Best Excommunicated Poems
Tuppy
Silver strands silver bands and the rings on her hands,
Her hair was the colour of grey,
Eyes far away, with the thoughts of her day,
As her grandson an audience sought,
I was there that day, with an empty head thought,
just a boy, but loved this I say.
As I looked at her troubled eyes,
A Catholic she’d once been married,
To a Church of England, man called John,
so now she was surely harried,
Excommunicated by a priest on that day,
So she caught up a rifle, pulled off a few shots,
Bounced bullets, as he was running away.
The only pleasure to be got,
Anyway.
With polio born she couldn’t stand,
But dragged herself onto a pony,
She did eventually walk,
But she walked in the path of the lonely.
Susan Burch
Contest Name Silver Strands
a bee
invaded our car in
nineteen fifty four
while we were driving
to the jersey shore
flew in my open back window
of our two tone ford custom
pea green top black bottom
hurtling down the highway
four kids two adults
doing sixty
our kid arms outside the windows
flailing and pushing the wind
no cares
must have looked from above
like some giant green beetle
lotsa wiggly white legs
once the bee was inside
it was havoc
screaming and screeching
kids curled up in fear
in the rear
mom and dad barking out orders
we knew it had a stinger
it wanted to get us
stab us
never really saw its sticky spear
scary when needles are near
it buzzed all about
for a minute or two
up to the windshield
back near my ear
mom tried to thwack it
with her home journal
but missed
it disappeared
we all wanted to kill it
that is what you do with bees
waited and waited
no bee
then in a fury it came out
from under the front seat
hiding in a sea of springs
plotting for its moment
its chance to escape
we must have gone twenty miles
with it in our car
so out it came
buzzed a bit
then flew out my window
gone
we all took a sigh of relief
the villain excommunicated
after the yapping stopped
silence for a few miles
then i got a slow sadness
how will it find its home
it was very very far away
i thought if i was the bee
maybe i would feel lost
i remember when mom
found me in wanamakers
in toys
mom leaned over the front seat
and said
his home is everywhere
huh
that was enough for me
even though i had no clue
what it all meant what to do
my first lesson in empathy
taught by a teeny thing so wee
a bee
free verse 74 lines 326 words
Pen illustration G. Gaul
Zorro swings and Zorro falls,
sadly landed on someones balls
excommunicated from the mall,
for gross protracted screaming.
Zorro on the crutch of one,
slapped down by a redneck nun,
pivoted crutch to plonking run,
so bad he must be dreaming?
Springing for his horse so black,
drop kicked his oolies slack,
glad it wasn't a donkey Jack,
the Z man enterprising.
Don Johnson 6-aug-11
He rolled on the ground erratically,
as though his body was filled with
embers. Villagers gathered around him,
some whose mouths were agape.
Another child of the sun
had been accused
of interacting with a water
sprout, a domain which was reserved
only for the gods. The elders had
initially agreed the boy would be excommunicated
deep into the
wilderness, but his mother pleaded,
in the midst of tears. Quitting
exorcism was out of question.
Sunsphere
Sunsphere, purple to orange,
yellow in the middle,
setting at the rear.
Behind the wheel, gripping the steel,
Apollo, anxious, scans for falling flowers
along the roadside.
My petal scent
permeates the Lumina —
maroon in colour,
interior tone matching.
It is his ride,
our style.
I will never leave, even if we wreck
at breakneck speed.
I’ve got the need;
he’s got the deed.
My own Jimmy Dean —
flashing red and green,
amber
and lean,
colours of the scene,
of the chase.
The urban heart paces
its own race to the climax,
where it might end,
where it might dissolve away
in a state of perfect pink bliss.
The body’s calibrated systems all lined up
for twenty seconds of elation.
I tune the station.
He smiles at the recognition.
This song carried us along —
all the pit stops, all the speed bumps.
It first played eons past:
sweet sixteen, neon skies blast
green wonder overhead.
He was not there; we had not met.
A song that touched the loneliness inside.
I realized I was not like everyone else;
I excommunicated myself.
And when I found him, I denied this song existed.
It reminded me of that time before my heart enlisted
in the endless dream.
I pretended I had never experienced sadness.
I was in pure spirit —
not doctored by my own health
or chemistry.
I was strong,
untouched by the dirty empires.
But it was false.
I had already fallen in the mud.
Music was the rope
holding me close.
No one offered their arms,
no one offered their charms
to save me from dismay.
I clung to whole notes
and registers —
treble and bass.
I only had theory to seal my edges.
I was not restrained, not in feeling
nor in the larynx.
I was fixated on expression,
the lexicon of my wounded soul.
He smiles at the remembrance
as the song plays again —
not because the lyrics are happy
or because it calls back pleasant polaroids.
We are still here,
cohabiting the vessel of our escapade,
together,
rolling through the hills of sonic recollection.
And here, in the passenger seat of an old Chevy,
I can finally name my sorrow
I can let the tears rise
if they wanted to break the levy of my eyes —
forest-coloured iris —
if I had reason to cry
To think.
To see, to understand.
To speak, to say what you think!
Be careful.
Be mindful of the thoughts.
Be mindful of the words.
Be careful with the voice.
It’s real to think.
It’s real to understand.
It’s real to speak.
It’s real but…
The system will stay the system.
The rich will stay the rich.
The poor will stay the poor.
Expendable. Expected.
Excommunicated.
Extreme. Excoriate.
Exemplify. Expose.
Extinguish. Expel.
Exclude. Exterminate…
A language rich in words for silencing, yet poor in words for loving.
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.
From devadasi in temples to women of the streets,
Form hooker to harlot,
From courtesan to call girl,
Whether a paramour in the hands of wealth,
Or a Whore engaging in promiscuous sexual intercourse,
So many names and so many fames,
Above all I am a human being too,
Often referred as the lady of the evenings,
People forget that I also have mornings,
I use my body for lewd purposes,
But this is my job may be the worst of all,
This is not for pleasure, greed or money,
I am trapped to this vicious world,
These callous men turned me a used good,
Now whom to be blamed?
This society calls me ‘Characterless’
Because I pledged my dignity for this profession,
May be the oldest of all,
I never dreamt of marriage,
I am an impoverished cultural outcast,
I am excommunicated,
I work in darkness,
And that’s why people fail to see me in light,
But Menaka, Rambha, Urvashi, and Thilothamma,
The celestial demigods – who are they?
Indian mythology says this as high-class prostitution?
This is the harsh reality,
I spare myself for making you elated
But you brand me the “curse of this society “
I never look at my mirror with joy
My own reflection titters at me
I see only destation and revulsion around me,
I scream in agony and excruciation
But for people they are pleasure sounds and sex noises,
I have dissolved my high spirits in the ocean of Hedone
Where my conventionality and morality have gone invisible,
Now I stand before this society as a misanthropist,
An elite lady – who changes her boy friend every now and then,
I love my John just for few minutes,
I eventually break up for the next John to stay,
When I walk down the streets I never look up,
For the eyes of women fend off,
For the eyes of men fond off,
They rate me based on complexion,
Being a black seducer I am paid low
But none discovered my hearts white glow,
From a lad to a gray man,
All try to touch my skin,
But none so far have tried to touch my soul
For them I am a doll – without feelings or pain,
But for me no pain no gain,
I can never change this world,
Or the way they treat me,
Likewise I can never change myself,
Or the way I treat my men.
I am searching my bright future in the night,
And I call this my nocturnal life.
BY,
MADHUPRIYA SHANMUGAM
"Phenomonology"
time drips through
the lens of philosophy
phenomonology melts
the solid realisation;
was all that time
spent inconsequential,
the purpose of it all
bought abruptly,
for an expected cost
(for this annal
somewhere soft
and vaseline-lensed,
we anticipate, it is never
an unexpected cost,
we know the cost
of all things eventually),
fraught and contradictory
brought into alignment
with a loose end,
that’s a wrap
and nothing tied,
question mark;
semicolan, pause
avoid that full stop;
simply being before thought
yolk and white separate
cracked and measured
flaws in the reasoning
of existence,
there is no rational
explanation beyond
faith and belief,
monastic pantheists
flinch to the hymns
of science’s abrasive voice
it has its answers for
substance
through the gate racing
on the get-go
phyrronism
scorches everything;
Everything,
raises its hand
palm open – there’s that
measured full stop.
structures of consciousness
shakey foundations experienced
through a First person view
beggars belief
in trust,
yet nothing tangible;
we speak to ourselves
and our internal gods;
Spinoza confers with
some of us,
excommunicated,
we understand that,
in one way or another
and we are just like
the others
but different,
waiting for validation
and logical answers
to form on our tongues
like words we swallow
to speak into life.
in the beginning
there was the word
but before that,
the thoughts;
from the mind
sits Epoché’s nature
Ataraxia
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
THE STATE OF OSTRACISM
Excommunicated by popular vote, I became isolated in a world chosen from birth.
Priests came to convert us, but we were practicing the Baptist faith.
Through mediums, they would include themselves.
They desire for power was great.
Ostracized, my mother stories told about not being liked by others.
We were atypical to her as mixed and mutated blood from the bands of a country formed by origin, immigration, and enslavement.
As time went on, my mother focus change to a more distinct way.
A way of life was seen that was the way of a nation conceived.
The new deal was for welfare states.
The entity that administer the benefits.
The races stated to be the demographics were Black, Brown, Mixed, and White trash that flattered the rich self-interest.
What blarneyed was a poverty index.
White trash became low income to middle class.
Socio-economics manifested.
A state of ostracism is thematic test.
Family not liked, I was given poetry.
My mother stated this to me.
She said snubbed those that are not right with your pen.
Next, embrace who is worthy with profound philosophy.
See and hear the cold-shouldered that wants you to be nobody.
Speak not but write prolifically.
Topically, I relate as writer and creator of the spoken word.
Via vision and a mission stated, I am an author of poetry.
To initiate hope, I speak about my belief in God.
I am the thoughts that possess and a method that uses the vocabulary.
The words are there to line the attack...
Yet, they are also there to move mountains.
_____________________________________________________________|
Written August 28, 2016!
AN INFAMOUS LEGEND
King Henry XIII was indeed quite a boy,
He had no clue how to spell the word coy,
He was consumed by a quest that
A wife bear,
And give birth to a male heir,
He was fat, red headed and
Dressed with flamboyant flair!
Not quite my thing,
For a ruling King!
He wedded his first wife Catherine of Aragon,
Who did not bear a son
And grew to loathe this noble lady
He had done!
Cromwell, Henry’s adviser was used,
And finally abused, he had
To ask parliament to pass a bill,
Which made divorce a common drill.
One morning King Henry got out of
The wrong side of the bed,
And had Cromwell beheaded,
The executioner had trouble
Severing his head!
This Bill made Henry, head
Of the Protestant faith.
The Pope excommunicated King Henry
From Rome,
A disliked King who sat on
England’s throne!
Catherine now belonged in the past,
Enter Anne Boleyn,
Their marriage was short and ill fated
For she was publicly beheaded!
In between marriages and wives,
Henry had affairs,
One wonders how far his seed was spread,
Let’s not split hairs,
Probably he could fill a today’s
Rugby stadium!
With his family jewels downstairs!
Jane Seymour, his third wife was
Was the love of his life,
She gave birth to an heir, a son,
But his beloved wife died,
Henry was sad and perhaps
A single tear dried!
Now Henry had a son,
But needed to still live his life
So he spied wife number four
Who willingly came to knock
On his door.
But Henry divorced Anne of Cleves,
Wow lucky lady!
And so entered wife number five,
Who was brave and plucky,
She had a short married life,
Tried and sentenced for treason,
This was an excuse for a reason
To have Catherine Howard beheaded,
Soon after they were wedded!
Congratulations to Catherine Parr,
For though she was the last,
She outlived the King by far,
And brought to rest his cast,
And lewd past!
In fifteen hundred and forty seven,
King Henry died,
We doubt he went to Heaven,
And was laid to rest next to Jane,
His third wife, and beloved bride.
Perhaps Henry's family jewels should
Have been shredded or beheaded,
And then he be remembered,
As an infamous legend.
This famous city of antiquity
had its name changed in 1930.
We once called it Constantinople.
Today, it is known as Istanbul.
People located here in North America,
see it on the map bridging Europe and Asia.
Once capital city of the Byzantines,
it has witnessed many bloody battle scenes.
This is the citadel the Fourth Crusade raided.
Because of this, they were excommunicated.
This is a city rich in culture and history.
The Turks took it from the Greeks in 1453.
Does the name change seem as one of many quirks?
Do you want to know why? Just ask any of the Turks.
"And Today's Special is Wine and Cheese"
Some wine and cheese
If you would please
Depressed, I cannot express myself for I’m being oppressed and repressed
Yet, I reside in the west, my lines are treated as an unwelcome guest
I’ve ornamented ideas that will go unheard
Reading them will be seen as a vulture transcribed word
“A Stale Birthday Cake,” could be submitted
But a lot of terms are not permitted
If I leave those texts out to describe my rage
It might as well be written in the stone age
Here’s an example, “ , ” substantial white noise is found on this page
“The Penetralia Ruby Queen,” hint, the anatomy
But, is there no shame, outcry, how dare I, the audacity
It conveys about some person with a dancing nymph’s fantasy
But it altercates against the morals of Christianity
Here’s an example, “ , ” undeniably excommunicated for blasphemy
The villainous bark, scream, “Cultures Dark Theme”
It’s something written from a nightmare’s dream
If submitted, it would drive the masses into insanity
Yet, this piece of work prohibits the usage of profanity
Here’s an example, “ , ” silenced because others must be spared of its inhumanity
“The World’s Playground” still waiting to see if it gets banned
Negligent in comprehending the rules beforehand
The lyrics uses a word to describe a person who gets paid
In an ideal world, I could just switch the rhyme to being laid
Here’s an example, “ ,” my apologies for the cross realm alabaster masquerade
Finally, “Unzipped Apple Core,” was written as a rant indeed
Bitten by the fire ant, I was hoping it would supplant a seed
But apparently the flying monkey festival has everyone strapped to a ticking time bomb
Another useless firework display to a bromide poem, so turn the page to end this sitcom
The doctor said, "Take this. It will cure the social disease”
So, for my last supper please, I would like some wine and cheese
Updated 5/14/2019
Extra committed; yet excommunicated. Highly dedicated; yet not facilitated.
Denied, despised, and dismissed. Though devoted; yet demoted.
Disappointed and disrespected. Devalued and disapproved.
We feel the strong and mighty winds gusting across the coastal waters
of our subdued and gentle spirit. We see tornado winds rushing
down into the deepest portals of our bewildered soul, uprooting
our lives and leaving us in the cold. We are listening to those drum beats
of darkness and death, resounding ever so loudly to grind us into the ground.
Even though we may be wearing thin, we gain courage from our God and our
friends and continue on until the end. Yes, it's hard to drink that bitter cup.
But let us not give in, out, or up. Just carry on; we are not alone. Stay in the
race and keep a smiling face. Inhale, exhale, but do not depart or exodus.
Keep connected to the God we trust. Continue believing and being kind.
And remember well, that sometimes, troubling times is a must for all of us.
05112017FBPHPSContest, Best Rhyming, John Hamilton; NA
I need twelve and ten
welcome to the world l cumminity land like i had a lond dream
and i dont know sweet then genesis media off the finish stoll
i be quoting nig all day long beg please loven of money not qurrel and member what to do to work another day colin no no no ready it is not please please I need drugs and snuff went through the night sleep the number count zek and inquistion anything oppressed? labs ton me drop drop?
I like my church oil
i woke up and laughing stay alive a wrath news chrsitna mute point!
this so be twelve friends balling somatic revolution my friends
the name of god perhaps two more quick tell us a story
perfection love work dont drink cis term just let me lay down
forn me lorn me sweet cool is myy ears darn.. and get naked non meditating wise excommunicated adonai plan reeds then flee from me cause you would go tell tell the whole hellis sweet Imish working world if you new mim.
then Miss. come from and will all in locus that i got to teach myself and everthing but this is twelve mox sex mor of it. all right pills the pills more mins and the other stuff yes!