Best Bellowed Poems
There was a fussy bovine named Flossy
who was snooty and always so bossy
her udders would droop
when she took a poop
She bellowed until her eyes got glossy
Flossy had teeth like a barracuda
Her biting habit just made her ruder
She's not very sharp
She spit when she'd harp
So I called a few friends and we shewed her
Then she threatened to have me arrested
Thought she'd beaten me and had me bested
Knocked her on her duff
She wasn't so tough
Alas, she kept right on and protested
I saw her on the street the other day
Her monstrous butt sat on a bale of hay
Stuck her tongue at me
Mooed, "Hello, ducky"
She trotted off when I aimed pepper spray
What a chunky hippo she has become
I think Flossy secretly sucks her thumb
Waddles when walking
Ranting and squawking
To senility, Flossy has succumb
Bovine creatures can be quite abusive
When they should be a closet reclusive
The more that they speak
The more that they reek
My findings are all justly conclusive
Where forests stretched for miles, and Spirit Lake
lay at its foot, there stood a rebel peak.
One day the earth beneath began to quake.
What havoc Mother Nature was to wreak!
The tremors kept occurring till the day
two craters which had formed began to merge,
erupting ash. Wise folks left right away,
for that volcano soon would surely surge!
Some met their death that eerie Sunday morn
of May eighteenth. The deer began to flee.
Then from the mount, a burst of cloud was born -
a mushroom cloud which bellowed boisterously.
It grumbled and it rumbled, rocketing
for fourteen miles to sky its ice and ash.
Land slid. An avalanche was covering
all things within the path of its mad dash!
By 10:15, a wall of water rushed
down to the river, tearing up the trees
along with boulders as the ash still gushed.
Destruction had been wrought with greatest ease.
The news said Mount St. Helen’s lost her head,
and trees, like matchsticks, lay upon the ground.
Amazingly, despite such loss and dread,
there is new growth of beauty all around!
Written Aug. 13, 2014 for Wordscapes Contest of John Hamilton
The Age of Summer Love Was Kismet Kissed:
Our summer love began in Gemini
with sultry eves of wooing escapades,
and as the moon did swoon as it drew nigh
my lust you stirred with strumming serenades.
Romance as rich as black queen tulip skies
adorned with precious gems of bijou light,
before they’d lose their lustre to sunrise
you’d shower me with diamonds of the night.
Impassioned kisses filled my sails with love,
a rhumba full of rapture neath the stars
with rhythmic teasing, undulations of
unbridled flame of Venus and my Mars.
The time of Libra brings a cool to days ~
still, autumn love sets aging leaves ablaze.
Our Ageless Love Was Kismet Kissed:
Yes, my love, our joining was truly Fate
for immediately we both just knew,
hope had bellowed it is never to late
my destiny was love and life with you!
Love, ours glistening rubies and pearls
hot-love feasts served upon long golden trays,
memories, night love bathes in heated swirls
greatest treasure my soul embraces today!
In paradise my heart sought your soft touch
sweet embrace and curves of your luscious lips,
non-stop, crescendo was almost to much
on this earth, we took such heavenly trips!
Our fated romance proves that true love stays~
through it all, thick and thin, sorrowful grays
Susan Ashley
May 15, 2018
(a sonnet duet: an inspired response to “The Age of Summer Love”)
'Our Ageless Love Was Kismet Kissed'
Robert Lindley
May 19, 2018
*(Black) Queen of Night Tulip: a velvety deep maroon-black tulip*
From fjords, forests, hot springs,
slopes and snowy mountains,
people from different 'walks of life,'
connect their cultures to entertain.
A vision of Europe and humanity,
where a continent is home to many dialects,
serenading in diverse artistic styles.
Blending voices that carry something distinct,
bellowed from a ballad, rock or
something completely comedic.
I can hear the echoes of Celine Dion's
'Ne partez pas sans moi'
and the soothing tones of Gwendolyne,
from the dulcet Julio Iglesias.
Unifying musical tongues to
sing with sincere camaraderie,
bringing people together, dancing to
iconic beats like ABBA's - Waterloo.
A stage where future superstars
are born, glorifying 'Long live love.'
reminiscing Olivia Newton John's
universal message, be it in
fast rhythms or slow beats.
An evening of sporadic colours,
where dreams really do come true.
Where strangers join arms and
find new friendship - despite the politics.
One by one each country votes,
dreading the 'nil pois,'
fabricating many a conspiracy,
where the Baltic and Balkan states
seem to love each other's music.
Each vote unfolds excitement,
as nations anticipate the outcome
from the public vote -
there is always a surprise!
Eurovision, may not feature perfect lyrics,
nor angelic voices - in fact not all participants
are from Europe anymore!
Still millions tune in on their TV's
and radio's bringing people together
through the power of music.
Ode to Rain Drenched Paper And Rapidly Disappearing Ink Stains
Previously Penned a Moment Ago, Dissolving, Swirling Cyclone of Water and Ink down the Drain!
Silly Poet Stranded, Emotionally Sifted And Strained
Enchanted by Calliope's Impish Minstrel
Base Cappella of Rumbling Thunder, I Shudder!
Serendipitous and Wet, Expatriate Poet Without An Umbrella!
For You See I was Haunted and Teased By Moisture Filled Breeze
I Reached With My Pen and Tickled the Heaviest Cloud In the Sky With Ease
Silly Poet Provoking Poetic Rain, Prodding The Water Supply
Tickled and Poked With My Pen, The Cloud Bellowed, Then She Cried
Prism In A Pearl Raindrop In Custody of The Now Smirking Nimbostratus
Under Hyades Guard, My Penalty For Intrusion Pending Status!
Sitting In Humid Air, Amidst the Jury of Haughty Rain Nymphs Stares
I Should have use the Feathery End Of My Pen for the Inked Tip Created A Tear
Silly Poet, Drenched In Conjured Rain, Penalty for Pain, I must Rhyme Away From Here!
I Should Have Visited Erato's Garden to Borrow Her Myrtle Wreath!
Or Even Tea and Biscuits with Melpomene Could Have Been a Theatrical Treat
Euterpe's Sultry Flute Interrupted My Internal Musing, Rainbow Cruising Inky Hues
Silly Poet Seeking Poetry's Muses In The Conjured Rain In The News!
Conjured Rain Trance, Whimsical Chance, Pen In Hand, Here I Stand! Poet Pseudonym Debut
I'm Soggy, Not Sorry For My Attempts To Pen In the Rain, I Will Try Again, No Shame!
For Now My Sentence Has Come To An End, The Paper Filtered But Never My Pen!
On the park bench in the starkness of a city facing darkness,
I was drinking, feeling tipsy, working on some poetry.
Close by me was something lurking; suddenly it started jerking,
and it seemed that it was *twerking!, How could I write poetry?
“Will you stop!” I fairly bellowed, “I am writing poetry!”
But it jerked incessantly.
I was reaching now my limit, but it acted like a dimwit,
covered up by nearby bushes. What it was I had to see!
Though the thing was well in my sight, how I wish I had a flash light,
for it had become a dark night, and this thing was close by me!
Poetry was fleeing from me. This thing was too close by me,
and it twerked incessantly.
I could see the bushes moving. It was like the thing was grooving.
But to what could it be grooving with no beat or melody?
What it heard, I was not hearing; in the shadows I sat peering
wondering if it was leering. How could I write poetry
if that thing was leering at me as I wrote my poetry?
It just jerked incessantly.
Though my heart was filled with such dread, boldly I spoke up and I said,
“You there, like some kind of pervert, just how crazy can you be?
Show yourself. Why are you irking me, like Miley Cyrus twerking
in the bushes where you’re lurking oh so close by me?
But the figure uttered nothing though it was so close by me
twerking on incessantly.
Finally I got much bolder. Getting up, I walked right over
to those bushes where the figure hid. I had to see!
What I saw in New York City in that park was not too pretty!
And for me it was a pity, it destroyed my poetry,
For I’m finding out now when I want to write more poetry
it flows not incessantly.
In my mind it stays forever. Will it ever leave? No, never.
What I saw still haunts me when I try to write my poetry.
I just see that creature lurking in the bushes ever jerking
with its tiny butt a ‘twerking. What an ugly creepy monkey
Why the heck can’t I forget the sight of that dumb monkey
twerking there incessantly?!
*If you don't know what twerking is (one poet didn't) see About this Poem for the link!
(A parody on The Raven, trying to use the same meter and line length of Poe's poem. My apologies if I veered too far off course in how it inspired me!!)
Standing at the plate there is no doubt
The pitcher is determined to strike me out
He squints to see the catcher's glove
Then spins and swings his arms above
The ball scorches a path across the plate
I feebly swing six days too late
The umpire acts like he's having fun
When he bellowed out, "STRIKE ONE!"
Again the pitcher stares at the dish
While I silently make a wish
Not a big request at all
I only want to hit the ball
The pitcher rears back and throws a curve
The ball starts over there and then begins to swerve
I miss so badly I hit the ground
I can hear people laughing all the way back in town
The umpire is having a belly laugh too
As he holds up two fingers and shouts, "STRIKE TWO!"
The pitcher is doing a cocky dance
While behind the mound hiking up his pants
He looks smug and I hear the catcher say,
"Give it up boy, he's putting you away."
The pitcher shakes off signs 1,2,3
He's saving a special pitch just for me
He peeks out over the top of his glove
I can tell that this strikeout he already loves
He winds up like a crazy corkscrew
Slinging a pitch he has never threw
I close my eyes and jerk the bat
Somehow the bat finds where the ball is at
The crack was the loudest ever heard
Nowhere in this stadium can you hear a word
You can hear a pin drop in this place
Nary a smile on any face
You would think that ball was launched into outer space
But alas, it is just a dribbler to first base
I feel I should get out of town
When I saw the other team high-fiving on the mound
Dad said, "Don't worry son, we'll get them next time champ."
After all it was just my first bat at Little League camp!
Scrambling tooth and nail for a patterned fate
I approached the lofty mansion of Learning's Gate.
All cued up for a slip of paper - the one they call Degree,
halfway convinced that I hallucinated humanity.
For who under their own free will would venture
into this spiraling sameness:
this illustriously-in-debt, this Regal Club
of the Nameless?
I bellowed my voice into the air
(This great atrocity!).
But not a single student seemed to care:
So well fashioned they were,
adorned in their prized medals of mediocrity.
Along with their unwillingness to ever stray,
all too content to be but rainbows dreaming of gray.
I hung my head in such morose emptiness.
As I fashioned myself: the uniquely ubiquitous.
And what a fool I was to join the crowd - and yet so halfheartedly.
Striving for the cirrus clouds, the silver moon, and then the galaxy.
For my actions didn't match my cerebral creativity
I was statue still cursed with a meandering mind
(and other such extremities).
Exploding with hopes large enough for two
I sat clearly convinced languid leaps would do.
But one cannot daintily decide to dream the Dream
for it is merely the seed, another earthly deed.
You're not allowed to walk away, gandering as it grows,
for we are likened as the summer sun - keeping the rivers a'flow.
"Picturing profits in your hands
do not till the all too ready land"
explained the elderly gent with leathered palms,
"Someday soon you will understand."
And though we aim to be ourselves
gravity inevitably
brings us to the grid.
Imagination like a heavy rain;
we the paper people
so helplessly hid.
But fear not ye denizens
of the cherished cubbyhole:
where you keep under lock and key
your dust-laden soul.
If one burgeoning blunder
tore it all asunder
surely one single spirited spark
could heal even the most
dormant of hearts.
So fare thee well oh Cookie Cutter Coop -
Another day on that wretched plain, and I'd surely die.
I'm glad just to sever sameness in one fell swoop
by hanging on a star in the midnight sky.
NOTE: I always enjoyed using alliteration when I could... and with this particular one I went a little bit nutty... but I think it turned out okay.
I sometimes feel a unique vibration within
my own ears. My baby’s crying, calling from beneath his quilted,
baby-blues. His sobs rustle the warm sheath of home.
Before my mind reacts, my body is up, hastily tip-toeing
into the nightlight’s calming glow of a cow jumping over the moon.
Outside a soggy, spring night splatters under streetlights
like urban art. A steady rhythm of flowing rain
beats down on puddled pavements. My baby’s cries
reverberate as they reach that instinctual part of me,
somewhere deep within my diaphragm and through my heart.
A mother’s astute ears know the subtle variations of her own
children’s breath in sleep…I hurry to the shadows of my baby’s crib
to find him curled up, eyes still closed; little whimpers
and groans escape from his open lips…a bad dream, I realize.
I gently rub his back, shushing away all that disturbs his peace,
and I wonder about a child’s impressionable mind…
what intrusions of an innocent day could bring a bellowed anguish
to the sweet dreams of a carefree boy not yet two?
I listen to him tumble in and out of his fear until his breath is a tranquil hum…
only then, do I hear the music of an early morning’s falling rain.
(Why I'm Still Breathing)
When the cow was dry, she was compliant.
When she calved, she turned vicious
and no fence could hold her,
but she gave milk in abundance,
and Dad refused to sell her.
She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn
until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs,
and perched under the roof,
clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod.
Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home.
"I could gain on her on the corners,"
Mother said, "because I could turn faster,
but she gained on me on the straightaway."
Plug-ugly tore through the fence,
into the garden, where Mom and I worked.
"Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted.
How did she know? The cow passed Mother
and thundered straight for me. I ran.
At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath
steamed my back. I saw myself stomped,
pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming
at full volume, and flailed my arms
like a windmill in a strong wind.
That old red cow locked her front legs
and skidded like a freight train on full brake.
I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.
Tattered Petals: Wounded Heart
Tattered on the garden path are petals
from roses, beheaded by Summer rain
when storm clouds emptied their brimming kettles
In the garden, my tender blooms were slain
Raindrops cut them like needle sharp nettles
I viewed the masacre with grim disdain
Thunder bellowed a victorious roar
Baneful Summer rains continued to pour
~ ~ ~
My tears fell like rose petals to the ground
Recalling a rain storm of years ago
When lightning struck my heart with force profound
Summer's rain became a fierce Winter snow
a blizzard of barbed words ran love aground
It died like roses from rain's pelting blow
Tattered were petals; wounded was my heart
From lashing torrents that ripped us apart
August 21, 2017
Spring Rain Storm Contest
sponsoredby Dale G. Cozart
The warlock said to the witch,
Man, ain't it grand living large like Oz,
being bigly Emerald City rich
The witch crowed back,
I get paid good for giving speeches
that have no policy incantation glitch
The warlock laughed hard and long,
then chortled with maniacal glee:
I like the way you got a huge fee
for selling that "Deal Me In" dirge song
The witch returned the faint praise
with a piercing scowl and a sinister smile
You got those lemmings running thru a maze,
chasing your tale that it's all rigged anyhow
The warlock started getting miffed,
and his hair began to burn with an orange glow
He mockingly said, Endora, all the polls show
that you're a walking political gift
The witch angrily retorted: What spell did you use
to make yourself become 50 feet tall
Oh yeah, that's right. Should Humpty Dumpty lose,
it won't be much of a fall off that stupid wall
The warlock let out a sigh, and said:
You know we have to spit venom
at each other on the campaign stump
That's just how it is, and has to be
The witch let out a sigh too, and said:
Since our youthful days of wearing denim,
it's something we can't tell the voting chumps
That we're really friends, you and me
Then they both hugged each other,
and said goodbye to one another privately
The witch winked at the warlock, and cackled this:
No matter who wins,
I'm offering well wishes to you
So don't forget to send me a mean tweet
The warlock nodded back at the witch, and bellowed this:
Once the results are in,
I'll reply with well wishes too
But of course, don't you forget to delete
He assembled in darkness the corroded horn
by familiarity and sense of touch.
Then cast as thunder into the empty night
long tones void of musical melody.
Sustained tones, fierce and woeful
in succession paraded the street.
Each note precisely chosen, unfurled
and carried aloft in chilly air.
The flickering street lamp understood
as long shadows on a cobbled walk
slow danced in the warming glow.
But the music was not for them tonight.
The musician’s voice transformed
and angry staccato flares broke.
Chop, chop and chop on the mighty tree!
He watched it fall dead against unfeeling brick.
Snapping of limbs and morality
but the tree was just a thug anyway.
Indignant “Quiet downs!”
rained from high-rise windows
mingling in the blood of the fallen;
and tears…so few tears.
Still, the music wasn’t for them tonight.
Yet they could not escape the song,
that guileless voice in the darkness,
which once again transformed.
Weeping heaves bellowed through aged-brass
amplifying every tremble of the lip.
Pitiful notes, harsh on either end
and broken by uneven vibrato,
yet piercing in their rawness,
turned away the wrathful storm.
Tremulous begging it seemed,
accompanied a hopeful plea for dawn,
which lulled to sleep the very stars above.
The moon halted to listen as well,
before tucking itself in, cathartic,
as the pitiful busker concluded his song
of remorse for un-lived dreams
and unspoken things
The music wasn't for them tonight.
10/18/15
A beauty of the finest splendor…captivating
Seizing the rooms attention on the inhale
Now a shrinking shell of her former self
Caught in a chemical coma to ease her pain
Murmuring fate in silences void…foreboding
Her eyes not seeing the milieu’s approach
Those illusory walls protection now ravaged
She stands naked before bereavements eyes
As the nights pass I sit at her bedside…steady
No corollary thought as the clock keeps pace
I allay the fear by a whisper looking for lucidity
While her random gasps for life squeeze within me
Soft regrets for the misery I’ve caused…repentant
Adrift in the words I bellowed in toxic anger
Yearning to drink of the venom washed over you
To share one moment in the clarity of forgiveness
The scent of a spring dawn’s beauty fills the air…mocking
Stroking your hair I stutter out my final goodbye
Ready to be chained to the morose you absolve me
Taking with you my weighted anguish with simple words
Mom opened her eyes one last time and said…I love you too…
My heart was pumping hard that day I faced the maddening crowd,
Despite the spinning in my head I stood there mighty proud.
Though racked with pain my reddened hand acknowledged them a wave
And to this day I've ne'er forgot, the accolades they gave.
It was a dream come true you see to stand there in that ring,
For rodeo was in my blood and one day I'd be king.
The beast I drew was mean and lean ... no Chainsaw I admit,
But still if I could just ride time I'd show them I had grit.
I'd limbered up behind the chute preparing for the ride,
Well knowing what was just ahead, but took it in my stride.
The chute boss called, "You've drawn chute five, get down and make it quick."
Then as I eyed the beast below ... I suddenly felt sick.
That brute it tried to climb the gate and bellowed cries of fear,
While chute hands fought to organise the necessary gear.
I felt the violent quiver of the hide between my chaps,
The smell of sweat, the cry of men ... a change of mind perhaps?
Too late I felt the rope pulled taut and shoved within my glove,
I thought it's now or never mate and sent a prayer above.
Then as I pulled my Colly down I yelled out, "Let him go!"
The gate flew open ... it was on ... 'twas time to rodeo.
With whites of eyes all full of hate that beast did twist and turn,
'Twas obvious my frame aboard was something he did spurn.
Eight seconds on this beast from hell seemed like eternity,
For ev'ry muscle which I owned screamed out in agony.
Between the jars and twists and turns I heard the crowd all cheer,
Then at long last that blessed sound of hooter in my ear.
The pick up man then pulled me clear and was I proud ... not half!
I'll ne'er forget that day old mate I rode that poddy calf.