"rejoinder" poems
I'd last about an hour as a clerk inside a store
invariably I'd shoot my mouth off
about someone's daughter dressing like a *****
or making comments about the dreadful things consumed
which would include a good 99% of the people in the room
I'd eventually end up getting my lights punched out
after ********* someone as a fat *** undiscerning lout
or cracking some aside regarding what comprises that crud
and making faces of revulsion "you'd be better off eating mud"
ewwwww, you really eat that stuff?
this store should be sued for selling such bluff
children with diabetes, a third of adults obese
the courtesy clerk dies a little for lack of surcease
line after line of vapid consumers
mindless knee-jerk impetuosity belay the rumors
what's an adulterant, what's a filler?
propylene glycol alginate, yum yum
sorbitan mono sterate, shut up and eat it, its fun!
I can't even pronounce it, much less do I care
need I be a scientist to enjoyably savor fare
Go ahead and poison yourself
the quirky clerk exclaimed
its ever so clear you're stupid and lame
stay mired in your pig-headed muck of ignorance
you're exactly what they want
another brain dead consumer
a regular culinary savant
stuff your face with no remorse nor heed
no worries, the clerk of little courtesy knows your need
he'll limply wheel out your cart of miserable choices for you
and wise-crack some snarky rejoinder
then promptly get beaten, black and blue
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
“I’m *****
That flirty rejoinder floats
over your disappearing
shoulder.
Thirty plus
years form the chasm
between us;
mine battered, distressed,
faded as an old picture frame;
the remainder of
yours a potential masterpiece--
highway to many horizons
with no vanishing point.
I am no more this man
before you than
I am the Fourth Horseman.
Certainly you see through
my fraud of calm indifference
and practiced control.
No beating I’ve taken
compares with that
my heart is doing right now,
remembered in a glimpse
of your legs
in ***** black stockings,
now walking away
in loose work jeans,
brushing dust
from everywhere.
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 9:31 AM UTC
a quote from the movie "The Big Short"
~
*a screen provocation,
you laugh out loud,
mime hating yourself
that you are joiining in
tacitly acknowledges the truth
of abbreviated wisdom
you,
disguised minority of
modest disagreers,
c'mon, admission submission,
more truth in it
than deserving of argumentation
a one liner throwaway,
neatly designed,
leaves you disturbingly
probed,
thoughtfully tormented and
aroused
poetry just a vehicle,
your vice for revelation,
the critical door to open is this:
do people hate the truth?
inescapable reality
ironical probability,
truth well disguised,
in plastic shell of lying
from the Hollywood's would be poets,
an escapade from the escapists
let us not pretend
that you and I
uncaring, for by virtue of
your reading this, you are
poetry aficionado,
required to deny the lie,
and yet,
accept
the
granular view
that we are rising writing thru the wronged end of
a telescoping microscope
so I scare scar a tissue sample from my tongue
and the cells spell
this rejoinder:
all your lies are poems,
incomplete truths,
and that's why people hate poetry*
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 11:10 AM UTC
her morning pleasure occasionally actually exercised,
a substituted delight for gym-going work with Lulu exercised,
no man can, will ever, understand
the nature/nurture debate over,
in my mind resolved, nature, hands up and hands down
RR's^ query, is god dead,
no longer rumbles around in my head cause when he speaks,
I can't get a word in edgewise
what i did in the sixties, lost to time in memoriam,
especially some really bad poetry
but this gender differentiation
a matter that Aristotle dutifully, so wisely, philosophically avoided
there is no Socratic method rationality in what is just crazy insanely meiosis,
there is no comprehension of the essence of elemental genetic division,
like the NY Mets,
ya just gotta believe, or just accept
but from the other side of the bed
comes a surly, dry rejoinder, a gelled spike
*thanks to modern science,
why don't you come over to the
right side, maybe then,
you'll understand the true meaning
of pleasure
transgend your self,
show your willingness per the bible,
to be god's new and improved version of a human being*
So,
a pretty little, light A-line,
with a summer floral pattern,
a size 12, (20? ***
I,
will wear with great
human pride,
come June
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
( Written as a rejoinder to my friend's poem: "Poem written to a buxom young Lady")
You’re very tall
And painfully thin.
Your bust and waist
the same.
Your voice is high
and pitchy.
To hear it causes pain.
Your wardrobe,
much like Superman’s,
lacks all variety.
You’re an unfit
***** mother
you’ve neglected
poor sweetpea.
Yet two men
battle over you.
It strikes me
a little strange.-
but in your cartoon universe
You are the only game.
I think I’d side with Whimpy
And watch the others fight.
I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday
for a hamburger tonight.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 11:18 AM UTC
semi-colon;
where a sentence could have ended but did not,
instead adding a rejoinder.
the space between the dot and comma
there hovers the fate of lovers,
the whispers of hope for the hurting,
and the continuance for those
awaiting the now postponed end;
semi-colon;
the tattoo of a writer who has something
left to say, the brand of those
whose adolescent tendencies pull them from delivering
that much needed break, fracture,
ending of the story.
the ghost of where you could,
or perhaps should, have stopped.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 8:30 PM UTC
'The biggest problem with communication is that we don’t listen to understand, we listen to respond.'
You trace my bottomless eyes to the pit of my stomach
You stare at the tip of my tongue,
With that sordid tang on it;
Reassure me now,
I am not the cause of it.
Taste, but not too late
The stuff of which
I am made.
Never think
I would clean the bottom
Piety of your sink
Would you hear me?
Muffled in a crowd?
Where my delusions
Of your confusions
Are shrouded
I smell repugnance
And make nothing of it
O the fancies of tongues
Bowed, I make nothing of it
In the crowd I hear your sound
I make nothing of it
My rejoinder blaring loud
You make nothing of it
The boil of the grey water
Murky glasses unclean -
Silent unorderly
I make a run for it.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 9:49 PM UTC
One is me single lonely number
One stand on one solitary street
One is free but still a lone figure
I, at a crossroad, no one to meet
Two with the confidence of love
Two by sacred hours converges
Two shared tender moments of
Vows to keep through the years
Three someone said is a crowd
Three happy, frown, laugh, cry
Three a rejoinder & oh, so loud
Our home at the street nearby
Why stop at three got one more
Now it's one, two, three & four!
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
Good God didn't like
media's portrayal
of godly affairs.
even the mix up
in gender embarrassed.
sending a rejoinder
by way of retribution
would be viewed
as barbaric at this times.
that will ensure
a media hullabaloo,
quite avoidable, it was decided.
so, a gentle curse
was finally promulgated,
news on godly affairs
immediately got distorted
to the side of God,
with out the notice
of eagle eyed editors.
to edit a long story short,
this "editor's curse"
spread to other
media departments as well.
special correspondents
were specially bend
to distort their stuff, at will.
diplomatic scribes
used their skill utmost to
pitch one country against the other.
by and by distortions became
an unwritten rule, nay
a birth right of media tribe,
who could be fiercer than a pack of wolves,
not only on a full moon night
but on' any moon day' too!
Now it can be told,
this is how distortion of news or views
according to the whim of some
came about.
"Oh! God"!
OOO
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 10:31 PM UTC
I stepped outside for a moment, simply to catch a breath on my porch,
and I saw that slivered Moon scooting behind those shivery clouds.
In a brief half-second I felt Her eons,
Her aged gravitational tumble,
Her pained and painted-on pagan sins of yore,
Her holy rejoinder of light against the darkness,
Her catechism of magic,
and the cold
empty doctrine
of Her orbital destiny.
I closed my eyes for a moment, to shut out Her history...
to try and catch that breath...
But She would not relent.
She was insistent, pulling my eyes open and up
and She offered me her memories
and begged in Her dry eternal voice
to allow me Her touch.
I accepted. Felt Her fear as our rockets bruised Her dusty flesh
upon their uninvited landings
and scarred her with their burning departures.
When I had taken it all in, She disappeared behind one of those
shivery clouds
and I was able to
catch that breath
I had almost forgotten
I had meant to take.
I watch for Her nightly now.
Even when She is obscured by clouds
or maybe just on the other side of this earth-she-cannot-touch,
Her eternal dance partner.
I open my eyes and gaze up.
With awe and wonder and respect
to let Her know that in my small gravitational way
that there is at least
One son here who thinks of her
and who understands and appreciates her tidal Motherhood
who smiles beneath Her transient reflection,
holding that light dear,
and who, in turn,
reflects some of that light
back to Her,
with promised eye.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 6:40 PM UTC
"Morning light, dear one."
'You were great last night', "I was?!"
'Again', your rejoinder.
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 6:09 PM UTC
Corncob dolls forgotten on the porch of a double shotgun cottage
Little child broken from the rays of the sun
God shone too lively and loves too bright
Every swish of the fan and harsh rejoinder
An equal remembrance. Tattered heart.
They will sell your story to the highest bidder
Just to keep their phone bill from trickling. They
will sell out. Sell the light, even. When doctors and
kings are praised, there's a whole lotta short sale.
Bike spokes aren't the only rungs on the ladder: they
also pierce the eyes. You, though have had to hide
the purple bruises. You made the grade.
Your own.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
You get
lost in detail
(Augurs? Portents? Symbols?)
They shine: you'd be advised to do
As well.
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 11:08 AM UTC
at the urgings of the needle's keen tip
she'd respond with such a caustic delight
corrosive was its thorniness of quip
on the pointy end being put to conic flight
an outpouring of stinging did rain free
she'd respond with such a caustic delight
never not thinking of the spurring's tee
compelled by a so driven tong's tine
an outpouring of stinging did rain free
*yet the rejoinder was not very **** fine*
applying her barbing tool time after time
compelled by a so driven tong's tine
browsers saw the regularity of crime
sticking in too much abrasive acid
applying her barbing tool time after time
the mordant seasoning far from placid
sticking in too much abrasive acid
at the urgings of the needle's keen tip
corrosive was its thorniness of quip
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC
a long time ago,
when poems fell
*from my mouth like easy tears &
excited eyes revealed more hid
in the cracks of city sidewalks,
just trying remember/recall all the
airy compositions that flew from the
inhabited urgent pulsing of creativity
from/of a living duopoly, heart + head,
was ironical, the greatest challenge;*
it was easy to give my excess to
nurture the young ones, bend their
path to higher plains, testing resolve,
my wingspan span so lengthy room,
to tuck, hold, encourage even lend
to the raw, the preternatural talented,
my self-pleasuring, a weedy high (five);
*nowadays, there is little now in my day,
pinpricks of light suggest, but the juices
fail to follow the lead, leashed, restrained,
s t r a i n i n g, to believe my words possess
3V’s - validity, value and vividness deserving,
scraps are heaped in the corner awaiting my
incineration, permanent~premature incarceration;*
wondering, who will nurture me now,
cloak me in arm-round-shoulders and murmur
sage wisdom snippets, refill, reattach my quill
to the paper with no time or space interference,
but I wait not for your soft & silent rejoinder;
*whatever I can draw from an infernal and infertile
weakened pulse, is this meager complain, I once
gave freely to others, who can - who will - payback?
those who gave nurture understand its healing prowess,
so I beg & ken you, nurture me, in my old age, give me
commissions, order me to compose, I daren’t disobey…*
Sat Dec 31 2022
LPOTY
Dec 31, 2022
Dec 31, 2022 at 11:02 AM UTC
Now that life has
Scattered
To the ten
Directions
Blown by winds
Of change
Of chance
How
Where shall
We once more
Coalesce?
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 4:36 AM UTC