A kindergarten student is not usually sent to my office.
I am the counselor, who gets my shares of stirrers.
Usually when a five-year-old is sent to me, they are crying.
This little blonde blue-eyed beauty was not crying.
She had a smug look on her face, actually not a tear in sight.
Find out what happened, the principal said, before she left.
What happened? I asked the dainty cherub.
When?
I am not sure “just now?”
Nothing.
I have to call the teacher to get an inkling.
She was fighting.
You mean arguing?
No I mean flat out fist walloping pummeling fighting.
I look for scratches or bruises but see no evidence.
Were you in a fight?
She nods her head.
I smashed them and bashed him, she told me.
She had a pleased smile.
I am surprised, but not stunned.
I have raised three daughters.
Two of them are tough.
She brags about her fighting prowess.
I find out later this little darling has four older brothers.
Categories:
walloping, school,
Form: Narrative
The Bewail city
Ragged into pieces of pain
Each piece tormenting a certain taxpayer
Not even a solitary taxpayer skimped on
Oh the city of bewail!
Walloping at taxpayers
With no apparent misdemeanor
Gazing as their dreams are being dismantled
As they gawk in utter dejection,
Hoping to discern a glim.
And with each passing day
Siphons life off them
But they hang on,
Grasping to life each single day.
Oh well, the high and affluent officers lively
Channeling the city's riches into vested interests
Squandering more city's riches into their own
More than a backyard garden spends water
More than a body spends blood
What city is this?
Timorous taxpayers hide faces in fear
Fear to question and combat all
Greener pastures out of reach
Trapped in the bewail city
Oh down in the dumps!
What city is this?
What city really is this?
A taxpayer shouted "It is the bewail city"
Oh it really is.
Categories:
walloping, africa, betrayal, corruption, poetry,
Form: Elegy
To the ground they took him,
With endless walloping punches.
They sought to drain his blood,
And make his innocent bones crunch!
They didn't realize they had the wrong man,
Nor did they really care...
Their job was to destroy,
To send him down the stairs.
Baseball bats, tire irons and bicycle chains,
Were used to chaotically disassemble this man,
Invoking perpetual pain,
For their goal; he would never stand again.
There was no time for this soul to shed a tear or an agonizing cry,
Just a glimpse into a fallen humanity, with the question, "Why?"
15-September-2021
Categories:
walloping, angel,
Form: Rhyme
In reality we are all gardeners,
wandering through the gardens of life
gently placing our seeds
into the mouth of the Earth.
Drifting through seasons,
anticipating the first glimpse of
Spring's splendour of sights
a new promise, a new beginning, a new love.
Butterflies and bees,
make love to the
fragility of blossoms -
embellishing nature's passions.
In my personal oasis,
princess of petals plants her love,
within the garden of my heart.
Fragrance of her flower garden,
leaves me silently breathless,
as we bloom in the vapours of our love.
Yet not all gardens are sincere.
Wilted path of premature petals,
leads to an unkempt province.
Walloping weeds wander through
naked rose stems with blood thirsty thorns
and I wonder, dismayed,
why anyone would neglect their garden,
when did cultivation become a crime?
So I remain, away from the darkness,
upon the silent bed of our own roses,
content with the honeysuckle,
suckling and soothing our souls.
Silent One
Simple Musing
27 July 2019
Categories:
walloping, analogy, philosophy, psychological,
Form: Free verse
While
walloping
waking
whale
withstood
whipping
winning
warship
which
we
were
washing
Is this a lantern or a latrine?
Jim Horn
Someone enter it into contest for me.
Categories:
walloping, allegory, analogy,
Form: Lanterne
I’m pinched, not sweet, and ferociously piqued!
A stomp of vines, my feet juiced red — and drunk.
Embossed my boss — his painted smile. He freaked.
Impertinence! I’d put up with his junk!
Worked extra hard to please this balding… (squeeze).
The constant drip...the bitter pills...my wrath.
No girl! No life! To serve this jerk...this sleaze!
I’ll pluck this fattened grape. His stink needs bath —
An hour long shower walloping...indeed!
I’m a great guy - no sense of humor mean.
This cream of the crop creep, he has no creed.
I’ll hire this donkey’s toot and shoot the scene.
But cheer this vat, I cure my awful state.
Conceive revenge, sour pittance for my hate.
8/13/2018
Mark Massey’s Sour Grapes Poetry Contest
8th place
*Embossed - hunted like an animal, to exhaustion
Categories:
walloping, anger,
Form: Sonnet
The wakeful wind whistles
Winding wearily and watching all
Wafting silently whispering woes
Weightlessly whipping wisplike whacks
Wondrously wild when wrathful weather attacks
Wrecking and walloping worsening in time
Nature wilts whimpering wordlessly worried
The wind whirls and wrestles in wingless flight
19/3/2016
Categories:
walloping, weather,
Form: Alliteration
Examples That Are Shining
Contributed and motivated
by Word Warrior as usual.
While each word was beating up and walloping
God came into my life and had been galloping
Said before each of my poems He would trample
Should be using Poetry Soup as a perfect example.
God's words against I never should be warring
And always resisting and continually deploring
His courage and bravery is sure to wait for you
Even when writing many poems of just a few.
God's knowledge into should constantly delve
Amount of poetry books became complete shelve
Out of all this what was the most extraordinary
All of them weighed so much and could not carry.
Then after all of my poetry writing had ended
On them, many poets at Soup still depended
And instead of complaining and always whining
See poems as examples that love to be shining.
(PS. Wheel chairs go best when declining.)
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Categories:
walloping, humorous, poets,
Form: Couplet
Hibernation collects the highest rank
calmness, walloping in the coolest hole
sleep possesses wealth in the biggest bank
activity in a minimal role
tough muscles on old age can't play a prank
whatever height not yet reached, stop the pole
to weary bones and a weak mind, be frank
to heal already found sores on each sole
it is the time for time to have mercy
the end romance still needs that approval
productivity has made life spicy
relaxation, ready to shape it oval
what remains to Life, so cool and icy
as death waits to have a permanent val.
Categories:
walloping, holiday, life, retirement,
Form: Sonnet
11/5
that which cannot be traced
which cannot be found
which cannot be leaked
which cannot be jailed or
beaten in the streets
that which cannot be located
by the newest technology on the
market
that which cannot be ratted on by
its members
that which only blossoms in
membership spontaneously, without
planning
that which is impulsive
that which is secure in the acts
walloping down upon the
controlling, dominant, totalitarian forces
that be
that which spits in the face of convention,
tradition, organization & the general
herding of the sheep
that which lives to breathe freedom
that which will take no prisoners
that which laughs maniacally in the silence of
uncalled for fears & fictitious lies
that which will break down the current
establishments
that which will burn the idols in effigy
that which will continue despite all attempts to
destroy it
that which infests the system like the strongest cancer
strangling from within
that which flows like a river of blood inside the body of
those whose anger never ceases
that which desires every tyrant to be hung in the
courtyard
that which cannot be bought or sold
that which will win.
Categories:
walloping, life,
Form: Free verse
Turquoise paper patterns in mosaics on the wall
Fountains spilling liquid glass into their shallow pools
Open leaded windows with cut rose marble sills
Scarlet woven rugs of wool down hollow echo halls
Mint green air in the atrium
Honeysuckle vines entwined
Scent of the earth upon the skin
is inevitable and defined
Hush is the house and hush is the land
the hedges, an unconquerable maze
Thorns harden roses of antique descent
in crater shaped pots made of clay
Steps descend amethyst with granite black veins
Straight to the aqua sea
Under the cover of tree limb tunnels
Steeped in old secrecy
Mingled with shells are tiles sand polished and spit to the walloping wind
Old piano blanket on the flattest of rocks, picnic about to begin
Journal, burnt leather, blowing wide open for the circling birds to read
Emotions of magnitude, shy from their solitude, flood to the page and are freed.
Categories:
walloping, life, love, nature, peace,
Form: I do not know?