Sarcastic Poems

AS I sat alone, by blue Ontario's shore,
As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace return'd, and the dead
that return no more,
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LARA. [1]

CANTO THE FIRST.
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Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Was reminded of Daphne, of whom it was made,
For the god being one day too warm in his wooing,
She took to the tree to escape his pursuing
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HOW oft has sounded whip and wheel,
How oft is buckled spur to heel,
How many a steed in short relay
Stands harnessed on the king's highway,
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2nite at dinner, i was being rude...making fun of the food...
i was being sarcastic and nasty
iwas talking over people, mimicking them, being sassy
and once we got home, you got the courage to confront me...
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BRIGHT was the summer's noon when quickening steps
Followed each other till a dreary moor
Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top
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My country, tis of thee,
Sweet land of felony,
Of thee I sing, -
Land where my fathers fried
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Sandoval. You loved the daughter of Don Manrique?
Earl Henry. Loved?
Sandoval. Did you not say you wooed her?
Earl Henry. Once I loved
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The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord--
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The winds
of Heaven

like God’s wrath
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My enemy has died.
I am very sad today
he was the only enemy I could identify.
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I'm sin,
and i wear a mask with it.(real)

I wear painted on tears
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By the dry road the fathers cough and spit,
This is their room. They are the ones who hung
That bloody sun upon the southern wall
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Whene'er I poke
Sarcastic joke
Replete with malice spiteful,
The people vile
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A true episode,
When I came to Bombay,
Just after my graduation in Kerala,
I was an innocent twenty year old
...

Now mirk December's dowie face
Glours our the rigs wi' sour grimace,
While, thro' his minimum of space,
The bleer-ey'd sun
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Gracious and lovable and sweet,
She made his jaded pulses beat,
And made the glare of streets grow dim
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You may think from the title
That this is a sarcastic poem
But really, I do love my job! !
...

The Other Night I got the blues and tried to smile in vain.
I couldn’t chuck a chuckle at the foolery of Twain;
When Ward and Billings failed to bring a twinkle to my eye,
I turned my eyes to Hansard of the fifteenth of July
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I sometimes sit beneath a tree
And read my own sweet songs;
Though naught they may to others be,
Each humble line prolongs
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first [sarcastic] 'thought experiment' tanka to George Berkeley's ghost

if one-ton bombs fall
on housing blocks, but no Israeli's there
...

Wednesday morning, August 21, 2024 at 9: 16 a.m.; Tuesday morning, August 27th at 10: 28 a.m. and Wednesday morning, August 28, 2024 at 6: 26 a.m.

—This poem is for Ashley Testerman, a woman friend of mine whose company I enjoy, but who sometimes has a bad sense of timing, is very sarcastic at times, and brings up topics I care not to discuss—i.e. the police—over glasses of white wine in a local park on a regular basis as she studies Japanese language with me. She does, however, put up with my long conversations about poetry and poets, and professional soccer in Europe, especially in the Premiere League in England …
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He was a Lofty Sudanese SAF soldier, he came to a halt in the battles, and he hollered as the shuttlecocks left the skyline; he came to a halt with his companions and soldiers to stick up the country, he was honorable and struggler.

SAF soldier fighting for the hopefulness of this beloved homeland Sudan, for he used to say I'm a palatial SAF soldier, he used to stand on fixed ground and fight back for Sudan's glory, for he used to say, I'm a deep-rooted Sudanese SAF struggler.
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Who are you when no body is watching?
Are you the same sarcastic girl, or you are just fragile?

Are you the one that's alwaise smiles and nice to everyone,
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Chris goes to the discos
And she's 63
She closes her eyes in paradise and pretends it's 83
The kids on their phones
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After a period of self-assessment,
I'm trying to be a better person.

I want to be more patient, not just ferociously busy.
...

i do not have a
string attached,
or
the strings theory.
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A word of praise for you dies on my lips
Before I give birth to a despicable lie
Words better left unspoken, a mere token
Another phrase with soft sarcastic drips
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Jester's

great art!
...