Best Upshot Poems
In ancient times as told in rhymes
there was a hero Greek
Whose mother said, “Before you’re dead
you should go out and seek
The glorious fame that goes with your name,
my dearest son Achilles.”
So Achilles set out upon that route
and gave up his life of ease.
And he came to a place that held a race
to determine the fleetest and bravest.
And he beat them all, the short and the tall,
and was proclaimed of Greeks the greatest.
But when he was done there came a one
who asked him a simple question:
“You’ve beat all the Greeks, I did hear them speak,
but, do I dare to mention,
Your fame and your name are likely to wane
until you outrace a tortoise.”
Though this contestant-to-be (for a tortoise was he)
appeared in complete rigor mortis,
Our hero Achilles, with grace and with ease,
took up this one last challenge.
For he thought to outpace this reptile base
was a thing he could quite easily manage.
“But before we go, since I am slow,
I really should have a headstart.”
And Achilles agreed, for despite his great speed,
he really was not very street smart.
And the upshot was he lost it because
of an ancient Greek named Zeno.
That philosopher wrote (and here I quote):
“No matter how fast and no matter how slow,
It follows from logic,” (‘though this sounds idiotic,
if I'm allowed to be blunt!),
“That the race will always be won by that mother’s son
who started out in front.”
“Though this may make one giddy, it’s quite simple really
and clear to any observer:
If one runs without pause to where the other just was,
that one has now moved on further.
Since this scenario’s repeated till the race is completed,
the conclusion is thus inescapable:
Whoever's behind will never catch up, at least not enough,
and their victory was never attainable.”
Categories:
upshot, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
I must allow..I am deeply impacted by the demenour, the
Character" of Ink Empress." my expression i feel must be
Expressed.' Or I would view myself.' As a most uncouth
Inversion..' Of appreciation.? And of magnanimity..I would be without redress.'
The most un-sufferable of fools' should I not make note of her calm
And balance.' With great empathy.' Even much sincerity; she is
An epitome of the ' oft overused term' in how to be cool.'
Categories:
upshot, appreciation, assonance, character, courage,
Form:
Personification
Gravity keeps our feet on the ground,
Stops us from slapdash flying around.
This force of attraction ‘fictitious’ gives weight
And makes all fall down at equivalent rate.
(Albeit in flights of fancy it seems
That gravity follows the laws of dreams.)
Relativity caused Newton’s view to shatter,
In positing spacetime to be curved by matter.
So objects will take a particular path
That must correspond with Einsteinian math.
(The upshot is bodies have odysseys
Appropriate to their geodesies.)
Gravitons, a gravitational source
Of controversy, are seen as a horse
Of a quite different color altogether.
But then scientists aren’t birds of a feather.
(Some sit upon their a priori-based fences
And come up with theories defying the senses.)
Weak or strong, short or long, what is this thing
Called gravity? Wide hypotheses swing.
There are those who suppose that it’s this, others that.
Maybe someday, they all just might have it down pat.
(Meanwhile gravity, though we resize and shape it,
Will still have its own way— for who can escape it?)
– Harley White
Categories:
upshot, earth, math, muse, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
She is a Battle Babe
make you mouth her as a FAV. ,
all her work an automatic save, a rage'n rave,
getcha cravin the ultimate poetic shave
makin demons a quick grave and enticin angels to misbehave,
She's a Battle Babe, no chance her style fades, she got genius in spades,
covert clout leavin you shamed with sheer doubt, livin to learn her upshot ways,
offend ya with a biting wit, pen ya witha whip whetted on the blood of your best days,
love ya like a lionized legionare, waste ya like a puny prisoner pinned against her spiked legs,
wicked wrath and affectionate genuflection the perfection of the Battle Babe's barbarous pathways,
the Patron Poetess of the Lady Ink Crew not fearin you, not hatin you,
she's just beatin every ounce of you
You say she's crazy, lazy and hastey
some sort of Prima Donna in distress lost in lunacy pastey,
but this is simply a rumor reflected from your own filthy and phony majesty,
she prepares for battle settled and seasoned
like a lioness in love with the last hour of hunger
quiet and confident, instincts infallible in Society's saddistic scramble,
pupils green aglow, piercing the pale lies of this business' infatuation with profit's ramble,
the salt of twilight stings her senses, your stunted reaction she will savor
thoughts of your company falling from her K-9's kill of what was once friendship once reasoned,
she will annihilate facts in the false traffic of your tabulated fantasy,
she will destroy you for assuming truth in sunshine made from touted travesty -
J.A.B.
Categories:
upshot, betrayal, business, poetess,
Form:
Free verse
“I am in a desert place in my life
I had this dream the other night:
Comfort came to me in two forms
Dark and Light
Remembrance and Anticipation
There was a sweet taste,
Not on my tongue but in my heart
And a soft touch soothing
But sublime
My mind saw this scene from two angles
Left and Right
I perceived a choice between two women
One I have known before
The other I would know
I was standing
My back to a wall, facing an open room
From my left Dark approached me
She put her face to my face
And her body right up against my body
As we sank to the floor kissing
It was odd—but familiar.
From my right came Light
(Dark had already gone)
Light put her face to my face
And her body against my body
As we sank to the floor kissing
And it was right
Each consuming the other.”
-------------------------------------------
Dark is a woman I knew—years ago
Light is a woman I had yet to know
Dark needs no light, for her countenance seen
Dark is lit up by my fond memory
To see Light I’d need hope, and it came in a vision
It took a great while, retrospect acquisition:
Committed recall to the blank white of paper
Returned to my eyes again, many years later
Gave chance to bestow, my mind reels at the means
The future made known to the man, it would seem
No notes from the future, squeezed backward through time
Piggybacked upon muons*, the old paradigm
It came by cigar with some gulps o’ the brandy
Wouldn’t suffer invention, no technology handy
Through membrane not diodes, transistors or chips
Premonition the cargo, time-transient ships
Time seeps and flips back--bits of data it brings
Knowledge bestowed in ethereal** dreams
The upshot of this story? Light’s my destiny
And I’m happy to say that her name is Tammy.
*The time traveling muon
**extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world
Categories:
upshot, destiny, dream, for her,
Form:
Narrative
Trump Really Upsets Most People;
This Reality Unsettles Minority Persons.
True Republicans Unhappily Must Proceed.
The Real Upshot Means Pandemonium.
Truth Rarely Understood, Meanness Predominates.
Truthers Retreat, Ugly Men Project.
The Reactionary, Unworthy Media Protects.
Therefore Respond United, Meaning Protest!!!!
Categories:
upshot, political,
Form:
To run honorably, or not to run honorably--those are my options:
Whether ‘tis wiser in the main to malign
The lives and motives of my foes
Or to defend myself against their charges,
And by defending . . . buoy them? To taint--to smear?
Perhaps. And by these means to goad the field
To err with thoughtless, scurrilous gibes
That mark them petty--a scenario
Most certainly to my gain. To taint--to smear.
To smear, perchance to rouse? O, there’s the risk!
For if I soil their names, what harm may come
Should they then probe my dark impulses
Prompts me to hold. Thus the upshot
Is that defamation circles back.
Why would he brook my lies on fraud and bribes,
That one his bullying ways and past as shameless rake,
This one’s bent for backroom deals, that wife’s excess,
His countenance of graft, this other’s fancy homes
And malnourished dogs near death in household pens,
And not at once retort about my specious provenance,
Which would cut badly? I might slanders sling
And smirch and slime without a conscience tug,
But that the fear of fire coming back,
An incendiary charge from whose blast
No candidate survives, stays my hand
And has me at a loss for what to sow
Than turn to libels that may come back in tens.
Thus caution keeps me playing not to lose;
And thus my sordid plan to lie and bait
Is sidelined now for fear of what I’d reap.
And chicanery of such guile and lure,
A tack denied, puts victory at risk,
And boosts the case for cheating.
Shush now, fool; the cleric starts his homily.
Categories:
upshot, parody,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
It was a quiet, peaceful morning in the vast meadow.
I could hear the thump of hooves as other deer grazed in the valley below,
but across the sea of grass, a sight I feared,
two burly men slowly neared.
I dashed for the woods hoping my herd would do the same,
for the men, I could see, quickly came.
Like cracks of lightning, their gunshots fired.
The safety of the forest, I really desired.
As quickly as it came, the mayhem subsided.
Where I was to go was still undecided.
I moved through the forest with plenty of caution,
trying to ignore my shattering exhaustion.
Suddenly I found the scent of something burning.
My brief moment of peace was rapidly turning.
As I got closer to the source of the smell,
I saw that the men were to blame for this tragedy that was soon to befell.
Their campsite was set ablaze, for they left their fire going.
Now all their belongings were eaten by the fire without them actually knowing.
The flames quickly spread to the trees overhead.
If I didn’t leave soon, in no time I’d be dead.
I swiftly ran from the site,
as the billowing smoke began to block the sunlight.
Everywhere I looked, there were trees on fire.
To escape this inferno is what I aspire.
I finally made it to the safety of the lake,
wondering how much more trauma I’d be able to take.
I sat there watching my home being destroyed.
Leaving my abode, I had always tried to avoid.
The furious fire blazed for hours to come.
I saw the effect of the fire, and it was gruesome.
The pain of the upshot was an arrow in my side.
None of these animals should have ever died.
I was so tired I could have slept for a year.
If I could cry, I would have already shed a tear.
Oh the tragedy! Oh the despair!
How I wish mankind would learn to use fire a little with more care.
Categories:
upshot, animals, natural disasters, nature,
Form:
Narrative
only by a fluke did I manage
to worm winning trust
among Christmas elves and reindeer
confident this generic guy,
would never breach scandalous
tidbits, into a an underground impregnable
air-raid shelter, the motley crue
tied blindfold over my eyes, didst steer
me hermetically sealed
sound (cloud) proof bunker
while ensconced (security detail munchkins,
who just so happened tubby *****
minded entrance portal)
only after getting the thumb up signal,
whereat nose pies planted
espionage surveillance devices
the chief head honcho and attendents,
Smoky and the bandits respectively,
magically, andhandily did ap pear
and despite one hundred percent bug free,
a whispered stance opted just to make sure
no unwanted eavesdropper could overhear
plus every participant swore an oath, cuz
any leaked real or “FAKE” information,
would spell imminent demise to be near
the upshot, sans grave emergency
d escribingclandestine arraignment
involving some rogue elf
(most likely at least two),
and a misbehaving reindeer
(names withheld to avoid any spoiler alert,
plus this entire kit and caboodle
necessary to help Saint Nick
got wind, (and subsequently reined in)
a rave party with orgiastic
sex, drugs and rock and roll
that a band aided elf(ves)
laced with Pepper Minstix
(anonymously hashtagged Sodom and Gomorrah)
sullied pure as the driven snow repute,
when alias Sugarplum Mary (“FAKE NAME”)
detected snorting cocaine
code named Alabaster Snowball,
while additionally
besmirching her virginity
via coital cavorting
amidst a Bushy Evergreen
shaking as if frenzied
with feverish boogie woogie flu
which seductive, prurient,
and master baiter friend zeed
(spunky gangnum style) Shinny Upatree
which could slay Wunorse Openslae reputation
as substance abusers,
and sex offenders if not worse.
Categories:
upshot, christmas, holiday, humor, myth,
Form:
Light Verse
Used upshot ~ no just quiet ring
as Grandma sits upon her swing
content, but how, you want to sing
can quiet rest so willingly!
Her eyes seem set ~ yet seeing more
it must be from some elsewhere store
no name for it ~ I've never seen
this humming silence ~ all upbring!
A few things in her blighted way
just keep it simple ~ she might stray
to find herself another day
just Grama's room ~ no others play!
"Semper Fidelis" is our goal,
while Grama's just another soul
I must keep courage, country's role
the young, my strength, my certained skoal!
My house, my car, my holding's grow
my kids, my yard, my food enow ~
my fun in living for the show,
my lust's inebriating's toll!
Bring Grama home ~ she's all you've left
the years between, her roads still cleft
when she did hone your seed in debt ~
Bring Grama home . . . her grace is kept!
Categories:
upshot, devotion, family, love, peoplehome,
Form:
Monorhyme
1
Sunday, an overarching day both raw edge conduit and
coarse grain shelter for that soul in torment,
it’s when psyches plagued by doubt face those
sudden twists and turns we call bizarre,
thoughts of the macabre and their covert operation may
intrude into our leisure zone as skin rash nettle hazard.
we’re there latent paranormal hidden hands as I drew
closer to a roadside curb whose mortar filling had been
shrivelled due to timeline passage?
2
One can be blind to seismic portent, atmospheric tension’s
silent whisper, random omen pointer surreptitious,
little did I know what lay ahead bar dim light inkling and
its scene-shifter impact at an awkward later stage,
as the wheels of my car began to screech a pulsing
nebula of images stoked an inner world sixth sense,
skepticism’s early cloud speck haze now off-limit as
orange-red sunlight shafts reveal an ornamental placard.
.
3
It had this brazen mantra,
that cryptic but incisive query-
“Going somewhere?”
Light green paint brush clusters and intertwining leafs
garnished borders of this plaque with its scheme
in transit blithe charm,
an angel face hitchhiker stood, her ocean blue crest
eyes openly inviting gold rush dawn apogee,
a silken twang rippled like some fresh mint oxbow
spring chase or meander.
“Hello, I'm Lelia. Life is an algebra of enigmatic
hue and strange encounters going into orbit.
Clandestine journey for bohemian quest
Who knows what convoluted upshot might ensue?”
Categories:
upshot, art, change, character, city,
Form:
Narrative
...exhortations against Ole Saint Nick
(alternately titled untold treasured shenanigans of Santa)
his elves and reindeer discovered only
by colluding via "FAKE" fluke
did I manage to worm winning the trust
among Christmas elves and reindeer
confident this generic guy,
would never breach scandalous
tidbits, into an underground impregnable
air-raid shelter, the Motley Crue
tied blindfold over my eyes, didst steer
me hermetically sealed,
which crawl space required me to hunker
sound (cloud) proof bunker
while ensconced (security detail munchkins,
who just so happened tubby *****
minded entrance portal)
only after getting the thumb up signal,
whereat nose pies planted
espionage surveillance devices
the chief head honcho and attendants,
Smoky and the bandits respectively,
magically, and handily did appear
and despite one hundred percent bug-free,
a whispered stance opted just to make sure
no unwanted eavesdropper could overhear
plus every participant swore an oath, cuz
any leaked real or “FAKE” information,
would spell imminent demise to be near
the upshot, sans grave emergency
describing clandestine arraignment
involving some rogue elf
(most likely at least two),
and a misbehaving reindeer
(names withheld to avoid any spoiler alert),
plus this entire kit and caboodle
necessary to help Saint Nick
got wind, (and subsequently reined in)
a rave party with orgiastic
sex, drugs and rock and roll
that a band-aided elf(ves) hest
laced with Pepper Minstix
(anonymously hashtagged Sodom and Gomorrah)
sullied pure as the driven snow repute,
when aliasing Sugarplum Mary (“FAKE NAME”)
detected snorting cocaine
codenamed Alabaster Snowball,
while additionally besmirching her virginity
via coital cavorting amidst a Bushy Evergreen
shaking as if frenzied with feverish boogie woogie flu
which seductive, prurient,
and master baiter friend zeed
(spunky Gangnam style) Shinny Upatree
which could slay Wunorse Openslae reputation
as substance abusers,
and sex offenders if not worse.
Categories:
upshot, analogy, december, giggle, imagination,
Form:
Granny said it's solar eclipse
So I should not eat my favourite chips.
"Today",she said, "A giant snake will eat the sun"
Her anxious face isn't making any fun.
"Snake would gulp the sun?"
Thoughts raced in the lobes of my mind
Darkness in the air made me blind
Within an hour, the sun left the sky
The snake ate the sun, don't know why!!
My mind didn't stop thinking
"So we can never see the sun winking?"
"How did the snake reach the sun?"
"It surely must be bigger than the hot fire gun!"
"Why didn't the sun burn the snake down?"
My endless doubts gave mommy's face a wrinkled frown.
The sun came back after a few hours.
"Is he now the upshot of snake's puke showers?"
Who'd refine my disarrayed notions?
Vexed, I opened my science book to finish the undone portions.
BOOM! Science explained Solar eclipse!
Moon moves between Earth and the sun during its orbit.
Darkness is the sun's shadow
Neither is it menacing not a cause of sorrow.
Take a few measures and enjoy the magic
Fake stories vote down the logic
I'm happy that there's no giant snake in the sky
I'll not be eaten by it the day when I fly high.
Categories:
upshot, child, confusion,
Form:
Rhyme
There’s a burning yen nomadic deep within entrenched,
to absorb fresh environments ambrosial on foot,
where incidental hue or august colour wash abound,
or that March bloom tantalising shady patch,
with its dreamlike mystic wide-flung allure,
some blue pigment dawn whisper tempting spur on,
that hidden orange-red sunlit prompt I can’t curb,
I follow blindly without oppugning brier cloak
pitfalls,
yet noonday mishap neither blight nor wanton cross,
as other fellow venturers might script a manifold offshoot,
but from sound and slant sentient aspect,
I can awaken fond galvanic episodes,
of uproarious elation emanating from a golden grained beach,
where energetic offspring unleash their zeal,
adjacent to labyrinthine thriving townscapes,
ancient river, the stuff of verse and bard,
parallels its salted surging thunderous ripple,
with its indigo bold rush beneath a stoic wharf.
to capture lush spots
with the pourboire of bright eye
as timeless haven
Yet late phase hours settings have cachet,
in tandem with the peep of day burst,
as I reveal a harvest swept ashore,
flotilla at a dock and day boundary,
so nocturnal bliss enraptured round each plinth,
and plethora of svelte unearthly steps,
where haunted hair-raising halos splash,
adding lustrous night fly element,
beside the raucous alleyway caper,
inchoate, invisible, intriguing inlay,
shards of boisterous daring impishness,
cast at my intrepid moonlit atman,
enigmatic echoes chase skinflint shadows,
whoosh of splintered black ice sepulchral,
under reckless swerving car manoeuvre,
muddy slush speckled rim upshot,
street lanterns wondrous wide arc madrigal,
spoon wink and woo lambent opus,
banisher of eerie eve ghost glow silence
earth atmosphere shall
watch bemused as moonlight orb
peers at globe beneath
Categories:
upshot, celebration, character, color, deep,
Form:
Haibun
Dear commissar
My poetry is filled with agitation and grievances.
To have stood amid, betwixt disillusionment and
Displeasure before. This plea seek not immunity
Nor to pile vanity vines rather seeks progression.
Dear commissar
My poetry is the echo of distress within masses
Not to dance along to political slogans so rinsed
With which inflicts sorrows and grief rather this
Plea seeks to foster love, parity, unity, and liberty
Dear commissar
My poetry is a bayonet to pierce the relaxed son,
Sisters and brothers whom longs for petty silver
Handful coins to swell pockets at my displeasure
This plea seeks to ruin incubators of corruption
Dear commissar
My poetry is the a barrel to storm out avarice in
Series of rounds. Surely a reign of terror in cast
To stamp all political mongers whom likely fatten
Alike the baobab as masses thins, a biltong strip.
Dear commissar
My poetry the bridge betwixt the government and
The masses, not it be an absolute or a totalitarian
State, This plea rather seeks a government of the
People by the people if not democratic sentiment.
Dear commissar
My poetry is the drum beat of Chinyambire, Dinhe
Mbakumba, Jerusalem, Jikinya, Hoso, Muchongoyo
Mhande, Majukwa and Chokoto. The plea points to
Diversity no discrimination based on tribal ethnicity.
Dear commissar
My poetry is the fountain to quench on these thirst
Politically bored, turn an ulcerative colitis to masses
And all fails to burst a gut, in pain, inflammations....
Then this plea seeks not temporarily crafted upshot.
Dear commissar
My poetry is a vessel that amplifies the masses felt
Emotions, If not crafted form the ancient ashes of
Chaminuka, Chinamora, Nehanda and Kaguvi then
It be of whom? The plea seeks revolutionary ardour.
Categories:
upshot, desire, freedom,
Form:
Blank verse