Rancorous Poems | Examples

dead ends

artless darts pierce heartless hearts 
garrulous gnats deafen rancorous rats
rabid foxes beget brainless rocks

we are all dead
when it all ends

there are too many dead ends

Rain-Driven Blues

Walking beneath roiling cloud
Exposed to coming Baltic storm
Feet move swiftly head is bowed
Weather onslaught about to perform.

Bone-chilling cold, cannot escape
No place to shelter all alone
Wet and weary old bones ache
Focused thoughts I am heading home.

Splashing puddles, leaking shoes
rancorous weather continues downpour
Am mired in music of rain-driven blues
Sigh of relief as i slam front door.

Your Rancorous Absence

this rancorous separation
digging an abyss in my heart.
i anticipate 
your beauty
your love
your soul.
and in this very moment
i am with myself,
contemplating your presence
in your rancorous absence.

-gurumali

Satan Worshipers

Some people are Satan worshipers
As luck would have it they are few
They love cheating beside evils and devils
Active in showing coloring of a chameleon
Not nowadays but since their early beginning
What do you expect Satan worshipers do?
Obscenely they come and go, say and sing
Rancorous men and women most of the time
Sake not humanity welfare sake not facts and truth
Humbug day and night deceive others and themselves 
Identical to Satan and its misgiving its obsession
People hate Satan, evils and devils all over the world
Except those ugly Satan worshipers 
Really Satan is their leader and their god
Satan lovers!
 
About this simple poem,  please note that there is nothing personal, nothing related to old friends and readers at all.

No Anchor For Rancour

 

"Learn to consider the source ... of rancour and 
ignore.  All tantrums don't require your reaction."

                           Quote by _Ibadidran Omo Akinde

I have spent my childhood the target of rancour,
malicious words like chains were my anchor.
Why are people like that ?
Sometimes, my only friend was my sweet kitty cat,
at school during lunch time-  alone, I sat.
My words brought their rancour !

When I was a young woman I got much stronger,
I did not listen to the hatemonger.
Gone the chains that held me !
I was learning about who I wanted to be,
and saw resentful words as a sad plea.
Oh, get lost scaremonger !

Now, I am a writer of poetry-  of life,
and yes still get hurt by life's stabbing knife.
But, am a tree rooted !
And when the venomous slither I press muted,
or lost in my mind- their words diluted.
Be still, not larger-than-life !

I feel sorry for the sad spiteful rancorous,
those people who get all cantankerous.
Why are people like that ?

The Heart of a Sad Man

Exonerating eyes that yield
     Upon the eyes of cyclopes,
Bemoaning and rancorous enigmatic 
     As we think. 
Ponderously, I swim to nausea,
     Galloping to forever dream. 
I see life in gargantuan way, 
     Neither the illusion of the majestic
Enthralled and reverberating echo, 
     Of thy thunderous anger, I fear. 
For this is the summation 
     Of my grieve heart. 
In this way, I may die a loser, 
     A beaten man. 
With pity and devouring rage
     To that sun, to that arrogant feisty sun. 
For this, I'm a rotten down-trodden
     Sad, sad, sad man.

Here's To That Invincible Bunch

In the U S March is Women's History Month, and tomorrow, March 8, is International Women's Day. So, ladies everywhere, this piece is for you. Salud!

You are woman, so defined,
You are perfectly designed,
Every aspect of your being makes you who you are.
You meet the challenges you face
With intelligence and grace,
Because of you the human race has come so far.

You have measure, you have worth,
And your purpose here on Earth
Is to show the world war's not the only way.
You may question, you may doubt,
But you bring good things about,
And do it all without a rancorous display.

Man is creation at its worst,
Why you were not invented first
Is a mystery, unsolvable, it's true.
Though chauvinists may sneer and scoff,
We might be so much better off
If the running of the world were up to you.
We'll never understand God's plan,
So from one less-than-perfect man,
To all you women,
Thanks for all the things you do.

My Sweet You

I was sitting on a pew
Somebody grabbed me from behind
I doubted my mind without a clue
My body chilled, your face I can't find

I felt rancorous
Don't know why I was cautious?
Baffling place was not obnoxious
But my mind in delirious

My heart throbbing so fast
Don't know what caught me aghast
Somebody I can sense and feel
My body wants to drop, my patellas to kneel

Somebody talking to me in soft voice
I can hear him teasing, me like blind
Walking around me while I'm seated, your voice entering my mind
I know it's you from behind

Wrapped was I and blindfolded 
"Please don't tie me up!"
I will give all of me if needed
Just be gentle, lift me up

Then you raised me with sighs
Holding my thighs
As I rise you said, "Peek-A-Boo"
I said, "I waited so long... My Sweet You!"

I Need No Fame Or Name In Life-Game

I am now totally free
This gives me glee
Full freedom is my plea
As fame is damn ugly

When all surround me
I terribly feel gloomy
Calmness is balmy
Fame is badly stormy

When we become a slave
We surrender to some wave
We then meekly behave
To build for joy a grave

If our inbox is empty
That makes life pretty
We rejoice with clarity
Liberty is a real beauty

Addiction is dangerous
Its attack will be vigorous
Greed is cancerous
Mood turns rancorous

Let me be always alone
To enjoy God's life-loan
I am to God well-known
Love is by Him shown

I feel now blissful
My mood is joyful
My mind is truthful
Solitude is helpful

Life is a game
Where all need fame
Our greed, if we tame
We can stop shame

We pursue by being foolish
When happenings are devilish
Our peace will then diminish
No hope, we can establish

God alone is the only truth
He alone will always soothe
He can make our joy mammoth
He will be never at all uncouth.

The Cruelest of Hate

It is the cruelest of hate
Creeping like an imposturous reptile
In the morning light of Eve’s Garden
Fangs dripping with malice
Searching for tender flesh to taste

Cruel hate clandestinely charging
Uncharged minds
Innocent ones
Too young to leave
Too old to hold on

Hissing rancorous lyrics
Like a street pusher pandering opiates
To abject addicts
Hate creates images of a fresh world
Socially acceptable to his guiltless prey

It is the cruelest of hate
Proffering empty promises of transcendent fame
Lying in the wake of the fallen ones
Dead on square tiled floors
As muted school bells forget to ring
From sandy grounds to tangled woods
To weeping waterfalls on a westbound highway
Counting the dead
Nineteen names prancing across digital screens 
Held in hands too small to tremble
Hate authoring hallucinations 
To guard against truth

It is the cruelest of hate
Peering through the eye of a grooved cylinder
Pushing calloused flesh against curved steel
Lead projectiles penetrating
Again, and again
Unblemished innocence
Teddy bears held against beating hearts
And the let go dreams of 
Our children

It is the cruelest of hate

To a Very Special Lady

Above all, she’ll do her part
Far from the spotlight, from rounds of clap,
From sincere compliments and false flattery,
From haughty advice, and rancorous envy.
Above all, hers is 'the moon and stars',
A dream of brighter days to come
twinkling in the eyes of her kids, 
Children she didn’t give birth to,
Yet,
They are her stars, and she is their moon,
Infusing hope into their trying lives.
May you forever fare well my young lady!
You shall always be like a heal-all, a magic potion, 
A breath of fresh air in the midst of indifference,
A caring mother whose purity comforts the aching soul
And lightens the heavy load. 
Blessed may your bountiful deeds be
Which, 
Above all, 
Shall engrave your touch on all hearts and minds.

A Wig Is Helping An Untiring Lawbreaker

Growing are the grumbles
By a Gathering of Humbles:
A skyrocketing effort to change an unchanging Dinah,
In figures, now closely chasing the population of China:
The grumbles, a fast succeeding siege against the judge
Now set to hit Justice where it hurts…
The earlier mumbles a saintly grudge
Whose holder unrestrainedly blurts.

A wig is helping an untiring lawbreaker,
Scheming to the wrong guy dump in rancorous jail;
One hell of a faking hostage taker
Juggling with sacred laws and trying to not fail!

Now, it’s an uncannily crappy proceeding,
All the jurors alive to the misleading:
The not guilty to soon watch the outside world from Dark Keyhole
The veritable Child of Judicial Remote Control.

Now, the grumbles are preaching
A second long look at the interpreter,
The earlier mumbles alleging a bewitching
Of the chosen typewriter;
The mumbles also cocksure of a garage
Groaning under the weight of new Toyota Cams
The grumbles amplifying to barrage 
Judge’s recent receipts of Justice-perverting big yams.

The Rancorous People

The rancorous people 

There is a country we are not allowed to mention 
lest we are banned and silenced if telling the truth.
Once they were an oppressed people who by default 
got a country of their own and set about eradicating 
the people who lived there.
Their viciousness is despicable. I cannot think of any
a country that would have gotten away with this.
They are hated by their close neighbours who pretend,
for the sake of money, to be allies.
Now, this country of moral degenerates are using 
the COVID-19 as a weapon to stop the oppressed people
from getting the vaccine and hope the plague
will do the job, as their army is to slow and takes 
its toll on young minds. 
The power, the appalling state has today is only transient
sooner or later the hand that holds the whip will tire and
the country will drown in its blood.

Bewitched Vision

My nights have lately become sultry
as suffocating heat chases sleep away,

I lay wide awake unloved and sweating
beneath the murmurous ceiling fan
hoping for some refreshing relief.

Each eventide I hear her bittersweet song 
drifting from the verdant vale
like seductive perfume on the breeze.

I cannot resist for long.  I must visit every night.
People say there's magic in her.
Rancorous rumors have it that
she seduces with a whimsical smile,
subdues with an enchanting laugh,
soothes with a surrealistic sigh.

Maybe they're right.  I know they’re right.
For I am under her arcane spell.
Late at night I leave my rumpled bed 
and like a somnambulist I tread
through mysterious corridors of my house.

The dazzling moon shines the pathways
that lead down the surreal vale
into the  sonorous cavern where she
concocts her alluring recondite runes.

There I hope to get a glimpse of her
Embrace her gorgeous beauty for untold time
Till inexplicably I find myself alone back on my bed.
Can you blame me if I’m under her spell?

8 January 2021

A Thistle

Odd man out
 He cuts a lonely figure
Only he isn’t.
Avoided learning the language where he lives
To avoid tittle-tattle.
He is a failed poet too.
Rancorous and silent
But does smile and say thank you a thousand times
As is the norm in this country.
He wishes he could eat as much as he wanted to
But is constricted by diabetes
And a wonky heart.
He is often cranky.
Waits to set sail to the Saragossa island
He sends poems to a publisher, who answer but want money
He has published a few books
Which makes him feel like a fraud
His last wish is to be accepted by someone who will publish him
Not telling him he is terrific than asking for cash.
He finds facebook too nice
Likes the twitter where the truth is often spoken
And no one reads his work.

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