Best Anachronistic Poems
11/29/2015
Idioma
There is a man with a gun.
His finger taut,
tensed and still,
the intention obvious,
no reason instilled.
Because guns kill people.
Or do people kill people?
I can never remember.
Let's take a look at entropy.
A molecule hits a molecule
hits a molecule and
BOOM - a bomb.
Thousands dead.
More on the way.
But of course that's a bit clumsy,
seeing that entropy's remorse
only marginally taps the
frayed edges of something,
Atomic.
So what stops it?
Science might tell us
Energy.
That’s a bit broad though.
Come back to the man with the gun.
Naturally he's drunk,
and not a man,
an adolescent.
Waving the gun -
the weapon in your face.
He points it at you.
So what do you do?
What can you do?
One might pray
and hope his hand is stayed,
for in the land of entropy learned helplessness breeds
Power.
And the masses will pray and cower.
Some might fight,
or fly,
in instinctual flurry.
But these options are
few and far
too crude for more, sophisticated tastes.
So this sophistication leads us...
Ah, but sophistication sounds so posh.
Let's instead call this
Order.
And so you order,
Yell,
or speak,
rather;
yelling is so harsh.
You speak,
maybe even
whisper.
You don't want to antagonize this
kid
willing to put a hole in you
- you in a hole -
covered by the thoughtlessly certain curtain of
uneasy infinity.
So you,
oh so subdued,
whisper,
Please.
But a simple please
has never gotten
anyone anywhere
worth being,
so you follow up with
a more firm
Stop.
And in his inebriation,
the most powerful
being in your world stumbles
upon a moment
of lucidity.
His finger slips,
sending a .45 caliber
bullet - lead some might call it,
but this is grossly anachronistic -
into your frontal lobe
and out your cerebral cortex.
Enter.
Exit.
An open system.
Because in an entropic world,
Language languishes in its ephemeral rags
and is wasted away by greater things.
Categories:
anachronistic, fear, language, power, science,
Form:
Free verse
-- Just a bit of silliness --
"Baissez le rideau, la farce est jouee..."
---- Daumier
39 & 1/2 days had passed;
the rain had lessened.
Noah, grungy and grumpy,
paced the wet deck
like a caged Lion of Judah.
Reading the Odyssey by blubber-light,
Jonah, a free-thinker, cruised
in his whale below; he marveled,
captainishly, carefully pronouncing
the unfamiliar Greek, an uninvented
tongue he couldn't speak.
Ham, an adherent to all the dietary
restrictions, was relieved
at the journey's almost-close.
Consultation of the Holy Books
had proved he wasn't kosher
and, therefore, could not be served.
Still, Shem and Japhet eyed him oddly.
They had a lean and hungry look.
The wives, sensible lot,
cleaned the kennels, did the chores
and tried to keep an even keel
in the anachronistic mess.
They drifted onward,
tired of fishing fruitless waters,
doubtful now of being made
fishers of men.
All things considered, it was
a perfectly normal situation:
men were mystics
and women staid and sturdy workers.
And yet, Ararat, still beneath the waters,
may not have been the only futuristic
structure in this grey, flat
seascape.
Categories:
anachronistic, bible, boat, dream, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
This world is lovely
Only a pinch of salt
#
He slipped out the back door
He attacked the wrong bed
#
World is so great
Linda Andie Eve Paul Olive...infinity
#
My wife kissed a wrong man
me
#
I cannot love balloons
They have no hearts
#
My dog sniffed my fingers
Felt them last year's sausages
#
I loved her armed to the teeth
My wife a dentist
#
Ink well was dry
Heat of the poems
#
eel babies are playing
primordial vibrations
#
My wife is a poltergeist's daughter
I own a dancing house
#
My neighbor's wife was briefest
In a bathing suit
#
Birthday suit and death day suit
are the same
#
I met my wife in a goblin's party
She was gobbling turkey
#
I search myself in a grain of sand
In the universe of my wife
#
Susie my anachronistic wife
Straddling Rip Van Winkle
#
I saw a pterodactyl was laying eggs
In my wife's mouth when I attempted a kiss
#
Poets,I cannot be blamed
How can I love an invisible wife?
#
I was surfing the girl
Could not earn brownie points
#
Vultures are knocked silly by the impact of
Love
#
She blushed and
Sky became red
#
Don't carp about the poor service at the restaurant Susie
They were in a daze when they saw you
#
Susie my wife went to neighbor's house
Found fault with him and slapped to the pride of his spouse
#
I can't trust wife of that ilk
She steals my Meenie's milk
#
Ghosts are lovely people
They give us company in death
#
Bird's eye view
A stomping balloon my wife Moondew
Categories:
anachronistic, fun, universe,
Form:
morning brought an arcane song to my ears
i was observing the spilling of light
between the curtain and the wall
the way the light seemed to carry the dust
when my quite moment
was dispatched
by the sensation of the earth and
its 30 km/ps rate of motion
by comparison
i wasn't even a mite
on an elephants eyelash
i was a microbe
riding on a rock
on a massive migration through space
my body became filled with avidity-
something was about to happen
the dam was made of mud
and it was monsoon season
looking into the hallway mirror
i was astonished to see the image inside
was not me
this was some type of apparition
a ghost
that belonged to someone else
the electrons in my brain swirled
forming the loose pattern of wafting smoke
an electrified current
all of this energy
shot past the sleeping dogs
though the house
pierced the atmosphere
then outward into the deep vastness of the heavens
a remarkable paroxysm and
i was back with myself
yet
i felt subtly metamorphosed
looking around,
all of the stuff
i had worked so diligently
to acquire
took on a look of being frivolous
unnecessary
it was all the programming of someone else
the whims of a schizophrenic
with vainglorious proclivities
a booming voice announces:
if you do not abide to the constructs
of this lovely societal aggregation
you are an outcast
a luddite
a nihilist
a lost soul
a demagogue
a loser
a shoe shiner
a sewage swiller
weak,
pathetic,
unable to assimilate
due to anachronistic tendencies
...
we have viewed into the aperture
that gives a glimpse
of both dissonnant living and
ways to slough off the insanity
but
we are controlled by dna's unblinking eyes
we make love and war simultaneously
we are the amalgamation of genes we conspire against
dna spirals up my spine
then feathers across my neurons
entrenching its fingers into my convolutions
i am the product of a mad scientist
who has designed me with used atoms
from distant, dead stars
i breathe oxygen
that have been around since the birth
of the universe
yet,
despite it all,
these animated atomic miracles
have fought to keep us all held together
so that we may witness the splendor
of being alive
the morning song wasn't so veiled after all
Categories:
anachronistic, lifesong, song, universe,
Form:
Prose Poetry
As Samuel saw vaulted Xanadu of Kublai Khan fame
In smoke-filled corridors of sweat-drenched Opium-eaters
Did I spy a vision so surreal as to render all my sentient senses to nought
And to replace them with a miasma of arcane thoughts.
I glimpsed of things most unimagined through vaporous clouds
Of effulgent smoke from wampums more confusing
than the peace of amity that it connoted.
Through numbing mind yet not fully suppressed
I beheld many-pillared corridors in a dazzling sequence
Of multi-hued columns - Doric, Ionian and Corinthian.
And through this tortuous labyrinthine maze ran
A languorous limpid stream off a meander
From an ox-bow lake, with a murmurous mutter
As it hop scotched the rifts on the floor.
With Cyclopean vision, floating wraith-like, in the distance
I beheld a dazzling high-domed hall,
The dazzle from a myriad gorgeous maidens
Each draped in dresses so diaphanous as to defy its definition!
And a prima donna sang in sonorous counterpoint to the susurration of the stream.
From up on high like a falcon flighted,
In anachronistic contrast I verily beheld
A jeaned and jacketed - Angelina Jolie!
It was then that I confirmed to myself -
My mind had truly busted!
Categories:
anachronistic, confusion, gothic, magic, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
Reminds many of Adam
Some of anatomy
Some of botany
Some of iPhone
Some of Steve Jobs
Some of etymology,
But Newton of the why
And that’s phenomenology!
— Ram, R. V.
Categories:
anachronistic, philosophy, science,
Form:
Lyric
Archangel that sways upon my peripheral pedestal,
Your eyes flutter gaunt pernickety,
An anachronistic presumption that does not grant fastidious rebuttal,
A perennial anathema that balances on a threshold so rickety,
Your scruples warrant the acceptance of abeyance,
Disguised muse, Incitor of Loath, your canker manifests itself,
Your sophistry is deflected in one single moment of sense,
Then emerge fettered wings and claws of malign wealth.
Bleeding thorn rose,
Personification of deception,
The resonance of your nefarious heartbeat breeds in my woes,
Beauty is just an artful perception,
Prevarications that even fool chicanery,
A ruse that compelled the fatal touch,
Oh white rose, now a blood red filled prism of rivalry,
A slight prick, poisoned my heart as such.
A circus of freaks dancing upon my intoxication,
Sober Liquid that mock my hallucinations,
Life,like the glass of the night, breaks at the light of dawn.
Categories:
anachronistic, sad,
Form:
ABC
Look out into the darkness and hear the remnants of cities.
The faint, ghostly echo of music wafting through the air, carried by the smell of cigarette smoke before it grows stale,
that diffuses the light so exquisitely to make you believe, just for a moment, that you are under the blanket of another era of time.
Secure in the notion that this memory has always been so romantic.
That the singers and musicians will always play in perfect syncopation and the ladies will dance with their pearls clacking together and the men cheer and drink to the night.
Drink to the ideals of the Great Gatsby himself. That to be young is never to die and it will not all grow twisted and sour and disappear as suddenly as it was remembered.
Fading back into the pristine dark, the heavy silence that still almost rings with the cacophony of the reckless.
This is not to say that these things are no longer attainable, that nobody clinks drinks any longer or laughs or sings with abandon.
But the hauntings of a time that has already placed its bets and faced its dues plagues those of us who scrutinize too closely the new composition.
Beckoned instead by the tarnished golden hue of smoke diffused haze.
Quick to barter the glint of one grand age for another.
And though one day you may come to lie awake in the ethos of glass and dripping in your absinthe stained velveteen tailcoat,
remember who you are. Remember fondly the absent moments as they flicker like marque bulbs and twisted carnie sounds.
But do not pray to the dead,
the old gods can give you no comfort here.
For you are not where you were before,
and can never truly be again.
Categories:
anachronistic, memory, nostalgia,
Form:
Poets Hanging from a Poet Tree
Poetry in motion is perilous a dangerous pastime a thing of the anachronistic
past in the global villainous village in which minds are colonised for the greater
comforting good of synchrony when all are equal at speechless lack of words
It is decreed on pain of death that meter rhymes and scripted feelings tercets
appealing to the trinity of liberty justice and dignity are abolished from now on
that reason must appeal only to the rationale of what the rulers think for us
Signs around rebellious broken necks state crystal clear suggest resistance to
be futile ‘I am a poet swine and slept with words’ draped from the garrotte of
those scribes who could not be reformed in genocidal concentration camps
Surely civil society is a better place with those demised who smear the thought
police with craft and artistry dreams fantasies and aspirations of a loving kind
or critical reflection of virtues happiness not derived from greed or power
Will I hang gladly from the tree shout in defiance ‘death to silence long live free
expression eat my words’ or would I prefer to save my skin since once the chip
to monitor my mind has been implanted all evidence is centrally collected
Or underground persistence burrowing subterranean streams of consciousness
hacking into silicon and copper in my brain to garble up regimental surveillance
short circuit and cross wire all those in power with one massive Trojan virus
Scaremongering you think and cynical exaggeration spreading rumours croaking
ominous fake news and propaganda well think again and make a plan for how
you’ll fare with threat and passion because the trees are there and so are the signs
Categories:
anachronistic, bereavement, sad love,
Form:
Free verse
I hear Donald Trump
would love to bring to Republican plutocracy
what Abraham Lincoln represented for civilly warring democracy,
but that anti-enslavement resolution
is too hard for me to focus and sustain
in Trump is DivineTrump Land.
What remains most easily
is Donald Trump
as a Ronald Reagan rerun,
a bit of black and mostly relentlessly white,
although not really quite.
Perhaps if Ronald
had been born as comfortably
as Donald,
then he too would never have worked with his body,
and not so much played with his hands,
to make an honest Abe-ish living.
Unlike Donald,
Ronald actually had experience
working for his mortgage.
Well, almost anyway.
Ronald at least had to act as if he could work to make a living,
and on occasion actually remember his lines on cue,
or even deliver four syllables all in one big mean word,
while Donald invests more in one syllable gestures
at least with half our resident population.
And, Abe had some adolescent and young adult experience
with manual labor
and at least cooperatively owned his own attorney at lawyering business,
while for Ronald,
much less Donald,
these were acting skills
as comforting as heroic horse back riding.
So, no, Donald,
you're no Abe Lincoln,
and only in your happiest imagination
would you be as good at play acting President
as was Ronald.
You're just another plutocratic Donald,
not even economically effective at playing Republican.
I wonder if Attila the Hun
was the logical progenitive cause of Republicans,
as Donald Trumps their final post climate-health conclusion;
most illogically anachronistic
to use white over black not quite film stars with patriarchal stripes
when so much polypathic full-color talent
waits in more multiculturally fresh-aired wings.
Categories:
anachronistic, humor, political,
Form:
Prose Poetry
In life things change -
Tables eventually turn.
Emotions spark up
And friendships burn up
As relationships break down
As chains would rust,
But secrets break apart
Bonds rooted in trust.
It was a fire raging rampant;
Fixed only on causing trouble,
Not resting till it was triumphant;
Hoping to burst his social bubble.
In the room, it was the elephant.
Fire warming, also burning: working double...
Day in day out it reinforced his grind:
It was what kept him alive,
But to its motives he was blind,
His secret crush: 'Reason to why he thrived'
His life would cave in
If his wife found out.
His life was filled with sin,
Only that's not what it was about.
He said he loved her:
He had lied!
Vowed to protect his family:
At least he'd tried!
His secret affair:
No longer could he hide,
But he vowed to keep it secret:
Oh well at least he had tried!
She had promised they'd never be caught,
But fate and destiny felt otherwise.
He left his wife broken and distraught,
As he played a hand in his own demise.
There's no use holding on to plastic dreams
In a world where all isn't as it seems
His anachronistic fear of letting go.
Was the key to his downfall.
Some say a setback is a setup for a comeback,
Or that the darkest hour is before dawn,
But all this was setting up was a look back,
On why to only the dangerous ones he'd be drawn.
Friends come and go
Like waves hitting the shore.
Infinite:
Another begins where one ends,
Truth of life:
Don't trust all friends.
This man may be long gone,
But the truth and secret live on...
Categories:
anachronistic, appreciation, blue, boy, break
Form:
Free verse
Waiting for petrichor to rise lost in all hackneyed phrasing please use forbearance for words do hide some are evanescent in an archaic phasing some fraught with aesthetics lie now in the ground not to be enervating but some have already died and time is ephemeral so let them abound so to be intrepid and brazen canny not to deride to foster jubilation in exemplary camaraderie for the love of the vocable for they are florid and opulent they can be anachronistic but also Incendiary so withal I will leave with a Breeze so succulent I think poets are not prosaic but the last to capitulate
Categories:
anachronistic, blessing, inspirational, love, poems,
Form:
Rhyme
the great bard and Elizabethan play wright
begetting complete dramaturgy
explaining fate hollowly airtight
succor starved, riddled smitten tattered
sir real body politik blight
under whelming enthusiasm
witnessed blank quarto copyright
more tragedy than comedy
visited mine biography to date
expressed as dearth
decayed delight
devoid absent audience
hip...hip...hooray
three chairs to excite
zero non-exhaustive effort
summoning stagecraft
imagining hardened
faced spectators
muted nonexistent ovation,
sans anticlimactic action
superfluous stage fright,
thus retrospective stance taken
billeted envisioned
anachronistic gunfight
signifying emotional crisis,
especially high anxiety
pained height
incorporating mine every birthday
newly aged since
LIX January
thirteenth orbitz insight
oppressive ominous gloomy glum
obscuring highland dale light
whereby substantial sole action
asper arrival of midnight
celestial curtain call enclosing
somber static theatrical night
hoop fully explaining deadening
copious heavy breathing
followed by extended lapses
of utter silence outright
spartan mise en scene
absent agit props
nsync with holographic thespians
staid theatrics displaying plight
uneventful sleepy representation quite
leaving entire cast
(singular char actor his shun
of myself) remaining
soporific steadfastly right
lee measure for measure
much ado about nothing
hermetically sealed, NON GMO
vacuum packed no sight
worth seeing on the twelfth night
starkly barren aimless
padlocked mortal soul asylum
no, not even Romeo and Juliet
love's labor's lost passion
a comedy of errors,
viz unbridled trothplight
mock king lear ring alls well that ends well
where me crushed psyche doth unite
with death vis a vis
as demise of Julius Caesar
et tu Brutus I in vite.
Categories:
anachronistic, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Pleasant spring like day January 12th, 2020
Courtesy climate change
(think global warming),
I would never wish to exchange
unseasonable temperature
way out of range
far to balmy, undoubtedly
ole man winter
weather did shortchange.
Once thermometer readings rise
even smidgen one moost not minimize
Earth way out of balance,
I haint gonna catastrophize
as bajillion acres plus
one after another ocean dries
even the skeptic cannot turn
blind eye and believe contrary lies
when every species practically extinct
and self proclaimed éminence grise
doth trumpet and stubbornly tries
to claim plethora unearthed resources
as sudden goldmine
against wages of sin
former traitor joe redeemers actualize
to catalyze nth industrial revolution
teaching as heresy
ecocentric, which material basket
of deplorables power mongers bowdlerize
Concurrence toward meteorological
trend most all people agree
toward adapting, experiencing,
and witnessing increase -
fair in height degree
bestowed upon Thomas Newcomen,
Richard Arkwright, Samuel Crompton,
Edmund Cartwright
and James Watt first Industrial
Revolution conferred as honoree
appellation not necessarily
in retrospect donned as noble pedigree,
now hundred of years
later downside we see
of belching, coughing,
disorging... yes siree
foul, (née deadly)
cancerous, gaseous, noxious... pollutants.
Decreased dissension
grudgingly did abate
unclouded protests trumpet
Trump to abdicate
irrefutable proof generates
activist voices to accumulate
linkedin over Green Party
blessedly to administrate
hoop fully figurative tide
will turn and aerate
political atmosphere whereby
progressive minds will affiliate
otherwise business as usual,
cuz spewing deadly particulate
will only aggravate
dire straits, where series
of unfortunate events will airdate
prophetic apocalyptic fate
especially if nonprogressive
stodgy commander in chief re-elected
flush with bigotry and hate
increased chance (chants) ripe state
for revolution avast swath
of population to amalgamate,
and overthrow anachronistic government
absolute zero survival unless dramatic
nondestructive strategy eschewed
to supplant exploitation and mandate
radical transformation, which dramatic
shift off grid if lucky requisite
Earth friendly manufacturing
can possibly ameliorate.
Categories:
anachronistic, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Thee Apple Hove Bing an Herbivore...?
(hint – app peal)
Sans maintaining a strict carb on diet
(for Peat Sake) iz like really coal
man, cuz carnivores consume meat,
which genetically modified organisms
engender incredible non edible size foal,
these agribusiness farmed animals shot up
with synthetic hormones
spurring heightened development
accidentally, inadvertently, and unleashing
King Kong monstrous outrageous gnoll,
whereat each footfall taken
by scary creature resembling
a humanoid hyena
results in said frankenfood digging,
one after another humungous hole
resulting in dirt pile
cresting, kickstarting, and
rivaling a mini
spring mount tin knoll
necessitating massive
manhunt to cap cha
lurching, pounding, and thudding
beast whereat entire
motley crue all harkened
from places named Lowell,
nonetheless heil lee calf full
to arm themselves with more'n one
tranquilized tipped pole
anachronistic cautionary expedition generating
masterfully baiting monster
with immense gritty buttered roll,
whose gargantuan ramp
aging spree across
world wide web
found endangered population
tuff lee from their
picturesque enclave i.e. Floss
on the Mill as zee unbridled
quasi jabberwocky took a selfie gloss
silly attired (trumpeting
"FAKE" ska don face mask)
likening pulling up moss
as coiffed "hair...hm..." all the while
gabbling, instagramming,
snapchatting, and toss
sing fearsome Frankenstein
with especial bent toward
those sharing surname Voss
in tandem to flagrant
disregard to paradigm
housing hefty prime
statutes of grammatically
correct syntactical rhetoric, plus rhyme
ming showcasing a novel
discovered talent to enrich pantheon
until the end of time.
since times of auld
where linkedin note able people
(some long haired others bald)
plaintively, suddenly, and called
urgently to be importantly installed
to brainstorm figuring a solution
to vanquish, nightmarish,
and hellish abominable madness!
Categories:
anachronistic, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme