Rudely Poems

A Story You'll Surely Adore

      ~ A Story You'll Surely Adore ~ 
              ('Suicide's a Pain')

     As I was about to enter the store
       I was smacked by a malfunctioning door
     Without so much as the slightest warning 
       or a perfunctory good morning 
     
     Astonished more than stunned
        I took off at a brisk run
     to inform the manager-on-duty
        of the door that had greeted me so rudely… 

     When I’d finished my story, to my utter surprise
        the manager muttered: “Lies, lies, nothing but lies”
      My jaw dropped and I exclaimed, “Why? Why? Why?”
        the manager replied, “We’ve an epidemic of spies”

     “Spies from our competitors,” he continued
         “that’s why we smacked you upside your head”
       In disbelief and rage, I said, “Well, I never” –
         pivoted right back into that door ~
                                      and keeled over dead

Removed from Omar's Bucket List

       First grade class trip, a slow cruise down the Nile
       So rudely derailed by three crocodiles

          They flashed kids their grins
          They wanted to sin!

       Newly evolved ~ erectile reptiles!

The Plants Cut,I Don't Know

THE PLANT CUT,I DON'T KNOW


Oh! how I worry about them
I don't know whose name
The plants red and yellow
Whose pain I hardly swallow.


What means of that Britishian
But geninuely I like as vegetation,
I'm hurt they were ut rudely
Only for this that are toxicly
With long horn,but I swear
One day the all cut,cause faults bear.

Tale of Dissecting Susies Brain

They thought it would be fun to dissect Susie’s brain
But wait, Sue said. I am kind of allergic to pain.
We have new meds, you will hardly feel a thing.
She believed the surgeon, ‘cause she’s a ding-a-ling.

The doctors hypnotized her and she stayed in place
While they cut a tiny hole in her front lobe face
They extracted a bit of her teeny sand brain
I’m naked! The piece yelled, and don’t forget my train!

They pulled out a gown, a petticoat and a bridal veil.
I am eager to see what you’ll do next said Dale.
Wait! Said Tori as I was telling this story to her
Who is Dale and were her dendrites still pure?

Since I was rudely interrupted, the tale is now dead.
So now poor Susie is stuck without the rest of her head.
I do not feel guilty, I am the writer, thus the boss.
Not knowing the ending is the reader’s loss.

This is Very Good

Success can been measured, that is true.
I treasure our nation. Let's say adieu
to the drift of a crude body politic
rudely ticked off at the loss of their "pick".
So obvious, fervor's flame is being fanned.

I welcome government business at hand -
how to run a country and make it grand.
...illegal immigration has been banned
...alien criminals arrested and canned
...manufacture returned to our land
...waste and abuse reduced by demand
...leader and cabinet taking command
...economic recovery carefully planned
...international reconciliation we understand

Messenger Story

Before we were so rudely interrupted
We thouroughly enjoyed a chance we’ve got
We couldn’t foresee our plans will be disrupted
I didn’t know our time would be so short
Five happy years, then one day a curtain falls
So terribly alone, I sit and cry
You speak to me again, and the wheel rolls
I’m scrolling back to hear your previous reply
The messenger archive contains our story
I’m praying for the safety of our time
They can erase us without saying sorry
They can do anything, and we can only die
You’ve gone away, it means we’ve had enough
Of this old world, of all its joy and pain
Let’s die again, the cause of death is love
Your voice with me forever will remain.

The Sonnet's Lament to the Limerick

O, idle love that flows where meters clash,
Where sense and vigor do not well align;
For thou the bowl of sense do rudely smash,
For I, the quest for harmony divine.
Think not these matters well enough ignored,
That coursing love shall float us to the shore;
For current-crossing whirls one cannot ford,
The broken ship of love a thing of lore.
And still, there is the sunlight of thy strength,
That doth ignite the world with crooked rays;
So great thy power that knows too short a length,
I fear my sense is lost as I amaze.
And if but once thy rhyme was not the worst,
I know my heart with love should surely burst.

Preceded By Thunder

Neon days are preceded by thunder.

Neon days didn’t warn me about success,
neon days are built from the struggle;

Neon days do not show your sacrifice,
neon days attract flies to your light;

Neons days never simply appear,
neon days are the result of grit;

Neon days color heat lighting lime,
neon days hot pink crackles the night;

Neon days no one sees the hard road,
neon days you must fight through the fog;

Neon days attract lazy poachers,
neon days are rudely disrupted;

Neon days tend to show off hard work,
neon days posers want just a piece;

Neon days there are vultures that wait,
neon days you must tend your garden;

Neon days just the strong are standing,
neon days you must fight to keep them;

Thunder is preceded by neon days.

Within The Womb Of The Earth

Wicked generation asks for a sign you said to them.
Could they, in their thought, word, or reach your divinity's realm?
As though puppies bark at the elephant that's on a stroll
Could any of their denouncements play on you any role?

Sown within the womb of the earth will be the sign you said.
Like a lamb that's rudely slaughtered, your blood you've got to shed.
As Jonah was free from the whale and came out of the sea
From chains that try to bind you, forever you would be free.

The wisdom Jonah preached was finite. God's wisdom is great.
Everything out of nothing, didn't he wish to create?
Jonah, or the queen of Sheba, had their tentative role.
Isn't it God who brings everything to the immortal whole?

You stood sturdier than the temple and the sacrifice.
To your affliction, passion, and death, what price could suffice?

Frozen Moments

Feelings stored
in words
the letters revive

Time rudely
halted
— the moment alive

(Dreamsleep: August, 2024)

Unconscious Bias

Unconscious bias, an interesting subject indeed. 
While I would never be biased, allow me to proceed. 
Bias is experienced by dummies, crazies, and kooks. 
Not something that would apply to someone with my good looks. 
When you give me new information, I just throw it out. 
I know what I need to know.  The rest I can do without. 
But I'm open-minded, to your idea I'll attach  
merit, if, to what I already believe, it's a match.
I do not like to bother myself with data and stuff.
I already know most everything.  Isn't that enough? 
Did I hear someone rudely interrupting?  Was that you?
I'll kindly ignore it and continue to tell you what's true.
It's so wonderful that all of us in this great nation,
like me, have achieved such enlightened civilization.
No sir, not one of us suffers from delusions. 
Unconscious bias never results in illusions. 
Yet, why is it that I reach the dreadful conclusions  
that political debates will lead to contusions, 
and there will be a rise in demand for transfusions?
No wonder I live in seclusion.

A Fly In My Poetry Soup

There’s a fly in my poetry soup
It turquoise tries to throw me for loop

With negative Nancy words of discontent
Or fuschia fancy lines littered dissent

Poetry Soup is for friends for fun
Lighten up you’re under gold sun

Be green seed no need to be a gun
Firing off rudely red notes to anyone

I learned my lesson in faith
Let the negative Nancy fade

For there will come a denim day
They’ll meet their own match hurray

Fight

It will cold smack you in the face 
No regard, no respect, just a hard, straight right
Now you're confused and staggered so you look to plead your case
But no one cares so you better learn how to fight

So put your 'dukes' up and start sticking and moving 
Did you think or could anyone think you would be a pugilist? 
A mobile punching bag receiving blow after blow but you ain't losing
You're standing in the big ring, showing your worth with powerful fists

In this ring, blows will accost you in the late-night hour
Rudely snatching your sleep and leaving ugly bags underneath your eyes 
The next day you're in a fog with no zest or power
Trying to find reason or reasons for your seeming demise

It will grab you and place you in a chokehold 
Just sucking the life from your chest
And cause you to spend lonely nights in a hospital where the corridors are cold
Even after you've been released and you return home, you soon find there is still no rest

So fight! Fight you must and will do
Endure round after round and pound after pound
When you stand in this ring, you must see it through 
Spectators are watching with prying eyes, just wondering if you will go down

Shackling His Tongue

I am frustrated and annoyed by his ticking,
or perhaps it should be labeled the 'tocking'
By the never-ending tongue wagging clicking
in the language better known as 'clocking'

Must Grandfather Time command my life?
He so rudely continues without a thought
that his hammer yammering rhythm of strife
mocks the beating pulse of my human heart

What a wonderful fantasy my life would be
if for one day I'd not hear his unrelenting beat
I'd be stress free if time would stand still for me
for without his gonging life would be so sweet

In solace of night, I seek sleep and close my eyes
in need of escape and retreat from earthly chore
but I cannot find a moment of tranquil paradise
for his insistent knelling peals out once more

Each quarter hour his mallet chimes out to me
but his clappers sing off key in monotonous song
Not a lyrical lullaby, but a torturous rhapsody
whose tireless verses antagonize me far too long

I'm tenacious to put an end to his wagging tongue
and shackle the swinging motion of his pendulum
Each hour of the day and night would go by unsung
Being silenced is the price paid by the meddlesome

Tornado

wild wind whipping
trees bend and thrash
leaves rudely torn off
gardens trashed

blackening skies
presage the storm
rain drops attack
and hail pellets form

shattering glass
in windows and doors
denting parked cars
as a deluge pours.

dark cloud funnel
from the northwest,
veers as it wanders
at its whim’s behest

sending shingles aloft
people to basements
flooded streets paved
with pieces of casements

bedframes and couches,
bedsheets and books
leaving nothing but rubble
of old neighborhoods


hiding in terror we
hear all the ruckus
and pray the capricious
storm will bend by us.

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