Best Epithets Poems
Abominable holiday season greeting to the have-nots me and you
Bombshell tabloid sleigh bells got those ear holes ringing
Cut the tax gift wrap ribbon, only good cheers for the wealthy few
Ducky Little Donald beaky wacky-quacky curse caroling
Ebony epithets, Latino canina lobs, Palestinian and Muslim sobs
Freeze the Access Holly Would frame, hear the locker room talk
Get smart, dummies ... Populist Idol adored by Wall Street snobs
Hate not the playa, love the con: Eraserheads don’t need no chalk
Incense of Uranium burning, napalm is pissy incendiary to touch
Jingling cash registers be jiggling twin money-makers below and above
Kiss the ring of the Don, you poor stiffs ... just don’t ask for much
Let not the blue chips, white gems and red jewels make you a begging fool
Make the payments on time, or he break your legs with loan sharky love
No Festivus is complete without the test of strength Labor Party feats
O, deary me, Hercules Putin is cancelling from the main event
Proof is compromising truth, we don’t eat no tainted Trump red meat
Questionable straight partners sexually, fake news getting bent
Risque business dealings, tiptoe thru the financial tulip inquiries
Stake your illegit claim, skim a little off the top ... fattening grifter butt
Take a little less scrutiny, a lot more thievery ... no legal worries
Ultimate year end declaration: Shed that slothful image of a Jabba Hutt
Vacant morality, rampant gluttony ... gotta do what the lust belly says
Wiggle weight-loss room is minimal, doing the right thing is optional
*** expose, another failed marriage on the way ... oh, happy dog days
Young bacon tenders is ripe for old Porky Pig, innocence is so sellable
Zinc adulating is the best White holiday blues lip service Rudy brown-nosers do
Categories:
epithets, metaphor, parody, slam, word
Form:
ABC
Lincoln never imagined
today’s white victim zeitgeist,
pouting persecuted supremacists,
their clenched jaws and fists.
Civil war rages in limbic memory.
Encoded somewhere,
the panic attacks and mirages.
Nobody is qualified because everybody is responsible.
So many whites have graduated from the struggle,
showcasing their diploma from the mill.
Lincoln never imagined
modern virtual vitriol,
merciless memes lashing out at specters,
infusing, inciting depravity among the sleep deprived.
These words are battleships aimed at the reviled.
The unshielded summon civility.
They beckon familiar principles.
But rabid cougars wait in hiding, eager to pounce.
All the feeble markets for platitudes have failed,
as subliminal cavities endure each generation.
Mental lynch mobs, rebel flags, supremacy’s utopia.
Lincoln never imagined
a 21st century cartoon president,
a white nationalist clicking social network epithets,
a whining overgrown tormenter
with a cult of Stalinist believers.
Where are the intelligible?
How is all this animated fury converted?
What is the lesson plan?
Who will bury the code?
How long this agonizing journey into normality?
Lincoln never imagined.
Published Tuck Magazine 04/ 2019
Categories:
epithets, america, discrimination, freedom, hate,
Form:
Political Verse
Without the relentless grind of living
each glorious and difficult day
those who take up the writing life wouldn't
have much to say.
It's the flowers in the garden
and the lover's tender touch
and the way the winter snow falls
we writers love so much.
We kiss the grass we walk on
and the clouds that float on by
as life keeps right on giving
to the poet's inner eye.
The pain of having loved and lost
a part of one's own being
when someone dear has disappeared
we writers keep write on singing.
When life has kicked us down and out
in the mud and blood-filled ground
and others fade into deep dark shade
we seek what's more profound...
A worthy rhyme and reason
to lift us higher still
Our lives provide the water and seeds
we need to be fulfilled.
As we look to the past for things that last
and those who shaped our lives
while secretly writing our epithets
Long before our time to fly.
It is holiness and sinfulness,
where sinners and saints abound,
Dreams at night, eagles in flight
And Beethoven's orchestral sounds.
The thoughts in our heads, the food we are fed
winners, losers, fortune and fame,
it's all a big bust and a blast if we trust, writing
is a wonder-filled game.
At the end of the day all one can say is
life's no roll of the dice,
But a Mighty grand gift that's made to lift
Us writers from darkness to light.
Categories:
epithets, words, write, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
If I spit at you
Wouldn't you smile at me
If I swung a bat at you
Wouldn't you give me a big hug
If I trashed your store
Wouldn't you want to hire me
If I hurled epithets at you
Wouldn't you vote for me
If my folks and I'd been doing this for 65 years
Wouldn't you want to live next door to me
Huh? You say you wouldn't?
WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, MAN?
Categories:
epithets, america, hate, love,
Form:
Free verse
If dogs could talk, what would they say?
Would they label any of their own as "mangy mutts?"
Would they toss around epithets like "cur" or "?"
Would they call a down-and-outer a "dog without a bone?"
If dogs could talk, would they come up with "the dog days of August?"
Would they describe a downpour as "raining cats and dogs?"
Would they call a period of misfortune "a dog's life?"
Would they say that a tough day at the office is "working like a dog?"
Perhaps they'd equate negatives with the human race
"As mean as a little kid pulling a dog's tail"
"As heartless as someone who cages an animal"
"As lazy as a man watching football on a Sunday afternoon
But perhaps they wouldn't
Dogs are too classy for that
Categories:
epithets, character, dog, spoken word,
Form:
Free verse
MOTHER’S LITTLE KILLERS
She hates them, the unguent power
Which sticks her fairy wings together
Making impossible the ivory tower
Of disinterested passion, the if and whether
Of generic names, the ultimate aloneness.
The honest answer is to unstick
The loathsome epithets accompanying the mess
Let her soul free with a lexographic brick
As she goes on her desert train to limbo -
Grant her freedom to ride into the dusk
Without turning her into a soulless bimbo,
Pills shedding the epigrammatic husk,
Cavorting in the lunar satellite,
A spaced monkey too drugged to fight
Categories:
epithets, addiction, depression, mother, drug,
Form:
Sonnet
"The Value of Reading"
messages impressed
upon the secret keepers.
when is late too late?
to divulge the truth?
"I know this is a shock"
arrives far too late
when it is anticipated
by the writer pundit
keeping tabs
on runnaway horses
trained at the gate
tokens laid for bets.
what then sister?
if all should go awry?
the next caller phones
and relays, it is you,
so-and-so, who has
passed away today,
chemo didn’t save
the day.
"I know this is a shock,"
the other says,
"Love you, call me
when you want,"
breezily relayed
"here if you need,
call me
when you want";
but you, so-and-so
are already gone.
cruel deception
closed doors
on all that was
once close,
always true, forever
standing ground,
turned away.
betrayal keeps close
its cruel deceits
for untrue stories
buried deep.
cruel keeper of secrets
what cloistered
confessional opens
its sorry doors?
to understand
you, the you
who utterly
shamed and ignored.
LOVE
delivers
the
the truth
without delay.
Christmases,
Easters,
graduations,
birthdays,
two lives,
adequately
destroyed
r.i.p.
today.
cloudy
messages
adroitly
employed:
LOVE
came,
it considered all,
not once did it turn
away.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom so common with novel-writers, of degrading by their contemptuous censure the very performances, to the number of which they are themselves adding—joining with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust. Alas! If the heroine of one novel be not patronized by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect protection and regard? I cannot approve of it."
betrayal, lies, deceit, trust, books, death, loss, mirror, silence, sister, love
Categories:
epithets, betrayal, books, death, loss,
Form:
Narrative
Atrium's veneer was of coagulum
Of epithets and vague reflexions
That halted the roue from circulation
Vengeance was her ultimatum
And thus her demise was the greatest conundrum
For thine eyes have never seen her evaporation
Even before, during her creation
A ratocinator, to have was her desideratum
Covered with stains of preoccupied continuum
Of dread preterits without explanations
She was a hoarded wealth kept to her own manifestation
No one but she was her only molybdenum.
Categories:
epithets, death, feelings, grief, life,
Form:
Rhyme
I am Garuda, a vahana of Lord Vishnu
A crown on my head show you my divine
As I soaring high in the air
Vedas chanted out of my red wings
I am Garuda, son of Kasyapa and Vinata
An embodiment of wisdom, one form with many epithets
Mortals knew me as Chirada, Gaganeshvara, Kamayusha
They also named me Kashyapi, Khageshvara, or Vishnuratha
I am Garuda, representations of sacred and holy
My massive golden body can block out the sun
And with my presence I made any creature hesitate
Even the serpent, source of all sins, abide me
I am Garuda, the face of wisdom and courage
I have fought alongside with Krishna, Satyabhama and Hari
My luminous white face and strong beak shrunken the evil
For I am Garuda, the king of all birds.
I am Garuda
I live in the faith of believers.
~ Indonesia, 06/10/2013 07.01 Am
For Shadow Hamilton "Mythological Animals or Birds" Contest
Categories:
epithets, bird, mythology,
Form:
Free verse
OH - nonny, NO - nonny
Nicholas Goalsworthy
Promised again to
Renounce alcohol.
Characteristically
Incomprehensible,
Muttering epithets,
Cursing the wall.
Categories:
epithets, angst, depression, sad,
Form:
Double Dactyl
It was Friday night in small town, USA. The convenience store clerk was outside in the parking lot, arguing with her boyfriend. Instant recognition, one person is both clingy and aggressive, perhaps slightly inebriated, and jealous or insecure or having some sort of emotional semi-crisis. The other one has responsibilities and places to be, yet still wants to calm the first person down easy, get free for the moment while not burning the bridge just yet. I felt like telling her to drop that loser, but who knows?
Inside the store, three people are talking in a back corner, laughing and leaning against a freezer and the store walls. The now-returned clerk greets the first person in the check-out line, a grizzled older man, wizened, almost, leathery skin over an impression of inner strength still, despite many hard years gone past. An 18-pack of beer and a carton of cigarettes and he's out the door, happy as a clam. Next is an urgent young woman, who just asks, "Where's your restroom?" The clerk points to the back corner where the three people are laughing up a storm. Off the young woman goes, with all possible speed.
Then, a kicking and a pounding, doorknob rattling. "Hey, hey - there's somebody in there!" The three people are trying to set the young woman straight, but she's on a mission, and kicks the door again. From inside the room, another young woman's voice, not too pleased from the sound of it. She appears in a minute or so. Must be a party somewhere nearby - she's got plastic devil horns and a cat face painted on. With Miss Urgency, she exchanges epithets and imprecations, and then she too is out the door.
There is no bar in this town.
Categories:
epithets, humanity, life, youth,
Form:
Prose
As the tides roll in off the sea
Erased are the days memories
In sand many poems were written
Epithets sketched in bare feet-
Reading the unwritten-
Under the shade of fading willow tree
Categories:
epithets, devotion, visionary,
Form:
Carpe Diem
Don’t define me by what you think I am
I refuse to label myself
Exclude me from your pre-program
I don’t follow your parallel
How I express things is me being me
Sometimes I’ll be one thing, and later another
No need for the labels to quantify what you see
I’ll just do my thing and leave you to wonder
Minute to minute I may fluctuate
I am what I am based on how I feel
Under your epithets I would just stagnate
It may be confusing but my changes are real
I have decided that I’ll be a fluid
I’ll no longer let myself be diluted
I am just me, and that image is lucid
Categories:
epithets, change, gender, identity, image,
Form:
Sonnet
Reprehensible Savagery ©
'Pon reading tragic headline...,
aye experienced grief alone,
no matter the killer (Chris Watts,
thirty-three years
of Frederick, Colorado) unknown
to me, the sheer brutality,
whereat he killed Shanann Watts,
Bella and Celeste,
his once adorably beautiful,
now ceased wife
and daughters ages thirty four,
four, and three respectively
(purportedly via strangulation)
reflexively did i groan
particularly, the propensity to kill
with in sinew weighted bone
times gone by,
where expletive laced epithets
incessantly did drone
nearly activating trip wires,
a blood dripping knife,
would be shown
to police, unless...I took my life,
cuz immediate regret would well up
resulting with an agonizing moan...
hence after perusing morbid
(somewhat inexplicably fascinating)
screaming tragedy ado
admit sadness overtook this chap,
what wrought motive,
(albeit premeditated)
for him to construe
such an atrocious, ferocious,
heinous, et cetera grew
some crime toward innocent wife
(she supposedly knew)
intuitively felt and possibly
foresaw the slew
how her life (a grotesque
mass square aid )
would meet one gross violent death
intimating marriage frayed
ranking as "FAKE,"
or Eff for failing grade
yet tidbits publicized twas shaky match
from get go, no heaven made
nor wedded bliss -
her precious life paid
as well two preschoolers
(cute as a button),
and expectant third progeny (male fetus)
existence extinguished by, "killer"
the husband, who went
into a deadly tie raid
now guilt upon
his conscious heavily weighed.
Categories:
epithets, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Elegy
She loves me she loves me not...
Just my luck that when juiced a lad
din grammar school, aye own every
rhyme and reason tubby mad
every friggin time boyhood fingers
plucked petals off flowered daisy...
just as well, a relief and more than glad
tomb hiss out on doing the wild thang
and be'n totally tube yule lore lee baad
yea, how boring squirreled away
voraciously reading 'bout some cad
oh my dog...I too could write story
"FAKE" steamy extramarital liaison add
chocolate flavored Glynnis (Msgeegee),
whereby celibate chap goes stir crazy - egad
yours truly drives back to her pad
within sketchy part of West Philadelphia
starring as chief protagonist
none other then... yupper this dad
until caught with pants down (figuratively)
thine missus both angry at me and sad
I immediately unapologetic longed to gad
about even jetting setting off to Vlad
divest stock to escape wrath cull bile
daily spewed phlegm at me - wad
off by bajillion miles wife got poor aim
cruel colorful epithets coarse expletives had
filled beyond capacity to resist or tolerate
hence, yours truly sought to skad
had dude dull married life awkward fit
analogous, incongruous, perilous
why dead men don't wear plaid
they make no bones about
nor act self flesh deathly quiet
oblivious toward latest fad
mouldering into dust
whereby gravesites sprout weeds
mother nature's couture clad
eroded tombstone disintegrating
vanishing without trace
unremembered story...
unlike Odyssey and Illiad.
Categories:
epithets, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Elegy