Best Blaspheme Poems
Waves crash with word from Scotland
Warblers answer with yawning skies
Rocks washed up from last night's storm
Blaspheme glory, fought for Rome
Pushcarts filled with bravery tell
Of battles waged, regret for sale
Winter scoured laws they passed
Before the titles pressed in clay
Gulls enjoyed a calm sea float
While Ravens spoke in lightning bolts
Far out to sea, inside my mind
Lilies dance and pour red wine
I'll pay two- pence if you will sell
That spruce bough's dream
The Vikings tell
When I look out, upon this earth
I see a land, that smiles with mirth
And when she smiles, back at me
I'll know my dreams
Rest
Peacefully
08/14/13
© All Rights Reserved
What is this life, this reality?
Why do I question it so relentlessly?
So many moments seemingly meaningless,
meandering through this meaningful sentience.
Chronology…
Continuity…
Spirituality…
But really, Oxford will tell you:
Property of being real, resemblance to Original.
Accountable, in my opinion, only through dissemblance.
What I ask, is it original?
It’s all rather subliminal!
Made up by man and the idealism of 'ideal'.
Be like Budda, be like a tree,
pray to Gods, pray for money.
This will make you healthy, that will make you ill.
Where is the free will in all this obscurity?
What is this substance we call reality?
I beg your pardon, Sir and Madam,
excuse my blasphemy if religion is your reality,
But goddamn, Sir and Madam
It’s outrageous and random,
The idea…
The ideal…
Any idea for that matter!
For what is blaspheme?
Speaking irreverently of sacred things!
But what is not sacred down to a grain of sand?
If all by the hand and will of God,
Or aliens...
Or angels…
Or spark of light,
Let us not in the slight pretend,
to know or name a single thing.
Sacred cannot be named,
Or unnamed…
Or claimed…
And yet it is,
as tangible as anything alive.
Let's not deprive a word as 'sacred',
dictated to be, this or that.
Of all facts I know this fact;
Sacred is as sacred be.
As she walks, as she decrees,
she is ancient, beyond antique,
she is the vessel through which divinity speaks.
What kisses shall she send me tonight?
how sweet, and swift her love....
with waltz's late with wanton moods,
Though I might not be there,
I feel her every move,
oft late in afternoon....
When some lovely in day
reminds of my little Goddess;
then pangs of longing, so empty
to not feel her breath upon my soul,
so far, to hold....
And lavish her with a servant's zeal ----
what wasted time without her....
and worry a world of danger,
To protect her from some blaspheme
against her beauty;
Yet upon the rising moon
(I shall hear that knock)
most glorious a sound as I have heard!
she in my doorway, swift with love....
eyes of afternoon and midnight perfumes....
she of bright stars and rainbow hues
(and more lovely than the dawn)
Pounding at the resonant head
of my chest—he of hunger
latches his fangs just beneath my jaw—
not to sever silence, but to pummel poison.
Tissue parts with wet reluctance,
he with need more than malice
burrows into the larynx of what
was once controlled, fearful sound.
Nameless, shapeless he who
with shark-possessed teeth does not ravage—
but infiltrates—peeling cartilage from confession,
mining marrow-thoughts clogged in
curse-traversed trachea.
I am a conduit split open—
voice extracted in ligaments,
fibrous and twitching,
stripped from the cords—
myofibrils separatus tendon.
Nameless, shapeless he!
How does he so musically reshape
what I cannot say?
How does he gut syllables
I do not recognize—
yet still, convince me
they are mine?
With his guiding talons,
my breath comes out red,
heavier than blood—
tastes of steel-bitten soul—
boiled vowels
that never knew air
but somehow rise.
His incantation:
Spiritus somni!
Spits into my mouth—
a blessing—not!
a summons—not!
but a shameful dream behind my teeth
like bruises that speak sermons.
Nameless, shapeless he…
He says I was never mute—
only sealed for some latter doomsday…
And now, with my throat laid open like a shrine,
he listens as I blaspheme
my dream.
pretty pickle
by Michael R. Burch
u’d blaspheme if u could
because ur God’s no good,
but of course u cant:
ur a lowly ant
(or so u were told by a Hierophant).
At the cradle of my nightmares,
My future is a horror film,
I track my ghosts,
Like a junkie in withdrawal.
I am a true clandestine calamity,
A mass grave of silent suffering,
A candelabra of pain soothed by dirty money,
I hate the human race,
And I will never have a pet.
I am a loner addicted to silence.
I only write in the dark, to deathly sounds.
A mix of gloomy feelings,
I walk in the darkness of my imperfections,
My hands are no longer innocent,
Since I’ve handled weapons of war.
I am a child of the slums of the third world,
I know perfectly the orifices of misery.
Another damn sleepless night spent monologuing in the darkness of this cold room,
The devil covers his ears to the atrocities spilling from my confessions.
I’ve already used gunpowder
For a firework on the edge of legality.
I never agreed to sleep on an empty stomach,
I’ve risked my freedom since I was ten.
I’ve learned to walk among hungry beasts.
I’m already at war with my demons,
I know I’ll end up in the flames.
I know I have no right to trust a human being,
Being a slave to shine is impossible.
My enemies squat in my imperfect flesh.
I don’t smoke crack,
I don’t smoke cannabis,
I don’t snort cocaine,
I don’t drink alcohol,
I sometimes burn a few cigarettes.
I avoid psychotropics,
I’m not a poet,
Just a tormented mind,
Prisoner of infernal loops,
Where murder scenes repeat endlessly.
My tears stopped flowing down my cheeks
Since I saw my friend crushed by a logging truck.
I am an angry man with murderous impulses,
I commit suicide each time in this same nightmare that has repeated since my childhood.
I’m approaching fifty,
I’ve stopped meditating on the whims of the reaper,
I’ve stopped wandering in graveyards.
Let the universal force show mercy on my impure, tainted soul
By the poisons of lust,
I accumulate transgressions to have a throne in the furnaces of hell.
I don’t believe in paradise, but I know I’ll burn in the abyss’s celestial flames after my twilight.
A deep philosophical reflection in the ramblings of my delirium.
I hate the spotlights like those criminals on the run,
Too many regrets hidden in the closets,
A clean criminal record like the entrails of Christ’s mother.
I blaspheme to darken my divine fragment.
A pirate captain yelling orders on deck,
Was bitten by his parrot on the neck,
His blood-curdling scream
Followed by a volley of blaspheme,
Caused him to be known as Captain Peck.
Dear God,
This is a letter from your ***** daughter.
Wait, hold up did this girl just say *****?
"You are not a child of God!" Someone shouts!
Oh shut up! This is my letter.
Anyway you know I grew up in church
Singing your songs swaying in the pews
Lifting my hands high up
Shouting my praises
Hallelujah Amen!
God is GOOD!
But as I grew older
Just the thought of your name made me squirm
Soon the songs changed pitch
And sounded off key
I couldn't sit through a Sunday school class
Without cringing
When bibles were being handed out I pulled my hand away
Like your word would burn me like hot coals
And soon after that the music completely stopped
I wasn't going to church
I cut ties with my choir boy and flower girl looking friends
I traded Sunday dresses for ripped tights and combat boots
I cut my hair SHORT
I got called a boy
But I wasn't offended
I started looking at boys in a new way
I liked them
Soon after that...I also started looking at girls
I felt the same feeling I felt for boys
I wasn't ashamed...
I was told I should being what they called a "christian"
But I wasn't one
I didn't want to even be one
The name sounded dirty
Foul
I wanted to gag at the sound
Bringing up my past is never good
And you know I still am not a "Christian"
I believe in God, but that doesn't mean "Christian"
No offense big man but your hardcore "followers", these so called Christians, hate me
They are the BIGGEST hypocrites I've met
"Oh we love everyone" they claim
But once they find out the truth about me?
"God hates fags!" "Sinner!" "Blaspheme!"
Your reply?
"SCREW YOU SHE IS MY DAUGHTER TOO!"
Wait can god say screw you?
I guess it doesn't matter I mean you are God.
Personally I think it would be awesome to hear you say screw you
That would make me want to give you a high five
And you know God I realize now
You aren't all bad
I may not have it figured all out
But black or white
Young or old
Boy or Girl
Straight or *****
You love me all the same
With all her love,
Your ***** Daughter :)
P.S. Thanks for the rainbows :)
Pontius Pilate has washed his hands his mind and heart hoping to erase the true face of Christ
The mob screams louder "Crucify Him" with their fist raised high for they only see
blaspheme and sin
The angels in heaven singing a sad hymn and weeping while the son of God makes
his last stand
Before his people uttering no words of demand only speaking the truth
" I am the Messiah" the savor for all man
His body is weak the number unknown with each strike of the whip upon
his bare back
The sound of the hissing as it flies threw the air giving a thunderous crack
as men draw back
Guards in tow down the lonely road he must walk carrying the cross and dropping
to his knees from pain and exhaust
They show him no form of grace or dignity only rage and sneers of words
as they lift their swords
He reaches Calvary his journey to end here on earth but to witness the rebirth
he will give to all men
Upon the cross with a spike in hand they nail his feet and both hands to the Dogwood
tree who for evermore will show blood upon it's flower buds
Even though he has been mocked, scorned and tortured at the height of his suffering his love will always prevail
Asking his Father to forgive them his last words "It is done" as his head bows low
his sprit now gone to his Father up above
Always stand strong in your faith and carry your cross for by his grace in all he
has embraced a love to every human race!
3/22/2015 contest sponsored by: Isaiah Zerbst
T Reams 2nd Place
He can't stop rhyming.
His mind races in cadence and timing.
Writing muses from within,
In both darkness and light, they begin.
Put to paper, in one pen stroke,
No force edits, and none of the hoke.
Modernists may very well blaspheme,
Believing they write, in deeper theme.
Cluttered words, and punctuation on a page,
As if contortion, should serve as the gauge.
A rhyme might accidentally appear,
but only in likeness, feeling quite 'impure'.
A well-known Frosted poet, left readers stunned;
This poem's title may find you, unknowingly punned.
This Flake will write, as his mind dances,
Until proven otherwise, he'll take his chances.
7/26/2017
Relatively new to PS, this first poem tried to poke fun at modernism. I grew up with poems that rhymed. I was surprised by the number of free verse poems and their popularity. Being on PS has allowed me to broaden my idea of poetry. I've learned that Free verse is universal, while rhyming is limited by dialect. The best lesson I've learned is that less is often more. It is surprising how a three, line 20 word poem can say so much. I'm still a rhyming addict...
Hey everyone it’s me again
thanks for having me present
I’ll do my best not to offend
as I share and truthfully admit
I get dumb when I don't attend
can’t get past simple words like….
“happy” and “sad” “now” and “then”
Just the other day I went mainstream
and for an hour of my precious time
got stuck on an amputated cat meme
slowly my brain cells diminished
but my mind, I continued to blaspheme
I got sucked in the whirling vortex….
and it erased my poetic theme
It will take me some time to rebuild
the wit and the strength and flow
like an Olympians dream unfulfilled
A tireless poet will be apropos
lucky for me exists a poet’s guild
where gatherings delight and wander….
through places that haven’t been tilled
It’s good to be back here with you
I thought I could handle the ride
but trivial stupidity is not taboo
outside of this mind of mine
So I research a transcendent haiku
that you obviously wrote for me….
and remember every awesome breakthrough!!
THANKS GUYS!!!
--4/12/2017--
Shot- dead
The cause of death, shot- dead,
They quickly get a fame,
And quickly they leave us,
Shot-dead is a dominating cause of death,
What is wrong with this Hip-Hop music?
The music that influence a violence and anger,
The music that influence gangster ‘ism,
The music that promote hatred amongst groups,
The music that promote the abuse of alcohol and drugs,
They speak of imaginary riches and not physical riches to drug you in,
They go deep underground to blaspheme God,
If there is power behind this music,
I believe is a power from the darkness,
Shot-dead, the cause of death in Hip-Hop industry.
I am the eternal, your LOVE
Thou shalt have no other loves before me
Thou shalt not bow down to the image of another love
Nor give your heart and homage to any other than me
For I, your eternal LOVE, am a jealous love
I am the eternal, your LOVE
Thou shalt have no other loves, but ME!
For I will visit with vengeance
if you blaspheme my name
and tarnish my image
by loving one unworthy
I am the eternal, your LOVE
and my love for YOU, is eternal
Eileen Manassian
;) Now, don't go and get yourselves all bent out of shape. This is a different take on the first two commandments. I thought I would take it to stand for Love instead. BTW....the apostle John does state, "God is LOVE." God says that He is a jealous God. Our jealousy is based on feelings of inferiority. We see what others have that is lacking in us, and we burn if we think our loved one is appreciating someone else. However, God's jealousy is based on superiority. He is the best there is, so when we give our love to another, it rouses His jealousy, for He knows we will NOT be satisfied. Isaiah 52: 2- "Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare." God insists that He is the best there is.
Taking that concept, I turned it to be the voice of a lover speaking to her loved one for she KNOWS...that there is no other love that can match hers. Too much? You tell me!
He walked the streets of Bethlehem, Jerusalem, and Nazareth
one hundred percent pure African soil
he was borne and raised on pure African soil
both parents given to raise him here on earth
walked and traveled on pure African soil
he journeyed acrossed the Nile river, Rea sea, and the Jordan river
all rivers of Africa the texture of his hair was as course as wool
his eyes red like fire his skin was bronze brown representing the many
African tribes his feet the same feet that walked across African soil
his story has been myth however, the bible reveals Jesus Christ yes Jesus Christ
is African No one really understands his life's story
so society changed his skin color and hair texture so people would
feel comfortable praising him in our new generation a "white world"
they will not praise a black Jesus having a black president proves that the white world
is in outrage and doesn't want to acknowledge black leaders or prophets
they either want them dead or in jail so no one
can hear the truth about Jesus race and background
alot of black men help found this country from pure African soil
even my lord and savior Jesus Christ
Its very sad but very true today's society would rather praise a statue, plant, or figurine than
to praise Jesus name that's why we have so many religions
I guess God understands that's why he said"you can blaspheme against Jesus name, but if you blaspheme
against God or the holy ghost you will never be
forgiven". Even though he said that, that doesn't mean its ok to blaspheme against Jesus
Always be mindful of what you say because it could be your own destruction
everybody will see Jesus before they all die out
then the mystery will be revealed
"Angels descending, bring from above
echos of mercy, whispers of love."
And that is the fallen angels lie.
corrupted beings that will never die.
Ruling the earth apart from God's throne.
by enslaving humans, their evil has grown.
Promising mercy, lust, riches and power,
twisting souls as one, like Babels tower.
Throughout history, again and again,
they have sought the conquest and worship of men.
Beyond the veil, they work, plot and scheme,
planting seeds in our hearts to blaspheme.
Building the New World Anti-Christ empire.
Final earthly kingdom set for fire.
For the "Fallen Angels" contest.