Best Desecrate Poems
Dear Humanity:
You know I love you, right?
Stop calling me Mother Nature!
I hate that!
Genderless am I…
Oh, yeah, I get the ‘bring life forth’ bit,
creator of new life, pregnant with your desire
…yada, yada, yada,
my womb is your hope,
my anger your demise.
You have dominion over me?
Get over yourself!
Not the life-force, I wobble,
buoy in a black sea,
world in flux.
Some of your tribes cajole me
with Songs of the Good Earth,
their rhythms heal my rivers and plains,
my blue veins, renewing rains;
good vibrations make mountains grow.
Others try to dominate me,
defile, desecrate and destroy me.
Written in the Book they say,
patriarchal sons of kings.
Climate change deniers my enemies.
Poor, dear, naïve humanity,
my icecaps are melting, oceans swell,
water will consume the land.
My extremes test your resolve.
I can live without you,
is the opposite true?
Homeostasis, my cycles of life,
the seasons my command.
Are you so balanced?
Don’t fight against gravity,
there is no escape.
Eagles soar and lions roar,
your footprints on the shore,
all these shall pass away.
So if you seek immortality
then keep your home sacred.
Love all of me,
every rock is my child,
every grain of sand a seed,
everything you do to these,
you do to me.
I am Gaia. I am home.
Prayer for the Summer Solstice 2017
The bats in the steeple were feeding on people
By sucking the blood splattered wood
That came from the coffin a vampire dropped off in
When he’d drunk all the blood that he could
Here in my basement, my permanent placement
I lurk since the day that I died
At rest in my casket, my skull in a basket
My hideous grin gaping wide
Rats and mice squeaking a rusty hinge creaking
A slither of light from outside
My long severed head was rotted and dead
But gasped as the door opened wide
I lifted my lid as some hooded kid
Crept sneakily into my crypt
He soon spun about and he might have run out
If only he hadn’t have slipped
As he hit the deck he shattered his neck
I thought he was bound to be dead
But then as he stood, he lowered his hood
And then he un-swivelled his head
He gave me a wink as a hideous stink
Came gushing with smoke from his ears
He then started hissing through teeth that were missing
He looked like he’d been dead for years
I climbed from my tomb and stood in the room
Where demons would hide out all day
Until in the night they’d screech their delight
And frighten the vicar away
But this little fellow with skin that was yellow
And nails that were long curly claws
Let out a howl, an unholy wail
Then went back and bolted the doors
Like rattles at Wembley, my bones were all trembly
My teeth were all chattering too
My wee wee was dribbling and let’s not be quibbling
I thought I was going to poo
It’s usually nice that we can’t die twice
So people down here dwell forever
I then realised that everyone dies
And now I’m not feeling too clever
For my turn came first, to enter the hearse
My beautiful love left alone
In these years apart she’s been in my heart
But hell’s darkest hole has no phone
So how could it be this thing before me
Could desecrate my sacred rest
I needed it banished, It had to be vanished
Along with the worms in its chest
I watched every worm wriggle and squirm
I jumped at the twelfth hour chime
In life we take knocks through the ticks and the tocks
But we can’t fight the passing of time
So...
In spite of the stink, I started to think
Which gave me the fright of my life
I had to make room in a new double tomb
For that hideous thing was my wife!
Entered October 2021 in Your Personal Favorite No 2
Sponsor L Milton Hankins
In life they take and take, dignity, peace. In life they trick us into nothing. Lower than soil; deeper than roots; sunk in swamps.
In death we live,
find paths past moon
and stars.
In life they destroy thoughts; desecrate bodies inside out; remove friendship; weapon spouses; alienate our children. They plough fields of fear; sow four seeds: shame, guilt, doubt and confusion; reap submission and self-harm. Their scythes we turn against ourselves. They grow... and grow.
In death we wash
our clothes in water clear
they will be new
In life our chains are made by man; their hands obscure us from the light; their hands rob us of food to feed, of clothes to cover; their hands make us shiver naked, invade and take.... and take.
with fingers spread
we wash our skin free of sin
we give forgiveness
In life we do not understand ourselves; dive head first into seas and mud; believe we are evil sinners. Puppets for far too long.
Our deaths their win
face them alive
and be complete
In life their winter will come soon, their blood will freeze, their organs crumble, their minds will scatter, food for birds, their shattered conscience preserved; they will do penance, time and again and again
We shall sit with our backs
against the tree
eat the permitted fruit
and be free
***
Copyright © Darren White
January 8, 2017
Poe laid flowers on her grave
His lost Lenore
One he’d love forevermore
But doomed to see her nevermore
Storm clouds expelled true daylight
Yet near her grave on a dead oak tree
An ebony raven stared and seemed to agree
“Nevermore,” the bird mocked, flying off with ironic glee
Clouds burst, pelting the cemetery with rain
Back to his horse and carriage Poe ran
Was Poe a pawn in this raven’s game plan
An unhealthy racing of his heart began
Arriving home, Poe sought to forget
But there was the red-eyed, sinister bird
Perched on the pallid bust of Pallas, it said just one word
“Nevermore,” was all Poe heard
Stealthily the bird had entered through an open window
“Did God summon you to add to my grief?”
Poe pleaded, “Will I ever find relief?”
“Nevermore,” cried the demon, to Poe’s disbelief
Poe tried to rid his home of the tormenting invader
“Fly away; take your word with you!”
But the evil visitor would not bid adieu
Its single word was malicious; Poe could not misconstrue
When rainfall ended, the raven flew to the windowsill
“Be gone!” Poe screamed, his voice filled with hate
It eyed him once more, leaving Poe in a crazed state
But loving memories of Lenore it could not desecrate
*Written October 1, 2014
I reckon you could call me an old curmudgeon but that's alright!
I've been around four score and three and I have earned that right!
There are many things that annoy me but I'll mention just a few.
Hang in there with me as I attempt to get across my point of view!
Barkin' mutts and their inconsiderate masters drive me up the wall!
The droopy-poopy pants kids wear just makes my wrinkled hide crawl!
Cussin' in public by so-called ladies and gentlemen is so uncouth!
It annoys me that high-profile jerks don't set an example for our youth!
It nettles me when someone says they'll do somethin' and then they don't.
I'm annoyed with people who keep me waitin' which is usually their wont!
Careless drivers bug me especially jerks who think it's cute to tailgate,
And telephone solicitors who the serenity of my castle they desecrate!
I'm disturbed about those who flout the Constitution - 'tis an abomination!
It bothers me that we don't ask God's guidance for this troubled nation!
Pompous bureaucrats annoy me no end with their paucity of breedin'!
It rankles me to pay more taxes for which the guv'mint is ever pleadin'!
I ain't got no patience with a screamin' brat or a loud-mouthed dude,
(Nor people who murder the English language as I just did - it's so crude!)
I could ramble on and on ad infinitum about things that annoy me,
But I feel my blood pressure risin' so I had better let the subject be!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Not for the contest.
Whispers of talent are carried on New England breezes
Dickinson, Hawthorne, and the Irvings’ son Washington
Though I sense a special connection to all of these
None inspired more than Edwin Arlington Robinson
Three Pulitzer Prizes were displayed on his mantle place
His childhood in Maine he described as “stark and unhappy”
Though he went to Harvard, academics he’d not embrace
Arlington’s style was unique and his cadence snappy
“Miniver Cheevy,” displaced soul, longed for Medieval years
To Miniver I could relate, felt I was born too late
Wishing I’d ridden West with America’s pioneers
But at least my dreams alcohol will never desecrate
For his depressed brother Herman, “Richard Cory” he wrote
A handsome man who appeared to enjoy the perfect life
But the turmoil in his heart, his exterior did not denote
Richard shot himself in the head to put an end to strife
Edwin, your character studies touched something deep inside
Struggles you described of common men gripped me, made me cry
People whose dreams and accomplishments did not coincide
I, too, watch life’s play from backstage, feeling like a standby
Though I seek to display wit, tragedies pour from my pen
And much like my muse, my life seems filled with loneliness
As poets we reach out to touch lives of men and women
Hoping to find comfort as troubled feelings we express
* Written for Jared's "Ode" contest
Edwin Arlington Robinson (December 22, 1869 – April 6, 1935) was an American poet
born in Maine who won three Pulitzer Prizes for his work. His brother Dr. Dean
Robinson died of a drug overdose, perhaps inspiring Robinson to write of the
alcoholic dreamer “Miniver Cheevy.”. It has been speculated that his poem "Richard
Cory" was penned for his other brother, Herman. E.A. Robinson’s poems have a dark
pessimism stemming from dreams gone awry. The style and themes of many of my
poems seem to emulate Robinson, who often wrote in rhyming quatrains. “Richard
Cory” can be found at http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/richard-cory/.
To read “Miniver Cheevy,” go to
http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/robinson/12640.
The gaps in her sentences
are always filled with insights from others
Who prompt her to speak a truth she does not ascribe to
They witter and order and claim her thoughts as their own
Changing the essence of what she feels
so that she offers saccharine lies
Seething inside she wonders at a world where reality is desecrate
the rubbing away of hard edges
Grinding her down in the process
Her pauses are all she has, reflections of herself
The gaps in her sentences
A testament to the woman she wishes to be
Ants are known to be industrious,
Bustling about the anthill
In lines and arcs and freeform patterns,
Intent on some important insect mission,
Minding their own business, thank you.
Of course, sometimes ants have to be exterminated
If they’re likely to bite a small child,
Or interrupting the flow of one’s flower bed,
Or just plain in the way.
After all, they’re only bugs,
Small and inconsequential and expendable.
Occasionally, small rough and tumble boys,
Full of bravado and challenging each other,
Will desecrate an anthill recklessly
Just for sport…
And to see the ants run frantically
In response to the destruction of their entire world
At the whim of a dirty-sneakered foot.
They look so small from up above
Scurrying about like ants
Tiny and insignificant from the height
Of a skyscraper, or a ski lift,
Or the windshield of a fighter pilot’s plane.
Tiny, and in the way
Because, as we all know,
Sometimes ants have to be exterminated.
This life has become unbearable
Two ships passing in the night
For there is no greater loneliness
Than the loneliness of together
How two people can desecrate
Each other with such brutality
Two lives torn into tatters
Addicted as we, both to pain
It is easy to complain of suffering
To wallow in the agony
Hearts that beat so separate
Never again to beat as one
Dreamed it would be different
Not hollow, empty and dank
Not the life mapped by myself
Never thought I wanted this
There is no end to the bitterness
Those circles spin round and around
Trapped in a life so mundane
Feels there is no way out
There is still a part that hopes
Of a clear sky on a clearer day
To wrestle on with obstinance
Until I allow me to be me again
Stained glass child, I see your window every day
A picture of innocence, purity being portrayed
Can’t tell if happy, such an expressionless face
As my black soul passes, this once sacred place
Thy stature diminished, thy name is desecrate
This window screams at me, you abandoned faith
A symbol of times past, the masses came to pray
Forsaken by doubt, and my religion went astray
Lost without direction, I attempted another route
Trees where stripped bare, of low hanging fruit
Can anyone be sure, what dwells beyond demise
Out of reach answers, high in the canopy reside
So the stained glass window, gives nothing away
No sadness, just indifference to a divergent sway
Inscrutable indecipherable, a picture froze in glaze
Enduring illustration, of our past ecclesiastic days
Later life offered, more than reflection and prayer
Leaving surreality, stumbled upon a hedonistic lair
A craving for escapism, morphs to delusional need
I descended into oblivion, an atheist in the weeds
Now searching amongst theories, some I embrace
Seeking out some creator, in the medium of space
From quantum to infinite, amid macro micro waves
Alas reality of life, may only be found down a grave
Stained glass child, with the halo above your head
Embedded in a window, framed with softened lead
Watching you as my life, inexorability draws an end
Have I missed the point, where you my only friend
Soul Betrayal Poetry Contest
I challenged you, and you finally took the bait.
This was a battle that I had to instigate.
But, you only came when I gave you a mandate,
So now I will be happy to accommodate.
Now Burger King Mandelay is on my hotplate!
"YOUR" SELF-MADE throne...I will proceed to desecrate.
But, I would love to know what made your head inflate,
Because each one of your slams sounded so innate;
Not worth the effort that it takes to conjugate.
You would be better off trying to slam KUWAIT!
I am a master poet. You can not relate.
When I started this race, I left you at the gate.
The second best slam is what we must nominate,
And the other spots are what we must allocate.
I apologize for writing rhymes that frustrate.
Stop whining! Step up! And try to eliminate!
SHUT UP! So that you do not self-incriminate.
Males should not be JEALOUS; That is a FEMALE trait!
Baby boy...You need to go back and incubate.
Climb into the ground, so that you can germinate.
Then, much later, I will come back and cultivate.
When pest step to the best, I have to fumigate!
The day you beat me is the day hell frigerates!
Just give the jury a chance to deliberate!
Salivating to desecrate
Her bones
In state
Lacking
Brains, Heart, Courage
The wizard
Capitulates.
9/21/20
For 'Paint a Picture - 7 Lines' contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Tongues loose, tongues in a hangman’s noose
Wag without care to declare nonsense
As wisdom salvaged from the sluice
Where nonsense whacked common sense
Lost in a sea of error whose terror
Harmed victims concealed by protagonists who opted to promote
The cult of nonsense whose defence mirror
Plunged into reverse gears that chose to demote
Common sense when tongue waggers
Congregated in an occult cabal to upgrade gossiping skills
As though grapevine daggers
Staggered upper echelons of wisdom whose quills
Spilled reason in dark corners where tongue waggers shared nonsense seeds
Plus fertilizers of idleness and the icing on cakes of lies
Whose taste on tongues that wagged feeds
Total belief in naked gossip sties
Tied malfeasants together tighter
The better for them to wage war on common sense and desecrate workplace etiquette
Which is anathema to tenets of ultimate gossipers rate lighter
Than curses the wisdom ticket
That caught gossipers red handed munching grapevine beans
While sharing tins and pins of sins
For which gossipers scrambled when grapevine means
Came under close scrutiny when truth queens
Declared grapevines illegal in Wisdom Land
Where any culprit convicted of spreading gossip propaganda
Would be stripped of the royal brand
And punished for the gossip blunder
Committed without shame
To discredit the truth and integrity
In solemn worship of the blame name and claim
Would be sent to Coventry for eternity.
I could write into the night
Into the night I find my light
In each their hands they hold a key
A key to be set me free
I ponder once and choose quickly
Afraid for this could desecrate me
I choose the left, no the right
And as the key fell down to me I reached out incessantly
I took the key and ran for the door
Where the truth beyond lay lure
It clicked it fit!
I had chosen well
The latter sure was hell
I pushed it through and walked into a world which I has never knew
The walls, the halls, the stairs, the skies.
The more I fought the more it filled
Past and present future builds
Today the day to end all of sorrow
Quickly now before the morrow
Make your choice and run for fun
I found my life while standing still
I made new life with each my thrills
I ponder more each day is new
One day someday I will return for you
Knowing now which key will be the next part of my destiny
I love the hearts of moments still
Be still and find your part
The part for me you will never see
I found it now and keep it well
Hidden
From you, for me, forever be free
To be what I may be
And I can fly into the night I can fly with all my might to find the words for me to tell the more
To find my hand in time to find what I may find
To make the moments longer
To make the days forever plays in each my midnight somber
I cry for me and let it out to touch the soul
Am I to die in this my mind with all this wonder?
I am to make it end for I have tried each key
And how, please how?
Can each it be another key?
I am tired my mind is sore I have no might to fight this fight alone forever more
If I am done then this world has won
For this I am impure, unsure
I am swarmed with doubt
The darkness now it takes me out
For what is light without?
He was baptized into slavery
And submerged in the winter
Of your hatred
And was converted to poverty
In the land of gold,
You taught him that GOD
Was a white baas
Who had invented the pass!
And the police were
The angels of death,
He learned to read
Whites only
Lest he fall into heresy
And desecrate your piss-pots,
And as you crept
Out of the garden
Of your humanity
And excommunicated
Yourselves from justice
And damned your generation
Chained in gold
To a leper colony,
And as he stumbled
Through his oppressive crucifixion
You took him off your cross
And sold him in the market place
To mercenaries while you counted the rosaries
Of your crimes to man,
Now he a victim
Of your greed
A witness to your crimes
Is finally free.