Best Aspirational Poems
Well! sycophantic misanthropist, verbose agitator of spite
Club footed whore master, couldn’t goose step for his life
Malicious propagandist, spreading hatred in every breath
His wife willing disciple, poisoned their 6 children to death
Demanding patriotic nationalism, big speech carcinogenic
Snickers in vehemence, sardonic grin, genocidal eugenics
Never dirtying his hands, an aryan superstar, not by blood
Master race aspirational, looks into the mirror then shrugs
Doctor of nihilistic supremacy, swearing hypocritical oaths
5 ft 4” gigantic paradigm, inferiority complex, slow growth
Promising victory up to the last, faithful to his fuhrers flag
Cowers from nearby artillery, blasting Swastikas into rags
Hiding amongst his sewer rats, goes insane down a bunker
Mixing morphine with champagne, to alleviate going under
Saved the best cocktail for last, cyanide and bullet casings
Fitting end to crawling malaise, and cockroach infestations.
Biting Satire Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
24/02/2021
I was just so young,
And searching for something new.
I wrote a letter.
Pouring out my heart
To you, a complete stranger,
I let it all out.
I turned a corner.
I danced toward a new life,
Risking what I knew.
The uncertain path,
A sort of yellow, brick, road,
Stretched out miles ahead.
Finding the wizard
Was never my intention.
I wanted freedom.
Life was so crowded
With responsibility
I could never rest.
I looked to you then,
As the model archetype.
You guided with care.
"Finding our own way."
Aspirational thinking,
Robust and naive.
You have now passed on.
Many miss your wisdom still,
Knowing you were real.
Your spirit dances!
Stirring our hearts and our minds.
Even as old crones.
Leaping into view,
We remember your unique
Choreography.
Let me begin by saying
Personally i am Pro-Choice
Its your life live it as you see fit
Who am I to tell you what to do ?
So what I am about to say
I know in reality is hypocritical
And only a personal opinion
Make of it what you will
Everyone has and is entitled to their own opinion
But for me I wish more than anything
Children would be allowed to be Children
My heart sinks when I see young Girl's
Caked in make-up , fake tan dressed up
Going to School
The fact that children are being told
Sex and gender is a choice
And children are expressing their sexual preference
When they shouldn't even know anything about sex
Let alone express a preference
If you are old enough cast your mind back
And ask yourselves this question
Were you worried about any of this
Or just having fun playing and growing up
With your friends
Life is full of choices
But Nature and Natural order should not be 1 of them
How the hell is a child to know what he or she wants
When they are 10
What kind of mixed signals are we teaching young girl's
If we dress them up telling them beauty is a path
Then expect them to be well adjusted and aspirational
Teach acceptance
And beauty can't be painted on
And that a Daughter
Is equal to a Son
Come on People
If we want to be equal
Then let children be children
And stop telling them what they can and can't do
They can make their own choices
When they are old and wise enough
When they are done playing
If freshman year was aspirational
and sophomore year was unhinged
junior year was put up or shut up
and senior year is a dash to the finish line
This year’s on fast forward—and it’s for keeps
every to-do list has value-laden questions
things seem sharp edged, single use and intense
it’s all about trajectories and ‘landing spots”
Let’s wax poetic..
Produce now, or spend fury on thyself—all else is untenable
we’re past youth and ignorance—your honour’s at stake
Suitors call you by name, like well-acquainted friends
they took your measure—you’re beyond the mark of others
they seduce with money—the future brings liberty and noble deeds.
So don the the garland and prove thyself—take the field
join the battle—now’s the reward—aidless, perpetual toil
with every motion be right, it’s thy shunless destiny.
.
.
A song for this:
A Man of Great Promise by The Style Council
Headstart For Happiness by The Style Council
IN A TIME OF MICRO-IDENTITIES
At my Unitarian Universalist Society
no one is Jane Doe or Jack Spratt anymore!
A person being introduced or referenced for their
political, social or spiritual wisdom, their positive
impact on business, industry, education or community,
inter-faith connectivity or even their potential for
simple friendship and warmth, must be presented and
pre-validated by their ethnicity and race, their religion,
place of origin, their sexual irregularity, behavioral
irregularities, and any number of special pronouns or nouns
that have multiplied like weeds after a soaking late spring
rain or like non-native species of flora or fauna,
imported to address problems both real and imagined,
that have become prolific and invasive, pervasive and
problematic in unintended ways, like the popular new
sport called “daring us to get it wrong”….
These micro identifications give the person being
presented an unnecessary social asterisk that divides our
collective focus, fogging up the intended message, diluting
the joy of engagement, perhaps rendering inconsequential the
reason they are even there!
They are no longer simply folks but a type, a brand, perhaps
another public admonition to check our social attitudes, maybe
scold ourselves a little, and it makes me irritated rather than
appreciative, jaded rather than enthusiastic, somehow
cornered rather than free, a little wary of presenter and
presented, more weary of division, classification and the
perpetually annoying tactics of moral correctitude!
My pronouns, as you can see, are he, him and his, as normal
as water and oxygen in our planet’s biosphere, but more
important are my aspirational adjectives: open, giving and loving,
which admittedly, I’ve discovered, are subject to tidal fluctuations,
my diurnal disposition reaching out and pulling back. But this
disclosure not-withstanding, let the person and the message speak
for themselves like the sun speaks of light and the moon,
like my wife, speaks subtly in phases about sunlight at night!
Let our penchant for insight and moral validity allow us
to determine if speaker and word bring us clarity and truth,
encourages our efforts to find ourselves in each other in this
reckless adventure we call humankind!
There once was a tech enthusiast,
Name of Phil, and in him an obsession did persist.
It was with his laptop that he couldn't part
And so he took it, truly, everywhere he'd start.
In meetings, at school, and even in the loo
The laptop never went off, no matter what he'd do.
He called it his wife, with love and a smile
Said it kept him going, every day a new mile.
Late at night, you'd see Phil's face aglow
As he worked on his laptop, with no desire to go
To bed or to rest, for work was all he'd know
As he typed away, letting his ideas flow.
But it wasn't just work, it was about knowledge too
He surfed the web, acquiring new skills in all he'd do
From cooking to carpentry, he wanted to learn
All while maintaining his core tech focus with every turn.
People close to him, they knew him well
And they knew, wherever he went, his laptop he'd sell
His devoted companion, his trusty friend
On whom he could always rely in the end.
And yet, in his mind, it was more than mere attachment
It was a tool, a means for his advancement
In the world of tech, and in life as a whole
He longed for success, to reach his aspirational goal.
In one hand Phil held his laptop tight,
In the other, a hot cup of coffee for the night.
They were the perfect companions, through thick and thin
Simply inseparable, like a twin.
People often wondered, would he ever break away?
From the glimmering screen, that kept the world at bay
But Phil knew what he needed, and it wasn't far
Reaching new heights, reaching for the star.
Here's to the tech enthusiasts, out there in the world
With their laptops by their sides, always unfurled
For passion and drive are what make us who we are
So let's keep typing away, reach for the next bar.
let's remember, as we type away each day,
That our laptops are more than just screens in a way
They're part of our journey, what makes us unique
A reflection of our drive, our purpose, our mystique.
So let us salute Phil, for his drive and his heart
To chase his dreams and let his obsession play a central part
For in this digital age, and in all that we pursue
Our laptops are not mere gadgets, but a part of our soul too.
Ignite the barren clay, I need
some rare elements
to tie a thread to the moon.
Upstaging the sun.
Not aspirational he was stripped
to become radical
like the dark blood of a white soul.
Pentadactylous was losing the big toes
under the burning skies
of unmindful eyes. The system
was collapsing. One premature
innocence dies defore the guilt
was proved, in the howling night of terror.
He unrolls the thighs to show the stitched
corn. The seeds step out to prove
the adolescence of crime.
Satish Verma
Look up, look up, so one can clearly see -
To change our world, we first must change our mind.
Up is best and it shall always be,
Hope in happiness, one is sure to find.
Basic injustices cannot make us one,
If true values should be driving our youth -
Equality alone can get this done.
Let us raise the bar we set for the truth.
It is the open mind that tends to engage,
Deceit is always dispensed by free will.
Then, the honest hearts will feel the real rage,
No reason now to abide a quiet quill.
As all earth is in flames, we reach higher,
Whoever believes in dreams, they must aspire!
Motivation Contest
5/31/2020
Sponsor: Shreya LN
anger released... thus
oxygenated... breathing
... unfettered for life
Bound to form, habituated to conditioned patterns of experiential thought and aspirational imagination interpreting sensory signals, yet recognising the inherent limitation of such stuporous indulgence, awareness gradually unshackles itself from these narrow fetters, embracing the omnipresent life pulse in an unbroken flowing continuum. Hollowed out form, empty and magnetised, imbibes the divine elixirous currents, automatically & osmotically assimilating the soma nectar into each pore of being, in a manner as ordained. There is no doer and thus no doing, the divine being the mover facilitating blossoming, awareness in witness mode, simply looking at boundaries between form & formlessness merging, into an unending wave of ecstasy in motion.
Who comes and who goes
No one here save pure presence
Vaporised as bliss
Hello there, oh glowing one
Radiant in resplendent light
We see you have travelled far
In as of course vibrationally
Nestled in a cocoon of bliss
Speckled by the elixir divine
Emitting soothing fragrance
Wafting across the inky void
Dwelling in a dome of delight
Oh dear one, this joy exalted
Aspirational as also laudable
Is it as yet suffused with love
Awakened from erst passivity
Selflessly choosing self-exile
Descending into gross realms
Where demonic fears haunt
Despondent souls in darkness
For if not, dear heart, reflect
We delight at your splendour
Glimpsed by periscope vision
Yet what avail transcendence
Which yets nurtures the ego
Transfixed in bliss thunderous
That is held captive in a shell
Shared not among all brethren
Of what use are yogic powers
If not energised by love divine
Love within in our heart knows
How compassion slowly grows
18-September-2021
Letter to your future self Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Ignite the barren clay, I need
some rare elements
to tie a thread to the moon.
Upstaging the sun.
Not aspirational he was stripped
to become radical
like the dark blood of a white soul.
Pentadactylous was losing the big toes
under the burning skies
of unmindful eyes. The system
was collapsing. One premature
innocence dies defore the guilt
was proved, in the howling night of terror.
He unrolls the thighs to show the stitched
corn. The seeds step out to prove
the adolescence of crime.
Satish Verma
Looking out for a reputation in vogue
Very sanctimonious
Well you're the queen of making it obvious
She'll walk away hastily with her head down
But it's never long enough to pull out her phone, and answer a text
And the tail fails between the legs,
The hunted becomes the hunter
With an intrepid headline loaded in the barrel behind her
And the eyes shift to everything other than the beholder of this voice
You can wear a suit and tie,
But I still think this reputations more in vogue
And you can run your mouth
But keep the slander up,
and that money tree will never get sold
A house of cards in a windstorm
An external force was really on your side with that one
And that fire in my heart that you created
Keeps me warmer than anything you've ever said
And that earthquake in my head that you orchestrated,
Couldn't have shaken my confidence
more than you if it tried
A jaguar stalks its prey at night
Mr. Independent but your still hoping for a porch light
Owls and I are very similar;
We do our best thinking at night
And lately I've been thinking how your Mr. Independent,
Just praying to see that porch light
It's not coming,
So brace for morning and move along
It's not coming,
Brace for morning and move along
Im hoping this is one of those times
Where even the band gets tired of playing their own song
Cause this monologue is getting old
I feel like I'm getting old
And every time you hold my ears captive,
I'm one step closer to the casket
This aspirational speech is getting really old
I feel like this is making me old
You're like a haunted house for sale
So much character but you can never get sold
A diamond is the frozen tear of non existence's aspirational placeholder in placebo cocoon.
Beatitudes for the Silent
Beatitudes for the ailing hearts
Gratitude for those who have been there from the start
Attitude from those who are willing to depart
Platitudes for those who just want to seem smart
Commendations for those who aren’t competing for validification
Inspiration on offer for she who is looking for elation
Co-modification of a profiteering person who is subverting the situation
Simplification of a narrative that is too complex for pronunciation
Limitations of my mind in terms of articulating conceptual theories
Imitations of mankind by artificial intelligence seems quite dreary
Complications of the refined while I am discarding Timothy Leary
Invocations of the defined as all this contemplation makes me weary
Overpopulation is ironic as we sit there isolated
Aggravation feels moronic as they can’t see the facts that have been stated
Admiration for the iconic statements that seem complicated
Defamation for the sardonic who seem to be elated
Aspirational implications for those in surplus of self belief
Exasperation for the rumination that propels you toward grief
Adaptational genetics of innovation that make you exclaim in disbelief
Congregational phonetics that have been designed by mischief
Resigned to fate I must deliberate on more contentious topics
Designed to hate the human race is self centred and myopic
Defined by love in some debates while writing a biopic
Inclined to state the truth I look for concentration that’s symbiotic
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz