Best Abhorrent Poems
in the fervour of my sweat
sheets drenched
i wake to the toxic bellow of my own voice
in the torment of my own thoughts
in the complexity of my simple life
i lay eyes swollen wide open
in the measure of hours set aside for sleep
overwhelmed by recent events
i struggle with the haunting of their potential outcome
in the exaggeration of my emotional outpour i bleed tears
dry to the air of the night
i shrivel like a plum under light
so this is what it is like
to be a prey to grief
an abhorrent internal pain
i forget its feel when it is gone
i remember its feed when it is here
bent
out of sorts
barely able to walk
i return to the inferno of my now
quiet
i keep my affliction private and unassuming
Feb 28 2016
armand
Categories:
abhorrent, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
BS ON PS
The attitude of some folk I find quite abhorrent
Poets shouldn’t be guilt tripped into leaving a comment
No one knows what is going on in our life
depression or illness that’s causing us strife
Tragic loss of a pet, family member or friend
or awaiting a life coming close to an end
Maybe marital trouble has knocked them of course
and sadly they're going through a complicated divorce
Perhaps the poet is enjoying a luxury cruise
or maybe they’ve lost their much treasured muse
As a child I was taught, as I recall
to say something nice or nothing at all
I'll not lie saying a poem was well done
just to leave a comment for someone
So why are some 'sheeple' so quick to condemn
and stir the soup pot by causing more mayhem?
LET ER RIP #3 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
06/27/21
Categories:
abhorrent, anti bullying, life, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
A Slow Hand, Deep Thoughts And True Pen
Each time I write of my crashed hopes and dreams
mind falls into black-depths, sends cold shivers.
Tempted to falsely praise my misdeeds and schemes
I return to my vow, embracing realm of true givers.
Such leaning towards positive and the good
once was abhorrent, not in my prideful style.
When lightning bolts struck me as they should
I found my life was a massive rubbish pile.
With pen and paper I then sought truth to tell
of life, love, loss and darkness once embraced.
O' yes, I did not hide my parades in hell
nor innocent young life I once so disgraced.
Years flew by and age gave its usual aches
far too oft, I swore to give my poetry up.
Darkness whispered, take well deserved breaks
porch lounge sit, empty thy hot coffee cup.
Ah, but my muse, she heard and was not amused
up she bolted, screaming like a raving banshee.
Reminded me of my past, my life I had so abused
what a coward I would be if I now sought to flee.
Pen in hand and regretful of my wasted past
I write to send some light and truth boldly tell.
Praying some good comes, a few words may last
redeem myself from youthful days dancing in hell.
8-21-2017
( Seek to do good and watch as darkness flees )
Categories:
abhorrent, art, creation, life, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
Dear Emily, 'the Recluse of Amherst'
In my university days, you burned in me
As a dazzling flame of endless inspiration.
As I sit to write to you, your soul in its depth I see
And it speaks to me, still giving endless motivation.
Your concise and crisp musings, penned years ago,
Continue to light poetic sparks in my soul.
Your poetry is like a whispered secret still aglow
As a recluse, you hid yourself. From the crowd you stole.
Your poems give a glimpse into the workings of your heart
Your thoughts, bold and subtle speaks directly to me.
As I think of you, through my mind, emotions of awe dart.
Staying aloof, you watched nature and animals closely.
In your poems, you elevated the mundane to the sublime.
‘If I could Stop one Heart from Breaking’_
This poem, stays immortal in all time.
Your musings on life and nature are breathtaking.
Dear Emily, you shouldn’t have hidden your light,
Like a lamp under the bushel. Sad, your poems you buried,
Abhorrent of publicity, but posthumously came into limelight.
Now across oceans and tides, they are avidly ferried.
Categories:
abhorrent, appreciation, inspiration, poetess,
Form:
Rhyme
Written: August 02, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
***************
In the slipshod cradle beneath the apple tree,
a bruised fruit folds ajar—
molten sweet sapidity pooling
through velvet skin.
Eviscerated grace, they say,
but I grasp the quiddity of life unmasked.
A burnt sienna kiss of aurora—
flesh undulating with fungal bloom,
wispy gossamer threads that stitch
the inevitable return to the earth.
It is not ruined.
It is a transformation:
a diaphanous ballet
between death and what dreams may grow.
We ogle brightness,
but rot is brighter still—iridescent with purpose,
alabaster spores pirouetting as sylphlike specters
on a sacred odyssey to placate
the starving soil.
It is seraphic.
It is a panacea.
It is quintessence made humble.
Rapture lies in this ineffable nexus—
decay whispers loud as a lullaby.
The rakish grubs maunder through
a velvet pyre of rind and memory,
and the loquacious beetle sermonizes
on endings as beginnings,
as though time had a gullet
And rot was its sweetest wine.
Call it grotesque.
Call it abhorrent.
But beauty—true, ineffable beauty—
wears many masks.
And in these nebulous throes of perishing,
I watch a face burnished by truth,
smiling with roots in its eyes.
Categories:
abhorrent, analogy,
Form:
Free verse
a memorial in time
bring it down
bring it down
a testament to bravery
bring it down
bring it down
a witness to chivalry
bring it down
bring it down
a monumental beauty
bring it down
bring it down
a statue turned gargoyle
bring it down
bring it down
I'll bring it down
this monument of words
this epic work of art
with hammer and chisel
with my bare hands
with my fingers torn
with my heart worn
I'll bring it down
I'll bring it down
Down to the ground
This abhorrent thing
grotesquely formed
no longer adorned
this thing of shame
remnant of the game
I'll bring it down
I'll pulverize stone
Only dust will remain
of what I disdain
washed away in the rain
of the tears
That you brought down....
Eileen Manassian
Categories:
abhorrent, pride, vanity, , memorial,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
ALAS, POOR LINDA
Alas, poor Linda! I knew her as PD,
a poet of infinite interest,
of most excellent insight.
She has borne the brunt of conflict
a thousand times, and now how abhorrent
her unannounced dismissal.
For we are not punished
for the sins committed
but for those “perceived”
by the keepers
of the gladiators graves.
So let us raise our bloodied shields,
raise riot on their wounded face
demand the King we raised to power
remove his foot from trampled flower.
Return to us her petaled voice
lest all be lessened by such loss.
John G. Lawless
5/4/2016
Categories:
abhorrent, eulogy,
Form:
Verse
When someone lies to me, sometimes it's difficult not to turn and walk away. I think they do it because of one of two reasons. Either they need to feel important, or because they think I'm too stupid to know they're lying."
Nothing irks me more than jerks who are habitual liars
Fibbers whose evil forked tongues I'd extract with pliers
Those who look me square in the eye and keep defying
my skeptical look of askance when I think they're lying
If I could bag lies, fake alibis and bull crap I am fed
I would be spreading that fertilizer in my garden bed,
aware that manure helps flowers bloom all year long
But the stench of bull crap would be much too strong
Liars can't be believed, even when speaking the truth
I find it distasteful, malicious, abhorrent and uncouth
They insult my intelligence, and I find it very repulsive
but to those who tell lies, it's irrepressibly compulsive
They keep trying their damnable best to get me to believe
that a ruse is the truth, but with malcontent they deceive
It's a fault of mendacious fabulists and cunning scams
With falsehoods they'd shave the wool of innocent lambs
No pearls I cast before such swine, who wallow in muck
Caught in webs they've woven, in quicksand, they're stuck
Liars move deeper into darkness with each fallacy they spin
Their recurrent falsehoods are bull crap, and will do them in
Woe to liars when their deceitful fabrications are exposed
Until the truth they admit, my door to them will be closed
Deceptions are forgiven if they are repentant and confess
But I'm not naive enough to keep falling for their load of BS
December 24, 2021
King-Size Bull Crap Contest
Sponsored by Charlie Messina
Categories:
abhorrent, integrity,
Form:
Rhyme
I stared into the mirror today.
I saw you -
a needled zealot
hovering around my left shoulder;
Adolph Hitler dressed in
opium-perfumed swatches.
You smelled like her.
You acted like him.
You looked like me.
Swastika tall and evenly abhorrent.
Syringe-insured yet,
never sharp enough to
successfully stab
outside the 50-point cork.
You slithered like a quadroplegic,
into my stratum.
Pointing and probing
a crooked finger -
never healing
the martyr's wound.
A broken grimace leaves me
ugly flesh to ponder.
Your tentacles:
toothless cleavers eclipse
black-dilated pupils,
servicing our
boomeranged arms
with dingoed malice -
peppermint leaves and peroxide boil
as the living corpse cackles.
Mussolini removed
thirteen quieted quills
from his heart
shortly before the noose was tied.
Into square knots.
Into napkin pleats.
Into a poet's silence - where
our self-induced stupor
was dragged upon
spiked cobblestones -
and for that,
my dear Stalin beauty;
I sew my spit into
vile words -
dribbling purposely
upon this diseased
cotton-swabbed
canvas
for you
and I
to clean.
Categories:
abhorrent, on writing and words
Form:
Free verse
Fire from the sky a burning July sun
In worship of flesh this scorching heat strikes.
Rant river of sweat from every pore run.
Every tranquil cloud spent in tempered skies.
Frosty dawn gone from my memories
Remembering not, those cold winter days.
Odious, abhorrent sun roasting me
Making each movement a labor of blaze.
Taking my breath, waving firestorm fills air
Hot air seals shade, a reprieve hard to find,
Etch bright shade burns, to give no relief there.
Sitting to rest is hot work of a kind.
Killing this sun, oh, this fire from the sky.
Yet, hotter is hell, souls surely there fry.
Categories:
abhorrent, nature,
Form:
Acrostic
Wisdom murmurs amid paucity of things—
seekers contemplative in cross-legged trance.
Pondering vaguities pensive meditation brings—
to apprehend with nonchalance of glance.
While to acolytes, such subtleties impinge—
denied are those of stifled grasp.
For in their minds a fetid dinge,
mundane failure to enclasp.
Stunted ones thus held in thrall,
ever signal their incurious pose.
While unmuted is a mounting wrawl,
from those abhorrent in appose.
The blind above in fog would lead,
who daily task us for our gaze.
They tire us with unending screed,
and we ignore while they abrase.
Rather would I summon stillness—
watch quiet water smooth a stone.
Free myself of this world’s illness—
love gently life I choose alone.
Categories:
abhorrent, corruption,
Form:
Quatrain
At The Knife Edge Of That Deep, Dark Abyss
I that was born on a dark, stormy night
So gifted at young age, deeper insight,
Lead to safety of ever brighter Light
Freed from darkest of dark, began to write.
A child begging Nature to my pleas hear
Oft with whimpering words and falling tears,
Imaginative child, whispers one hears
Tempting shadows to hit me with more fears.
A teen, mourning a death that my soul broke
Farther into books my heart sat to soak,
Awaiting each, as black the ill wind blows
Felt such abhorrent fears, as such oft goes.
By birth, sponge set to seek out Master Poe.
Living, pen and paper, writing to grow.
Robert J. Lindley, 1-26-2020
Sonnet, ( Echoes Heard As Old Rooster Rose To Crow )
Categories:
abhorrent, creation, motivation, passion, poetry,
Form:
Sonnet
My current days are trails paved abhorrent
for I wail money twisted and time blistered
within knot plots I cannot get untwistered.
I live as a searcher of dollar measure flexers
and as an oh what should I do now perplexer.
Even toilet paper is a difficult gainer
when basic nutrition is not an obtainer.
Being a face washer, teeth flosser, hair brusher
and body cleaner upper are now strainers.
All intentions proper flare up money impaired
when one’s pennies add up to not even any.
How to be a life liver as a faith believer
when your scenes scream just be a quitter,
a truly properly decent sanity splitter?
When losing my job hard spun me money shun,
my question grinder also lost its answer finder.
Tonight, I’ll be a bread crumb eater and soup sipper
but tomorrow I may be a slipper wearing mess
roamer, a senseless out loud streaming press
and a restaurant trash can nonchalant searcher
who forgot her thoughts once held nothing worser.
... CayCay
August 22, 2019
Categories:
abhorrent, angst, conflict, confusion, crazy,
Form:
Lyric
Clash of Truth and Beauty
I find this perversion abhorrent
That the ancient Greeks had
For sexual engagement with animals;
And that they entertained the belief
That offspring could be procreated
through this act of bestiality.
It defies reality and escapes imagination.
(Even in that time period)
How a culture so advanced could be
Clouded with superstitious, inhuman ethics and morals.
(If it weren’t so sad, it would be laughable.)
And to accept this depiction as art,
Taxes the brain for justification
Not because of the act, but because of the culture.
I cannot see any beauty in this!
It’s the fact that it’s so despicable
And degrades the animals.
Categories:
abhorrent, beauty, corruption, culture, deep,
Form:
Verse
Neon lights of love
glister from the strobic sphere.
Is my desire abhorrent?
My head, spinning with
each phantasmagoric twirl,
yearns for your adoration.
Categories:
abhorrent, color, desire, heart, light,
Form:
Sedoka