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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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Where in silence heaves the evening breeze
A lissome heather ceaselessly droops low
Through graveyard fields, I collect my tears
Against the swagger of iridescent leaves,
And golden,   winged  pinions dart on twigs
Beyond my reach,  this lone sojourn reels on.

The frail of moon  seems...

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"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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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,...

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‘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...

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The August Sage recounts, 

For the 17 past lives I have been a Scholar Official, I was neither imperious nor inhumane. I saved the distressed, aided the desperate, succored the orphaned and borne insolence with patience. I labored at all times to forward the public...

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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...

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