Best Assassinating Poems
“This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.”
Rumi
Poetry,
sometimes you can be cruel,
manipulating me to express thoughts
which I've secretly suppressed.
You poach pieces of my soul,
massacring my masculinity,
revealing my vulnerabilities -
you make me look like a fool.
Have you become the definition of my silence?
Poetry,
your introduction intoxicated my muse,
bursting drunken lyrics through my veins,
confusing my grammatical accuracy,
acting like an angry alpha autocrat artist,
assassinating my adverse alternative alliterations.
My vocabulary is helpless against your stubbornness.
Poetry,
Sometimes I hate you,
when you are erratic and brutal,
bleeding unfairly against my will,
causing pain through vicious verses,
but, sometimes I love you,
when you bring soothing serenity,
flowing sweetly from my calming quill.
Poetry,
You are a restless rebellious catharsis.
I don't know if you are a blessing or a curse.
My life is repression on repeat,
I'm somewhat an expert,
yet you create a pathway to open doors,
creating a balance in an unstable world.
Poetry,
I remember when I forgot you.
In your unwritten absence,
my heart resembled a blank canvas,
but then you returned like a snowstorm in June,
reminding me of Rumi's beloved spirit.
Now you consume my mind,
my speech and my tone -
overtaking a tongue's desires to remain mute.
Poetry,
I never cared for rhymes,
until you found me at a time of soul searching,
blooming evergreen words to leave a legacy behind.
I was lost without you.
Sucking the lifeblood out of our nation
Overseeing their dependency creation
Contempt for those who have incentive
Ignoring ideas that are inventive
Assassinating common sense, instilling fear
Listen to the people but refuse to hear
Insisting it is all for our own good
Suppressing achievement as they knew they would
Twisting the truth is what they do so well
Sending our nation to a man made hell.
Quote from the idiot Speaker. “Who needs God when we have the Democrats.”
If we reelect them, then we deserve what we get.
The bullet is on the tip of my tongue
Your heart is underneath the barrel of the gun
I’ll blow your HEART to pieces
With this:
A lethal word; a deathly weapon
I’ll watch you bleed to nothing
Shrivel, shiver with this:
An assassinating label; DEHUMANIZATION
Barabas, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Barabas by T. Wignesan
This insignia that Barabas be
Seditious and murderous
None so worthy as he can be
Bartered body for Jesus
Criminal right down to genes
To our father of all is he son
For assassinating crowd he stands
Which acquits and absolves him
Just as it should be the crime
Paid for by a price equal deem
Be that the blood of his victim
Serve Barabas to redeem
(from Pierre Emmanuel’s « Les Jours de la Passion », pub. July 2011)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 13, 2014)
You think you're so good
But later I realize that you are the woman,
Who is cold, hatred, fury, Insensitive and Calloused?
You are sinfully proud and arrogant.
You think you are so perfect in everything,
But I know you accuse others falsely and ungratefully
I've trusted you but you've hurt me instead
And I don't know if I could believe you
or come near you again in my life.
You say you are Christian,
But contradicts with your words and behavior
You lack of fruit of spirit but you show signs of fruits of evil spirit.
I thought you had biblical knowledge
But later I realize that you pick and choose what you want to believe in the Bible
Behind back you are a troublemaker who enjoys hurting others
And causing much pain with your slimy vomiting mouth
I thought you had a spirit of god but dint know you had a spirit of evil
When you said you are Christian, I knew your heart was wicked
You would love to gossip as your tongue cannot be tamed
You slander, and tear down families who walk right
You are the woman who spreads misinformation, not having all the facts
By your careless and cruel words you destroy people's lives
You would love to injure and destroy good people's reputation
When you said I Love you Honey,
I know you have a lying tongue without genuine affection and love
When you say Bless your heart,
I know you curse at their back assassinating the character of another person.
You are verbally manipulative and corruptive to the point
That others around you can join you in abusive
You hate being around
So don't pretend that you miss us
Would you be called A Christian woman if everybody could know
That you have so much hatred for others.
Would you be called A Christian woman if everybody knew
your secret thoughts and feelings and everything you do?
You said you'd always be there during good and bad times
But you're nowhere to be found
You would just disappear when things got tough
You are truly unremorseful, heart less imperfect woman
Who attempt to justify sin and do not have Christ's Spirit in you at all
I'm sorry for the way you are!
Buccaneers of love
In the love legends
Not resembling the angels
But they are prophets of the hearts
Their revelation
The true love
The endless love
The renewed love
Appreciating love
Living for the love
Dying for the love
Buccaneers of love
Prophets of the hearts
Their souls are innocent
Swimming in the sky
To rain their dreams
And they are swimming
In space of the longing
To rain the hope
Buccaneers of love
Prophets of the hearts
Under hearts angles
They are shadowing
And they are sucking
The wine nectar
From lips of lovers
Not robbing the shyness
And not assassinating tears
Not hurting the feelings
Buccaneers of love
Prophets of the hearts
A toast of the evening
A toast of the morning
Adoring the evening
Adoring the morning
Coloring the seashores
With affections
Besieging the hearts
With feelings
Besieging the eyes
With beauty
Buccaneers of love
Prophets of the hearts
Waiting for the night
To feel with the warmth of chests
When the lips melt
And the bodies burn
For beginning love
Buccaneers of love
Prophets of the hearts.........
The Poison, our kind seeks but rarely finds
We try to escape its consequences yet
We are always beguiled by its strong essence and state of mind
Protected by laws and rules set by Society
Atrocious, wicked Society concealed under principles and convention
Watching every step with a keen eye like a lion watching a feeble fawn
Waiting for the right moment to strike
Society is yet another quadruped, a toxic weapon, an envious bully
Annihilating anyone that dares to cross its Constitution
Despite this, rises upon us the Bold with lethal sword
Bloodily assassinating any contractions… and declares himself leader
Only then Society bows to the victorious
It’s a conspiracy; it’s a Fantasy, or perhaps a delusion
All which I know I’m Poisoned with no antidote
Contd
With time I could feel
My blood getting fainter and
The air that I breathe contaminated
With the bogus love of hers
My flesh started to liquefy
Burning away silently with the
Command of her eyes
But at my dismay
She did show me the real “Her”
Through The Keyhole of Time
The houses were made of old timber, like a Russian village
on the endless steppe - maybe I had Dr Zhivago on my mind.
But where was Lara? I was in Russia once thought it sinister,
roads without light and black limousines gliding slowly by.
Lived in a house that had rough planks for floors and no
indoor loo, luckily it was summer that year.
At a café, the woman who ran it looked as a woman I loved,
and never lost my longing for. I visited the place, there were
accordion music and much gayety, but the woman I loved
looked at me with dislike when prancing around with her two
lovers who were junior officers in the red army and went to
the gym every day lifting dumbbells; impotent rage, thought
of assassinating them. She, the woman I loved, had not aged
I was now forty years older than her.
When the music stopped she dismissed her lovers I asked her
why she had left, she said it was because I was boring and had
no sense of fun. When the music began, to prove her wrong,
I danced to show her how much fun I was capable of, but I fell
on the floor and for once people laughed.
Knew I had failed her and could not understand what more
I could do to make her love me. But I had been blind, outside
a woman smiled, a warm African smile, it took me forty years
before I met her again and mourn the lost years without her.
Thinking about enthusiasm, I can not stop myself from writing about two things!
Two different 'subjects'!
Still trying to connect!
When two ladies……...
Whose husbands work with the same employer.
Both at same parallel level and none of them inferior.
No chance of competing with one another.
Exceling at every step of success ladder.
…………. pretend to be friends with one another.
Words sailing from cribbing to assassinating character.
AND another lady, who lends her ear to both the liars.
Every day news and fresh gossips keeps her on fire.
Their enthusiasm I really enjoy and admire.
They won't stop even if it misfires!
Enthusiasm might entertain us!
Enthusiam might annoy!
Just remember the day when.........
You are eating a mango and you hear a buzzing gadfly:
Looking around, you witness a greedy green bottle fly.
With up to six thousand ommatidia.
Trying to sting it like an ophidia.
A persistent annoyer.
Perfect, mood destroyer.
You swipe, you slap, you slash or swoosh.
What ever you may do to ambush.
You just can’t leave, just can't swat,
It is difficult to kill the flying beast.
Your mango slips out of your hand,
But it would still demand.
Huh! It still flies with enthusiasm,
Even when you get painful spasm.
ENTHUSIASM POETRY CONTEST
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Date: 18th June; 2020
Sisters selling super soup sipping slime.
Cuddling kindles kissing.
Trapezoids trip tripping toddler.
Lions laying lifeless.
Passionate assassins assist assassinating assailants.
The past something we cant delete
a childhood filled with deceit
addictions the cause of our defeat
negligence a doom we repeat
becoming fixtures enclosed be concrete
the decision is yours
whether or not the decease will be cured
do we know anything for sure
if anything we love is pure
through tribulation will we endure
as temptations become the lure
searching for wisdom in a pile of lies
truth its hard to find them
you have to look through the liars disguise
the plans they do devise
is to prepare you for your demise
becoming ensnared by our on mind
assassinating those of our own kind
to this destruction have we become blind
Countless instances submitting poems
finds me racking
quite a hefty collection of rejections,
the responses lacking
disappointing voluminous vicious
venomous vitriolic backing
quite the contrary,
the prefabricated responses
unsuccessful at hijacking
my "FAKE" toothy gumption
(since I wear dentures) lip smacking
bite size packing
not exceptionally appetizing,
but definitely wanting
with more pungent acidity stinging
(albeit figuratively) painfully digging
into the essence of all bone marrow,
asper this humble,
who will brazenly continue entering
competitions until scathing
character ridiculed of course including
unsolicited yet denigrating
words clearly, definitively,
and flagrantly insinuating
this prolific entity among
basket of deplorables wasting
his precious energy and time crafting
ambiguous, horrendous, and
nebulous word mangling
poetic endeavors attempting
to garner plaudits generating
infamous, notorious, and
sanctimonious renown diluting
the medium, which
August pantheon replete
with posthumous scriveners
reputations eternally outshining
any facile, infantile,
and juvenile laboring
in my unbiased opinion
far more deserving
of a simple bland communique
devoid of any ripsnorting
flagitious, malicious, and
unscrupulous character assassinating
(mine), which continuously insipid sending
(to yours truly) said
tactfully gentle turning
down efforts requiring
nose to the grindstone painstaking
efforts, which witness shuttering
myself within this
mancave, barely surviving
on thin gruel necessitating
copious blood, sweat, and tears with
nary even a shopworn reprehensible glint
bombarding, condemning, and defaming,
hence such determination bedeviling diligence
to espy acceptably blistering
excoriating, and insulting
nauseating mean opprobrium
meted out to me
until such outpouring
of vindictiveness acquired,
I will continue logic bending writing.
Wherefore art thou to find (even trumped) critique?
Technology is advancing,
The world is developing every day,
But I have something entirely different to say……
I am afraid that,
The world is marching towards a darker future.
I am afraid that,
Just for development it is assassinating its nature.
I am afraid that, its youth just doesn’t care.
I am afraid that, what is happening is just not fair.
I am afraid that,
One day a blanket of smoke will totally cover,
No pure water shall the clouds shower.
I am afraid that,
All the rivers, ponds, oceans and lakes might dry,
Nothing will the eyes shed when we cry.
I am afraid because my fears are proving themselves true,
I am afraid because a little time is left for something to do.
Unrelenting blitzkrieg deadly
assault upon psyche
pounded defenseless
vulnerable mindscape accustomed
to shelter within aproned crease
mama proffered manna, especially
when untethered meek docile lad
subjected to blistering hellfire
infamous hoodlums wantonly unleashed
verbal bombardments lobbing poison
spear tipped invisible blackened barbs
manifold times more agonizing
piercing, targeting, xraying...
guaranteed fatal skull and crossbones
unseen insignia wrought utmost damage
one hundred percent accuracy
ferociously besieging, jackknifing, pummeling...
successfully character assassinating,
a diminutive boy cursed with ideal traits
strongly tempted, delectably savored,
violently bullied (short of physical
stature violated, though seditious)
emotional violation wrought lifelong
oppressive worthlessness complimented
amply by absolute zero self confidence
distilled thru conception in utero
until parturition on a bitterly cold
January thirteenth (apparently small,
medium forces at large, sans right
buffalo wing conspiracy) instigating
ear splitting wailing testing threshold
of tolerance, no crying game, but
palpable anatomical and physiological
dislocations afflicting yours truly
with breathing difficulty courtesy
submucous cleft palate pronouncing
strong nasality, when acquiring speaking
ability more cause to ridicule upon
commencing attendance within Lower
Providence School District, where kids
said nastiest, meanest, foulest, cruelest...
unsolicited comments pointedly jabbing air
mocking severe twang plus pigeon toed gait
the latter rectified with custom made
contrivance crafted by papa that forced
little feet turned outward during sleep,
which less significant aberration became
corrected as I got older, but self shaming
and blaming assimilated thru incessant
intimidation, inundation, invitation...
passive personality tacitly allowed,
provided, and enabled entire classroom
to assail helpless looking human creature
'pon entering home burst into tears!