Best Derelicts Poems
"I'm hearing images, I'm seeing songs no poet has ever painted
Voices call out to me, straight to my heart"
Cold, emotionless, and her nature, defiant
Hard to connect with as well as unreliant
A boarding school for outcasts such as Wednesday
Revenge for brother, brings on her sinister way
Dysfunctional families—ivory towers make wagers
Enrolled are lost souls and morbid teenagers
Like Arkham Asylum, a long and brutal history
Medieval mayhem come to life again in her story
Nevermore Island, Romania’s Nevermore Academy
Unconventional practices become their enemy
Designed for students with extreme personalities
Who don’t think their practices convey abnormalities
Is an all American coming-of-age supernatural
Tangled in spider silk or it’s web, which is factual?
And there it is the unscrupulous psycho-therapist
A principal’s shapeshifter and her sorceress rapist
Forcing thoughts back into some semblance of order
Werewolves, vampires, gorgons, and sirens who boarder
Are the architectural texts with applications ubiquitous
And the requisite archaic desperate mass exodus
Dark long tresses, paints it black in gothic dresses
Many who are romantic interests she addresses
Rises to an ovation with a most clever shadow dance
Sanity, reason, balance, rationality, and much arrogance
Behind the smiling facade of normality where lie derelicts
There lurks a psychopathic serial killer, and other convicts
Beyond their control, declined their world of decadence
Insanity, lunacy, madness, the outcasts show no evidence
Highly severe psychological and physical illnesses?
Or real paranormal abominations and alien devises
Guiding her are messages from the beyond with passion
Her lecture combined intellectual lucidity and compassion
Let someone's light shine everywhere,
darkness must not prevail when hope becomes
the candle that flickers waiting to die,
but somewhere a rising voice sings
and makes pretty roses bloom and butterflies fly:
come out of your hiding and dare
to defy anyone who doesn't care!
Like most of us, you have gone through hell,
beaten your chest, and cried from pain and dire:
isn't it time to make amends and restore inner peace?
Put love first and listen to the sweet sound of a bell,
when harmony is missing: life becomes a sky without geese...
a meadow without flowers, a face without a smile!
Let someone's light shine everywhere, let it scatter
shadows that hide every star insight, and the nocturnal visions
we seek in surrealistic dreams not limiting our fantasy;
if Earth is our home, let's live here peacefully...
caring for others and taking care of each other.
Nobody must be neglected, even without possessions;
derelicts can fill up their paper bags without revenues...
don't look at their worn-out clothes that resemble rags
and might tell us a pitiful tale, let's consider their values!
Like many who have put their ultimate faith in trustworthy people
and got disappointed, they show anger, discontent, and mistrust;
when all else fails, you have God to rely upon: he's your last resort,
He will not dishearten you but make you strong and not tumble!
They've tossed their souls away
again
harlots for a vote
they've fingered the race card
the rapist card
the Russian card
the Ukraine card
now they're playing mahjong
with a virus.
Muzzling our freedoms and rights
placing plastic tiles in our minds
when this latest fallacy fails
they'll boomerang (black)
to the race card again.
They're locking {we the people away}
giving early release to protect rapist
and assorted other derelicts... from the flu!
Do they think a tsunami of convicts
will keep six feet away from our
daughters
mothers
grandmothers.
My father used to sweat the flu out
I remember him saying
"get me another blanket"
we'd stack them three or four high,
The fever would break
he'd be back to work the next day.
only to inhale benzene rings
to keep us in meat and greens...
They don't make them like that anymore
This will be a baton head splitting summer
oppression will detonate
spill freedoms' soul onto the avenues
fringe factions will clash..
Come November
just remember who locked you up
released the filth of society onto our streets
remember who pointed fingers-fell asleep
while withholding your money
to gain political traction
trashing the economy
running helter skelter over livelihoods
come November-shout out people!
remember how your local gvt. couldn't find
illegal alien felons to deport them
but suddenly found them long enough
to give them your Wuhan money -your bread and honey
come November vote their globalist behinds out of office
and into their
plush-slush funded gated community
The chord wrapped around his neck
As he was unwilling to pay the penalty of the law
Why should he bow his knee to derelicts
When he had preached against the sin of the fall
She came in looking all cute and coy
She's a girl, I'm a boy...a very little boy
We'll play a game in secret and feel connected
I'll tell her life will be destroyed if "IT" is unprotected
What a wonderful WORD to deliver to the hopeless
Spiritual leadership has the highest protection
When the flesh ROARS at little girls and boys
They cover "the fall" from open detection
Denial is a weapon against ignorant liars
Rushing around, stirring up blazing fires
The institution must survive all attacks
Lest our deceptive nation show what it lacks
......TRUTH.....
For those who are called to walk in LOVE
Caesar's due must be paid, first
Drunkards, Harlots, Murderers and Thieves
In prison, while predators give drink to those who thirst
But the one who bore all the guilt and shame
Hung on a Cross, innocent, without blame
Humility will come, unbidden, without recourse
The heart will submit or harden without remorse
....in the balance....
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-28-2024
IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA
BASE FORTHWITH.
ALSO, ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS,
SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS,
WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, SHRINKS, COLONEL
CLINKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES,VENDORS, SUPPLIERS,
SALESMEN, ACCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS,
HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS,
COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS,
RELATIVES, FIANCES, BOYFRIENDS, GIRLFRIENDS, FRIENDS, FOES,
ENEMIES, EVIL NEMESIS’, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS,
TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS,
QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, FAGS, DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY
ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, [PRE OR POST] MALE IMPERSONATORS,
DICKS, DYKES, VAN DYKES, DICK VAN DYKE, LESBIANS, LONGSHOREMEN,
SHORTSHOREMEN, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET
MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, JUVENILE DILINQUENTS,
SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS,
LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS,
DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS,
SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICENE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES,
WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS,
VIGILANTES, VICTIMS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS,
PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS,
RIGHT WING, LIBERALS OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS. THEY ARE NOT TO
CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBERS.
BUT, IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME.
BA-ZING!
?
Form:
Ego between stints -
narcissistic derelicts
scope the classifieds.
Vanity cracks masked mirrors -
Arrogance need not apply.
Robin Hood
The Boys from the Hood are always hard...Robin laughs in mockery,
for he is the thief among thieves, swift, hard, so intelligently...
A lifestyle for most buried in the Hood, 23 square blocks of misery,
but not for he, oh know Mr. Hood takes pleasure in using this as...
as his... Metaphorical hideout tree...In bad company...King Thief...
Here amongst the derelicts, addicts, gangs, and overall bad men,
he is an Omen, an unlucky out of place casuality of urban demographics.
He is sly, so sly like the fox, letting all of the immoral degenerates around him
get blamed for all of his bad stuff, all of his illegal escapades they take the blame.
Why? Because he is the King Thief, a thief without greed for he feeds who needs.
So people here hold him in reverie, like a King, but just a thief with a good plan,
he understands what others can't comprehend...He has a plan...And many fans...
Robin Mr. Original Boy in the Hood, he took it all just because he could,
leaving the rest of the Boys from the Hood to think that they're hard...
Poetry Contest: A twisted poem about Robin Hood:
Sponsered by:C.T.
bmdavey@
02/12/16
Who could have known of their watch
Who could have told of their suspicion
Who could have told
That they were the harbingers
To my resurrection?
Me, I sat there
Plummeted
Engrossed in my ingratitude
Occasionally
Languishing
Betraying the illusion
And I remember, too,
Lingering in the thirsty
Emptiness
Mummified
Entwined in my solitude.
Sometimes
Before the Eolithic era
Which refracted by dioptric
Prometheus moulded his man
There were no leaves on branches
No bark on the trunks
No undergrowth in the forest
No sweat on the pores.
I opened the cataract
on my veins
the silence of the stars
surged forth
down the rivers on my palm-
leaving deserts behind.
Sensing disturbance
In my oblivion
Reproaching my rebirth
I reached out for the present
Leaving no spoor.
Centuries after
I arrived at the end of my hibernation
At the beginning of their quest
I had not solicited, I swear!
Mother, they said
These cracks on your face
In the shape of nations
Who will mend them?
Those aliens
Who daily defile your rivers
Make love to your beaches
Shitting on your mountains
Who will excoriate their oddity?
Those derelicts
Shaking your constellation
To balance the ecology:
Who will indite the epilogue?
Those dirty mercenaries
Who raped your plains
Plundered your joy:
Who will expiate the outrage?
Who will resurrect
Your majesty?
Who will deflect
The holocaust?
Makes me chuckle when I hear folks talking about living rough; heck some of them think that not having HD3D is living rough! Well, let me tell you a little story about a young fellow I know who truly lived rough
He's a good young fellow, always has a smile on his face, he's never done a bad deed to anyone in his life, just wants to be accepted and fit in like most folks do, well like some folks do, anyways
Well sir, my friend Simon was abandoned by his family and left to fend for himself on the mean streets of Pine Ridge, where he developed a serious 'jones' for Tim Horton's coffee with extra cream and extra sugar
Now, you might think Pine Ridge sounds like a pretty soft place to live out there in beautiful British Columbia, with a Tim Horton's and all, but it ain't a place for the weak and vulnerable, let me tell you
There's all kinds of folks in Pine Ridge; homeless people, people with addictions and mental health issues, criminals, some of them living right out there on the streets or in one of them rehab centers or shelters
They get off the meth or crack or booze in 30 days and then they're back on the street hanging around the Sally Ann on the Abbey bypass, mooching from the boys headed for the bar in the old Pine Ridge Hotel
Some of them old boys headed to the bar used to be their friends, or maybe even cousins or brothers; Pine Ridge ain't that big of a place, so everyone pretty much knows everyone, if you know what I mean
Anyways, the old boys drop a buck or two in their old buddy's dirty hand; they're going to use their bank card or credit card when they get to the bar anyways, so may as well get the pockets lighter before they go
Then their old buddies up and stroll right across the highway, pissing off folks who're just trying to drive through town and now they have to dodge a bunch of no good, damned derelicts who can't even use the crosswalk
Then they get to the Tim's and stand in line with the soccer moms and retired folks getting their yogurts and paninis and lattes and when it's their turn, they get an extra large with six sugars, if they're just clean, that is
...continued in part 2
‘Cause, Priests and Prophets Must Pray for The Reign…
and for Pre and Post-Op-Apocalyptic–Novocain ! …
Yet… It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
On the Planet, however Polluted or Profane
It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
Wherever the Delusional -Dimensional Plane
It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
Or Danger-Plot, Prison-Door or Deepest Pain
Or Present-Defeat, or Darkest-Hours-View
even Thru Dying-Breath, Devout Prayers Proclaim
to Be Delivered- New, True, and Pulled-Thru
to Claim The Prize of Life-Perpetually-Sustained
… For Particularly, By God’s Unpronounceable Power
Thru His Son’s Unparallel- Principal-Purchase… Dower
God’s Dependents and Dreamers Will Prosper-Gain
The Prophecy, The Promise, The Paradise-Preordained
The Perfect-Future and The Victory-Parade
… The Distant, Destiny of Eden – Never Been Doused Nor Degrade
Then… It Won’t Matter…So, Please Dismiss The Paltry-Strain
The Days of The Deformity and Damage-Train
Will Be In The Past … Departed-Detained
Disaster and Disloyal Will Lay In A Destroyed-Plain
Damned For All Of Time –Proliferate-Blamed
A Suppository-Prophylactic-Puddle-Shame
Patience-Persevering…Demands Punishment - Prediction-Sang…
… Final-Draft …Stop-The-Presses!... Poll-Loudly-Refrains
When You Really Discern and Pragmatically-Attain
The Divine God and His Son’s King- Domain
Publicize Their Progenitor and Predominant Names
and Preach and Deify Like-Doting-Platoon-Swains,
with Pedestal-Passion and ‘Plum-Plumb’, Persistence-Ingrained
For On Position-Comparison, We ‘All’ Pale-to- A-Feigned …
…Puppets and Peons and Dim-Witted-Parasitic-Great Danes
and Dopamine Defective, Demerol Addicted – Darwin-Poisoned-Sprains
Disoriented-Drivel, Droll-Drooling-Inane
or Just-Plain ol’ Dire-Derelicts-Insane
(and now… I have a P D Q,… for Me and You… Migraine)
Oh… May They Accept This Poor-Placard-Crane
Amen… Again… Amen
BAG-LADY IN THE PORTRAIT GALLERY
In all my failed moments of ambitious grace,
The truth, swarth-headed, lifts its greenest shape
To madly light the curls of whitest lace
Edging your throat, and redeem the nape
Where a brown knob burnishes the bone.
Such well-bred tenants of the proudest hock
Like ancient grandees, dawn on my lone
Outride of the politic, and who can mock
The wasteland where now our dreams
Have only the patina of reality to make us sad,
Where derelicts abound in housing schemes
For the heart’s homeless moments, and the bad
Lands of myth are skeletal. Public thresholds
Invest our private myths, and the flesh holds.
FROM IN MEMORY OF HER 2004, 2008
He betake himself to his room
Does a clear blue sky betokening a bright day?
His motivating memory needs to retrace the day,
The reverberating revival and the doom.
In the boulevard, sloppy and slippery
Derelicts yet living on the streets
Where are the members of the expedition?
Buster! Prominent players on the pains.
In his fatherland, full of luxuries,
Where he is used and kicked
With nothing like honey moon or period
His readiness is there forever,
Like compatriots who look to their history.
For words he wails in himself is not of doubt:
What goes around, comes around
And what comes the world goes the world.
A deranged attacker, could he be?
When I first found the silver strands, I felt a jab of fear.
Would ugly age spots follow soon, wrinkles and failing ear?
My dark locks were my pride and joy. I didn't want to lose them.
I glared at offending silver strands, with no thought to excuse them.
My vanity would not allow these derelicts to stay.
I gave each one a painful yank, for treason they would pay.
Just for sheer spite they started multiplying very fast.
I knew I had to change my ways or my tresses wouldn't last.
With despair my tired beautician said, "It's either do or dye."
And with ego trumping common sense we gave the dye a try.
My family bet each week on just what shade my hair would be
As I fought the aging battle with a brave duplicity.
My daughter thought it funny when an unsuspecting Mister
Tried just a bit to flirt with me and mistook me for her sister.
But now she finds no humor in it, in any way or another,
For since she's let her hair turn gray, he thinks she is my mother
won 8th in contest
(or, "Your Old Stomping Ground")
There’s a secretary that I know
whose husband recently died
But life somehow continues as before
She has to keep replicating the myth
that everything’s all right –
A savant of the copy machines
A mannequin in a megastore
There’s a child that I know
who goes to school with bruises
Just a shell of a thing bearing signs
of a nightly artillery attack
When did we start sending
our kids to the frontlines,
And when in the name of Christ
are we calling them back?
You just pretend
Things aren’t crazy
The bandleader’s not deaf
And the King is not a clown
So you defend
The last vestiges of confidence
And stick your flag in the last square
Of your old stomping ground
There’s a family that I know
they only speak in whispers
Afraid to raise their voices
for fear of an alcoholic’s rage
I wonder how they’ll fare
twenty years from now:
Will they ever rise up from their manacles
or their transparent cage?
And there’s a young man that I know
Has his whole life ahead of him
Still stuck on the diving board
over a pool of unemployment
Just wait a while, just wade awhile
Cling to your inflated promises
While you’re stuck in this limbo, might as well
Drown in your enjoyments
You just pretend
It’s getting late now
And the party’s letting out
The stragglers and the drunkards head
for another port of call.
Yet suspect the hosts, the powers that be,
in their senility, misplaced our keys
So we derelicts wander directionless
Like half-ghosts bumping into walls
But we just pretend…
Hi biscuit, you’re mighty and cute
So acute in hearing that I’m spearing fruit
Perhaps you didn’t know, I’ve lived in the South…too.
Entertained a name in the halls of high school
I thought it was cool, even back then
We were Rebels
Trivial this trivia of mine
Confuses many versed in sublime
My Confucius IS confusing
As are my rhymes butt
So what if they are
They’re just in my mind
Xposing me in a Leonine wind
(out of the skillet and into the…?)
bhindi, also know as a gem
... we banter in Bantu, know?... KinGumbo?
Layers of players in a game of purr suits
and sLayer the Dragon thought I said suite
So he booked a room and waited for treats
meanwhile…
Derelicts were there as centurion scribes
Bricks they made while recording tribes
Bows they carried low and to the side
... On a long coarse
I watched the hoarse-men ride.
Primus asked and the filly said hey…
Ask again in the proper way
Cute doesn’t cut it, the Cupid had to say.
Especially, if the gravy is grey.
”...oh look Vincent, it’s your lobe dear…” ;)
.
this is written in reply, to someone's reply.
it might not make sense but I hope you enjoy :) x
Form: