Best Acerbic Poems


Premium Member Fully Booked 1

We harvested the grapes in late autumn	
when ripeness of love was at its best,			
but deceit in the time of maturing		
changed the passion to wrath and unrest.	

Acerbic vinegar replaced sweet wine 	
and richness of flavour ceased to be mine.	
Betrayed was the pledge of a tender vine.	

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
Syllable count: 10-9-10-9  10-10-10
Rhyme Scheme: a b   c  b   d   d    d  

Novel: Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
Contest: Titles of Novels 
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Placed 3rd
© paul callus ~ 10 June 2016

Crackened

I have just scratched the surface of my latent hatred
Of my blind, awe-inspiring, narcissistic, misanthropic, vehement self
In Flames draws it
As, I believe, Nightwish will
There is so much power here, my heart is stone.
But inside, oh how is it acerbic!
Corrosive, burning
It burns! I feel… the burn

It yearns to burst out 
To… to kill
Do I mean that?
No, just thoughts.
Twisted, darkened thought.
Define me?
No, they do not.
The moment I turn this music off
I am out.
I am me.
But, right now, I am king.
A god, DO AS I SAY!
…and leave me be.
Desolate, forgotten.
Anything else is unsatisfactory
No… IT IS TORTURE.

So get away.
Get away!
Humans make me weak.
I acknowledge no pain,
only that which you give me

So leave! 
Go, go now! 
...and live.
It is all your fault,
it is all your fault!
My twisted, wretched existence
Bound by darkness,
Bound by rusted iron chains,
to this never-ending life
of pain, of misery, of anguish!
Escape? There is none.
Certainly not by your hand
You are foolish, you are human, and you are nothing.

How could you think us equals? 
Don’t you see me? 
Don’t you see my power?
© Quincy Bee  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Creek-ing

The muddy water creek-ing along pines
meandering, windless scene
absurd, acerbic, honed.


Bitter Me

individually rugged
aggressively passive
acerbic wit.

Manipulation

Voices that whisper into morbid ears
Appealing as a siren they lure you
Tell you lies that feed you along
Make you a puppet from your own will
Pulling your strings back and forth
Making you sway in longing
Voices that tell you…
What’s wrong is right.
What’s right is wrong.
Faces that contort when they look at you
Frown like a disappointed mother
Smile when they say they can help you
Warm smiles that hold a lingering promise
Ensnaring you in a web too thick
You find yourself incapable of escaping
But they twist words and expressions
Making you think the way they want you to.
Manipulating you into submission. 
Saccharine words that turn acerbic 
Voices that persuade.
Faces that connive. 
A body that manipulates.

The Hyper-Logos of Good Living

The Hyper-Logos of Good Living  

A poem about how to live a more balanced and harmonious life inspired by Ancient Greek Wisdom

Avoid being vicious and malevolent,
Instead, be magnanimous and benevolent.
Express, in myriad ways, your goodness
And be polemic and quixotic in your kindness.

Let your friendship be all-encompassing and egregious,
And incite your gentleness to be ongoing and ubiquitous.
Be laconic in speaking and attentive in listening
While adamant in pursuing truth and love expressing.

Do not let other passers-by in your life enervate you,
Making you expend your time and energy in ephemeral efforts.
Pray to Benevolent God, Almighty to exculpate you,
Making you remove your human passions and tribulations.

Live your life in a way, quite humble and ascetic,
Avoiding all expressions of senseless acrimony.
Never be a bitter character and sour acerbic,
Choose instead, sweetness and melodious harmony.

Replace your human soul’s traits of cacophony 
With our only God’s manifestations of clemency.
Do not employ, ever, credulity
Nor overdue, futile cupidity.

On reaching old age, strive not to be an anathema
But instead, a councelor, like the ancient Athena.
Drive yourself away from social antipathy
With the greatest value of alacrity.

Always taking into deep consideration the following 2 things:
1. The concept of ‘Hyper-logos’ defines the holistic integration of the Aristotelian aspects of Ethos (Character), Pathos (Emotions) and Logos (Logic, Reasoning, Accountability, Responsibility) in conducting one’s own affairs in life; and 
2. The following wise sayings of the ancient Greeks: 
Democritus: ‘It is an act of magnanimity for someone to withstand vicious acts with humility and gentleness’.
Pythagoras: ‘Seek the true value of all things, and enjoy all gifts of God according to Measure’.


The Alphabet of Awfulness Part1

This is poetry for us all when you can’t find the words.


Acerbic, angry, awful is this poems dream.
Bad, boring, balderdash are its major themes.
Childish, contemptuous, cynical to the last;
Daft, dizzy, desultory meanings that are vast.

Egregious, extemporaneous and extra bad,
Foolish, futile, fantasy, that's pretty sad.
Garish, grotty, ghastly that’s the score,
Hogwash, horrible, haunted what a bore.

Idiotic innuendos of the lowest kind,
Jumping jeering, jesters come to mind.
Kinky, kooky killjoys everywhere,
Lamentable lamebrains, all without a care.

Muddled, mindless mutterings in the night,
Nutty, neurotic nuances come to light.
Obtruding oafs with highly opaque lenses,
Permeate our all pervading senses.

Asperger's --Work In Progress--

Contemplative, taciturn
Willing to commit
An immutable zeal to learn
Endowed with acerbic wit
Endless potential
But having few outlets, to express it
Seemingly aloof or deferential
Unintentionally causing pain
Coming off inconsequential
An indelible stain
Easily misunderstood
Without composure refrained

Premium Member Words Can Be


Words Can Be
A Barricade Or Bridge
Written: by Miracle Man
5/13/2020

Words become as brushstrokes on a painters palette,
spread as paint, at the volition of the artist.
Whether smooth, colored, sincere, or acerbic,
Those intended to hurt are always the tartest.

All words have power to be barricade or bridge,
we dispense words in anger, then oft question choice? 
As days grow old, we attempt, our tongue to bridle,
Inhibiting words once spewed, from an active voice.
© Tom Wright  Create an image from this poem.

Celeb

Celeb


No sooner does a Celeb opens his closed lips
Than eager pens poise to ooze ink from tips!
Such is the woe and pain for my brother Caleb
Who’s a reviled, demeaned and stalked Celeb!!

Whatever he utters is perceived as controversy
While ruthless stalking gives Caleb no privacy?!
With garrulous chaps, when reviled or railed,
Noblese oblige is a cross on which he’s nailed. 

They pounce for taking breather showing face
Moving off, Camera Men begin a Chevy Chase-
Has he any peace? Will he not in public do sex-
Denied liberty by every keen eye’s sharp reflex?

His dress they scrutinise, and call it funky style
His taste they sample and give it a cold smile:
Vile ink daubs all publications with acerbic scorn;	
Either: “archaic dress” or “contagious ****!”

Dress! The worst that meets a Celeb with vile
Wretch in rugs joins despicable rank and file
At pelting and at condemnation of our Lady Gaga
Who with either style of dress is labelled gaga!!

So they give a relentless chase of the racy tail
Dailies and some other loud and sneaky Mail
While Fashion flows as tresses of an eager Clown 
Dancing a scary plague out of a diseased town!!

All that they do or what they take into account
Is always a deplorable and a deficient account:
A Celeb is a sweet Orange treated like a lemon
Or, Saint condemned like a wandering demon!


JM

05th December 2013

Beating Januarys Blues

Biting cold, blustery winds,
Ever the way January begins!
A time for snow and frozen rime,
That sees me composing rhymes
In scathing censure of its wiles!
Needless to say our snow piles
Get much higher, and faster when

January, returns to Canada again.
As furious blizzards rage uncurbed,
No one remains calmly undisturbed
Unless they move closer to the Equator,
As do Snow Birds!  They will return later,
Relaxed and rested from warm, sunny days,
Yet we who stay, must face winter’s ways!
Seeing them return, reminds us we survived!

But for now we stay silent, on memories revived,
Lest acerbic retorts, from lips, frost bitten
Unleash outbursts on how we were smitten
Every day, by January’s harsh inclemency!
Spring’s return,  is always a joy for me!

Rhymer.  January 30th, 2017.

Why Die So Soon

Why die so soon when there is so much to see?
so much to learn and someone to be
Why cry over words thrown out by an acerbic tongue, 
why hang yourself up when there are so many discoveries to be done?
why exacerbate your wounds just because of some hungry hounds?
Why die in pain and let go of everything you have done in vain?
And why not die in peace than in pain
lie down and think again,
Why try the taste of poison?
When you can give the world a taste of your horizon,
Why sink in the deep dark grave of your tub
Life has just started and you are still a cub,
Why take pills and shut up your mouth
when there are so many melancholious tunes left to hum 
and so many songs to be sung.
So why give up on yourself so fast? 
when somewhere in there your quality is unsurpassed,
you take a step thinking that life is a bee hive,
But then one thing is for sure
your soul will regret this all it's life.

Premium Member Castles of Rust - Ct

I smiled when the betrayal came
Across your face, the leering burst
As quickly as I said her name
Coldly, knowing she's not the first

You wooed me, once, with your sweet talk
But now you speak of chains and locks
Acerbic tears hollowed my trust
Our love lost in castles of rust

She's not the first; I coldly smiled
When the betrayal came, knowing
Her name, I said as quickly as
The leering burst across your face

So be free - once I take my due
She's welcome to what's left of you

9/28/20

"Charonnet" contest
Sponsor: Charles Messina

The Oppressor

They predicate despotism, while matriculating the 
servile.Presaging them to complacency.Who without the prescience of life's 
cadence,will continue to perpetuate peonage?They who poignantly and temper 
mentally,display acerbic discourse.Arousing those erroneous acts that cause the 
chasm of inculcation to avail.We listen for the mantra,the interloper,who will 
resolve the vortex of these avarice bevaviors.The recess of the perspicacious 
have caused an inevitable loss.Yet the ostensible foray that perforates and 
inundates one's soul,still lingers.They mold our transcendental light as if 
inchoate,while satiating themselves.Daring your ineffable prose to hue with 
antagonism and candor.                                                                                                
                                                                   THE OPPRESSOR

The Art of Sycophancy

Most people unabashedly cultivate this art
For rising on the ladder of progression fast
Never mind debasing oneself in the court
And act audaciously putting aside all doubt.

They are singularly motivated by self-interest
That guides their path through the conglomerate
With honey in the mouth and a smile on the lips
Attract everyone around using suitable tactics.

Never tired of taking rounds to appease the boss
Forever full of praise for traits he doesn’t possess
Extolling his missing virtues in front of others
An art by itself very few really can have access.

It allows rising incredibly fast in the hierarchy
This is seldom possible through the routine way
That makes this art temptingly charming utterly
Very few can cultivate this aptitude so superbly.

The ill-equipped ones with acerbic tongues
Can never ever dream of acquiring such skills
Despite owning ample talent and adeptness
Certainly hang about on the back of progress.

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