Best Untutored Poems
The wily thorn that signifies the rose
abides; some hapless fool will come along
untutored in the art of willful pose
to grasp, and sustain a sharp reminder!
His gift bestowed and modestly attended,
there stirs a trembling only she may know
whose pledge is true and joyfully intended,
first semblance of a passion soon to grow.
How powerful beauty's lure can be!
it supersedes, and pricks the heart to bleed,
and captured in its snare they're led
on rapture's path, where'er that path may lead.
Categories:
untutored, love,
Form:
Quatrain
The wily thorn that signifies the rose
abides; some hapless fool will come along
untutored in the art of willful pose
to grasp, and sustain a sharp reminder!
His gift bestowed and modestly attended,
there stirs a trembling only she may know
whose pledge is true and joyfully intended,
first semblance of a passion soon to grow.
How powerful beauty's lure can be!
it supersedes, and pricks the heart to bleed,
and captured in its snare they're led
on rapture's path, where'er that path may lead.
Categories:
untutored, love, may,
Form:
Verse
The Snowflakes Precision
What a cruel and un-compassionate fate you bequeath us
A million years of the mediocre and paltry garnish of faith and hope
Given for the consumption of these generations
How uninspired and habitually in denial
We have become
The lost worlds of dreaming
Left waiting
For better times and in a better place
Plied by consuming the majestic expectations
Of living
In the eternal wake of emptiness
What an unloving and unforgiving creation
We have come to exists within
Full to the brim
With uncompromising seconds
And not even in the grandeur of nature’s scenic beauty
Not in the snowflakes precision as it floats
No
Not unimagined complexity of form and chaos
No not even in a perfect chord
Does the merest or slightest of clues
Become existent or reverberate to us a voice
Which whispers to us of our truth
We are bereft of guidance
Untutored in this colossal magnitude and vacuum
Between the myriad stars
Tiny insignificant is this of our awareness
A planet a world
Part of an unending silence
So alone and so self absorbed
So material in the murderous evil
We have done to each other
So disunited in the dark reaches
So solitary
And yet we did not gather the family of man
No not even to look after of ourselves
Categories:
untutored, caregiving
Form:
Free verse
Tho' some of my poetry may be a tad avant garde,
And 'tis fer dang sure I'll ne'er be a renowned bard,
But I try to concoct stuff that is original and creative,
That can be understood by the most untutored native!
Some verse I read leaves me scratchin' my head,
Tryin' to figger out what the composer said!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Categories:
untutored, humorous, poetry,
Form:
Couplet
at times it seems to be their only ticket out of the hood
young black men with athletic talents that are exceptionally good
be it basketball, football, baseball or any other type of sport
it's their natural athletic ability where they don't seem to fall short
but not all of them are gifted enough to have top-notch grades
they use what they got to lie in the bed of life that they've made
to get out of the projects, beyond the violence and the crime
to rise above their circumstances, away from the troubled and hard times
but the pressure is tremendous and there are only a certain numbers of spots
they will attempt to do anything to rise up to the top
many of them are overwhelmed, many get lost and confused
everybody wants a piece of them, they can't seem to win nor lose
awesome responsibility placed upon their untutored minds
many of them will misstep and get left behind
the prestige and money make a most seductive bait
a number of them will bypass college as they can not afford to wait
organized sports, the fast track to fortune and fame
but all it seems to have done is take the fun out of the game
it's not personal, it's business
and the athletes are just tools
to make money for those in powers
but what about education and school?
to turn pro, to get paid, to have the American dream
organized sports, it's no longer about fun nor about the team
Categories:
untutored, black african american, education,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
I do not, amongst the dregs of my cups,
Consider you worthy to be the theme
For my untutored scribblings.
There, Madame, there: I put you
In your place, amongst the detritus
Of my life, the forgotten effigies of life,
As she should be lived.
Yet, you do not acquiesce to my intentions,
And re-emerge into my consciousness
To disturb and argue for attention and
Writings.
I am weak, and accede to your importuning
With versification to placate your demands,
To show my love.
Categories:
untutored, love,
Form:
Sonnet
It’s 1914, and Hollywood star Mabel Normand has just
helped new boy Charlie Chaplin to develop his “Tramp”
character. She is wondering if she’s done the right thing.
I gave him everything – even the walk.
He’s too priapic for his baggy britches!
Arriving here still tarred with charred old cork,
this fraud who jawed of Avignon and Sitges
while knowing neither, has the crew in stitches.
Dexterity is not the same as grace:
he’s shaping up for all-time rags-to-riches,
the parasite who rose without a trace:
but we can see beneath the comic carapace.
He’s carrying himself now like a star.
If glibness were the same as eloquence,
I haven’t any doubt that he’d go far.
The talent, if untutored, is immense.
I wish he’d just – when not before the lens –
acknowledge what’s been done for him. That loud
theatricality I tamed. The sense
of something intímate, less harsh, less proud,
I think I gave him. But his eyes are on the crowd.
He’s trying to direct us. We’re his bitches.
That script he wrote permits him to molest
some seven women, like as if his itches
are there to be indulged. The man’s obsessed.
I nurtured him and now, at his behest,
I’m served up as his plaything. I’m incensed!
The cuckoo kicks the babies from the nest,
but still the mother feeds him. My defence?
A woman’s love survives a man’s incontinence.
Categories:
untutored, film,
Form:
Rhyme
...a sonnet for R.S. Thomas
A shaft of straw lodged loosely 'twixt his teeth,
a shifty glance from here to everywhere,
he toils the livelong day 'tween farm and heath,
a sullen youth with wild and shaggy hair.
The elements have pulverized his face,
a body lean and hungry from the plow,
in silence, with a slow and steady pace,
he struggles hard with sweat upon his brow.
Untutored still, yet he can read the sky,
the circle of a buzzard high and free,
more welcome to his sharp and seasoned eye
than any book or harsh calligraphy.
Today I had him pause to shake my hand,
a gesture he and I both understand.
Categories:
untutored, nature,
Form:
Sonnet
Here we meet, a company
plucked randomly
from every shore to dine,
to gather from the mind's full store,
enriched, aware of all the particles,
of spatial plain within, beyond—
we meet as if to pull together
this mysterious self
that breathes and breeds
inside the depths of God.
...that in such unity it makes
synoptic sight of that fantastic feast
that is the body and the blood
consumed for all of humankind,
the pagan and the child
untutored, bold
beneath the hands of Christ
...to meet...and to adore,
to fall upon our faces then
full-stunned to greet the Lord
inside our viscera, in every time
within our timeless souls.
...to meet, to know
there is no need to crush the grape
or bake the loaf, no need to speak
of sacrifice, atonement, penitence,
or fast before the board
thoughout the night.
We meet, quite helpless underneath
the fierce tenacity of love,
and thus it is that we are fed,
partaking of the fare of ragged mendicants
like Jesus and Siddartha,
unwashed royalty beneath the tree of light.
Then, chagrined to find our eyes
directed to the dust aound our feet
in self-determined shame
that such a little boy begins
to hand out fishes to
the multitude upon the earth,
we hoist our packs to make retreat,
and sigh,
and say
that there is still so much to learn
of Agape.
~
*in the universal sense, pronounced AH guh pay
Categories:
untutored, peace,
Form:
Free verse
We peep through grated beams in the dark confines,
Kept in chains by the tyranny of audacious jailers,
unending cynosure of profligates and imposters:
ruining the destinies of million wearied sufferers.
criminals fit for the gallows,
morons from the days of the colony.
dictators in military attires.
and simpletons kept in power for temporary ease.
our heirloom forced from us by old monsters.
cabals of criminals, greedy goons, men untutored in reputation.
Felons and rapscallion from the military barracks,
too old for modern ideas.
we are burdened along by colonial tyranny,
in a country where destinies are suspended in the gale,
and youths are forced into their own crimes of stealing.
we could not speak our sentiment freely.
we are fettered and riveted by their guns.
The sword above us, tyranny of archaic mind.
dreamy theorist acting as lords over multitudes of docile lots.
men made to cringe and fawn bowing and stooping to the
threatening of their guns.
They armed assassins and sufferers alike,
paid a trifling sum from the proceeds of corruption,
to keep the masses away from them as old baron loot the treasury,
this open prison of fancied freedom,
where marauders employed by the states with a gun to kill,
trans versing the south with AK47/.
terrorist renamed bandits by religious sympathizers.
from the porous borders of North,
comradely of Fanatics and bigots of the sword sect.
Clandestinely overrunning the land.
Freedom is a crime to fools.
those who dares becomes enemy of states.
assaulted by “operation python” dance.
or raided by Lawless DSS.
This is but a Jihad disguised as government.
The road is a trap of death,
we sleep as watchers waiting for the sword.
we starve amidst multitudinous resources,
they Lend to keep us in Bondage.
The crude in the south.
and all the resources are carted away to the North
to pay terrorist.
A state crimes condoned.
we groan,
we dare not speak as their armed assassin are
ready to silence the Voice of Truth.
one more Truth for the Jailer from the North.
Categories:
untutored, anger, corruption, freedom, leadership,
Form:
Free verse
Urban jungle roosters,
born-again scarecrow,
to untutored city eyes,
tawny pipit stonewall nester,
jet black Inca dove bereft,
of dovetail on a croque monsieur,
idle bone grub crawl,
mother hen to sandy brown,
and velvet bill gazer,
from an nearby creak,
recent rural migrant now,
a tree house side kick,
chickadee a late date sitter,
on this air flock beaky natter,
or tweet between the ice float,
edgy grey day species wield,
their sprightly ruffled feathers,
as an orthopaedic surgeon,
and their spatula when scraping,
rancid bark off windmill elm trees,
gastric bugle trenchermen ahoy,
while ogling a fellow common redpoll,
oh these tummy rumble diners,
will zoom in on every gourmet,
tangled wire mesh feeder station.
round and round they’ll fly,
on zesty mission beetroot,
a cock-eyed scavenger‘s delight,
are they siblings of a noble order?
white tale mountain bluebirds swopping,
habitat for granite boundary habit,
off key off discordant choirboys,
six sided snow bird chorus,
ear splitter for tardy wakening,
they cheep religiously as if,
their only valid creed was,
window squinting prayer meets
Categories:
untutored, art, beautiful, beauty, environment,
Form:
Ekphrasis
The Devil's Hold
Into the devils hands you placed my infant form
with blind eyes and untutored minds you left.
The caterwauls of baby rang like an eerie storm
for the eve's respite you sought was paid a high tariff.
Memory, so kind and long gone, without redress
lays in ashes buried in the wavering wash of time
But, decades of snickering comments coalesce
making the adult children wonder at their crime.
Marred, scarred, scared and one too many times undressed
the ramming cat, the rutting dog, pointed allusions
The negligence of youthful parents never confessed
leaves Magdalene's curse, a cost not of your choosing.
Raise the tarry brush of hell and paint their damned souls,
far too many have fell within the Devil's hold.
Categories:
untutored, childhood, family, growing up,
Form:
Sonnet
So close to me she sits yet I am blind,
the thoughts she seeks to plant within my mind.
Naivete prevents their cognisance,
as immaturity meets happenstance.
Much older she - though hesitant to move,
engages guile with swift effect to prove,
that taking prey is still within her grasp;
throws back her auburn locks which draws a gasp.
The drumbeat of my heart pounds in my ears
as adolescent yearnings stoke my fears;
transfixed, my body trembles as in flame,
untutored in the rules of this new game.
My eyes fixed straight and true at nought ahead,
determined not to show what may be read.
A sudden shift in my periphery
now juxtaposed us in this mystery.
As closer now our bodies are aligned,
her heat begins to dull my hurried mind.
Confused my arms fold tightly to my chest,
convincing me that I would fail the test.
Assured that somehow I’d escaped the net,
a silent breath unlocked my lungs and yet -
more hunger as my heart had ever known,
her fingers curling now around my own.
At once, commingling our symmetry,
my vision now explored infinity;
as one by one our senses coalesced,
held firm my arm she lay across her breast.
My fingers - warm, between her hand and heart,
begin to tear my innocence apart;
now energised, the ancient urges rise,
intent on satisfaction ‘ere it dies.
We tear ourselves apart - but holding fast,
I’m led into her playground lair at last;
what wonders would this secret solace bring?
She needed me to push her on the swing.
August 15th 2015 Bill Lindsay 'Any Poem That Received Honorable Mention'
Categories:
untutored, desire, imagery, relationship, youth,
Form:
Sonnet
The wily thorn that signifies the rose
abides; some hapless fool will come along
untutored in the art of willful pose
to grasp, and sustain a sharp reminder.
His gift bestowed and modestly attended,
there stirs a trembling only she may know
whose pledge is true and joyfully intended,
first semblance of a passion soon to grow.
How powerful such beauty's lure can be!
it supersedes, and pricks the heart to bleed,
and captured in its snare they're led
to rapture's path, where'er that path may lead!
Categories:
untutored, love,
Form:
Quatrain
This bowl is no longer mine,
was never so,
Let it go.
well worn before the oath,
A gift that despised the guardian,
Presented freely without a dowry in May.
tainted, and abandoned.
used, and widened by many.
too wide to keep a home.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
insatiable, licentious and libidinous.
The bowl was scorned by many.
ere i fell a wandering,
incorrigible, rebellious, untutored.
a bait on my way, the sorrow on my path.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
Like many seeking for prey, and so was i for a time.
intent concealed,,
desperate for the gift of the semen.
as adulterer urged rebellion by ignorance.
the rage, the rave of ego and bestiality.
deceived the Law for mere gain.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
It is broken cannot be fixed by logic.
this bowl is old, alluring by mascara.
This bowl was used,
i take exception on your list,
This bowl is free available to all.
the next victim can explore.
the bowl is cheap,
forced a dowry to conceal the shame.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
T'was sold for free at Ikoyi with ego,
Who is next?
A thousand many had the bowl,
I played along for a time,
ere this voyage of deceit,
I took a flight from restrain ,
hoping to make a jewel from the Flesh.
This bowl is no longer mine,
Let it go,
This bowl is addicted to the red zones,
Incurable addiction i recalled,
The friends,
The internet,
The phone,
The TV,
The cinema,
And tattling,
The routines of unending dark flights
Incorrigible,
Venomous.
You may have the bowl if you would.
think no shame on me, I lusted.
This bowl is No longer mine.
Let it go
Once a street bowl,
and always so.
Find the bowl in your homes,
Let's hope the bowl recovers.
but a broken bowl is irreparable by man
Categories:
untutored, animal, black love, break
Form:
Burlesque