Best Imbeciles Poems
Tongue Study
Tongues
Steady it wags
needing to know
more, about the
the very thing that
causes wars.
peace and pain.
I study my tongue.
Much has been said
about the tongue yet
how has it pertained
to my own.
My tongue has delivered
and served, it has given
and taken, it has blessed,
it has cursed.
It has been bitten,
and it has been written,
the tongue can be tied, twisted
curt, sweet, sharp, wagging or
bragging.
It may be your
native tongue
or foreign, it may be
exciting or boring.
If quiet is your tongue
"the cat may have it".
If you use your
tongue to speak ill
of the dead, you may,
challenge a force and
be cursing your life's course.
The tongue's confession's
may sweep out
dirty secrets from the
corners of your mind.
Wise words have fallen on death
ears, words smothered by pride.
truth escaped lying eyes.
Ignoring what you saw and
twisting what was heard.
Tongues may bond
with imbeciles or angels
forming positive
or negative energy.
Be careful, mind your tongue
it is closest to your own ears
and will affect you first, rather
before the others hear.
Be not at the mercy of
an imbecilic tongue
read their eyes
and duck the darts
about to be thrown.
Do not despise the
a foreign tongue
for it is the aptitude
of the brain, the tunnel
to his bilingual, do not
expect the champions,
to cater to the dunce,
or those who can barely
master his own tongue.
In general, I have concluded
whether you live by the sword or
stand on principals, I had to
learn to manage my tongue
as I would a loaded gun.
I will not justify my tongue
when I use its power for the wrong
and neither hold my piece,
to placate the sword of the unjust.
The real power is in
the righteousness
of the speaking tongue.
For those who live by
the sharp and swarded tongue
and wield words as death
blows to the innocent,
or those who are silent,
while others suffer.
May also die
by the mighty tongue,
or by the holding of it.!
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014
they lurk in corners, safe and dark
until they decide to growl and bark
then point an ugly old crooked finger
spittle drooling on the chin, they linger
arguing any point for arguments sake
no sense do they ever seem to make
they pretend to be a master know-it-all
a braying donkey left too long in its stall
always insisting to have the last word
looking like fools, they are quite absurd
these egotistic imbeciles act quite spastic
the pretenders who are all made of plastic
"Sentient"
They say
they don’t feel
like we do
their thoughts
a mystery
if they think at all
some say
it’s just a reflex
behind the eyes
the sentient confirms
we are stupid imbeciles
no comprehension
of our part in it all,
the grand story
connection;
in disgust
now reasoning,
the logic in us all,
where is the wisdom
in that, the sentient thinks
as a sapient
and turns its back on us
appalled
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
If heaven is a rest for the imbeciles,
the banes of hell my portion must be.
If cloud nine is a bordello,
and the streets of gold are carved along the red-light-district,
then god must be a panderer.
Am I not already rewarded?
My woman is: an orange, perfect in the sun;
a watermelon, succulent;
a mango with sweet nectar;
a passion fruit, freshly plucked.
One woman is ecstasy,
two is hell’s gate.
A saphead is a glutton for pure virgins.
Lives foolishly forfeit for peculiar sayings.
Let not this bird fly,
for the two that is promised?
When god became a sexist,
it came to pass that man recreate himself, a lunatic,
and the woman he objectified became the dominant sex.
Covet not the splendor of paradise,
where the mansions in my father’s house are brothels
perfumed with the scent of intercourse.
A gift of seventy-two maidens
is an everlasting punishment.
Insidious, insipid, id-inebriated imbeciles
incite impetus into inevitable immolation.
Bombast, bluster and bluff: blunt batons of barbarian bullies;
backwards behaviour blackballs baronial breed's burdens and bonds.
Weasely, willy-waving warmongers wage wanton war of words
without wit, wisdom or worldliness, whilst we weakly watch and wait.
Regrettable, repugnant reprobates ravage refined realms with
reprehensible rapier-rattling and rancid rhetoric.
Clash of corrupt, contemptible cutthroats carves calamity 'cross
continents and culminates in catastrophic conflagration.
Pointless predatory and political power-plays pale as
pirouetting pariahic pyres patently a pyrrhic prize.
------------------------------------------
(16 syllables on every line, checked with howmanysyllables.com)
14 October 2017
Insidious, insipid, id-inebriated imbeciles
wage a wanton war of words without wit, wisdom or worldliness.
Regrettable, repugnant reprobates ravage refined realms as
pirouetting pariahic pyres patently a pyrrhic prize.
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16 syllables on every line - checked with howmanysllables.com
2 December 2017
For Barry Stebbings' "Alliteration" contest.
Blasphemy
The caustic tongues of the evangelists,
Across all creeds and faiths,
Seem as brittle as an old bone.
For they promise heaven and they spew forth threats of hell
While neglecting the words of that man who walked in Galilee
'let him who is without sin, cast the first stone'
the caustic tongues of the evangelists...
across all religions
new-age and the ones of old
baffle me even as I hear
a single simplistic sermon
for they really do, view us all
as blind imbeciles
scurrying around like faithless vermin
the caustic tongues of the evangelists...
wag on and dazzle us with visions of an eternal paradise
while here and now
their hypocrisy festers
within their earnest
well-meaning eyes...
'...dil mein hai khwaaish-e-hoor-o-jannat
aur zaahir mein shauk-e-ibaadat
bas hamen sheikh-ji aap jaise
allah-waalon se allah bachaaye...'
'...in your heart you desire the maidens of heaven
yet in the now you practice the rituals of piety
o' sheikh, may allah protect me
from the people of allah like yourself...'
is my tongue as caustic as the tongues I write about?
if so, then glad am I
for they shouldn't be the only ones
who preach and rant and continually shout
from their pulpits ever so high in the sky
from their hubris of comfort in possessing the 'truth'
from their 'knowing' that heaven or hell
awaits both the strong as well as the meek
while oblivious to the reeking foul smell
that encourages prejudice and hate
and visions not of peace
but of endless chants and prayers
which they, in their opium haze
rattle on and on
as they never seem to cease to speak
and though I’m sure that all this bile that I have spewed
will threaten
hurt
and offend
friend and
unfriend and
acquaintance alike
but...
take pity on me instead
for it'll surely be I
who'll burn eternally
impaled by a benevolent god
on a slightly warmer than normal day in hell
on a crude wooden spike.
Definition..one who uses obsequious compliments,
to gain self-serving favor or advantage from another.
P…parasites who want payback
H..harmful hucksters, hedonists
O…obsessive, offenders, outlandish
N..nebulous, narcisstic, nuisances
I….impetuous imbeciles, imposing
E..egocentrical, entangling, enemies
S…support-savages, so selfish!
4/ 23/2023
A little boy of only 13
he runs
he treads throughout the tall trees
the enclosed paths of bushes
great just great he screams
a wonderful safe house full of thorns
to hide from the so called scary monsters
his barrier a repel of daggers
the monster slide and drag
at a full speed pace
the one eyed monster questions
Where are you small little lord?
The monster slides pass the bush
Towards the path to his mansion
The boy finally takes a big breath of relief
The boy mumbles
Little lord this
Little lord that
Am I such a little lord?
I'm the earl of this estate!!!
The only earl…
How rude!!
He shouts
He sits behind the bushes
For at least 30 more minutes
Those imbeciles
How useless they can’t even find me
I bet they aren’t even looking
He shouts!!!
How infuriating
The little boy of only 13
Walks back to the estate
and enters it through his underground secret passage
Only surprised to find his doppelganger
Slashed in half
Worthless decoy
He kicks it to other side of the room
If they want to kill me
Make sure it’s the real me next time
The little boy of only 13 laughs
A grin plastered on his face
Well mister big bad and scary monster
Im ready
Where are you ?
He shouts through out the estate
You couldn’t here a pin drop after
How boring
He shouts!!!
Scared are you?!!!!
He laughs uncontrollably
he screams Scared of the little boy of only 13
i notice all the pod-people doing money-sex related things
as it becomes the milling of the new androids
caught up in the trap
of it all
there's got to be some big deal they must be wrapping up
- that's why it's so important
to have all that gear on
worse yet,
is the look on their countenance
while conducting
"the deal"
whatever it is
so
it seems
that what they are doing is
somehow
more important than anything anyone around them are doing
charging around
ostentatious
peacocky
and still,
under the shackles of divided attention
for
the taste of money
and sex
followed with
the unnecessary drive for looking superior to
others
because all of this
is decoded as:
i need money
now i need more money.
i need sex
now i need sex constantly.
sigh!!!
i'll never have enough money
i can only have so much sex
why can't i just buy thy winning lotto ticket?
...
i really don't want to become this
i really don't want to become a cog
i especially do not want to devolve into
an *******
who doesn't care about the world that constantly
coexists
and supports
my bones,
the branches of
my thoughts,
that grow into the blossoms of
my life,
which are more significantly
my love,
i've traveled with the imbeciles long enough.
rage
blood red
simmering
boiling over
insecure imbeciles off gassing pain
a fraternity of inbred hound dogs
renting shepherds
flocks are lost
horror
death
soul
lingers
ghostly lights
clarion calls
the atomic spin of celestial night
loss of foul ego conjoined particles
wonder free falls
I less bliss
haunting
rite
it would have been an injury to them both
to attempt a description,
to bring what it was that compelled the girl to silence
(if she had not chose silence beforehand---one outside can never be sure)
to formulate an image, to dispel some kind of physical qualities verbally
which to the person outside
might have made some impression upon them,
because that unique allurement of which the girl did focus
could never truly be brought into any kind of distinction for the rest of us,
in fact to try would only taint it & do a disservice to the whole of the
event---
rather, even a more considerate onlooker, who stopped when crossing into the other room, in order to ask the girl about her moment in awe,
would only force a quick death to what was happening,
like waking up from a dream involving the two,
neither can make the other understand
anything but the attempt at understanding,
for what is to be understood
exists solely on its own---right out there in the focus,
or it lies dead in our savage
description---
and when the questioner came back after a few minutes,
unsatisfied with the absence of any answer
(as so many of us impatient imbeciles are),
after turning, the girl spoke a few phrases
which to the questioner seemed only nonsense at best,
as if she’d been spoken to in a language that she didn’t know---
what had been said was simply a description also,
one that felt only like another installment,
a domino in the falling, predictable effect,
wherein one person tries to get at the heart of the matter,
while the other tries to help them &
a million conversations begin, part ways &
begin again,
constantly picking up the baton & then dropping it,
be it like the boredom of rereading a “choose your own adventure” book,
or a fresh new mistake
found when the collision of the selves within
mess up the overall stability of the
whole.
I run on clockwork.
every day I end up in the same classroom
in the same building
at the same time
with those imbeciles that don't care about
their future or the future of their country
I run on clockwork
Every day in those same classrooms
where I am trying to get an education
The teachers have given up on teaching
these students who live like their life will end tomorrow
and I have been pegged as one of them
I run on clockwork
filling out the same packets every day
that do not invoke passion in me
that fails to tell me why this will be important
past the test that's taking place
at the very end of the week
I run on clockwork
but that ends today
I refuse to go another day in a school
where no one would care
if school stopped tomorrow.
I refuse.
Arms extended, tears drowning my eyes, I fall to my knees
I do need you so, Lord.
Life is supposed to provide inspiration.
Instead, unfurl broken-heartedness
and regrets,
wrapping around me like a vise,
making it difficult to endure the pain.
Repeated sounds of thunder ring out
as screams of vile names are vibrated;
food is flung against the walls;
never is anything perfect.
A slap across the face
and the taste of blood,
a relationship with family
impossible—
they are imbeciles.
I am told a bullet would end it all;
it is done all the time.
"Oh, dear God, please help me."
I am a mirror, constantly shattered.
I refuse to think less of this body.
I am yearning to break free.
For just moments
I feel smidgens of contentment.
The quiet that settles over
peace within.
Inside
I am still broken
and damaged.
There are No feelings,
No emotion,
No peace;
there is just anger.
I hunger for Your touch
before the last bit of my soul is gone.
I am starving to be scooped into loving arms.
A wave of exquisite warmth overwhelms me.
It hadn't been the first time it had happened, so I knew what it was.
I found myself rising to my feet and bathed in the exquisite feeling.
1-31-2018
Halo
All things in moderation,
Thus spoke Abraxas
A sunset to the east,
What planet is this?
May I see your calendar?
Do you believe in.........
Something/Anything......
The Ascendent begins his journey
The lights dim and flicker,
Melting into a distant ovation
Mysteries multiply by the minute
The geometric anagrams simplify the complexity
I fly back to my homeland......
Chaos, corruption, ignorance and fear
I read from the Upanishads and mount the headphones
I rise above and escape in the Self
Another day, another prayer for mankind
I breathe deeply and walk into Nature's earthly heaven
An angelic stillness,
Those who deny his existence must be imbeciles
An ambrosiac silence,
Those who are too aware appear to be imbeciles
To show someone beauty,
Its all the artist asks
To show someone the God within
Its all we ask, its all I ask
Beauty my cause for indecision
Causality the nexus of the game
Music my favorite religion
Transcendence my only claim to fame