Below are the all-time best Paul Knight-Kirby poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members
The sparkle of insanity, a mirror of colour.
A delusion of grandeur sailed in a mast of dazzling eyes to make a meal of mankind.
The pretentious material created to incite the imagination, to gift again from its external and invisible eyes.
The multitude of colours come again, surprisingly changing within slight movements. Never static.
Like the rainbow, its mother, filtered through its sharp edges ever so gentle but incumbent.
The relation of captivation with the precious jewels of earth created in the beginning but such little girth.
Like grains of sand, it is born; used on paper faces, even the dead.
A subtle object, aloof and bypassed by many.
A subconscious youth like raindrops in the brain.
A familiarity, a conformity caressing the tips of thought.
Never there but always here.
An object of mankind, taken advantage of its seemly unlimited supply.
Children play innocently with it, while adults use it to woe the victim into a deeper state of arousing confusion.
An extra device to dilute reason.
I am impartial to your conclusion.
GLOW OF GLITTER POETRY Contest
swirling gases monster clusters of floating rock, black-holes and supernova's the pinnacle
Of all imagination living magic void from adaptation or joint celebration
gravity's fabric cuddling the weight of all creation
spinning in numb service for the unknown purpose
the cornucopia of wonder and fear.
Will the mind even conjure the wisdom of thou
desperately waiting for reason,seeking out
or shall we ever wallow in worn theory
waiting for a trained genius to add to this story
or will death allow the cheat giving us our comforting complete
or will we retreat back to logic's feet and find we are nothing
but a miraculous accident all bacteria, atom's just freaks
either way it's magic and welcome when in nothing
the smashing of need the screaming of invention and happening
the living painting ever added and deleted, ever made and forgotten
consumed and cemented dancing pattern each to their own
but every conclusion the same the black hole and we are again.
Mankind has been persecuted, slaughtered, raped, pillaged, enslaved, taxed and under tyranny since time immemorial battles have been fought physical religious and verbal and what greater has sufficed from such noble struggles second to none would be the common sense of the American colonial lit upon the shores of the new found wealth an open land of nature worshipping muttered upon the dirt now the empire building nation with its obscure technology and obscure idea’s come manifest it’s destiny upon weary ears poor natives who now live under the Anglo-Saxon sphere poor natives who were given the ringing of bells laughter and cheers of punters that drool around the cathedral of neon lights and free beers
Given the choice would they have traded that for the hush sounding swaying of trees and cries of wolves who live among them the otters the beavers to reindeers
Blessed are those who have ushered the knowledge of genocide for so many years
But when man has reached he’s step and was given the chance to read. he founded his deepest principle he’s most noble and desired needs in the vast continent and empire of the United States beauty and truth behold those men of 1776 leading the world from its canopy of tears and taking their fathers ideas and strife’s and putting to battle what we all know is right a self-evident cause a infused sense of time has come. The providence of mankind is now and one cracks of muskets screams and bayonets blood soaked mud deeper than the darkest claret such compassion confounds the senses what a special great nation it was back then
Why did the American trade it’s prairies and untouched heaven and replace it with concrete and the grotesque to build a land for the few to build a farm of financial gain chasing the dollar without it the insane left on the concrete street all bruised battered and in-flamed the land of the ‘free’ the land of plenty silenced never to explain why such beautiful principles lived then and haven’t lived again all beings all one all equal the real American idea understood then maybe a genetic longing built in the history of the soul lost through the mix of peoples who came after the story had been told and didn’t live to it’s meaning or failed to understand that America’s beginning was the American conclusion to these ghastly awful solution and situations we found ourselves in today don’t copy the oppressors be the world’s hero again.
Modern day Empire
The same as old,
Man doesn't really have time
Just Inventions and different clothes
Still craving our nature the two split purpose,
Consumption and reproduction
All else is conjuring vanity,
An evolving Microchip of lost perception, a tinted clarity
Yet we entrapped ourselves into diamond cast solutions,
Being compounded by every grasp that meets ear, eye and touch
Never forget the truth bearing lust,
that feeling of innerness that splinter-hair precision awareness
And ask the question you've subconsciously locked away
Why are you being and what are the aims?
And then at that moment your shell will fall apart
so remind yourself of the real truth the binds mind and heart,
and roam among your ancestors in the lyceum of endless fascination
in one's mighty reflection and complacence
I wonder through the maze of time
Gazing upon every century,
Leading me astray along the
fascinating array of cobbled roads
beer soaked corners, and freshly
It's unique charm unified by the
usual hustle of most western cities,
Though standing firm in multitudes
of admirational plenty, an opera of
reality singing loud in silent
Conventional though complex, a
rock drowning weight of human
creativity, sitting in invincible unity,
Among the swarms of dust beaten
around by endless activity, a oiled
engine forever purring, forever
working, with inexhaustible duty,
A machine never ceasing, never
Awaiting the next flow of eyes, every
minute landing onto her from the
A elixir of life ever changing under
the burden of existence, saying
'hello' to the morning sun the
routine of innocence among the
Divided completely though together
I once owned a uniform that shone in pride
The polished brass, creases and lines
An army of friends and civilian respect
I marched upon every street, placed every laureate
The glowing admiration, the tireless market
Of gazing faces that sung even to the heartless
Badgered by memories that I couldn’t forget
Now withered and worn the years of regret
My mental battle the suffering toll of silence
No English I could mouth about the raw entirety
Flashbacks of the wars supplying me
But I sit a cluster of before
My battlefield a daily occurrence of aimlessly wandering
In routine emergence, of seeking cigarette butts borrowing more time and beer
To drown out the battle none but mine could hear
I clamber from bush broken sunlight, coughing up
The empty sobriety of reality
Just a used device, a human resource
Hoodwinked and lead noosed in ignorant obligation
Never-ending instigation from mind emancipation
From this dumb-founded degree of humiliation
Drunken laughter upon this man once bold
Pissing on the soul
And soles of my ragged boots, I couldn’t maintain or even hold
Completely neglected by all I did serve
Now served by a starvational solitude
A face that none could remember, a shadow of my youth
Just aloof wandering every day until my feet give up from the holes in my boots
Until I drop dead like the rest of the ‘glorious dead’
Should have been left with a rifle on a battlefield proper
Something my mind could accept, something I would now offer.
Who would care and would begin to wonder
Who these men were and why in such slumber
After-all I am just a homeless soldier
Bang, Bang, Bang
The cracks in my ears
Run,run,gone the silhouette of my peers
My boots are sandals of mud, moulded like baked pastry
Time, time, time, was the beating of my thought
March, march, march, were my orders of before
Now the battle smoke has cleared and my heart can feel no more
Strains of my friends leave memories upon this ground
Like ripped soggy tissue, all around
And I am alone, too scared to make sound
Too much realization too young to know
What things I could be doing and what things I should bestow
What sights I should of seen and what has tarnished the in-between
The passive reacting cold has taken my future, blemished the soul
Young,young,young was the age of us all
Kill, blood, kill was all we had in store
Rapid swirling deaf I see the blood inside
I’ve taken one round and I’ll never survive
I can see a rain drop roaming down this rock
It’s the last vision to understand this life I still have got
It’s harmonic stature it’s peaceful rot
And here is my end I cannot grip a stare
I cannot effort my fingers I know I must be dying, seconds to bare
I don’t know what to do but I am not crying
It’s getting hard to breathe I cannot feel my toes
I can hear my mother calling, I muster a smile
I am surrounded by the loved ones escalating mile upon mile
A final push of effort understood as folly
Yawn, gasp, then death has taken me to dark
I’ll miss a many faces; I’ll never ride my bike
I’ll never kiss those soft lips or feed a little guy
I’ll never enjoy those things I’ve always lived to buy
And I’ll never know the future as I am far too young to die
We the victim's of incompetence
We the pawns of vain experiments
Imprisoned by oligarchic, social engine.
Our pains, reflected by gluttonous pride.
Fermenting in black boil bubbling greed
Modern slavery in it's prime, glistening
like polished diamond shine.
All pretentious, phoney entrapment,
lurking through time, the ideal system,
for a criminal eye, the perfect crook,
filtered on a system it built, it impressed,
and we undertook, now just mere
Upon the ladder of fingers,
The shadow composer casting the melody
of subjugated illusion, laughing at ease,
gazing upon their resolution.
A famine of needs and desires, tortured
by the selected lot, who mock as we rot,
in the mould around the bars of our cot.
The misleading consequence of
innocence, of ignorance, of vulnerability.
The digital web of deception, ripples in
shuddered glee, it's next victim
screaming, and then hushed silently
among those chambers of conformity, an
commodity given a number and then
freed, for some years.
Next it's taught to adhere to the
requirement of 'our' society,
Pushed through any resistance,
Your ADD, labeled and branded for all to
see, your defunct from a higher form, an
acceptable sense of reality, the easier
chores of slavery,
and less material distraction, an extra
In the sinister sweating perversion,
The passive exodus that moves in night
and day excursions, fossiled in a lava of
We are the lost Generation on a path we
cannot see, in a destiny that isn't you and
Though we be apart, our memories
The adolescent folly, the hilarious
Quarrels easily eroded, by our
The envy of the town, gallantly
parading about to the awe, jealousy,
the men of inspirational, influential
We were the boys of England, the
golden spurs sparking the culture,
England's oak swaying herd our
spirit resting in the dreams of
monarch the meridian of hope,
Rests on the flight of freedoms
You were my children and I your
son, and now we go into the mist of
the future, each to each own leaving
the light of each other in the heart
of independence, and it came to
past, my duty to you my hidden art
And with urning I wish to see a
reunion to come with more
laughter, happiness passing the sun
morning till morning, until that time
when we say goodbye and climb
that line learning our meaning and
passing the clouds of journey and
pride, remember my brothers my
friends of mine no matter how far
No matter what difficulties embrace
our track, iam with you ghost or fact
Perilous addiction hell bent completion deluded cohesion.
Negative infusion feathered motion, spiraling down like a crispy weathered October leaf.
Faded grasp like the winter sun in vision the same but a difference so vast
The echo of mankind never seldom to my ear, peace of mind never at cheer
Bellows and bellows of screaming lucid thought crippled by the same resort.
Wonky leg like a wonky chair bruised battered weakened and loose escaping like vaporing air.
The ripple of contained liquid just slight but a mystery to the mass I am inclined
Coned, padded, shut away, forgotten, a pressed particle of cigarette ash in a dormant
Noticed by a moment of dust filled beams of light, exhilarating in such short time
Gone again like black from night the acute jest of life, smashed glass left and unoccupied
The heart so cold like bitter urine in survival mode soggy chip squashed under foot nobody cares
Nobody’s good. Lost in a cold shockwave of pain thrown to shore different than any other
Too alien to mention too slain to fear a wondrous maze of capital esteem stagnant in movement
Pointless art all curved and pointless oh where I am and oh where do I start.
Can I awake can I resound is this reality or is it just another calamity. Insanity gone beyond
No track to unravel stability of the foundational start, just a implosion of art.