Best Fly In The Ointment Poems
Fly in the ointment,
I've heard said,
Flies will use you for
food, when you're dead
But a fly in the soup?
Which one of you??
How'd you get in somehow?
What did you do?
These rhetorical questions,
do not require answer,
But one thing does, for sure....
Just how did a zipper get in
my chicken noodle?
This question I do implore
My lips are torn,
my faith in Campbell's shot,
this is one thing,
to predict, I had a chance not
I look inside you
I step inside then
Well, well, look what I find here
Is this place Hell
Where my steps have led me
She calls me the Devil
Well that sounds just like him
Comteplations of direct hits
Night Marches regardless
If I’m the Archer or the target
Your still a part of
The weapons aimed in my direction
Shells, Shields, Force fields
Special Forces
Black opts, Black Hawks
Solid truths in soft words
Infrared, GPS, global positional satellites
Inferred here, I’m speaking from the third person
a glutton for punishment, a fly in the ointment
there are no flies on somebody
I’m Dynamic, I’m a driving force
I’m vigorous, full of energy, poetically spoken I got a purpose
Poetic Justice
Poet Destroyer
I tell you in Latin, I’m Acinonyx jubatus
Imma Cheetah
My words travel faster than a Leopard
I ain't no follower, I ain't no lemming
A Legend lends itself to something
Legitimately speaking
“To the system, I speak into the Universe
In the light years I splash and play in”
promise may be both a blessing and curse
sometimes turning into something far worse
potential the symbol for higher things
beyond the grasp of most human beings
entering such an uneven bargain
few do willingly pick up the burden
where any result short of final goal
makes an individual less than whole
pressing beyond standard deviations
brought down by weight of old expectations
having become the fly-in-the-ointment
can’t avoid looks of clear disappointment
all but a game of another's making
freedom lies within the role's forsaking
Laborare Estorare in obscure ANON-ymity
Though to do as they must they'll know nothing but pain
In this richly owned world, self appointed divinity
The righteous still toil in God's Holy Name
We're but offal to corporate greed
In a long chain of man-made disasters
Like a freight train unleashed at full speed
They queue to bow down to their masters
Their exorbitant memberships paid
They gather like rose-stem pricks
As cold as a steel switchblade
Schwabs Great Reset on their lips
Information is media controlled
A cleverly designed social narrative
We're cautioned to do as we're told
Compliance, the crucial imperative
Like corporate ships, overwhelming
A psychopars hands on the rudder
Towards the edge of destruction We're sailing
Big Pharma's in league with Big Brother
Though Big Brothers race is being run
Sometimes his plans they get botched
By a fly in the ointment Anon
They know now the Watchers being Watched
1.
In an ahistorical fog:
all the Ways home,
all the signposts,
treacherously hidden
by greedy men and women:
all eyes off the ball:
mere contemptible bourgeois folly.
2.
The rain is unending,
the wind howls,
the flooded river races,
its banks rapidly disappearing
in this darkness at noon.
Laid bare by the flashing, crackling
lightning, the wagon teams and
terrified, shouting horsemen
careen downstream.
Deafening thunder booms rolling.
In the swollen, swirling river,
w/ eyes wide in panic,
the horses kick wildly,
their neighing strangled and
silenced by the dark, rushing flow as
they disappear beneath it.
Both the beasts and the
men are doomed,
but for one of each.
That horseman, cursing,
desperately leaps unto the
back of that horse,
making its way struggling, swimming to the
shoreline, w/ their safety certain,
a horse changed midstream.
3.
The Robot Fighters:
savvy, Western workers
upright and true, foresighted and brave:
like the proverbial "physicians healing themselves"
they throw themselves fervently into
putting their "own house in order" first:
Toppled and wrestled under human control,
each and every evilly spying machine;
all the cruel, unheeding AI
stopped dead in its tracks;
all the poisonous tools of the trade
laid down in righteous protest,
w/ irrepressible Luddite spirit:
Alive, the fearless Machine Fighters
forced into action, wisely not waiting
for irremediable, dystopian 4,000 AD
before making their move.
4.
Greasy grasping fingers:
the fly in the ointment:
usury unchecked.
*****
Curtains, thrown open wide:
the startling, stark light of day:
usurious vampyres scatter,
run for their lives.*
*"The reason why the Persians [sic] were always slaves and always
will be is that they could never say 'No'."
--- Thucydides, ancient Athenian historian and general
Brown spots dab my poor pale skin
Deeper and bigger than freckles
I'd play dot to dot, if I knew where to begin
If I were a hen; I'd be speckled
Gardeners' distress and indignation
As head holes can cause mayhem
Though hills appear, without invitation
Let's not make mountains out of them
A chink in the armour as word gets out
From a very special sleeper
A fly in the ointment, a spy with clout
But if he's on your side, he's a keeper
There's a fly in the ointment...
This one is a ripper!
'Cause that darn fly,
Has got me caught up in his zipper...
I should imagine it is the same everywhere,
With gangs free to turn up anywhere,
As the exception to the lock down rule over here,
With police giving them an escort to get there.
They were always going to be the fly in the ointment,
That would increase the need for an oxygen tent,
And encourage discontent,
From others who were once content,
To listen with intent,
When told not to go to an event
Where Covid is hell bent,
To havoc rent,
All because gangs are given freedom to its fullest extent,
While others are left to lament,
Inaction by those who should have taken the hint.
Walking yourself
into the woods
Trees on either side
The scent of primroses
upon the ground
In the crisp cool air
my summer breeze
You sat yourself
upon a golden fleece
In the centre
A rose for you
Tossing my heart
in the air
I give you
my everything
Including my soul
I fall into the pond
My heart cries
I became the frog
Forever I remain here
Waiting love to arrive
I do not crave
fancy diamonds
Or fancy anything
for that matter
I just want love
My fly in the ointment
To heal my wounds
Open the door
my heaven
I will give you everything
Your heart desires
Open the door love
A beautiful fountain
I bathe near
Most beautiful
in my eyes
That I have ever seen
Maybe fairytales
a dream
My heart bursts its desire
In my kingdom
This must surely
be heaven
To kiss the frog
My fairytale begins
Donald Trump is a flimflam man
You look where he points so he can
Give Russia an edge
The Ukraine the hedge
Whilst Kurds get the Turkey trepan!
Chats in the Car
We never drive far
May be over the mountains
As the wheels meet the tar
And the bugs find their end
Round each terminal bend
Yet no fly in the ointment with
Conversational friend
We steer around obstacles
We navigate bumps
The pot-hole conundrums,
Of love, never stumps
We won't get a ticket
For our speeding or risks
No concerns with this friendship
From detectors or frisks
I could drive through the night
With you here by my side
It's a wonderful journey
Such a comforting ride
Don't know if we'll arrive
Or the point of it all
But I just count you as blessing
Whether top speed or crawl
For the moments, so fleeting
Are too precious to waste
If we have to conclude this
Let's not get there in haste
Feeling something’s not right
a general dissatisfaction
or persistent fundamental flaw
I look inward for a cause.
Dr. Hubris, at your service!
Self appointed, to discover,
diagnosis and cure
the very footsteps he makes
in the wilderness of Psyche.
But what he finds is the same
basic ignorance he always finds,
an ignorance at the core of it all
so basic there is no cure.
And so his footsteps change nothing
except leave his tracks
across this pristine ground
the ground his projecting creative mind
self-identifies as flawed….
(10/8/23)
The smart business knows what to do,
To reduce the stress on you,
And get you in and out of view.
Customer turnaround,
Increases the dollar mound,
Proof of which is easily found.
It is technology gone mad that is the fly in the ointment,
That reduces contentment,
And raises resentment.
It is false economy,
And debt to the community,
Through failure to move cars economically.
Why slow down a person with one item,
With others waiting to buy more than them,
Who may go elsewhere due to limited time.
Unrealistic expectations are a curse
nobody lives up to our high standards
~ a one-way ticket to disappointment
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place 2025
In the quiet whispers of dreams,
I dance with shadow's ebonescence,
as photonic particle - collider,
photosynthesis derider,
unveiling entities,
of "agents provocateur" to seize a "visitation"
upon the dimensions precipice
per chance to lay siege.
In the depths of "our present darkness",
petra-charred and invisible against the oiled skin
of night.
Chameleon sins-
spiders its neural network
across the fruited plains,
trading insiders
like it was the New York Stock Exchange.
Black domes in the rock of jig altar,
to sire getaway mountain dens and tunnels
for BlackRock Pfizer Op -Executions.
Their golden boy, will spotlight meteoric,
the proverbial fly in the ointment,
Act III lift of a-weighted curtain-lifting back wings,
showing a defyning eye and marionette strings.
Les Miserables-play on words-play on heartstring phantoming our opera, staged in
Anti-Christian cryptonite.
History channeled redirect
rhetoric dialect of reflected subject to chain,
and the death of fiat currency,
just a coincidental theme?
Freedom is a currency isn't it,
a Hallmark card from the Corporation
to the People- to read,
between the lines of allegiance-
swearing till blue in the face,
alliance against malfee-seance in press release
of 3 letter agency.
As Apollyon waltzes in from the bottomless pit.
Social credit scored to fit the bill.
Cloaked in fine Kingly robes of industry.
fact checked by the Ministry of Information.
When will love speak it's instinctual dialect
in a neon sign language not lost in translation?
When will hope weave it's august majesty,
Seraphic-wings spread over as a covering tapestry.
In cure of a cerulean sky with
hope diamonds of open transparency,
lifting us in perpetuity.
Till that day,
with each intrepid step, a nightmare before Lent
their Black Christmas unfolds
a returning echo on the steppes,
etched in our collective brains like petrified mold.
In an apology of words,
emotions coagulate churns sour worm meal,
acidic curdling of my stomach, a larvaeic curd-
cysted curse to the soylent green new deal
of New World sufferings
and pain, of UnitedNationsBurntOfferings,
with a disdain for comic relief
or cosmic entymology.