Long Angriest Poems
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It wields misery like a knife. And there's no magic wand to be waved
To make it fade into oblivion. It leaves me suddenly hankering
For the halcyon days of summer. There isn't enough warmth saved
It's chillingly cold, and I can't shake my incessant shivering
'Tis a cold, cold winter. Brutal as can be, and summer seems far away
Oh, how it keeps hovering in the air like a flickering hummingbird
Days are quite long. Time, as still as the snow covering my doorway
Am I supposed to grin and bear it? Carry on day after day undeterred?
It wields misery like a knife. The gust of wind it blows is terrible
I wish for rain to rid the onslaught of snow, it's white hue is blinding
Is this winter at it's angriest? The misery it has unleashed is insufferable
Rays of afternoon sun shall dissolve it sooner than later, I'm hoping
I yearn for spring, in all its glory. It will arrive before long, I pray
Cold, cold winter, please, please, please; finally be on your way
WK 2 MARCH 2019,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 03/26/2016
I never go to the doctors much at all.
My new primary inherited me when
my prior doctor left last fall.
I made the appointment because I was sick
and feared I'd been bitten by a Lyme's tick.
When I asked the new doctor to order a
Western Blot, the most accurate test,
this is what I got.
"I've been practicing medicine for thirty years,"
his volume increased as it burned my ears.
"Your blood pressure is high", obvious to see,
and then he proceeded to lecture me...
"Your vessels have narrowed, probably full of plaque.
Your going have a stroke or a heart attack".
This doctor must have thought me deaf or may be just
dense. I got a good dose of his arrogance.
I don't remember asking for a prescription for mean but
he was definitely the angriest doctor I've ever seen.
Well, off to see my cardiologist.
His bed side manner is the best.
Muggle borns are not welcome in this providence or town.
I despise them totally, now that I am wearing Gryffindor’s crown.
Deemed myself the queen of the red and gold, courageous I am.
Inside Rowling’s novel, Hermoine and Ron are both a sacred friend.
Don’t say anything mean about Hagrid; he is my champion now.
Chivalry and determination are my mantras, said with a bow.
Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort! I scream, daring him to appear.
He Who Shall Not be Named is for me no bully to fear.
I attend Hogwart’s School of Magic, and I am great at the spells.
I leave Quidditch to Harry, as long as the Slytherins he fells.
Was that the golden snitch? I have to be on my toes for sure.
I am a muggle-born witch, but my intents are totally pure.
Hufflepuffs amuse me, with their loyalty and determination to work.
Witty wise Ravenclaws yes, but some of them are like Rowena, a jerk.
If I had been put into Slytherin with their colors of yellow and green
I would have been the angriest witch Hogwarts had ever seen.
The appearance of the same alluring dream
brings on adored visions of days already past;
and reliving them with delight, I can guard them
without fearing that what is precious is never lost!
I do realize that the stronger the feeling,
the deeper is the meaning of each yearning;
buried it under sand dunes where the bagger gets drunk:
all his sighs, all his tears never depart with the fading dusk!
Far off the desolate coastline, the angriest ocean stars to roar,
sailors unfurl sails, the western wind can diverge their planned route;
it's still daylight, and the young captain begins to show some fear:
how will he stay calm if the tides rise and he doesn't remain resolute?
Can the forces of Nature be fought with extreme courage and stealth
vowing, " The lowest is the fear, the higher is the chance to win. "
Those forces are stronger than anything that has challenged Man
on his long voyages: will anyone less intrepid battle with death?
There was a time when I believed much stronger
than I do now.
A time when all the problems
that faced me and my world
could easily be solved.
A yesterday when a small child crept upon its knees
and prayed with humble sincerity that could withdraw the wrath
of the angriest of men let alone the gentle love of a fathering God.
That was the past
when the child had no doubts
and believing was a simple act.
As the child grows that time tends to end
and like lost yesterdays
a child grows away from simplicity.
Todays are born too suddenly
and a young adult grows distantly away
from hymns and prayers we used to know.
These nows are always with us
as childish visions are put aside
and gods are laid to rest with forgotten prayers and holy medals.
Today, we've grown older, wiser and mature
to be free and independent
capable of solving our own unaided needs.
Tomorrow though, now there's another time to be
when an aging person's thoughts are left to ponder
more serious and more important dreams.
That will be a new unchartered time
perhaps to search and believe again
much stronger than ever before.
Hostility and anger was zooming around the room when she arrived.
She sat in a corner, writing poetry, creating a pretty world of her own.
The hostess came by to take a peek, and ended up with a smile.
She patted her shoulder and said “I am so glad that you came!”
The angriest fellow in the room with a permanent frown sat next.
He wanted to see what she was writing. It touched him, and he softened.
He began to cry; letting out tears he had held for most of his life.
She ended up patting him on the shoulder.
Her husband watched without comment.
She was an empath bringing people joy in quiet ways.
She had an understanding of psychology that consternated others.
By the time dinner was served, three wanted to sit next to her.
He watched them change name tags around, each trying to get a seat.
His wife was a compassionate listener. She could turn a room.
He had seen this for most of his life; they were in their sixties.
It had been happening since she was sixteen when they met.
He winked at her from the other side of the long table.
There was laughter, there was hope, there was joy.
She had them frolicking like faeries by midnight.
And without alcoholic beverage or a witch’s spell too!
10-21-12
Like Sally I sense tragedy’s at hand
For this heart can only sew so much
Until all string is used to the last strand
Hanging dolls staring at my lonesome self
I wish I was more than what they see
If only they’d welcome me on their shelf
My porcelain skin would win over all
Inanimate beings look alive at my face
As I let my angriest plastic tear fall
I can’t be SxTxIxTxCxHxExD this time. . .
I can’t be displayed. . .
I can’t remove the grime
I’ve become the doll
And we all sense the worst
A happy ending for them all
And when they finally welcome me to their shelf
It is empty and caked with dust
Leaving me staring. . . at MxYxSxExLxF
Like Sally I sensed tragedy at hand
But unlike her, that’s how I stay
I stay. I stay. I stay.
SxTxOxP. . .
IxT IxS SxTxAxRxIxNxG AxGxAxIxN. . .
SxHxE WxOxNxT LxExT MxE SxLxExExP
SxHxE HxAxTxExS MxE. . .
I was told by my uncle Steve
that I descended from a prince;
word spread through the medieval town,
then all the single girls chased me
around every corner...I heard them giggling.
Blue blood flows in my veins,
that Coat Of Arms can attest this fact;
Frederick II must have given to a valorous knight,
I can imagine how he felt accepting this honor from a King,
but the mystery remains...what was his name?
I must search for my ancestry and those scrolls will surprise me;
and if I had a wish...I would be that armored knight who seduces
the Queen whose desire for a younger man is too evident.
Ah! I will be decapitated by the angriest King! You will weep, charming lady!
I don't live in a castle groping on a barren hill,
I don't owe lands tended by loyal peasants, no carpet
is spread on my entering, no trumpets announce
my coming; I'll never smile at a pretty princess or maid!
Ah! The illusive dream of a-would-be-king! But I have blue blood flowing
in these veins! Why wasn't I given a title of nobility like handsome Prince Andrew?
Theme: Who Am I?
Written on 1/25/ 2016
Never hit a child with a belt.
Don't hit them with a fist.
Don't hit them with a whip.
Don't hit them with a chain.
Never hit a child.
It breaks their heart.
It makes them sad.
It makes them mad.
Never hit a child.
It hurts their feelings.
It makes them cry.
It makes them manic.
It makes them depressed.
Never hit a child.
If you want to hit a child
seek help at once.
Because you'd better do that
Because you don't want to raise
a schizophrenic or a manic depressive or a drug addict
Right?
Never hit a child.
With a belt.
The angriest, saddest, maddest, meanest
ready-to-fight children,
The ones who needed me the most,
the ones who frightened me the most
the ones who hurt animals and called
names and spit on people and slapped
people in the face until the people
cried and cried.
They were all hit by belts
by their mothers.
Every single one of us.
Never hit a child with a belt.