Best Truculent Poems
O hear I chant clinging to a sullen northern shore,
tempestuous serene rocky beach that you so adore,
sultry soliloquy sturdy stifled structure sings,
a witness of forgotten sailors and majestic kings.
Them, I blessed with gracious shelter in storms,
for I unmanned, rejoiced in accompanying norms
dreaming of worlds afar with anchored symphony,
of parting tears that await a returning euphony.
O watch my ancient red-bricked watchtower in sky
where the cherry-eyed albatross prepares to fly,
whispering of solitary voyages on vessels adrift,
guiding them through entailing waters, cold and swift.
Them, I engulf in mystic hues of radiant green light,
their shivering agony embraced by divine joy so bright,
dancing to tunes of prodigious waves as they kissed,
my feet reuniting with the ocean bed of forlorn mist.
O taste the pungent waves that carry eternal seasons,
timeless frequencies sprinkled on heavenly reasons,
essence of leaves rolled in snow and streams they fuse,
beads reborn of universe in a cradled hammock cruise.
Them, I absorb with their enchanting viscous tides,
they melt with innocent bliss my truculent slides
that flourishes my solitary light to let me sense
melodies of blushing mornings with visitors hence.
O touch my abandoned walls, barren yet strong,
bereft of warm embrace in a lifetime so long;
them I nurture with tears of melancholic grief,
to be held by tender nights of melodious relief.
I await the echoing hums of a delicate little girl,
her fingers orchestrated the howling wind with a twirl,
I became the serene light that guides despondent ships,
a proud beacon of benign hope dissolving dark eclipse.
The truth can’t be seen through blinders.
Eyes and ears covered with hatred.
The tongue’s ready-lash sidewinders,
twisting and spinning what’s sacred.
The truth, the fact, reality
masked - the masses bobble their heads.
The illusion of blasphemy
here, when the scripture’s left unread.
No need for truth, when it’s made up.
“What is truth,” plank’s in Pilate’s eye.
Pilate knows - the charges trumped-up.
Wolfish masses prefer a lie.
How often the accusation,
front page news, folks - everyone’s riled.
The leak, having no foundation,
reneged where no one looks - exiled.
But still the crowd cheers old nick.
The stage decked out in crimson fire.
A civil war waged with a Bic.
No matter the damage - it’s dire!
The law, “Love others as yourself,”
truculent in divisive ways -
‘stead hate and pride speech off-the-shelf.
Lollygagging verses… no one prays…
Spend time in the prayer closet.
It’s worth every cent! Spare time!
Hear God - work up the composite.
Don’t listen to the world. PEACE TIME!
9/3/2022
Tower, buzz and scurry
Oh great resilient city
Ahoy!
Alive. Scramble bustle earth's
ethnicities
On lurid quests--
A pendulum of tantric turmoil and
Blessed harmony
Quixotic city--brash,
Sangfroid merotomized and
Chrematistic--metro nonpareil.
See a myriad melange of
Tortured splenetic
Souls and great spirits
Noble and soothfast
Great city, your hecatombs
Of underground trains
Roar scream in
Hodge-podge graffiti attire
Fat fuming brattling buses
Grunt their huffpuffs,
And nervous cars scissorcut
Impatiently betwixt tarred and
Cemented streets
August and capacious
Ferruminated grey glass and steel
Towers--Aeeries in obeisance to the
Heavens, erupt in anabasis at the azure
Pearly welkin,
Humming diapasons of marvelous
Melismatic tunes
A gallimaufry of cacaphony and
Sweet sounds--the
Great Metropolis persistently
Thrives.
Streets adorned with sylph fashion
Models, conute churls, street
recrement--dazed and forgotten men,
Enticing shuck and jive
Blandishing street vendors,
Natty brujo business gentry
With their helotry on a
Ferris wheel of daily
Triumphs and defeats and
Cheeky mendicants
Shuffle along allegro vivace
Howling chorus songs amidst a
Torrent of raining dollars and
Coins floating in the skies over
The brazen metropolis.
Snuffling restaurants like hives
Humbuzz the grandiloquence,
Pithy slang and sententious
Persiflage of the day.
A truly syncratic parley
Of passions sentient
Of crimes basilic
Of arts sacerdotal and gratuitous
Of fashions arabesque and outre
Of plays frivolous and profound
Of music sericeous and truculent
Of money pursuits solonic
Of loves ascendant and descentdant
Of rejections mournful and joyous
An e'er persisting cha-cha-cha and
Boogie-woogie of the fierce
Bustling bubbling bold city,
Pendulumming pandaemoniums and
Resolutions, day
Upon pertinatious day.
David John Hart 2003 USA
He speaks for the uprooted.
A man of sorts, a twiggy Buddha.
He who interprets
the conferences of frogs,
the unpublished works
of kestrels and voles.
He’s an advocate for the underbelly
of a microbial heaven, for every kind
of uncouth animalcule.
Ancient is he, yet as fresh as tomorrow,
in green ponds he fishes for sunlight.
He plumps grassy pillows,
quilts nests for the slumbering and slippery,
gardens all dewy meadows.
He speaks for the bulldozed,
the displaced. The native and
the nomadic.
He tracks the sins
of the truculent muckrakers,
the yellow iron caterpillars.
He glides over bogs with the frogs.
Slips between the stringy and tall,
if there are no forested ways
he ambles where the wind ruffles.
He talks to the bears - they tell him
how things are going in the suburbs.
Swimming pools and trash cans,
have still to be negotiated. There must be a treaty.
He is leafy, kits and coyote love him,
Whistle-Pigs chirp like sparrows; blow their noses
to trumpet his approach.
When ducks quack his many sermons
shotguns misfire.
He is a preacher, a teacher to tics and turtles.
He is the bosky bedfellow, not a straw man,
or a hollow man – he is variegated and verdant,
a green man for me and thee
at least for now.
Come back to my sky O truculent sun
Do not go behind your clouds of gray
Do not from hunger wander away
I want to feel you deep in the green
Vein of leaves turning water to wine
I want to breathe you from sweet vine
Blowing kisses of oxygen by which I
Tell your stoic anguish for me to do well
O do not leave me, time writes our age
On petals while our passions rage
Mortal as a dew. I love your warmth
Your cosy way of giving ... and dying
Like us you never complain ... giving
Your life to be our dust ... I am inspired
By you, stay until my winter is expired.
She searched beneath flashing green neon signs
advertising cheap rooms for rent - ten by the hour.
She prowled - her vision sharpest in the night
Celadon eyes of a feral cat, out searching for her Tom.
Sufficient suspicions surfaced in a splenetic jaded mind
fed with juicy scraps and morsels of hearsay.
Jealousy grew in truculent shades of green,
to a height taller than a forest of giant spruce and pine.
Trust be damned, an evil spell cast upon her heart.
Neon blinks painted emerald stripes across her distorted face.
Possessed, she ripped her dress and screamed his name.
Pounded on doors painted in deep verdant hue
all closed to the night's vulgar rantings.
Flashing lights, blue and red, a door finally opened.
Tears fell from green crystalized eyes
black mascara streaked down each cheek
a beast-like mask of caustic emotions.
Caged - the 'Green Eyed Monster' - locked away
=____________________________________=
March 1st, 2016
Green Contest: Silent One
The stranger is strange, pariah, leper sounds offbeat,
Neither truculent, nor relevant, all destined to encounter the doomed relic;
The bizarre outlander, alien to stimulate the instant pulse-beats!
The uninvited hobnobber, one despises to welcome in routine frolic.
The stranger is unsolicited, the object of latent fear,
As strange may be the ways of the unbidden ones' intentional cares!
The stranger is unfaithful: weird to tranquility, comfort and cheer,
For the sceptical one, we become anxious by a mere fateful encounter!
The stanger lies in our conscience; in a distant land in paradoxical disguise.
Masquerade, the image generates an uncanny fear to sigh!
Sounds delinquent to subjugate the wires of prudent conscience!
Nonetheless, cogitates as usurper of peace; an ineffable parti pris.
Self-centred, they are loquacious, spell bound like con stars;
Babbles from the masks, camouflages as the epitomes of pretenders.
Unknown, unfamiliar, stirs alarms not to mingle, to be away, to be cautious.
In disguise, comes the alleged stanger to ruin ones' peace to shudder and shatter.
But the most alarming of all preconceived archetypes, are the strangers:
Who lingers on, as routine friends and well wishers,
On whom we doted on, are the real dear strangers,
Who by feigning friends, acted quisling, an obvious stranger!
'Hold!' sometimes left us dumbfounded with their insensible fickle deeds;
Even when the unknown stanger might spare and stand by us in awful needs!
When our intimate ones deny to wink at the distress;
While busy in spilling the beans, our woes go unnoticed by the feigned well-wishers.
Indeed! They are the untagged apparent strangers, fugitives in our trials.
Beware of those strangers, whom we adore as near and dear ones, 'bosom friends,'
the agnates and cognates, to entitle the crown, “an actual stranger" who elopes in tmes of miseries!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
A vexatious question posed by kids of every generation,
One that sets parents to gnashing their teeth with irritation,
And tends to spread a pall over a well-planned vacation,
Is, "Are we there yet?" along the way to their destination!
From the rear seat, there's a paucity of civil conversation.
Mom's firm hand has resolved many a truculent confrontation!
Dad's patience has reached the point of violent detonation!
"Are we there yet?" the kids whine, to their parent's consternation!
The stalwart Pilgrims sailed the roiling seas with trepidation,
Risking their very lives to escape the bonds of privation.
The age-old query from kids must've driven them to exacerbation!
"Are we there yet?" pestered the kids to their parents aggravation!
It had to be a daunting venture to join the westward migration,
As Pa faced the rugged Rockies, the vastness of God's Creation!
Roaring rivers and Indians - he surely had that sinking sensation!
Did he suffer kids' "Are we there yet?" for the trek's duration?
Does this annoying phrase develop during gestation?
Is it primordial? Has it been around since Creation?
Has it something to do with genetics or even reincarnation?
Parents merit a special place in heaven for enduring such recitation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
A truculent woman named Jools
was discovered cheating at boules
Tossing balls in the air
Jools was heard to declare
oh those rules are just made for fools!
***a little poetic licence as I understand boules is pronounced 'bull'***
06-30-17
Horse Story
Whatever you do a horse will not be accepted in
bar or an inn, our horse after hours of ploughing soil
was give beer to drink, this because the home made
beer the farmer had brewed wasn’t any god.
The horse drank deeply but after a rest it got truculent
and refused the harness, The farmer gave it more
beer to mollify the horse, but no this was a day when
it said no. The horse trotted to the nearest town
found an inn and asked for a beer, deep silence, drinkers
joined AA, no good for business the innkeeper called
the police and got a the horse back to the farm where it
had to sober up in a field tied to a tree, and the farmer
had to pay a fine for giving alcohol to an animal
Gray leaden murkiness rests in the light hours
For which there was no light
Their barren lifelessness was visible, as their arms wobbled
Cracked and scorn beaten down
Dry as the desert, the tears have bleed away
Sucked out and left to wander
And so they have lost against the truculent world
Numb, inept and ossified spirits
Crushed like pellets of a beautiful rose
Torn from their stem of the pulse
Slowly evaporating into a dull colorless dust
No longer of value for they have shed there hold to dwell
Don't you dare look at her
with those dreadful eyes
if you think she'll be frightened
in your dreams you'll hear your own cries
Dont underestimate her strength
her dexterity is more then you
about her corporeal and mental power
hey insensate man-you have no clue
if you think you are supercilious
you better change your thinking
in reality you're vicious
proudness is what with which you're teeming
Your woman is your life
at your every step she will be with you
its your duty to respect her
she'll be always by her husband's side-yes that's true
you harass her, you kill her
you burn her alive
she has to face the consequences
she is the one who always strives
But mind you she wont let a tear flow down
her actions will be dynamic
your truculent behavior wont stop her
from heading towards the tallest peak
If you ever break her heart into pieces
she wont remember you as the one who broke her heart
But rather the one who taught her
to live with a broken heartDon't you dare look at her
with those dreadful eyes
if you think she'll be frightened
in your dreams you'll hear your own cries
Dont underestimate her strength
her dexterity is more then you
about her corporeal and mental power
hey insensate man-you have no clue
if you think you are supercilious
you better change your thinking
in reality you're vicious
proudness is what with which you're teeming
Your woman is your life
at your every step she will be with you
its your duty to respect her
she'll be always by her husband's side-yes that's true
you harass her, you kill her
you burn her alive
she has to face the consequences
she is the one who always strives
But mind you she wont let a tear flow down
her actions will be dynamic
your truculent behavior wont stop her
from heading towards the tallest peak
If you ever break her heart into pieces
she wont remember you as the one who broke her heart
But rather the one who taught her
to live with a broken heart
To him all women are hallowed
minus those that hustle themselves.
How instantly and cunningly
they commit truculent acts
yet never bribed by mischief
except by rendezvous.
Once the Sinis floppers' nerves acted up in bunches,
Scandinavians had no way to head off sucker punches.
Sacks of scamming slapstick, slap bass,
and farcefest, thick and fast, came to pass.
Not a clod of sunstruck dung by a donkey's ass
shines half as dazzlingly as these necks brass.
Fingers burnt, floppers' brash necks scrounged no warm and fuzzy;
Heart burnt, the propagandist's poor mouth popped up buzzy.
Not a hot knife cutting through butter
goes half as quickly as he springs to sputter.
Except for words of clutter, foams spattering shutter,
what else can be extracted from that mouth of the gutter?
Low legs pretend to mount high horse;
Prayers of prey preempt provegan pulpit,
howling: How can you hunker without remorse,
each slumgullion-swamped Swedish culprit?
Street of serenity in for boars to roar ,
hall of harmony in for a flea to take the floor.
new moon in for all ground rock-and-roll, full in for truculent troll.
Hence spins Sinis trumpet: to sweep away the stick in our craw,
to swerve Sweden's stance suffices only one last straw.
Actually how does Sweden react to the drill of dross droll?
Simply cutting them dead and going on with leisure stroll.
Bottle me up with your rubbish….your nonsense….
Asleep mentally
Miserable as a cow, fed up with horrid hormones and practical poison
Hypnotized ……..
With people, getting dumber
Without people, getting smarter
Rejection is an infection
I’m a savage from the beginning to the end
Chemically controlled…LOLed…LOLed…
3 circles…
3 triangles…
3 squares…
In conclusion, I am the esteamed airplane
And you – my pleasure-whelmed, imploring pilot
I beg for your mercy on my soul…
Anxiety, banging at my skull
I repent of all my sins, oh Lord of Accord…
If only…
If only…
You’d accept and forgive me…
You ARE a forgiving God after all is said and done
I’m the follower and you’re the leader
I’m a pain-engulfed pupil…
EMOtionally driven…smitten and bitten by luv
Staring at scarlet scars and starlit stars in the night sky…I reach for it so high
So high in the aqua-blue sky
Endorphins of plenty have made me sit with my notions…
Commotions and emotions enveloped into one…truly…amazing…feeling…
I’m healing…dealing and conquering pain from the past…
At last, breathing in the chemicals of the ty city
Yes, I said it alright…
With my head upright,
I said it alright! I said it…so don’t pick a fight
Med the sun and end the pain of rain
Trickling down your truculent pitch fork of a tongue
Medication never helped or cured a heartache like mine…it just made me feel numb and dumb all over again….again….again….
Hypnotized into this ugly society
Sorry to be negative, but hell, ain’t he or she?
Ain’t he or she?
Ain’t he or she?
Ah, this sweltering shelter of mine leaks lament
Rise from the ashes…
Arise from the ashes…
Rise from the ashes
Shame is a revolting name…
Entertainment is within my fingertips
Getting a grip on reality and fantasy all in one
Because the battle I have won…maybe it has just……NO! BE GONE!
On and on and on, I am enraged by your eternal existence of elegance….
Cruel, bittersweet elegance
It should be brought down to repentance...
The government of lies...
The Government of forever truth
Has not reigned upon us...
Y E T