Best Besmirch Poems
In the Throes of Dying Love
In the throes of dying love, you’re a
fallen angel, with no celestial saving grace.
Rose-tinted glasses shattered, you’re no longer
my hero, just a stark-naked zero.
You besmirch every passing season
that we shared…hacking them down,
one by one, like ugly unwanted weeds
in your garden. And my hope for a new you
faded with the waning silver of the moon.
You’ve lost your lissome, school-boy charms;
and the power to pinion me with your cold,
mesmerizing eyes, those squinting black holes
that once sucked me in…trying to suffocate me.
Your love is just as phony as your
painted-on smile, and that old forged,
water-color painting of a loving couple,
that I found buried under dust
and cobwebs in the attic.
But as that ancient, worn-out sun sinks to repose,
in the dense, oblivion of dark firmament,
so has our sojourn ended…and I’ve forgotten
why I loved you in the first place.
Sadly, like that cheap wedding ring you bought me,
you’re irrelevant…in the throes of dying love.
05-22-2018
Contest: Eight Word Challenge – 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Placement: 3rd
8 Words: throes, celestial, besmirch, pinion, lissome, repose, firmament, sojourn
I dedicate this poem to Thomas Cunningham,
who I admire for the tales he tells in poetry form.
MUTINY
I stands at the bow
Proud to lead
I get the first catch
and splash
Pretense while I breathe
as if our lips our sealed together
in this hallowed breeze
The skill of his hands
that masterfully guide
the ship to the seas
My intricate gown
he sees only in his dreams
as he feels the form
underneath
with his intrepid heart
His feet firmly planted
on deck,
this captain of mine,
steers the ship
He must think of the coins
the greed, the gold
under the nose
of his crew
They often smirk
and besmirch his name
under tobacco’d breath
and the stench
of a whore’s perfume
My hair is in disarray,
I dread his fate
under the hallowed moon
The thunder roars
from a shotgun
into the air it soars
In chains, he’s still in charge,
his thoughts for me alarmed
I’m pale and soaked,
the downpour mad
And so am I
My knees bend
My hands fold
My head bound
to see you through
You stand at the brawny depths
where the sirens roar,
where tremendous teeth
and hideous fins
nearly frighten you
I beg for your pardon,
plead for your soul
The head shark
leans in with stain’d fangs
mercilessly mocking,
tearing up the captain
with dead man tales
The compass spins
wildly as the traitor
vehemently describes
the fishbait before his eyes
The treasured bride
asks for a trade
her life for his
The sand sinks her knees
“No, no, Josephine!”
her sisters on her trail
“Take ours, us two,
save both of them!”
The Lord wipes his tears
and takes the dears
into his arms,
safe from the storm
The tables turn
as a sail
slices the air
rebuking the mutiny
and the crew they stare
as their daring
is circled and bit...
one arm, one leg,
one ear at a time
They’ve seen nothing like this
Then their eyes open
A light from the bow
They rub their eyes
but still they see the captain’s bride
She smiles like the crystal sea
She waves and disappears
The crew drops their gear,
unties the captain,
begs mercy,
unless they go down with the ship!
10/10/2020
Unmetered narrative
Why would God give moray eels
A life wherein they live concealed
In a beautiful, bountiful, rapturous reef
Merely to cause the nearby fishes grief?
When the moon and stars shine deep at night
Giving profiles to fishes in background light,
The morays watch and wantonly wait
Until their prey cannot escape.
Are morays just spokes in God’s wild wheel?
Do moray’s consciences not guilt feel?
What is their purpose? What is their ploy?
Is it just to consume those they destroy?
Where is their justice? Where is their joy?
What gives morays the right to annoy
Nearby fishes and affect their fates
While they wantonly lay in wait?
Why would God create such evil creatures
When others’ fates fear their cruel nature?
And why keep morays in ravishing reefs?
Do these evil eels provide the reefs relief?
Is a mindless moray like an inane man
Who bends people’s mores when he can
To languish their lives and besmirch their souls
Just to achieve his iniquitous goals?
Lost in universal wonders...
pondering celestial bodies,
souls I have known...
Lost in firmament vastness...
pondering heavenly ideals,
blessings I have been given...
Lost in the pinion of liberosis...
pondering the concept of freedom,
opportunities I never took...
Lost in the throes of onism...
pondering my humanism,
choices I have made...
Lost in expressions of love...
pondering lissome words,
poems I have written and read...
Lost in continual noisiness...
pondering a sojourn of sorts
taking the time for repose...
Lost in voices of reason...
pondering wisdom and truth
praying to never besmirch them...
May 23, 2018
Eight-Word Challenge-6 by John Hamilton
Third Place Trophy Win
Best Free Verse Poem in May 2018 by Laura Loo
First Place
Best Free Verse April 1, 2018 to July 15, 2018 by John Hamilton
Second Place
Slovenly sorrows cause a blur,
Shameful shallows seep and stir.
He whimpers; a cowering cur,
Deathbed's deals, give-take, now occur.
Soul dried, bunched ball of prickly burr
Waste-of-time tears, goad like a spur.
Apologies, are but a slur,
Regrets besmirch like rancid myrrh.
Slanderers’ stooge, no amateur,
Souls sold, Evil’s entrepreneur.
Atropos to cut; F A T E S concur
Time to let loose this saboteur!
“Burn in H E L L”, said the whisperer…
Susan Ashley
July 28, 2017
~ Third Place ~
Contest: Early August Standard
Sponsor: Brian Strand
And so they sat, this learned three
in full pursuit of liberty,
the turkey, eagle and the dove
looked down upon them from above.
The declaration almost writ
they rubbed their chins a little bit;
looked heavenward, and there espied
their feathered friends, as one they cried:
The perfect symbol he would be
to represent our great country!
His visage shall our seal adorn
To celebrate our new land born!
But harmony became dissent
as three ways now their discourse went;
voicing long as they were able -
till three bird splats hit the table.
Silenced now, the conversation
at this triple defecation,
the trio must now make a pact:
clean up the table, and their act.
Full focused now, the case was laid
for each bird, compliments were paid,
pausing only, eyes a-goggle
at the turkey’s goofus gobble.
Despite their eloquential might
they could not make their choice take flight;
just as they made their virtues soar
another splat would hit the floor.
The birds, enjoying now this game
attempt to calibrate their aim;
to make their mark and thus complete
the declaration at their feet.
The Dove, descending from his perch
aghast at our trio’s besmirch;
peppering poop across their stage
like little stars across the page.
The turkey, not to be outdone
slicked back his crop and took a run;
with several rather clumsy wipes
he bathed the document with stripes.
The Eagle watched with some disdain
his adversaries stock now wane;
their lust for glory now long gone -
he knew he was the chosen one.
The Eagle may have won the day
his image is still used today;
but Dove and Turkey may still brag -
they made the stars and stripes your flag.
"Bliss like thine is brought by years;
Dark with torment and with tears."
Emily Bronte - Sleep Not (1846) st.1
_______________________________
often, I am in the throes and agony of my mind
I am tortured and each day I grapple with sad thoughts
that pinion and shackle me to the past
with anchors unyielding, yet beautiful
with memories vibrant and ever and immortal . . .
and in meditation, I look beyond the firmament
to a heavenly utopia where there is only stillness
a celestial unearthly place divine
a paradise, tranquil and lovely
where I sojourn in serenity . . .
and there, lissome and graceful I glide- a butterfly
I float and drift among ethereal emerald trees
yet, the foul besmirch of my past follows
all those shadows that restrain me
but the beauty beckons me . . .
I wish for silken repose and to rest my mind of thoughts
to dream- to sleep and slumber in total stillness
but, in dreams I struggle with the past
so in blissful contemplation
I find my peace in my quietude . . . .
______________________
May 21, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/Vibrant, Blissful, Quietude
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1024-942-21
All Rights Reserved, 2018, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Eight Word Challenge
sponsor, John Hamilton, Judged 2018
Second Place
Submitted to the Premier contest, Vibrant, Blissful, Stillness
sponsor, Unseeking Seeker, Judged 02/25/2022
Fifth Place
What have you done, for you look like a perch?
On Botox you should've done some research
I won't sugarcoat it
You look very bloated
Your face is engorged, and some will besmirch
Resembling a puffer with puckered lips
I wanna pop them with my fingertips
Dress yourself up in lace
Get rid of that fish face
Girl, you better get real and come to grips!
Your booty sticks out. You've such a huge butt
People laugh behind your back when you strut
They giggle and they wink
Some even say you stink
Like a three-day old catch of Halibut
Your teeth are threatening like a hungry shark
Who'd bite me like a mad dog with a bark
You're known as a stinker
Caught, hook, line and sinker
People point at you and call you a snark
You are as fishy as a speckled trout
So nice to people before it's found out
It's nothing but a show
Just a smoke screen you blow
A tasteless fish thrown back, without a doubt
You've earned the deserved name of big mouth bass
A loose lip fish without an ounce of class
Kicked out of many schools
Cause they didn't like fools
Shunned by all the Tropicals known as wrasse
You've been compared to the swimmer called 'carp'
A lesser species whose teeth are quite sharp
A catch that's not a prize
Most fishermen despise
No angel fish when it plays on a harp
Sometimes you resemble a red snapper
Belting out words like a winded rapper
Blah blah blah, on you jaw
Irksome as a jackdaw
You sound like the news anchor, Jake Tapper
When you swim in the pool, you're called a whale
Ya think that's due to the size of your tail?
In candy you indulge
It's the cause of your bulge
You might want to try a diet of kale
Looking down at her in the casket,
I recall the days her lissome body
swayed like a willow upon the stage.
How she loved ballet,
especially the ballet called Swan Lake.
Also, how she loved the Lord!
Then the cancer came.
She was so young. Even in the throes of it,
like Job of old, she would simply not
besmirch the name of God.
How graceful she was even in death,
for she was in agony until the very end.
I respectully observe her in celestial repose.
She is still a dancing swan whose soul no one can pinion.
To the firmament she has taken flight.
Her sojourn on this earth was brief,
yet her faith and courage live on
in the hearts of those of us who loved her and always will
forevermore
May 29, 2018 for John Hamilton's Eight Word Challenge-4 Poetry Contest
How must I break free and fly away
when your cold hands clamp me down?
Your critical, callous words besmirch
and pinion me to the ground.
For I am a sensitive butterfly
flailing in fear, struggling within
the throes of your darkness.
You shatter my repose
my delicate wings close
and my bright colors
bleed and fade away.
Once I was lissome and free
now I stiffen in sad sorrow.
In my dreams, I sojourn and soar
I soar to a safe, celestial place
caught up into a firmament of grace
saved by a kind Hand of mercy
where I can fly free again, forever.
Written on 5/21/2018
I am here at Autumn Station,
looking down the sun-tinted
rails of a silvery track.
I find it a burden to live in just
the present, so!
Give me the future now,
clickety-clack, clickety-clack.
I dream of the first snow blessing
this wondrous earth.
Whilst the crunch of dead leaves,
beneath my feet, doth my agrieved
autumnal soul, besmirch.
Or, finding my mind, living in days,
many decades ago.
And I lose my joy in my present days
and so.....
I am here at Autumn Station, and
as usual, feeling so inimicablly,lost.
Maybe, I will feel happier when on
my kitchen window pane,
I see that very first, glorious frost?
(Crunch...sigh.,crunch...sigh!)
October 14, 2019
‘PURPLE NIRVANA JOURNAL’
Dedicated to the legendary Kurt Cobain—(20 February 1967—5 April 1994)
“What else could I write—I don’t have the right.....”
Words are a big pile of contradiction—split down the middle, sincerity and fiction
Feelings we have, sarcastic rebuttals—bohemian clichés exhausted and shuffled
Finding my nest of salt—every word an imperfection, fault, defected assault
Translated opinions an obvious search—proof of intelligence wasted besmirch
“I’m not like them, but I could pretend—the sun is gone but I have a light...”
An infrared light will stimulate the sun in winter—when darkness comes everything splinters
Infinity does not exist mathematics is based on ten—numeral variations create a retrogressive pen
To be forever positive ignores all that represents significance, value sanctified
To be ceaselessly negative threatens derision creating instant credibility nullified
“I wish I was like you-- easily amused... I’ll take all the blame... Aqua sea-foam shame...”
Talk to your friends, they will offer you lists--- remedies already tried, they don’t exist
Translated opinions are apparent attempts investigating proof of intelligence
Abusive, obscure descriptive words—a desperate expression, sincere but seldom heard
We stare at the sky with petrified vision—clouded images of a purple collision
Sunburn, frostbite, prevailing bronze star-- noteworthy disfigurement scar
All in all is all we are.....
Shall I suppress the hankering of love,
And behold one’s stifle whispering bare,
Or quench thy besmirch of venom thereof,
Or bedight thy fog, doer of despair?
Before perceiving wisdom of thy crime,
Judgement of thyself no question make,
When desires approach years of prime,
Must respect and morals themselves forsake?
Though slavery gone captured we still be,
Yet must we all have thy person to blame?
Praise thy duets of similarity,
Forswear injustice and love all the same,
So even I not man still do yet swain
For love alone must I wish to gain.
As a young man, his world awaited
His thirst for success unabated
Found his niche, hunger unsated
To build a better team
Years went by, his fortunes grew
Ever larger crowds he drew
Trophies, accolades accrue
A legend it would seem
With his legacy assured
On one decision he demurred
Lack of action was inferred
The end of a dream
Indicted by a colleagues shame
He was forced to share the blame
In the press besmirch his name
Take one for the team
After all the games he won
After all the good he'd done
A storied champion was undone
It killed him it would seem
Written in honor of Joe Paterno
Couplets are written in tetrameter and trimeter
STICKS AND STONES
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Every epoch has its own bone chilling word
Causing great trepidation when ever its heard
If you wanted to destroy a group or anyone
This choice word would get the damage done
A thousand years ago it was heretic or heresy
Accuse if you had a grudge or coveted property
The catholic church was aware of dogma revision
So in circa 1232 the pope authorized the “ inquisition “
It started out as a process to unify the church
But morphed into a system to extort and besmirch
Corrupt authorities held trials on their own
Their final verdict guilty, was predictably known
The papal trials were mostly honest and fair
If found guilty the accused could pledge his repair
To follow the teachings and dogma each day
Do penitence, pay a fine and swear never to stray
Locals were more drastic with penalties applied
Burned at the stake even if the person had died
Males were accused of fornication with succubus
Females willingly sleeping along side the incubus
No one was safe from the envious of being accused
Tortures with painful devices were commonly used
Confessions obtained with torture an outright farce
Easy to admit anything with a hot poker in your ****
Forward to the present, does the devil even exist ??
We’re too sophisticated to believe in satanic trysts
But we want our own word to accuse and destroy
Being politically correct is the perfect ploy
One word can make anyone cease and desist
Just point your finger and yell “ racist”