Best Unluckily Poems
The Cotswolds are a bunch of hills in rural England's heart
They're green and rolling, full of sheep that frolic, bleat and fart.
People come from far and wide to hike the Cotswold Way,
And from Bath to Chipping Campden lovely views enhance their stay.
The villages and towns each have a unique English charm,
And when the sun shines on those hills there's joy on every farm.
The cows and pigs and chickens temporarily forget their fate,
That tomorrow or the next day they'll be on somebody's plate.
The dry stone walls meander through the fields o'er hills and dales,
And from the very top you can unluckily see Wales,
A country full of Welshmen waving leeks and daffodils,
Who sing too much and abuse their sheep amongst their rugged hills.
I'm digressing, it's the Cotswolds that’s the topic of this ode,
There's beauty round every corner of each winding country road.
So when in England, to the Cotswolds drive without delay,
You won't regret it, honestly, you'll love it every day.
My buttocks both rejoice whene'er those hills come into view,
I love those gorgeous Cotswolds, and I know that you will too.
Dear John,
A unique Epitaph you, yourself, penned so well
“Here lies one whose name was writ in water”
Though many have misunderstood your epitaph.
Which means “ Fame and indeed life is fleeting”
Surely your fame was fleeting during your life-time.
Even Shakespeare confirms the true meaning
In Henry VIII, through Griffith who observes
“Men’s evil manner live in brass; their virtues
We write in waters”
So many misunderstood your genius writings
That is why The review called you a disciple of “Cockney Poetry”
And a severe comments on Endymion
“Go back to the apothecary shop Mr. John Keats…..”
Unluckily they did not read your magnificent Odes
Swinburne considered The Ode to a Nightingale
“The final masterpiece of human work for all ages”
Critic Helen calls the Odes, Ultimate embodiment.
Like me, the poets all around our globe get inspired by
“If poetry comes not as naturally as the leaves to a tree
It had better not come at all”
Your words like leaves are still on the tips of every tongue
There isn’t a single moment
People don’t quote you, write about you, speak about you.
I repeat your epitaph
““Here lies one whose name was writ in water”
Only all that was mortal your grave contains
Your name and fame exist everywhere like Zephyr.
+++++++
+++++++
May 30, 2014
Form: Free Verse
Eighth Place Win
Contest: Letter to a poet by Monterey Sirak
Lonely slowly solely I trailed on a street
I looked back, forward, left and right and there was no one to greet
The street was narrow, long and seems to have no end
Very scary, I trembled, so I called my big brother Ken
I shouted his name, shouted and shouted without taking a pause
My voice only goes, multiplies and bounces back, with no response
Very tired, frustrated and hungry, so I leaned beside a tree
I plucked some fruits, just to quench my stomach’s plea
But hungrier than I, was the lion standing not far from me
It roared and swung its tail looking at me
“An already-made meal, how sweet” It said and smiled at me
“Oh father, make me not its daily bread” I prayed and planned to flee
My feet was not glued, so I asked it to hurry to flee
How fast I ran, I don’t think I can even give you a clue
The lion followed me angrily as I ran and pant on the road
I was tired but could not afford to assume a resting mode
I almost gave up but saw a tree I felt I could climb
It could be a nice rescue so I doubled my steps to climb
Voila! There I was and the lion could only stand to watch
I smiled back at it, as I searched for a better place to lodge
But there was none, as the tree owner seemed not to be happy with me
The cobra raised its flattened head, ready to pounce on me
I was much scared, confused so I felt the urge to pee
I said my last prayer to God, thanking Him for what He has done for me
The cobra jumped at me but unluckily fell in the neck of the lion
It fought the lion and I could only referee to crown the champion
Poor cobra lost the fight and the lion devoured its whole length
But the king of the jungle couldn’t withstand for long, the venom of the cobra
A voice then spoke to my heart, after the hungry lion’s departure
“Fear not my son, even in the valley of the shadow of death”
Look at that man strong and stout
Determined, brave he is a soldier
Wandering as a lion up and down
With sharp eyes and on shoulder
Watching into the silent dark of
As if want to catch into his sight
Something hidden or suspicious
Happening in the terrific war site
He is determined to his decision
That he is anyway going to alter
The tide of the long ongoing war
And makes himself ready to altar
He feels pride in the zeal, bravery
And spirit shown by their corps
But he gets gloomy to remember
How his friends turned to corpse
He alone creeps on his four limbs
To show the enemy his own chest
He is not a bit afraid of the danger
His purpose is all the same chaste
He checks for his bullets and gun
Because they are his complements
In this blinding dark and silence
And they won many compliments
He moves with the joy and sorrow
And shows the courage so decent
The troop of enemy has to retreat
And is forced to make a descent
But unluckily exploded a bomb
Made that selfless brave its prey
Do not mourn his glorious death
But for his great soul let’s pray
To the crux and cusp of Heaven's Hill,
I have staggered with burning feet
For 'tis Hell to take another pill,
But Divine to take a flying leap
My models in bottles, posing there
Glare at me with eyes in scorn
Do they not see my Soul's despair
That's haunted me since I was born?
It's quite obvious and plain to me,
Deluged in my ninety-proof
That I am blessed, unluckily
To have survived my Youth...
*written today, drunk on whisky
"The Colour Guards"
Heaven
came close to me today
I flirted with the idea of it
outrageously
The Colour Guard
kept changing
The metaphysical poet
spoke automatic its message through me
it visualised some kind of new Nirvana
shining through electric spectral colours
held aloft
by the containment emeralds
the ghost writer
enticing me to tear from the limb
most high the gilded eye of mind
ignites through crystalline
from the lowest of low born dreams
the sweetest green apple of its eye
so I took a bite and full-bodied
what was living inside the skin of me
metamorphasized
I came close to heaven today
it flirted with the idea of me outrageously
it spoke to me in cloudy colours
class not out yet for long lost fellows
more lessons coming in
each room by door behind all numbers
the answers
found within
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"The metaphysical poets were men of learning, and, to show their learning was their whole endeavour; but, unluckily resolving to show it in rhyme, instead of writing poetry, they only wrote verses, and, very often, such verses as stood the trial of the finger better than of the ear; for the modulation was so imperfect, that they were only found to be verses by counting the syllables... The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together; nature and art are ransacked for illustrations, comparisons, and allusions; their learning instructs, and their subtilty surprises; but the reader commonly thinks his improvement dearly bought, and, though he sometimes admires, is seldom pleased."
nirvana
noun
(in Buddhism)
a transcendent state in which there is neither suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.
"Listening is all well and good", she said.
"Watch and learn, read between the lines;
Morse Code, a gift of Love - for you," she said.
powerless to the force of fate?
the futility of human will
when fate swallows free will like a tidal sea
when choice is neither safe nor certain
you embrace everything happening as fate's design,
an inevitability
perhaps an unseen deity pulling puppet strings?
we are like mismatched spoons in a drawer
to me, there's substance in free will
often wrong directions spinning us out of control
realism that springs from life's seeds
no submissiveness to fate
no resignation to what's believed inevitable
with no obvious design, chance breeds tales of sorrow
sometimes the good end unluckily
while the bad can prosper
unequal outcomes remain unexplained
it's not a world to yield its secrets
bad luck happens (no reflection on self)
it's widespread like bird droppings
Can we reach a different conclusion?
to value moments of misdirection
when personal error becomes art,
poetry that rattles our nerves
from the keen edge of free will,
choice
that stretches beyond a fated helpless
to know that the stars aren't calling the shots
to know that a world of war-hell
is a hell of our own making
Poem composed August 29/2022
For Edward Ibeh
Contest: This or That Volume 13
An extant place, some say a mythological place that only exists in the minds of fools. Nonsense! I have seen it with my own eyes. It is an intangible land that only grants access to those with integrity and that demonstrate great valor. A place so magnificently marvelous, where light prevails over darkness, good over evil, and peace over chaos. A beautifully serene world that I would describe as a little piece of heaven, but as everything, it too was susceptible and far from perfection. Sometimes maliciously astute egotists bypass the main gates of this world, with nothing but a selfish purpose. Such an ignominious act brings about a contagious plague turns the placid atmosphere of this world into an enigmatic one. The feeling this magical place induced in me is paradoxically ineffable. Unfortunately adversity squelched my hopes and dreams. A malevolently vicious serpent bypassed the gilded entrance and unluckily it targeted the love of my life. After copious amounts of cajolery, it successfully warped her mind with the poisonous words that came out of its mouth and persuaded her. I paid the unbearable price for this betrayal. I was painfully cast out and thrown into the dark, secluded realm of reality. Why? How?.. Now I wander this cold world, with solitude as my only companion, haunted by the nightmare that I live.
Dark, brown, heavy spots lay on a plant this very day, it gives the signal of ending play
For a while no light sun, will rest itself and watch others have fun
While cold, slick, moisture, and pressure of cold, makes it good for growing mold
A time when weather barely has rhyme, a sense that something isn't that fine
So the plant bows down, unluckily not under someone's gown
It feels rigid, but doesn't shake, an act that others call not possible and fake
The plant waits for a chance, being free, though now the eye couldn't really see
So astonished
Was I when I saw you,
From my safe little corner across
The room,
Behind the glass like all the pastries
That were available to me
Not barred by the displays indeed,
I watch you move.
The indulgence of the moment,
I take in your design
That blaze of robin eggshell blue,
That coating which enhances
Your fair and flawless skin
Illuminates your heart-shaped face
And calls the angels, if they
Prove to be,
To cast a dancing beam inside
Your eyes
And wings cushion your feet
With unbroken grace on which you
Walk
So when you go, at least you glide
But your flight reveals the
Chocolate locks,
The cake in and of itself
That frames the floured face
And beaming eyes
That cake, so rich and moist
Tied up high like a curtain
Left unchecked, still beautiful
Would drown
All these things, I observe
In a minute or less
And as I stand to go
(Not on angel's wings, unluckily)
I take my one final glance
At the baker's pride
And joy,
Satisfied at last when I do
Beholding such sleek art
In your chocolate-veiled
Neck tattoo
the good die young
Jonny was a good man
he was a man of his words
who sacrificed all he got
for the sake of his people
he never lived a life of lies
so truthful to his community
he offer help to everyone in need
he always gave to the poor
lend to the needy
he was the spoke man
of his people
he will never gave up the right
of his people for nothing
not for anything
the good die young
Jonny was a man of peace
yet despite all set and done
haters of humanity won't
let Jonny be
they criticised all he has done
they never saw no good in
his deeds
all the time they say
he was fake
haters always put him down
in every way possible
every of his progress
they try to change to lie
the good die young
oh Jonny a noble man
unluckily Jonny was ill
laying on a sick bed
surprisingly no one turns up
to know how Jonny fares
no hater no lovers
Jonny suffered a deep pain
from his illness
hoping to be helped
by his people he shared
all he had with
to no avail no one showed up
on no what a world
Jonny weep
now i understand why
they say
the good die young
the good die young
Jonny lament in pain
day and night
dieing in silence
looks like no one cares
at long last Jonny pass away
What A World
the good die young
moral thought
is good to be good
but
is bad to be too good
they ends you up to regret
the good deed of one
is his legacy that lives
for enternity
becarefull? when you are good
not everyone will notice
and appreciate but
a good person never change
guess why
the good die young
Does complaining helps, I don't know; but they say
yes it helps, keeps one away from taking action;
It gives excuses to procrastinate, stay
away from achieving goals as reaction;
Complain helps too much not to try to find solution.
Surely it proves to someone we are victims;
Trying to find one person who can be blamed;
The chronic complainers doesn't like how system
works, seem to be unsatisfied, always pained;
they've tendency to focus on setbacks not progress.
Some vents emotional dissatisfaction
tend to be focused on themselves and their own
didn't care to solve issues, just seek attention;
Unluckily dampens people's moods as shown;
Complainer along with listener also felt worse.
It's observed there are "instrumental complaint";
that is all about solving problems, focus
on the impact of the problem, and explain
importance of change, thoughtful action chosen
to create a specific plan for bringing the change.
Some feel by complaining get relief from theirs
mental stress; though research says when one complains
body releases cortisol that impairs
immune system makes one gets a lot of pains
susceptible to high cholesterol, diseases.
Let’s decide should we only stop after complaining
Or put more emphasis to find one for blaming
Or cooperate with authorities no more hesitating
or apply our minds to resolve issues for gaining
experiences. Let’s resolve not to make issues complicating.
~X~X~X~
Lying on my small bed..
On the biggest pillow is my head..
A notepad I half read..
Then, I drink this med..
For my head and body aches..
I tried to forget and fake..
Unluckily, I cannot..
For my stomach also went knots..
Now i breathe deep
As I wanna sleep
Pillows on my hips
Warming me quips
By: olive_eloi
12:25am
28/11/2013
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she emerged from the darkness baring her fangs.
her features unmistakable.
everyone who turned to her was left awe.
and immediately sucked dry of their blood.
she went in search of more humans to satisfy her thirst.
she was rewarded handsomely and immediately set to work.
once she finished she left the pallors corpses behind the bins.
still she was greedy and went to find more blood.
unluckily she crossed some slayers.
with one last hiss.
and was immediately turned to dust.
Form:
I have closed the main gate
After that I closed the door
Something more to be closed
So I closed the window pane
All these efforts are insufficient
To keep away cousin of worries
The past sweet memories came into sense.
What kind of memories are these
Which remains young with chastity
Days are passed to make things old
But failed on a high society lady
This partiality made me nervous
So i tried hard to erase them
With the oldest natural eraser
But it didn't work well
Then I tried the newest technologies
Like delete, filters and editing apps
Unluckily they all said sorry
Now what can I do
Have something more to try
First I switched off all lights
Then closed eyes as monk in penance
Made dark cabin of science's lab
But experiment didn't get success
When all efforts gone vain
I knew the facts
A prey has no more choices.