Best İrony Poems

Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
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This institution,
perhaps one should say enterprise
out of respect for which
one says one need not change one's mind
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I--The Tragedy

She sits in the tawny vapour
   That the City lanes have uprolled,
...

I have always aspired to a more spacious form
that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose
and would let us understand each other without exposing
the author or reader to sublime agonies.
...

Intoxicated by the inspiration
Of his trade—
With mental powers at work,
A true poet rarely sleeps.
...

I sat against your knees all night.
I watched the sun rise in your coffee cup.
In all that time you never spoke to me.
I think I must have cried a thousand tears.
...

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.
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Introduction: We don't really think deep enough about 'What A Poetry Actually Is', the obvious question which we all know but don't think how to really elaborate on. We mostly see the story, depth and the purpose it delivers. Well, here's one a little bit different this time...
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Something has gone wrong with meaning of words,
'Sun' and 'Son' beautiful creation of lords,
Both represent energy having sharpness of swords,
Both are crucial for survival and existence of world,
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This normative hill
like all others
is transparently accessible,
out there
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Oftentimes there are things that we want to achieve,
Thinking that our world’s immortal
But through the years that pass by,
Radiant morning rays await us.
...

At Wendy's Restaurant in San Jose,
California, USA,
a woman 'found' a finger, rather illy
hidden in her bowl of chilli.
...

1
Today, recovering from influenza,
I begin, having nothing worse to do,
This autobiography that ends a
...

To know the impossible to be impossible
and yet to love the attempt;
to demonstrate that beauty is eternal, yet
seen only in that moment now,
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The twentieth century has often fooled us.
We've been squeezed in by falsehood as by taxes.
The breath of life has denuded our ideas
as quickly as it strips a dandelion.
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It‘s crazy to think one could describe them—
Calling on reason, fantasy, memory, eves and ears—
As though they were all alike any more
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I.
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart?
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled,
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L'Héautontimorouménos
Je te frapperai sans colère
Et sans haine, comme un boucher,
Comme Moïse le rocher
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Listen, ladies, while I sing
The ballad of John Henry King.

John Henry was a bachelor,
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May the Babylonish curse
Straight confound my stammering verse,
If I can a passage see
In this word-perplexity,
...

(The Doubter lays aside his book.)

"Answered a score of times." Oh, looked for teacher,
is this all you will teach me? I in the dark
...

(ALCAICS)


Confused, he found her lavishing feminine
...

Old Pantaloon, lean-witted, dour and rich,
...

vixen crawls mysteriously
around glassy gardens
jealous eye watches
so suspiciously
...

I was forever losing things, and my laughing friends called me a klutz,
Like darker skies misplace buttery sun, when a severe storm develops.

I had once lost the keys to my house, and waited locked out all night,
...

I
Clay is the word and clay is the flesh
Where the potato-gatherers like mechanised scarecrows move
...

Keep gambling
As questions
Instinctive living
Memories go blunt
...

Always, sweetheart,
Carry into your room the blossoming boughs of cherry,
Almond and apple and pear diffuse with light, that very
Soon strews itself on the floor; and keep the radiance of spring
...

On March 1, 1958, four deserters from the French Army of North Africa,
August Rein, Henri Bruette, Jack Dauville, & Thomas Delain, robbed a
government pay station at Orleansville. Because of the subsequent
confession of Dauville the other three were captured or shot. Dauville
...

So was their sanctuary violated,
So their fair college turned to hospital;
At first with all confusion: by and by
Sweet order lived again with other laws:
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By dark severance the apparition head
Smiles from the air a capital on no
Column or a Platonic perhaps head
On a canvas sky depending from nothing;
...

As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew
From Nature, I believe 'em true:
They argue no corrupted mind
...

...
Thus from a mixture of all kinds began,
That het'rogeneous thing, an Englishman:
In eager rapes, and furious lust begot,
...

Now being on the eve of death, discharged
From every mortal hope and earthly care,
I questioned how my soul might best employ
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A Fantasy, dedicated to the little poet Alice Oliver Henderson, ten years old.

The Fantasy shows how tiger-hearts are the cause of war in all ages. It shows how the mammoth forces may be either friends or enemies of the struggle for peace. It shows how the dream of peace is unconquerable and eternal.
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The cavalry-camp lies on the slope
Of what was late a vernal hill,
But now like a pavement bare-
An outpost in the perilous wilds
...

An arid daylight shines along the beach
Dried to a grey monotony of tone,
And stranded jelly-fish melt soft upon
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My world was a deep cesspool
of self hatred.

The irony of it all... the grandiosity
...

Friday mornings:

As I follow Eric the barber to the pay counter,
feeling scraped and trimmed and scented and almost younger,
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Warm loves
In crimson blood
Own me in desire of red
Silk its beauty within me
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I died so many times in empathy,
Cried so many rhymes in sympathy,
Dreaming out the horrors in the dark –
Imbibing all the agony. Embark
...

Let's not go into the matter of that
dark wood in our back garden which
shames us in the eyes of our
prissy neighbours (we call it
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Dis-moi ton coeur parfois s'envole-t-il, Agathe,
Loin du noir océan de l'immonde cité
Vers un autre océan où la splendeur éclate,
...

Long ere the Muse the strenuous chords had swept,
And the first lay as yet in silence slept,
A Time there was which since has stirred the lyre
...

Hark, the Black bird!


Hark, the Black bird
...

Rarely do we hear of brothers so bonded,
Like Vincent Van Gogh and his younger brother
Theo Van Gogh - four years younger to Vincent.
They were born to Dutch parents
...

The super alien spies are all from Mars an’ bugger
By god they masquerade as coloured sugars,
An’ even name a chockie bar after their planet
Then cross the oceans on the back of a gannet
...

‘So tell me, Michael…’
the voice is slow and measured,
that of one used to public speaking,
his words so significant that the audience
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Too young to know the horrors of a war I've fought,
too young to know war's fear, or yearn for heroism,
but old enough to have lived through;
boys but one year older than myself
...

The day blew in wide open

With me soaking up the irony
...

(ROOSEVELT)

He turned aside to see the carcase of the lion: and behold, there was a swarm of bees and honey in the carcase of the lion … And the men of the city said unto him, What is sweeter than honey? and what is stronger than a lion?—Judges, 14.
...

Dr Einstein loved children but what an irony!
He never could enjoy the presence of
His own children along with him during his life time.
They remained far away and distant from him.
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In dreams of fire, my passions would ignite,
but alas, life's grip keeps me tight,
I yearn to soar, to conquer and thrive,
but duty's shackles keep my dreams deprived.
...

Fifty years after your death,
whenever I ask my uncles about you,
they turn distant and gray.
...

Grounded

The water ripples gently, the trees, reflected with perfection,
I wonder how and why, my life, ever landed amidst this intersection,
...

Infinite gentleness, infinite irony
Are in this face with fast-sealed eyes,
And round this mouth that learned in loneliness
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ACTC: 2014/12: CONTEST TITLES (2) AND INFO FOR December Challenge


ACTC: 2014/12: CONTEST TITLES (2) AND INFO FOR December Challenge
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Between the computer, a pencil, and a typewriter
half my day passes. One day it will be half a century.
I live in strange cities and sometimes talk
with strangers about matters strange to me.
...

Semantics say much of what humans have created for communication with themselves and others. They only need to dissect and de-vowel, apply given nouns to their chosen adjectives. Some making more sense than when construed to define innocent verbiage of denial and with encoded killing purpose of intent.

Acceleration makes haste where risk is taken to achieve wasteful goals that reach far beyond the muscle and brawn of evolved human male ability. Life is often said to be short and so we've created many means to live it in the proverbial fast lane, crashing into all others who get in their, each other's way.
...

My dear netizens, poem hunter friends,
Accept my gratitude, your poems are godsend.
So many have made to my favourite list,
Full of wisdom, beauty, irony and wit.
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Her sickness brought me to Connecticut.
Mornings I walk the dog: that part of life
is intact. Who's painted, who's insulated
...

A ‘School of..’ painting, it’s sometimes on display,
sometimes in the ‘Secondary Collection’; rather like
its subject, it’s subject to circumstances
beyond its own control. But this is no pupil’s homage
...

Sarojini Naidu was born in 1879
In a Bengali Hindu family at Hyderabad, India
She is popularly known as ‘Nightingale of India'
For her delightful verses with social impact and influence
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Roll down your window and smile.
Hold it.
Now let me get one with the background of vintage automobiles,
tinted postcards, motels, and Route 66 trying to slake my
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These are the damned circles Dante trod,
Terrible in hopelessness,
But even skulls have their humour,
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It's a sepia photograph, taken, I'm guessing,
1900,1910? The whole of it is taken up by
a crowd on the move, passing the photographer,
who could be, say, clinging to a lamp-post, or on a balcony.
...

O YE Muses, who gladly favour a love that is heartfelt,
Who on his way the excellent youth have hitherto guided,
...

I

Cannon his name,
Cannon his voice, he came.
...

She is a flower given
in rainy hours
in her is ocean-ness
...

I.

I cannot choose but think upon the time
When our two lives grew like two buds that kiss
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Death sat
contemplating suicide
while speaker after speaker
opined:
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Sprung of the father blood, the mother brain,
Are they who point our pathway and sustain.
They rarely meet; one soars, one walks retired.
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In the Slavery of Irony
Illegitimate Nouns arrive
and the wall of Other erects
its own wall against
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IT MAY have been a fragment of that higher
Truth dreams, at times, disclose;
It may have been to Fond Illusion nigher—
But thus the story goes:
...

With all the excitement of a Florentine writer around 1480
who's just heard about the new invention of printing
and has plans to use it bigtime
I'm sitting here at the PC, one of
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It was nineteen sixty nine
October twenty nine to be exact,
She appeared there on the scene
At Asha Sadan in a coastal town
...

...

There was a gathering of time
in odd spaces.

There was a gathering of spaces
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Humming my Sunday hymns
this is a ray of touch
this much
if you can feel so much
...

Observe the clasped hands!
Are they hands of farewell or greeting,
Hands that I helped or hands that helped me?
Would it not be well to carve a hand
...

We enter their final sanctuary
We pass into stark rooms where every wall
Is etched with names, their dates of birth and death,
The latter closely packed in time
...

The tub was quickly filling just like everyday before.
Today, something was different and it burned within my core.

As I was gently lounging, just letting the tub fill
...

The sun tiptoed around the room,
When it entered, I was unaware;
It looked for you on the bed, on the floor,
It was looking everywhere
...

We are the Smart Apes
who rose from the African Plains
who learned to eat meat
and grow large brains;
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A harlequin warrior I am

My weapons...
...

'Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey
Where Wealth accumulates and Men decay.'
So rang of old the noble voice in vain
O'er the Last Peasants wandering on the plain,
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He could see
that she loved him;

no, more like Idol Worship.
...

Thanks for the memory,
For a man; golden history,
Lived a life full of misery,
A true man; soul of ivory,
...

With the silence

That never muttered
...

Through my window pane
I see now the sun rays

as my painting board stands adjacent to the window
...

through out history, it has always been forlorned
through the centuries it has been forwarned
never mess with a woman scorned
payback was what i was taught, revenge was my only thought
...

What an Irony of life
that applies to all
under the sun
from which no one can run
...

Erstwhiles,
of candle-laboured hours and screwed-up eyes,
the quill scratch-scratching, the paper ragged rough, the ink
unwieldy, black and unredeeming
...

Different work of world,
Telling me paradise,
When its totally rubbish,
Telling me heaven, \when its the hell.
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I have reached a time when words no longer
help:
Instead of guiding me across the moors
Strong landmarks in the uncertain out-of-doors,
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Reading my poem 'Nobody and Somebody'
Bri suggested that I write about 1/2 and 1/2 nots
Of course he probably was kidding!
But it inspired me to twist the numeric a bit.
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She is a flower given
in summer time,
full of ocean-ness;
it's vastness swims
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Eat my little dream
Like a forbidden fruit
And tell me
How it tastes like?
...

every message needs
both a clarifying theme
and, an exemplifying diatribe
must describe either infinite beauty
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While children are dying
And parents weeping,
The debate on the causes
Is worrying with illogical nuances....!
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