An ogre is seldom awakened by poetic lines
but he shakes his fists trying to slander others.
I laugh at his desperate attempts at writing.
Delighting in his flawed efforts at metaphors.
On all fours this ogre creeps around like a spider
Oh what distorted webs he dares to weave...
when he deceives those who do not know
his penchant for whining and absurd cries of wolf.
He aspires to climb to the peak of a mountain
but fails miserably with each witless haiku.
Do not fear in the false bravado of the daft beast,
but feast on his raves as he digs his own grave.
Imagery is lost among his gibberish blabber...
a rather nondescript description of such bluster.
His script is not clever, thought he thinks it is so.
He doesn't scare me or those who know... whatever
Inanity is the work of such a bootlicking fool...
a tool who yammers thinking he impresses others,
but a jester dances for those who seek a false throne.
Does that ring with a piffle of drivel to anyone but me?
Categories:
yammers, anti bullying,
Form: Free verse
The cacophony, the clamor
The artificial glamour
The rush to acquire stuff
Fill the emptiness with fluff
Smother silence with yammers
Compressing questions, neglecting answers
Wisdom awaits in secluded woods
In scarlet sunsets, understood
Elicit bliss in solitude
The still in search of self precludes
Repose anonymities permeate
And soothe the restless agitate
From discordance, isolate
Reclusive paths both curve and straight
Frenzies lessens and abates
Turmoil lightens, evaporates
In lush quarantine of thought
Quietude of soul is sought
Equanimity in time alone
Replenishes soil in which dreams are grown
Categories:
yammers, silence, solitude, wisdom,
Form: Rhyme
"The Friend"
I own this stereotype.
Heavy in belly, soft tall demure,
Trying to saint the boxing sinner.
Mother loved, father manly worried,
I wander passion for unrequited state.
The socially unapt gazer, debating intent.
Waiting on the whom,
To confess rapture, for my scenes.
Then it came, love.
But time shorts bliss.
I slowly bleed its demise.
Insecurities constricted affection object.
With every needy utter.
How addictive,
The insecure mind, as it yammers meekly,
"do you still love me".
The dreamer price,
Is the distorted I,
with my grey speckling on my
"want to be cool " chin.
I dream less, and bitter for it.
When friend to lover, then told a mistake,
I leave hungry, Partner Full.
Categories:
yammers, life
Form: Free verse