"stymie" poems
the Boxing Day test cricket match
has just begun
with the Indian bowlers
out to stymie the Australian's run
they'll be keeping
their cherry ball deliveries tight
so the lads from Oz
don't get any easy flight
on the wicket there will be
a momentous Waterloo battle
the Indian side shall need
all of its line and length chattel
no loose ***** going awry
into the four's ditch
they'll have to be spot on
when sailing down the pitch
in the first session of play
India can't afford one mistake
or their teams shall be left
in the Aussie team's shattering wake
as the innings progresses
throughout the day
the Australian side
will surely be making hay
the pride of both cricketing nations
is at stake on the MCG
those vying to win the spoils of the test
shall require a flawless key
runs aplenty are on offer on the pitch
for the Aussie boys
so the Indian bowlers must forestall
their batting ploys
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
Drawing upon the core of my being, I muster up the strength to survive.
Stepping into another plane of existence; one in which I have no capacity to resist toxicity; I am vulnerable.
A juggernaut lies at the end of the daylight hours; soft in temper and yet scourging in it’s pronouncements.
This is a being with no malicious intent; a sentinel guarding the sacred caliber of a spirit under divine instruction.
Darkness pervades in the form of light; I can sense a façade of purity within the confines of my bones.
This fortress that I have traversed into is infected with a murky haze looming just above the skies.
Escape is my only option; if I remain here it will be my demise.
When the juggernaut arrives, trepidation will electrify my soul; it will animate me.
Fear consumes me with every waking second I’m in it’s midst.
-This gargantuan being understands-
Empathy cannot save me however, once the utterances of ancient spirit inflict scathing wounds upon me in the name of humanity.
Attempting to rescue me from the tumult of the planet does not obscure the pain and heartache of compassionate words.
Wisdom lies within this walking tome; statue-esque maiden.
I have used my discernment as a bulwark; protection from wounds of sensitivity lies in detachment from myself.
I have come to realize that supplication does have a purpose.
-To plea with the remnants of a long forgotten world-
I am overwhelmed with euphoria when I realize that my fears have been nothing but stymie.
Fleeting in nature; they whispered to me of my incapacity to reach the heart of a relic growing wiser by the minute.
There is no judgment to be passed and I have been emancipated from the shackles of a foreshadowing past.
It leads to my genesis; the day when I shall be lifted up past all my iniquity.
Until that day, I await the metamorphosis of an ailing planet.
The Juggernaut does have a purpose.
This maiden shall be a beacon amongst the tumult of the seasons.
I shall look to her as a guide and honesty is what shall pervade from her lips.
In trueness she shall bestow her utterances upon me.
Like the sweetest honey, her words will befall my eardrums.
Internalization spurs a chemical reaction within me.
I am changing.
I have been enveloped by blinding rays of light.
The darkness is no match for the spiritual sinew that I possess.
I am growing by the second… I am growing prayer by prayer.
-Amen-
By Iridescently Efflorescent
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
Drawing upon the core of my being, I muster up the strength to survive.
Stepping into another plane of existence; one in which I have no capacity to resist toxicity; I am vulnerable.
A juggernaut lies at the end of the daylight hours; soft in temper and yet scourging in it’s pronouncements.
This is a being with no malicious intent; a sentinel guarding the sacred caliber of a spirit under divine instruction.
Darkness pervades in the form of light; I can sense a façade of purity within the confines of my bones.
This fortress that I have traversed into is infected with a murky haze looming just above the skies.
Escape is my only option; if I remain here it will be my demise.
When the juggernaut arrives, trepidation will electrify my soul; it will animate me.
Fear consumes me with every waking second I’m in it’s midst.
-This gargantuan being understands-
Empathy cannot save me however, once the utterances of ancient spirit inflict scathing wounds upon me in the name of humanity.
Attempting to rescue me from the tumult of the planet does not obscure the pain and heartache of compassionate words.
Wisdom lies within this walking tome; statue-esque maiden.
I have used my discernment as a bulwark; protection from wounds of sensitivity lies in detachment from myself.
I have come to realize that supplication does have a purpose.
-To plea with the remnants of a long forgotten world-
I am overwhelmed with euphoria when I realize that my fears have been nothing but stymie.
Fleeting in nature; they whispered to me of my incapacity to reach the heart of a relic growing wiser by the minute.
There is no judgment to be passed and I have been emancipated from the shackles of a foreshadowing past.
It leads to my genesis; the day when I shall be lifted up past all my iniquity.
Until that day, I await the metamorphosis of an ailing planet.
The Juggernaut does have a purpose.
This maiden shall be a beacon amongst the tumult of the seasons.
I shall look to her as a guide and honesty is what shall pervade from her lips.
In trueness she shall bestow her utterances upon me.
Like the sweetest honey, her words will befall my eardrums.
Internalization spurs a chemical reaction within me.
I am changing.
I have been enveloped by blinding rays of light.
The darkness is no match for the spiritual sinew that I possess.
I am growing by the second… I am growing prayer by prayer.
-Amen-
By Iridescently Efflorescent
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
Inferiority,inferiority and complacency will come ,
Stymie and tremendous shall not be on the way ,
Ten percent of the mind neurologist say we use ,
Ninety locked out of the way and not occupied,
If you really want to flourish think out of the box ,
Press the accelerator up to 180 decrees and go for you life.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
the poet's quill wrote about
the merit of free
expression
never would it become
a prisoner of
repression
the poet's quill being enduring
of its staunch
belief
that to stymie liberty's voice could
cause but
grief
the poet's quill did
not shy
away
its purpose was intent on conveying
in an unfettered
way
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 6:23 AM UTC
in pealing season, she is a girl of lousy ingrowth
she is an unkempt corner; kitchen sink. legs pulled like knives. phone call her curled tendons; isolation in
grit and fibril
she is women with wings. this is how we stymie the rapunzel. we carve the ugly into her. we teach her to wear skin like saran. skin like punishment
cut-coin the rumpelstiltskin. how she is wound and string, paper-doll; bird-in-a-box
how we wring the juice of her on washcloth. hung upturned from the ceiling fang; plucked and feathered
like apology. cherry-picked; veins like mikado. how it is dark and she is blind-bat wind-warriors; waterboarded with no hands
upturning the paper boats of her in every follicle; how the flipswitch insecurity eats her like pickle. in a storm
she is neither nor tongue nor limb
just breast, bone, the weight of mirrors
how we jettison when the grief is heavy. abandon. thick, empty abandon.
alone in grit-cusps when the monsoon has eaten into the white, wispy mortuary. dark in hallways; yet pale and slender. she is beautiful.
we lift her ribbed corpse off the shoreline.
we unload the offering like red carpet;
this is how we wrap her in white and weary-eyed
translucent. how unavoidable we become when we are the last hope. crippled. when we look hope in the eye. askance. how she will beg you to look at her with the heart in the honey-jar; torso in tourniquet
how the walls are ripped in shades of askance. how we look away.
how us, walls, look away.
how, us, walls, askance.
how we drip of askance; how the pink flesh and cherry-limb slips like matchstick on brushfire
how there is purple and primrose and bruise
there are some spots on the floor where it still reeks purple and yellow and bruise
how we are
lousy
ingrowth
here. how we
try
to
pluck
and erase
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 8:33 AM UTC
This fighting is killing me, and its its splitting me just like a dead tree, i tripped and fell and messed up my knee, baby can't you see that you and me were just meant to be? I don't understand why you went and set me free, I don't get why you acted so cruelly baby, i feel like a groupie because every time you talk to me you act so gruffly, i know I'm being greedy trying to keep you all the me but baby I know it might sound cheeky but for you girl I'd grow a goatee I know that makes no sense but again, can't you see that what ya do to me, makes it so I can barely, think or even use my mind, what I mean to say girl is that you've got me stymie-d
Jul 22, 2011
Jul 22, 2011 at 6:14 PM UTC
Into free-fall, there's stymie and no rhythm
the grasshoppers fly around in circles, unaware,
the flow is as soak grass
burnt by the equivocal scorching sun,
wonder waits still for recognition
that will dissolve, unremembered
as soon as we get second wind
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
I am too long
Outside a boat,
Too long away from the
Tip and shimmy
Of a dinghy hull,
The joyous swoop
Of a hull under sail,
Too long since my
Hand rested upon
A tiller,
Felt those five essentials
Work in balance to
Place no load
Nor need a weather helm,
Too long away from that
Which brooks no
Office politics,
No lovers tiff
Nor household chore,
Just pleased to carry me
By wind away from shore
But soon and soon
No matter the weather,
Be it storm or calm,
Sun or snow or rain,
Even frozen lake won't
Stymie my day,
For I shall sail,
And when that wood
Which bears me
Is a diamond coffin,
And life has left my body,
Be ye certain that somewhere,
God willing,
My soul is sailing still
Dec 29, 2021
Dec 29, 2021 at 6:13 PM UTC
Cataclysmically holocaustal catastrophic cacophony. Spurious staunch succinct stymie tacit, irate tirade treatise vehement escapade tedium. Belligerent barbarian of a berserker bodacious katzenjammer. Ostensibly deterrent savage vicious violence. Ghastly gruesome grotesque gristly groaty gnarly, awfully terrible hideously horrible heinously horrendous. Inundate liable culprit, assay relay's convey, inveigh irrefragably inevitable inure. Tercel theocracy, anticipate angary amentia. Attenuating arbitration accidence ambiance acoustics. Diction's enunciation execrating eventuation evocative expletives. Reconnaissance reconnoiter rectilinear recrimination. Incessant barratry Bailiff's rake-ness rails. Détente, demarcate delirious destitute demiurge. Diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt, annex annul's edifice ******** Spiritual apercu pneuma's palatial estates!!!!
Oct 10, 2022
Oct 10, 2022 at 3:16 PM UTC
Back and forth, back and forth the public's vote awry
Just can’t make their minds up munching gubernatorial pie,
There's an avalanche Obama’s way then hard 180 switch
Tends to stymie up good progress, making governing a *****
Tends to make you wonder who the hell is now to make the choice
When the population vaccilates with such loud and definite voice,
When the wheels fall off the programme and the public servants cringe
And stagnation kills decision… making every ******* whinge.
Guess I’ll watch it all on TV where the cards have all been flipped
But my bet is on a quagmire... now Obama’s wings are clipped.
M.
6 November 2014
Pukehana Paradise
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
My thoughts aren't always pretty, really, they can be cruel and relentless. They can be droll and demonic. My mind is making me turn myself into all the things I never wanted to be. I like to say, "what an actress" to myself, as I fill desolate rooms with life and character, laughter, a euphoria of jubilation - when I'm "an actress" around a horde of people, friends, Loved Ones, The Ones Nearest and Dearest to My Heart. They gaggle, like a flock of geese, and when your mind is pounding, with a swollen brain, you try to forget; the things that can never love you back, the things that haunt me in varying intervals, etc --- only one person can make me feel my version of Normal, where my humanity of normalcy comes to play --- where I'm up to par with my getting myself together, and, you, being the 3 tablespoons of olive oil, 2 cups of warm water, and 1 cup of apple cider vinegar that heals my dry cracked hands. That's YOU. You're my peach, I beseech you with fervent fever for your innocuous intimacy; we enmesh and evoke in ease, we please the plead we need. There's fickleness whim, in the way our soul cases analog; we allow stymie in the progression of our relationship and we allocate adornment. I'm the sin of sacrilegious sacrilege, the sin of my lips sipping your pureness out of a chalice; but, yet, I wear white. I want you to breathe in my arousal, breathe in my lust, touch my yearned wants and needs, touch my hankering hands, kiss my passion, kiss my pain, coition - on my mother-naked body, be the fabric that nukes my raw reprehensible physique, let's (both) be sinful, spiteful, senseless in the way we drape. Be my contour, be the silhouette that invokes my earnestly and summons my evoked despondent deity, bring vigor and satisfactory vengeance.
(k.m.m.)
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
What lieth in the green way
Of my putted, unfeigned love
And thine heart? Gay dove,
Prithee take the stymie away.
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
the search has earnestly begun
to find an effective treatment
that'll stymie the blighting torment
scientists are on a questing run
in pursuing a vaccine's whack
which shall cease the viral attack
our globe received a hard stun
as its contagion did spread far
striking many countries with a jar
the sooner the trialing is spun
its success shall uplift us all
from a world laden by a pall
future days will be lit in sun
on testing labs scotching the bug
that has been relentless of slug
the search has earnestly begun
scientists are on a questing run
our globe received a hard stun
the sooner the trialing is spun
future days will be lit in sun
Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 9:07 AM UTC
His eyes, tightly shut
To stymie the tears building
The fighting, intense and abrupt
Like the feeling to give up
An ocean of emotion
Waves washing over
Lying still, still in motion,
I know but don't mention.
Still alive though
Inside, I feel I'm dying;
Drowning
May 11, 2023
May 11, 2023 at 6:51 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Well, I’ll be ******
Trump and Putin are a sham
Perpetrating a flim-flam
They just shot Uncle Sam!
In Helsinki with a battering ram
Is it necessary to draw a diagram?
In order for you to understand
That all of it must have been preplanned
They met in private
With no notetakers
Under the guise of peacemakers
Just like your average lawbreakers
Doing their best to throw haymakers
See neither one of them are Quakers
But they’re con men outright fakers
Playing ball like the new Lakers
I blame the one,
But not the both
Cuz Putin didn’t swear an oath
He wants to stymie our growth
And Trump’s playing with half a loaf
For his base which he betroth
But which of them hates us the most
It’s hard to say, yet he’ll still boast
He doesn’t care about us
So he’s betrayed his sacred trust
In order to do what he must
To protect himself and to adjust
Even if we all go bust
Making America how he discussed
Despite the economy being robust
He’s unworthy of our trust
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC