Ill Advised Poems | Examples

Ye seem ill advised, O poets

With just one sharp look she dares and defies,
You still call a woman vulnerable, 
She casts lethal darts with enticing eyes,
And still…, poets you seem inscrutable,
When conquer can she e’en gods heavenly,
How helpless, wonder I can she e’er be.
_____________________________ 
Translation (sestet*) | 22.08.2025 | poets, women 
*Wonder, if it can be called a Sestetto Rima-- iambic meter with a rhyme scheme of ABABCC.

Note: Here is a verse from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). This one is in Vasanta-tilaka meter. Here he questions the wisdom of some great poets who call a woman ablaa, helpless one.  She possesses immense power to command over men with the beauty she enjoys. Even gods of heaven are no exception. How can she helpless ever be? Here is the transliteration: 

Noonam hi te kavi-varaa vipareeta-bodhaa
Ye nityam aahuh abalaa iti kaamineeh taah |
Yaabhih vilolatara taaraka drshti paataih
Shakra aadaya api vijitaah tu abalaa katham taah ||

i want to move to a country of wild, grim, man-eating people

someone advised me that i should lay low
go on a crusade

there's one next week
but what is risky

and ill-advised
is seeing a production of hamlet

on a tuesday night
we saw cats on the thursday

my son whispered that he was
incredibly bored

but who ain't 
i'm discussing cannibalism

at the steak & eggs cafe
but also discussing middle-age

and health deterioration 
transition of identity 

and lack of life accomplishments 
we leave the cafe 

my friend turns to me and says
let's go fly a kite

The Fires Yet Burn

     Our Holy Temples still burn
        for we Jews have not learned
     the lessons of the past
        We just repeat them

     We speak ill of our brothers
        show anger to others
      And for not spreading love all around
        flames of the past yet rise from the ground


       _________________________________
       Tisha b'Av, the saddest day of the Jewish
       calendar, is tonight and tomorrow, com-
       memorating the day both the first and 
       the second Temple in Jerusalem were
       destroyed. It within our power to douse
       the flames, by changing our ill-advised
       ways...

Graveyard of Lost Thought

Graveyard of Lost Thought 
David J Walker 

There is a graveyard 
of lost thought
Bad dreams 
and lost scenes 
And ill-advised impractical schemes  
The meaningless Things 
Incomplete and  fraught 

There is a graveyard of
Hopes unheard 
Of songs unsung 
And things I would have 
And should have 
done 
In unexplained and meaningless word

There is a graveyard 
Of days that last
		Of slow but fast 
And the varied past
Engraved in time 
Of a nether rhyme
And forgotten cast 
		Of the departed

The Unsupervised Stop Sign

Flirting with disaster 
On this fast-moving highway of life;
Speed demons incurably infected 
With the disease of impatience.
I tremble with disgust
When shaken by a fierce gust of wind 
Engendered by ill-advised velocity.
Acknowledge me, disrespecting demons.
Don't barrel your way through as if I'm not there,
Lest you recklessly careen off 
An approaching curve on the road;
A hefty price paid 
For sledgehammer stupidity.
The rules of the road couldn't be 
More simple; slow down 
And stop for me.
Come to a complete stop 
Like everyone else; look sideways,
Then proceed with caution.

The Unsupervised Stop Sign

Alone with our thoughts, with no witness in sight,
soft whispers of our conscience wave a red flag,
contracting consciousness that we feel contrite.
Soul’s truth impulse continues to prick and nag,
asking us to discern between wrong and right,
warning waywardness comes with a high price tag.
We have been granted free will and so can choose,
deeds that shape our soul and flavour of heart’s muse.

God’s vibration is love, that employs no force
and though for most part, leaves us unsupervised,
manifests clearly as sharp pang of remorse,
whenever we find out we were ill-advised,
in following cravings of lower mind coarse,
thus falling from grace, soul growth compromised. 
Subtle is love’s scent, to steer our soul’s ascent,
requiring but of us, to grant it consent.

The Hots

i got a ghostly
mostly moist handful of you
i got a mind
that's top heavy with you
it spills over with you
leaks you
I pant like a Parisian poodle for you

my baggy saggy heart
is packed to the hilt with you
my soggy boggy parts
pine for you

you told me to go to hell
and i went for a while
but came back
with a picture of you
tattooed all over my eyes
and
there were hot flames
under my hots
for you
also my burning boots
and socks

this day i dedicate
to my loss of control
my needy desperateness
my unrestraint
my ill-advised
madcap
rash and heedless
love

i celebrate you
and the fact
that you don't give a damn for me

maybe you will come around
change your low opinion of me
shoot the breeze with me

so for now dearest
please put down that shotgun

Blaming You

I wouldn’t blame you if I died 
I don’t blame you that you’ve lied 
Heck, I wouldn’t even be alive to see the day and the beautiful skies 

I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to cry 
Or if you displayed any anger in your eyes 
After all this world is at times, ill advised 

I wouldn’t blame you if I died 
After all we all have some sort of trauma that has led to somes demise
Maybe not physically but mentally 
O how that word has been revised 

I wouldn’t blame you if I died 
With all people and how some are spies 
And their lack thereof to be able to empathize

I wouldn’t blame you if I died 
Though some might and may want justice or a comphremise 
I’m not too bothered with how's or why's 
Though it just saddens me I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye 

I wouldn’t blame you if I died 
Though it might eat you alive 
Because in the end its you that has to live with you
And here comes the analyze 

I wouldn’t blame you if I died 
How you pulled that trigger one last time 
As my body fell and my soul went a drift 
The blaming left after I was unalived

Earth Life, a Hard School

Earth life, a hard school, dark desire cesspool,
Senses externalised, all objects sized,
No wonder then, we behave like a fool,
Truth dawns, when by Holy Spirit baptised.

Ego controls thoughts, so we’re ill-advised,
Body hormones rule, our instincts cruel,
Bemused by illusions, fleeting goals prized,
Earth life, a hard school, dark desire cesspool.

All hope seems lost, feral lust’s our fuel,
Though conscience speaks, as God Himself disguised,
We heed Him not, behaving like a ghoul,
Senses externalised, all objects sized.

Hypnotised by thoughts, our soul’s paralysed,
Chasing rainbows, we continue to drool,
Game of shadows leaves us demoralised,
No wonder then, we behave like a fool.

Discerning cause of pain, as pulse dual,
We cease thought flow, that ego’s vaporised,
Thoughts reassigned to their role as a tool,
Truth dawns, when by Holy Spirit baptised.

In timeless time, God within’s realised,
Heart lotus blooms, revealing soul’s jewel,
In-form polarities are stabilised,
Our free will’s liberated for self-rule,
Earth life, a hard school.

05-June-2022

A RONDEAU REDOUBLE POEM Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins

Unlikely Bedfellows

UNLIKELY BEDFELLOWS

(Any resemblance to the prologue to
Romeo and Juliet is purely intentional)

Two species, not alike in pedigree
In London Zoo wherein we set our play,
By nature long defined by enmity,
One feeding on the other day-by-day.
From forth the ranks of these unlikely breeds,
A pair of strange bedfellows do emerge;
Whose ill-advised liaison sadly leads
To their demise and to a mournful dirge.
For love between a lion and gazelle
Could never end in happiness of course.
Natural instinct means that, sad to tell,
Lion ate his love, then died too in remorse.
Their families agreed to disagree.
Two species, not alike in pedigree

2nd May 2022
Orphan Sonnet poetry contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet

The Haunting of My Foolish Act

what my heart todays shows
lessons from yesterday grown
something I wish I had known
the acts that intuition told me to forego
the haunting of my foolish act
something now I can’t take back
I paint it white I paint it black
to this haunting memory I react
of how I put you in an awkward position
in the haste of an ill-advised decision
embarrassed I offer an act of contrition
a humbly-offered proposition
for forgiveness another breath
a sweet litany a soft breeze fresh
air and endless sea the deepest depth
a chance to love again I bequest
another day to dance in the sun’s light
another day with you a true delight

Aftermath

In the aftermath of battle, 
One needs to find a place
Where one feels safe enough 
To lay down one’s weapons
And let them tarnish and rust 
And gather dust, at least until 
The ink has dried on the treaty.
Then they must be cleaned 
And sharpened and reinvented
And made ready for 
The next ill-advised incursion
Into hostile territory. 
This is essential.
Even the best troopers 
Eventually get their fill of war.
Then they are of no use to anyone, 
Not even themselves.
One can tempt fate, 
But one can’t escape
The god of unintended consequence.

Razor Sharp

When Jesus Christ was, "Sir Come Sized"
His mum said, "That was ill-advised!
In a pinch
One more inch
Can certainly be organised!"

Hillary Elementary

Oh Hillary, dear Hillary what did I hear
Your emails were given without any care
The powers that be have relented this truth
To empower your foes with the absence of couth

Oh Hillary, dear Hillary what did you say
More "glittering generalities" one could absorb in a day
Just listening and knowing that the general facts
Have no fidelity or sincerity when down to brass tacks

Oh Hillary, dear Hillary your words should take heed
Perverting their meaning by twisting their deed
To make claims of human kindness with your heart fully filled
With the ice of deceit and a soul that is nil

Oh Hillary, dear Hillary you seem larger than life
But the facts of the matter are way more than rife
Your little mind, soul and heart is piteous at best
To think you can fool all of us is one naive, shortsighted and ill-advised test!

Oh Hillary, dear Hillary you're like a chick out of its nest
Your posture cannot cure, nor your clothes deceive the best
Of the denizens of state that require you to be strong
When deep down inside you indistinctly don't belong.

Parmer

To cross him was ill advised;
No bigger a man on this earth ever lived.
Storyteller, hunter, fisherman and farmer,
known to all simply as Parmer.

His days were early, his nights late.
A poor farmer’s life his lonely fate.
Cows in green pastures, hogs in mud lots;
Chickens laying and cooking in pots.

He feared nothing, man nor animal.
But to his friends, he was most affable.
To me he was a mentor, most admired.
To stand in his shadow was to be inspired.

As a boy I followed him often,
To the fields to pick cotton,
To the woods to hunt with his dogs,
To the sloughs noodling logs.

His joy was late afternoons on a porch swing.
Afternoon breezes and watching sunsets was the thing.
Fireflies and crickets making presence known.
In the blink of an eye his life was gone.

Time and sickness took his health away.
Parmer became slow, old and gray.
One night in his armchair asleep all alone;
the reaper came and forever
   my mentor, my dear uncle was gone.

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• Best Ill Advised Poems
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• Long Ill Advised Poems
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