Best Impropriety Poems
Come with me my Brother,
to a secret place where Light and Shadow line the face with fear and grace,
leave sophmoric style, wry smile and sly bile on the road of your forgotten mile,
sick sarcasm is the symptom of envy, a pet to your heart destroyer,
such artifice and malice have no language in this room of roasted dreams,
Enter through the damaged door, touch the destruction of vandals,
you have never been here before, where gold blood cuts the floor,
do you see how the walls move like squalls at our approach,
feel how they tell stories with the sensations of defeat, anxiety, impropriety,
in here we witness a collection of seperate yet synthesized segments of Self,
childhood torment, shallow manhood, virility limp as stolen victory,
underachievement, the underbelly of your arrogance, flacid like placid passion,
We journey further into this gallery of emotional gallows
smelt by the hurt of innumerable adavances
repelled by the demands of Quality,
you will writhe wildly
from the harrowing healing leeching into your concepts of self control,
graceful in absorbtion of Truth's attrition,
fruitless ambition shall now cling as cleaving contrition,
your face Brother, look long into the shimmer of sorrow become the old,
tattooed you are like a snake's skin checkered and beautiful
with scaled episodes of submission and aggression, dying to be Divine,
I want you to know that there is no exit of ease from this place Brother,
we trek within your very Soul,
this is the home and harbor of everything you've decided to be,
there are other rooms here, some of joy and some of strife,
but you leave not the Truth Room of your anger
until the Light finds no fault in your intention -
J.A.B.
Emerging from sleep dream temerity,
his remote aurora spectral prisms
from which his wakefulness gives legerity,
from which surfaces new burgeoning aphorisms.
Truth’s contours arrayed in fluid fluency,
his morning ataraxia in the still water lake
from where his senses lose their truancy,
from where ideation sheds the opaque.
He finds repose in a moment's seclusion,
his lucid cortex in reflective possibility,
but he learns his real confirmation in inclusion,
and learns our fellowship best protects our fragility.
So quickly we imbrute each other with walls,
he knows how militarization is summoned by anxiety,
he weeps at the endless requiem protocols,
he grieves at history’s long cruel impropriety.
But he detects his promise in human need,
our struggle against forces of dehumanization,
our commission in communitarian creed,
our hope in human family realization.
Awarded second place in Poetrysoup "Grace and Solitude" rhyming poetry contest sponsored by John Hamilton.
….And no one spoke…
protecting all about them from
the perception of impropriety,
insensitivity, misunderstanding
…and no one looked…
shielding their eyes lest their gaze
be taken as an affront to the fashion
choices of a passerby, an insult to
the sanctimonious clerics wardrobe,
an assault on the personal space of
a nearsighted Neanderthal.
…and no one listened….
for fear of hearing anything….
that might offend their sensitivities,
sound a tone that was not in
complete compliance, allow the possibility
of conversation.
So did the monkeys take the throne,
the threesome of denial, risen
to the peak of power because they
heard no evil – spoke no evil – saw no evil
became the dupes of evil - because they
heard no good – spoke no good – saw no good
John G. Lawless
8/13/2015
I’m visiting the Manor with the paranormal society
It’s said to be haunted; I’m filled with some anxiety
The Duke was murdered, bringing his lover notoriety
With bloodied hands she’s found guilty of impropriety
The Manor is so spooky, at one time it looked so grand
I startle as the door slams, my boyfriend holds my hand
I shiver when the key turns, there’s something underhand
Being locked in the old Manor wasn’t something I’d planned!
The windows are all boarded up, I’m feeling quite unsure
He tells me not to worry; we can exit from the back door
Cobwebs hang from the ceiling, they’re something I abhor
I wish I’d never agreed to go on this ghost hunting tour
Members wander off in pairs to the renowned haunted zones
Detection equipment is set up; to pick up creaks and groans
We know we must be quiet and talk in such hushed tones
Suddenly our hand held scanners pick up wails and moans
The floorboards begin to creak; we hear footsteps in the hall
A dust covered portrait of the Duke suddenly falls off the wall
Hairs stand on the back of my neck and my skin starts to crawl
I’ve come to the conclusion I don’t like ghost hunting after all!
Tonight’s paranormal activity has given me such a dreadful fright
We hurry down the staircase; my face has turned a ghastly white
Our torches light up the entrance hall and to our great delight
The huge wooden door swings open and we escape into the night!
Sponsor Dear Heart
Contest The Haunted House
8/23/18
There In Morning Sun, Hope Circled Enticing Dreams
From inside gaping jaws, golden honey slow drips
its taste as if bitter hell came with deadly judgment
life turned into a bevy of sunken ships
with the dried up bones below a sadden statement.
With solid granite illuminating moon 's glow
ironclad hills buried secrets sadder mysteries
impropriety ran in and melted wicked snow
starving for more people ate from empty granaries.
The wicked angels flew about on leaden wings
watching for the innocence of the golden truth
dawn's light erupted brought the small songbirds that sing
for hot romance and the vanities of our youth.
There in morning sun, hope circled enticing dreams.
Father time gave its fruit to fill the icy streams.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet,
Feb 25th, 1971
There are people we've selected
who think they were elected
to flout and mock us with their sordid lies.
In hopes we might surrender
to these patriotic pretenders
as Congress is where a hero goes to die.
They waste their precious time
along foolish party lines
avoiding the issues that stokes their hearts with fear.
By showing their immaturity
in not dealing with our security
to trash the principles to which we all adhere.
So just stay out of my pocket
and leave me Davy Crockett
and the memories of this Country that I love.
You seem intent on causing misery
by changing all my History
to stain those Heroes looking down from high above.
Now no one born is wholly flawless
and it would be completely thoughtless
to judge a person by their greatest sin.
When it is the core of our Society
to see such old impropriety
through forgiveness where the healing can begin.
So please look into a mirror
and you'll find it can't be clearer...
nothing good comes from casting hellish stones.
So take from this poor letter
to try and behave a little better
and leave our treasured Heroes all alone.
So just stay out of my pocket
and leave me Davy Crockett
and the memories of this Country that I love.
You seem intent on causing misery
by changing all my History
to stain those Heroes looking down from high above.
Now there are those who lack humility
and lay a claim to untold bigotry
and rile against the strides we all have made.
By trying to say we're hopeless
and trying to change our focus
from the lies and plans you all have carefully laid.
You may hope we run and cower
as you try to usurp our power
and turn this Country into something you abhor.
But we will not lose our focus
and I'm here to give you notice
we will defend this beloved Country we adore.
The End
*For those who are interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's Your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day.
Such a beautiful dreamer
soft attractions
in pages of Tom Jones
Lady Chatterley's satisfaction
taken to places of impropriety
never recognizing a boundary.
Caution gives way to need
where hearts break and bleed.
In dreams buds open to bloom
slowly, so their fragrance wafts
indelibly breathed in and held
enjoyed to fullest height
as a body becomes compelled.
In dreams of love
the dance is always a waltz
matching steps-eyes in askance
the answer, discretely given,
a nod, a wink, a sly smile
the heart is driven
and will not be repressed
Love must acquiesce.
lets take a closer look
open up the good book
you'll be amazed at what you see
we as people think we free
but the bible says we living in slavery
welfare and section 8
government taxes that we must pay
project living
dope dealings, robbings and killing
fiends on the prowl
while dogs constantly growl
crack pipes in the streets
who can stand the heat?
living paycheck to paycheck
trying to figure out our next step
paying the bills
but yet and still
we in the same predicament
dreaming and wishing for lottery settlements
not knowing who we really are
steady wishing on stars
not knowing esau from Jacob
they showed our people such hatred
yet and still we kill one another
well look closer because that's your brother
we from the same tribe
our fallen brothers that have died
are turning in their graves
while you shoot, kill, rant and rave
they died for the cause
while you fools shoot just cause
they want to kill off our society
were becoming an impropriety
people walking in the streets
protesting for what they believe
police only patrol the hood
while they treat esau's people all good
Jacob gets the ladder
our people steady getting madder
esau sold his birthright for a bowl of lentil soup
then gathered up his troops
and made slaves out our people
then wrote we created equal
yet we are the minority
but by who's authority?
but the bible clearly states the truth
that we the 12 tribes came from Christ roots
ceasaer white washed their faces
during the rebirth of the white civilization
our birthright and heritage is what they have taken
truth hurts that's why I wrote this poem
because so many of my people are still unknowing
Avast emotional gulf manifested; courtesy
series of unfortunate events; sundered
biologically accorded, cherished, enshrined
paternal bond; resultant dereliction defies,
justifies, ratifies...dissonance; unbearable
hindsight excoriates impropriety reviewing
dirty deeds done dirt cheap; impossible mission
to excise indelibly etched psychological
impacted repercussions upon mine fountainhead;
weighing excruciating deserved self loathing;
permanently deplorable depravity yoked;
unyielding choke hold, no longer asking
forgiveness, but airing errant culpability;
dada's guilt indefensible impropriety; begetting
permanent fallout; exacting just desserts; bitter
regret beast of burden (oxe see moron) housed
within self made villain; unjust to impinge your
providential opportunities, whose blessed smarts
plus unfettered, unencumbered, undaunted...
daring do promise productive existence par
excellence, versus anxiety riddled torturous
legacy writ large across countenance this papa;
analogously das scribe bing mortal epitaph, while
dark shadows haunt this edgy rusty knight, who
once pawn time shrugged off mischievous
lascivious actions as payback; recognizably erred;
misperceptions (mine); deduced ex post facto,
when the missus doled out unpleasantries;
exploding anger; vented regarding significant
roiling perturbations harkening to her own
unrepentant poisonous stinging toxicity;
delivered courtesy birth parents; hands lack
king awareness to rock cradle with tender
loving care, hence burdened with childhood
tsoris prior to accepting yours truly as life
contra dance partner these preceding xxii+
years avoiding unseemly behavior; aware
that the mother of our two darling daughters
doth love and forgive me, though recouping
similar results with first offspring may remain
tense, and many years past not a happy camper.
Blind and numb like death
dispenser of cudinatis, enemy of
the masses of mascara!
Made possible by holy
wizardry not in white Man's land
but within the enclave of black sentiment!
golden fleece released by mental ingenuity
I fear science! Technology awes me
in bewildered extremism!
But alas, my magic card is stolen
by the nemesis of unfortunate
altruism. Two ignoble gentlemen
joined in mischief stole my magic card!
Peddlers of ungodly trade
prodded this ugly cudgel at
my brow! oh! lola, noblest of
mankind! my miffed lips hardly
could utter a word to its detriment!
Oh! thanks, heavens! the card
lacked hole for unholy propitiation
they shall maneuver but the head
lies in the birth of the owner
except death and forceful recovery
can take away the secret number.
Alas naija! Alas my brother!
The trade mark identity has
been stolen. Whence shall I
go for reimbursement of the
stolen naira or who shall replace
the golden wallet? I do not
know! This act does not
surprise the city of Lagos, the
capital of moral impropriety.
At the end of this three moons,
my loads I shall pack and run
to safety where sanctity and truth
reign. in the north, similar
episode outplayed and the result
unexpected. But in this Lagos, theft
and perjury escalate.
Alas! Alas! My magic card thy
holy comfort I shall deeply miss
adieu! Sweat rainfall, adieu
Frozen....
Deep in thought,
cringing at the idea of fighting....
laying motionless....
on the ground,
placing the blanket of impropriety over you.
With no words to say,
and no feelings to be felt....
you lay there, with a lost look in your eyes....
Your every word makes no sense to anyone,
but in your mind,
you, yourself, make no sense to anyone.
Your bones scrape against each other,
blood running warm one second,
and cold the next....
your thoughts remain frozen.
You cry tears....
drown yourself in them,
only to turn around and ask....
"what am I crying for?"
You freeze when spoken to,
you shut down....
you tune out the world,
you ignore the positive,
and consume the negative,
like some strong alcoholic drink at a bar....
you think you'll go far,
but you know this life is hard....
this walk....
is hard....
so you remain frozen.
Shut the door on those around you,
writing people off....
expecting them to still be there,
when you wise up and realize,
I am not what I think I am....
I am not a hero,
I am not a warrior,
I am nothing more....
than a waste of space....
a waste of time....
a waste of energy.
You could turn it all around,
get your feet back on the ground,
but you refuse to make a sound....
you're frozen....
stiff in silence....
looking around you,
wondering why death itself hasn't found you.
Wondering why promises are so hard....
for you to keep....
laying there late at night....
wondering why you can't sleep....
Laying there motionless....
asking yourself....
"Will it ever get better for me...."
"Or am I doomed to spend the rest of my life this way?"
Frozen.
Along this highway of my life
Thru times of joy and some of strife
With overpass and underpass
The road keeps winding on
While getting through this rigmarole
May seem an overwhelming goal
I thank the mistress of my soul
Who keeps me grinding on.
Since early on I guess I’ve known
We weren’t meant to walk alone
But finding one to walk with can
Be somewhat of a challenge
They come in such variety
T'would seem an impropriety
To venture to compare them
Like an apple to an orange.
But keep the faith for all songs say
We’ve someone out there each of us
The perfect size the perfect fit
And just the right ambitiousness
They say these things are planned above
By one who is omniscient
So why should such a fool as i
Pretend to be proficient?
I’ll get in bed and say my prayers
And when the last of them are said
I’ll say goodnight and dim the light
Then write it down and go to bed.
Just another Warrenpiece
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
They say that it will cure all your ills,
It's liquid and doesn't come in pills;
will it cure, anxiety, trauma and impropriety?
depression, obsession, angst and obesity?
Flatulence, disobedience, lack of ********,
boredom, constipation, sickness and a sore bum,
morbidness, being morose, getting rid of a dose,
help ejaculation, deaf and dumb, making you come.
Phobias, hang-overs, make-overs, hand rovers,
sexual harassment, groping and embarassment,
corruption, bribery, graft, lying and dying,
cheating, beatiing, passing exams without trying.
No, it won't, unless you're into psychosomatic,
in which case, you're route to paradise will be automaric.
Upon the first date (decades ago) with the gal,
whose troth aye did pledge allegiance to wed
we agreed to dine at an ex-mex eatery
in north Wales, Pennsylvania, where angels feared to tread
carefully scrutinizing bon appétit the menu selection,
a touch of Latin lick QED
all American version sans south of the border cuisine –
Quod Erat Demonstrand – translations spit out in rapid fire Hispanic
by a beady eyed inked kid named Ned
whose couture favored a punkish style
with spiked gelled green hair, piercings galore and
necklace with a genetically modified sizable
entombed glass encased amber ked
which beastly fully intact organism with a miniature grisly bear like head
momentarily hypnotizing me tell nudged out of trance sans this egghead
who make a selection by randomly
landing finger on an item feigning to be well bred
unbeknownst to the arbitrary choice this senior made
within an ample number of mouthfuls
of beans and rice that quelled hunger pangs
mine lower gastrointestinal tract,
felt a bubbling sensation played
though impropriety struggled with gaseous mounting perturbations,
what promised to be hot malodorous, would induce an air raid
from this “wind bag”, whose saving grace divine, when wallet of suede
discover herd visa vis tubby devoid of cash, thus and excuse to beat the tirade
of volcanic eruption found me bolting
out the restaurant door fortunately not waylaid
and madly dashing (like some comet fiery dancer)
performing a cheeky number hopping on one foot than the other –
since forceful blast triggered kidneys to be tapped, thus prancer
two step extemporaneously incorporated while await the ATM to disburse cash
legal tender coveted akin to Cupid sprinkling spell of romancer
while expulsion of noxious fumes from thine sphincter from this hob er dasher
brought relief as aye nonchalantly strolled inside
the cozy diner and slipped into me seat
disinclined to relate vents to future spouse,
the bodily aeration and stream of urine from me magic flute
which amazingly synchronized with the Maximus glute
from consuming food triggering tushy to toot.