Best Adulterated Poems
Hibiscus rays of light herald
sun's stretch from night to twilight
in wakening blooms of ravishing red passion—
Oh! how I despise dawn's
blushing optimism and lust for life
for I am too young to cry but too old not to
featherlight the dandelion puff
as zephyrs blew seeds of our fantasies
free to fly the whims and sighs of our summer days
till breezes laid our pixie-dust down
wishes taking root in fast flourish—
pollen-plush dream-weeds grew in fields of gold
champagne flowed voluptuously through our veins
we laughed and pulsed with ambrosia-arousal
and with every nectarous nip
we lived as though we would celebrate love
f o r e v e r
a handful of heartbeats ago
we crystal-gazed into moon’s silver circle
believing in foretold fortunes of our future
our mythologies shaped in affectionate frescoes
sculpted softly into plum-dyed skies
constellations born from fireworks in our wooing eyes
—until the heart-twisting dawn-to-dark
when a cloud of angels cradled
sun-gilded harps
against their white-rose-hearts
teardrops in ecstasies of grief and joy
strummed celestial strings in virgin blue glissandos
lifting his lustrous soul away from me— lifting him
across the bridge to bliss —somewhere beyond me
and behind snowy veils of virtue
I am anemic
if not nothing now
adulterated
by loss of innocence
dwindling
in a dreamless star-broken state
unoccupied
but for the lurid loss that fills me—
and my black skies storm with shrieking tears!
Eroticism -
a supple spine in a wanting curve
and a foolish fever simmers a scarlet heartbeat—
temptation is an aphrodisiac
and guilt— a red kite lost in a hot hurricane
a strand of blue moonstones plunge to titillate
illicit points of contact caught by starlight
restless yin-nerve-endings take an edgy stance—
primal presence pearls beneath parted flimsy fabric
ah.. gossamer chic taken and tossed by windy hands
freeing moons and earth captured in your orbit
golden hair a dirty tangle flies— streamers
of infidelity seized in someone else’s hands
heat-seeking rhythm throbs within walls
a slappin’ poppin’ bass line frenzy
our bodies wild like a warehouse rave
a driving beat hugging hips caught in a fishnet shimmy
high on oxytocin and fizz of affaire du jour—
unbridled breakers breaking vows in a whipped up gale
as hedonistic hot spots revel in unrestrained spindrift
.. it’s a jungle for conjugal love ..
volcanic ash streaks a feral romance
carnal cat (a hungry stippled stray)
pins me down like prey in a dopamine storm
where edges rendezvous soft and hard and fuse
a silhouette of geometry body-painted in black sands
as the surge uncurls the waves—
dreamscape escape on a slick onyx sheet
nakedness blurs in the rough charcoal smudge
shapes shaded with a roll on the rim of a graphite night
the art of cheating sins stain a seedy portrait on skin
yet basks in the moonbeam’s push into the pulse
without mercy or justification—
just unadulterated
adulterated
euphoria!
Long-suffering, at one time,
A door mat, some would say.
Too forgiving of a man
until true suffering began...
the unforgiving kind.
Do not make promises to him
you cannot keep.
He hides himself on a mountaintop steep.
One more lie, one more betrayal,
one more slit in the cleave
of his heart
may push him from his rocky ledge,
may be the death of him.
He cries and cries until the earth floods,
a deep, adulterated sea around his lonesome home,
from where he perches, he can never roam
or try to love again.
A tragic tale he has made his own prison -
walls of clouds dark and dim.
Oh, can you save this man of tears
who never learned to swim?
Walking on the moonlit path of the strand,
My footsteps found their way upon the sand
While contemplating the note you left for me
I heard the sea calling, "Come to me.
Come to me."
Tempting notion, the moon frowned from high
Waves washed over my feet, should I live or die?
Moon hid somber eyes behind a thick black cloud.
It donned a shadowed cloak, a mourning shroud.
What is left when the zest has been grated?
Sour remnants of memories, those now hated.
Bitter pith which no one would want to taste.
Decayed and adulterated love, gone to waste.
Forthcoming was my fate; a decision to befall.
Waves crashed in summoning call, "Come to me.
Come to me."
In this wonky day and time,
this favored temperate clime
dares suggest wisdom's course
espouse prevalent societal force.*
Family tree boundaries,
stretched by current modes
like an old elastic band,
accept new branches
hung precariously
on the old sturdy trunk.
Old Limbs are newly bushed
with leaves bearing prefixes
with measuring sounds;
third, adopted, step, half -
or followed by modifiers;
in-law, live-in, significant other.
Partners and lovers
get tied on with slippery ribbons,
names entered in a ledger,
but not with permanent ink.
Disjointed families, add-ons,
and second family births
leave our children wondering
to whom they belong.
*Adulterated quote from “A Traitor to Memory”
by Susan Elizabeth George, Published in 2001,
Bantam Books, a Div. of Random House, Inc.
Top of Page 87
Just Call Me Mr. Spy
Hello,
I’m from an ancient world, and we have never met, and never will.
However, much like presently, in my day, people lived for the thrill.
I experienced that world’s greatest tragedy, and lived to tell the story.
I am not the bravest, smartest, or most beautiful; but I made history.
People of old loved and laughed, and also ate and drank to the fill.
They bought and sold, not worrying about who would pay the bill.
They fell in love and married; and separated, adulterated, and fornicated.
They detoured from their ancestors’ standards, and greatly deteriorated.
Yes, they were civilized sometimes, but also immoral and very violent.
It’s predicted that your world will be just like mine, before the Second Advent.
They were liberated, sophisticated, and also educated in their own way.
They were warned, but never bothered to change, until a deluge came one day.
There was an old man with a wife and three sons, who also had wives.
They worked hard and loved everybody, but also lived good and clean lives.
I know all these things because I was there, observing and raising my family.
That is, until the old man brought me and others into a big boat he built for his family.
You see, I was Noah’s raven, and was blessed to go on that world’s greatest trip.
And you can call me Mr. Spy, because I was the first one to leave the big ship.
03042016 PS Contest, A Tomb of Ancient Bloom, Justin Bordner
When my mother moaned
As she witnessed her daughter depart this life
I was touched by the glitter in her tears
Tears of emancipated love,
The sort ordinary in a woman
That is not faked or imperfect;
But my father admonished me
That her tears were psychologically adulterated,
That her tears were meant to delude me-
After all fatality of a son is more devastating.
I did not accept as true what father told me
For I knew the lie in male psychology
So I ran from him without looking back
And followed mother to her bedroom
And I wiped away the tears from her face:
She was my mother
And I was her son
I could not let her cry alone.
The cloud is set to cry
Thunder rumble
A sunday in RCCG
Drummer boy in spiritual malapropism
Members of choir malaguena(- ing)
Blue, purple and scarlet yarn floating in the temple
A chest-piece in between my ego
As my thoughts grew larger and thinner
I stood in the company's of fools
Upturning sanity for relativity
In the laboratory of my thoughts
I adulterated truth for thoughts
Questioning the audacity of morality for the concept of anything goes
Romancing with secularism and syncretism
In holy matrimony i stood with duplicity
Igniting animistic junks
Dancing round the camp fire of spiritism
I an offspring of paranoiac
Swam with mundane and nude views
In the harmony of my vain thoughts
A lightning electrocute my rear ear
A voice slashed me like sash, saying
' awake brother, the service is over'
awoh awoh
Suddenly,wild flames thud out
Of our little kerosene lamp
Mocking flames danced on me
With expertise. their hungry mouths
Ate my perfumed flesh in glee
My manful cries went heaven high
That aunt Priscilla came running wild
That Wednesday night of 10 November
Began my song of painful plea
Goat burnt skin as soft plum peeled
Sneering scissors thrust stubborn gauze and
Red rain rush quickly out, then
When on it iodine oil is released
Tormenting pains my body feel it's when
I begin, my songs of painful plea
My mouth tore in anguished laughter
Myself been prisoner of frustrating pains
When my eyes beheld my white hands
And my skin embellished with ugly scars
My soul could not but raise that song
My song of painful plea
My song of painful plea
Echoes loud across the sky
For my heart made fragments
Of peaceful past, and a
Library of scars in each tiny half
My heart will take no more
For I've done no wrong
Let happiness be a distant dream
To them who adulterated our kerosene.
My song of painful plea.
Owned by a soul which is but a mirror with numerous cracks
producing adulterated words and staged expressions
transparency has been given numerous stretch marks
from its tongue which guns down actuality
its lips so insensitive and always paralyzing reality
with the thongs of imagination, hooks of inventions and blades of omission
Sweet stories expressed with award-winning gestures
but as concrete as a duplex on a wooden foundation
the compilation never ends with the Brain’s memory strained
as every event only exist in the stores of its mind
and fetched by the exodus of its false sentences
Oh, you wonderful restaurant workers,
I guess you're glad it's over
Mother's Day the biggest day
The demands at work,
I know you well deserve your pay
Idiot customers,
Insolent, abusive
Think that you're
worth naught
Little realizing
the potential revenge
They may have just bought
Like adulterated food
To repay your stupid mouth,
If you knew what they did,
Your brain would "go south"...
These are people too
So watch out what you do
Because before you know it,
The joke will be on you!
I'm a witness,...you're an audience,
Yes,...Christ and the church,
Abide to list of ineptness,
Meet a criteria of creche,
A lioness gifted with new furs from gold,
Love in their abode,
Attractive and benevolent flower in the botany of a gardener,
It is purchased for a purpose;
providing rich scents,prestige and endeavors,
Beak of falcons wish to feed upon,
Doves and sparrows like it's leaves,
But they work in vain,
News about you and I is heard in the East,
Those from west come to view the feast,
From North comes Kings and Queens,
"Very adulterated with endearment",
That's the voice of the southern prominent, .
Three things attributed by love;hardworking,dedication and focus,
The head of one man carries the goals of perversion,
Joy and peace;they are the son and daughter of couples,
"Open your heart,...I.want to hide myself in there",
The man said,
Incredibly the voice of the woman toned,
"come in to your breeding home",
Oceans we take sight,...greener pastures we stroll along,
How can I taste your sweetness?
When will I have you as a fuel in my lamp?
I guess writing your feelings in my heart,
Matrimonial seal our consolidation with angelic visitation,
Heaven then hails our glory with hope and laughter,
Day and night concludes our sojourn on the surface of greatness,
That's when death workouts its part with loneliness and weariness,
Feeding the belly of graves with our rotten vessel,
Our crazy hurry outwits our wits
We wish it is not true. the car speed.
The restaurants. the caution in the winds.
The rape and early sex the little child
Now knows, whose overwhelming juvenility
Had made men mad and wild
We too are perpetrators of the deed
That beckons wails and mourning
For with each dawn, true sense's warnings
Is out our dirty door. we too that bear
Pain's monstrous knife pierce our tender hearts.
Not just the cat burglars, beware
At whose wasting call joy departs
Or the inane thugs in the creeks
Who adulterated our kerosene
And operate on the filthy lane;
Where accidents and deserters are the bane
Of this dying days. killing the savior of
The crying child. making us handicaps,
Our earnest dreams elusive as elusive can be
And making mere men elements of sheer disgrace.
Declarative mantras in tenacious pulchritude
reiterate the unbound verisimilitude.
The cohorts cannot comprehend the vicissitude.
Learning and judgments are encumbered in lassitude.
My thoughts are accomplished extemporaneously,
although they are all confronted adversatively.
Examples of life’s essences contrary to me,
adulterated by each potent adversary,
appear contiguous with each stark antonymy.
I seek honest truth from an external faculty.
I search for a scrupulous freelance authority.
Though time is quick, I seek this elusive entity.
I beseech your unencumbered intact allotment.
This installment will help elucidate my judgment.
Will supplies be exhausted in a fleeting moment?
Be munificent in this required fulfillment.
Adulterated foods are
In many markets!
Money hushes the police!