Long Rankles Poems
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I reckon you could call me an old curmudgeon but that's alright!
I've been around four score and three and I have earned that right!
There are many things that annoy me but I'll mention just a few.
Hang in there with me as I attempt to get across my point of view!
Barkin' mutts and their inconsiderate masters drive me up the wall!
The droopy-poopy pants kids wear just makes my wrinkled hide crawl!
Cussin' in public by so-called ladies and gentlemen is so uncouth!
It annoys me that high-profile jerks don't set an example for our youth!
It nettles me when someone says they'll do somethin' and then they don't.
I'm annoyed with people who keep me waitin' which is usually their wont!
Careless drivers bug me especially jerks who think it's cute to tailgate,
And telephone solicitors who the serenity of my castle they desecrate!
I'm disturbed about those who flout the Constitution - 'tis an abomination!
It bothers me that we don't ask God's guidance for this troubled nation!
Pompous bureaucrats annoy me no end with their paucity of breedin'!
It rankles me to pay more taxes for which the guv'mint is ever pleadin'!
I ain't got no patience with a screamin' brat or a loud-mouthed dude,
(Nor people who murder the English language as I just did - it's so crude!)
I could ramble on and on ad infinitum about things that annoy me,
But I feel my blood pressure risin' so I had better let the subject be!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Not for the contest.
A tiny fish desirous to swim at liberty,
In vast ocean and depth beyond measure, is me.
Always elated, witty with communicable smile,
Unique still found simile as my name says.
Fire in my heart not possible to tranquilize,
Touch of a thunder would always enlighten,
Thoughts in my mind travel fast to infinite,
Much of my pent up anger goes in tears,
Emotions beyond control, at times unwind,
I am More of a soul rather than a body.
Alike marvelous and merciful, not knowing,
Intensity of what I endure by present torture,
But by chiefly the pang that rankles after it,
Completely original, I quaff my ale with gusto,
My rights I consider entirely infrangible ,
No matter what else you may take away from me!!
Shutdown Day 21
The White House
Demolishing what was supremely notable
A wrecking of a Ship Of State unseemly quotable
East wing amidst the devils wings
A First Lady has in it blingy things
Like Blackbeard’s filthy lucre
The sea's treasure troves hook her
Taken the cargo of what it once stood for
Torn apart brick by brick a democracy we implore
Left is nothing but its shell
Fill it with devils’ gold and chime your bell
The Ballroom
Is it he and his faithful spouse
recreating a King’s Palace madhouse
How she yearns for a ballroom
A yearning for a youthful—not for a content trophy groomed
His words we could hardly construe
Music to his ears nonetheless he’ll delude
that the funding be all His,
certainly not the people’s that is
You can’t pull the wool over His subjects' eyes,
sprinkling a few pennies about—not our millions He lies
Ring The Alarm
Authoritarianism is here! Enforcing obedience
to authority at the expense of freedom with fear
Because He shreds the Constitution
Should He be granted some royal absolution?
Or let Him be the mad King George the Third
and declare Him unfit but fated to rule the herd
Bulldozing our regret
For His Marie Antoinette
Already losing their heads
Over (meaningless) shreds
Loyal is His henchman Ingrassia,
who evokes his Nazi streak of nausea
Wishing MLK Jr’s holiday to the circle of hell
As a Vice President shrugs his shoulders and sighs oh well
Whistleblowers you best beware,
This nominee bidder does not care
The People’s House
Tis isn't the modernization which rankles me,
it’s non-participation or permissions by the free
He molests ‘Our House’ —His temporary abode
Let our defiance find strength and our resolve unfold
From the smallest of handbells to bells that are heavy,
bells of all types make a large bevy.
Small bells are often the tinkling kind
like decorative ones in some stores we find.
There are ring-a-ling bells and bells that jingle
like jingle bells ringing when merry folks mingle.
Sleigh bells on horses evoke for me
lovely white wonderland imagery.
Other small bells women wear round their ankles.
An alarm bell that wakens me, oh, how it rankles.
There are waist bells the belly dancers often will wear
while big bells on churches call people to prayer.
Some bells sound randomly; others on queue.
There are bike bells, school bells, and cow bells too.
Of bells that chime melodies, there's more than a few.
That's what the bells called Carillon do.
Bell bottom jeans were used back in my day
and Hell's bells is an expletive some say.
The most famous bell, what might it be?
I think it's the one that's called Liberty!
Foremost On My Bucket List?
Yo yo ma...though your absence
doth suddenly cause me woe,
no matter parting with
many bittersweet sorrows
long since consciousness unstrung
more'n fourteen plus years ago,
the last surviving Kuritsky
grim reaper enviously eventually snatched,
outliving demise of my Uncle Paul,
your once favorite sibling and only bro
tis grief that rankles, shackles, torments...,
thus caw zing such poetic twittering I crow
yea, this sole son bare knuckles
scraping along without dough
suddenly riven with mortal anguish -
worse fate than death - or bloated ego
willpower to live life to the max
hardened ice floe
despite promising futures
regarding thee deux daughters
that doth find me to glow
my spirit analogous to santa
deprived of his cheery, hearty
guffawing, and merry ho ho ho
yours truly seems condemned
to suffer, a worse fate
than freezing during whiteout
blizzard conditions barring
access to igloo,
brutally cold as Jupiter's Io
spirit felled by juggernaut, no
joking hence I don't feel Jew
bull, ah if yours truly knew
thee torturous emotional state threw
out every fiber upon
last fading memory...of you
unfairly condemned to suffer,
yes my lack of loo
cre immaterial, whence death
stole thee to realm afterlife queue
no doubt, a welcome reprieve aye rue
versus less cruel fate,
viz prolonged illness
comeuppance impales me
body, mind and askew
being pitched, where
adventurousness gungho fear slew,
feeling buzz with aliveness
(akin to David and Goliath)
unable to shake melancholy blue
nostalgic for underworld view
where cessation will find me
inaudibly coffin with a whew!
The clothes that I'll describe, my age I'll surely reveal.
Recalling clothes worn to school back then now seems surreal!
Not to sport the latest fad, you weren't one of the 'ins'.
Your were a social outcast committing beau monde sins!
The gals wore saddle shoes and fancy poodle skirts,
And instead of a blouse, one of dad's old cast-off shirts.
Girls had to take sewing classes in home economics.
The feed-sack outfits they made were fit only for the comics!
Boys wore loathsome knickers or shapeless overalls,
Or squeaky corduroy trousers slinking along the halls.
High-top boots with a knife were worn by lads off the farm.
Nowadays, the knife would cause the principal some alarm!
Girls couldn't wear jeans regardless of weather conditions.
Dresses and itchy stockings were worn to maintain traditions.
Seniors wore corduroy skirts and pants colored gold,
With pithy notes scribbled all over - a sight to behold!
Today, boys wear droopy pants, the seat nigh the ankles.
Girls wear low-slung jeans baring navels that really rankles.
They say they're just expressing their individualities.
(I suppose we did the same, expressing our personalities!)
AI poetry and aureate prose is quite often repulsive.
Bathetic prose relying on synonyms isn’t persuasive.
Content, more important than labels, that spins on looms
deep, thought-provoking poetry that eternally blooms.
Evocative language that hankers to an idyllic past;
finishing with a flourish leaving an impression that lasts.
Grammar rules adhered to and the spelling precise;
high-energy prose that wants me to read the poem twice.
Imagery well defined transporting me on a journey
juxtaposed with tantalising realms, but never corny.
Kicking over the traces and not flinching when
language treated as an art form with an aurum pen.
Metaphor must be transparent—never an enigma or obscure;
no ambiguities of puns that we as readers have to endure.
Originality—no plagiarism—goes without saying;
poetic licence, within limits, can be quite satisfying.
Quest for illumination on issues that are often moot.
Rhythm and sound have primacy over meaning to boot.
Sensitive treatment of the subject matter will always win.
Tautograms and alliteration mastered … overuse won’t win.
Unusual perspective on a topic, but not a lot of baloney.
Voice of the poet that clearly shines through cacophony—
winged inspiration that soars without fear or favour.
X-rated and risqué offerings would definitely not be devoured.
Yammering critics like an ostentation* of peacocks, while
zealotry that rankles leaves a bad taste—it’s no one’s style.
A tiny fish in vast ocean,
Desirous to swim at liberty,
Direction and depth beyond measure,
Delicate with shiny witty eyes is me,
My Upma to a fish stands real true.
I am a thunder in the sky that enlightens,
A fire in hearts that sets one ablaze,
A thought velocious that travels to infinity,
A strong emotion that never unwinds,
Upma is a simile to all and stands true.
A pent up anger that goes in tears,
An endurance of an intense torture,
A pang that rankles after the agony,
Entirely original though comparable,
My rights are absolutely infrangible,
A simile means Upma and that's me !!
Written on 21/12/13 for
Contest- who are you....
Come O rain come, throw your showers
On this part of earth and do not run
All the simple inhabitants of our villages, towns and cities
Are waiting for you with tears in their eyes
Come O rain come, throw your showers sublime
On fields, soil, animals, trees and birds flying
Even the trees and birds, animals and herds, Human and insects
All are gloomy and sad, with rankles on foreheads
With worries on their faces, as their hopes are getting buried
Without a shower to wipe their rolling tears from eyes
Come O rain come, throw your showers
On this part of earth and do not run
I know, why you are offended and not listening our prayer
But the animals and birds, our simple villagers, animal herds
Even fields drying up in excessive heat do not know
Why you are offended and not listening their prayers
Oh pardon them as they do not know
The misdeeds of those, who are spreading cities
And are cutting trees, forest and are eliminating fields
In the name of modern living
They go on spreading cities after cities
And industries after industries
These less blessed species of humans, do not want to know
The priceless value of mother earth
And the value of each drop of water and rain
Which comes due to green mountains and glaciers
Trees and plants, fields and ponds,
Lakes and rivers, they all are the
Darling children of the God of Rains.
To appease you O God of Rains
We are making our prayers with folded hands
You are and you were always our dearest
O God of Rains, on you we have offered our prayers
And have offered since ages our songs and lyrics
And even our heart and souls
Come O rain come, throw your showers
On this part of earth and do not run
The soil of earth and air also is boiling with heat
The birds and animals and all living creatures
Are waiting with their tired eyes on sky
To search a piece of clouds, which can extinguish their fire
With showers on their fields, plants and trees
Bless them O God of Rains, with your sublime drops of rains
Ravindra
Written on 24th June 09 originally in Hindi as a prayer Song
When draught like conditions were seen in a part of my state.
Translated in English with changes and some additions on 5th Dec.09
Incidentally God heard the prayer of someone and
From June end onwards God of Rains blessed us with good Rains.
Kanpur India 5th December 2009
Everything was turning green.
The trees had started budding.
Tulips just now breaking ground,
New life through topsoil flooding.
Then it happened, light at first,
Flurries drifting down.
Then heavier, blowing sideways,
Covering the streets of town.
The wind so fierce near blew me down.
The snow was at my ankles.
It's Spring gol-durn-it, what is this!
This insult really rankles.
It was warm with singing birds,
And budding trees and flowers.
We shouldn't have this blizzard now.
We should have gentle showers.
Then one thing came to my mind,
Pro-Vin-Chee-Ul E-Ner-Sha !
The sign up on the highway says,
Welcome To Alberta.