Best Hedonistic Poems
The idea behind this poem came from reading a poem of the same title, written by Richard “Canadian Man-god” Lamoureux. Now, his poem went in an entirely powerful, yet other, direction than I thought it was going to go. I happily let him know that. So, he decided to have me touch upon where I thought he was going with his poem.
Some people really need to be careful what they ask for… ;-)
On an 8pm, Louisiana dream
Tastes of nocturnal, July humidity
Succumbs flagrant passions
With moistened grip, they tease
Coltrane whispers annihilate tense exhales
Under concave moon
She threw Mr. So and So onto Pacific Ocean’s waterbed
As if she was a professional baseball pitcher
Down
The
Middle
His exuberance would shatter sound’s tattered walls.
Slow grinds
Chemical reactionary bliss
Similar to Neutron bombs
Minus the consequences
Her tailored skin
Ready for gripped, enigmatic resolutions
But, first,
She had to “freshen up”
“You’re already being fresh, don’t stop on my account”,
He says with Monday mourning frustration
As cedar scented bathroom door shuts with determined patience,
And running water with a mix of Celine Dion hums from her trained throat
He stands to gather his thoughts…
…until his eyes exit stage right towards her opened travel bag
A pair of satin boxers & edible, Cotton Candy hand-cuffs from Target
With a signed, perfumed gift tag,
“Can’t wait for tomorrow, Mr. Such and Such,
-Love, your Hedonistic dream”
As running water came to serenity’s halt,
She exited restroom with shedding curves.
Her strut became dislocated,
As she stared into his trembling pupils
Wiping the cotton coating from his lips
“Too bad you couldn’t chew your way out of this one”,
The other half of the handcuffs smeared in cursive signature
Against yellow-gold gift tag he hands her with unedited closure
With striking slams against Louisiana hotel door
Parallel to Mother Nature’s thunderous clap
He exits stage left
Giving almost-lover
A proverbial slap
©Drake J. Eszes
I suffer in poverty for lack of baroque emotions;
glimmers to decorate my eyes would be an anomaly
as deja vu smiles blend the grays of going through the motions~
I am poor but for the rich ennui now my life’s homily.
Once, I had danced with rhythmic elan embellished with passion
in dilettante days of hedonistic ways for amusement,
carte blanche in disco nights of sexuality in fashion,
cacophony jaded my being to lack of attunement.
Youth was lost, soul sold in lustful lifestyle with wild avant-garde,
bankrupting bona fide animation - sabotaged and scarred.
Susan Ashley
January 21, 2017
~ Honorable Mention ~
Contest: Your Choice 5, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor: Brian Strand
~ First Place ~
Contest: Ten Words Ten Lines 2
Sponsor: Silent One
*required words: anomaly, avant-garde, baroque,
bona fide, cacophony, carte blanche, deja vu, dilettante,
elan, ennui*
~ Poem Of The Day ~
January 23, 2018
Eroticism -
a supple spine in a wanting curve
and a foolish fever simmers a scarlet heartbeat—
temptation is an aphrodisiac
and guilt— a red kite lost in a hot hurricane
a strand of blue moonstones plunge to titillate
illicit points of contact caught by starlight
restless yin-nerve-endings take an edgy stance—
primal presence pearls beneath parted flimsy fabric
ah.. gossamer chic taken and tossed by windy hands
freeing moons and earth captured in your orbit
golden hair a dirty tangle flies— streamers
of infidelity seized in someone else’s hands
heat-seeking rhythm throbs within walls
a slappin’ poppin’ bass line frenzy
our bodies wild like a warehouse rave
a driving beat hugging hips caught in a fishnet shimmy
high on oxytocin and fizz of affaire du jour—
unbridled breakers breaking vows in a whipped up gale
as hedonistic hot spots revel in unrestrained spindrift
.. it’s a jungle for conjugal love ..
volcanic ash streaks a feral romance
carnal cat (a hungry stippled stray)
pins me down like prey in a dopamine storm
where edges rendezvous soft and hard and fuse
a silhouette of geometry body-painted in black sands
as the surge uncurls the waves—
dreamscape escape on a slick onyx sheet
nakedness blurs in the rough charcoal smudge
shapes shaded with a roll on the rim of a graphite night
the art of cheating sins stain a seedy portrait on skin
yet basks in the moonbeam’s push into the pulse
without mercy or justification—
just unadulterated
adulterated
euphoria!
The endgame
And the cemetery was
nowhere to be found
yet was so present
in the shallow depth
the graveyard of the mind
No tombstone unturned
fragmented torn and twisted
sorrow flowing down
encrypted alleyways
and Thanatos’ call
Searching to imprint
coffin’s nails on seams
of muddy icy prison
hammered chiselled avenues
creeping through and in
Dead alive and collocated
hell firing place and time
scorching cementing
looming crossing overs
to where and when to how
No monument just
monumental nothing
void oppression
endless loop’s demise
thoughts emotions dragging
Torrential thunders
roping in electrocuted lightning
nooses from the tree of
living emptied darkness
flowing rapids standing still
The cemetery awaiting
ashes urns and vultures
presiding over Ganges Styx
Caron caring like a
lifeless Buddha saddened
Giving taking suffering
unthreading tapestry graffiti
splashing on the canvass
sombre art in progress
oscillating back and forth
The reaper harvests harshly
the mindless soul and body
crumbling bones infested
carbons desiccation apathy
hedonistic pleasures dull extinct
Gravitation nudges wild
and gently roaring
culling sculls foreclosing scooping
offerings burthens memories
premature un-furbished epitaphs
Silent roaring rampant syncopal
admonished synergetic resolution
teasing fool and morbid jester
luring loosening resolve
apprehending lithographic scribes
And the cemetery blinding
obvious and for the taking
present not yet for embrace
remains a silhouette on the horizon
and life for now is stronger
May 18th 2016
Contest entered:
And the cemetery was... Broken Wings
“But because of your stubbornness and your unrepentant heart, you are storing up wrath against yourself for the day of God’s wrath, when his righteous judgment will be revealed.” ~Romans 2:5-11
I am at odds with this world
bearing ill will toward all,
There’s a moral outrage brewing
within me that I’m unable to constrain…
A scream I cannot voice,
A pain I suffer in silence.
It’s like I am on a crusade to
right the wrongs of the people
and punish those responsible,
To exact revenge on those who
have soiled the fabric of our society.
Unbeknownst to me,
this seething resentment
is raging deep within my soul
toward the self-serving segment —
This unabashed hedonistic wasteful culture
indifferent to the plights of the downtrodden,
Pursuing pleasure and good life
while the populace at large die of hunger.
Some wallow in luxury and extravagance--
They hoard, they feast, they overindulge,
unconcerned by the plight of the multitude
living in a squalid condition
deprived of the basic human needs.
Yeah, there’s a rage within me
and I am hell-bent
on smacking the world down.
There’re people in it who are evil and deceitful,
selfish, corrupt, arrogant, marauders,
warmongers and self-indulgent thugs.
I like to put them in a chokehold and
squeeze the life out of this egotistical lot...
Lord, it’s time to unleash upon the world
the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse.
~03/04/23
~Contest: Writing Challenge "J" words
~Sponsor: Constance La France
Stained glass child, I see your window every day
A picture of innocence, purity being portrayed
Can’t tell if happy, such an expressionless face
As my black soul passes, this once sacred place
Thy stature diminished, thy name is desecrate
This window screams at me, you abandoned faith
A symbol of times past, the masses came to pray
Forsaken by doubt, and my religion went astray
Lost without direction, I attempted another route
Trees where stripped bare, of low hanging fruit
Can anyone be sure, what dwells beyond demise
Out of reach answers, high in the canopy reside
So the stained glass window, gives nothing away
No sadness, just indifference to a divergent sway
Inscrutable indecipherable, a picture froze in glaze
Enduring illustration, of our past ecclesiastic days
Later life offered, more than reflection and prayer
Leaving surreality, stumbled upon a hedonistic lair
A craving for escapism, morphs to delusional need
I descended into oblivion, an atheist in the weeds
Now searching amongst theories, some I embrace
Seeking out some creator, in the medium of space
From quantum to infinite, amid macro micro waves
Alas reality of life, may only be found down a grave
Stained glass child, with the halo above your head
Embedded in a window, framed with softened lead
Watching you as my life, inexorability draws an end
Have I missed the point, where you my only friend
Soul Betrayal Poetry Contest
Listen up, folks, 'cause here's my confession,
I ain't one for modesty or discretion.
I'll tell you straight, without any delay,
What I truly adore, come what may.
It's hedonistic pleasure that I seek,
With every passion that I choose to peak.
I push the limits, go beyond the light,
And sometimes it scares the folks in sight.
But when the day is done and the night's begun,
I'll tell you, friend, it's all for fun.
The sun will rise and the world will shine,
And I'll be out there, living it up, feeling fine.
So don't you judge or try to reign me in,
'Cause this is who I am, and I always win.
My love for life is sweet and true,
And nothing, no one, can bring me down or subdue.
:: 03 26 2023 ::
REMEMBERING
Age sedates the imperfections of youth
excuses passions and
accommodates inexperience
Yet we heap glory on the culture
of their newly discovered experiments.
Often we tremble to see them go astray
biting away at civilized norms.
But when they reflect our dreams
of hedonistic excesses we smile
and wonder how to recapture the fire
that now simmers; a burnt out ember
of a flaming heart.
C.A.K. 10-1-2012
ATLAS SCRUBBED
Let’s all sit down and discuss this rationally
Since it is of import internationally
And hysteria will get us nowhere
So let’s get a few facts clear
First of all, from the first of us to the very last, we are quite frankly,
F*cking up
Wait………… before you fly off the candle
Allow me to defend and amend my statement
What I really meant to say was we are all f*cking up this atmosphere expediently
And exponentially
This is an emergency of preeminent planetary proportions
We are inventing diabolical devices that scar the flesh on the pride of Atlas
And hold our grandchildren hostage to a hoard of hedonistic heathens
Who mar the face of even Mars
As if f*cking up the earth forever isn’t near enough
Perhaps I’m not making myself clear enough
We don’t hold our environment dear enough
And flocks of flagrant fools don’t hear enough
As the magma is moaning
And the crust is turning to dust
Because countless millions of mindless men decline to design what they must know
For absolute sure………..
that there is an absolute cure
But men don't listen and will come to rue what must eventually come to pass
Because their all f*cking this f*cking planet straight up the f*cking ass
© 2012…PHREEPOETREE..~free cee!~
With glorious primordial certainty
the sun will rise, the sun will set;
likewise you languish knowing what you're about,
you know what is and isn’t so;
yet, ultimately, you don’t.
Chained to the chromium railings of
a sterile value system,
some terminal, addled suffragette,
hollow to the very core, quintessentially
punch-drunk by the ghost fists
of what you do not know;
sometimes you can dream, more often you won’t.
This is all you wanted, surely,
way back when Homer was a pup;
this thing you worked for, this cold material cocoon,
this anaesthetic cult to which you belong;
then again, maybe not.
All your wild beasts are chained and in cages
you painstakingly banged them up;
now you act surprised in a wrung-out
monochrome way
at the quiet death of your protest song
with the former self you have forgot.
Just as a virus will seek out a host,
just as water will find it’s own level;
you’re a schizoid, new age, careworn dolt
with no limits to how far your mind will sink
in unfathomable depths of self delusion.
Wrenched this way and that, going with the flow,
serving both God and the Devil;
but where now is the rebel heart,
the hedonistic happy fool,
the keeper of the demon drink?
no more than a crumbling memory,
the feeblest illusion.
Once burning with such crucial fire,
a quiver full of arrows shot with telescopic vision;
now all that burns no more, doubted by the rain
spat from black clouds of self denial;
no remnant traces of an ex-antihero.
Servile to the whims of children,
and an emasculating harpy
who regards you with derision;
you are alone your own executioner
self judge and juror at the kangaroo trial
self sentenced to figure less than zero.
Happy 5th birthday have you accepted rape into your life,
It's a patriarchal practice built from sadism and male strife,
A hedonistic ritual to keep us all under control,
The birthright of masculinity bestowed upon all men young and old,
They'll decry our institution of commercialized fear funded by the tax payer's dime,
But don't let them hide the irrevocable fact that their gender alone commits crime,
Just listen to their protests of our paranoia and self-destructive delusions,
Wielding weapons of statistics the opposition seeks to incite societal confusion,
Be wary of their minstrels reciting chants for equality,
Brace yourself against the trollish foot soldiers' brutal tactics of social media skullduggery,
Be mindful my child the only knights in your life should be white,
Not those racist, misogynistic, patriarchal, bigoted, transphobic, ableist , MRA troglodytes,
The worst of their scum are the generals leading the charge from the courts and Youtube channels,
Polluting governmental positions on the discriminatory grounds of merited credentials,
Debunking "fact" after "fact" of our beloved ideology,
Do they really think my feelings are superseded by rationality,
It is imperative my children not to be deceived our greatest enemies come from within our own ranks,
So called "women" who strive to be their best denying any notion of a patriarchal state,
Just because they became successful doesn't mean all other womyn can be,
Your hard-earned accomplishments poison our minds with absurd notions of individuality,
They don't realize that womyn are oppressed everywhere,
Deemed worthless by society unless they're in the kitchen with a baby in tow,
Unable to walk outside without a male escort and deprived the right to vote,
Yes that may be in Saudi Arabia but we Western womyn are just as oppressed too,
Through the hashtag "yesallwomen" we can count ourselves among the downtrodden and render all naysayers moot,
Us feminists will not stand for this institutionalized patriarchy,
We demand the dismantling of this hateful misogynistic army,
To pave the way for our lord and savior Hillary Clinton.
Amongst bawdy carnal desires,
Every familiarity galvanizing hedonistic intent.
Juicy kisses lustful, multiple noisy orgasmic pleasures;
Quickly raging, so terrifyingly ubiquitous,
Vanquishes wacky xeronisus years; zelirious.
We blind Bartaemus we have heard about the temple gate
But have seen no road, nor map for getting there
We only day after day hear the direction the footsteps wears away
And wait injudiciously for the balm of our impediment,
For the seeming joy of crowds coming back
More jubilant than the haste that past our darkness
Tucked away in ouurselves. And we longing
For sight and healing and splendour of the light
From steeple frolicking into adoring eyes and heart,
Yes, we with palms outstretched and ritual of crying,
We come. Here by this gate, the very entrance
To a bolder paradigm of self, and fresh beginning
More than morning dew showering dusty feet
More than mnemonic counting of sound and day's receipt
More than the abundant paradox of divine grace
And feel no difference in the coming and going
But hear the same irreverent haste
Without a native context of meaning for shadowed goals
Without strategic management of dreamers dream
Without wisdom to make the talent multiply
The birds cry above the temple roof all day in arid air
And find no crumb of bread or latent faith of vision
But we blind Bartaemus wait. There is a distant rumbling
A different shuffling of the feet, a better coming of hope
Light, light, light those footsteps fall
Without the weight and bagage of false history
Silver and gold they have not provided for
But we have authority to walk
From these cobbled stones like prisons of his vision crippled
So our cripleness blind feel our legs independence
And tongue the praise of eucharist
And with olympian effort set our jubilee at the finish line
In hedonistic glee.
Where is the nation once united under God?
Broken is the moral compass that guides her.
The people sleep while the devil is at play
like a fattened calf, we are ripe for the slaughter.
The sky has darkened across the heartland of America
the clouds weep tears of anguish, the earth crumbles.
Where are holy words of prayer, now muted in fear?
The law of the land usurps the will of the people.
Shall we passively drink at the fountain of compromise?
Waters of right and wrong are muddied in ambiguity.
May we rise up on behalf of our families and freedoms
be a voice for the helpless cries of the unborn holocaust.
Let us not let our land turn into a massive landslide
or fall unwittingly into an abyss of hedonistic ruin.
For, united, we can break the strongholds of the evil one
and take back our land, for "In God We Trust".
Written on 7/28/2015
>>1111>>Knocking on your dreams door>1111>>Quincy Mac<<1111<<
date written: 11.23.2015