Best Guile Poems
Posit the guile entity
The lost, enters without warning
Mostly death, but severed hearts
Also are placed within its hands
A signifier of painful art
Worshipped by the insane
But longed for by the lonely
And lost, who enter knowingly
This being bends, and breaks
The bones of the weary
And lowers the esteem
Of all those that are still lost
And which have given up hope
Those that bring in the pain as if
This is their world now
He kills the lost
Like it is nothing but sacrifices
To him and his flawless bones
He likes to play with the souls
As if they are a toy
To squeeze and to pierce
Blood escapes their pulsating hearts
The lonely believe they are supposed
To be there, and experience this pain
That the world must crumble
Just like what he does with his hands
Once within his sights
There is no escape
Pain is a mainstay, until death
Comes and take you away…
Russell Sivey
Never disagree with the Officer Class
When you’re serving in the ranks,
Never disagree with the Officer Class
For you’ll never get any thanks.
They seem to think
The time they spent
Getting Commissioned
Makes them Omnipotent.
Heaven protect the squaddie
Who’s discovered to have been right
For the Officer Class hate the thought
Of an underling who proves to be bright.
The NCO learns as he earns his stripes
The approved way of how
To Impart common sense and wisdom
While appearing to kowtow.
You have to learn
And understand
How to make them think
They’re in command.
No never disagree with the Officer Class,
Learn to manipulate them with guile.
No never disagree with the Officer Class
For they get grumpy, prickly, and hostile.
Ignore this advice
If you choose
But if you do, brother,
You’re bound to lose.
Your face is hidden
The moon is pale, like your eyes
wrapped in guilt's blanket...
Poet: Em Em Mubarak Lawal
Sequel: after Paciolo pen saint
I rather call a spade a sword
why does the finesse of a wine
not linger on the tongue for long?
why does tears have to flow
when butterflies fill one’s belly,
and also when one could not curb
cobwebs of life from overcoming
one’s happiest moments?
Life I thought was meant to be fair
one apple broke the camel’s back
when man sold his eternal happiness
for the sweetener enshrined inside the apple
it is the puzzle of ages
as I also rest on the shore of sigh
at the top crest of Mountain Sinai
just as Moses received the ten decrees
maybe this puzzle will be solved
now that all of these rests on the rock of faith.
Should one merely settle for the word ‘Style’
In lieu of the more appropriate ‘Guile’?
A secretary asking an applicant to wait for a while
But still not nearing this anxious file;
Letting the doomed document and others pile,
Sometimes taking this to a shocking mile:
Many false phone calls and not-to connect dial
Freshly asserting how Man has been shoddily vile.
Even when Applicant starts raving, secreting bile,
Feet noisily attacking office tile;
He, mentally wishing for the contents of a poisoned vial
Or resourcefully arguing his case, Fertile River Nile…
It’s all BUREAUCRATIC GUILE!
JOURNEY MIND MAP (21/25) — GUILE
Trust tough truth
Prize prompt proof
Style grand smile
Pique each mile
Day dream sums
Sure outcome
Soul self knows
How love grows
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
18 January 2021
Singapore
GUILE..©2020
JESUS POSSESSED NO GUILE, THE SCRIPTURES ARE TRUE,
HE WALKED AS A MAN THROUGH THIS WORLD A WHILE.
SENT TO ATONE, BUT HIS MANNER WAS KIND
NO DECEIT WAS FOUND IN HIM, BUT ALONE.
DISHONEST HE WAS NOT, HONESTLY HE SOUGHT GOD'S WILL.
FATHER NOT MY WILL, BUT THINE HE REPLIED PRAYING FOR
THE CUP TO PASS. RESPONSIBILITY WAS HIS TO FILL. HE SANCTIFIED
HIS CHURCH AND CLEANSED IT AND WASHED IT WITH WATER BY THE WORD.
HE IS A FRAUD THEY ACCUSED, PROCLAIMING TO BE GOD.
JESUS WAS, OFFERED THE WHOLE WORLD IF HE WOULD SURRENDER.
ATTACKED AT HIS WEAKEST POINT WHEN HE HUNGERED AND THIRST.
FORTY DAYS AND FORTY NIGHTS, HE NEVER FORFEITED HIS SPLENDOR.
WHO WILL BE THE GREATEST IN OUR ARENA AS WE FIGHT.
BUSINESS, SPORTS WORLDLY PLEASURES. WE ARE, CAUGHT UP IN A
WORLD OF DECEPTION. WHAT COMES FROM THE MOUTH IS FROM THE
HEART. SPARE THE ROD SPOIL THE CHILD WILL NOT LEAD TO PERFECTION.
GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN THAN TO LAY DOWN HIS LIFE FOR A FRIEND.
Spring’s Abysmal Guile
By Sy Roth
A vapor rises, rank as the charnel pit,
a corruption of a miasma vast,
as though some sepulcher, long sealed,
split its stony jaws to breathe.
Vile exhalation of a corrupted world.
The reveler, unwitting wretch
treads the decadent fields where verdure writhes,
each blade a hostile tendril, squamous, cold,
glistening with ichor
No earthly fount its progenitor.
He deems the shade of evil vanquished,
trampled beneath his hobnailed boot.
The soil heaves with malefic will,
its roots, like veins of some primordial fiend,
pulses with a rankness older than the stars,
a stench that whispers of aeons lost.
Spring cloaks itself in verdant pall,
no bloom, but scales of a vast, unuttered thing,
its thorns a raven’s beak, evermore to rend, to sow, to bespoil.
He quaffs the tainted zephyr,
proclaiming triumph over a gloaming moon,
Swept in the season’s unseen talons,
fathomless ennui
creeps through his sinews,
entombing his soul in an abysmal cleft unshriven.
Who is the greatest from the land of the other hand…
The pure top draw..southpaw....
Lara or Spice Isle style.. guile and
Wiles of Kumar Sangakarra..
Who wouldn’t hanker in their seats
Various vicarious treats..Sri Lanka’s number one ranker..
Fancy dan talisman.. Tamil Totem of elan..
Run spanker & banker.
His unctuous umami like a sumptuous curry
Even at the end…flurry of runs in a hurry for Surrey…
Hands so soft….held aloft…the head so still…combined with
Unique refined technique echoes the past…remembers
Classical embers of the text and record book cast..
Plays the ball so God damn late…almost tardy…
Trait of a hardy..true first rate great…
Another Sanga banga..all thriller not a scintilla of filler..
Larrups another clanger…elegant and decadent..
Like having a Concorde in your hangar..
Redolent of a sublime almost forgotten time..
His timber timbre.. the sweetest rhyme…
Record heaper…acid jazz pizzazz..flair run reaper..
Smooth..rare groove sweeper..
Well honed treacle toned soul
Top notch keeper..& to be fair
A lovely mop of hair..
One of the gilded golden generation of glittering constellation sensations..
As a lefty…no fibs…his nibs might get first dibs
Superfly guy playing or…sashaying to his own homegrown celestial sky high…
To the downtrodden, the marginalized, and worn,
Is this the fate that's yours to mourn?
The bourgeoisie, a cabal of power and might,
Gather to crush the poor, and snuff out their light.
The poor, in turn, unwittingly join the fray,
Oppressing themselves, in a vicious cycle of disarray.
Since time immemorial, I've witnessed this sad refrain,
Rarely seeing the rich and poor unite in love's sweet refrain.
For the wealthy fear that if the poor rise to power,
Their loyalty will wane, and their grip on them will cower.
So they indoctrinate, with subtle, deceitful guile,
Enslaving minds, and keeping the poor in servile trial.
By night, the rich and powerful conspire and plot,
While by day, they wear masks of deceit, and hearts that are not.
How many meetings do the poor convene to break their chains?
Will they forever remain silent, and endure the pains?
The upper class imposes taxes, a burden to bear,
While they themselves pay less, and live without a care.
But I ask you, dear oppressed, how long will you remain mute?
Will you not rise up, and demand your rights, and your freedom to compute?
No one is indispensable, your voice matters, don't you see?
Break free from the shackles of oppression, and be the change you seek to be.
Speak out, rise up, and shatter the chains that bind,
For your freedom, your future, and your dignity, are worth the fight to find.