Great Poetry

[Mr.Obvious]

The church

Come breathe holy air on this graveyard of dreams,
forlorn sanctuary now hidden amongst clouds of mist,
where better people than us prayed for mere gleams
Of a world after Lucifer’s and the King of Kings’ tryst.

When not even winds dare whisper the hymns they sang,
the bricks and mortar of this vestige crumble in silence.
I can naught but dream of reaching another with a bang
by ringing the scarred steeple’s bronze bells in defiance.

Is there life left in this fallen flesh and these buried bones?
Is someone marching blindly through these banks, hoping still?
I suppose to know; I must brave and climb these rotten stones.
And yet I’m cold and tired and wet, and I don’t know if I will.

[vulcanlogician]

---

The church

Come breathe holy air on this graveyard of dreams,
forlorn sanctuary now hidden amongst clouds of mist,
where better people than us prayed for mere gleams
Of a world after Lucifer’s and the King of Kings’ tryst.

When not even winds dare whisper the hymns they sang,
the bricks and mortar of this vestige crumble in silence.
I can naught but dream of reaching another with a bang
by ringing the scarred steeple’s bronze bells in defiance.

Is there life left in this fallen flesh and these buried bones?
Is someone marching blindly through these banks, hoping still?
I suppose to know; I must brave and climb these rotten stones.
And yet I’m cold and tired and wet, and I don’t know if I will.

---

You're a pretty good poet, Obvs.

[Brian37]

Enemy Of The People, By Brian37

Butchered in the consulate
Critic of the theocracy
The behavior of Isis
Beheading journalists

South of the boarder
We see the same
Brave press
Take on drug lord gangs

Despot's state media 
Is what Un has
Silence dissent
Throughout the land

Not the rhetoric
We should expect
In an open society
In the free west

Desperation
Is all he has
Trying to distract
From his mobster past

There is only one bully
In all of his
Unfortunately
He holds our highest office

[Mr.Obvious]

---

The church

Come breathe holy air on this graveyard of dreams,
forlorn sanctuary now hidden amongst clouds of mist,
where better people than us prayed for mere gleams
Of a world after Lucifer’s and the King of Kings’ tryst.

When not even winds dare whisper the hymns they sang,
the bricks and mortar of this vestige crumble in silence.
I can naught but dream of reaching another with a bang
by ringing the scarred steeple’s bronze bells in defiance.

Is there life left in this fallen flesh and these buried bones?
Is someone marching blindly through these banks, hoping still?
I suppose to know; I must brave and climb these rotten stones.
And yet I’m cold and tired and wet, and I don’t know if I will.

---

You're a pretty good poet, Obvs.

Thank you very much.

[BrianSoddingBoru4]

The Tale Of Custard The Dragon by Ogden Nash

Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.

Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.

Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.

Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week!, which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.

Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.

Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.

But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.

The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.

Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.

Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.

*****

Boru

[Mr.Obvious]

Mold
Have you ever had corruption mocking you?
There’s a patch of it growing inside my bath,
cloaked as midnight begat from tainted tissue
infecting and growing with cancerous wrath.

Others dare declare they cannot see it.
Which above all else is most unfair.
For no matter how much washing I did
I still feel it spreading everywhere.

I scrub and scrub and scrub hours on end
and use my tears to dilute the soap.
I plunge open wounds into lemon scent
and use the pain to help me cope.

It still infests my marmer, consuming all.
The cleaning product bites into my skin
There’s red smeared across the wall.
And without flesh; fingers seem so thin.

The spores now root deep in my blood.
With closed eyes they can’t be unseen.
Underneath my skin I can feel them bud
making me tear muscles to keep clean.

And if it weren’t for my frustration,
I doubt I could still call myself sane.
Only rage withstood the assimilation
ever pumping through every vein.

[Mr.Obvious]

Perfect Storm

The ocean clashes in rhythm against bedrock of stone
in a game of push and pull underneath the full moon.
The smell of salt water penetrates the winds which moan
into the sails of our vessel set to sink all too soon.

Onward into the darkest depths beneath the dancing tides
where we might lose ourselves to drown in fluid bliss!
Together with you, it matters not whereto the storm rides
so long as we come where waters explode into the abyss.

Hold onto the mast now the heavens above rip asunder
and our ship suffers the wrath of Thor’s heavy blow.
I’ll keep you in my arms when warm waves drag us under;
extinguishing the blazing flames roaring in our bow.

And should we wake tomorrow on white, raw sand;
alive and aglow with the sun rising beyond world’s edge
we shall build another raft to leave that lonely island
en voyage to the perfect storm to sink said fiery ketch.

[Mr.Obvious]

Mr. Obvious

From the book The Biggest Burp Ever
 
Hello, I’m Mr. Obvious.
I point out things you know.
I’ll tell you that the water’s wet.
I’ll say that plants can grow.
I might remark that night is dark.
I’ll add that grass is green.
And I’ll repeat that sugar’s sweet
and washing makes you clean.
I’ll let you know that snails are slow,
and one plus one is two,
and then declare that squares are square
and state the sky is blue.
You see, I’m kind, so I don’t mind
explaining simple things.
And when I do this just for you
I love the joy it brings.
So take a chair and let me share,
and when my lecture ends,
I hope you’ll try to tell me why
I don’t have any friends.

 --Kenn Nesbitt

(found this when looking for some poetry of mine on an old site i frequented)

[Brian37]

Mr Rogers, By Brian37

Liberal theists
You have great intent
I love your empathy
But then again

Please do not
Get in my way
When I blaspheme
Right wing bigots who say

Vile things 
Of entire groups
Whom vilify me
Vilify you

And they love guns
Christians, and Muslims
Love their holy books
Used to justify harm

The schoolyard bully
Is having fun
The firearm industry
Makes profits a ton

It never stops
In Synagogues and shops
Movie theaters and high schools
Their bodies drop

When will America
Have enough?
When will we 
Put safety first?

The Penguin's ice
Is blood stained
The killer bees
Don't want this fame

Why is this acceptable
In any zip code
For cops or society
To be out on the road

Doing their thing
At one moment
Only to end Up
 In a casket?

If more worked
Like some claim
We wouldn't be the nation
Leading in gun violence

[BrianSoddingBoru4]

The Three Little Pigs by Roald Dahl

The animal I really dig,
Above all others is the pig.
Pigs are noble. Pigs are clever,
Pigs are courteous. However,
Now and then, to break this rule,
One meets a pig who is a fool.
What, for example, would you say,
If strolling through the woods one day,
Right there in front of you you saw
A pig who'd built his house of STRAW?
The Wolf who saw it licked his lips,
And said, 'That pig has had his chips.'
'Little pig, little pig, let me come in!'
'No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!'
'Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!'

The little pig began to pray,
But Wolfie blew his house away.
He shouted, 'Bacon, pork and ham!
Oh, what a lucky Wolf I am!'
And though he ate the pig quite fast,
He carefully kept the tail till last.
Wolf wandered on, a trifle bloated.
Surprise, surprise, for soon he noted
Another little house for pigs,
And this one had been built of TWIGS!

'Little pig, little pig, let me come in!'
'No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!'
'Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!'

The Wolf said, 'Okay, here we go!'
He then began to blow and blow.
The little pig began to squeal.
He cried, 'Oh Wolf, you've had one meal!
Why can't we talk and make a deal?
The Wolf replied, 'Not on your nelly!'
And soon the pig was in his belly.

'Two juicy little pigs!' Wolf cried,
'But still I'm not quite satisfied!
I know how full my tummy's bulging,
But oh, how I adore indulging.'
So creeping quietly as a mouse,
The Wolf approached another house,
A house which also had inside
A little piggy trying to hide.
'You'll not get me!' the Piggy cried.
'I'll blow you down!' the Wolf replied.
'You'll need,' Pig said, 'a lot of puff,
And I don't think you've got enough.'
Wolf huffed and puffed and blew and blew.
The house stayed up as good as new.
'If I can't blow it down,' Wolf said,
I'll have to blow it up instead.
I'll come back in the dead of night
And blow it up with dynamite!'
Pig cried, 'You brute! I might have known!'
Then, picking up the telephone,
He dialed as quickly as he could
The number of red Riding Hood.

'Hello,' she said. 'Who's speaking? Who?
Oh, hello, Piggy, how d'you do?'
Pig cried, 'I need your help, Miss Hood!
Oh help me, please! D'you think you could?'
'I'll try of course,' Miss Hood replied.
'What's on your mind...?' 'A Wolf!' Pig cried.
'I know you've dealt with wolves before,
And now I've got one at my door!'

'My darling Pig,' she said, 'my sweet,
That's something really up my street.
I've just begun to wash my hair.
But when it's dry, I'll be right there.'

A short while later, through the wood,
Came striding brave Miss Riding Hood.
The Wolf stood there, his eyes ablaze,
And yellowish, like mayonnaise.
His teeth were sharp, his gums were raw,
And spit was dripping from his jaw.
Once more the maiden's eyelid flickers.
She draws the pistol from her knickers.
Once more she hits the vital spot,
And kills him with a single shot.
Pig, peeping through the window, stood
And yelled, 'Well done, Miss Riding Hood!'

Ah, Piglet, you must never trust
Young ladies from the upper crust.
For now, Miss Riding Hood, one notes,
Not only has two wolfskin coats,
But when she goes from place to place,
She has a PIGSKIN TRAVELING CASE.

*****

Boru