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Evil Flower Poems | Evil Poems About Flower

These Evil Flower poems are examples of Evil poems about Flower. These are the best examples of Evil Flower poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Alliteration | |

The Flower -part two-

-The Tree of Life- 

Featuring: Casarah Nance
 ~~I am beautiful on the inside you will see~~
   ~But really I am just a tree in the woods.~
  
Beauty found within a tree that sits, and does not speak 
Owning, up to the heavens, come look at, when ready 
Just stop, admire, count your blessings, 
 enjoy the raven staring down at you
For this tree was not planted by a gardener, 
This tree, who needs, not to speak, draws true auspice air, 
Not like the gardener who planted a garden, 
 then got annoyed by the smallest of weeds 
This is a story, about a gardeners mockery, 
 after trying to cut down my Pecan Tree
 Hypocrite the farmer, 
 does not know the first thing when it comes to flora
Plant sources, that only grow in as weeds, (poor crops)
 a picture not even God, sets his eyes upon

I forbid, the thirsty growers from coming, 
 when putting up or wanting to gossip and speak of my roots
Look how they lose their lower leaves,
 from over embracing each thorn 
Take heed the whispers of these filthy propagators, 
 at my windows & doorsteps, Shh, they are watching!
Peeping-Tomming, robbing from my bluebonnet bed, 
 while in a deep sleep counting sheep
Wake-up, and Click away, 
 the dandelions are gone, airborne into a fuller universe
From the hunger, I left behind, 
 since jealous eyes envied how high my beanstalk continues to rise
Smile, at the yellow wool, held out by the same green thumb gang, 
 whine when others succeed,
Patting one another on the back, 
 as if they were the National FFA Organization
Grazers growing superfast- crowfoot grass, a bitter look, 
 found in their dead pedal path
Horticulturist, all alone, on the inside, growing bushes of lies, 
 contaminated vase, black roses
I can't endure participating in a dead stem convention, 
 when the seed-woman cries for care
Exposing an over watered garden, 
 hoarding clodhoppers grin, separating everything
The potential of plowed plants, are nothing more than corrupt cactus, 
 and invasive plant species in disguise,
Proof they don't know the first thing when cultivating the perfect flowers,
A die hard moment- 
Not even the sun wants to climb up on the side of the landscape of falsehood
Sickened by the holes and yellow stains of dust and dirt, 
 broken by the Farmer and torn overalls
By daylight, the gardener lives kneeling, tending the greenhouse, of lies
By nighttime, the grower, swallows, by singing and tossing salads all night.

The Tree, continues to grow,
The Gardner Cries

BY:PD
A challenge by: Susan Burch ( a SORTA slam ) 
Inspired by: my poem "THE FLOWER"
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=461238
~FOR CONTEST~  Dedicated to: Nathan 

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Epic | |

The Emperor, and the holy man

The Emperor and the holy man

Once, a long, long time ago
There lived an Emperor
He had conquered half the world
He couldn’t be worshipped more
And everyone within his realm
They done what he did say
For each knew that to disobey him
Could mean his dying day.

One day this Emperor did decide
To sail to India
He’d heard about those holy men
And the tales in him did stir
A lot of curiosity 
He decided he would go
And find one, then bring him back home
He had a need to know.

Romanda was a holy man
He’s deeds were legendary
He never wore no clothes at all
And everyone could see
That he was someone very special
Many had seen his power
And they knew that time with him
Could bring one’s soul to flower

The Emperor sent some men to find
That holy man, did he
He told them bring that Guru back
Deliver him to me
So off they went to do his will
But Romando he refused
He said your man must come to me
Those soldiers were confused!

The Emperor, he was upset 
He found that holy man
He offered him jewels and, and money too
And he did not understand
When our hero turned him down again
He drew his sword on him
It didn’t look good for the holy man
That Emperor looked grim!

Romanda told the Emperor
“My friend, chop off my head
If this is what you’re bound to do
But you won’t kill me dead
I left this body years ago
You cannot kill what’s not
Oh, you may kill this shell I’m in
But that’s not worth a lot.

He said ‘why do you conquer
Don’t you know, it’s a disease?
When you have conquered everything
Will you then be at ease
Put your sword away, my friend
Don’t be so childish now
Know you a man who says he’s great
He really has no power”.

The Emperor was beaten by
A naked, unarmed man
The great man? Stood there foolishly
He did not understand
How this man was unafraid
He’d never glanced within
Great Emperors, they only know
The mind and all its din.

12 September 2013@1835hgrs.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Light Poetry | |

You Do Not Know Me

Dark angels dance overhead
Storm clouds swirl within my head
Smiles are the veils of hidden thoughts
Tormented souls question not what is not

Ile St Louis, a swamp of nighttime beasts
Where soon poets shall roam
All that changed, the darkness kept the same
Only evil flowers dare to grow here

I was born in the comfort of a weeping nurse
Soon bestowed to the gallows underneath
For life passed by, and left me to ponder
The horror and madness within my dreams

You kiss my lips
Passions kiss you think frees me
From the darkness where I reside
St Louis is but far off from our romps

The play, maybe a muse on a past romance
Our flirt but a dance with history
You don’t know me
For I was born in the dark

As love ripens, we turn to grapes
The evening becomes our escape
Tiss you who have drowned me
In Seine, is where I rest

You don’t know me
My lover and killer
As I float away
From l'ile St Louis


Footnotes:

This poem is truly Edgar Allen Poe! Ile St Louis is the smaller of 2 islands in Paris on the Seine. It used to be swampland and crazing for cows, and in fact was the original Paris. Of course it was later developed, and many a famous persons have lived there, one being,  Charles Baudelaire  a French poet, whom is famous for a few things, the first being his poetic works called “ Fleur du Mal “   ( Flowers of Evil ) and thus the line in my poem “Only evil flowers dare to grow here”.  However Charles Baudelaire also discovered the works of Edgar Allen Poe and proceeded to translate Poe’s works into French. 

In Seine, is where I rest, well what can I say, I am insane, and thus this is one of my favorite lines!! :) As for Ile St Louis, I can only say, in Canada it is truly and island all alone!

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Personification | |

Devil looks in the mirror

Sin is what covers the devil's skin... lies on his grin that hides from within. Evil that drips from his 
chin... grows a flower from the soil deep within a cloud from hell. Growing a flower with an evil 
scent, turns the soil in a cloud darker then ever... making our grey skies that we have today.

Copyright © Anderson Torres

Details | Rhyme | |

A Spiritually Wilted Wild Flower

Life has thrown dirt on me, and I grew a wild flower.
A demon's knife cuts into my spirituality, and I watch my soul be devoured.
Open Bibles lay on my night stands, I keep crosses hanging over each bed.
In my mind I'm wondering wastelands, and I feel like the walking dead!

The emotional scars can't seem to heal, and I search frantically for a way out.
I know Satan is looking for a soul to steal, and so he challenges me to a 12 round bout!
He throws all my weaknesses at me; not one or two, but all at one time.
I indulge in adultery, pick up a gun, inhale some cocaine residue, and set out to commit a 
crime!

His evil punches right through me, gripping my heart, and twisting it from side to side.
An upheaval crashes into my reality, tearing my world apart, pushing me closer to suicide!
He keeps a band of demons in my head, and they're doing pushups and jumping jacks in my 
mind.
Tear stained cheeks from tears I've shed, and his attacks have left me mentally blind.

Out of the blue, I have a sudden desire to fight back.
I wipe away the cocaine residue, for in my chest the fire feels like a shot of cognac!
I pull my fiery sword from my spiritual backpack, and get in my battle stance.
Like bombs over Iraq, me and the devil begin to violently dance.
It is a dance of death, and I am determined to survive!
I refuse to let this entity take my last breath, and so my will kicks in to overdrive!

The blows from this devil staggers me, and I feel uneasy on my feet.
My sword begins to glow with a hot fury, and I can feel my hammering heartbeat.
I begin to shake with rage, and gripping my sword I go berserk.
This devil had all the powers of a battle mage, but I let my blade do the work!

Spiritually, mentally, I slice and dice this demonic foe.
I will not be this entities sacrifice, for I'm the last heir of Edgar Allen Poe.
I'm gaining spiritual momentum, but I refuse to stop.
As I destroy this devils evil system, I continue to conquer life's mountain top!

Suddenly this evil is banished in a puff of black smoke, never to be seen again.
I remove my blood soaked black cloak, and I feel as if I'm finally purged of my sin.
I now thirst for a new beginning, and the taste of life is sweet and sour.
A former loser, now focused on winning, and no longer am I a wilted wild flower!!

Copyright © Jimmy Anderson

Details | Classicism | |

Evil Underneath Beauty

Red like the blood
that flows through your veins
Sharp like the knife
You stabbed in my back
The evil hides underneath its beauty
Just like the person
I knew once before
You are a rose
A red rose
With a new meaning
The evil hides
Underneath its beauty

Copyright © Lizzie Maestas