Short Chagrined Poems

A november storm 
leaves hang on obstinately 
the chagrined autumn...

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who would have thought that

                                        poetry a contact sport

                                       Walt Whitman chagrined...

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He has talent first seen as delinquency
That has given him fame, perhaps infamy
When he’s mad or chagrined
He’s inclined to break wind 
With a sound like a Beethoven symphony...

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A chagrined clown hung his head in shame
for the disgrace of what he became, 
when an opportune slip of the heel, 
on a discarded banana peel, 
got a pretty good laugh just the same....

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Love to play with word
where the the therapist
becomes the rapist
love evolves love
me squared becomes a meme
Chagrined by a silent e
using silent phonetic letters
the gnome needs to know
without an a aplomb
remains the sane...

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When you’re young
  you run with the wind
    laugh in the face of time

Of a sudden you’re old
  you hobble, chagrined
    every step a tortuous climb

Though if young knew of old
  as old knows of young
   no melody’d ever be sung...

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Towards a setting sun I trudge my weary way
Oblivious of the gathering darkness
Under a sullen and bleeding sky
Chagrined and beside myself with sorrow,
How can heaven stand by and let me languish so?



~Acrostic contest by Sharon Gulley...

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Heads hung low
   they withered and died
Condemned
   though they'd not sinned

Clipped red roses
  placed at graveside
Their sweet fragrance 
  pilfered by the wind

Cold white marble
     wet from tears cried
Etched name caressed
    heart deeply chagrined...

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Quicksand
Oh, man

Hold hope
Need rope

Loud yell
Tear fell

Not heard
Absurd

Swim out
I doubt

Loud roar
I swore

Bad bunch
I’m lunch

Just then
Came friend

He grinned
Chagrined 

He laughed
Held staff

Pulled out
Rude lout

He mugged
I slugged

Amends
Still friends...

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cheerless, wretched life
                      failure cycling
                   gaping rictus of
                 disheartened gloom
               preying on
             my soul’s regret
           faith chagrined
         headlong plummet
      into darkness’
    gaping maw
  I depart
oblivion...

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Please come out and leave your shadow behind

For winters weather has been quite unkind

Snowy days and cold bitter wind

Have left me feeling a bit chagrined

I look forward to an early spring

When the robins’ red breast sing

And the grass is a vivid green

With meadows that look more serene

Covered in lovely wildflowers

That display mother nature’s impressive powers...

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Seedlings take new root when March winds blow
Cracks in sidewalks are where flowers grow
Extraordinary places, they bloom
Where one crushing foot could mean their doom

Doom comes to stems that once stood so tall
Bloom, now withered just like leaves in Fall
Grow with great strength, and bend in the wind
Blow good, it will. Do not be chagrined

Spring's wonderful season has arrived
...

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It comes from time to time upon a wind
that wafts aromas fragrant to a mind
now wakened from long sleep.
And yet, perplexed, he is resigned
to yet again concede his own defeat,
a yoked, unequal partner, when they meet
as man and muse combined.
Then unannounced, it parts and leaves him much chagrined.


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A 'Mistress Bradstreet' stanza - 10a:10b:6c:8b:10d:10d:6b:12a...

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We are the carol singers
Who sing carols as we go
We sing in any weather
In rain or wind or snow

At every house or cottage
That stands upon the lane
We proudly sing a carol
In snow or wind or rain

We are the carol singers
We never feel chagrined
As we proudly sing together
In snow or rain or wind

We shake the tin for charity
Singing carols as we go
We are the carol singers
In rain or wind or snow...

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Years back his most loyal friend drew his last breath
  His four-legged 'Pal' met the Angel of Death

Lovingly, did he place his tail-wagger in his earthly grave
  Under a heart-emblazoned stone, farewell he waved...

Now his turn to meet his Maker has come around
  Yet he has no interest in a burial in the ground

It's cremation for him, ashes scattered to the wind
  Leaving the Almighty perplexed and chagrined...

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Winter walks with death - alone
Life succumbs to letting go
Taking with us what we know
Leaving behind canvas and bone

Tears wept no longer flow
The afterlife is but a ghost
Gifts of memory left to bestow
Darkness rises as host

Desolation comes in the night
Quiet moans howl at the light
Whispering names left in the wind
Somber snow drifts with might
A hazy sun seems almost dimmed
Need no more to feel chagrined...

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Pardon me sir, but did you not just break wind?
Pardon me sir, but don't you feel a bit chagrined?

Pardon me sir, but I deem your faux pas mighty gross!
Pardon me sir, but you've left me feeling a bit morose!

Pardon me sir, but on this bus we don't enjoy your sop!
Pardon me sir, may I suggest you de-bus at the next stop!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved

Entry for Poetess Darkly's "Pardon Me, Did You Just..." Contest...

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always about me
certainly no need for we
much better alone
ample anguish to bemoan
no one else here disagrees

though rather subtly
talk with me regularly
nobody to intercede
always stick to my own needs
resentments usually 

no one else will win
is that really such sin
to tilt the wager
to being in my favor
never need to be chagrined

no need concealing
this ego needs some healing
recluses survive
unwanted dead or alive
we are no slaves to feelings...

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