Best Hedonist Poems
I’m Tweety Bird and ‘I tawt I taw a puddy tat,’
But what I mean, Trump’s nightmares fear a democrat,
I’m as yellow as your hair, tweet,
Feel sure you dye it fair, tweet,
Vulgar antics towards opponents, shows lack of morality
Fake tan, untruths, arrogance and more, sadly your totality.
Become a mature American leader Mr. President,
Your unacceptable rapport with world leaders has evil intent,
Sorry, you are just a reality show,
A favour, take a bow and go,
You fuel Racism, Feminism, Semitism, encourage Supremacists,
Build a wall, which Mexicans dig under, such a hedonist!
President-elect Tweety Bird, stop your victimization, it’s become boring,
Debateable If you possess, any political finesse, for war hoping?
Hurriedly looking for a vaccine,
I Tweety Bird, first in line,
Side effect, maybe both of us losing our yellow fluff!
Would discuss climate change, but know you’ve abandoned this, rough!
Technology is changing day by day,
the benefits? enormous, one might say,
is miniaturization a price too high to pay?
not necessarily the smart and prudent way.
Gemstones aren't what they're purported to be,
take that cuff link, a microprocessor,
what used to take acres and acres of space
now resides on the top of his dresser.
Tie clips and navel rings, earrings with studs
contain microchips too small to see,
snapshots are routed to secret computers,
surveillance directed at you and at me.
As fate would have it, I have diminished,
a 6 footer, now 2ft 4inches,
soon I'll be able to date a REAL bird
and cavort with the crows and the finches.
It must be my penance, I spoke out of turn
and maligned the creator, the hedonist,
who pleasures the masses with tablets and iPods,
and removed me from his Merry Christmas list.
Small is as small does so I gravitate,
and follow these micro-bit players,
I am so tiny, can't hardly be seen,
as black widows become midget-slayers.
Consigned to my basement I look for a way
to escape my arachnoid aggressors,
I squeeze through a slit in the mesh at my window
and plead, as with all good confessors.
Out in my garden I stare at the stars,
just a speck in the depths of the universe,
I fall to my knees to be nothing at all,
prey to microchip madness, a terrible curse
or our endless salvation?
Written: June 17, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Edward Ibeh
***********************
I.
We rise to a pulse that breaks the silence.
a line of gold across the morning.
beckoning us forth before we are ready,
Before we hear the race has truly started—
a quiet request rising from inside.
II.
Morning fades to a pale, uncertain light,
half-selves drifting as dust in the air,
still clinging to the scent of who we were
before the world grew heavy with choices—
before gold glimmered in the distance.
III.
We move as an elfin, uneasy group,
carrying dreams stamped bright but brittle,
Hearts beating flinty against the dark ahead.
A ray of gold shining amid the gloom.
a gleam we believe is fate.
IV.
Vintage bruises sigh in the backyard.
echoing with every step we claim.
We ignore the noise, but it pursues,
shadows that mirror our breath —
reminding us of what we had tried to leave.
V.
The path narrows where memory fades,
where doubts slip through, akin to wind in a seam.
Some carry anger as a hidden ember,
some cradle hope as fragile as a leaf—
all us drawn by the same distant glimmer.
VI.
Night rises with its ghostly forms,
the scent of earth and storm-swept branches.
Our veins burn red with restless longing,
hedonist and skeptic arguing in the ribs—
Yet still the gold glows ahead.
VII.
A wanderer utters truths he can’t verify,
But belief does not alter the nature of the race.
Gold is not an offering waiting at the seal;
It is a mirror in transforming light,
Reflecting what we prefer not to stare at.
VIII.
Pages of our past ignite as we stroll forward—
ink-built towers of selves we nearly became.
Empathy thins, love sharpens, then softens,
And slowly our shadows loosen their grip
as daylight widens around us.
IX.
At last, we reach the hollow gold,
quiet, patient, shimmering without demand.
Not a reward, but a sanctuary for the lost.
a nest for the selves we shed on the way—
And in its luminescence, we arrive at last.
Here lies a woman of hedonist fame,
her Je ne sais quoi had no restrain.
Any man who proposed
found her not so disposed
and never could find her again!
*
Solomon Grundy, Solomon Grundy,
sniffer of glue, when offered, on Monday.
The Tuesday was hash, a whopping great spliff;
on Wednesday took coke, a generous sniff.
For Thursday some crack, the dodgiest brand,
and Friday’s dope needle was quite second-hand.
When Saturday came, a massive OD;
on Sunday it ended, this hedonist spree.
In spite of the blurb you find on a packet,
right up to the end, he thought he could hack it!
~
For Debra's 'Nursery Rhyme' Competition.
It is a quite Sunday morning
It was a weird outing in the evening
We saw fuming ashes
We saw failed elephants
We heard the tales of fallen petals
We saw drifting continents of love and lust
It was a quite Sunday morning after a tepid Saturday night
I saw many men sulking under the weight of their own dreams
I heard many women lustfully languishing their tongue twisters
They were all eloquent
They were all spellbound
They were castrated
A Carnival in the oddest of the hours
A Caricature of my self and many other selves
Our pulses were travelling to Venus, Mars and Pluto
We were simmering in the heat of the market mongers
We were boiler plates to the typecasted experiments in human nature
Have you heard about Pavlov
Who embarked on an experiment to create machines in human mindset
Have you learned about Vygotsky
Who smiled at the smiling babies and loved their zones of evolution
Have you wept when Maykovsky shot dead himself
His poetry must have been boiling faster than his heart impulses
When I end up embracing the dichotomies of Mikhail Bakhtin
I know I have become a scoundrel, polyglot, a hedonist, pagan beast
When this hetroglossia unfolds and scarlet fevers engulf the nations
Fear of languages, life and all sort of glass house effects will prevail
Do you know the fissures in your palace
Do you know if it is made of marble, mosaic, or even a piece of pitch blend?
Now I know only about primordial stones and shadows
Who build pyramids and prisons in the middle of stone hinged and laggard society
Who are in multitudes, nameless, nation-less, necro-manic living echoes
I live their turquoise blue rings, silver palms, their mythical fear of tortoises
I dig a grave to heal their zest for anarchy, and to unwound their zeitgeist
Wrong...Right...
Black and White...
Do imps 'n'angels fight
in light of day...dark of night?
The evil to hell...the rest - heaven's delight...
is all cut and dried or are there shades of gray in sight?
Sunday school's doctrine belief: follow the rules to receive Jesus' light,
but there's a serpent opportuning "the world's your apple...reach out...take a bite..."
and it's ever so easy to live thinking "carpe diem" and to live our lives for tonight.
Will I bow to society's demands? Will I embrace a hedonist life?
Th'answer to both is tentatively, "I might".
Suzette Prime
Written for Suzette Prime: Philosophy Contest
When up I was growing, awed and confused,
sure was not I of which road to choose.
For binary my soul and dellusioned my mind,
I dallied at crossroads and worried not time.
Advised by my parents, mentors and teachers,
and hell and damnation from gospelling preachers.
And I young of youth so impressionable dear,
grasped for their words but availed not my ear.
For swayed by the Devil, so I was told,
of treasures of pleasures of counterfit gold.
Timidly, more boldly, I sought new sensation,
of carnal reality I made preservation.
But conscience was bothered and remorsely did grow,
my feet they did ponder of which way to go.
Temptation too great for me to withstand,
I cried unto GOD to give me a hand.
But His Holy Doctrine is not found in haste,
but abnegate the world with a seedling of faith.
Of frustrating skeptisisim I became apostate
and inclined toward autism and apathetic fate.
Drifting and squinting thru lusts' glaring light,
a glutenous hedonist all day and all night.
Inside of me though I feared what I was doin',
would eventually bring shame sorrow and ruin.
My karma so silent then leaped with a bound,
austere retribution enveloped me round.
So drubbed for my folly and benighted transgression,
my soul it feels cauterized, I caterwaul with compunction.
Penalized and contrite, with diffident circumspect,
with empirical knoiwledge I never shall forget.
He rapt his thoughts
In a tone of utter solemnity
Reverent disgust veiled
The icy wasteland of his soul
Seized with doubt
His emaciated lust- the empty mirage
Of his forgotten manhood
Countenanced immodesty
An extension of natural law
Plucked from tender bosom
Leaving this prodigal sweetheart
’twixt searing blaze of shameless prurience
Here they came in leaps and bounds
Clad in flames of destruction
To gobble solace paramount
Bringing pungent odour of uncouthness
This unmarried hermit
Took pleasure in worldly jubilation
Defied childhood admonition
That infamy seeds its own immolation
He was not to buttress his memory
On whimpers of bleeding hearts
Nor on the flooded gutter of spiritualism:
Only the endowments of heart… only these.
Technology is changing day by day,
the benefits? enormous, one might say,
is miniaturization a price too high to pay?
not necessarily the smart and prudent way.
Gemstones aren't what they're purported to be,
take that cuff link, a microprocessor,
what used to take acres and acres of space
now resides on the top of his dresser.
Tie clips and navel rings, earrings with studs
contain microchips too small to see,
snapshots are routed to secret computers,
surveillance directed at you and at me.
As fate would have it, I have diminished,
a 6 footer, now 2ft 4inches,
soon I'll be able to date a REAL 'bird'
and cavort with the crows and the finches!
It must be my penance, I spoke out of turn
and maligned the creator, the hedonist,
who pleasures the masses with tablets and iPods,
and removed me from his Merry Christmas list.
Small is as small does so I gravitate,
and follow these micro-bit players,
I am so tiny, can hardly be seen,
as black widows become midget-slayers.
Confined to my basement I look for a way
to escape my arachnoid aggressors,
I squeeze through a slit in the mesh at my window
and plead, as with all good confessors.
Out in my garden I stare at the stars,
just a minuscule speck in the firmament,
and wonder how I might reverse my misfortune,
not suffer the lot of the helpless and spent.
It's much too late now to redress my transgressions,
so I must make do with my life as it stands,
and hope when I shrink 'til no vestige is left of me
He will be present to welcome me home.
Technology is changing day by day,
the benefits? enormous, one might say,
is miniaturization a price too high to pay?
not necessarily the smart and prudent way.
Gemstones aren't what they're purported to be,
take that cuff link, a microprocessor,
what used to take acres and acres of space
now resides on the top of his dresser.
Tie clips and navel rings, earrings with studs
contain microchips too small to see,
snapshots are routed to secret computers,
surveillance directed at you and at me.
As fate would have it, I have diminished,
a 6 footer, now 2ft 4inches,
soon I'll be able to date a REAL bird
and cavort with the crows and the finches.
It must be my penance, I spoke out of turn
and maligned the creator, the hedonist,
who pleasures the masses with tablets and iPods,
and removed me from his Merry Christmas list.
Small is as small does so I gravitate,
and follow these micro-bit players,
I am so tiny, I'm so hard to see
as black widows become midget-slayers.
Consigned to my basement I look for a way
to escape my arachnoid aggressors,
I squeeze through a slit in the mesh at my window
and plead, as with all good confessors.
Out in my garden I stare at the stars,
just a speck in the breadth of the universe,
I fall on my knees and I pray to the Lord,
could my destiny alter, and spin in reverse.
It’s unfortunate that we are living past the age of romanticism. It’s as if in our busy lives we don’t have time to make time to let moments intertwine. We are workaholics and hedonist who forgot to appreciate that love exists.
We are a couple decades over the time where the hearts use to frequently blossom and more than passion was the outcome. Instead we pay more attention to Hollywood heartbreaks and gossip. Stories of lust and mistrust that give love a bad name. Soap-opera clichés where to apply the word 'cliché' would be cliché.
When it comes to affection our conscience are unconscious. The mind's treachery leading to heart's lechery are the components of nonsense that leave the soul no longer autonomous .
Then there’s the other side of the story of those who look for glory, trying to find congruent atriums and ventricles.
Those lonely individuals whose only finds happen to be asymmetrical.
Those that live for love, those that lust love and can’t ignore it, also those who die for it.
It’s that common misconception that their next lover will be their last.
It’s the repetitive mistakes that made their next lover the same as their last.
It’s the entangled bonds between two roses that are divine. We comprehend not that we are diatoms in Diotima’s explanation of a love story.
There’s no acknowledgement of platonic love.
No demonstration of admiration for the family unit, friends and all the experiences we undergo.
It’s out of resource and need that Eros grows.
A gardener should be there to watch their seed grow.
It’s out of love that we should plant our rose.
Technology is changing day by day,
the benefits? enormous, one might say,
is miniaturization a price too high to pay?
not necessarily the smart and prudent way.
Gemstones aren't what they're purported to be,
take that cuff link, a microprocessor,
what used to take acres and acres of space
now resides on the top of his dresser.
Tie clips and navel rings, earrings with studs
contain microchips too small to see,
snapshots are routed to secret computers,
surveillance directed at you and at me.
As fate would have it, I have diminished,
a 6 footer, now 2ft 4inches,
soon I'll be able to date a REAL 'bird'
and cavort with the crows and the finches!
It must be my penance, I spoke out of turn
and maligned the creator, the hedonist,
who pleasures the masses with tablets and iPods,
and removed me from his Merry Christmas list.
Small is as small does so I gravitate,
and follow these micro-bit players,
I am so tiny, can hardly be seen,
as black widows become midget-slayers.
Confined to my basement I look for a way
to escape my arachnoid aggressors,
I squeeze through a slit in the mesh at my window
and plead, as with all good confessors.
Out in my garden I stare at the stars,
just a minuscule speck in the firmament,
and wonder how I might reverse my misfortune,
not suffer the lot of the helpless and spent.
It's much too late now to redress my transgressions,
so I must make do with my life as it stands,
and hope when I shrink 'til no vestige is left of me
He will be present to welcome me home.
My current companion is my cat,
My mini-predator
Right now half dozing peacefully beside me.
She isn’t really mine,
For a cat belongs to no one.
My cat is the perfect hedonist
Unlike my dog who thinks it’s all about me.
Still, I marvel at her controlled power and grace,
The way she goes from sleeping
To ready to spring and pounce in an instant,
My tiger in a ten-pound package.
She captivates me by being sometimes aloof,
Sometimes affectionate when it suits her purpose.
What is behind those wily, intelligent,
Inscrutable green eyes?
I don’t think I truly want to know what she’d say.
I might find what she really thinks of me!
But we accept each other
And we have an understanding.
We are friends if I accept her friendship on her terms.
I feed and care for her
And in return she allows me to admire her.
It was eating, drinking and sleeping, you are yearning for
I gazed at your eyes and I saw the love, I was looking for
You were a hedonist whose life was replete with fun
I was just a student whose pen always acts as a gun
You come to me as a traveller who has nowhere to stay
I felt my dream comes true since the time I say my pray
You were old enough to be my companion in this way
I start to make my life every time from night till the day
You told me that's wrong! You are not a girl I'm thinking about
I confessed myself there is something makes me dubious about
You were alone as the wrecked ship for the sea
I was the same like the bloom for the honey bee
You belonged to a wonderland, a home of dust and sand
I was much more like Alice who wants to die in your hand
You touched me once that was all my pleasure
I had no one before to give me such treasure
You left me soon as the moon for the sun
Just tell me how broken feet can go to a run?
You know it when you have the next girl in your bed
How unfaithful you are, I've had your name in my head
You were lost yourself in the world of the fog
I come to see my dog is loyal than your hug.