Long Acrimonious Poems
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A lot have their eyes fixed at a far end
Holding on tight but only with one hand
Imagining things that only few could understand.
The brain is twisted like a rope into believing
and it believes as in days of living
Through all there is a chance of surviving.
The main reason behind taking a risk
Is caused by how breathtaking our minds get brisk
brisk enough to overlook and fix.
It controls, fights and sometime ostentatious,
it can be fair at the same time devious
not once but the process is continuous
and carries on being acrimonious.
In all, the door is to find a way to manipulate it
not all at once but bit by bit.
Because like the heart it is brittle
and strikes, it does not at all tickle
Tickle you to let you know what you have done wrong
And it continues like that for long
Until one gathers strength for that spell
Probably after the far end, all gets well.
Words are for communication so we know someone's there.
To help us understand the weight our brothers have to bear.
With emptiness behind a mask that tells a silent tale.
Communication lets us break outside this solemn jail.
The winds of change can rearrange a heart inside a soul.
And gently blow away the ash of acrimonious coal.
That feeds the fires that boiled the blood that takes it's wicked toll.
And in it's place forgiveness lives to help us become whole.
Pain is not as hard to bear when love picks up the pieces.
Someone to share and help us bear these worldly loads increases.
When the end comes round the bend, our wings will spread out wide.
To fly away to heavens gate to live where no one died.
Written: May 25, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Silent One
2nd place contest winner
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Quote: "Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.” — By Rumi ( With my honest wishes of a long and healthy life— Very Happy Birthday.
The moon still glows—an alabaster flame,
memory’s mirror, never the same.
Spume drifts, shimmering and bright,
not shadowy, but limpid light.
You watch sunsets and softly muse—
Do you fade, or do you fuse?
Their shades shroud loss and gain,
a peculiar parity of pleasure and pain.
Lessons grasped don’t be acrimonious,
regrets mollified primarily harmonious.
Time’s conundrum teaches clear—
Delicate days are a deep fear.
To your tender time, you’d tell and attire,
Beware quixotry, yet seize the desire.
Do not anathemize your fall—
Failure’s anodyne heals all.
Though tristful shadows at times prowl,
still you liaise with joy, still you howl.
Twilight or dawn, the soul’s refrain—
amaranthine light will remain.
Putrid pus proliferates/purposely preventing
progression's passionate plea -
stifled cries...
Always ascending...and, assiduously avoiding
any acrimonious amounts accrued along apathetic
apertures..."Still I Rise!"
Incessantly fighting the urge to just drop
out of this rancid Rat Race we call living
Still, to abandon sanguine thoughts totally topples the
tenacious toughness that took time to temper...never stop giving
Enervated entities economically embattled
Man, each day we face trouble/In every Third World A Struggle -
singed and burned I'm like stubble/but, like The Ashes Of The Phoenix
to Resurrect from this rubble
Sometimes I shift towards arrogance; The Good Lord Keeps
me humble
Lifting languid limbs loftily to overcome this present Flood
Be Positive is my motto, the flip side?
It's my Blood...
B+
He would leave home, seek adventure, and explore the wide world.
Would it be so hard to remember those who meant the most to him?
Not really, as they would be as close as a finger snap.
He would woo the most beautiful girl and make her his queen.
They would have a big family, and one day grow old together,
that is, until they had an acrimonious divorce.
He would live for his dreams and would fight for his ideals.
So many would be deeply influenced by his groundbreaking work,
specially the policyholders of his employer.
His story would inspire a host of ardent admirers
Hey, what is going on around here? Is there some kind of mix up?
It seems to me that I have been born into the wrong life.
Unmet expectations damage the dormant psyche,
unkept promises smother the rays of fading hope,
unkind words tear the lattice of the mangled mind,
life then turns into an urn of fabricated resentment.
The sane senses become the fast spreading wild fire,
uncontrolled, it boils the blood of intrinsic pride,
and as it flares up, it burns the gentle demeanor,
left undoused, its spite blazes the bonding chords.
As the bitterness smoke billows thick and intense,
upset conscience loses the equilibrium and crashes,
vile breath is charged with the acrimonious ashes,
and the patient facade of restraint they deface.
The discordant world and harsh times I take on,
entice them to create the last straw to clutch,
so, I don’t sink in the implacable stream of life,
but sail to the serene sea on the boat of clemency.
The sunburst horizon sheds gold dust on the sea,
the hued dawn lifts a new day of promise for me.
In unfurling sky on lilac wings the joyous clouds rise,
on them with the rhythm of rhapsody my mind flies.
On the beach of awareness the rapture waves roll,
carry away my livid footprints to the depth of oblivion
of the obscure sea with the uprooted anchor for rancour,
as I perceive my sublime soul exult within a new me.
(Just for fun, folks - and a nod to Old English)
Wat?!?
No jovial banter? No easy give-and-take of rivalry? Naught there be a good-natur'd ribbing between courteous competitors? Nay a rusty-edg'd petulance on propriety's behalf? No acrimonious innuendo f'r the sake of the game? Nay there a parry and thrusteth of verbal interaction, given eagrly in the hon'r of athletic engagement? Not yea a poison-ting'd barb-or-two f'r a corky adversary?
Ah well, I s'pose 'tis f'r the best, lest naught gallant Prince Brady springeth from the ramparts and striketh said foes to the quick . . . dark h'rse ye sayeth? Aye, I grant ye such, but such darkness yea the fires of Hades himself shant cleave in their most earnest reakoning, n'r shall thither be any who abscond the ire of it's somb'r intent.
Hearken ye anon to the soundeth of the armorer's accomplishments . . . the busy hammereth closing cold the rivets, as valiant Sir Thomas shall likewise closeth the lighteth from his foes' furth'r days. Seekest thou mercy? Dost thy heart thump with the rhythm of a calleth f'r clemency? Dost thy eyes endeavor to findeth the spark of benevolence in Prince Brady's gaze?
No one - nay, not yea I - can knoweth of such things . . . but ye can, as all creatures of similar acumen art apt, prayeth. Thou shalt findeth eventual attainment on thy boney knubs anyway, best prepareth f'r such ends willfully, hands clasp'd and eyes to the heavens . . . thy doom is thy salvation, as is the glint of Sir Thomas Patrick Edward Brady's salient blade!
Consid'rest thou admonish'd.
Anchors Aweigh...Destination Unknown
Weather beaten cap'n,
and watertight bewitched craft
time tested since maiden voyage
(circumnavigating the globe
back in the day
of my youth),
I ranked tough as a pitbull,
when severely pitted
against raw elements
of swiftly tailored,
harried stylish nature
against leathery faced
reptilian skin, hard drinking
(actually as corked
poetic convenience - vermouth
arbitrary bottle of choice
if for no other reason,
than to rhyme
with the above line),
and tobacco spitting, while
colorfully swearing as an uncouth
Furies (of Agamemnon) fighting (tooth
and nail) Pirate,
where rickets, scurvy,
and thrice unconscious,
currently ample proof
could not forsooth
bring me to
Davy Jones's locker,
cuz I never wanna
get relegated to an underwater
whale schooled booth,
this raconteur can nonchalantly,
glibly, and blithely attest,
with braggadocio, despite
no warm welcome will
ever greet mine tinnitus
pained ears, I can plainly
imagine acrimonious retort
upon me behest
his far more'n lifetime
bobbing (like a sponge)
buoyed atop crest
longing e'en for
(carping, caviling, hen pecking,
or shrewish) wife,
and loving family
forsaken, sans living
antisocial upon briny deep divest
many opportunities to
experience wedded, webbed
and whirled bliss,
and hence for everest
as bachelor, especially
at present junction
of twilight years,
my crude manners
makes foreign (for
an) ill suited guest
boot e'en if yours truly
became inured to life on land,
(as a "FAKE" father figure
feathering his nest
my coarse behavior, as basic
electric koolaid acid test
would force even
the most tolerant proprietor,
perhaps a bank
manager at Univest
would utter VAMOOSE,
e'en if eye covered up
my heavily pierced,
and tattooed breast.
Where is Daddy going with that big
suitcase Mummy
Is he going to the shops
To buy you the biggest bunch of
flowers and box of chocs
And hopefully when he is there get
me a lucky packet and a Barbie
Because I heard you both having
a monumental blazing row
Never you mind my pretty little head
my Angel
My most precious above all and
everything
Mummy doesn't actually want you to know
That he is in actual fact leaving us
behind for good
For some or other new women he
met just recently online
Looks as if our once upon a time
happy marriage
Is now heading for an acrimonious
divorce
So no lucky packet for you
And
Sadly no box of chocs , roses or
happy ending it looks like
For either or either of us either
Apart from him
I just hope it doesn't effect you too much
And you eventually get weaponized and
used as a means
To hurt each other even more in the
end
Aspiration
Antoine had crashed once again when tempting the desert
Freedom fighter laureate poet daredevil testing the call of
~ Poisonous Times ~
A mysterious man and rebellious philosopher with script on his
tongue ink on soft paper Rose in his heart and yearning for
~ Cleopatra’s Eyes ~
A snake of fertile creation and healing never far from his pen
Aesculapius in coil had mutated to SS wound around torches’
~ Venomous Bite ~
Aspides’s toxic fangs a spitting image of denial with thick scales
covering eyes of horned vipers hiding or shielding from attack
~ Dependent on Choice ~
The piloting scribe aspired towards kind compassionate words
As the elephant was swallowed by a boa constrictor clothed in a sad
~ Hatter’s Distortion ~
Antoine got killed on reconnaissance’s flight over France shot down or
by just letting go of throttle and misery but the Little Prince and his
~ Wisdom Remains ~
Avoiding slithering hisses in what remains of paradise an auspice
of sloughing what needs to be shed emerged from warrior’s asps in
~ Blossoming Hope ~
When threatened by serpent’s pitiless pits with no parachute attached
Peace can be found and acrimonious asperity relieved one small step in
~ Narration and Truth ~
29th April 2018