The stench of puerile self-aggrandizement wafts through the air, a noxious cloud of platitudes and pomp, as the pusillanimous pustules of pseudo-intellectualism congregate to lavish accolades upon one another. How... amusing. The notion that these self-absorbed aesthetes, ye armchair sybarites, consider themselves arbiters of taste and talent, is nothing short of grotesque. And yet, here it persists, leeches on the cadavers of real artistry, perpetuating a vicious cycle of backslapping mediocrity, as they vomit forth oozing saccharine, cliche-ridden tripe, and elevate it to the status of holy scripture. Quaint indeed. The stench of their ignominy is almost... palpable.
How does it feel to know that playing by the rules was your downfall, I said I would be the last poetess standing because I can do: abattoir hymns of crimson vortices shredding the children to rain sanguinary as viscera chunks hail from above. Sorry ai can’t touch me, it would freak out to even read that. I may not have won many contests, but oops. Hehe.
Can you believe it, indicted again,
By a bunch of pure zealots, callous grey men,
Political hacks given the task,
To take down the Don and in the limelight then bask.
Find any cause, invent a good ruse,
Just make it stick, all tricks good to use.
But boxes of stuff, how low can they get,
Papers with socks stacked in the shower, some wet,
All safely collected in my place at the beach,
Easy to find, easy to reach.
Just mere mementos of my time as the Boss,
Not something I’d part with or wantonly toss.
Now they accuse me under some act,
With great media fanfare like milk to a cat,
Gloating, backslapping each other in turn,
Pouring on fuel, hoping I burn.
Little sick people don't they recall
They tried this before and I embarrassed them all.
To be top of news is clearly my ace,
Providing the fame and my favorite space,
For me to then weave my own brand of spin
And just like last time, that got me straight in.
But if this turn they're sure I've been finally licked,
They won't even feel how hard they've been kicked.
The brighter colors are the first to go
as everything first fades to shades of grey
then eventually, to black or white.
Valid reasons come down to yes or no
then questioning to whom it is I pray;
while saying you are wrong and they are right.
Soon, the media put on their game show
feeding biased images day on day
to fan the flames of some unwanted fight.
The bleeding hearts come out with feelings faux
"We're on the side of right," they loudly bray.
Unless, of course, the mood swings overnight.
Soon, milling crowds with placards start to grow
authored, with many worthless things to say.
A self-backslapping, partying campsite.
Among this growing pile of bull guano
the ugly truth of war is cast away
unless it's in a big news anchor's sight.
Oh..without approval, we think we shall
all but die..
Thus, writing comments, till sunrise is
just about all night?
A backslapping poetic troupe some be.
When did the Creator say,” honor each
poet, far more than me? “
These poets, are but Avatars that you
breathed life into.
You know them not, nor do they know you.
A mythical relationship in a poetry zoo!
12/8/2022
In the depths of gloomy memories,
Where shadows dance and light fades,
A tapestry of thoughts unravels,
Some to resolve, some to cherish,
And others, the heart-wrenching stains.
The hours slip away like sand,
A barrelhead of moments to pay,
Eyes filled with love for wife and child,
Scenes of heart's backslapping play,
Thoughts packed tight like sardines,
Some sweet, some bitter, all intertwined.
The days of old, with teardrops shed,
A life's roll marred by pain,
Yet now, scales fall from tired eyes,
No longer deceived, a truth unchained.
In the echo of fading light,
A symphony of memories takes flight,
A cacophony of joy and strife,
A soul laid bare, a dance of life.
The past, a ghost that haunts the mind,
Yet in its grip, a freedom found,
For in these memories, we find our truth,
A journey through the shadows of our youth.
No’s
Talking to themselves in the third person
Detached, separate,
ominous—a stilted nuance that does want to know
Abrupt attention spans lashing out as the deadends foreclose
Cutting back on all the backslapping
Having wanted to believe all the
smooth lies and all that crap brings
Devolver minds snapping
Struggling to get out from under makes denial clear
That hate will only listen to fear
Ground-zero panderers jacked up on anger and lack of reason
Birthers,
churchers,
hardrighters, flinching through all the circumspect treasons
The angryanxiety fringe
A binge of onthemake bumper-sticker values gone rouge
Corrosive
these druthers and their blackface esthetic:
the avarice acumen pathetic
Offish flaws as validation, rage as wisdom
What the No generation has become
A reality TV worldview that sees itself through its swindled delusions
Overmedicated, undereducated—the slander ethic
70%-off prosperity
Nightmare personalities who just don’t get it
Alibiing
the next impulse—gimme now
Rationalizing the next urge—gimme now
Surging the absurd—gimme now
Going for another denial do or die—gimme now