"plucky" poems
If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.
If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.
If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.
205.5k
Josiah Jack
never uttered a sound
when they dragged him away
from the scene.
when his poor body
was eventually found,
the treatment endured,
had been mean.
With no tongue in his head
they had left him for dead.
With a month
on his back,
he did indeed
contemplate.
Only sin
“he was black”
hence forth
this weary state.
They attacked in the night,
hooded and white.
All in all
he was
lucky
to be
breathing at all,
all because
he was plucky,
all because
he stood tall.
A ***** they said
should lower his head.
Were they hooded
for fear?
Were they hooded
in shame?
Most likely,
once covered,
they could hide
of their name.
If things were so right,
why hide out of sight?
Bravery isn't
a word for the ****
Cowards,
this word comes to mind.
Bravery comes
when there's only one man,
not one
with ten more stood behind.
I will strike in a pack
with someone watching my back.
Their plan
was to ****
this man
Josiah Jack.
Perhaps they
get a thrill
when someone
cannot fight back.
They get real loud
when they join with the crowd.
Josiah
knew well
that if he
raised a hand
his kin folk
would feel hell
from this
unruly band.
So he did not fight
but gave in to his plight.
They think
they were hidden
beneath that
white hood,
Josiah's hearing
is sound
and his
memory is good.
So when things are forgot,
he will take of his lot.
That's exactly
what happened,
as they lay
in their bed.
The flames hurled
with fury
the sky
filled with red.
This man barbequed them like fish on a rack
and no one put it down to Josiah Jack.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
and a bell in its place
to some, no doubt,
a disgrace
it was to me, i must admit
but new light shines
in place of it
our front page is new,
brighter than ever
and now made by you
trending was all the rage
but (we all knew it) the algorithm
couldn't hold the stage
so now he'll do his part
to get your poem out in front
but that's just the start
next it's up to the community,
a repost, a heart or a plucky thumb
dare I say, it's up to you and me
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
atop
that golden haystack
mounted on an unwieldy bullock cart
you wished we had......
a regret of a million lifetimes!
every time
your plucky smile flashes
in the sacred space between brows,
i see a wish fulfilling acacia tree
nymphalid butterflies flutter in my gut
and rapid clips of lifetimes past
neatly edited,
projected as movie trailers
your deathlike silence
has quietly become my universe,
as i pen in moon-like solitude
memoirs of an unrequited love
© 2019
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 11:14 AM UTC
What the Fisherman said:
"It seemed like a good idea."
What he did:
Went fishing in a rowboat
Out on the Sound
About a mile out
And seagulls all around.
What happened:
Seagulls came about
To see
If scavenge work
Was to be done.
Dipping in and out
And just above,
One had some fun.
Fisherman annoyed...
One plucky bird
Came close above his head
And closer,
'Til finally the fisher said,
"I think I could just
Reach right up
And grab his legs!"
And so he did....
Seagull's Reply:
Seagulls, shocked,
Regurgitate,
Explode,
Expectorate
Whatever they've been
Carrying inside.
Instead of Fight or Flight,
Seagulls puke;
They have no pride.
At least this one did
Not.
Fisherman's Response:
He didn't even know
When he let go...
First the gull,
And then his lunch.
The man and the bird shared
Something in common
Out on the Sound:
They met for lunch
And went away hungry.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 10:46 AM UTC
leisure up my friend !
weaken open your shellfish hinge
and wet your beak
it’s a marked holiday break
unmarred by family obligation
there’s freedom
to make the most criminal crown of mistakes
in the name
of some frown of liberal investigation
on the town
an eager squad of collaborators are on board
they have your back
desperate, sick and starving gulls
broadened to explore the deplorable
on and on to the next and the next
death defining task
a meandering stagger of a bar crawl
perpetually powering through
as the day spans a revulsion
the heat stays as the day sinks beneath
in place of the suns rays
the heat radiates
from the baked city concrete
stepping out from the shelter of the bar
the night swelter respires fiercely
not done with our steam of annihilation
what establishment would take our kind ?
city has already bowed over it's plumage
to our ******* pilgrimage
bark melts and peels in strips off the trees
(meat shaved off the strip pole)
our heels spark the pavement
vermin and jackals follow our movement
from shimmering dark spots
and our vision constricts
our aim has become clotted...
...what was it that we reached for ?
oblivions fruit seemed a doable pursuit
it's the usual downhill shambles from here
familiar yet barely remembered
a rambling guff of bad ***** comedy
there is no plucky legend
just an embarrassment
Jun 10, 2023
Jun 10, 2023 at 9:47 PM UTC
When I met you,
my heartbeat fret--
something was incongruous.
And once frantic words
careened out of your mouth--
I saw rapid fire machine gun
rubber bullets bouncing everywhere.
Neighborhood dogs desperately yipped
and barked and howled
as your attempts to weave a conspiracy laden
tragic web of a storybook life into a net
to trap those who will listen unravel
before me.
Storm clouds darken around you.
The cacophonous pandemonium of your voice
and slithering slender body
are fascinating to watch as headlights dance
by while you whirl in the middle of the road,
***** drink in one hand
a plucky smile--
your green eyes glow like melting peridot.
With a train wreck personality,
your frolfing at a busy intersection
influence over some is astonishing!
The next morning,
through a haze of listlessness,
I understand what you are;
Succubus.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 8:44 AM UTC
On the first hour of my first day
in the front trench I fell;
'Get up,' bawled Sergeant Major,
'and stand eye to eye with hell,
and look ye on the plucky dead
whose chests swell out with pride';
but t'was the rats that swelled them
as they plucked them from inside..
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 5:48 AM UTC
When I was a little kid
My friends and I would play
At cowboys and Indians
In the barn with forts of hay.
We crafted guns from sticks
We found about the farm
And though we shot each other
We managed to come to no harm.
Bang, bang, bang! I got you!
No you didn’t, you missed!
The bullet whizzed by me!
You can’t see me in the mist!
Of course, if we were Indians
The same rules held true there.
You never managed to **** us
We never took your hair.
But, we knew we were villains
Because cowboys were king.
We didn’t even question it.
It was that sort of thing.
Bang, bang, bang. I got you!
Cowboys don’t ever cry.
We twist and dodge you redskins
So, don’t even bother to try.
Holding invisible reins, we rode
On our noble painted steeds.
We pretended it was the old West
Here in our playground of weeds.
Some of us had play weapons
Santa had brought to the lucky
But forcing improvisation only
Made us a lot more plucky.
Bang, bang, bang. I shot you.
You ***** lowdown rustler.
Oh, we thought of every dodge.
What young, clever hustlers.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
The P inside lifts to shallow pools of thirst and moving pictures.
P is purpose, personality car crashes to park the private Idaho.
A sign of the cross, will not stop P.
Prove it to the pin drop puncture of ****** on heat,
insecure to many tongues dripped in keroscene pantomine.
P is pretty. P is pop. P is pandamonium. P is plucky. P is pink.
Patter, panky, pips, puddle, paraquet, puncuation.
Property is theft Parker, pity, purity, punt, plunder, *****
Past, paint, pander, pringle, puppy, pesky, pest,
petrol, patrol, pamper, pastel, plunder, pongo, plip plop.
P.................
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 3:25 PM UTC
Now see, I am forbidden
By my totem not to eat
The meat of the dog,
For my future cannot
Even distinguish between
Water and palm-wine,
Oh, life is ill,
When I went to the bush
To fetch the medicine,
I met a fearful fellow on the way,
But no, an evil ancestral spirit
Snatched the medicine
From my hopeless soul,
Unfortunately, fellow crusaders
Were looking ghastly at my
***** rag, not loosing
Sight of my plucky suffering,
None fetches firewood
From my bush anymore,
Where the tree of the
Pawpaw has fallen,
Not even my enemies,
Hmm, I was made to swear
The divine oath of solidarity,
But fairness was not found
In the heart of my companions,
Given me the hope that,
The everlasting python
Which live in the Birim river
Did not make a mistake in
Confirming my creation,
Indeed, when myth dies
Only force is made free.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:17 AM UTC
Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
the way you look over your glasses
as you kick those journos’ arses
I love your hairy nostrils and your square double chin
but most of all I love the way you know everythin’
not a skerrick of doubt, any subject, any time
you can hold forth. you’re ready to chime
Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you don’t need no research. no need to hold back
here is your wisdom, you’re on the attack
here is the gospel according to Tuckey
you front them with macho, you front them so plucky
you tell them the answers straight from the heart
they look like stunned mullets as you take them apart
Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you run rings round those greenies, those tree hugging ****
with their talk about warming, their climate change glum
I trust you Wilson, you know better than them
you can leave them all gobstruck with a home spun gem
Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you can spot a terrorist at a hundred paces
the ones with the beards and the slightly dark faces
we don’t want them here taking our jobs and houses
with their Qurans and burqas and baggy white trousers
Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you show us what it means to be Australian
some call you redneck, some say you’re not cool
but you are our bedrock, you are no fool
you are the brown substance of this wide, sunburnt land
and that’s why, Wilson Tuckey, I really, really, really love you man.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 5:11 AM UTC
A kiss from a firefly can cure a cynic of their cynicism, make the nonbelievers believe, help the hopeless grasp the illusions of hope, and even reveal the marvelous maps of the mind; because a kiss from a firefly (and what a brilliant buss it is!) steers one into a sloshy slumber that smears the line between deepest desires and fanciful fairytales:
The feisty fairy fights nymphs, trolls, goblins, terrible ogres, nasty pirates, talking elephants, one gypsy (mainly because she stole some pixie dust in attempt to fly away to her next destination), and two silver cats, who could read her mind and she did not like that; but the plucky pixie never did steer clear from the twinkling glitter-bugs who held the key to Wonderland:
She drifted off into a slumber and she dreamt of owning all the knowledge that could possibly be held and she dreamt about flying on the back of a dragon and she dreamt about walking on water and tumbling down the rabbit hole and she dreamt of sincere sorcerers and mischievous mermaids and pink penguins who could speak perfect Portuguese and she dreamt about falling in love and being a child again and she dreamt that her father could walk her down the aisle.
Oh, the wonderful whimsical kiss of fireflies killing the beliefs of nonbelievers who dare not dream of dreams, it’s a slippery slope for those who can’t dilute delusions—a glorious path of the glowing!—leaving them to wake with hopeless hope.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:20 AM UTC
Thou about canst prance
As a winnin' horse,
Of course,
Seein' thou hast a sportin' chance
To court that sweet Princess
Now with thy plucky success.
Wish I thee, love Jockey, a good ride
If she becometh thy goodly bride.
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 2:23 AM UTC
It's The Way We Feel Today !
I'm Confused , Can't Fly !
I Weep For My Sweet In Pray !
I Hope No Tears Or Cray !
I Never Chose The Way !
Staring In Seas Wavy
Should I Take The Try !
Thousands Of Words I Can Say
To Hear Them , You Have To Stay
Baby I Love You To Death !
Is It A Curse Or Human Right !
You Are My Buddy And My Breath
Only Your Love I Can Stand With !
Looks Like Heaven And Hell In Earth
I'm Sitting Under Moon Light
I Wish If I Can Go High
Take My hand With All faith
Love Walking On His Path
I See In Your Eyes The Beauty
I Fall In Love I'm Nasty Or Guilty
Dead And Alive, Fifty Fifty
Talking The Way Freaky
Such A Forest Risky
Or A Man Drunk With Whiskey !
Love Make Me That Freasky
Teaches Me To Be Plucky
Should I Will Be That Lucky!
That Lovely shining Face
Made By God To Angels Race
Everything On You Looks Nice
Heaven With High Price
Never Saw It In somebody else
The World Stands Behind Us !
In Cold Days Your Love I Miss
Looking For That Kiss
When I Get It I Feel Peace
Author / Aladdin Hamdi
FB / Stay-still Stay Strong
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
I Stand firmly with my hands relaxed cause the kid looking down on me just cant FADE me.
His eyes smirk with disdain as he rubs against the grain but my years in the realm keep my hands firm at the helm just smirk him right back and now he's feeling wack cause I slipped his attack and the punk can't fade me.
See...my body is tough and conditioned. Swift still powerfull and lithe.
Six decades see I aint ***** made ....still cool as the shade and makin the grade...I moved in and stayed...aint shaky and the kids cant fade me.
Payed those dues early and often.....not boasting. Just love confounding young ducklings snotty lil fucklings.
My mind is quick I pay my dues...use it or lose it...no aint bout to dodder become cannon fodder for rooks with no stripes... talk that **** if I have to.
Walk that **** too.
Blessed and respectfull.
Man I love checkin chickens who get it wrong.My body is my carriage my spirit an amalgam of knowlege and physicality.
They try to cubby hole.This old dude dont fit mold.
Kick your *** and get witty. Aint fresh of no *****
They shake their heads or feign disdain g
But again and again they misread. Down for the de de.
Aint no play pretty.Energiser bunny. You cant fade me punk.I might spank your *** like your uncle.....Nephew.
Your hands cant hit what your eyes cant see.
You cant chump me off play me no dozens. I aint old cause I'm lucky. Plucky.
Every dog has his day and one day the magic will end ask Houdini ..... ..... but till then my young friends,this old man's gonna play nick nack on your **** And ya don't stop and ya don't quit. FEEL ME ? Cause ya caint fade me.....Yet.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Effulgent, she stands in the stands and demands
for her rights that were ripped from her calloused red hands
but calamity falls and hits down like a gavel
and the thread from her dress gets pulled and unraveled.
Her serpentine body, verdant til plucked
from the branches she clings to and prays for good luck.
The hyenas, voracious, yapping volubly
at her ankles while she tries and tries to scream, but
nothing comes out and she feels her bough become friable
she knows that these fiends wont be held liable
dropping contumacious only made her life worse
hit in the face he cursed and then hurt her
she burst in tears, ******
Hoping they’d stop, but they only went further
and nobody heard her.
No superman hiding til he’s plucky enough.
No Samaritan testing to see if he’s got the guts.
Now brittle she’s turned, but only physically;
She’s still adamant inside, strong mentally.
A couple months go by and one day she realizes
she’s not alone alive.
And forced to be together to survive,
she decides to take both of their lives.
I wish I could say
all those men were put away,
but they ran and ran for days.
Gone, and without a sound they stayed.
And now she’s
4.
5.
6 feet underground today.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
I like to rub her righteous
Rubber baby buggy bumpers
While her Sister Susie
Sells seashells by the sea shore.
Susie works in a shoeshine shop,
She sits, and she shines all day long.
She confesses with too many esses
It lispers up her whispered song.
Peter Piper picking peppers
Putting pickled peppers in a ***
Woodchuck chucked wood,
Chuckling, chucked the wood he got.
Susie’s sister Betty Botter
Bought a pound of bitter butter.
Betty was a bit of a ******
She said her butter was better bitter.
I thought of a thought, thinking
It was a very difficult thing to occur.
Thinking, busily thinking;
Blinking, and winking, thinking of her
We made a date at a quarter to eight
Said, “I’ll see you at the gate, don’t be late.”
Lucky and plucky, my ducky doo,
It was a heavy date, and a heavy gate.
Leary of a really weary *****
We wandered in our wandering leathers
Wondered if whether wetter
Weather were better to weather together.
We celebrate our late date
We didn’t skate, or deliberate our fate
Suffice is to further elucidate
And cheerily chewed the churros we ate.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
RECORD: PARANOID ANDROID
FROGMAN: RADIO HEAD
BEGIN INNERMISSION 1
Frogman of enormous Brisingierdth
(on my mind sHe holds OUR hearth):
Try to imagine minds without throughtkeeping.
you probably can't.
you think you know the intro,
the conclusion,
the thought of the body and mind.
yet all inside you,
throughtkeeping is instinct.
Brads are not late.
a Janet does not check her selfse.
machines do wrinkle rememberances.
WhoMans alone measure throught.
WhoMans alone chime panic.
And because of this.
WhoMans alone suffer a paralyzing Miracle that no other creature can cure.
The Miracle
of throught running out...
END TRANSMISSION 1
Riff Raff: Hello.
Brad: Hi!
My name is Brad Major Threes, and this is my fiancée, Janet Twice One.
I wonder if you'd mind helping us.
You see, our brain broke down a few moments up the road.
Do you have an ear we might fill?
Riff Raff: You're wet.
Janet: Yes, it's crainving.
Brad: Yes.
Riff Raff: Yes!... I think perhaps you better both com-e inside.
Tic .
Tic .
Tic .
DING!
Janet: You're too kind.
Oh, Brad, I'm frightened.
What kind of future is this?
Brad: Oh,
it's probably some kinda way-outta heare for real wyrdos.
Janet: Oh.
Riff Raff: This way-out.
Janet: Are you forgetting The Parties?
Riff Raff: You've arrived on a rather special wrighte.
It's one of the Chaster's afflairs.
Janet: Oh,
plucky shim.
Magenta: You're plucky,
he's plucky,
I'm plucky,
we're all plucked-ees! Ha haa haaa!!!
STOP: TURN THOUGHT
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
"If freckles were lovely,
and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.
If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present,
and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.
If fear was plucky,
and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we."
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
I love the rain
the way it cleanses
purifies
the air
washing away a great amount of my troubles.
Rain has connotations of sadness and gloom
I don't understand why.
It tries so hard to wash away the worlds troubles
sometimes it gets things wrong
that's okay.
I hate the sun.
the way it dirties
humidifies
the air
letting my troubles bake in the atmosphere.
Sun has connotations of happiness and glee
I don't understand why.
It becomes over confident and shines too brightly.
It thinks it's always right
that's not okay.
*
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC
It came so unexpected
the call of music low
'for I knew I was affected
I started soft and slow
It moved within my chest
as though another heartbeat
a command behind my breast
brought me rising from the seat
and sent my body swaying
to the plucky, steady tone
of mambo music playing
resounding through my bone
my foot stepped sideways
the movement flowing through
forsaking the ballets
of angels that I knew
And in that moment when
the world was mine alone
I found myself again--
the sacred truth unknown
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:14 AM UTC
Well...
I heard it from Pookie
Who's real tight with Sookie
You know 'cuz
They're twins 'n all
And they're both from the neighborhood
When it all went down, guess they seen it too
Eyewitnesses times four
You know 'cuz
They two got a pair of blinkers
You know --peepers! Oculus instruments
You know ... These! (Wink wink hint hint)
Brown eyed, blue bright
Or "whatever you say Iris!"
She was the one with the twirly hair
And the swirly speech
Rollin' up on all of her
You know ... Gelatinous gelatina ****
Rubberneckin'
Don't mess with this!
"Uh huh"
"Nah ah, oh no she didn't ..."
Throwing ghetto out her mouth
Talkin about. yo mama
So PHAT
(Pretty Hot & Tempting)
For a rotisserie or deep fried in Crisco...
And you know
If the chicken heads are plucky and loud
Clucking chis-miss rumors
About
How she did done killed her molester
"Down that poor dirt road"
"I can still hear the gospel sang,
the surrounding churches'
Southern love to be loud, wafting
With the breeze through the long grass
Walking, closer to home, a hush...
Back when we folk were shiny skinned
With sweat of Summers' Lovin
Or late night lullaby in' ...
Baby's lil babe
She said he couldn't fall to sleep
Until this Final one"
When it all went Smack!
Talking for no reason now
(Just wanna be heard)
Throwing shade in the hot shadows
Her hollering voice
Reciting not laws but what's right for sho'.
A weeping willow
A peacock
A desperate clarinet cry
Look here now ! Don't miss out !
And that was when Pookie & Sooky
Took home mama Mook,
Who's complaining like Chubacca
Furry as the Wookie
Drunk as the fish in Tequila Seas...
But whatever battle she took to words
In the shadow of
Bars brawls and loss of conscience,
Everyone here / neighbors hear
The hoods we're in
She said the clouds! in the sky
"They was the lot of them
throwing most heinous shade!"
And whatever
You took from that there blathering
Wagging tongues
Talking smack. (That's on you)...
*In the dim domain of drank and diggitty
They carry the haunch away*
Three shadow figures
one is itchin' at her arm...
Smack
Throwing Shade.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
It's often the weak
And seemingly frail
That find themselves thirsty
Beyond the pale
The gutters churn under the strain
Blood rushes down through city veins
The streets ablaze with tinted moonlight
Devoid of any flame
As gods and heathens burn the same
The hearts all pumping without aim
No lungs to fill, and yet still choking
On the meat we flay
The needle drops
The records play
Everyone stops
Praying that the day might break
My iron rusted
Hinges combust, dusk bled
Swung open portal
Stifling chortle I open up
Progressing slowly
In soul or sprit
But running fast and flowing
Over strewn corpse cobbles
Harbinger paver, larder baubles
Stocking lye
Stalking eyes, new crime
Commit to the violence or ****** die
Perish inside then out
It's no use gasping or
Grasping
Stranger clout
Each new version a variant curse
Every cursed being awaiting rebirth
New age swift death
My time is little, I have **** all left
Gliding abreast
The beast glisten already
Peeter out slice and grip
My jowls are aglow
Siphoning light from the sky above
The creatures of the dark sky rip
Beneath my leather
Each new stab a death blow
I feast
**** them all
I rip out their ******* guts
And mash them
Flesh blood and bone complete
Cycles though my very being
Tearing rending breaking
Everything
**** these dogs
The heart of the city
A drum
Plucking tendon
Plucky young thing
My weapon is serrated
My steel is ****** already
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 5:42 AM UTC