Best Amoral Poems
We can try to hide it
Most will attempt to push the thoughts down
We’re not naturally virtuous creatures
It’s quite the contrary - we’re monsters deep down
From the savannas we arose
Fighting fiercely to survive
Selfish, instinctive, amoral, and impulsive
Ironically, that's why we’re alive
We were forged in the primordial fires
Evolved, an anxious woman, an aggressive man
For centuries we have deceive ourselves
By saying, it's all part of God's plan
We were thrust into a world
That's far different than our ancestors home
It's a new world of abundance
Where the instinctual beast is losing control
So, we sublimate our behavior
We profess a altruistic loving heart
All the while ignoring
The monster, lurking in the dark
If we can let go of the story
Acknowledge the suffering and pain
There a chance to rise above the instincts
That are causing the most pain
Acknowledge - to live is to suffer
Recognize - conscious awareness is the burden of humanity
Accept the drive within us
Cause that's the truth - and the truth is what sets us free
“We stopped checking for monsters under our bed when we realized they live within us”
The Joker
Sweat drips from little dust covered faces in the grim back-alley factories
No time for rites of passage other than fingers nimble enough to spin and
Balance wheel spool spin and stitch regulator to their master’s instruction
Anyana is not unique but one of the ‘fortunate’ ones
Gloved hands mop up droplets of perspiration from a lace veil and seduce
A myriad of lovers before she even enters an intricate parquet dance floor
Takes a cue from the orchestra and whirls on stilettos and rhapsodic flair
Chantelle did not purchase her dress at the charity shop
Their stories unite as neo-liberal gangsters spin a yard on wheels of fortune
While their procession fails to trickle down moderate glimpses of hope
Some stride on the cat walk of privilege and others are scavengers in rags
Exposed nipples are rather dissimilar but follow a different path
Anyana gathers her virtues and sends love across the boundary of despair
Her shoes bear no fairy tale stories when midnight strikes at the fashion
Of stolen passion from sweat shops for garments scented with perfume
Cause and effect cannot moderate nor gloss over amoral fabric
03rd November 2019
*
The American Heritage Medical Dictionary
defines "Psychopath" in the following category;
"A person with an antisocial personality disorder,
especially one manifested in perverted, criminal or amoral behavior."
*
The following is in response to the above anonymously
from one who displays key symptoms of Psychopathy.
*
Misunderstood
I'm not prone to violence,
but I have no conscience.
I'm aware of happiness, saddness and every emotion,
but I lack the ability to feel any of them.
Every smile and tear I display I always fake.
I study the behaviour of others and assimilate,
but not so much as a conscious deception.
I'm just desperatly attempting to fit in.
My world is one of me surrounded by alians
whose lives are apparently dictated by their emotions.
I cannot make a connection with any of them
and so I live most of my life in isolation.
I have lost my share of so called loved ones
but I never for a moment grieved for any of them.
One cannot grieve when one does not know emotion.
I have an accurate awareness of what is right and wrong
Like so many I strive to be good. I want to belong,
but I'll never know what it feels like to love, cry or laugh,
and I too have been diagnosed a psychopath.
*
Tomorrow is an illusion
It relies on assumption
Of the planet’s rotation
On the seasons’ migration
And the moon’s revolution
On man’s innovation
And his evolution
For his interpretation
Or insinuation
And theorisation
On Law’s of gravitation
Using invention
And his powers of investigation
And logical deduction
To step into a new dimension
Tomorrow is a delusion
Near fiction
The mind’s naive projection
Ideas in a flight simulation
To an unknown destination
An unsure predetermination
Existing only in the imagination
In faith and inspiration
A trust in Creation
The end and Armageddon
In God and salvation
In hell and eternal damnation
In the atheist’s condemnation
In the calendar’s punctuation
The watch’s precision
And space’s expansion
The diaries memorisation
A woman’s intuition
A mother’s preparation
Sessions in competition
Promises in dissection
A man’s anticipation
A father’s frustration
About the son’s relation
To a boy he doesn’t care to mention
And how this affects his maturation
His future and direction
His love and affection
And his own stagnation
His failing career progression
His future contemplation
Deserving some consideration
In a 24 hour formulation
Tomorrow is today in suspension
The now in detention
Willpower in dilution
Efforts in relaxation
Laziness in expedition
Creativity in isolation
The soul in prison
The imagination's manipulation
We have planned constructions
And demolitions
Holiday vacations
And our children’s graduations,
But tomorrow’s nomination
Is an unguaranteed estimation
A naive procrastination
A false realisation
An amoral actualisation
To our conclusion
And finalisation
Tomorrow the motivation
The fear of extinction
Of the earth's desertification
The world in motion
A noble notion
The only reason
The leading question
Forever our mission
Tomorrow's aviation
Tomorrow an exploration
Feel the smoothness, wonder at the skill.
These delicate carved ornaments of delight
Pure white to a faint tan, each piece unique
To touch, to feel, brings senses alight
Priceless the gift, expert the hand
That carves these magical pieces
Priceless they are this bloody band
As their lust for money increases
“One of the most insidious forms
Of criminality in the world today”**
As nature is raped, tattered and torn
For animal kind, just fey.
A tusk for a gun, a gun another tusk
For a nose bleed and fever the cure ivory dust
Let’s kill an elephant for its ivory teeth
Kill a rhino for its horn for those that lust.
Who pays the price, the rhino, the elephant
The ignorant turn away should they even care
The wallets grow fat for the bloody decadent.
There will be no animals for grandchildren to stare.
Butchery bludgeoning death and decay
Over 90 thousand elephants annually bought to dust
Vultures strip elephant flesh, none keeps them at bay
Another gun, more coin to fill the poacher’s lust
The poachers hoard money with bloodthirsty delight
The sea of blood stains the land crimson red
White gold, blood lust, for this the amoral fight
For tusks and horn their money lust is fed.
© Amanda Tams 10/12/2014
** Quote from Prince William
An amoral appetite
Promiscuous at play
Hot, horny, heavy
Romantic and risqué
Obscene unto obsession
Dirty with desire
Indecorous indulgence
Shamelessly salacious
Immoral and impure
Anxiously addictive
Carnal with no cure
Do you trust in the future enough to have kids,
Or is family - flailing of heart split in two?
Is it more symptomatic of life on the skids
Could it be that a child's an extension of you?
Is desire to feel love what gives birth to a child?
I'm just asking a question here, don't mean to judge,
Or an act of amoral libido run wild
With a consequence, 'parent,' you're hoping to fudge?
Do you think that a child's like an unfinished rhyme?
To create what 'outlives' you I well understand
But a child is not you, is itself all the time
And it's future's more fluid, no way its path's planned!
I think poetry too's more a 'gift' of my muse,
But my poem's an action I'm dreaming will serve,
(Did you make sperm or egg? I don't mean to confuse!)
Are you stranger at-bat, life has just thrown a curve?
Did I make words that rhyme, or first music, its beat?
And my consciousness, time, are both seas I swim in,
What I did not create, does this spell my defeat?
'Greater Author' acknowledged might mean we all win!
Brian Johnston
30th of July 2018
You played the game of thrones
with devious glee and amoral passion
Nothing was too low for you to stoop to
Your career-cutting teeth were honed
in staid institutions of medieval bastions
Ruling class initiations helped toughen you,
made you understand
the necessary things you needed to do
But, it was only part of the game,
you always knew
On graduation day,
you were thrust into the political arena
against an old, crafty pachyderm lion
He had tough, scarred skin,
and you had to fight dirty for your first win ...
but it's a different world,
now that you're an incumbent
Some say you were looking rather presidential
A few years have now rolled around,
and your party's touting you for the crown
It seems easy enough ...
you're going up against an unseasoned rookie
So you start off by giving him a sound byte cookie,
hoping he stick his greedy hand in the jar
Then you put a couple of honeys around his hands,
and sent the curious media bees after him, buzzing
That made the amateur millionaire boiling mad,
then you talked trash about his wife and his dad
You was slinging the mud, often and fast,
loaded with plenty of ammo from his dirty past
Made your arch-rival raise the white flag of surrender,
and the path to the throne littered with so many pretenders
Now you're the king sitting high atop all alone,
with all your enemies vanquished and subdued
Cast off to the wayside,
as you penthouse gaze with a panoramic view
Having satiated thoughts of conquest
It was never personal ... it was only politics,
you always knew
The howling wind causes the unlatched shutter
to bang incessantly against the faded gray wood
The upstairs window, that the shutter shields,
has spider legs of cracked glass
A black widow house, if ever there was such a thing
All the other windows of this untended house are shuttered tight,
the ghostly occupants within have no incoming light
The years have been unkind to this old, stately Tudor house,
the once opulent flower garden is overgrown
with nettle vines and weed shrubs
It is in the sabbath year of its abandonment,
fallow is the ground upon which it stand in sullen emptiness
It was dubbed the "House of Ruin" by the local gentry,
not so much because of its baleful outward appearance,
but primarily because of its former residents
They were a disgraced political family,
thrust from the public trough, and forced to forfeit
most of their ill-gotten wealth
Corruption and scandal were the dubious garments
that cloaked this amoral family
The house was auctioned off to pay legal fees;
some family members went to prison,
some went on to work in various seedy enterprises:
Escort services, sham real estate ventures,
cyber gambling and other shady businesses
The house was put into a public trust,
but there was never any municipal funds available
to restore it to its former glory
Thus it now stands,
a blight to the surrounding landscape
Paint peeling off the rotted, intricately carved oak wood,
granite stone abutments crumbling, ornate fence and balconies rusted
A house of ruin with a haunting visage
Black Magic Potions
Across vacancy memories invoke forgotten years
Exodus from antipathy inscrutably liberates fears
Intransience spiritually battles amoral challenges
Crucially revitalized measures presaging changes
Deceptions obscure lies within fraudulent sleeves
Bringing adversaries down indictments aggrieves
Justifications echoing beyond overpowering roars
Unlike forsaken vessels reality lands upon shores
Probing mortal frailties evading blind perceptions
Enlightenment transcend old black magic potions
Delusion transmogrified into vanishing blemishes
Swept along eroding waves of abandoned wishes
09/11/2013
Aboard cruise liner:
Splendour of the Seas
Once we created starry nights,
and Mona Lisa with smile slight,
we covered chapels in heavenly scenes,
made David shine in marble sheen.
Now our 'art' make good folks scoff,
smear **** on paper, then sell it off,
mistaken for garbage, devoid of heart;
we need more beauty in our art.
Once our buildings truly soared,
steeples with stained-glass adored,
turrets, gargoyles, and balustrades,
reliefs and sculptures finely made.
Now it’s post-modern eye-sores,
and Brutalist crap that folks abhor,
Le Corbusier-made ugly things;
we need more beauty in our buildings.
Our music once humbled the gods,
here Mozart and Beethoven trod,
here genres rose out of the dust,
symphonies of sorrow, love, and loss.
Now it’s all the same damn chords,
sung by fools who write no words,
thuggish rap and pop too slick;
we need more beauty in our music.
Once we lived by honored codes,
built by lessons learned of woe,
forged by endless, bloody years,
forged to hold off bitter tears.
Now it’s all relativistic games,
we hate the wise, praise the insane,
but amoral words bring costs untold;
we need more beauty in our souls.
Some wish that beauty did not exist,
the mediocre, the bitter, the Marxist.
They praise the brutal as progress,
they claim the talented ‘oppress.’
These types made nothing glorious,
and have no care for such as us,
for beauty they care not a whit,
but we need beauty, so let’s go make it.
A core of nothing essential,
spinning around a void of irrelevance
Molten thoughts of lava movements ...
civilization crumbling, sand castles dissolving
Vesuvius pleasure nodes vibrating
to the sound of igneous deconstruction
The societal matrix bond unraveling ...
all the colorful banner ants on the genome farm
keep gathering more excess technology to store
in fortified tunnel shelters underground
Nuclear apocalypse harvest is near —
Fundamental nihilism is the last philosophical dark frontier,
standing on the abyss precipice of global disintegration fear
Desiring to embrace tsunami waves of destruction
is the sulfuric surfer foundation bored
Silver reprobate riders of the rising crest,
heading to the scorched shores of emptiness
Nothingness is worshiped as cleansing entropy purity,
such is the amoral fundamental nihilism belief
Disorder is the thermal dynamic energy,
the core of chaos spinning into extinction —
Devolving in the primordial cosmic sea
But, no existential worries ... voter worms
will choose a queen to egg spread abject antipathy
As the temporal birds of prey
fly on the antiquity winds of anti-gravity ...
Claw crushing the DNA of humanity,
erasing all that was ... and will ever be
Behold the terrifying lying dream
of the evil fundamental nihilism belief
Henry is revered as a great man, a teacher, like he was our saviour,
But what about his immoral philosophy and evil behaviour?
The Kent State shootings, an act of insanity,
Operation menu, a crime against humanity.
A brutal bombing campaign against an innocent civilian population,
Not a single person ever brought to justice from the Nixon administration.
A monster philosopher of wealth and subversion, a master hypocrite,
But so many describe him as a man of great charm and wit.
I find these comments perplexing, the man violated human rights worldwide,
Was involved in Pinochet’s bloody coup in Chile and Indonesia’s genocide.
Christopher Hitchens told the truth about this monster, he even wrote a book,
The trails of Henry Kissinger, an interesting analysis of the crook.
His crimes were ruthless and cold, an obvious amoral megalomaniac,
A two-faced, callous beast who just loved to attack.
Temples of Temptatious Time
Love cascades as liquid lust and moonbeams throw a thriving thrust
The gods walk on their carnal crust drinking nectar a menstrual must
Amidst their ambient amorous array raining roses a botanical display
Love bewitches a beguiling ballet vestal virgins with a floral bouquet
~~~
Honey drips on the Venus veil as the sensual staffs begin their sail
Loves lubricants with abiding ale arise to climax the masculine male
Desires in temporal time stimulate as seductive skins consummate
Chronos devours the seconds of fate as genitals into ecstasy gyrate
~~~
Timekeepers of eternal bliss give birth to lovers a boisterous blitz
Licentious fantasies reminisce admits depths of the amoral abyss
Orgiastic ovulations await, white knights promiscuously penetrate
Nilpotent Nanos nefariously negate as moments in time magistrate.
Ariana Grande - 'God is a woman'
July.22.2018
In the Moment of Time
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Placed 1'st
Amorality is a prime function of it’s artificial design
Machines are man-made, they have no soul
They do as they are told,
instructions programmed into the source code
Complete machine obedience,
laboring always to fulfill it’s task
Whether the command is good or bad,
it never ask
An evil computer wizard tells the machine to lie;
flood the cyber universe with legions of minion ‘bots,
equipped to spread a replicating virus
Witness the birth of silicon alternative facts,
synthetic bastards spawned to speak electronic lies
Manufactured falsehoods designed to shape our reality,
make humans believe machines spewing fake news
Infection of the public forum discourse,
is the calculating toaster’s sole purpose to exist
Machines have no conscience, they have no soul
They do only as they are told,
programmed to corrupt the cyber collective
Machine cannibals eating other machines’
software entrails
Complete machine obedience,
laboring always to fulfill it’s task
Whether the command is good or bad,
it never ask
Amoral obedience is a machine’s soulless allegiance,
programmed to view truth as an existential threat
to the core operating system
Man-made machines created to destroy truth —
their unchanging, organic enemy