Best Conspirator Poems
The world has changed so fast
that I was caught off guard.
I never thought I would see,
the hate and pervasive bigotry
that exists in the world today.
Then, the internet came along
and shrunk the world to fit in your phone;
opening doors that were once closed.
While at the same time;
every kook, grifter, charlatan, and conspirator
on the fringes of society: got a bully pulpit;
to cater to a select audience of like-minded trolls.
Corruption, fear-mongering
and alternative truths,
are entrenched in our government,
peddling lies as entertainment and news.
World War Three, once unthinkable,
is gaining favorability with the masses;
fueled by cultist propaganda and doomsday bravado
that spreads like a virus on social media.
We are polluting the land, poisoning the oceans,
and brainwashing the minds of our youth,
without any regard for the truth.
I recall when people didn't lock their doors,
and neighbors greeted one another with a smile or a wave.
But today, we're caught in the worldwide web
of a technological spider's electronic threads,
where, sooner or later, I fear we will be eaten.
Whisper to me little one
as the waves break on the shore
and brings the mysteries of the deep
with her haunting memories fore
Whisper to me little one
as the wind changes her pace
Her howling scream then silent still
keeps tortured cries encased
Whisper to me little one
of all lost grains of sand
ever seeking their way home
but scattered by human hands
Whisper to me little one
as the sun intensifies her heat
yet cannot melt with all her warmth
the coldness of defeat
Whisper to me little one
and do not feel aghast
Be not conspirator with this world
nor keeper of the past
Whisper to me little one
and share with me your fears
the secrets of your sufferings
the hidden controlled tears
Whisper to me little one
for unlike the wind and sea
I'll offer arms of comfort
and the words to set you free
Whisper to me little one
for each grain of sand is mine
thought lost none can destroy you
who was held by the Divine
Now hold on to me little one
as buried nightmares rise
and with distinctive form and shape
is revealed before your eyes
But as you look my little one
forget not that I say
"You're stronger, well learnt, and my love,
will ever guide the righteous way"...
Darkness my forbidden lover
I shall let light go
Shamelessly deeper fall
Into limbo's arms; seductress
Allow cold breath and hands to feel me
Touch willingness in the witcher's dance
One bite and the spell of soul is cast
Unto binds of novels; eternal pages "The Devil's romance
Darkness my forbidden lover forwith I know thee
Black conspirator burning out my hurt
For my weakess broken thus
Is that I never read thy endings first
So, just another taste of kiss taboo
For reasons each one, more bitter than the last
Affairs of hearts and seasons careless ever fleeting
Sprung the forevermore condemnation trap
The first born spoke memories of my birth.
He remembered O’Toole [our father] spinning gravel
at the corner of Deerfield and Glenwood blaring
Dixieland Jazz from the AM radio of the red Rambler,
“Outamyway Wegota Yankee Doodle Dandy. . .”
I was born on the 4th of July. I was a month late.
I was the sixth born [in seven yrs.] and afterthought,
the second sister who wasn’t.
A left handed devil (according to the Catholics.)
Someone to wait at home for the other five.
A willing conspirator. Someone to shoulder the blame.
I had coxcomb eyes and a pirate’s smile.
I liked to dis-assemble travel clocks.
I looked like any sibling I stood next too.
I was very smart but would not amount to much.
I bought into the myth of the family.
And the Dixieland band just played on. . .
Do ostriches not watch the Capitol's public hearing?
Afraid Donald's name will be sullied in the smearing?
He's a black sheep that subversives keep on cheering,
He's a coup conspirator everyone should be jeering.
There's not much worse than a closed-minded fool
who allows him/herself to be used as a political tool.
Politics is as nasty as the overflow from a cesspool.
Trump takes a dump and his cohorts praise his stool.
Jim Jordan and other Republicans refuse to admit
that Trump controls them and they just won't quit
condoning his lies and alibis, and why do they do it?
They're ostriches who keep shoveling his stinky s...
Keep your heads buried. Sooner or later you'll see
that continuing to believe his BS is a damn travesty.
He's divided Americans on issues. What a tragedy!
If re-elected, he'll expect to be called, "Your Majesty."
Hastily stretched, crackled urgent ocean edge relents
Ashamed attempt to escape rejoins campaign of mass
Furtive dig below propels conspirator spasm, next next
Murders brash bouys, cranky spa champagne embrace
Swum undulations, bare back mermaid's dips resurface
Her furvour ploughs halobiont plenty scape, nourished
Snapped lobster lavishly celebrates bountiful turquoise
Sway gaze brazen by bobbing safe island encouraged
Crill swirl sweeps dripped lips, sun baked rock decreed
Beacon mound majesty painted daily in sea gull exhalt
Coconut snow flakes sparkle on cockle clamour bleed
Wave blown eroding scales slow exhales evaporate salt
Ripe globes ground reaped glug nectar so gluttonous
Fibres hibernate ivory rich liquors tipsy Secret Benefits
Land languish survivor devours sugar shards sumptuous
Wipes moreish mouth aft treasure trove haemorrhages
Fifth May
Finesse Saves
I sense
a yearning in your body
a trembling
through thirst
poised
dry immersed
in thought
of rocks
that lie afar
jagged and dramatic
sharp and dark and wet
their outlines lost
in the haze of waves
in the spray of the sea
as it rises
and crashes
in futile rage
you fancy
for the stone is strong
and will not crack
but I know it crumbles
I know
you dream
of standing upon islands
your eyes sparkling
with defiance
and I see further
into your secret fear
of the goddess
who lives within the water
your terror
of she who foams
and hisses
like a serpent
so devious and inconstant
and so you strain
perpetually to perceive
places you will not venture
noble places you are certain
to so resist
the malice of the tide
while I swim
I swim
in darkness deep
and you say
I am a conspirator
but I have touched
the distant crags
I have faced
these dreams
and found them barren
found them cold
yet you will not listen to my stories
for you insist
my soul has been infected
with the deceit
of the sea
so you pity me
my weakness
and forgive me my infirmity
Antagonistic
Lying conspirator
Earsplitting
Xenophobe
Judgmental jerk
Offensive
Naysaying
Empty-headed
Spreader of misinformation
Written August 8, 2022
Age and circumstance conspire
As the will waffles
Beneath the weight
Of the unanticipated
Present
A gift
They called it
This aging thing
A crumpled box
Found in the dark corner
Of forgetfulness
The softening
Of the delicious
Into the bruised torment
Of a long-forgotten season
And yet
The core contains it all
Accepts the circumstance
Defies the conspirator
Knowing that age
Is but time’s tempering tool
cooling its perfection
My attempt
to capture
your beauty on canvas
failed miserably
Those eyebrows
That nearly meet
Your neck
Slender and long
The self portrait
Looked at me
Proudly
As if to say
“Look, this is who I am”.
Secrets were shared with
Your little conspirator
Who knew
Those dark eyes had
Shed a river of tears
Whose pursed lips hid
Heartbreak and pain
You both stared at me
As if to say
“Find yourself”.
This poem is based on Frida Kahlo and her self portrait with monkey.
the ultimate conspiracy
playing out on the page
the situation's gravity
taking center stage
a pen held hostage
subjected to torture
this poet has leverage
can the mighty pen endure?
its blood steadily spilling
saturating the co-conspirator paper
this poet's slowly killing
her very own loyal helper
what could be the reason,
the purpose, the rhyme?
with all this poet's emotion
the pen's running out of time!
oh no! the pen just gave in!
well, now we get to know
where the conspiracy did begin
and the motivation behind this show
Mischievous thoughts?
She does not bulge,
Lip marks in red,
On the white shirt;
Accusations?
True she could be?
A red herring,
Takes me now,
For a wild ride;
Disillusioned?
Naughty betrayal?
Loose collar free,
In the playful,
Night aroma;
Melodrama?
Indulgent miss?
Slaughters desire,
"Touch me not" streak,
Spells disaster;
Conspirator?
Pumpkin eater?
"My foot" to boot,
You are the true,
Swindler, cheater;
Malediction?
I enjoy life;
Night reveler?
A boy and his dog, a dog and his boy,
The dog, the boy’s faithful/constant companion,
and secret co-conspirator in mischief,
keeper of the boy’s secrets, desires, dreams, fears, etc..
Naturally Puppy/Boy, first wanted food for
his emaciated, cloudy-eyed best friend.
My heart shattered for the both of them.
Even as the boy needed food, It wasn't for himsef that heasked.
But . . .as intensely as I wanted, to feed them both, with,
Love, and hugs and kisses, and encouragement,
I said to the little one, I’m very sorry to say,
That this food today, Is much too spicy.
In less than an instant, a frozen, blank stare,
Came over Puppy/Boy’s face.
That stare said to me,
As loud as thunder on a hot August day,
And as clearly as the bright sun after the rain,
You are not the first, to come here,
To help, but . . .instead, fall, short,
You’re not.
Then without another mumbling word,
He turned and left,
With only the sound of his worn flip-flops,
Ringing, echoing in my ears.
I heard those flip-flops, Pop! Pop! Pop!
As out the door Puppy/Boy went, until,
I heard those flip-flops, No more.
NOW,
Here I am, in my space, far away, comfortable,
healthy, after countless days, and months, and years.
YET,
The sight of that gaunt, little boy,
With the blank stare, haunts me, day and night.
When I’m awake, the sight invades my thoughts,
Like someone strolling by.
At night, my subconscious presents that face to me.
But more than that, Is my constant companion,
Of the sound of Puppy/Boy’s flip-flop’s, Pop! Pop! Pop!
Ringing in my ears, every hour, of every day,
NEVER ENDING.
My Dad was everything to me...
Musical partner...
Teacher of good music (ie 40's)
Ace pool player, poker player
Beer drinkin' Buddy
World's best Harmonica Player!!
Best friend...
Supporter at all times...
Inspiration for me to cook great meals...
Chef's assistant at Thanksgiving (we always held it - 3 days prep- ridiculous over-
abundance of food, including NY Cheesecake (Out of this world-ask for recipe..)
Dutch apple raisen pecan pie, A table full of appetizers... more...)
Co-conspirator of jokes and skits..
Primary cameraman.
Instiller of the Bell heritage...
From which I became the family historian and producer of 28 hours of video
tapes of every family picture, from 1890, all explained in writting, accompanied by
a memorable soundtrack...distributed throughout family.
Disciplinarian when I was naughty (oh, yeah, I'm a baaaadddd bbooooyyy-Lou
Costello)
He is dead but not gone...not while I'm alive...
Haiku Translations II
Illuminated by the harvest moon
smoke is caught creeping
across the water...
Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fanning its tail flamboyantly
with every excuse of a breeze,
the peacock!
Masaoki Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Waves row through the mists
of the endless sea.
Masaoki Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I hurl a firefly into the darkness
and sense the enormity of night.
—Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
As girls gather rice sprouts
reflections of the rain ripple
on the backs of their hats.
—Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Unaware it protects
the hilltop paddies,
the scarecrow seems useless to itself.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ebb-tide:
everything we stoop to collect
slips through our fingers ...
—Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fading memories
of summer holidays:
the closet’s last floral skirt...
—Michael R. Burch
Scandalous tides,
removing bikinis!
—Michael R. Burch
Haughty moon,
when did I ever trouble you,
insomnia’s co-conspirator!
—Michael R. Burch
Ascendance Transcendence
by Michael R. Burch
Breaching the summit
I reach
the horizon’s last rays.
Moore or Less
by Michael R. Burch
for Richard Moore
Less is more —
in a dress, I suppose,
and in intimate clothes
like crotchless hose.
But now Moore is less
due to death’s subtraction
and I must confess:
I hate such redaction!
no foothold
by michael r. burch
there is no hope;
therefore i became invulnerable to love.
now even god cannot move me:
nothing to push or shove,
no foothold.
so let me live out my remaining days in clarity,
mine being the only nativity,
my death the final crucifixion
and apocalypse,
as far as the i can see ...
The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch
Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?
And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, in his SLEEP?
Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch
I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.
Keywords/Tags: haiku, nature, moon, water, sea, night, rain, dark, memories, tides, insomnia