for being in general, as far as I can see.
Adversity seems to be my fate,
As well as fortune.
The meek ones gravitate to me.
I'm the prince of the hurt ones,
The damaged ones.
I resent all success and authority.
I'm so affectionate one moment,
So icy and evasive the next.
I'm in love with many people at present.
I over-accentuate my individuality,
Because sometimes I look at myself
In the mirror and I say:
"Who's that pathetic wreck?"
The more complex you are,
The less you like yourself,
Because you frighten yourself.
The more I find myself liking someone,
The more I doubt us both.
Liking someone negates them for me.
("An Aphoristic Self-Portrait" was based on a series of teeming informal diary entries made in various receptacles in the late 1980s. "The Compensatory Man Par Excellence" originally formed part of a novel written - at an estimate - around 1987. Its fate remains a mystery. "Self-Portrait" may also once have been part of it.)
Categories:
thick skinned, celebrity, me, mirror, people,
Form:
Free verse
Alone In her chair,
she rocks and rocks
through empty days.
Cracked picture frames
of memories on the mantle
gather dust, in the back drop
of her life, where broken dreams
speak silent words, the bittersweet on display.
Thoughts of youth,
still bring a heavy heart
and tears that never fall.
Instead of love, she settled
for his lust; lost, she felt his fist
more than his kiss until she knew
nothing but feelings of being numb, detached…
a young woman one day grew old overnight in an old chair,
slowly rocking away the past…memories often coming too fast.
In youth’s glow, she thought
beauty would last forever…as time crept into fine
crevices around her eyes, he grew tired of her, and she
thanked God every day for sanctity. Then, one day she didn’t.
Thick-skinned, loneliness settled on her neglected mantle. Middle-aged,
tired and starting over, she thought she had time to rediscover herself, her own
desires, but bitterness found a home. As years went by, she, too, gathered dust.
Now layered In despair, she hides her loneliness and trust. With a life’s worth of broken dreams, each day may be her last. Sometimes, a heart disregarded is worth saving...sometimes, it’s too late.
Categories:
thick skinned, age, heartbroken, loneliness, sorrow,
Form:
Free verse
Vertical Sea
Arise horizons tell us what you see
Vertical rain comes on high wave conclusions adrift in mist
Fortunes waiting out on the sea for men who come in ships
So much rain came in from all directions in one instance
Sanity was questioned at a distance along with risk
Vertical rain broke portal windows with such force
Eighty mile winds crashed in as well
Distracted men at playing cards, drinking rum for fun
Now huddled in fear within the thin skin cabin
No one slept inside the dead of hour’s darkness
Troubles bounced up and down out there
Pirates in the past fumbled their rich existence down
A new crop of water warriors can be found to take their place
Doubloons are buried in dark quarter’s underwater world
Above and below deck, inundated with storm and fear
Between each plank the storm took out more men
No thick skinned seasoned soul could harness or hold on
No salty language sailor could be heard
Above the tumultuous storm
The fierce beast rolled in on angry nature’s back
With it, folding over fifty foot waves, came torrential rains
Which pounded heavy on the bow
Churned up rogue waters on the vulnerability of sea life
Nature itself turned on them in adept ferocity
In violence it flipped the ship
Showed contempt for every soul on board
With total disregard for life and limb
And complete indifference towards the sailors
The blackness, void of light, could not help these tyrannical conditions
The monstrous storm consumed more than the rain
It drank up men and drowned them
Others flew in all directions
Most of them broke necks, died before they hit the deck
Instantly killed, dragged into the cold dark depths as well
All steps were in the wrong direction, in favor of the waves
They could not even cower in the craft or say a prayer
The boat and men turned upside down
The ship had splintered into nothing and flew into the gale
Only three men remained, bobbing on the giant waves
Flapping their arms like molested chickens on the sea
Tossed in every direction but straight ahead
Rogue waves were in control, in hysterical rage and agitation
No one knew what happened to the crew
They were never seen again
Categories:
thick skinned, adventure, conflict, missing, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Villanelle: Is there shame worse than that to be caught dead unknown
Is there shame worse than that to be caught dead unknown
How many would give their lives young to be acclaimed
Sell their souls deceive connive plagiarize unbeknown
Burn Rome to the tune of fires surging from a lyre lone
How many Caesars seek Cleopatra’s arms to be proclaimed
Is there shame worse than that to be caught dead unknown
Remember Kennedys risk turns with a beauty home-grown
To recall a king forfeit his throne for a woman twice-maimed
Sell their souls deceive connive plagiarize unbeknown
Yearn for a name to keep from gnawing marrow-less bone
Seek solace striving to escape the stifling that’s ordained
Is there shame worse than that to be caught dead unknown
While others don thick-skinned masks in search of renown
Contort their insecure senses in complexes unrestrained
Sell their souls deceive connive plagiarize unbeknown
Who among the living can claim to have produced the clone
Genji Monogatari Monkey Quijote among authors maimed
Is there shame worse than that to be caught dead unknown
Sell their souls deceive connive plagiarize unbeknown
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
thick skinned, satire, vanity,
Form:
Villanelle
“Thick Skinned – What it Feels Like for a Girl”
When you speak
it’s as if stars cascade
out of your mouth
galaxies you produce
musical incantations
that I listen religiously to
I watch your lips
form glistening cupids’ bows
they spread wide open
like the subtle legs
of a forgotten nun
whispering vesper wishes
before priestly sermons
and John Donne
your hushed and salient
remonstrations, you now
plant me in your
sentence,
no, that this should
never have occurred at all
we are irreverent
in our choices
forming new begottens
you usher from the
pulpit of your world
eloquent reasons
to justify wrong from right
right from wrong
as if your internal fortitude
consists within a
mirror universe
deep and soulful
it promises
more than heaven
those curves
and waivers
contracts we signed
some time ago
souls sunk in a
bad marriage
and hushed assurances
of ‘til death do us part weatherin’
kissing the skin
against my throat
the very place
my comeback is primed
to be launched, yours
deliver that kind of
loose compensation
lathered in snake oil
and a clear path
to redemption
that tie my hands
make me mute
I was launched long ago
from safe harbour,
now
off sure
to lay down all my
naked vicious antigens
I have grown in
the petri dish of my
muddy life to fight your
viral love
like diamonds
your words
they sharpen and glisten
cut through
the thick tempered
glass of me,
through the epidermis
of a close-packed woman
you laser your refined tongue
eyes viscerally undressing
you address the wide open
tableau of me, knowing
you adroitly twist your points
penetrating through
to the now
all too familiar
subcutaneous
safe base chakra of me
within a short space of time
I am sold
into
your chicanery
wanting little of the
life that was before
the unfortunate
taming of me
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
"What it Feels Like for a Girl"/ Madonna , Paul Oakenfold (Remix)
https://youtu.be/tbtt0WTKqnQ
https://www.huffpost.com/entry/8-steps-that-explain-why-_b_9143360
http://www.hiddenhurt.co.uk/domestic_violence_poems_1.html#learned
https://songmeanings.com/songs/view/7940/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/What_It_Feels_Like_for_a_Girl
Categories:
thick skinned, abuse, dark, muse, symbolism,
Form:
Free verse