Best Cult Poems
The cult of the bone
the bone
the bone
Chalky and porous and white
as a stone
crushed in a cauldron
in flames in a fire
brewed as a potion
to cure my desire.
Inspired by Anthony Slauson
They believed a Capitol riot could make a loser a winner,
After failing, they cling to changing facts by terror and thunder.
This weathering vessel that casts about
A barge adrift in the river of lies.
My crumbling ship, my hopes all cast in doubt
I navigate past cults of crying eyes.
This rusting old tanker betrays my flame
My boy joy driving fervent flaring glare.
I’m no match for terror by any name
Scant my Ali fist-words striking the air.
This floating worn casket my last cradle
I can’t go while hate burns from the sewers.
And Earth seethes and chokes fumes unnatural
But who breathes once guns fire from hate’s snipers?
I cruise this clumsy tub to open sea
And give my dwindling days to speak freely.
We have brought this upon ourselves:
This virus, this egregore:
This cult of individuality.
Our right to die and bring others with us!
Truly an inversion of full potentiality:
Others live so we may make right.
The Sun shines on all, says the Teacher,
And vanity blows among its rays.
Like a mask covering a face, so the individual masks their community:
The community devoted to the rite of self-absorption and absolute dismissal of the Absolute
that is the ground beneath us all.
In the guise of a serpent, pleading to be left alone,
like the man behind the curtain, pulling the strings of our poem,
like a talking donkey, kicking us down the road,
this power and principality wants us to become I and all to be you
so it may survive another day, sacrificing us at the anti-altar
of death and decay.
No blood will flow – no life to be seen -
growing and growing, spreading its seed:
From west to east,
by the forces of materiality
and powers that be.
There’s a certain irony to it all:
We must as individuals overcome our idiotic being -
rather, be captured by the wonder of the other -
and come to the altar fully experiencing
the body and blood of the Other
fleshed before us, drawing our eyes
toward the gaze of an other.
Schools are cults of intelligence
Sports are cults of athleticism
Families are a cult of similar genetics
Clubs are cults of interests
Bands are cults of music
Businesses are cults of greed
Governments are cults of power
Gangs are cults of inferiority
Art is a cult of creativity
Industry is a cult of logic
Friendships are cults of acceptance
Societies are cults of submission and assimilation
Religions are cults of beliefs
The outdoors is a cult of ecosystems
Living things are a cult of the earth
Discrimination is a cult of ignorance
Philosophy is a cult of deep thinkers
Meekness is a cult of peace
Violence is a cult of war
Hospitals are a cult of the ill
Suburbia is a cult of the middle class
Poetrysoup is a cult of poets
Everything in life is a cult, because people of similar interests or other various similarities find each other and worship what they have in common. People sub-categorize themselves. That is what the cult of mankind is all about.
His heart was a philosopher's stone
that broke down happiness
to it's components
of sex and being alone.
Her skin was the Ouija board
he used in order to receive
messages beyond her soul.
And when they were rapt
in their circle of consummation,
they found the face of
erotic compassion.
Limericks crochetés : All the trappings of the rough-neck cult
All the trappings of the rough-neck cult
Baby-faced blond Aryans exult
Under star-striped umbrella
State seal insignia
Some Dad yells « OUT », muscle-men catapult
Can SUN also set in the Wild West
Where the cash – the Man says – will come to rest
How many will share wealth
How many get free health
Deplete coffers for great job conquest ?
The tragic loss of a rising star
O ! Mark « Blond » face ! He’ll shine yet afar !
Blocked not by Destiny
But by peer fear envy :
Winsome mien sage’s ears passion galore !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Psychopomp led me into afterlife
into the souls' of our forefathers,
into the dire grave, spiritualism,
i saw spirits, deities, the deads;
the beneficient dead of the night.
i laid on the ancestor's cult below
resting returns of darkness of the
ancient historical cult of culture.
i was introduced to the angelic
beings of ritual magic, the spirit
guides of theosophy and mysticism
the aliens of ancestral Ufology, Africanism and the neopagan gods which are the thought of soulsm.
my soul shattered and I found hope.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
Awoke, rises from death,
A long journey embarks again;
Broke, loosen from faith,
Swiftly strike, no more bargain.
Religious right-wing revivial
Sustains Supremo’s survival
With maga culture
Chirps convict’s vulture
Our god’s not dead on arrival
As i retired home from hunting
I stood before my shrine,
Forgive me for murdering nature
It was the gun that killed not me
I toil in tears just for my love, at least the bush meat will win her heart...
Hunting has being my grandpa's cult
Tonight, sleeplessness capsize my dreams
I split its blood as tears dropped from its eyes
Saying, 'merci, merci'
But the greed in my hands squash its plead
It was the innocent Gazelle
awoh awoh
You follow like lemmings, blindly
Hang on every syllable and noun
Like dictates from the gods
Do not disagree as banishment awaits.
For those that veer from the chosen path
A lonely road lays ahead,
they use fear as a signpost
To keep you on the straight
Adulation and nothing less
Will satisfy and feed the zealot.
You must fly their flag.
And wear their badge.
Chant their name with pride.
Take up arms.
Kiss those you really love goodbye.
Oh, what a fantastic c@@t you are.
let my words guide you
do only as i say
there's nothing we cant get through
this is the only way
come with me to the other side
my souls light will guide you
you cannot run and dare not hide
this journey has been made by few
take this cup and drink to me
together we will fly away
leave your body by the sea
the afterlife greets us today
drink my child, bottoms up
my wisdom serves me well
our bodies lay by empty cups
while our souls gather in hell
Pardon me if I disbelieve
that bumping ugly is still a thing
even though the evidence
states quite the opposite
the fair practices once pursued
enjoyment of the lovely views
are now lost to distant days
spawned from acts that cured malaise
purity is circumscribed
by a god in holy writ
even as adherents longed
for the same as lust implores
indulgence taken in the flesh
look to the testament that came before
there the needs were clearly met
taunting me as consequence
to consider religion’s rules
this slows few with dire decrees
company found without clothes
for the sake of coitus’ charm
a convent would be the home
suited for my dearth of joy
there the belief would support
the nothingness of incel’s cult.
Seek thus the truth
Watch light cast proof
See that you see
So peace may be
Watch ego vain
Fling madness plain
Don't act so cool
Love is no fool
Joy never hides
Even from pride
Dare face the fact
Live what you act
No need to hate
Each lives a fate
Let cheer find ease
To foster peace
Love each and all
As footsteps fall
Purge ego vain
Be humbly plain
No need to boast
Just how you toast
Each to his own
The path makes known
Vain, rich or poor
Each through a door
Cult culture here
Lives myriad spheres
Leon Enriquez
03 August 2017
Singapore