Best Heretics Poems
An Ode To Trolls Hackers And Scammers.
.
Hideous evil creatures
Attention seekers
Cowards who hide behind computers
Cold-hearted scavengers
Not unlike preying vultures
.
Childish and pathetic
Bloodsucking leeches
Inflated egotistical heretics
Unhappy with their lot
Blaming everyone else
For what they have got
.
Insecure reprobates
Void of loving
Rabid narcissists
Spreading hate
Incognito dwelling in the dark shadows
Invading innocent victims
Homes and space
A hooded callous destroyer
Without a face
.
Control freaks seeking power
From their lofty tower
Something they lack
But will be paid back
.
Bullies who may escape justice now
But on judgment day they will have to pay
For their evil deeds
And I for one
Can’t wait for that day.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
Categories:
heretics, abuse, angst,
Form:
Ode
footsteps aimlessly
walking on their trails
beaten down and broken
shiny as the rails
the rails of the train
over used and rusted
crumbling ignored
the system that you trusted
the silence of conformity
the quiet crying song
of people lost in apathy
monotony so long
the old man remembered
the booming days of old
and tried to warn the youngster
with stories he had told
the young man in the t shirt
can hear no warning cries
television cataracts
covering his eyes
commoners injected
with complacent misdemeanors
fed intravenously
from mass media feeders
the heretics will scream
with no one to hear their call
the working slaves will perish
society will fall
in the pulpit yelling
mystifying lies
sweating like a demon
with fire in his eyes
passing round a dish
to collect the workers' wage
saving souls ain't easy
so he sets a stage
profiting from fear
preparing them for death
comfort is a business
says his liquor breath
on the front row fanning
the woman says amen
waiting for the bell
so she can live in sin
forgiveness is a blessing
that god will give to few
surely she'll be one
when her life is through
the child in the classroom
with the curious mind
will be beaten and conditioned
until she too is blind
"trust in the system"
is the motto that they teach
"question nothing,
so higher you can reach"
the land of the free
the home of the brave
only for those of us
content with being slaves
some will stand on street corners
holding big white signs
telling of injustice
held beneath our sights
but those who throw the bombs
which burn society down
those will be the shakers
for true freedom to be found
but the sheep still continue
to justify their life
ignoring others torment
blind to their strife
perpetuating failure
selling bankers souls
to keep on consuming
to get the best remote control
to build themselves a shield
what kind of life is this
numbness is a virtue
and ignorance is bliss
Categories:
heretics, age, america, baptism, class,
Form:
Free verse
Remember,
when hearts become wrinkles,
as pages not wrote,
thoughts were once Shakespeare’s,
on crumpled pages of note.
Poet’s, pages unwritten,
one day is guilt smitten,
for dries up many streams,
of, accomplished poet's dreams.
I have a little critic,
for whom I write Didactic,
Didactic, for my critic.
“I do not thank they get it.”
They only whet my skill,
as different notions spill.
Love lyrics for heretics,
rhymes for their crimes.
With Tennyson, I eat venison,
quite often, out on the hill,
always, I get my quill,
never failing to get my fill.
Thoughts in time, become vapor,
not unlike, crumples of paper.
A wasted memory is a crime,
even a weak one like mine.
Your crumpled papers,
do soon become vapors,
if critics have their say,
as poetic thoughts remain in disarray.
“Record them today,
for Carol, Mi... la... day!”
Dedicated to Carol
In Honor of Contest:
Pieces of Paper…a Poet’s heart
By John Moses Freeman
Categories:
heretics, dedication,
Form:
Rhyme
slithering snakes run silent
sleeping snakes lay deadly
awakened venom ready
while reigning as prone giants
breathe upright fools gather tolls
exhale hate and hued discord
bow in ranks to thy dark lord
ascending dust; marching trolls
march riotous foolery
spew venomous rhetoric
slither fork-tongued heretics
confess inflamed schoolery
o’ taste and see politics
halls unjust, wall-smears dark read
blood-soaked tiles seep pus instead
walking snakes hiss for boot-licks
Categories:
heretics, allegory, america, change, leadership,
Form:
Quatrain
What Would Santa Claus Say
by Michael R. Burch
What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to Kill and Plunder?
For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
NOTE: The biblical book of Revelation says that Jesus will murder children himself for their mother's sins, in the letters to the Churches. But he won't stop there, according to the writer of Revelation, because after all the earth's creatures have sung the praises of God, a third of them will be destroyed in acts of bloody carnage, along with a third of human beings. That's trillions of animals and billions of people. I can't believe the compassionate Jesus of the gospels, who had table fellowship with prostitutes and refused to stone an adulteress, is going to suddenly start murdering their children and become the greatest serial murderer of all time. And how can the man who taught us to put aside religious differences to practice compassion in the Parable of the Good Samaritan not follow his own advice? Jesus reserved all his sternest criticism for hypocrites, so wouldn't he have to live up to his own teaching?
Categories:
heretics, bible, christian, god, jesus,
Form:
Verse
I don't know any happy
super rich people -- a
friend of wealth once
told me: "See all this,
a huge property and
home, dripping gold
gilt, "I have nothing...."
I thought, myself spared
leaving, as I gave my vehicle
the usual primer finessing of
the gas pedal, before it would
prayerfully start --
Of course, having spent much
of my life with those suffering, I
have dried many an impoverished
tear, and know no joyful hungered
belly --
I often conclude, the best of my
blessings found somewhere between
two hells -- bellow the peak of
Supreme Religious Zealots, just above
The Valley of Heretics -- best years
recalled, are middle-age....
God's grace and love independent
of experience or knowledge --
Having abundance is opportunity
to better the lives of less fortunate
others....
Categories:
heretics, humanity, journey, leadership, people,
Form:
Free verse
If I ruled the world,
There'd be no place for heretics of peace
No crown for kings or queens of deceit
All selfish shadows I'd bade to cease
Pain from sorrow would never meet
If I ruled the world,
Every breath would taste the first day of spring
Every heart would speak love's sweet murmurings
Tears sting would never blur one's view
Every hope would find its way to come true.
Rule The World Contest
Sponsored By Silent One
03/05/2017
Categories:
heretics, change, hope, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
A world was created where every individual believed that being represented
was essential as religions require symbols
to be interpreted by the ordained,
meaning of things provided for us like fertilizer on furrowed fields,
law & tax codes, medical knowledge, emotional expressions governed by consensus,
a democracy of dellusions,
dissent is dangerous and humility heroic,
where surrender preserves and patriotism perverts,
clowns kings and criminals having wings,
Medeval Christianity mastered markmanship of community authority seizing
the sugar of inventive intuition,
terrorizing the truth of personal experience,
thrones were tailored temptations, temples entrapments of greater mystery,
cathedrals collossal contraptions for centralizing consciousness, books burned,
jewels for fools & the fooled manackled to the alter of passivity,
masses being timid tools concentrating their energies on empire expansion,
exiled from ego,
crusades to crush criticism, a monopoly of memory
and torture the text of theocracy,
Cathars killed for lessons become occult,
unlawful cognizance of God within,
authority addicts abandoning their oaths to protect people,
subjects countrymen become,
being pledges & collateral for debts incurred for imperial improvidence,
babies of the masses transformed into bankers' bounty via certificates,
maturing securities on malignant markets of merchantile magic,
digital slave trade,
self governance gainsaid as being a primitive pathology,
a symptom of paranoia or maybe xenophobia,
personally voting on taxation, education and wars apostacy,
J.A.B.
Categories:
heretics, america, christian, history,
Form:
Didactic
he rubbed his eyes
and said you just think that way
so you always have an answer ready
which may well constitute
a state of pure entertainment
with multiple jaw grinding orgasms
in a dog lick dog kind of world
at Cathode Ray's tanning salon
so what would it really take
for the union to lay down with the banker
I'm not sure high above the clouds
is the place to find anything
certainly not a mirror to be had
much less a cinema projector
with scenes of domestication
good god Reginald where
do you plan to put that thing
Reginald sneezed his false teeth
into his dinner plate as an augury
probed prodded palpated
looking for the intelligentsia
in the yellow pages
but they were yellow and didn’t stand out
their attempts to overthrow evolution
led to a cornucopia of calamity
at the crossroads of conundrum
traded their thumbs for a reliable statistic
the atmospherics garbled the transmission
and made anyone look like a prophet
left my friends hanging from lamp posts
adulterers heretics and infidels
cataleptics ablaze with legend
trained by biblical harlots
tending their hornet infested gardens
avoiding the irredeemably antique
and inexact to a criminal degree
in the war between belief and certainty
my script supervisor just pulled the plug
he's not from Sesame Street
he's from Bastille Boulevard
the artist is bait and accident prone
opaque as an 8 ball at high velocity
caroming through every nave and vestibule
bladder control found again
in the midst of bourgeoisie panic
a meditation of involvement
I'm going where
the disorder of discovery is tolerated
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Categories:
heretics, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
Fires burning, burning bright.
Not for warmth or even light.
Burning flesh seared to the bone.
Was this the sense of martyrdom?
Mary Tudor was the Queen,
return of Popery her dream.
Henry's child without a doubt,
her fathers deeds to turn about.
Men and women, loosing life,
butchers son and bakers wife.
Bishops, clerics, Lords and sires,
Not one spared the holy fires.
Thomas Cranmer was her aim,
he caused her mother so much pain.
Anne Boleyn's most errant knight,
causing Mary's own sad plight.
Hooper, Ridley, Cranmer too,
English folk, all good and true.
All subsumed to appease her bile,
sacrificed on the stakes woodpile.
Fourteen score souls finally died,
entering the flames with pride.
Heretics, each and every one.
Assured of joining God's own son.
As death became well-nigh routine,
The people cried God Save the Queen.
But they, in their hearts, were wary,
amongst themselves called her Bloody Mary.
Categories:
heretics, faith, history, religion,
Form:
Ballad
Oceans full of tears
A sea sick with fear
Where lonely fish swim in ridicule and plastic
For mother earth listens and blisters from
Bombastic rhetoric from climatic heretics – don’t you get it?
A sustainable future, but a suture on open wounds
A world in constant triage
A cease-fire on the horizon?
Listen to your heart, feel the rhythm of life
Take a little slice, don’t roll the dice
Mother earth still listens through the trees, her songs on the breeze
A melody through your hair
That caresses those that know;
How to see the light, on a forest floor
Cascading spectrum's
Through dew drops bursting with life
That all may follow in her footsteps
So light of tread
For a brighter world ahead
Categories:
heretics, environment, pain, pollution, world,
Form:
Free verse
The new millenia has delivered a genesis
of global corporate government,
a religion of salvation through submission to the State,
politicians as priest, as pest,
collection plates around every corner,
confession rooms in community centers, communion with false currency,
tax code as Bible, Commander in Chief as Christ,
the man or woman arousing their neighbor's suspicion that private property
is being stealthily seized,
that sovereignty is not just for nations but for individuals,
vigilantes of enlightenment engaged in martyrdom to be their own,
not strawman accounts,
contending to keep their wages, defending "Due Process" with dignity,
these frontiersmen of freedom pouncing on the pall
of political sorcery,
being met with scorn & scoff
not by officers and officials
but from the bellows of fellows -
J.A.B.
Categories:
heretics, history,
Form:
Didactic
Written November 17, 2013
Fields of flowers
Rest around our heads
While photos of blood
Surround our beds
On pedestals we stand
Preaching to the world
Something foretold
By heretics in white
And neighbors in black
Who claim they already knew that
Rain beats down on my roof
To the tune of Duke Ellington
And to the Scat Man we dance
It's all we have left in this world
Penniless pockets
Play the vagabond game
While the vultures in Eden
Circle the insane
Who hear the angels sing
Refrains and quatrains
Who can be a spokesman
For those who cannot speak
A preacher for the downtrodden
A dollar dropped at hand
For the bum on Main and Port
Traveling through strife
No child or wife
To dedicate his life
No hope to beat his drum
No harp for strings he's strung
Categories:
heretics, introspection, life, loneliness, loss,
Form:
Lyric
The Inquisition’s dead
In Western liberal minds,
Yet elsewhere people live in fear
Of being punished for their “crimes”
Not saying who they really love,
Or speaking things that they believe,
Or being who they really are,
Or even thinking differently
For them, the Inquisition lives
In families and friends alike;
In private and in public spaces,
It haunts their ever-fearful minds
Dishonor and disownment hang
About each fateful choice they make,
'Til suicide at last allows
The lone escape from sanctioned hate
And so they dare not tell the truth
In this “Enlightened” age of ours
Where freedom's greeted by the noose
And heretics are tried and burned,
For simply being different.
Categories:
heretics, discrimination, humanity, international, prejudice,
Form:
Rhyme
In the Middle Ages
witchcraft was wide-spread;
young witches were buried
in shallow graves.
The angry bard was also a monk and defended the Church,
" No witches of any age will be roaming in Catholic Florence
and allowed to practise their magic by the glow of the torch! "
From the pulpit he made his voice rise and broke the silence.
He felt the presence of the other witches who gathered
outside the church; he trembled a little, but continued
his speech of condemnation that to them wasn't eloquent,
" Go to sleep and never rise again " was the loud chant.
All seemed peaceful on that Good Friday with the rain falling,
the bells of the basilica tolled to mourn the crucified Christ;
the altar was draped in purple, the glass windows were dark,
the parishioners waited, the bard never came to the mourning.
" Mourn the barn's death! Christ forgave all sinners, he did not!"
" He burned them at the stake not as criminals but as heretics!"
" We'll protest and revenge their death so inhuman and unjust!"
The witches' chant was louder than the lament of the believers.
Written on 5/31/2016
Categories:
heretics, anger, anxiety, death, discrimination,
Form:
Rhyme