Long Obstreperous Poems
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After debauched dearth of scorched earth & Aussie mirth
New Gay opener in the berth & Ollie back to surf the turf
Bazball less gall but more girth a rebirth but what’s it worth?
“Lack of nous is now notorious
More cat less mouse us furious
They say will try to do laborious
In house be bit more studious
About game’s history curious
No tantra mantra is spurious
“Bazball” is in the thesaurus
Moan it is prone to bore us
No more lone tyrannosaurus
Crazy tone like I am a Walrus
Toil of Sisyphus & boil of Icarus
Obstreperous schlep to leprous
Horn shorn a blunted rhinoceros
Hunted stunted shunted corpus
Sunken drunken hippopotamus
Wet beset with regret so porous
Raucous ruckus need new caucus
Mac attack Bull too full of Taurus
Cruel winter as they all lost focus
Plans to be a sprinter were bogus
Ken Baz & Ben splinter the onus
Dump us after screaming rumpus?
Key thick dreaming hocus pocus
Fans stick sick streaming mucus
So pick a well known local locus
Go to town not clown at a circus
Survives revives is a new crocus
Forlorn past forsworn vocal chorus
Reborn alive strives thrives..Lazarus
Our sown homegrown magnus opus?
Written: November 12, 2025, for contest sponsored by Tom Woody
*****************
If granted the power to time-slip back—
not a scale of edits, just one clean crack
in the epoch’s obstreperous spine—
What would I convert? What moment, what line?
Would I sieve the tumult of history’s breath,
undo a war, a plague, a death?
Or would I vilify my own dwarfish past,
pluck one thread from the tapestry vast?
I considered Napoleon’s umbrella,
or whispering sense to a gin-soaked fella
who discern “Titanic” meant unsinkable fate—
But the glitch was mine, not the ship’s mistake.
I’d fly to the day I didn’t say “stay,”
when love was a lissome, vivacious ballet,
and I, a moribund, wan little rabbit,
Let fear swindle my healthier habit.
She stood in a nimbus of vernal light,
a pioneer of pleasure, a rotund delight.
I was a hayseed with embryonic grace,
a virtuoso of silence, an evocative face.
I’d evolve that. Just that. No replay.
No sesquipedalian excuses or rhapsodic decay.
Just one word spoken, one velvet touch—
not humdrum, not blithe, but just enough.
Let the empyrean writhe with ululation,
let the rubble of regret find its station.
I’d be her possessor of time,
a zoetic glitch in fate’s design.
And if the Nereids complain against me,
If the metaphor of kismet tries to unfree
My choice, I’ll redeem my soul with song—
a mellifluous farewell to what went wrong.
The Peak
Nothing easy in life to achieve
But only failure is achievable stress less
The road to success is full of obstreperous
I latter discovered that
End of a war is the beginning of another
No matter how the hindrance
Termites built their house
No matter how obstacles
They keep destroying their target
As tall a tree may
Squirrel pursuit until it reaches the top
Continue doing your worth
Thee will reach the peak
For thee to get thy want
You must be confident
Shakespeare has became a mirror
Wole Soyinka symbolize Africa
They both encounter challenge
They keep pursuing
Till their names are shining like a daily sun
and like a rounded moon
Written: May 30th, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Silent One
Quote: "My mother was destiny. My father, grace." By Rumi
**************************
He was no eidolon,
but a telluric force
keeping his grounding on,
never veering off course.
Yet restless as cabotage winds across oceans,
carried the world in his motions.
His laugh—obstreperous and wild,
a gale where rafters rattled,
Yet his taciturn silence, deep and mild,
calmed the miasma where doubt battled.
Clumsy of tenderness, devout,
learned late how to cradle.
His heavy hands, like a broad ladle,
became limpid, flowing rivers,
guiding me past venal mirrors,
and maelstroms meant to wither.
A ragamuffin teacher,
pugnacious with life’s features,
fustigated blatherskite shudders,
turning them into golden treasure.
Coins of courage for the dreamer,
minted in the furnace of his gaze.
In the penumbra of his presence,
a shudder rippled at vain sight—
the void held its equanimous essence,
a reverent tremor of sublime light.
Whispering secrets of the sunken stars' vicinity,
veiled within the ideology of his scars' trinity.
He was besotted with love,
austerely self-denying as he drove.
An erudite cartographer—a heart of dove
tracing the ancestral cradle, arched above
By the iron of peace, and velvet glove.
Carving a haven from havoc, and a grove.
Dear Father—
my zeitgeber, my grimoire of guidance,
my incarnadine horizon.
Even now,
your mellowness lingers.
A tenderness—
sardonic,
stretching into the infinite.
Passing Through The Moment
Aesthetic communion for an artist in a ghetto
Prosthetic student union that is only there for the power show
Anaesthetic ex-communion for a doctor who does not want to go
Prophetic graceful union of the ones who seem to always know
Consummate reliance on another person for your relief
Don’t abdicate defiance before you’re consumed by all the grief
Illustrate the violence with the pen in disbelief
Communicate in silence while your left to possess only self belief
Impervious observers of the current situation of mankind
Discourteous serves the capitulation of this kind
Subservience swerves around direct attention as it affects a persons mind
Luxurious nerves are in retention as they wonder what the authorities will find
A child combining emotion with an elegance of innocence and need
A wild defining notion that denies the rich man of his greed
Beguiled by signing into the commotion I can do nothing but pay heed
Reviled divining oceans deprived of life so humanity can feed
Catastrophic implications for the latest politician in the news
Misanthropic consternations as they’re coming across as rather rude
Off topic conversations that have put me off my food
Electronic elevations that now decide what’s right and viewed
Altruistic gains for those with enough cash to be generous
Optimistic pains for he who can’t maintain the obstreperous
Deterministic rains are pouring on the intellectually venemous
Surrealist saints are mourning what it means to be classified as degenerate
I can’t elucidate the echoes in my mind today
I shant recuperate unless I find the beauty in the decay
I want to rejuvenate the times and see the truth along the way
As a renewed debate starts the incline to illuminate the way
By Elizabeth Moroz copyright 2025
the soul
Why should I write about my soul? I don´t know?
If a soul thinks if the entity that vanishes when the body dies
into the air, we breathe like autumnal leaves on trees?
Was Stalin a good soul with a dark mind or a smart mind
He good rid of (killed) the obstreperous officers
In the red army to kill off any dissent, he succeeded.
Or was he simply a dark soul?
My mother thought he looked charming, but she failed.
To see his snake eyes.
I can´t make up my mind about Hitler´s soul, his clownish
The body got in the way.
I don´t think, and there is such thing as a soul it is not
Tangible but we can´t call it an aura, Hitler had an aura.
He liked dogs and sweet cakes when not murdering
Jews and other miserable, like gay people.
In other words, a soul is a Christian idea that promises
A life ever hereafter how else could heaven have
a place to so many people
Electorate on tenterhooks until...
outcome of 2020 presidential election announced
Polling places slated to open seven o'clock
in the morning November third two thousand twenty
heightened tensions will strain patience
to breaking point concerning
extreme anticipation common joe experiences
(biden his/her time)
regarding which candidate trumpeted
as de facto commander in chief of United States.
Carpe diem the echoing refrain
heard and seen dispensed and broadcast
across telecommunications medium
cuz the very survival of democracy at stake
ruthless political machinations employed
to seize inalienable codified rights
couched within Declaration of Independence
and Constitution, written ethos, dogma, credo...
compiling aggregate of fundamental principles
or established precedents that constitute
legal basis of a polity, organisation
or other type of entity and commonly
determine how entity governed.
Understanding North American government
inextricably found yours truly agape
when chance occurrence brought hefty tome
into self assigned reading material
which storied author David McCullough
wrote engrossing John Adams biography
I read aloud with measured deliberateness
clearly enunciating each syllable of every word
despite runaway enthusiasm
to acquire historical premise
whereby original thirteen colonies
teetered on brink of immediate collapse
soon after majority representatives
swore fealty among themselves
despite ragtag soldiers
easily overwhelmed courtesy
fighting force of British Empire.
As a staunch affiliate of democratic party,
one veritable common joe
just biding his time,
I trumpet how crass
deleterious, egregious, fractious...
usurpation of power
jackknifed, kickstarted and linked
endemic flood (gushing) hatred
malicious, nefarious, opprobrious putrescence
laid down at the feet
upholding seventy five inches
of corpulent doughy flesh
regarding one conceited, haughty, and obstreperous
politician orchestrating machiavellian leitmotif.
Mark my words, that bull headed incumbent
will clamor, foment, incite, loose chaos
if Democratic candidate garners more votes
at the ballot box nsync with absentee citizens
casting their lot with the worser of two evils
otherwise put head between legs,
and kiss tuckus goodbye,
cuz hell in a handbasket looms on horizon.
How refreshing to experience
a reprieve from sultry weather
when hazy, hot,
and humid warm front
unleashes a very short sweaty tether.
Man hat tin dar overcast skies
hint potential rain on the way
perchance avast dastardly
flickr ring instagram
kickstarter linkedin shutterfly
Taurus headed soundcloud
skidding across celestial
(span hushed) rink
surprising forecasters by yowl
ling whimsically, unexpectedly oye vay
training (laser like),
Asian outsize dark cloud
climatological frontispiece
randomly making next stop Old
Rotten Gotham's Greenwich Village
zero wing in on
Poor (Chuck Keys) Uruguay
neighborhood possibly confidently
foretold by meteorologists today
pointing at map showing
cold air mass as it doth sashay
July twenty first 2018, though
Mother Nature defies pre
diction pulling out all (busted) stops,
vis a vis via "her" quay
zee bag of tricks nay
saying trained forecasters klan
hush all self importance
also to humble those mere mortals
getting paid a handsome buck
by anthropomorphizing viz cluck
king in tandem with duck
billed Baritone Horn
Trumpeting "FAKE" luck
trotting out obstreperous
Sunny Rays, who doth beam
with radiance a
diametrically opposed extreme
over zealous call for precipitation
instead raining one after another quanta
bright blinding meme
outsmarting the seem
ming airtight (cat in the bag)
prediction leaving once supreme
vouchsafing without a doubt forecasters
left holding the empty bag
large enough tuff fit the whole team.
Written: November 02, 2025, for contest by: Robert James Liguor
**********
The frozen core of human activeness
where the temperament recklessly smiles,
sludge cascades from the blade's edge
A joyous opsimath emerges,
reminiscent of rebellion and aged books,
sturdy and infused with a grin.
His unique calling sign is the "lard of law."
He wears robes adorned with nimbus designs
and stands before a wall of questions.
He gathers information from insightful individuals
Every conundrum is a breach in the law,
And every victim wants to be obvious,
He repeats sharp retorts to the sentient
To the obstreperous, the zymotic throbbing of history.
He says that justice is not banausic.
She is a lissome Nereid,
dancing with eurythmic elegance through garbage.
Though weariness grasps the morning,
and moribund minds look for troughs, not summits.
He persists on—
a sherpa of the spirit,
bestow the noisome into view
where enlightenment flowers akin to vernal fire.
Justice is not a flaw,
It's beginning
It is Nemesis
the tiny thread that links,
the strained heart to the flimsy earth.
I am lost, my eyes wide, and my heart quivering.
My legs are paralyzed, and I have no memory.
I stroll silently, my consciousness wandering.
I am alone inside an unexplored territory.
I would wish the room to be cold and inviting.
I envy our heat vitality to come from within,
trusting that it won't be an errorless meeting.
I simply wish our spirits to embrace and grin.
If anything, I crave to be on the last ship.
It will set sail from the port this evening.
I love to read and listen to the sea on a trip.
For me, ocean melodies are alike love singing.
I dream to be a bird that flies with the wind.
Away from the realms of science and business.
I hope that what I say will be defined.
And, surely, my goal won over my madness.
I starve to beat back that feeling of wholeness.
I sense gravity and an utter void in the vicinity.
Bringing me back to a firm base of neatness,
since I'm heavy with knowledge and salinity.
I desire to write for myself and believe again
and will sing from the heart and avoid flattery.
Apart from romance with myself after pain,
I yearn to look weak, not prone to my mastery.
Regardless of how narrow is my path.
It obviously loaded the coil with censure.
For punter or worse, my life is in my sheath.
My soul's captain is myself, the sensor.
If you can hold your cool under scrutiny,
They'll gripe and hold you responsible.
If you can trust yourself as others botching
Charter their views, yet they look with mutiny.
Our Soul’S Wish List Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker