This week let’s write a poem about a ruffian. Last week, our very own JeanMarie Olivieri sent me 22 Charming Words for Nasty People. I recognized several of the terms (having been addressed as such at various points in my life) but there were still plenty on this list to add to my vocabulary so pick out one or two of your own to adopt and write a poem. Don’t be a self-smellfungus or anonymuncule and post your work in the comments below.
Living Poetry 
Thank you Bartholomew. Just a silly poem that somehow turned dark all on its own.
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Posted by GypsieWolf2014 | September 18, 2021, 8:56 PMRuffian Am Not!
Response to Monday poetry prompt
Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
A puffin is not a ruffian at heart
Neither is a penguin
and definitely not a startled
starlings start
A puppy can be one
unable to know
the difference between
a playful pat or a ruffians blow
Polar bear cubs
love to play rough in the snow
Bouncing and trouncing
but of course we all know
The one to watch
for out in that cold tundra
is Mama’s Bears ire
she’ll put you six feet under
A rabbit, a deer,
an old one eared fox
even the meanest of mean
great antlered ox
Know nothing of man
of his needs and his wants
until that big shotgun
tears out their guts
Then when they run
across mountains and more
each docile sweet beast
All ruffians galore
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Posted by GypsieWolf2014 | September 18, 2021, 8:09 PMLove the first line! Great work, even the penultimate stanza which is quite sad.
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 18, 2021, 8:54 PMHey, watch your back, friend
you wanna be sure she’s not a backfriend
don’t blame the demons of triviality or rum
she has the knife in her purse, right next to her gum
She’s demure, enticing, manipulative behind the scenes
has been known to nest with the best for lessening
to gain her own dreams
Watch out for the backfriend
she’s truly a hack friend, when
in this life you will find her waiting on the tables
while crunching the figures of your life
for her own personal gain
Ask me about those wounds
I don’t carry a knife
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Posted by Lisa Tomey | September 17, 2021, 4:55 PMVery nice! I really like the second stanza and am impressed you got some rhymes in there. Well done!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 17, 2021, 7:22 PMThank you
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Posted by Lisa Tomey | October 1, 2021, 8:51 AMNice job Lisa!
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Posted by JeanMarie | September 25, 2021, 12:52 AMThank you
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Posted by Lisa Tomey | October 1, 2021, 8:48 AMLikeLiked by 1 person
Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 13, 2021, 9:01 PMMother of a Ruffian
She had never met a genuine ruffian,
such was her sheltered life.
But life without story is a meager state
so she read the books which told the tales
Of brutal men fought and vanquished
and believed them countervailed,
for where were the ruffians now?
In foreign lands, tyrannical states, in
rogue armies and robber kings.
Most were followed and even loved
by their minion hirelings,
as in ruffian loves ruffian.
She made the bed and mopped the floor
and remembered her home-grown ruffian
he was 24 inches tall, still in diapers.
Mornings he stood on the stairs
surveying his kingdom below.
Good morning, she murmured.
He thought a moment
then raised fists beside his rumpled head,
took a fighting stance and said:
I am a wough and tough babarwian!
I see, she said, and scooped him up.
Barbarians though wild and free,
are lightweight enough when
not yet three.
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Posted by ts19page | September 13, 2021, 9:10 AMAww!
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Posted by JeanMarie | September 13, 2021, 4:21 PMWhen I grow up, I want to be a babarwian. Fun poem. Thanks for sharing!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 13, 2021, 7:19 PMThank you!
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Posted by ts19page | September 14, 2021, 7:34 AM