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The Gadfly

1.
All gentle folks who owe a grudge
To any living thing
Open your ears and stay your t[r]udge
Whilst I in dudgeon sing.

2.
The Gadfly he hath stung me sore--
O may he ne'er sting you!
But we have many a horrid bore
He may sting black and blue.

3.
Has any here an old grey Mare
With three legs all her store,
O put it to her Buttocks bare
And straight she'll run on four.

4.
Has any here a Lawyer suit

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poem by John Keats
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Loquacious

this afternoon, i talk a lot, and the more i talk,
the more words flowed from my mouth, the more i become less
of myself,

that is the irony of talking, the more i empty myself of this burden
using words, the lighter i become, the more useless i become of myself,
words and more words,
the more i have of them, the more meaningless my thoughts have become

and they who are listening have become more silent than ever,
i know, their minds are somewhere else, and i know that they know
that there is this spirit in front of them so restless,
wriggling like a worm, jumping like a horse, flapping like a bird

wanting to get rid of something: the fruit wanting to be free from the worm,
the horse from a gadfly, and the bird from the pricking flea....

what else can they say? they must have been saying.
we perfectly understand, we have been there, we were once a fruit
with a worm in our pulp, a horse with a gadfly in our tail,

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I am a kamikaze gadfly.

quote by Mo Rocca
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For Those Who Have Not Read

for those who have not read his work
he reminded them that he is the gadfly
that bit the complicated ass of Plato's cow

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Salman Rushdie

Intrepid gadfly;
the voice of dissent.
Multiple times stricken,
multiple times resolved.
Though he bleeds,
still the pen that chides never bleeds,
nor is it obliterated.
For three decades and four,
death he evaded,
still, multiple times stricken,
evasive he remains.

poem by Joseph C Ogbonna (19 August 2022)
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A Softie moves smoothly

It's an early gloomy morning.
And it seems Sun forgets to rise!
The single's door is open.
A black cat mewls on the doorstep
And a gadfly enters and stays for a while.
The next door maiden comes in to give the newspaper.
You can hear a faint cry inside the house
And the penniless old man is no more.
He belongs to the pauper's graveyard
And the funeral is over quietly.
The doleful maiden writes a memorandum.
'At last he left leaving the black cat his will for me.'

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Sonnet 10

I have sought Happiness, but it has been
A lovely rainbow, baffling all pursuit,
And tasted Pleasure, but it was a fruit
More fair of outward hue than sweet within.
Renouncing both, a flake in the ferment
Of battling hosts that conquer or recoil,
There only, chastened by fatigue and toil,
I knew what came the nearest to content.
For there at least my troubled flesh was free
From the gadfly Desire that plagued it so;
Discord and Strife were what I used to know,
Heartaches, deception, murderous jealousy;
By War transported far from all of these,
Amid the clash of arms I was at peace.

poem by Alan Seeger
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Eclectic Poems Glow

Eclectic entries express emotion, effectively ensure enjoyment examined everywhere.
Controlled creative content cancels coarse, crude, cantankerous chit-chat. Chasing
Lines listless, lakadaisical, lively loquatious lilts lifting
Enthusiasm. Energy engenders empathy, extraordinary elation.
Conservative chromatic contexts challenge, contest, creation -
Threads thinking tough, tender, through thoughtful triumph thesis tasting
Idyll's ideal interprets ideas. Impressive is intense inspired imagination,
Considered cameo canvas crafting convivial conversation.

Precocious placid poet's playful phrasing placates persnickety problem people
Offering online overture's operatic oscillation opening onto ovation.
Entertaining exercise, ensuring extra enchanting enjoyment
May mock morose melancholy, making musical man, maid, merry.
Sound stanzas sound splendiferous, sensing serendipity
Glow, granting glee. Gentleman gently garners golden goblet, gainsays gadfly giddy gaudy gesticulation.

(9 February 2007)

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Arab Songs

I. THE PARROT AND THE FALCON
MY Afghan poet-friend
With this made his message end,
'The scroll around my wall shows two the poets have known
The parrot and falcon they
The parrot hangs on his spray,
And silent the falcon sits with brooding and baleful eyes.

Men come to me : one says
'We have given your verses praise,
And we will keep your name abreast of the newer names;
But you must make what accords
With poems that are household words
Your own: write familiar things; to your hundred add a score.'

My friend, they would bestow
Fame for a shadow-show,
And they would pay with praise for things dead as last year's leaves.
But I look where the parrot, stilled,
Hangs a head with rumours filled,

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poem by Padraic Colum
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The Odyssey: Book 22

Then Ulysses tore off his rags, and sprang on to the broad
pavement with his bow and his quiver full of arrows. He shed the
arrows on to the ground at his feet and said, "The mighty contest is
at an end. I will now see whether Apollo will vouchsafe it to me to
hit another mark which no man has yet hit."
On this he aimed a deadly arrow at Antinous, who was about to take
up a two-handled gold cup to drink his wine and already had it in
his hands. He had no thought of death- who amongst all the revellers
would think that one man, however brave, would stand alone among so
many and kill him? The arrow struck Antinous in the throat, and the
point went clean through his neck, so that he fell over and the cup
dropped from his hand, while a thick stream of blood gushed from his
nostrils. He kicked the table from him and upset the things on it,
so that the bread and roasted meats were all soiled as they fell
over on to the ground. The suitors were in an uproar when they saw
that a man had been hit; they sprang in dismay one and all of them
from their seats and looked everywhere towards the walls, but there
was neither shield nor spear, and they rebuked Ulysses very angrily.
"Stranger," said they, "you shall pay for shooting people in this way:
om yi you shall see no other contest; you are a doomed man; he whom

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poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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