Best Conspirators Poems
I am a white owl,
I listen to people’s scowl,
I turn a deaf ear to a drunk’s howl,
I don’t quench my thirst from your water bowl!
I come out at midnight,
So that, I don’t get to see you fight,
You can’t see my flight,
Still, I observe your helpless plight.
I am watchman of darkness,
I don’t get to share your happiness,
I am a wicked sorceress,
As I only watch your distress.
I am a great observer,
I am silent reporter,
I am a midnight dealer,
I am hopeless beggar
I weave proverbial satire,
I check your inner desire.
I am never the filler of your bread,
I am the hardest nut inside your chocolate,
My god is greater than your god,
I am the very pet owl of tribal god,
You can’t chain me on a rod,
I am the oddest of odds.
I often sit on your rooftop,
I observe the view from atop,
When clouds are my only neighbors,
I can inhale the sky’s odor.
I feel so small amid the sky-scrappers!
I can bring about good luck,
By sitting once on your rooftop,
I am emblem of wealth,
I value people’s sweats.
I am crusader of darkness,
I curse the conspirators,
I am pacifist minister,
I do betray the emperor!
Today, I am a wise owl of time,
I am wizkid of prime,
I am a bastard wisdom tooth,
You can’t take off from mouth,
I am a silent shout out!
I come out at night,
I eye people with my eyes,
I feel for those who can’t come out in daylight,
Every person has the right, to bask on sunlight.
No rule, no occupation can snatch their right.
I am your silent knight,
I am only observing your plight.
Categories:
conspirators, art, beauty, night,
Form:
Bio
The story, sad.
The man, sad.
The wife sad,
The children, sad.
The diagnosis, paranoia schizophrenia.
It happened to the man when he was twenty-nine.
He had a sweet family, everything going fine.
But then this threw him out of whack.
He never got his family back.
His young wife had no idea what was wrong.
He followed voices, singing a lonely song.
His eight-year-old daughter was confused.
She kept it to herself, a bit amused.
His new baby, a boy, grew up without a dad,
Growing up without him, made this boy good and mad.
The wife who had married him and thought it was forever
Took him to court, and had his parental rights severed.
He lives alone, on days he is not the President.
On those days he lives in the White House.
He cannot go out on election years, because he is afraid of his fans and the FBI conspirators.
Everyone is out to get him on election years, and sometimes on Tuesdays on other years.
The story sad, the man sad, the wife sad, the children sad.
Paranoia Schizophrenia, a serious business.
Categories:
conspirators, sad, sad love,
Form:
Free verse
When we sat together,
we whispered almost as one,
not as conspirators,
but as mentor and acolyte,
and you spoke of things that I did not comprehend
yet with words that I knew were true.
You warned me of a chimera,
I've fallen prey to several since.
When we stood counter,
we opposed one another's reason,
not as equals,
but as victor and vanquished,
and you spoke of things that I could not escape
and with words that I could not refute.
You warned me of your power,
I still dare not deny.
And I may have known at once,
or I may have known at last,
that you were The Emperor's Sage
and I was the jester's cur.
26th August 2018
Categories:
conspirators, conflict, mentor, wisdom,
Form:
Free verse
Against The Ashes of The Fire
Thine eyes wrapped in chestnut leaves, brittle bark, red berries, and skeletal branches
Thy skies once azure with an aura of clouds drifting lazily over fall-kissed
Grass. The tears you weep you do so in mist, while your white pumpkin skin
Begins to shred and toil and while you cannot speak, you are crying within.
Deft fingers begin to break thy bones of earth, pumping acid into your heart.
With their oil rigs, their armies of carbon conspirators, they seek to tear you apart.
Despite the colours you grant them, the air you provide, thy people chain you to a pyre.
So, rise, revolt, strain against those smoky bonds, against the ashes of the fire.
12th October 2019
Poet's October Pantoum Cash Prize Poetry Contest
William Kekaula
Categories:
conspirators, autumn, earth, environment, october,
Form:
Pantoum
I turn to look back,
my back to the sun,
my shadow lengthens before me,
it mocks me with movement
that I know was never mine,
I turn away from the mockery.
Godlike Sun Of The Living,
Do You Chase Your Shadow As I Do ?
Before me my shadow,
before me the sun,
sorrow makes allowance
so that they may be as one,
solstice is brief,
I regret its passing.
Devilish Sun Of The Dying,
Do You Loathe Your Shadow As I Do ?
My shadow lies before me,
it stretches, dark, into the sunlight,
it seeks the sun's embrace,
the sun welcomes its approach,
together they laugh,
conspirators jesting at my madness.
21st December 2018
Categories:
conspirators, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
I asked him plainly if I was the one, and he said, "Yes".
He knew I was the one, and yet he did not cast me away.
He broke bread, and drank with me, just like all the rest.
I gave him the kiss of betrayal, and yet he called me friend.
He was condemned, and I was remorse, returning the bloody money.
I confessed my sin to my co-conspirators, but never to God or Jesus.
It was far too much for me to bear. I cared not to live and took my life.
What I remember most, as my dreaded life slowly departed my dying body,
is the memory of the loving face of him who called me his friend.
041422PS.
Matthew 26:25, 50; 27:3,4,5
Categories:
conspirators, easter, friend, jesus,
Form:
Verse
There is reason why evil
has persisted, Man does not
wisely use his power, rejecting
God's council, a Better Plan – the
devil having no power, but for
the power given him by God's Man.
We are co-conspirators, feigned
ignorance no panacea nor bliss...
on what Christ Loves the Devil uses
a pulverizing fist –
Free Will has glorious Manifestation –
but such freedom does not
come without risk – let not
one's lesser ego, lead to internal
cancers, electing to office bloody stools
and piss....
Categories:
conspirators, environment, humanity, introspection, judgement,
Form:
Free verse
Africa has no address
this is a place at war.
Here are poor houses
and poor people.
The people live here like cockroaches,
they've been here a long time.
People no longer people,
people deprived of hearts, minds,
people without function
for which an address doesn't exist
worse: in whose name political conspirators
are engaged in the looting of the national
treasury
The young leave quickly
unwilling to know the wisdom
of their estranged parents.
Even the barking dogs
would rather wrestle
than eat--
while the roaming chickens
play hide-and-seek with
the smallest children.
The old colonial farms have gone back to forest
the new resettled farmer knows only the sun
knows nothing of food or of farming
The new doctor has borrowed the witchdoctor's face
leaving his usual surgery to wander
some dilapidated, half imagined hospital
where experiments are performed on people
I came to deliver a letter
I came to save the damned,
the scum of your society.
And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
this here's a world of losers and sinners
and all I see is the darkness of your soul.
I thought hard for us all--my only letter--
then threw it away into the darkness,
and was overtaken inexplicably by sorrow.
I had tasted the face of Africa.
Africa has no address.
Categories:
conspirators, africa, character, community, conflict,
Form:
Free verse
Alone he stood against the many,
A towering rock of integrity,
Unafraid,
Uncompromising,
Determined
To fight, in the name of his friends that
Victims, of certain people and their devious
Plans, have fallen
Ready was he to struggle against this
Group* of people and the
Injustices committed, till things change
For
He knew, in his heart of hearts, that
The forces of:
Good
Justice
And of virtue, stood by his side,
Stronger by far
Than
Any of their deceitful conspirators and
Their evil schemes to support inequity
For
To glorify the group's contemptible vanity, ,
Remaining
Indifferent to the suffering they inflicted,
Upon
All those who their trust, had put, in them,
Expecting a fair play!
Shame!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
18 OCTBER 2014
Categories:
conspirators, friendship, parody, trust, truth,
Form:
Free verse
Alpha and Omega, in the beginning was the word
Made spirit, made flesh, instinct, emotion, passion,
Apotheosis of all human experience!
For primeval man and woman, one breath,
One idiom, one allegory, and human nature
Materializes in the vile, venomous vociferations
Of the cold, calculating, crawling creature!
The word, truth or prevarication,lofty
Incandescent flash of lush, limpid light,
Kaleidoscopic, bewitching, enlightening,
Dazzles the mind and warms the heart
With the enthralling glimpse of Paradise lost!
Hail, the Sermon on the Mount!
Hail, the Ten Commandments!
But, floating on lips of eloquent monsters,
Fickle, protean, tower of Babel, it rises
On wings of hate, acrimony, resentment,
Injustice, painful uncertainties, war, death.
False prophets, cunning conspirators appear,
Waving the Apocalyptic glaive of the Millennium.
Malevolent, messianic manipulators of the mind,
Vicious, vitriolic, vehement vessels of vengeance,
Dance in the dark, dismal dungeon of moral decay,
Spiritual distress, dismay, depression and decadence!
In fine, the natural Word, majestic, divine,
Serene, eternal, sacred, one and indivisible,
From the sweet, silken sound of silence,
Soars, triumphant, joyous and meek,
Harbinger of peace, harmony, justice, liberty,
And true life to all who condescend to lend an ear!
Categories:
conspirators, celebration,
Form:
Verse
She was an abstract woman in a clinical world
theoretically reasoning her notions were perfectly
discerning midst-chaotic sensibilities,
whilst her inane whimsicality kept semblances of
insanity eye-leveled twixt reconfigurable ideologies'
over-share & objectionably designated delicacies of
exothermic exposures pseudo-psychic phenomenons,
therefrom she found divinities were misaligned
with governmental expansions as an alternative to
spirituality and hypotheses of butterfly hurricane frolics,
'twas indubitably manifestations of poetically piddled
calculating escapism artistes & scoffing con-conspirators
Categories:
conspirators, allegory, butterfly, confusion, environment,
Form:
Alliteration
there was a time
i remember it well
when one could go away for a
while &
not be noticed.
there was a time
i remember it well
when one could turn off everything &
not be contacted,
not be sought after,
not be checked up on,
not be held to a response,
not be interrupted &
not be harmed.
there was a time
when two lovers could
pack themselves away,
far from prying eyes,
far from curious conspirators,
far from the rest of the
vultures
who prey upon fleeting bits of
happiness, like they hadn’t had a
bite of carcass to eat in
days.
there was a time
when the youth of the world,
didn’t voluntarily offer up all the details of
their lives
to those very same agencies of government
who will come to their house &
tear them from their families,
who will lock them up & throw away the
key,
who will keep them incarcerated for the better part
of their known existence,
just because zuckerberg, dorsey & the rest of the
opportunists,
said so.
but when privacy died
everything changed,
lighting the fuse for the slavery to come.
lighting the fuse for the slavery to come.
lighting
the
fuse
for
the
slavery
to
come.
Categories:
conspirators, life, slavery,
Form:
Free verse
Julius Caesar Ate My Beaver
(A Legionaire's Lament)
By Roy Merritt
Julius Caesar ate my beaver
After travelin’ through our camp
He came over one dark evening
Carrying a beaver lamp
And he snatched him up and took him off
And I heard later in time
He sat down at his dinner table
And on my beaver dined
And it cut me through and through
Yeah it cut me to the bone
And that’s why I’m sittin’ here
And ah singin' this sad song
And it's hard gettin’ over the sorrow
I ain’t got over it yet
And that son of a gun Julius Caesar
He owed me a big fat debt
So I got in touch with Cassius
And Brutus his good friend
And we all conspired together
To do that pushy Caesar in
And come the Ides March
In the Senate we soon met
We cornered that son of gun
And got him for killin’ my pet
We all plunged in our daggers
And Brutus was particularly calm
And it shocked old Julius Caesar
Cos’ he’d been sleepin’ with him mom
Now Cassius though lean and hungry
He wasted no time at all
He was one of our ring leaders
Intent to make Julius fall
Politics don’t you know
Was what motivated all them
But as far as me when he ate my beaver
It was like eatin’ my kin
I did it for revenge,
Revenge from me it poured
And unlike my co-conspirators
I fell not on my sword
Categories:
conspirators, history, humor, silly,
Form:
Rhyme
I stoked every fire echoing into the mouth of arthritis?
A rhyming balm develops epileptic quasar fear?
If so, will he enter arbitration “Sold Out”?
Sleep wills She to cocoon beside you, Artemis?
Resplendent fallow flowers ecstasy coriander?
Do we sate the moons of Jupiter?
Funnel Now beyond we murks dilating clouds gyrating?
I need love like our drama needs psychosis?
You remind it to aero, dowager, misty care that casts off where?
Are they splicing cylindrical a lone fire there?
Will baby’s breath copula and inhale the death throes’ stare?
Does it resist and pre-exist and alter this “it's fair”?
She shall unwittingly play Duo, and I the tambourine savior?
Commit dune larks command speech donkey knives fine dream eyeing?
You know how to reveal this delicious Necronomicon?
For the efficient haven't need of heat?
That crack in her skull’s provisionally neat?
If only a soapy mouth were The Key to the ATM Machine?
Did they witness the machination of roses pinwheel like Gene Kelly?
Can a joke slit a garrulous throat?
Do somnolent cars fill up on dark shofars?
How do caravans we collate solace in that Field of Mine?
If they nod will it She while on this turn, southbound daffodil urn?
Are we fish Absalom?
Crib conspirators he marshes in poison?
Anachronic foils arsenic royales docile incomplete Iliad catacombs?
Burning salad oceans?
And if only he and this nickel could…fight?
Wishing jamboree sipped on this wood and night?
This toe of Talos—all that’s palindrome—he will ignite?
Categories:
conspirators, conflict, myth, nonsense, pain,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Pawns Brokers
“Grit is a better word or term”.
They have it – these “Grunts” - grit –
that sandpaper bearded coarseness
structure in the face of fallacy,
backbone to support the flaws
of the wishy-washy conspirators.
Perseverance in the face of punishments
wet boots and leaky tents,
rubbers to cover “rifles and guns”,
tenacity in the face of tedium,
the character, will, and fiber of freedom
melded into unified intent,
a molten steel adapting
in the face of resistance.
They are the “grit” -
dirt, gravel, pebbles, stones –
assembled, mixed, imbedded,
into the foundation of flexibility.
G I’s, ground infantry, “grunts”,
foot soldiers, men, women,
volunteers in a world of privilege
honoring history’s forebears.
First brazen move of chessboards
unseen pawn brokers, last weary
card thrown in game of war.
“Brothers” – back to back –
protections tough guys
carrying the weight
of battle’s lies.
12/22/2015
submitted to ---------IS A BETTER WORD – Poetry contest
sponsor – Verlena S. Walker
Categories:
conspirators, military, soldier, war,
Form:
Free verse