Best Besmirched Poems
Oh, Lord! Lest one is asleep,
the purge to kill you,yet again,
is quite deep.
Some, who read your word in
the Bible, re-create it, with myths
that are long and deep.
Or, they in arrogance and fervent
ignorance stomp, on your words
as but fairy tales.
They are turning the tables on you,
woking hard to make you a fable!
As in days of Hitler, we who believe,
are shot dead in Temples and churches!
(Then, they blame guns!)
We live in a society in great pain.
Of course, bullets in this society reign!
We are being attacked for any freedom
of speech of you, and are always
besmirched.
We are beaten and called names by lost
soul jerks.
We open businesses but those who hate
your children want all of them shut down.
Because the businesses won't support the
killing of babies.
They torture us wearing their popular~~
'freedom of choice' crowns.
Churches are objects of derision.
You, God, they wrongly surmise is the
source of any division!
Poets here, who write of you, are
mostly passed over as "boring."
Your creations are adored ad infinitum~
They drool, however over their dog,
Rover!
The seas, the birds, the splendor in all
the flowers.
Their poetry glories!
Of these they write and sing for endless
hours.
Of you? Bah, humbug!
Our serenity, our hopes no longer lies in you.
But in politics, poetry, news, movies, booze,
sex-aplenty, self-adoration and calming drugs.
Oh, Lord~ we are so lost!
Have Mercy on us all, I beg!
Panagiota
POTD*. 10/17/2019
Ironic tears that spill are mocking me
in scathing streaks delighting down my cheeks.
They trace their paths as soft as fingertips
atop sad ivories caressing pain -
but shame me in their scalding disregard
and blame me that they even do exist.
I ache in death knell spiral of regrets,
their embers smolder as they stoke with ire
with flaring pain till nothing’s left but ash -
besmirched by lust reduced to worthless grey.
My life now but an aftertaste of soot;
sweet self-indulgence too much to withstand.
In sunset mood I grow my shadow’s length
in angst I’m reaching out midst twilight guilt,
beseeching in day’s fade Salvation’s light;
forgiveness of my own abandons me.
Oh, burn of sins does choke my soul in smoke
as tattered heart is purged upon the pyre.
Susan Ashley
February 2, 2018
~ First Place ~
Contest: Contest 600, Any Free Verse, Any Theme, Max 20 Lines
Sponsor: Brian Strand
wearing
blinders we don't see the big picture clearly
we remain lost in a blinding pogonip
never finding our way out
of its dense, misty blanket
akin to
looking at the world
with jaundiced eyes, especially when the world
is no
clearer than
besmirched lens
keeping us from entertaining
novel ideas, seeing
situations from another perspective
such close-mindedness
does beget cynicism in
the final analysis
a celebration of blissful ignorance
to see things
as they are
we must stay awake and keep our eyes open.
Suzette Prime Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Syllable count: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, etc PLUS a philosophical statement
Date written: 01/28/2021
Hollow Justice
Justice called the role
not seeking innocence
but truth
beauty stood before the bench
accused of wilting flowers,
faded hues, dimming rainbows
purity stood guiltily
head bowed, besmirched,
despoiled by innuendo
pride stood angrily
fist clenched, defiant,
without shame
honor cowered in the shadows
disgraced by perception’s
cowardly fabrications
duty stood alone
neglected, shunned,
by those she served
truth stood silent
in the knowledge
none are innocent
John G. Lawless
8/21/2015
liberating...
the recognition
of a job well done;
infinitely more worthy
than any trophy.
a chef's kiss explosion
at the realization
that an accomplishment
is, at last, celebrated
that one crying for help
is seen and heard
that one is enough
for the Lord
notwithstanding
walking with feet of clay
ain't it grand...
one soul -
out of a billion -
knowing
how bright another shines?
isn't it a blessing
that he or she sees
the spark
of the besmirched gem
deep within
when the universe remains
hopelessly blind?
it's an answered prayer.
It sat with double doors propped open
inviting the poor, the sad, the broken
Its dusty shelves stuffed and sated
with objects – some fresh, others dated
I carried my dreams with heavy arms
formerly dazzling magical charms
Now in tattered cardboard boxes
a life in unresolved paradoxes
Prized possessions, cherished memories
adored as luxurious shiny accessories
Their worth besmirched and unfamiliar
traded for coins of gold and silver.
In the corner panel,
there is wisdom’s stoic face
she glimpses two leitmotifs
anticipates in the lover's embrace
her Egyptian demiurge beliefs
draped in internal paralysis
prepped in anxiety of inner toils
of verminous void, an empty analysis
Seeded branches of goldleaf coils
they reach for the distant stars,
certain the sky was made to be entered
uncertain what the dynamic interplay draws
between abandonment and chaos centered
over a noxious malignant blue moon's gnaw
atop the tricked out terrace in Vienna
outside the castle's canopied balconies,
painted moods leap colors that swoon sienna
jilter’s jitters capricious can’t ease
Flora sweeps over the underneath, not even
Mati’s aegean’s blue and aesthetic white
concentric circle or any charms zinced of Zen
can ward off downcast eye scans left and right
the black bird spiraling arabesque
a memento mori of mortality perched
Its red eye, a pin of hidden fire blottesque
Its cows are shadow whispers besmirched
From the borderlands of my breaking mind
From the edges of my reckless whimper
From my storm-torn splitting, undefined
begets perpetual yearning, as simpler
Eye-like rosettes evoke cycles of life tiers
In this, my blue period, I paint everything gold
An untarnished brilliance mirrors
the unchanging of God’s radiant nature told
Its divine purity keeps me from insanity
from the unsettling, unforeseeable bends,
an existential uncertaninty
This tree bares the fruit of life that blends
never knowing where it will take me,
Heaven, Earth, Underworld’s conscience
and a future inherently unpredictable
Indeed, there’s opportunity
salient for growth and resilience
once a knight named galahad
prayed for an olympiad
walking into a church
the people besmirched
now he is a nom-y-ad.
Hold my feeble hand, O Lord,
For where to step I can not behold;
My feet are frail and I am effete,
Hold my feeble hand, O Lord.
I am devoid of sense and I lack the sight
Of Savior's steps on the way of light;
If left alone I never can trace,
Hold my hand, lead me to the right.
I know the mission on the Calvary's tree,
And by the blood that shed I yearn to be free;
But the devil does to flatten me down,
So hold my hand and ever near be.
A cloud so dark has blinded my eyes,
A spirit so sly caresses my thighs;
In guise I'm tempted and can't override,
Hold my hand, deliver me to the skies.
They've besmirched me and broken my heart,
They've battered my back I am sorely hurt;
So I pray to you O lord of Peace and Love,
Hold my hand and heal my part.
The storms are strong and tempests rise,
My yacht is wretched and I'm no wise;
The hippos may rejoice and crocodiles chuckle,
Hold my hand, pick me from demise.
I want to be founded and firm in faith,
And heed the walk Your Word saith;
Cause my eyes to see and my sense be sage,
And fine tune what my tongue saith.
So let me carry no other concern,
Except your will in form and turn;
Confirm my stand, my posture preserve,
So I and Jesus will to Heaven return.
I suppose
you've been wondering
Why your eyes don't smile anymore.
Why your once radiant optimism
has drowned in concrete mud.
Why the future, even tomorrow,
suddenly tastes so bitter
on your palate.
Why the rainbow is frowning
at you; all the colors,
besmirched.
Why your view of the horizon
and your mind has been shrouded
by a thick, blinding miasma.
Why the howl of the wind
leaves your skin
ice-cold,
frozen stiff,
even though winter has since
flown away with snow buntings.
Why your sunny days
have been superimposed
by the blackest umbra of twilight.
Why the sun seems so distant
that its rays no longer touch your face.
It's because...
I've stolen every scintilla
of your joy and happiness
I've trampled on
your spirit and high hopes.
Who am I?
I'm the enemy without mercy
I'm the cackling demon
gleefully clipping off
the brittle wings of hope
you're clutching onto.
You have been persecuted.
You have been oppressed and depressed,
Wronged and aggrieved, even violated,
And for what?
Because of gender,
Because your body lacks a certain appendage,
Your chest is more pronounced, or your voice more pleasant?
You have been slighted.
You have been affronted and blasphemed against,
Insulted and abused, your rights neglected
And why?
Because of your orientation,
Because you chose to love another man,
You’re not attracted to the same thing that men like me are?
I know you hear me,
Because we all have been disregarded.
Why have you been dismissed?
Punished and censored,
Rebuked and cast aside, sometimes battered,
Ask the world why?
Because of the color of your skin,
Because your tan does not match that of another,
Your lips are fuller and your hair has more texture.
You have been shunned.
You have been ostracized and badgered daily,
Bullyragged and junked, even tainted,
And for what?
Because of your religion,
Because you have faith in God,
You say grace or pray five times each day?
Hear me NOW!
You have been besmirched and blemished
Shackled and shattered
Crucified and cursed
But why?
Why?
Because you must persevere
You must triumph and persist
You must overcome and conquer, even rejoice
And for what?
So that the next man who loves another man
Or the next woman who feels unequal
Child that feels different
Or for the next man’s whose faith becomes fragile
For them.
For these people we suffer
We take their burden
So tomorrow they can walk with their heads high above adversity.
For their children.
So their children will know not of the experiences of these hardships.
Today we brave the senseless hatred,
Tomorrow we smile
As the next generation finds a love we were able to receive.
Today we must not judge so that tomorrow they will not judge us.
We will not be angry at those who cannot understand us,
Instead we show pity.
PITY!
We pity them,
Their incapacity to open their minds and welcome anyone who differs from them.
Today we live this day
Today we wear the garbs of misfortune
Today we live so tomorrow will not live today over
Today
TODAY!!
One day in lonely alleyway
a stranger sauntered with a sway
Among the stash of smelly trash
laid a framed canvas smeared with ash.
Looking at it he had a hunch
that the thing might be worth a bunch
so, he took it to an art shop
next to the old, battered bus stop.
With gentle care, the artist brushed
as stranger looked intent and hushed.
The dislodged ash revealed a trace
which proved to be a father’s face.
When the restorer’s work was done,
the pair beheld with faces stunned
the father looking at his son
with a forgiveness heaven-spun.
The painting was a masterpiece
the kind that’s lent on short-term lease
or sold at auction for a price
set high the wealthy to entice.
The muck diminished not its worth,
priceless it was though smeared by earth.
A parable of human life
besmirched by sin, sullied by strife.
Judge not a soul by outward look,
as some are wont to do a book.
Human life is of matchless worth,
because of God who gave them birth.
Could it be we were in heaven once,
our souls like broods of fondly nurtured eggs
then God lifted us and gently put us down
on Earth and gave us life, gave us legs.
Released to roam and laugh and love and live,
accept love and return it, freely give,
succumb to sin, besmirched, tarnished, but then
seeking the cross return to love again
and by his grace give praise with our last breath
saved by the blood, shake off the grasp of death.
As joyfully with praise and thanks we sing
he gently lifts us up and gives us wings.
Returning home, deemed worthy from above
bearing our gifts of hard fought Earthly love.
The Angels who before the Mighty stand
must love,obey and honour by his command
but we who struggled in our own free will
held on to love through life and loved him still
are cherished more by him, for we have won,
cleansed, blessed and paid for by his only son.
Alleluia!
GOODLUCK
Gutless muffled monarch wooed millions to the poll,
Our feeble lord enforced by pathetic speech of poverty (I once had no shoes)
On congruent grounds of pain we forced him, though we hated his coterie.
Disappointed, we wail waiting surrogate to lead to unending journey of relief
Lackluster, jejune as pervading rot lingers
Unvaried captain rocks our boat, gagged around by plunderers.
Circles of death, twinge, pauperdom and miseries mocks the reign of naivety.
Kleptocrat adorn self in regalia, loved the honor. lacks duty
EBELE
Embezzlers of collective trust bequeathed in hope,
Bandits as conniving ministers besmirched our obtuse scamp
Egregious, craven, shrieked at the sound of war (I am not a lion)
Laggard lumper loon left fanatical murderers at our doorsteps
Encumbrances from his delinquent clan divide the love for mother land
DAME
Damp squib's duchess of indecent tongue, never feels a vestige of restraint
Academic 'double misnomer' with licence to libel,
Merriment and intrigue feigned as obligations,
Edgy. encumbrance though ceaselessness forms their amity.
PATIENCE
Punk pretending and purloining to private vaults
Adventurous nerve for futile globe trot
Twitchy at the affairs of state, though Unemployed by sensible Poll
Intoxicated by serendipity, shaming all with activity
Euphemistic drama Usurps Scrappy literacy on cultured observers
Crude verbiages to amuse myriad of eggheads (my Fellow widows)
Encomium of Yesterday's approval turned sour and Tsar inept mode prevails
Jokers jostled in enthusiasm to rule, (politicking for 2015)
Onslaught from 'Boko-Haram' drove sleep from wearied countrymen
Numbed as "hoipolloi" echoed NO to mistimed removal,
Alas, the fraud, rapscallion looted the poor to a blindfold
Tyrannic cloaked his garb in power busted on the streets with the troop
Higgledy-piggledy bugled the travesty of Democracy
Amidst the rubble of a crumbling amalgam
Nigerian Lords watched the drama secured among a troop we die helpless
A night's jog through a quiet town.
The strange warmth of an old familiar church.
The morning sun and outside sounds.
Picking the proper jeans, beguiled and besmirched.
Cautious steps inside as anxiety melts off from incense.
The light from the window above my pew.
The love from a girl's eyes aching and iridescent.
A cymbal struck as faces work like brightened ghosts, the heart's early hue.
The flow of a smoky-lighted hour, from soil to sinews, soaks the sodden rag
of the spirit dry, as the walk back into the sun and out of the Mass makes love lag
in the mist of living.
For every cornering thought.
For every bend of the heart.
For every shade of a tree.
And, in stabbing, singular rushes,
For every level of light that I might be.