"scolding" poems
They look out from the terrace.
At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.
BANG!
An artificial cloud.
“Mira,” she points, “Venga!”
They fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.
Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.
"¡Ya vienen!"
Excitement and fear.
The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.
Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.
Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and closer, louder, gallops sound.
Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;
indoors,
apart,
he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner
with long strides
too fast to follow.
She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge
and
it
crashes
in.
She turns and the fear is paralysing.
"FERMIN!"
"FERMIN!"
"FERMIN!"
He hurdles the stairs
and explodes
but it rams her
to and fro,
thrashing her head
against the wall
where horns
sin and gore
cement and brick.
He clasps the tail
and heaves its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine -
they slip and slide
in fractured glass;
he finds a horn
and yanks the head!
He's yanked instead
near dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to punch and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer,
fast and frantic,
flying flustered
by the frenzy,
finally finding
pattering
paves
it
peters
off
down
the
street.
"¿Que ha pasado?
¿Quien ha sido?
¡El Balbotin
y la Chicha!
¡Que una vaca
les ha pillado!"
"¿Estas bien?"
Dizzy she's there
with searching hands
and scolding.
"Podria haber sido peor"
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
talkshows and the yellow press
get excited in excess
over his shenanigans
that delight his faithful fans
rumors of these *** affairs
strong words for all macho players
in the game of social thrones
texts with threatening undertones
for minorities and women
treating immigrants like demons
neither fans nor his opponents
seem to notice the components
of the white house strategy
throw them bones
fodder for the yellow press
and while they fight
clandestinely out of sight
works the Trumpian policy
money laundering blatant lies
scolding allies breaking ties
adoring foes praising those
usurpers of democracies
experts in atrocities
slowly yet persistently
undermine civility
with foul language
fill all courts with servile judges
court the aristocracies
of oil sheikdoms in the East
praising communist dictators
who have helped him build his towers
step by step he‘s leading US
from the groups of international powers
to an isolation desert
at the margins of the world
slogans we have rarely heard
over decades
now re-nourished
twittered with presidential flourish
make America small again
warning voices call in vain
no wonder the statue of liberty
is hiding her face in misery (*)
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 5:24 PM UTC
It seemed the space between us became torn and
Profoundly distanced....................
Jamming bony knuckles and spread eagled fingers,
Lying their mapped out journey.....direction on point patrol....
Adorned by silver decoration, delighting in their skinned habitat
Shafted, deceit punching the recipient of the poison digits
Prodding and pushing their intent....dare you contradict
The intended carved out dose of punishment, Risk and
Safety......not yours and never would be; stooped
Down under the assailing bony palmed attachements
That delivered penetrating power, cupped around
Your arm til it became discoloured, pressure points
Backed you into a corner, up against the grain of the
Brick wall, cold and damp, the odour reaching
And scolding your nostrils with its stale internal vows
Refuse, stretching and protruding its foul remnents
An earlier life, when you were not under threat fades
Your very existance in jeopardy, your eyes pleaded for
Normality, willing someone to hear your silence, grip you
Tightly, not with malice, but with bravery and valour
Right now you need that shining knight, that white
Horse galloping down the blind alleyway, yet you
Know that won't happen for you're already sinking
To the floor, the blow comes sharp and stings, warmth
Exudes and trickles a path downwards, leaving your
Body, finding the cold concrete beneath you, travelling
Outwards................
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 7:58 AM UTC
Hungry.
In the silence,
of this afternoon,
they arrive, ready
to feed children who wait
in nest high above.
Their high whistle dancing,
pierces the soundscape
These mejiros--yellow with sharp white eyes,
Comb through hibiscus bush
Finding a meal
Hidden within
Like parrotfish
Munching through coral reef,
I sit under tree listening,
Abruptly
The seashells to my mind
Fill with shrill sounds
Of mothers scolding monsters,
A quickening--
Their white eyes dart like fearful
squid flying through
brushy undercurrents.
Underneath,
The small lion cat
Stalks the
Hungry sounds
In the bush
the Hungry looking for Hungry
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 9:22 PM UTC
I don't want to
I cant let it happen
Not to me
I am not ready
I cant handle it
Not again
Not in this moment
Not tomorrow
Not soon
Not ever
I cant loose you
I wont let it happen
I love you too much
I am scared to loose you again
I will get lost without you
I need your love
Your scolding
I need to see you
Mad and
Happy
I cant handle being alone again
You are my hero
I need to see you home
When I return from school
I need to be with you
I need you to pressure me
I need to to tell me I am right
Or tell me I am wrong
Please
Do not leave me
I will change
I will be better
I will do anything it takes
I will be the best
I will try even harder
I will not get you mad
I will not get in trouble
I will not be selfish anymore
I will not ask for too much
I will not bother you
I need you her
Because you are
my friend
my neighbor
my hero
my villain
my everything.
You are the best brother in the world
And i need you here
To keep acting like a better dad
Than the one I have.
Dont leave me Alone
I need my Brother here next to me!
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 7:45 PM UTC
;heart made of metal, you're too hard to soothe
as an iron ***** you coldly shine smooth.
n head full of ember, your trickily burnt fire-
With its heat licks my lips, scolding hot with desire.
And then
Voice made of water,
may you speak of unknown
rivers lakes- oceans blue
Typhoon and cyclone.
And soul made of moonstone- may
outwardly you shine,
Dance, scintillating- a
pure serpentine.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
Into a place far away but too familiar,
I push open the rusty purple gates,
Inhale a lungful of the province air,
Kick away blue pebbles on the dusty ground,
And then
Mano my lolo, my tito
Beso my lola, my tita
And give my cousins a nudge on the arm,
A pinch on the cheeks.
I squeeze between four people
In a rickety wooden bench and
Pass around plate after heavy plate.
I fill my banana leaf
With spaghetti too soft too sweet,
Almost like pudding,
With crispy chicken dripping with oil.
I wash it off with a cool glass of gulaman,
Chewy beads and gems in sugary water.
Fathers talk about basketball, boxing, billiards;
Mothers browse through photo albums and magazines;
While we children argue about Superman or Batman.
Our laughter fills the humid air
And goes up, up, up to the ears of the neighbors.
In celebration of the time we have together
And a nice sunny day
We devour our meals
And go ahead and
Climb trees and
Get our faces sticky with sweet fruits,
Lick chocolate ice popsicles,
Chase each other in the weedy playground,
Bike around town,
Pick colorful flowers,
Wrestle with each other,
Play badminton on a windy day,
Scare around chickens and guinea pigs,
And play patintero under the dull orange street lamps.
We nervously creep inside the back door,
All sweaty, bearing bruises and scratches
But still with wide smiles on our faces.
All is futile though.
An angry grandmother awaits,
Scolding us for
Coming home past sunset.
More and more stars glitter the sky
As the night gets deeper and deeper.
The gentle evening breeze whistles a note
As it enters through the window.
The karaoke blasts grating voices
Interrupted by hearty laughter.
Playing cards and corn chips litter the table.
We children exchange jokes and ghost stories.
And then,
We bid our goodbyes,
Sharing hugs and kisses
Stained with discontent and sadness.
Our hearts about to burst
In excitement for the next
Reunion.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
For all the ********* I have given
sometimes, I realized;
I’ve never been a good person to you,
but still you stood with me
against all the odds,
still you held my arms
when I’m about to kiss the ground,
still you never left me hanging,
never allowed my questions unanswered,
still you tried to understand my personality
as other people don’t.
I followed all your rules and commands,
I followed every step you were making,
perhaps, now is the time
to discover myself on my own way;
I listened every moment to your words
but please,
can I lend also your ears?
Unraveling the inner reason why I was born
but indeed I’m thankful , I found
an exquisite love from both of you ―
my parents.
Thank you for letting me
embrace the beauty of nature,
for letting me perceive the world,
and for letting me wander
beneath the pouring rain
(I learnt the lessons then).
Thank you for scolding me,
for giving me pieces of advice,
for the care,
for every sweat you tasted
(from sun-up to sun-down)
in order for us to experience things
that some could not
(I appreciate it like rain),
thank you for everything,
Mama and Papa.
I’m not used to, of saying
“I love you”, “Thank you”
and “I’m sorry” in front
of your eyes, but it
doesn’t mean that I don’t consider
these thoughts in my heart,
it doesn’t mean that these phrases
have never been at the corner of my mind.
You may not know, but as I’m breaking free
from my childhood stories and fantasies,
I’m also losing my strength, for I know
your presence is not permanent.
But Mama and Papa, I’m begging God
to bestow upon me enough time to show how
much I love you; how much
I need you both
in my hardest
battle, and in my greatest loss.
It’s been years that were already in memories;
still you don’t recognize that I write,
that whenever I can hold my pen
I can’t resist the art of poetry,
yet I hope you will find
this poem I made before you depart.
I’m sending all my hugs and kisses
inside this treasure,
I may hate you sometimes
the way you talk to me ―
when I encountered mistakes;
but it’s only mild,
because you can understand me
as other people can’t.
Sincerely yours,
your child
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC
If I could be a fly on Einstein’s wall
I’d buzz about from chair to curtain
watch him check out plans and gadgets
and scratch remarks on his papers.
When the clock edged to noon
his stomach would growl,
he’d fold up the prints and say,
“It’s a relatively short walk to the café.”
With Albert out I’d take the run of the place -
practicing banks and dips and vertical lifts.
I’d munch on scraps of Brie and fowl
left fused to the edge of his table.
When the tumblers turned
I’d buzz back to my wall, eager to witness
whatever this sage would chance to say.
He’d go to his desk to file reports
and stack them neatly into a tray.
Without warning he’d rise from his chair
scattering papers across the floor.
“MASS AND ENERGY ARE ONE, ” he’d shout, -
“CRUSHED TOGETHER BY TIME! ”
I’d buzz and swoop and fly circles and loops
and taxi in on his collar.
I’d beat my wings to cool his brain.
But wait…Whose voice do I hear?
Oh, it’s you gentle reader.
“Stop, hold it right there, ****** pest!
It couldn’t have happened that way!
Have you no shame or respect for God’s truth? ”
But I’d stare you down with my compound eye
and scornfully twitch my wings.
Consider this, troubled sir,
you’re the one scolding a talking fly.
July, 2006
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
I know we won't replace,
The vacant hole you once embraced,
Our hearts were full and solid gold,
Now there’s sadness and bitter cold,
You gave us love, you gave us time,
Beside us through every fall and climb,
Words can never explain the tears,
We cry now for the wasted years…
…years…
…years…
The many times we had laughed,
The emptiness can’t hope to halve,
And yet I can’t help but reflect upon,
The days and weeks and times; long gone,
But in my memory, that secret place,
Is the joy and magic I can trace,
Those times that only I can share,
With you, myself – a connection so rare…
…rare…
…rare…
Though now your soul is far away,
We’ll have thoughts of you each passing day,
Of superman at Christmas and Guinness for a saint,
The scolding of Tim Henman, that passionate complaint,
The stories of Las Vegas, and of the times we shared in France,
Will light up all our broken hearts and the mind can have its dance,
You were a special lady, we don’t want to release,
But I know that you are with us and your body is at peace…
…peace…
…peace…
(This poem was written in memory of my Nan, An Cronin. R.I.P.)
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 5:52 AM UTC
I see the sunrise over sin,
Repress what I did once again.
Shadows me like its prey,
Lurching out of me eagerly.
I see the sunrise over sin,
It’s boiled over once again.
Scolding from white hot shame,
My guilt has the power to lame.
I see the sunrise over sin.
Push it down before it begin.
The moon rise over blame,
She brings clarity and aim.
I see the sunrise over sin,
Connects us all a kin.
Judge others harshly without perceptivity,
Ignorant of the hypocrisy.
I see the sunrise over sin,
Should **** someone but who’s in?
Let’s all perish together again,
Cleanse this place of our contagion.
I see the sunrise over sin.
Let’s live samsara again.
Improve from the last time.
Not just a rhyme.
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 11:26 AM UTC
the copper beech tree,
rooted over the road,
seems ageless though it has been,
there since Grandfather Time,
came from some unknown place,
and implemented his power,
into the land.
the copper beech tree,
hangs over the road,
the branches move,
like a body of
fine hair in the wind,
to and fro to and fro to and fro.
the copper beech tree,
still over the road,
sees all walks of life,
the scolding ***** the
busy mothers, the
mindless teens.
the copper beech tree,
watches us from over the road,
gazing into this silent home.
It knows, it realises,
It sees, it feels,
all the way down,
to its wise roots.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
My grandparent's house
ten-kid-large and sinking
on the corners of remembrance
Remodeled now, to
...tenements
Honeycomb
...the remnants
Irish immigrant and Scottish orphan's child
She sang on the ferry
He fell in love
"The rest is the history of us...."
Wide
as the Connecticut River, grieving--
in their sunset....
________________
This-- chair
is his
I am afraid of it-- of his learning
of the shiny badge pinned to his coat
of his dying...
Golden leather of it
soothes
his memory--
of another continent
of the once warmth-- of a distant hearth
so darkened now--
where his head once rested
...his hands
and,
I fear--
his mind....
I will not sit in it
as if he will come back, to take his place
I am afraid of him--
with his chair--
all worshipful and empty
like a high place, abandoned
to the heart attack
not for grandchild play
Seat of Authority
still stamped
beside the standing cold--
brass ashtray
Pipe smoke imagines itself
against the ceiling in the words
of Yates and Milton
He read to them
and somehow--
Paradise is Lost....
_______________
This house is cold now-- even in the summer-- cold
Worn as only large families wear
The War
of waiting shadows
--four brothers who were spared
Anna Mae, in charge, too young,
worries in abrupt dark
of dinning room
Her face, haunted--
an archway-- ever empty
by the large and ghostly table
covered by its web of lace--
a bridal veil
of Catholic impossibility...
Anna Mae, held hostage by her thoughts
of darling, Sean...
Aunt Lil's “breakdown”
with cigarette and thorazine
quaking quiet in her corner
Aunt Nell,
as blind as ******** hell
ironing, darning
with threads that thatch
the wounded socks
Holds it all together, scolding--
Brought the welcomed jelly donuts
sneered as Yankees clobbered Boston
all-- while drinking yellow ale
Uncle Eddie-- laughing hoarsely
cracks nuts over a wooden bowl
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
We have an Irish kind of love
Her and I
Myself and herself
Old and young
Young and old
But which is which
Sometimes
I know.............
We have an Irish kind of love
In how we talk
In riddle and rhyme
Singing and crying
At the same time
Sometimes
I know.....................
We have an Irish kind of love
When we walk
The hills of our county
Herself does be scolding me
For not keeping up
What can I do
So busy watching
Watching my step
And the heathers blue
We have an Irish kind of love
Forged in an ancient ring
But of stone, not gold
Ageless and timed
She sooths me
And my troubled mind
For she is as new as the dawn
But as wise as sea
We have an Irish kind of love
Herself, and me.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 7:47 AM UTC
In a blind of an eye,
we were flying with pigs
and swimming with pigeons.
Marching alongside famous carcasses
and singing gospels with the Pharisees.
We stood on water
and bathe on the pyroclastic flow.
A flock of ants gave us clothing,
as the army of sheep gave us a scolding.
We drank the Nile ‘till we got thirsty
and Bismarcked our way into the Revolution
and fought the Bolsheviks
alongside Lenin.
We cooked the ***
cooked it right down to the marrow
until we were walking down to heaven
to rescue Rasputin.
Overlooking eucalyptus groves,
we made love,
while they were out with bullets
searching for a truce.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 1:40 PM UTC
I drank the alcohol, expecting something.
boy was I let down, when I got nothing.
No silly laughter, or grand horror story.
No youtube video, or easy talk for me.
Just a headache or two and a feeling of suffocation.
Just a scolding from people, and a dizzy sensation.
The bottle looked nice, and tv shows made it seem fun,
but after 3 gulps, I just felt like a street ***
So I said goodbye to armpit beer,
and I assure no rose wine here.
*** is for pirates,
much too complicated for me.
I'm done with heartache alcohol,
as you can plainly see.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
He sat, completely repentant
He had hurt her before, he knew
There was defeat in his shoulders
"I would like to pray about this," he said, searching for change in a greater aspect.
Beratement
Scolding
She needs a husband who's going to be around
Better around beating than away?
He had put that past behind him
She felt reason to bring it up
Over
And
Over
She needs a husband
He's there, but apparently,
Not enough
Miscommunication
Frustration
Defeat in his being
She keeps talking and talking
Saying the same things over and over
Beating him with the same verbal stick
He feels awful
He knows his wrongs
He lacks self forgiveness
He fears himself
He fears losing her due to his own actions
He desires to pray
He wants, and is seeking change
She's stuck
Stick in hand
Ready,
On the attack
Prayer
She's stuck in a
Loop
No forgiveness in the
Hardened heart
He's defeated,
Wanting so badly for change
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
In your presence I feel edified and loved
Something that I've never experienced when I'm with others.
Your love so great
You died for me.
But yet who am I?
A lowly worthless servant who can't seem to hear your call,
Left aimless treading on this earth.
Blaming you is easy
Scolding you ensures nothing.
Yet,
When I ask of anything
You gladly give.
It's funny how things ended up like this
And hell am I afraid
Of what's about to happen.
I trust in you, knowing you'll guide.
You've never failed me.
You won't.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
The little voice inside of you
Directing decision
Trapped
Unable to envision
Success
In rapid succession
Reverting
In sudden regression
Sewing shut
Your mind's eye
Blame your loss of contact
Contact with me
The romantic deviant
Your love is beautiful
With all it's conditions
Scolding the masses
For their mental carbon emissions
Unpopular
Is an understatement
What do you expect
Pushing for a decision
When there is no answer
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 2:19 PM UTC
My eyes burning, sweet tears of relief
My lungs filled with, hot humid watery vapor
My sweat they splash, fiercely onto the hot scolding stones
The rainfall, I am cool and clean
But there's something inside, that disagrees
Resents the humidity, with serendipity
He smiles at me in the sauna mirror,
We got a bomb strapped, we got the trigger
At the London Sauna
I stare at the shower stall bandaid
Clinging at the edge of the dark drain
I **** on it,
It falls down into the sewer's abyss
My body loose and free
I am drained and depleted
(D.E.B.)
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 11:26 AM UTC
Almost happy now, he looked at his estate.
An exile making watches glanced up as he passed,
And went on working; where a hospital was rising fast
A joiner touched his cap; an agent came to tell
Some of the trees he'd planted were progressing well.
The white alps glittered. It was summer. He was very great.
Far off in Paris, where his enemies
Whispered that he was wicked, in an upright chair
A blind old woman longed for death and letters. He would write
"Nothing is better than life." But was it? Yes, the fight
Against the false and the unfair
Was always worth it. So was gardening. Civilise.
Cajoling, scolding, screaming, cleverest of them all,
He'd had the other children in a holy war
Against the infamous grown-ups, and, like a child, been sly
And humble, when there was occasion for
The two-faced answer or the plain protective lie,
But, patient like a peasant, waited for their fall.
And never doubted, like D'Alembert, he would win:
Only Pascal was a great enemy, the rest
Were rats already poisoned; there was much, though, to be done,
And only himself to count upon.
Dear Diderot was dull but did his best;
Rousseau, he'd always known, would blubber and give in.
So, like a sentinel, he could not sleep. The night was full of wrong,
Earthquakes and executions. Soon he would be dead,
And still all over Europe stood the horrible nurses
Itching to boil their children. Only his verses
Perhaps could stop them: He must go on working: Overhead
The uncomplaining stars composed their lucid song.
2.6k
normalcy.
the minds attempt
to squeeze
uniform meaning
from the scolding chaos
which permeates
every square inch
of this perceived reality.
corn fed geese, fattened on memes,
fools world constructed, and
happily closing the door
on the prison, built
with our own numb hands.
puppets to nothing, and
to return to nothing
is all that ever is
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
a stranger points to a smoke sign and asks if i smoke; i say no
now that stranger is a friend and my no is a sometimes
and i wonder if it was a warning when he said that smoking was bad.
had i known, i would have answered the anxiety is worse and the cancer can't really **** me when i already feel dead inside.
instead, i waved him off with a laugh that meant "i know. isn't it obvious?"
...
the rot caught up to me two years later, outside the same bar where i'd pestered another friend into putting down a box.
it was a betrayal then, when i brought the sick to my lips and inhaled the poison.
it was a betrayal again when he found out.
i tried to appease the scolding,
argue that i've stopped smoking.
would it be a betrayal now to say
"i still think of rot and decay"?
Jun 18, 2021
Jun 18, 2021 at 11:03 AM UTC
‘twas the Hour of The Raven,
Scolding at the Seven Seas,
Humidity can’t be seen
As the sun whirled
Its final twirl.
A flock of pigeons stand by Midnight’s Trolley Trail.
I am my own eye,
Staring at taught veils
'tween cotton gaits.
The clouds are no more,
Spirits remained encaged in rose sepultures,
A transformation so chaotic, they cackle at their false fear.
MY BLURRINESS SEEMS TO BURN
STEADY. ready,
For what to behold.
I have left Universe to relay ,
As the subtle sun one did in its day.
I am left
To react.
React to what?
React to wee? React,
to relationships, React,
to their degree of nobility,
So fruitful, so radical in concept indeed.
Of all these perspectives
I am one.
One paper, one tree cut for endless possibilities.
The treasure remains underneath,
Where I weep
In the deep,
In the deep.
There is nothing to find,
And that made all the difference.
'twas the Hour of The Raven,
Scolding at the Seven Seas.
Jun 14, 2022
Jun 14, 2022 at 4:08 PM UTC
i am a terrible liar
when i was six, and my father
asked me if i had brushed my teeth,
i hadn't, but to avoid a scolding,
i told him yes
the popcorn kernel stuck in my teeth
and my blushing cheeks gave me away,
he marched me to the bathroom
when i was ten, my mother asked me
if i'd snuck a cookie before dinner,
i hid my chocolate-covered fingers behind my back
and told her no
i forgot about the evidence right below my lip,
she laughed and shook her head,
i was given extra broccoli
when i was fourteen and my crush rejected me,
he asked me if our friendship would be awkward,
i didn't want him to feel guilty,
so i told him no
we stopped talking altogether
and for a little while it kind of hurt,
but he wasn't very cute anyway
when i was eighteen and the boy i loved broke my heart
then proceeded to ask me if i was okay,
i choked back my tears,
and i told him yes
he knew it wasn't true,
but he was all out of "i'm sorry's"
and two-hundred miles was too far for him
when you first told me that you loved me
you asked if i could ever think of you as more than a friend,
i was flooded with fear and memories of hurt,
and my first impulse was to tell you no
but then i remembered
i am a terrible liar
m.f.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC