Best Disingenuous Poems
The Face of Hope
The face of hope never masquerades in forlorn visages
Towering above spiraling pits in the dark midnight of essence
Breaks disingenuous chains of nightmare’s clutches
In bleak mansions of the dark moon to warm their hearths
Refusing to prostitute possibility
With poignancy that probes lost footsteps trying to hold onto
Perfect moments of saline life support
Steps in to shine with opportunities’ bright smile
Refuses to accept the suicide of love
On rocks of the torn heart’s tragedy
Or see unscalable opaque obstacles
Or wear the mask of homeless helplessness
Discarding pity’s piercing banshee sneer
Fate’s cynical demand to fulfill obtuse fate
The face of hope refuses to wear desolate –
Or a God forsaken destiny -
Bereft of moonlight squeezing between
Abandoned footprints of dreams
Smothered by smog
A single shaft of illumination – a cloak protecting fragile insight
Never bewitched by night’s dead space,
Wearing victory’s luminosity of enduring promise,
Vanquishing a taunting laughter of ridicule
To break down anxiety’s imagined walls
Surrounding the paradise of foolishness
With dawning reveries of one bright star.
Abiding in eternal covenant
The face of hope never masquerades in forlorn visages.
5-6-21
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
How long did it take her to be free?
How long did it take
For the wingless dragonfly to finally open her heart to the world
How long did it take for her to overcome Devil’s workshop
Slowly caressing her retinas
With silky daffodils and two-faced tulips
Where
Now
She dives into a glistening pool of complicated risk
Opening her atrium to the masses
Shedding incumbent teardrops
Just for that one standing ovation
To SET
HER
FREE!
It was then
Where pieces of plastic chains fell from demure stratosphere
Dented taps, similar to a shoeless dancer,
Setting off bass tones and low-key monotony
For she was
One cholesterol filled syllable short
To be genuine
One tearful, hyphenated lyric
Too blunt
To be embraced by their “god”
One dilapidated vowel shy
Of being honest
Her diary didn’t have enough pages torn
From emerald sanity
There were too many “Wows”,
Diluting into disingenuous shoulder pats
Her stanza pushed aside
A glorified booty call with no call back number
Leaving messages towards empty dial tones
…
How long will it take her to be free?
Until she looks up
Knowing she already holds the key
©Drake J. Eszes
A battlefront benefactress,
She has her fortress, a fortified Princess, inside the dungeon of distress,
Tiled with the bone chips of ingratitude colored in pigments of black bright & rugid red,
An arrowhead chandelier illuminated by wicked tears, wet with woe,
Everybody saw her wedding dress, they all knew the warfield wardrobe,
But how many cared to touch her sorrow gown, how it hung on those exhausted shoulders,
The lilac one piece she wore for private pain,
Gain gauged by perseverence of self defense, vengence on Victory's tombstone,
How many visit that ceremony, where love is isolated amidst jealousy's cackle,
Do any of them frown with sympathy for the debt of her crown,
For every jewel in the tierra there exists a bruise upon her beautiful body,
An assault levied by the 'learned', the rape of a writer wrought by the wretchedly wanton,
Honors earned ransomed by pitiful rivalry, kindness taken in the grip of disingenuous delight,
Some say her very name is a curse, an anethema from some God foresaken moon,
Poet Destroyer, 'Too much nerve, too much passion' they exclaim,
Its only natural for her ingrown throne to be a thorn
In the fingertip of the editorial 'elite',
They know we will bleed for her grace like the children of wild sport,
The Poet Destroyer shall not hurt us as educators of deformity do,
She will not impose false limits on our brows,
She will not strike our eyes with rotten ink,
And look now you vultures of vice, we are Legion,
We are Brothers and Sisters of the Quill, raise your sight and behold our Worshipful Queen,
She rests not long in the sanctuary of her inner star, here we are,
Leading the war march towards you with captured & dried quills
Of imposter poets lashed to her sheild of cauterized parchment
Imprinted with the blessings of all literary Titans who have warred before,
We step forward While chanting in crazed concentration,
Oh woe to you,
Victors of vanity, victims of sanity!!!
This composition has been made in honor of the Poet Destroyer, aka. Linda,
A beautiful woman, a guiding Light, a warrior of liberated and Divine Art.
J.A.B.
In their eyes a disingenuous dream, pertinacious pestilence in their stream,
Solitudes sanctioned in their scheme, sacrificial surrenders in their scream…
Hearts contused crippled and crushed, of their voices hindered and hushed,
Landscapes forgotten and flushed, bruised, and battled for death has brushed.
In their world, a cataclysmic crumble, as they rejoice in a homeless humble,
All surrounds their squashing stumble, traumatized in a tenebrous tumble…
Hunger a friend through the night, an empty shell awakes the morning light,
Ecumenical echoes that do excite, as pious pretenders plague their plight.
Subdued souls within a shameful storm, trampled tears of their nomad norm,
Against their will, they must conform, white gloves command in a sinful swarm…
Vanishing views in their mist overpowered and oppressed in a tangled twist,
Will their love ever be missed, for we are all God’s children upon His midst.
_______________________________________________________________
...listen to the poem after 30 seconds of the video...
June.16.2020
CRUSHED
Sponsored by~ Anthony Biaanco
N/A for contest
Yes, as flowers, we doth bloom and one day will fall.
This is how life is, one day, we will hear God’s final call.
So, while we are here and have God’s grace to be alive.
Do not try to destroy others, that is just offensive jive.
But being vain and wanting to appear popular and better,
Some brand others with their own form of a Scarlet Letter.
So popular they wanted to be, they become so disingenuous.
Meanwhile, forgetting, indeed, our lives are indeed, tenuous.
Read any portion of history, you will find wonderful people.
since time began
Yet, others, who presented themselves as perfect but were
hurtful and plain shams.
Live your life, so that eternity can be yours.
We cannot fool all others, they are far from demure!
Not one perfect human skates upon this planet,
But the pretense that they do, has Satan’s hoof marks upon it.
Pretty plastic people.
Pretty plastic play.
What you see is what you get.
And it's always the same.
As I look into the camera.
Back out through your eyes.
We know each others secrets.
Yet "believe" the other's lies.
Pretty plastic people.
Pretty plastic play.
What you see is what you get.
it's easier that way.
It's not superficial.
This glorious facade.
Keeping up the act.
Is always super hard.
Pretty plastic people.
Pretty plastic play.
What you see is what you get.
They're the rules it's not game.
I've forgotten who I am.
You've forgotten yourself too.
I'm sure that this normal.
Matters not to me nor you.
Pretty plastic people.
Pretty plastic play.
What you see is what you get.
When I'm done you're thrown away.
Purely fictitious.
A character you create.
Image equals status.
Only have to imitate.
Pretty plastic people.
Pretty plastic play.
What you see is what you get.
Why would anyone complain?
It's not disingenuous.
I always play it straight.
Clearly you're enamoured.
I'm pretending I'm not bait.
Pretty plastic people.
Pretty plastic play.
What you see is what you get.
I'm perfection on a plate.
Vanitys a virtue.
You're a stepping stone.
My new flashy bauble beauty queen.
Shows how much I've grown.
Pretty plastic people.
Pretty plastic play.
What you see is what you get.
The limelights faded you away.
Like the film in an old camera.
You're no longer on a roll.
Hanging up to dry.
In a flash negative of soul.
Pretty plastic people.
Pretty plastic play.
What you see is what you get.
And it always ends the same.
"No, I won't read you, no matter what!"
"Even if you get a POTD, I will keep my heart and pen shut."
Such a terribly, nasty state of affairs.
When they associate only with top poet lairs!
I had enough POTDs to already know who would prefer death! (by name).
Than giving me a soul squeeze,golly, they may run out of breath?
I take it all in,with a big grain of salt.
Better that, than getting totally drunk on malt.
To those who are here, to a relative newbie.
I prefer love to disingenuous snooties!
***************
@And hugs to all, who do read me. M.L Kiser had it
right.
"Are you here to collect comments, or are you here write poetry?"
The answer is clear, my dear.
Thumbs up, M.L... Thank you for saving my poetic life!M!
Hugs...Pangie Romios
Brave New World
A 'world' it is and it spins around in mad circuits of loopy loops.
Has reached an infinite array of denominations in which foolish
insane clowns have taken over the asylum once more as bedlam
pretends liberation as the counterfeit currency of nauseating progress.
'New' I have my doubts though when fiddling with reconstruction
conjures novel aspirations from Holocaust to Hiroshima from pure
race unadulterated megalomania to narcissistic greed ‘all can be
done’ but the genie emerges from Huxley’s toxic bottle unrestrained.
'Brave' should pertain to courage when golden means and common
sense of virtue defaced by ugly grimaces facades mascara of tainted
moderation succumbs to mediocrity construed by disingenuous evil.
An aberration of jesters plotting naked feasts of blinded engineering.
Temptation is an ancient theme and just because we are capable to
plot our own demise does not preclude some hesitation or valid
inhibition as courage must incorporate the rationale. Not to follow in
wolf’s clothing a script of Faustian cloning just because we can.
Manipulation of chromosomes through twisted recombining helices
as a stairway to hell gave us Dolly the sheep. Another incarnation
braying ‘Give me body parts’ to harvest stem cells modified amino
acids like little devils on steroids and protein shakes of unpredictability.
The most cunning argument for creating whole new persons brought
to the fore the notion that if we the ‘good ones’ do not follow science
to create what evolution failed to build from nature’s garden and God’s
promise then the malign others surely will and consequently all is lost.
The mind boggles in the light of self-righteousness and the delusion
that refusal and resistance are signs of cowardice and the misconception
that two or numerous wrongs result in right and law when duty could
prevail as guardian for another world of sanity and accepting our limits.
The thought police and miscreant paradigms of Dolly’s dogma will surely
try to silence my opinion that courage has another merit than the scientific
infestation that my mind and brain needs to be cloned in order to restrain
my voice of caution but when I shout ‘enough’ at least my dignity remains.
"Triple Helix from the Hip"
Triple helix
stanzas
strung together
like pearls
wisdom worn
and swallowed
like a pill
sweet and
bitter
they evolve
those others
from their bad dreams
like poetry
cradling their
purity in sentences
that speak their godliness
as if they
have done no wrong
shooting nonchalantly
from the hip
killing their nemesis
silently with dark strokes
like bullets
from guns, cowboys
toting innocence
they evolve
golden
and terrible
hissing as they hymn
like sleek green
reptilians
they take cheap shots
of triple helix like rum
they breathe it in
and expel it
like steam, lit
on fire
from
their sewers
of nowhere
some kind
of contesting
baptism, immersed in
garbage
if only they could
extinguish the lesser chord
that which exists within them
but they are
oblivious to the
nature of their true self
they’re pure
without fault
condensed and sweetened
disingenuous
glowing unicorns
with very loose horns
blown, as if they’ve never
done no wrong
listing remedies
from solitary minds
that sink their fangs
and glistening smiles
into the gormless
congregation
like rattlesnakes
strange medicine men
they portend
survival
against all odds
even
death
the unacknowledged
who don’t remember
where they sit
at any table
yet,
they'll write their
way in
they are necessary
the true lost,
they are a new evolution
dripping adulation
in baptismal fonts
of dopamine
marking their
poetic vanity
on humanity
like they
crushed a
slam dunk
on sanity
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"they were human once"...
DIRTY HANDS
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
Little boys playing with mud and silty sands
Will return to their houses with dirty hands
Mom will scold them, but knows what to do
A little soap and water, they’ll look like new
Soap and water doesn’t clean off all stains
Especially those amassed from ill-gotten gains
Those boys will grow to men and go on their way
Confronted with selections each and every day
All have the choice, a conscious creed election
Conduct with principle or live with deception
Ethics apply, rules obeyed, as society demands
Tread the line cautiously avoid dirty hands
A quick gain of treasure due to fabricated facts
Will no doubt lead to more disingenuous acts
Wealth will grow, applause and fame may follow
Despite images to the contrary the core is hollow
Conscience is muted a false illusion commands
Its always the same for those with dirty hands
Predation of the ignorant by well connected gentry
Swayed by promises that usually come up empty
Lifelong politicians rise to the top of the heap
Fooling the public with promises they never keep
Attaining the apogee and the attention it commands
Could not have been possible without dirty hands
Wealth and power is the ultimate goal
Dirty hands are the symptoms of a toxic soul
It would be disingenuous to say that Ingenium did not have a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich for breakfast. It would boarder a lie to claim the same deity did not begin their morning exercise with a job through the unexplored corridors of the memory and imagery. The halls of memory are charted to an extent, but the cathedrals hidden down the vast tunnels of imagery seem always foreign and new. There Ingenium stopped to smoke a cigarette, leaning against a door marked "wooden". Neighboring this door were others, each with a replaceable placard screwed into the hard-wood. "Plastics" one read. "Trees" read another to Ingenium's left.
Propped up by the "wooden" door, they watched blurred figures move behind the tinted glass window of the door before them. Dark letters were craft-fully painted onto the glass: "Office Furniture". There seemed to be an argument over vague physics terminology being held between two shadowy characters in the office space beyond the tinted glass. The abstract entity could only make out a few mumbled words, something about work force equaling applied pressure divided by ambition over availability. The banter failed to impress Ingenium, and the muse snuffed its cigarette against the oak molding of the "wooden" door before continuing its job.
They passed other more decorative doors like "religion" or the red-white and blue striped door labeled "politics". It wasn't until Ingenium reached the door to the self that they stopped and released a sigh. Reaching down with unfathomable presence, Ingenium turned the red glass door knob and opened the door before it. A world of light and darkness poured out, flowing through the deity like whey through a screen. The curds that collected there were the substance of the soul. The cheeses that we ate that night were the mana of life, to be consumed today and gathered again on the morrow.
As a red balloon
That flies in the afternoon
Keep in the thin air
Disingenuous gestures
Confirming the fake feelings
2-26-2016
You were seduced by silicate reflections,
unflattering images
of your perceived epidermal imperfections
The bedroom mirror showed you
your deepest fear
It's crystalline voice told you
what you wanted to hear
Enhance your beauty
surgically
Change your outer self
cosmetically
But the silicate mirror lied,
it didn't tell you the whole truth
about shedding some of your skin
Once the laser knife goes in,
and parts of yourself
gets thrown in the trash bin
You won't recognize yourself anymore
Someone else is gonna be looking back at you,
somebody you never knew
This person is gonna sell to you,
that they're better than your natural self
Rearranged celluloid perfection
erases the flaws you always seemed to see
The mirror speaks with superfluous authority,
lying so seductively
The new you didn't erase your inner scars permanently,
but you're the magazine cover you always wanted to be
The lying mirror says you acted so bravely ...
Enhanced your beauty
surgically
Changed your outer self
cosmetically
You did what the mirror told you to do,
made yourself into a better you
But the beauty you wanted so desperately,
had already began to fade ...
the moment your skin kissed the blade
The silicate seducer tricked you,
played on your vanity,
played on your insecurity
And as your body withers away over time,
the disingenuous mirror is gonna chortle to you: tell you
that your faded, altered beauty was a self-inflicted crime
The Electoral College is fraud.
At it's best they take us hostage
Then pay our ransom in jest
This two-party-system
Disingenuous
Slithery snakes
Investing
In fear
Stock.
Living .Dying In Real Time 8/1/12
Walking through the shadows where living images once resided an eerie feeling sweeps over those non believers, stoic.
Crying? Dying? Choices too few decisions not made what happened to the plans of long removed youth? Somber mood prevails now, calling from the shadows.
Come hither she whispers this will not hurt says the dark maiden named pain’s mistress, eyes black gazing into souls weakened from practicing her evil lies, forgotten truths
Living in time once meant fulfilling dreams bright with promise; time was an ally to all hers was an encircling love.
Faces now crack with lines deep and heavy grown weary from the endless journey upon the turning wheel, exhausted minds
Corporations spin tales of woe meanwhile lining their streets with golden coins callously laughing at those left lying in their wake, waves crash on unsuspecting mass’s.
Beginnings endings life tells a tale not fortuitous for many in her kingdom; loyalty misplaced or disenchanted deserving a happier fate than one they are living, suffering now.
Is no one left accountable for actions vile and disingenuous?
Callous hands count fortunes within glass towers made easy by hierarchy’s rewarding touch, no suffering the shark smiles.
Lest we forget one must remember a time long, long ago when the fruit was sweet and smiles plentiful happiness was attainable, within our grasp.
Youth was free for a time in the early morning sun yet now we must pay for meals not so pleasant of taste nor smell, distasteful
Hath Greed replaced love? Where has mercy and compassion gone? Seems like they left on the midnight train taking happiness hostage but what is the ransom they seek?
Swirling winds of indecision blow warm breezes to us now, will we seek to regain our freedom and restore love to her rightful place on the throne?
© David J. Mitchell 2012