Best Iconoclastic Poems
I wore popular shin high white boots,
The top in rage of disco dancing queens.
The Bee Gees were the utmost in the clan
The alter of quantifying demeans.
Revolutionary, the stance we took,
The freedom of iconoclastic paths
To justify rebellious avenues
That swayed the truth in plain objective wraths.
Our music was the strength we built upon.
To satiate an inward longing for
An understanding from our wings of youth
To dwell upon that which we needed more;
Our voices to be heard above the din
Of righteous antiquated old ideals
To sway the right of multi-media
Into the light of deference that’s real.
To end the Viet Nam war was a quest
Of Yuppies and of Hippies, both agreed,
A war of no beginnings or endings
Should dissolve hate for races to succeed.
A bracelet worn to honor POW's
Those lost in war whose bodies never found,
Embraced the sorrows that remain today
Of those lost souls sore buried in the ground.
The seventies are burnt upon my mind.
In vivid dreams of nonconformist ways.
I dwell upon the heroes giving grace
To rectify the military maze.
3-1-18
I absolutely could not pare this down to the required
20 lines for the contest, so it cannot be an entry.
Written: October 28, 2023
_________________________________________
Among the living is where perfection is found.
Stoicism is a path of life that acts as dull ground.
The advice is to focus on the bright side of life.
Dispel the negativity, and let vanish all strife.
Inciting people to enhance their morality
To foster resilience in the face of adversity.
Strengthening your resolve and impediment
Beat iconoclastic wits for a fine pediment.
Grasp of the overarching rationality
Sustaining integrity even amid adversity
The Stoic Path is a philosophy of such depth.
With wisdom and tranquility in your breadth
Life taught us to persist in the face of hardship.
To sustain balance while still preserving worship.
Maintain calmness under challenging conditions.
Surmount your inhibitions and avoid suspicion.
And to welcome fulfillment with dignity.
Handle highs and lows with stoic sympathy.
Stoicism, truly, provides solace and calm.
A way of living that allows us to fully qualm.
How? By concentrating on our inner proclivity.
And shedding our bonds is an act of loyalty.
We are liberated from the bonds of conflict.
And accept a promising, significant life profit.
The Stoic Way is a philosophy with lofty stature.
steers our deeds into an improved, sound future.
Integrity and prudence in the face of misfortune
To mold ourselves and have a vital life and fortune.
Iconoclastic lots of marshiest beauty
Clenched sublime altruistic nature bore –
Morals indefatigably humbled, reasoning in bondage –
Bondage of the highest periphery
Blessings encountered in watered chaos.
Blocked nuts with scanty feelers,
Inducing mere bouts of euphoric impasses
Rarely a gift of fatherly nature.
Hay filled tubs called but heads
Preferably a misfortune
To their worthless masses.
Maevius a reader’s delight be
In the fumbling fold
Of this rowdy rendezvous.
More ore less classy oddities
On deferred pedestals
As lovely Mannequins
To display for sale.
Now Hyperion his burning sword behold
None to hear Triton’s call to arms.
Paracelsus
Supremus-Alchemist-Occultist
Philippus von Hohenheim
Alchemist, Astrologer, and Physician
Arrogant to a fault.
Medical genius
Paracelsianism
Iconoclastic for sure
Ignorance he couldn’t halt.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 15, 2015 (Double Dactyl)
I stand at temptations door...
As anger spurs a grievance withheld.
Surreptitiously you praise the incongruent
While flinging to the wayside the valuable.
Eyes closed to the importance of veracity,
You belabor simplicity with objectivity denounced
As you are drawn only to the iconoclastic.
I long to visualize cronyism obliterated.
The Contest sponsor Jerry T. Curtis
My feelings about those N/A's
You find in the slime of indecency
The rotted hollow of an empty skull -
A mindless mind allows redundancy
Repeated repetitions till it's full.
Cogs in a wheel turning round on a run,
As sparrows share their madrigals at dawn.
The tulips muse about the idol, Sun,
Iconoclastic papal paragon.
Once baptised in the bounty of my birth,
Religion's regal razor ripped and flayed;
When double mothers claimed one child of earth
The mighty sword of Solomon was raised.
A wisp of willow in the wind will bend
As will the will of wiser men who found
The sterner tree is broken in the end
To join the lowly loam below the ground.
Mountain doves coo as Apollo wakes peering
Over the Koolau ridge still dark with sultry shadows.
Sunbeams glisten on soft grey and white feathers
As the happy pair take flight in unison to tree tops.
Garden snails creep to hide under verdant foliage
As geckos delight in the warmth of the rising sun.
Magenta blooms convey love's kiss on cool trades
Bursting forth with unpredictable iconoclastic pride.
Islands in a chain still growing with lava ever flowing
While Goddess Pele steams her way into the sea,
Honu graze on pastures of limu beneath shore waters
As they have since ancient times, near coral reefs.
How can one despair with the scent of mangos in the air,
Nor stifle spirit's flight o'er the rolling ocean waves
As they caress the sandy shores beneath the palms?
The islands sing in praise with upheld open arms.
(My island as seen through my eyes.)
Geckos are a type of lizard
Pele is the volcano Fire Goddess
Honu is the most common Hawaiian Green Turtle
(They can weigh up to 400 lbs.)
Limu is Hawaiian seaweed
"Winter Spell"
It’s always Winter here
I sleep to dream
of waking
in my dream
my soul is shaking
my body locks me in
I am
a frozen limitation
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Wake Up 2030/ Documentary
https://youtu.be/djrspoy5au0
transhumanist website
https://www.transhumanist.com/
FM-2030 (Fereidoun M. Esfandiary, Persian, October 15, 1930 – July 8, 2000)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FM-2030
FM-2030 (The Movie)
https://carmstrong1959blog.wordpress.com/2020/02/28/2030-a-wonderful-new-film-about-an-iconoclastic-visionary/
Transhumanism.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transhumanism
Cryonics.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cryonics
Surrounded by two rapid running shores
a concrete chain of buildings fill the skies
strong pungent scents compete with rapid scores
of pulsing sounds and screeching, crowded cries
iconoclastic beats and muted sighs
the City always wakens sleepy eyes.
We hail a taxi from a dirty curb
while subways rumble, sweating underground
and ride the hustle through the shifting herd
torrential rains quite suddenly come down
they slap and streak the windows all around
as raindrops distort faces that surround.
A plethora of sights spread like a feast
from Broadway shows to High Line paths that span
Hudson River’s architectural peaks
roof top restaurants, a classy jazz band
we disappear into museum land
then fall asleep, a true, devoted fan.
To venture into life’s mosaic streams
is to taste and embrace all that it means.
we have lost the meteoric
icy-blue, sky-fire
above the heated planetary core
of a thousand covered suns
in the center of oblivion
where confluence
carries hope
in warm symbiont souls
and lambs
wear ragged fleece -
iconoclastic mediocrity
reflective fables
of future past history
unlocked - foretold
the shamanistic path
of return
through stalagmite tunnels
would lead our spirits home
as tribal songs retreat
oppression
ever-present present past,
shaman seer
resurrected spirit healers
weeping, weeping,
weeping,
for the buffalo
bitter flood of salty tears
blood of man
soaks the trail with broken souls
man and beast, stink and sweat,
co-mingled
bathe in single sacred tear
underneath a future vision
four white devil idol faces
spirit sacrilege
breathing devil breath
upon the sacred hills of black and gold
the ancients from the sky
watch and weep
and still dust stirs
forty thousand spirit feet
walking, winding, wending,
in a never ending line
worn and torn, shoeless feet,
blistered toes to blistered souls
trail of fear,
women wailing, pain prevailing,
psychic suicides and tribal death
takes one final breath `
The clown
Circuit circuits
moving round in circles
swings and roundabouts
junctions dead ends
living closures and
beginnings
The fool wise man
woman child in all
posits mocks
understands the world
beauty horror
misgivings paths
ahead and gone
retrieved adventoured
learned felt inspected
long gone present
Re-chisseles
comprehends in
jest and wonderment
The jester
foolhardy
and foolproof
scribes in stone
and pencil
when fool’s gold
is just enough
where paradise
develops based on
hopes beliefs
and inner truth
The clown speaks
joy in face
of darkness
insight desperation
inspiration sweating
away the clouded
skies of dogma
digma paradigm
A joker true to
juddered jibes
jewels miracles
astonished tunes
informal charters
melodies and scented
wordings
bridges schisms
buffering the madness
infinite insanity
impoverished delusion
A senseless idiot
giving idioms
meaning iconoclastic
impromptu impropriety
making sense of what
there really is
A bubble blower
whistle blower
soapy gentle creature
carbolic and pugnacious
peaceful warrior
observing pulchritude
a journeyman
The circuits circle
circuses' loops
and rounded
loopholes spirals
intervening interweaving
fabrics
tapestries
makes
the clown
Perhaps my title should have been determined first --
but today I differed and decided to think of it last,
tacked on later, a mere hint to what appears below:
a clumsy broken flow of simple comment from
my head and hands.
I have framed
few statements which together could find,
perhaps, entrance to a heedless mind. Or not.
So many now prefer a different course and,
in opposition, I and others are shut down.
But at 80-plus I have no need to heed
nor ear to pay them. My rusty words will
still emerge, heard or not.
The weather lately
(that universal topic of concern!) has been strange.
Whether climate change be true, or not, is contested
by iconoclastic protestors, as though vocal
opposition could make the earth cooler
or hotter, could affect the frequency of floods,
droughts, hurricanes -- or even quakes, fires,
and imminent eruptions of volcanoes.
Ice ages loom.
Or all will melt, and we'll be again a water world.
Who can deny we seem in danger of extinction?
A simpler strategy, useless or not, is to
bet on the proverbial "worst case scenario"
and to prepare, effective ultimately or not,
as conscientiously as possible.
Such is our nature.
Because, as we all are taught (true or not),
"Hope springs eternal." Ah!
Finally. There's my title!
And here's my disdainful ending: "Hah!!!"
iconoclastic, aortic valves..
toppling through stone nerves
seperate the steel brow, the cement
tongue
and holy mother from her child.
yet still the public squares give birth,
doing a little more with the willing.
see the skinny ones wander.
all those holy incarnate youth who
highlignt
the shadows at night with their dark
hooded coats.
some have pockets filled with tin saviors,
some condoms and some ciggerett's.
shake, shake, rattle and shake.
robotic graffiti filled fist poured out like
liquid
prayers forgives a few of the more
common spaces.
ugly bertha with her iron curtain veiled
about
her spray painted in rich angelic colors
refuses
to remain silent any longer.
unvielling her aged face, revelling the
gray mortered
lines who crippeled so many.
ugly stomped out bertha crumbling
naked into every public square.
she cry's a little from her unsentimental
paved skin.
all those sterile cinderblocks baptised
and forgiven
with the rattle of a tin can.
tagged and made holy under the
lamplights with shades of
citron and bright orange.
DID YOU SAY RESURRECTION OR ********?
Pardon me Mister Sinister Minister
But you are not so much teaching as you are screeching and reaching
While preaching to the choir about brimstone and fire
As I deem you a damnable liar
And a prodigal prostitute who should be destitute
While I remain resolute against your irreverent and irrelevant irregularities
And you raise my ire to a dire decibel
Because I am not a disciple
Nor am I a member of your congregation
Because you are an abhorrent aberration whom I abhor
You unholy whore
Your soul on the whole is the goal of a ghoul
And I anoint you a fallacy and a freakish fool
While you duel with a demon whose semen is sanctimonious and erroneous
And I point to the error of your wretched ways
Until the end of days
You serve an ironic idol who is an iconoclastic and bombastic bastard I berate with hate who makes me irate…..
And whose fate is forecast by the force of a phallic symbol symbolized by the simple minded followers of a fraud
Who, quite frankly, leaves me abominably bored
An impossible imposter who fosters the phoniness of a fake who can’t make a pretender into the defender of the defenseless
Only the senseless hordes of impious who hear and believe the pretense you preach about
And fill me with undiluted and indubitable doubt
Because someone should wash your mouth out with soap
Hang you on the end of a rope
As you grope with grievance for the allegiance of the almighty
Since your facts are based on flightiness and reprehensible rhetoric scorned by the sensible and seen for the tripe it is
Ripe and rife with ridiculous conclusions
And the illusions of illusive, insidious, insipid and all inconclusive information
As I repeat
I am not a member of your congregation
Mr. Sinister Minister of misery and miserly compassion
Whose ration of ridiculousness is reclusive and replete with completely indecisive and indelicate ideologies
And what you preach and teach about is simply old hat
And so Mister Sinister Minister
Take that!
© 2012….copyright..PHREEPOETREE...~free cee!~
t
it's really not bad at all, it seems false advertising is the only way i get any numbers despite the fact that i write the truth so well:
DID YOU SAY RESURRECTION OR ********?
Pardon me Mister Sinister Minister
But you are not so much teaching as you are screeching and reaching
While preaching to the choir about brimstone and fire
As I deem you a damnable liar
And a prodigal prostitute who should be destitute
While I remain resolute against your irreverent and irrelevant irregularities
And you raise my ire to a dire decibel
Because I am not a disciple
Nor am I a member of your congregation
Because you are an abhorrent aberration whom I abhor
You unholy whore
Your soul on the whole is the goal of a ghoul
And I anoint you a fallacy and a freakish fool
While you duel with a demon whose semen is sanctimonious and erroneous
And I point to the error of your wretched ways
Until the end of days
You serve an ironic idol who is an iconoclastic and bombastic bastard I berate with hate who makes me irate…..
And whose fate is forecast by the force of a phallic symbol symbolized by the simple minded followers of a fraud
Who, quite frankly, leaves me abominably bored
An impossible imposter who fosters the phoniness of a fake who can’t make a pretender into the defender of the defenseless
Only the senseless hordes of impious who hear and believe the pretense you preach about
And fill me with undiluted and indubitable doubt
Because someone should wash your mouth out with soap
Hang you on the end of a rope
As you grope with grievance for the allegiance of the almighty
Since your facts are based on flightiness and reprehensible rhetoric scorned by the sensible and seen for the tripe it is
Ripe and rife with ridiculous conclusions
And the illusions of illusive, insidious, insipid and all inconclusive information
As I repeat
I am not a member of your congregation
Mr. Sinister Minister of misery and miserly compassion
Whose ration of ridiculousness is reclusive and replete with completely indecisive and indelicate ideologies
And what you preach and teach about is simply old hat
And so Mister Sinister Minister
Take that!
© 2012….copyright..PHREEPOETREE...~free cee!~