Written: January 10, 2025
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Wenches of Whimsy and Woe
In the world of the fiddled gruntingly,
where micturitions dance,
and arty yawning plurdled gabbleblotchits,
lurgid bees buzz with mordacious glee.
Eardges justle and grumble,
festering infectious organ squealers,
gnawing at the edges excruciatingly,
Intergalactic highways scream,
echoing in their lavish friars.
Gandersalps gleam in the grim groggy gloom
graceful gliding gallant swarupincrafts majestically soar
whoop, wail, wassail wondrous rowan wood
cormulent chitchat flickers like flames
Elevate the mundane,
let foolishness dissolve into the ether,
In the charm of nostalgia, we find the replevy abyss,
Paraprosdokian twists lift us higher.
Triskaidekaphobia slumbers wrapped in jest.
Schadenfreude influences us as
katabatic whispers from the abyss fade away
callipygian figures emerge,
bringing moments of unexpected joy.
Vessels overflowing with dreams,
countehsee the orbs and clusters
while Guinevere gazes, sly and wise,
clipshank the past, whitebootz to come
Here as we meander in whimsical unfolding
An Empty Page- Free Verse
Empty thoughts loiter in his mind
As new words he tries to find
But shackled by an absent muse
No words come forth for him to choose
His wizened face now wears a frown
And the cartridge of his ink has dried
He searches the silence for a clue
But it fails to elicit a response
His mordacious muse now prefers
To leave him without a horde of words
To trifle with him at this stage
And leave him with an empty page
-----------------------------------------------
An Empty Page- Triolet
An empty page, a poet's woe
In panic mode as muse departs
The moon and stars have lost their glow
An empty page, a poet's woe
Thoughts come and go, no words to show
Just a line and a verse jumpstarts
An empty page, a poet's woe
In panic mode as muse departs
Not For Contest
..
In her resting place — she’d toy
with shadows, matchsticks
and glow in the dark paint.
Out and about — she’d fly
through the night, wax her teeth
and loudly sip her straw.
A mordacious-red stain upon her tongue.
1/29/2018
Brian Strand’s Premiere Contest 125
Sevenling Poem
Amidst the Barbaric heathen hordes
Mordacious majesty’s scrofulous swords
Corroding cathedrals in the morning mist
Rampageous residuals that we must resist
In the valleys of darkness, my soul savors still
For the bloodstained moon begins her spill
The ruffled red rains down upon the tombstones
As the Kings and Queens sit upon their thrones
The lecherous Lords satisfyingly seduce
The mawkish women that are on the loose
Marauding minstrels that strangle the streets
In the valley of shadows where the darkness meets.
May.12.2017
MAYTIME PREMIER CONTEST -any theme any form max of 25 lines...
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Like a cocked cartridge
drawn back in her wizened and mordacious sneer
she let fly upon him such an elicit horde
he was left to loiter
shackled
a trifle ............in her dust
5/7/2017
Written for a contest using
the following words
1. CARTRIDGE 2. ELICIT 3. MORDACIOUS 4. HORDE 5. SHACKLED 6. TRIFLE 7. WIZENED 8. LOITER
He is wizened, shackled to the horde,
Trifle deaf, he would loiter use mordacious words,
Owned cartridge of film that would elicit laughter.
06/04/2017
Contest: eight word contest.
A horde of mordacious words the old man fired at her
as if he were a wizened wizard
trying to elicit from her some shocked indignation.
Already shackled (of her free own will) to self-discipline, she replied:
You are like a gun which has aimed itself at me.
Don’t loiter near me even a trifle bit longer,
for you are shooting blanks,
and the cartridge I hold is wisdom’s truth.
Written April 5, 2017 for John Hamilton's Eight-Word Poetry Challenge
Words required:
1. CARTRIDGE 2. ELICIT 3. MORDACIOUS 4. HORDE 5. SHACKLED 6. TRIFLE 7. WIZENED 8. LOITER
Elicit shackled mordacious
Loiter trifle horde within the
Wizened cartridge of the mind
Value Of Life, A Question
Were I wizened, not shackled to mordacious horde,
I'd not loiter to elicit trifle rewards,
With my one cartridge, could I, end life sadly bored?
April 5th, 2017
Cruel time had wizened her
and horde of memories were shackled,
She lost her way, she felt so numb,
and continued to loiter in snow,
With mordacious look,
she tried to elicit response from strangers,
But her trifle tears allowed
cartridge of her patience shrink and slow.
'Sad Free Verse in 2017 only '
Sponsor:Laura Loo
April 4, 2017.
Eight word challenge - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
MUST USE THE FOLLOWING WORDS 1. CARTRIDGE 2. ELICIT 3. MORDACIOUS 4. HORDE 5. SHACKLED 6. TRIFLE 7. WIZENED 8. LOITER
As security officers loiter around,
Hordes of audience troop into the hall,
The intimidating presence of these men
Shackled many as if they were prisoners,
The cartridge of one of them makes me
trifle anxious with fear,
A wizened reporter couldn’t elicit any response
from the senator as he makes a mordacious
comment on the scandal ;
which pissed him off, and the crowd grumbled..
CONTEST:8 words challenge by John Hamilton
4-4-2017
A cartridge filled with a horde of shackled emotions, am I,
Trifle feelings loiter within me... until you elicit them out,
Wizened by time, you know that otherwise I might turn mordacious;
Thank God I found you, my dear Muse.
04/03/17
The beggar
Wizened by lack, more than by age
The old blind beggar, who does loiter our streets
Unknown to most, is the legend
Behind the tales of Joe the bandit
With his great horde, he'd ridden into our town
The mordacious look, on his heavily bearded face
Did elicit fear, from the bravest.
Our good old town; always his to pillage
The lives of the town's folks; nothing but a trifle
He'd kill to instill terror, at the slightest provocation
But his next ride, into our little town
Had been his last ride, into any town.
A spent cartridge a meter, had lined our streets
The drains and sewers, had also run red
As a weak town's folks, had risen to war
Killing the bandits, all but Joe.
Shackled and marched round the old town
His life was spared, with his eyes gouged out
His new image; a message to others
That Old James Town, was out of bounds.
03/04/17
hidden not to elicit
a trifle response
spiteful mordacious
shackled on a horde race
cartridge loiter about the ground
wizened with years
4/3/2017
It may seem a trifle to the horde -
Or perhaps mere mordacious wit.
But I, wizened more than most afford,
Was not shackled by some rhyme unfit.
He let his brain loiter as he wrote -
Hoping his pen would elicit praise.
"Cartridge", said he, "is a bird of note"
But I've put one in guns all my days
4/1/2017
For contest Eight Word Challenge
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