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Evil Tribute Poems | Evil Poems About Tribute

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

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Details | Dramatic Verse | |

A tribute to Leonora G

~ Yolanda was--her name ~    Featuring:) Leonora Galinta

From a hell storm,
A mighty she-devil took on its form
Like a woman scorn ascending from the sea
Haiyan whipped across the central Philippines,
A deadly typhoon, maximum winds of around 315 
Terrorizing the fragile mind before making landfall
Hitting with the center eye off from her hostility 
A merciless turbulence that came and changed everything

Like a Massive Storm  
She comes in as the wise thief of the day and night, 
In her notorious gust of rage roars in disguise of thunder, 
With the company of her own knight of darkness, 
Raze all in a blast of waves wherever her path crosses, 
Ruining one of the cities down to a devastation in the land
“Pearl of the Orient Seas.” 

A mighty tempest in a woman’s name…. Yet, 
A disgrace with more than an immortal man in strength, 
Nature devouring nature itself 
Including her stewards and stewardesses
An unmerciful encroachment, robbing, killing adults and children. 

Yolanda, so cruel in her evil walloping!
A guest left smiling,
Engraving echoes of tears, from every single mourn
Vain, wicked, and colorless -no other air’s compare 
The lives she stole, one heart at a time
Pouring down the most nauseating rain, 
The pain is dissenting with everyone-- everywhere.
The bully of wind, invading sands of serenity

Unknowingly, far beyond your back----------------------------
Everybody will be summoning up more than your strength- 


:)

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Loud grunting

(Innuendo -- Pigs)

All around are sticks and stone
Feel God's loving arms around you
-----At last, I am redeemed-----

A feast of my soul, you shall receive
A cake for dinner, I made out of stones
Ratchet pigs fill their dirty mouths, 
Consuming my soul, sipping on champagne

At peace with myself, brushing off the walls
Nevertheless, tonight they speak in tongues
-I strain my ears to listen;
While pettitoes approach my page
I hear the squeals, I hear the chit chat
from he/she that wears no shame.
Am I she, the evil one?
The one you penned -
Under the influence of manipulation
Trying to stifle my voice of beauty
No matter, I am crazy, a dreamer
Never claim to be THE INNOCENT, 
The Poet Destroyer!!! 

I ignore the walls when they speak
Nevertheless, tonight they have eyes
They watch my every move
A trotters dance, of togetherness
Forgetting the reason we are here
I will win and conquer my privacy

You can't destroy what you can't see
I am the glory of my day
I am God's pet!!!
A Lamb, wearing white
To others a wolf in disguise
Spitting slithers, swear 
I am the Devil's Advocate
I marvel how they snort at night
Today I will crash the sore whispering party
You! My friend, no longer exist
You are naught more than cobwebs
You will dream about me, write about me
I will give you ammo, then read it from you.
I will show you what a demon is!
Like the light and envy of every moon
I shall ask my reflection and remove
the residue from hogging lips.

I will watch you urbane the truth
The heat and lust I conquer from you
A font with no reflection, dating apples
Heading away from its own advice
A hard task from its quill, enjoying leftovers
Pinpointing fingers among shallow dreams
It's sickening to see pigs pat each others back
Feeding on my demonic words
Convoying innuendos in my bearing
Now it's my turn, to turn the roaster on

With no interest in removing muddy sheets
I shall smile and walk away
In - joy - my heart beats and smiles
Knowing, I made you look  --- AGAIN!!!

By: PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? | |

Breath of a different weather

To Never Breathe Again 


No  breeze in the night-time
The winter weather goes
The heat runs out of sunshine
nobody knows
Summer refuses
Spring is passing a different change
The last fresh air we use
The world's gone strange
The weather's confused
No autumn leaves to rearrange
No whispers in the wind
The air is dry
No pouring in the rain
The storm does not cry
No loudness in thunder
The lightning no longer strikes high
No one then wonders
The answer is why?
The water is not splashing
No clouds in the sky
The weather's not passing
Can the weather just die?
         
  Skat POETRY

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010

Details | Elegy | |

Running

I've trained for this. 
Lungs burning, muscles twitching
as I close in
on the line-
24,25,26.
I see them clearly now-
My wife, my child-
smiling, cheering
as they urge me
through the echoes
of feet smacking
pavement,
through my 
tunneled view of
the victory line,
through my exhaustion,
through my pain.

I've trained for this.
Lungs burning, muscles twitching
as I close in on my targets.
Thousands! There are many!
I can see them clearly now-
a woman, a child-
smiling, cheering
as I slip past
and drop my bags.
And now I am
running
through the 
smoke and through the
screams as runners push
toward the finish line
without legs.

I've trained for this.
Lungs burning, muscles twitching
as I close in
on the scene.
175, 176...
I see them clearly now-
the woman, the child-
lifeless, bleeding
as they urge me
through echoes 
of feet smacking
pavement,
through my
tunneled view of 
torment and death and
I can do nothing but
hold their hand.

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Kingdom Lost

In summertime, the ivy climbs,
and hides the castle wall.
The king dreams of late,
that the sea is so great,
and yet - his boat is so small.
As swift as a fox and
dark as a raven on wing,
seven hundred soldiers march  
into the valley of the king.
Long overdue, a battle ensues
flanking the powers that be.
Children cry, and good men die, 
the monarch is now on his knee…
Soon the horsemen alone 
try to maintain the throne.
But the long way around
is the shortest way home.
The evening is filled
with chaos and smoke,
and the kingdom is 
stunned by it all…
Soon the sun will go down,
and in spite of his crown, 
the king will undoubtedly fall…
His rival’s strength
was mistaken,
by a king overtaken,
his life is now but a pawn.
His authority lifted,
the power has shifted –
an era of glory is gone…
 
 
 

Copyright © Cole Banner | Year Posted 2013

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 | Year Posted 2013

Details | Senryu | |

decay

Death decay dismay
twist the mind honour 
bright open truth

Copyright © Bernard Barclay | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain | |

Good And Evil


...adapted from the novel 'Mr Pye' by Mervyn Peake


Balding and sprightly, he's filled with bold dreams
to make us all happy and free;
he selects as his target a small Channel Island,
a representative sampling of people just like you and me.

All he wants is that folks get along,
without all those disputes and fights,
he tries to bring peace to this sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can sleep nights.

He practises witchcraft to bring them together,
'if it works...' are his words for the day;
a sense of humour is paramount these days
to keep those nay-sayers at bay.

In the midst of these noble endeavours
there's discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.

It seems that his kindness has made him an angel,  
the more he does good the bigger they grow
till they're actually poking right out of his shirt,
my heavens, they're starting to show!

So he counters with bad deeds in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact they're all gone,
he need not create a disguise.

But this scheme that he's started gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been busy negating the good that he's done
he's turned Devil, good gracious! he's torn

between Good and Evil, just what should he do?
he's conflicted and cloaked in disgrace;
he sits down to ponder which way he should turn,
'til it's clear, like the nose on his face.

On the horns of a moral dilemma
he simply gives in to pure Good;
he embraces his people, he loves them so much,
then his wings are full-sprouted; he could

just take to the air and keep flying
as far as infinity goes,
so he bids the assembly a tearful farewell,
his next stop Uranus, who knows?

Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2016

Details | Epic | |

Stop South Africa now

Stop South Africa  now  
The mirror never lie
In your reflection 
Right in front of your eyes
All you see speaks 
that face right in front of your view
Shows who it is you see
So when you look in the 
Mirror 
All you see is you of you

To that king 
Some where in South Africa 
Please look in to the mirror
What you see might make 
You see again 
Remember the mirror don't lie 
After all this words gone wild 
To the minds of hates from you 
To the streets of South Africa
Your face  it speaks 
On the foreigners life's 

To the people of South Africa 
Is good to be your brothers 
Keeper
No injustices in this proverb
So keep back those stones
Oh keep behind all those axe's
Keep away all those bullets and
Guns 
Keep calm and let not your lands
Burn with hate
I thought it already had enough 
Stains of bloods from the times 
Of Mandela 
Oh brother why all this so called 
Xenophobic attack
Oh what a calamity
Sorry I disagree this acts 
For it cross the line of humanity
Oh stop please stop

The mirror never lie 
At the end of the day 
When after you finish 
Killing and destroying 
Then I wonder what 
The mirror tells of that face 
You see right in front of you
If you still have a heart 
You will hear those souls
You slain after you
For the mirror don't lie 
Tell the king I said so!
Richard Nnoli 


Copyright © richard nnoli | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

If We Try To Ask Why

If We Try To Ask Why

It was another plain morning in the mundane business belt
until we felt the day stay still, and we knelt to pray at will.
In the decade since our engrained tranquility was strained,
our prayers have waned, and cooperation was not sustained.
As proof time is trained to be aloof to tears of our grieving,
the babies born to widows, our high schools are now receiving.
And in history books, I fear a new chapter must appear …
Alongside its heavy content, the sheen on serene sheets shall screen
the extent of torment The Event means to they who lament …
Until the day they die, for some, when the autumn sun is high
in the September sky, the past and present run as one:
The scene, never done, repeats; people run; the crowd retreats …
And, where the cloud of carnage meets startled city streets,
the ash painting the panorama underpins
our divine Manhattan skyline mourning her twins … 
If we try to ask why, theologians will explain,
when God grants free will, evil may reign, despite its pain.
My theory, one of many but as good as any,
is that the gist of why a sadist’s bloodlust exists
isn’t to be endeared to God, but feared like God.
Some philosophers pry, “Why was the September sky
a nearly perfect hue of select, pastel blue?”
The poets sigh, “… because on this date the land stayed dry
when the cascade of nearby angels refused to cry;
they came to fixate upon the souls they had to elevate,
and through the demure azure, the dead felt peacefully lead …”
If we heed our ancestors’ lead, never letting faith recede,
the wealth of our prayers might impede the stealth of the slayers,
but if we try to ask why, our first task may be to find
ourselves resigned to God sometimes being disinclined
to thwart an evil mastermind within humankind.

Copyright © Elizabeth Wyler | Year Posted 2015