Best Warder Poems
I've made a decision, a drastic solution
So I don’t have to make a New Year’s resolution
This year I’ve decided to become a nun…
My ‘habit’ will shield my head from the sun
I will resolve to join a silent order
Mother Superior will act as my warder
I’ll give up chocolate and drinking and smoking
Hey poetry souper’s, you know I’m just joking!
For many years I have not celebrated New Year
So whilst others party and whoop and they cheer
I’ll wear my flannel gown and go early to bed
There I’ll write poems until sleep fills my head
Good luck if you give up drinking or start a diet
On New Year’s resolutions I resolve to stay quiet!
Happy New Year to everyone at poetry soup
Enjoy your holiday and in 2018 we’ll regroup
Update for New Year Contest
Sponsored by Janice Canerdy
12~22~15
Categories:
warder, celebration, humorous, new year,
Form:
Rhyme
A Victorian house kept in perfect shape,
A garden that made a beautiful landscape.
A notice stated it was for a quick sale,
But do beware of the ghost and its foul wail.
It was the ideal place I had in mind,
A guest house with staunch brave guests that were inclined,
To stay and face the evil ghost of the night,
A hefty fat fee to make me rich and bright.
The door was open, saw all was in order,
Already felt like a great castle warder.
I lit as many candles as I could find,
Victorian furniture I had in mind.
Behind me a wail and the big door slammed shut
An ugly witch appeared but I had the gut
To stand up to her and gave her a big fight:
”Is that how you present yourself this dark night?”
“And how would you have me, my dear grandmaster,
A lovely lady, displaying an aster?”
I turned on her, now she had found the right scheme.
Her mien quickly changed, and my eyes had to gleam.
“You will keep your lovely looks in perfect shape,
My rich guests will admire and probably gape,
No loud wails or shrieks but you can softly moan,
Then in the darkness, you'll leave your guests alone.
I must warn you, no fancy sleeping with guests,
They will die and surely will never find rest.
I'll have to find other ghosts to run this place
My son will be a cashier, he's full of grace.”
”Oh, you must be some kind of devilish host.”
I smiled, hugged her and whispered "I am a ghost."
Placed 1
25 February 2023
Writing Challenge -H Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Written in couplets. 11 Syllables per line.
Categories:
warder, fantasy, humorous,
Form:
Couplet
In a confined space, you are dwelling in your mind
The memories that trap you as a wood mousetrap
Turning back as a ghost that haunts an empty house
Staring to the roof searching for the answers to the
Questions that sometimes do not have a right response
Prisoning yourself in a cell until the warder open the lock
2-25-2016
Categories:
warder, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
Now the public library in our town contains the knowledge for mankind,
and there’s not much happening ‘round the world, that I cannot find.
I can think of any subject that I like and tell Jenny what I’m after,
and she can find a stack of books that darn near touch the rafter.
The library’s helped me countless times from days when I’m at school,
and I’ve become a handy man with books my back up tool,
but aside from books on lifestyle needs, on fiction some are geared,
and some authors write for little kids, and some write on the weird.
I’ve hired books about our history and read about some shocking wars.
Our garden is designed from books, and I’m obsessed with reading ‘Jaws’.
But crime became my new desire with cases filed from years gone by,
where Capital Punishment was handed down and why some had to die.
Description of the victims sent a chill right through my bones,
right to the guilty on death row with all their over-tones.
I read about their last few weeks, with how and why and where,
before they took their final walk to the electric chair.
One story written by a Warder based in a Southern US gaol,
is penned about a chilling case that for you I will unveil …
Leroy murdered seven folk; the warder wrote down in this book.
For twenty years appeals were held then Leroy’s goose was cooked.
When you’re with someone for twenty years, no matter what they’ve done,
you can form a slight attachment even if a fragile one.
So one week before that final stroll Leroy was asked by Warder Black,
if there’s something special that he’d like, and Leroy answered back.
“There is something I do desire - but it must involve me faithful wife.
“My wish is” Leroy grinned. “Is to eat her meatloaf now for life”.
Well Leroy’s wish was granted and for three meals every day,
he ate the meatloaf that he begged for while the hours ticked away.
On the eve of Leroy’s execution there was tension being shown.
The corridors were creepy now with a ghostly eerie tone.
Forgotten were the seven victims - in the morning there’s one more.
Leroy must face ‘old sparky’ waiting down that corridor.
His final meal of meatloaf was brought before him on a plate.
Said Warder Black with teary eyes “You don’t look worried mate!”
Leroy laughed “I’m not my friend, that chair won’t kill me man.
If this meatloaf couldn’t do me in - I know that nothing can!”
Categories:
warder, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Who or what was this Gretna Green? I oft' did ponder
And English heroine or a fetching greensward? I oft' did wonder!
I learned on my bewildering computer and with my 'cyclopedia at hand,
'Tis a village amid the brae and heather in the South of Scotland!
The Scots are renowned for their haggis and kilts of tartan plaid,
The elusive Loch Ness Monster and the finest whiskey to be had!
Lesser know is the village of Gretna Green and its colorful past,
Where hordes of couples fled to wed without being harassed!
In 1754 the Brits passed A Marriage Act that changed the town forever,
Decreeing if under age twenty-one, from their folks they could not sever.
Soooo, if neither could obtain the necessary parental consent,
Off to Gretna Green they'd elope - this grave restriction to circumvent!
Gretna Green is the first town just north of the English border.
There, lovers fled to unite their lives sans parental warder!
The blacksmith on a road called "Headless Cross" was their destination;
There, an "anvil priest" legally hitched them up with little hesitation!
The "anvil" has since become the symbol of Gretna Green,
Since at the blacksmith shop is where eloping couples would convene!
There, the "anvil priest" "forged" a union that each did cherish,
Leaving enraged mums and dads seething back in the local parish!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
warder, educationgreen,
Form:
Rhyme
Here I sit alone; confined to my prison cell
Locked away from the world it is a living hell
I know I should be punished for taking someone's life
I should have forgiven the man who stole my wife
Now I have time to sit and ponder my crime
Total isolation, my life devoid of sunshine
Wish I could turn the clock back to that fateful day
The events of that night are on constant action replay
Now I’m just a pathetic soul
Life is on hold I am no longer whole
Devoid of human contact, only the prison warder
Not allowed visitors even my beloved daughter
No one is here to see the silent tears I cry
Day after day confined, my life is slipping by
Tormented by realisation of my wasted life
Oh to turn the clock back and forgive my cheating wife
08~07~14
Written for Solitude Contest Sponsored By Scott Thirtyseven
~Awarded 15th place~
Categories:
warder, murder, prison, sorrow,
Form:
Rhyme
It’s dusk in Texas in May
Keeping the June Bugs at bay
Citronella works in a way
Creepy-crawlies more dense in the day
Reading Kafka but only halfway
Focus not with it today
As the candle attracts other array
Wish they’d get out of the way
Reflecting on what I have done
"Metamorphosis" not accession
Possibly carved out more than a pun
For others to enjoy modest fun
Glad not to have invented the gun
Or to have met Attila the Hun
Had my short day in the sun
Did nothing to force me to run
Still have more than a quarter
And weary of being a boarder
Must get out from the eye of my warder
Honestly don’t wish to court her
My first stint here close to the border
And my stay getting shorter and shorter
Too many creatures for sorter
There I will find a "Castle" of High Order
Categories:
warder, adventure, allegory, introspection, people,
Form:
Rhyme
Early morning she stormed my bed chamber
Like a needy stranger.
She opened the door of her mouth
And let out a strong request,
‘’melody, be my remedy’’.
My loins leap, if I failed to succumb,
She’ll slump, for she is my honey comb.
The sunshine of her eyes appealed to
Me like the forbidden inviting apples of Eden.
Two steps forward, and buttocks backward,
She chest out, exposing her kinky breast.
Beckoning for me to come and lodge,
To stay and remain in the warm ocean
Of her treasury embrace.
To water her dehydrated love.
In the meanwhile, erotic feelings
Escalated on my captured mind.
Gingerly, taking her tiny waist,
Subtly down to the fresh fleshy mountain
Behind her lower back.
She called out sweetly and quietly,
‘’melody, be my remedy’’
I couldn’t resist but to free her chains
With my valiant and veinous hammer,
To take her out of her romantic prison.
No wonder, she calls me her intimate lawyer,
Sometimes, her sexual warder,
I am not your sexual jailer,
I only choose to be your remedy maker,
Whenever you’re in an emotional danger.
I am the melody maker,
Readily stand by to strum your
Succulent guitar,
To make your voice vent out and quiver
With joy like a river.
Blessing our matrimony with much
More army.
Sunset, and we got finished with our
Sweet blissful naked dance steps,
Then she gazed at me and kissed
Me with bottomless feelings and
Said to me,
‘’Melody, be my remedy, always.’’
Onyilo Charlesmelody.
(Lightning Ink)
Categories:
warder, eulogy, first love, flower,
Form:
Rhyme
Might this be a wonder,
Might this be a sunder,
Might this be the blocker,
Might this be the warder,
Might there be a plunder,
Might it pass the border,
Might there be a dweller,
Might they be lodgers,
Should they be squatters,
Should they be trespassers...
Might they squander,
Might it scatter,
Might this be a sputter,
Might there be a clutter,
Moght there be to many clusters,
Might this be the controller
Mightit get power...?
Might these be handlers,
Might these be forcers,
Might these be the squashers,
Might these be the breakers,
Breaking some of the order...
Might this be a night,
Going to a wretched midnight,
Coming from a raging twilight,
Until these be ended, throughout nighttime,
Later waking from our bedtime,
Maybe dying to see the morning light,
Might this be happening tonight...?
Might there be a knight,
Might there be a fight,
Waiting for a shining might,
Coming from some rainbow's light,
coming slight from the nighttime,
With some waiting for their fly...
Might these fight the ghouls,
Might they get to their goal,
Might this vanish some ghosts,
Whom want all of our souls...
Might this be other things,
Might these be the lives of life,
With some asking, might these be I...?
Categories:
warder, art, confusion, life, mystery,
Form:
Rhyme
Beware of certain Control over man and beast
Leaders are working to create a world order
through drugs and propaganda not yet released
Most world leaders have a psychopathic disorder,
Propaganda to create fear, beer causes cancer
Drugs administered to our safe drinking water
Rule by fear, make us feel unsafe is their answer
Most world leader have a psychopathic disorder,
Birth control unknowing and without our consent
Supply fictitious news the worlds getting warmer,
make us work for a pittance to make us feel decent
Most world leaders have a psychopathic disorder,
For Earth to survive this must happen they believe,
Control of the masses, create impenetrable borders
to lie, to persecute, knowingly deliberately deceive,
Most world leaders have a psychopathic disorder.
Perhaps We have no control of our own destiny
to obey these aliens in human form, to our warder
relent and agree to change with biochemistry
Most world leaders have a psychopathic disorder.
07/07/2017
Categories:
warder, corruption, international, symbolism, ,
Form:
Rhyme
I am an American actor and most say I have charm.
I’ve never been in horror movies that bring people harm.
I’ve played lots of parts and fans call me versatile.
I have been told that my ability to act makes directors smile.
I create my parts and make the characters as real as I can.
Oh, I nearly forget to tell you that I am an American man.
Between 1980 and 1982 I was in a sit-com wearing a dress.
Called Bosom Buddies, but probably won’t help you guess.
I am not a good looking guy like Swayze, Depp or DiCaprio
The name “Ryan” has come up as a movie I was in, and also,
As one of the lovely ladies I have acted with, I am 6 feet tall.
My wife kept her last name Wilson, it’s the name of a ball.
Playing a pilot and a war hero, prison warder and professor,
I am starting to hope that this sponsor is a good guesser.
I was offended for all women by a guy named Trump .
My most famous role was a guy with initials F. G.
Categories:
warder, chocolate,
Form:
Rhyme
Gnarled and twisted, gangly, forlorn,
the mirror encompasses the product of scorn.
A large withered beast, the scourge of the earth,
stands in view of himself without mirth.
Heavy of heart he's been forced into exile,
once a renowned litigator of beguile.
Seduced, himself, by the warder of threes,
he now resides in amongst a copse trees.
For thrice he was cursed as the deception bearer,
for knowingly thieving from the ruby carer.
And lied in abundance did this litigator,
but deception does stain; evident to the weaver.
The souls meter is tarnished and you cannot hide,
from the prophecy that we cannot confide.
Yet the theft was apparent and cause metered out,
so thrice he was cursed, as there was no doubt.
The weaver herself, set the challenge three folden,
and removed the gentry from the place he beholden.
To live the life with insatiable hunger,
as he took from the carer all that he could sunder.
But the hunger does not slake, and he must transform,
in the nights luminosity his physical shape takes form.
Nails, bleed through the tips of his fingers,
he screams through the agony but the pain still lingers.
Arching his back as his skeletal impression shifts,
to transform this man into the nights hungry glimpse,
A savage rendition of a once man,
reclaims the stance of some unseelie brand.
He searches the forest for fodder to sustain
as taking a life; in this form he will remain.
The double curse now has been explained,
yet the third has a loophole carefully ingrained.
Thirteen moons he must refrain from live flesh,
and bring to the carer all she requests.
Not one drop of blood must he spill in this time,
or the punishment will be eternal for his crime.
For to beguile the enchanters with a fraudulent smile,
the price exacted is not worthwhile.
Yet redemption is held in their greatest esteem,
and the litigator apparent, knows the clause it would seem.
In the polished silver disk, he considers his reflection,
and takes a deep breath of introspection.
He moves through the night, devouring old carcasses,
and comes to the Ruby and does all she asks'.
Categories:
warder, forgiveness,
Form:
Rhyme
Poverty stricken,
Defrauding them was unintentional,
But the magistrate's judgement and sentence was constitutional.
We have been on the street,
Hustling, surviving but making money remains strict.
In prison,
the Black Maria opened and the warder uncuffed him like a preath,
There he could feel the icy grip of death,
The prison cells builders poured pure hatred into the design,
As the crested pains and agony on the walls formed memorable signs.
In the cell,
time flowed like a weak flood,
And the noxious bed bugs engorge with his blood.
Commissary got empty,
Stronger and hopeless inmates eating his ration with no pity.
Living in pains,
Sometimes waking him up killed him outright,
The shock of whom he really was ain't right,
The killer rather than the killed,
And the fraudster rather than the skilled.
He wish
To get out and move forward with
his life,
The thought of the years ahead still cut him deep like a knife.
The doors and gate - a brooding, grey mass of steel beams and mesh, topped by razor wire,
Killing his escape intentions and desire.
Daily,
His blood and sweat drop on the sand,
Because he wants to stand,
Many names and cases were forgotten,
His own will gradually get rotten.
The torture rooms
Produce the only gruesome sound he knows,
He needs an angel like Beyonce Knowles,
To lead him out of the deadly penitentiary,
To a place where he would be a free beneficiary.
The world,
Is turning him around,
He may die on that ground,
His skull is skinned to change his description,
But crime and chains are combined to doom him to perdition.
His gloomy soul
Prays for visitation and freedom,
Yet, tears, regrets and pang are all he sees in the secluded kingdom,
Every wake of dawn says heaven is far,
If he survives, I know he won't wish to be behind cold bars.
For my friends in Aba, Calabar and Nsukka prisons, Nigeria.
Categories:
warder, poverty, prison,
Form:
Free verse
Scouts probe territory for nest site
Scour cracks, crevices that invite
Search cavity for any structural blight
Recon area for creatures that fright
Examination complete, return to hive
Inform workers about potential, new dive
Caucusing, new consensus to derive
Coalescing, to other bees send vive
Scouts guide colony to new location
Formulating comb workers new vocation
From honey extract new colation
Emanating, waxy cells new station
In upper cells honey will pour
Underneath, pollen laid in store
Below, worker, drone broods bore
At base Queen pods do gore
Queen lays eggs in every assigned spore
Hatchling larvae from nest now implore
Nursing becomes workers new chore
Feeding every beckoning pore
Workers seal chambers with waxy mortar
Larvae evolves into pupae in short order
Days later, fledglings chew through pasty border
Forthwith, become queen's new warder
After tending queen, receive new commission
Guards protect domicile from every imposition
Drones mate with the queen at every petition
Foragers busy themselves with pollen acquisition
Categories:
warder, education
Form:
Rhyme
You will answer
To my orders,
You will abide
I am your warder.
Do as I say
And never oppose
Lest we turn
From lovers to foes
I won't bend
As you will see
I will have you
Bowing down to me.
Categories:
warder, angst, death, devotion, life,
Form:
Bio