Best Distortion Poems
Distorted the image of the righteous is perceived by the eyes of the unjust!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 November 2018
No apologies
No criticism
Significant abhorrence
Distorted transfiguration
Angsty mornings
Disheavled evenings
Annoyance , frustration , disdain .
Paradoxial inception
Analytical depression
Muffled whispers
Defunct agression
Ultimate paranoia
Unconsciously decisive
Submissive arguments
Disoriented contortion
Twirling whirlwind of suppression
Tumult of words
In finalè
Pure satured composure guided by
motives of predestined animosity
mother sees child's pretty smile
and posts it for the world to see,
she's thinking fondly all the while
how much that she now looks like me
daughter sees the picture posts
and all she sees are mother's arms,
her face turns pallid as a ghost
and quickly loses all its charms
all the years of condemnation
have burned into her growing brain,
verbal, mental, mutilation
a heritage of pain
Let go - and fly
Every morning Rising Like Displaced ether
Merging into the miracle of life
Such grandeur I cannot guess
Why We are blessed this way
To wake not once,, But twice.
First with life Then, with a truth that hearts
would perish for. Oh! To be so blessed,
Who but God, Is worthy such a view,
To drink from hands that are cupped
watch from the bank of every river.
as the worst prisons are being built
- words that have No meaning.
We wrap ourselves in the languages of mannequins
each of us left alone to meet ourselves at night
apologizing to an afternoon of naps;
sips of purified water, spilling vitamins in laps.
although sincere in atonements,
The bill, for every cell we kill
Will surely still come due.
eight or eighty, or in-between
soreness oozes through our written words
binding us into prayers
what do we know of honesty;
We know what we are told to know
by those who would have us believe
they are more real than we.
ghosts of the atmospheres
Never dreaming the sheets
of their purpose blow so freely in the wind
Where every noble butterfly
remains securely pinned
to be seen from our neighbors eye
or perhaps between the blinking of our own
Implanting us all with the boldest of lies
That even the newest of eyes cannot tell
from all the lies pouring down our well.
energy, the newest form of hatred
radiating outward to defend each fear
we cannot tend or prove what we hold dear
In the fierce forest of darkness and farce,
Where envelopes mailed, too slowly arrive.
My God, are we pretending
we’re alive.
Lost in this Little, big world
Of nightly sweats
I see a road sign that diverts
My attention to swerve
Away and Wake up
From the Reality around me ...
I just need a break
From it all, for awhile
My eyes cross as I reach
For the Blue something or other
Ahaed of me
I stop time for real this time
Because it’s my time, me time
To be real but not really
Because I feel like I’m dreaming
With my eyes wide open
And everything seems so strange
Around me as if
God is trying to get my attention
Somehow
And for some reason everything
Smells like plastic
Leaving a metal aftertaste in my mouth ...
I hear music in the distant clouds
And my stomach rumbles like thunder
Perhaps I’m hungry for something new
Something different
Where the earth beneath me is putty
Sucking me in and averting my attention ...
Reminding me
I am Grateful to be Alive.
This distortion I reek of
Is seeping
Its not under control
Im forced into believing this bed is too big for the small room
That the walls of this small room is a way of containing the things I hold
Maybe if my hands weren’t heavy with the burden of myself id be able to see past this small room
The room wasn’t always so small
I was not laid into the room the second I was born
But I somehow built these walls compulsively
I thought it would hide all the things I didn’t want anyone to see
If I keep painting over the scarred walls no one will notice the exist of their presence
If I mend the cracks you won’t be able to see how disproportionate everything is
I hope you’ll see past the roof caving in
Or the water damage from nights of my tears
The messy clutter from my anger
Stains from my mistakes I didn’t bother cleaning
If you can see past all of these flaws maybe you can see me
And save me from the deceiving distortion I’ve built
And the hollowness of it all
The economy keeps plummeting
and everyone wants to make
a statement, some people get
attention by pounding the
pavement, others rebel,
creating different versions
of hell, distorting the good
that could serve all Americans
well,
Occupying Wall Street has gotten
out of control, what seemed like
positive revolting, has given way
to violent souls,
Change will only come when
disagreements are handled
intelligently, turmoil and upsets
only allows the devil to roam
rampantly.
ego an orphan
bent on making a fortune
muffle that chuckle
You’re prearranged with all those thoughts of dread, rearranged for a propaganda fret.
You are the few, you are the same, and you have been bought.
By all who knew just what to say and do, holding change like it’s an enlighten noose.
Monkeys it’s not the same without a thought
Morals distorted as it fills your glass. Pungent as you taste the last, drop of all
who’ve came and all who’ve gone. You watch them as they smile and book. The television
shows of smut. Behind the camera they still cook your bones.
Stay tuned till this intermission, behind the curtain of rendition. You’ll find them with
the chain that holds your thoughts.
Now as you vote for change, you shed like a dog who whines to be fed.
Where’s your politician with his cross.
He’s holding all the change you gave. In a box prearranged, rearranged and saved. Just in
case his future comes to a halt.
So here’s your fortress of solitude, hold it close as you choose. For a mirror imagine of
your thoughts. Hold it closer as you think our fractured structure on the brink.
It could depend on you to make them fall.
an invisible ring shining ~ distorting reality beneath
This moment when you hear the voice you like. And then you just catch these words, even if not all of them, even if you really have no idea what the whole topic of them is. They are just caught in your ear. And after a while, when you hear another random word, suddenly you know. Shoot. Your heart skips a beat. Why you like them. Because they are like those you used to hear. And you do not hear anymore. Your face falls into distorted grimace. Your heart just turns into a distortion. Congratulations. You have just become a distortion overall.
I thought he was glorious
and would renew my world
I thought he could be the one
to end the tyranny
I thought he was sincere
in his intent
I thought he was Robin Hood,
that’s what he told me
I thought he spoke only the truth
-‘his words transcend the 10’
I learned that he had a past,
but everyone deserves a second chance
I learned that sayings
aren’t always accurate
I learned of his secret dealings-
how he lied to all
I learned that people don’t change in the shadows,
only in light
I learned disappointment,
the actuality of heros
Thud
This thing born of breath and bone,
Seated on its secret throne,
A harbinger of ignition,
Pulling us from our perdition.
Thud
By the dream and the waking,
Anger ripe for the taking;
It reaps the spite from our minds.
By moon and star, flesh it grinds.
Thud
Distortion: its holy blade.
Singing songs of pain and rage
Wrought of mortal blood and steel,
Hefted high with fervent zeal.
Thud
The power of death endowed
While the thunder rolls throughout
This keen five-minute crusade.
In finale, the sin fades
Thud
The Metal cannot be stopped.
Born from those who rolled and rocked
It’s darkness: a warm embrace.
Rage released, a swift escape.
Thud
Thud.
And pounding, my heart feels the pull of the music, and it knows that it is free.
They kill for their namesake
Blinded with visions of righteousness
Mirrored with images of self
Sanctifying, with daggers plunging deep
Crowds gather in loyalty
Massed in fear, assembled in hatred
Adherence to dogmas of a farsighted kind
While master deceivers bloom like orchids
Cool, sweet distortion is what I crave.
The sweet French variety,
fat olives in abundance,
always serve best.
Problems
of the
long,
hot
day
seem
to just melt away
after just one of these magic potions.
“Shaken, not stirred,” was Bond’s steady reply.
What an ingenious answer to
the action and intrigue.
Even the slope
of the
cool,
slim,
clear
glass
reminds me of a topless,
passionate woman, ready to ease my pain.
Yes, you can keep all your bliss of the inferior.
I take my chilled relief of reality
with olives or onions.
I’m very easy
to please.
Just
chill
it,
add
olives
and it must by all means
be thoroughly of the French variety.