Best Dissected Poems
Vivid flashbacks from bloodshed battles
his soul still ravaged by devious dictators,
cries from fallen comrades still echo in his mind,
but he continues to walk upon a path of pandemonium.
Reluctantly he ventures forward with
vengeance portrayed through embers
engulfed within his frenzied eyes -
reflecting his mother's irreversible tears.
He is no mercenary nor a moneymaker,
just a repentant drifter, preparing for bedlam.
His purpose in sight, he closes his eyes,
but struggles to erase his thoughts,
as the sins of his ancestry inflict his mind.
Angels attempt to light his path with harmonic chords,
but demons cause havoc strumming broken strings.
Entering the kingdom of dry fountains,
where God has no influence,
he is afraid to inhale its corrupt pollutant air.
Charcoal clouds rumble,
before horizons shed unwelcome tears.
Before him platinum priests preach,
as court jesters dance with sly grins,
hiding metaphorical daggers behind their backs.
To his right overfull hospitals have no beds,
as penniless patients plead to be cured.
To his left the self proclaimed vain king
sits on his cardboard throne,
throwing dollars into a blazing fire place.
To his side his tyrannical hypocritical queen
hides behind her simulated smile,
oblivious to her narcissistic prince's incest desires
towards her clueless imbecilic princess.
It's an endless loop of greed cultivating corrupt seed,
which continues to breed nefarious creed.
Miserable masses attempt to break free,
but their liberation is dissected by cretinous henchmen.
In the marketplace of Machiavellian thieves,
merchant pawns auction fragmented dreams.
Sold to the biggest idiot!
His eyes full of disbelief, now rage with anarchy!
Intoxicated knights raise their half empty glasses,
as he calmly walks into this man made sand castle.
Gifts the cunning conniving cook some cyanide,
which he empties into his delectable broth.
Both watch as the elevated ones savour it like dogs,
perishing dramatically to their deserved downfall.
Beyond his childhood playground,
now with rusty swings and slides,
he places a crimson rose upon his mother's grave,
kissing her untouched headstone.
Expressionless he walks into the distance,
as storms wash away weak foundations.
Silent One
25 July 2018
Categories:
dissected, analogy, metaphor, political,
Form:
Ballad
Before you read my poem below please know:
This poem is generalised and not aimed at any individual
It is solely my observation and voice!
~~~~~~~~~~~
Why must it be analysed and dissected
To whether a poet comments or not
We all do what we choose to do
We are a mixed bunch in this poetry pot
Some poets just like to write and read poetry
They are not interested in anything more
That is entirely their right and prerogative
That is what they are here for
Others like the social interaction
Making connections and poet friends
What you give, what you get here
On you it solely depends
Who we are …our wants and needs
Is our own personal choice
There are no set of commenting rules
No do’s or don’ts….no dictating voice
What another poet chooses to do
Is nobody else’s concern
As long every poet is respectful
Respect will be returned
Comment or not, turn comments off, or even block
Just do what ‘YOU’ want to do
Never feel pressured to do anything less
“To thyself you must be true”
There are an abundance of poets here
Who thrive on interaction and chat
They comment, encourage, support ,connect
Poets aplenty rich in socialising are here in fact
No judgement, criticism, negativity ,nor pressure should any poet face
Just a kind, caring and respectful environment on the whole
We are all unique and special individuals
Writing and enjoying poetry…..our united goal!
Categories:
dissected, freedom, poems, poetry, poets,
Form:
Rhyme
Absolute truth, both mystery… and paradox.
“You make me wonder if you exist or not?”
The Greeks glimpsed you in circles and squares,
The medievals revered you in scriptures and prayers,
The moderns doubted you in so many facts and proofs.
Absolute truth
your a hidden treasure in the dark.
I’ve been searching for you with a lantern and a map.
Absolute truth, a misty mountain peak,
We’ve been climbing towards you
with a rope and a pick.
Absolute truth, a real puzzler
and a wonder.
We’ve been solving you with a clue and a key.
The enlighteners searched for you
in nature and reason
The romantics sang about you
in passion and vision
Whereas existentialists certainly questioned you
in freedom and action.
Absolute truth: are you actually still alive and relevant today?
You’ve been inspiring us with
your beauty and your grace.
Absolute truth, you are most diverse and multifaceted.
You’ve been expressing yourself
in every culture and every race.
Absolute truth, you are so complex and yet, paradoxical.
You’ve been challenging me
to question and embrace.
The analytics dissected you in symbols and many signs.
Whereas continentals explored you
in history and culture.
Yes, those postmoderns deconstructed you
in relativity and plurality.
Absolute truth, you invite us to seek
doubt, affirm, and critique.
You show us the value of
curiosity and humility.
Absolute truth: you challenge us to
dialogue, dignity, listen, respect, and appreciate.
You teach us of the importance of
diversity and empathy.
Absolute truth, you call us
to transcend, transform, love, and willingly serve.
You lead us to the ultimate goal of harmony and peace.
The scientists explain you in matter and energy,
The believers proclaim you in faith and grace,
The artists create you in beauty and meaning.
But the needle spins wildly, a chilling impart…
"Absolute Truth is a compass with a broken heart."
Categories:
dissected, faith, history, mystery, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Do not be diabolically deceived by this entity called ‘Love’, and the Blue Jewell we call Earth. For both of them work in unison to capture their prey, like a Venus Fly Trap. Some will die a thousand deaths, before a pound of flesh must be given to escape their succulent snare. As we are being dissected by vultures beneath a brilliant blue sky. Holding hands in the park before the unforeseen quenching quicksand, as it hungers in the distance. Fallaciously fornicating…to release more life, a pound of flesh must be served. There are many piercing pleasantries that excite the exotic eye, each to allure its victim, as we watch the clouds caress the mountainous view. To whom the bells toll, a pound of Flesh for your soul…
why does love exist?
for only to meet its death
under the blue sky
April.27.2019
Pick A Title, Vol 4
Haibun Poetry
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
4.) Pound of Flesh
Placed 1'st...Thank You
Categories:
dissected, death, life, love,
Form:
Haibun
A blank canvas
That is me
The unmade bed
The formaldehyde
I can have it all
A pure white frame
That is me
The dissected shark
How I suffer for my art
Only just begun
The paint pallet
Untouched, until
I paint my eyes
Below the brow
A shade for an occasion
I could follow any path
Too young to fret where it leads
Against a wall, I start to sleep
Aged and flaking
That will be me
The oak tree evaporated
Set in stone, a fountain
The zest for life drying
A frame stained by hands
That will be me
The aging process
Stained in silent protest
Nearing the end
The paint flaked
Touched, until
I paint the wrinkles
Now no one wants me
A shade of white for an apparition
I regret each path
Too old to complain, a vault for a tomb
The aging process from canvas, from womb
Categories:
dissected, art, life
Form:
Did I know this dissention might come to be?
Yes I was aware of its probability.
Did that make me any more prepared for the situation?
No I was not nor am I now.
I guess some things are best walked away from;
And you old love must be one of them.
In the hospital cafeteria an old man asked me to sit;
So I did and he talked about his wife dying.
Did somebody send me a vision of coming tomorrows?
Who knows but I can’t go on like this anymore.
I’ve injected, dissected and intertwined many angles;
But inevitably it seems to always come back to here.
As I slowly sink deeper into theses quagmire of depravation;
I seem to have worked my way down from hero to zero.
And my life is hell reflected in slow motion;
As I live out these many fractions of time.
And was it wrong to love you;
The answer escapes me.
And am I sorry now that I did?
I think sometimes I am.
Categories:
dissected, lost love, me, old,
Form:
Free verse
TO PRESERVE YOUR HEALTH
YOU MUST RESERVE YOUR DATE AND TIME
TO ENTER THE EMPIRE OF DEATH
“Arrête, c'est ici l'empire de la mort!"
Sign in Paris Catacombs
SKELETON OF PARIS
i dared each dank step
into the catacombs of Paris
thank the Lord
each step was not
creaking bone
i’d descend, of course
my choice, my feet
move into the nether
the deep dark secret tomb
a heavy door
surreality adorned
below the stinking streets
the foul history
of death
dredged up
from six feet deep
dusted and cleansed
the mandibles,
joints, heartless
bones
the boneyard quarry
accentuated death
having a new spin
on “putting our heads together,”
a collaboration of dust
the bleak hallway, I dare
not touch, i cross myself
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
attempting to stay in the center
of the narrow way
O the clink and clank
the synergy
that will fuse these bodies together
at the end of time
who will be the first to awaken?
will he or she faint away
as they discover
their dissected bones?
The artful remains of Robespierre, Lavoisier,
Danton - the dearly beheaded come to life,
guests of downtown…way downtown Paris.
Upwards of seven million squeezed together.
The leap of disease…the health crisis relieved.
1/13/2022
Categories:
dissected, death, paris,
Form:
Free verse
Twilight downs the sun as dreams appear on the screen of sleep
Slips into the subconscious realm and trips a few fuses in slumber
Adapts and clears clutter and narrates and alters the story in kind
Strips and clips a mind full of sentience like an ad-blocking app
When dreams slip into a magical edition it proofreads my soul
In magic Morpheus tenders to soft renditions and rehearses
A new dawn for sanity’s sake and rearranges bedlam in silence
Ties new meaning to fake news and spins alignments afresh
Compounds and rearranges while the curtain slowly descends
A dress rehearsal in night gown patiently waits for the curtain
A sacred orange globe dances with ripples dissected by clouds
Ultramarine parades on the fading horizon of tangerine canvas
As the gatekeeper confers with clairvoyants and hobbling goblins
The mermaids charter the voyage with sea gulls and dolphin as they
Tie holy knots onto the tapestry of fabrication and spirited truths
Sometimes my aspirations and recollections call for clean slates
When charcoal rules anthracite waves draped in sombre veils
Or polychrome splashes beg to hold on to the palette forever
Sleep brushes over karma and vagaries and tames with a stroke
Of restful fortune in infinite renditions of what the future might hold
A life line appears on the horizon anchoring a courageous flare
Regardless of whether my journey explores a secret underworld
Or ships critique onto the blatantly obvious faults in the vessel
Poseidon pumps up the raft as tears and regrets rock the boat
Blows caution to the wind and advises to hold on for dear life
Neptune challenges his counterpart and weighs for good measure
Yet Atlantis refuses to sink and Nirvana sweeps the ocean’s floor
Phoenix gathers soaked ashes while jetsam jumps into the current
When the night parades its blessing the sun resets a new dawn
The moon watches over assorted memories baggage and hope
19th April 2020
Categories:
dissected, appreciation,
Form:
Free verse
I have often witnessed death
though not ever the last breath;
field mice frozen in a jar;
slaughtered lambs in abattoir,
dissected frogs in school labs,
cruel boiling of live crabs
for important luncheon meets.
Piglets torn from mother’s teats
roasted at a football game.
Hungry lions eat the lame
garden’s serpent kills the truth
mothers’s love that kills your youth;
little bug just stepped upon;
“don’t destroy my sweet salon.”
To embrace a death without;
that is just to be Boy Scout.
To embrace a death within;
to my father, was a sin.
Categories:
dissected, death, father, mother,
Form:
Rhyme
I feel dissected and mutilated. Strung up on a cross and paraded through endless eyes.
Categories:
dissected, anxiety, conflict, depression,
Form:
Free verse
Recumbent, crippled: a conscious corpse
Life calling for me to follow
Mentality, it warps
Why does my skull feel hollow?
As I wait for the shadows to fall down, to swallow
Emotions exhaust; they yawn, they sleep
I wonder why I'm awake
Why aren't I comatose counting sheep?
Or swimming in some chocolate lake?
What must I do- for God sake?
The black weighs heavy; unyielding, dense
Two jigsaw pieces left fitting
Hair strands react to such alien sixth sense
Perpendicular; lascivious in their sitting
Buried skin is forsaken; solitary, unwitting
Ladders of monotony, the itch to climb
But I'm yet to grapple a rung
Whispers of breathing chant and chime
Whistling from each glass lung
Will my reality sing unsung?
The dark devours me; surreptitious, slow
My body of waning evanescence
When will this serotonin begin to flow?
My prison of subtle quiescence
Paralysed by every cell of my essence
Like Mephistopheles, only I serve a devil within
Post mortem, my thoughts painstakingly dissected
Wounds of the past are tough like pigskin
Restrained to relive still affected
I wonder if they could be ejected
As the darkness lifts no weight has shifted
The day pours into the night
It's not as though I am God gifted
As I am still one with such bastard blight
How am I supposed to stand up and fight...?
Recumbent, can't move: a conscious corpse
Life now screaming for me to follow
Mentality; it warps
Why does my skull still feel hollow?
As I will for the shadows to fall down, to swallow
Categories:
dissected, anger, anxiety, depression, mental
Form:
Rhyme
I relaxed on the couch to feel at ease,
the psychiatrist sat across from me.
This wasn’t any normal physician-
He was my subconscious personified.
A flow of panic surged through my body-
Beads of sweat slowly trailed down my face-
My heart began beating erratically-
My eyes darted in search of an exit-
There wasn’t an exit available!
The sense of fear was running down my spine,
I’m trapped within the walls of my own mind
taunted by the horrors that lie within.
The psychiatrist peered through my file
his eyes scrutinized every incident.
I coughed to break the silence in the room,
but it still constricted the atmosphere.
He initiated conversation:
a trivial attempt to gain rapport.
We discussed my past and current events.
Each story was surgically dissected;
it was torture being under the knife.
I was wide awake through the incisions;
helpless against the tools of a madman.
I grimaced through the pain of memories-
I opened old wounds then they were sown shut-
I’m plagued by a beast that lingers inside-
I need to run before I’m devoured!
My inner turmoil came to a close;
he arrived at a clear diagnosis.
He noted the cycling mood changes:
a constant battle between highs and lows.
The faulty sense of attachment issues
bred in from a childhood beginning.
Sporadic moments of self-destruction;
accompanied by parties and drinking.
The guilt from burning bridges to loved ones
constructed my imposed wall to the world.
He told me he understands my poems
and the theme behind each one I wrote.
From the introspection, private musings
love, temptations and whimsical humor;
it’s a way to channel my redemption
to add a purpose to this unhinged life.
The meeting was officially over.
I unraveled a new revelation:
I’m a continual work in progress
finding my road to a recovery.
Categories:
dissected, emotions, feelings, psychological,
Form:
Blank verse
When I was a child ‘bout five to six I used to dream that this were me
I’d peel back frame from toys, take apart their guise to see what was beneath
I was ever so careful, every tiny pin, kept safe in a sealed plastic case
Just wanted to see, what a heart looked like, I was told I had my own.
My patients name was Beryl.
A gossip. I didn’t care for her spiteful chirped lies!
Her sideways remarks… and even less for that wondering eye
She followed my each and every move… felt just like papa in one of his moods
As I sliced ‘scalp from Beryl I mused, had she no brain!
How could that be? Why must you make me think of mother again!
Beryl’s chirp had now stopped she stared at me, eyes glazed
Yet I saw her cold eyes glint, had I gone too far?
Tears flooded my cheeks, smearing lines through built ‘grime
I’d only wanted to see her heart!
In shards my door smashed apart like cannons wreck
I didn’t know papa was home! I coiled my wasted skin and tired bones erect
‘It wasn’t your fault ‘nor mine but you’re just like me’
Ok muttered I… just wanted to see a heart!
He pointed to what he called a ‘circular MIL’ then said
‘That’s as close as you’ll get you dirty little flea!’
Then he said his last words… well, his last words to me
‘If you don’t fear me by now, you and the world were not meant to be!’
Then he grabbed me strong by my throat and shook me hard ‘till wires came free
My legs axles departed, left my body completely!
As I fell silent, t’was strange I caught a glimpse of myself
A dirty rigid specimen dissected on the floor
Wires stripped back to copper, ‘cept my copper were white
As I looked at both hearts… Beryl and me… I thought
They were the same!... White began clouding my sight
My heart may not have looked like Beryl’s… but we both just needed that spark.
Categories:
dissected, abuse, bullying, children, dark,
Form:
Free verse
There was a young lady from Wheeling
West Virginia, that is
Who had a peculiar feeling that
Her boyfriend Jack was cheating
She took it to his Mom
“Mom” she said, “your son Jack
Is really pissing me off.
I'm ready to hit the ceiling.”
“Ya know,” Mom said, “You crack me up.
I'm tickled he goes to your head
He irritates me the same way about you
So I tell him to stay unwed.”
So Mom was the other woman
The young lady from Wheeling suspected
So she lay on her back and considered Mom amd Jack
“I would like to see them dissected!”
Categories:
dissected, boyfriend, feelings, humor, mother
Form:
Limerick
When in swanky restaurants, 'tis easy to daintily dine on cordon bleu,
But dining on lobster requires deft finesse without humiliating you!
For what its worth, I offer the following that I've learned o'er the years,
To show snobbish waiters you're really not all that wet behind the ears!
First of all, a wizened waiter will provide a bib if he's really on the job.
(Somehow, they perceive right away that you are a rather artless slob!)
When cracking open each morsel, some violent squirting may occur!
Should juice spritz the guy at the next table simply say, "Sorry sir"!
The hapless lobster is dissected in certain order to make the meal complete.
First, remove the claws, crack the shell with a claw cracker and remove the meat.
For this a fork is provided, then discard the shells in a bowl being discreet!
Next, twist the tail from the body and break off the flippers - those you musn't eat!
And now for the piece de resistance, that long anticipated holy grail,
(That you paid fifty-five bucks for!) - that scrumptious lobster's tail!
Insert a lobster fork into the flesh and gently ease it out of the shell.
(Sucking meat from the legs is optional - on that matter I will not dwell!)
A female lobster might contain a bit of roe considered a delicacy by some.
(If that is your fancy, quietly asking about the lobster's sex is the rule of thumb!)
Plunge lobster pieces in butter taking care not to let it run down your arm!
(Leaving a sizeable tip for the disaster you've created wouldn't do any harm!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
dissected, food, funny
Form:
Rhyme