Best Infesting Poems
I THINK THEREFORE I AM
"An ounce of hypocrisy is worth
a pound of ambition" --Michael Korda
Liberty...
This everyone's want--
stretching an autonomy to unbuckle self-discovery
I got mites and bugs living in my head--
infesting my mind. They... daring a chance
to worm my guts and electrify my peace.
They adulterate seeking ways to emerge
from claws of doubts to grains of trust.
My veil of grace they bite and bite
devouring me 'til I set to pursue my act.
Should I repulse...
then spread my wings to fly?
or should I be a little puppet--
controlled, slave to strings attached to me?
or I'd rather choose a mask--
my gamble to earn sympathy or popularity;
my weapon sheltering my luck;
my fall or my win?
Cogito ergo sum.
I think, therefore I am.
The mites and bugs in my skull blown
from shocks infused by my firing drive.
My cavalry of Modesty, brave to rise
face the furnace of battlegrounds.
Insincerity. Malingering. Pretension
are artillaries luring hypocrisy
but love, honesty and bravery:
the bombs I defy to conquer the trades.
If God is with me, who can be against me?
Standing like a Molave
rooted evergreen, ever strong.
My face bulletproof
to those who I believe wrong.
A standing soldier ready to offer her life
to fraud and tyranny.
I refuse to be fed on standing lies.
The harpoons of verity, I battling dart,
raining towards the barbaric boxes as they...
They are my lioness roar, my freedom and my soar
piercing the pumping heart of those who eat innocence,
I... dauntless!
_________________________________________________
** I think therefore I am is said by Rene Descartes
Romans 8:31-- If God is with us, who can be against us?
O. E. Guillermo
10:43 pm, April 18, 2015
I am a poor tailless cow.
The creator chases away my infesting flies.
I’m clotheless at the prime of the hamarttan
and my only blanket is my feebly tanned skin.
I’m barefoot on the pathful of thorns
and my teardrops reports my miseries to the earth.
I need love and in the midst of mates I go.
I’m trashed with the most painful looks,
and punched with the heaviest words.
My only crony thus remains my mischance.
Every right I’m denied.
And too bitter is my plea to the ears
of the unobliging heads.
My merit is always belittled,
and my promising tomorrow begrudged.
For every good I’m worth I’m sidelined—
that’s why I grow wild!
My fierce eye devoid of their leniency!
My ambition is rent into fragments—
that’s why I bust back so hard!
And in the end I’m felled,
taking my poetic justice.
Songs Of Power
(Lost As Blackness Invades)
Where the agony invades life seems in blurs,
And the long nights eat the fruited trees,
And later, night dreams stalk barking curs
Where blue-red tides overcome futile pleas.
Across infinite space--thoughts dreaded
And blood-lust seeking new infesting homes,
Deeper into darkness the Soul is headed
against its will- the mind wickedly roams.
Bright roses once bloomed in this castle dark,
Violets arose to soon die in vanished splendor
Where shadow raced to eat resting meadowlark,
Bound and chained heart goes with its sender.
Sorrow alights- in its ebony spreading cloak,
as storms slash across the turbulent seas,
Speared in the chest and rotting shaft broke
cried for and nothing found to appease.
No relief! Falling stars batter forsaken mind,
fiery reds cover vanishing jungles greens
Life in its mysteries, finds room to be unkind
as purple hearts- grace such melancholy scenes!
Death of innocence, once dark strain all too real
jungles evergreen, turn to exploding red,
Where death invades, soldiers always ready to kill,
war and its eternal darkness, await the dead.
While man thus cursed, seeks illusionary gains!
Darkness cast forth from Souls feeling no pains!
11-08-2015
For contest- Songs Of Power
Song chosen-
Paint It Black - Rolling Stones:
A disease intrinsic and quiet
infesting a soul which submissively accepts
presenting self inflicting suffering
to the body which covers it.
The record keeper of happiness
loses his work from gross idleness.
The fuel of laughter
even with words and lines so sophisticated
making the inanimate change state
cannot drag a drop of smile
from this soul so wary and pressed.
Company is replaced with tears
and all feelings, compressed into one.
Cracking an egg shell from its edges
is simpler than distinguishing its moods.
What a soul!
Why were you created when nature was sad?
Why were you formed when the gods were asleep?
Why were you blessed when the daughters of cheerfulness were drunk?
The cloth of loneliness
and the perfume of silence,
you need to unwear no matter how hard.
This will put on the light of proper existence
for you to bathe in the spring
of Life's beautiful varieties!
Falling down to my splintering knees,
Heaven or Hell, the stone will be cast.
Like whiplash, the ground beneath me begins to crack open
As my truth is played out against an apocalyptic backdrop.
Sins weighed against my empathic
compassion,
Caught in riptides of my darkness; will light save me?
Flames lick against my flesh as the vultures circle around.
Pleading to the heavens, I swear my truths are sincere.
I pushed back against those incessant inner
demons
As they flirted with the devil.
But my sanity assimilated, and I plunged down that pit.
Sins took hold, infecting, infesting; the damage that
was already done.
I plead for your unconditional mercy:
Don’t let the razor teeth tear me apart.
My parents complain of a mythical pest,
Infesting our house since the 7th of July,
Devouring the snacks, desserts,
delicacies and everything hot, spicy or sweet,
Determined to find the beast,
Fattened with food meant for me.
with a magic wand and on a broom to hunt
set out may it be a lachupakabra or a lepricorn,
Scary or naughty and anything the creature might wield
ready with a device from my dad given to me with a grin
the device, the compass, the guide to the beast
was a mirror reflecting its scaled skin scarlet red
staring at me with cat like blue eye
fierce and mighty.
Not a pest but is a mythical beast
Omega and almighty! It was me
Perplexed, gave up the hunt.
now feasting on poisonously, maliciously, dangerously
in sugary syrup gulab jamuns soaking.
Brangelina, the quasar, came to a motel
Of a small Cambodian village
Where smog was spread all over.
As they entered their room
They felt abodaroma infesting the room.
As they looked down to the floor
There were shoop stains all over
As they did not take off their shoes.
Brad had an urge to go to washrum
He opened the door, but needed Clorox
As the washrum has become smelldorado
Brad had vomitrocious feelings
Added more stains on the floor.
Angelina snarked on spitting Brad.
“Cut, the camlit off” Authovoice heard
“Shooting will resume tomorrow sharp
At 5 in the morning”
+++
August 18, 2014
Form: Verse -
Theme:portmanteaus
Dr. Ram Mehta
Sixth Place Win
Contest:portmanteaus by Debbie Guzzi
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Portmanteaus words used in the poem:
Brangelina (Brad Pitt + Angelina Jolie)
quasar (quasi-stellar + star)
smog (smoke + fog)
abodaroma (a play on "abode" and "aroma"):
Shoop – shoes with dog’s pooh
Washrum – wash – room
Clorox
smelldorado
Vomitrocious – Vomit – Atrocious
Snark – Snide-remark
Camlit- camera + light
Authovoice- Authority + Voice
Translucent mauve and purple on a strict medusian mission
In rhythmic undulation bubble-shaped to thwart suspicion.
Together they are swarming as they quiver with ambition.
They hide away the feelers – meant to help radar evasion
Infesting seas and oceans. It’s the jellyfish invasion!
------------------------------------------------------------------
Paul Callus ~ 22 nd June 2014
Contest: Five Lines (A Quickie)
Sponsor: Skat A
Placed: 5th
An', as [music] blowed an' blowed,
I often looked up at the sky
an' assed meself the question--
what is the stars,
what is the stars?
Juno and the Paycock
Sean O'Casey
Our sacred choir
prepares a new anthem
which, in summary, goes:
I have the deep soul blues today,
so Give Me Music.
This troubles me
because Music erupts from within,
more primal than a commodity
to be delivered on command.
What is wrapped and presented from outside
we may hear only as voices with rhythm
and harmony
and unresolved dissonance--
but all these together
are not yet our enchanting music muse
fully investing
infesting
musing through us.
Choral inside resounded music,
resonate through all four voices,
sharing our deep-rooted muse,
blues soul longing to speak and dance
music of the stars,
To come home again
where we have always shared soul belonged
inducing peace.
Sacred choirs
do not usually demand of matriarchal Earth,
Give Me Music!
More likely we invite experience
of more resilient inside dancing muses
healing like anciently redundant starlight.
I feel angst in soulful mourning
that cannot be healed through commanding
Give Me Music
or anything else, for that matter.
But, loss does invite deeper experience of resonance
and small bits of creatively digestible resolving dissonance
to feel better
about absence of remembering
What is our starlight soul
but well-sung dance
enlightening solidarity?
If we are asking Earth
to heal us with the Muse of starlight mystery,
then, indeed,
Give Us Music's full harvest
blowed an' blowed.
~*~
It so cold outside, Its raining hard
The clouds are dark and grim
But no more grim than the darkness
Of the pain I feel within..
The darkness it engulfs me
It wraps around my soul
I can only wish for numbness
For this pain I cant control
Shall I write until my thumb bleeds
My hand bruised , My fingers seized
Ill carve words unto the page until it sets
Slipping back into the darkness
Yearning for a sleep with no regrets
Locked in silent madness
Infesting my mind with drowning memories
Hoping that prose will let me find my sleep
Trying to find a dream thats mine to keep
This darkness will continue without a fight
For theres no reason for hope without the light..
~*~
I Slept with a Female Mosquito
(part III)
Honorable Adjudicators.
How did she enter? Anopheles!
Oblivious, she trailed me?
To my chamber, stalker – to my bed, bawdy
Sneaked in my quilt
Skirting –
The radar of my eye
The aerials of my ear
And the tax of my hand
So, she, at the dead of the hour
Far from the clock
Infesting, invest in –
My ears, my lip, my neck, what pleasure!
How did she? I long – how long did I entertain her.
In my still time, comatose slumber; torpor.
I scrutinize the net; intact – tight, that night.
Edge to edge, head to head, end to end
There were no moles. The net, bridal new.
Anopheles! And you think I will let you go?
Scot free! Unpunished! Shame!
Part of my bloody pint in her.
A Permanent Secretary
(In December 1936, English poet John Cornford
was killed in combat near Lopera, during the
Spanish Civil War. It was the day after his
twenty-first birthday. Could this be the poem
he was formulating in his last hours?)
They switched from cubes to cylinders,
those knights of Calatrava,
when cannon chipped the corners off.
We’re still playing at that palaver.
I’m lying in a scratch-mark
(saying “trench” insults true trenches),
about to take Lopera,
mired in medieval stenches.
Sunlight’s livening turrets
on the ochre-amber castle,
and we’re about to murder
its “Fascist-lackey vassals”.
We glided through the olives
like viruses, infesting:
since no-one gave us shovels, we
scraped fox-holes with our mess tins.
Amusing, isn’t it, pondering
exactly what a fight is?
Do I help humanity by
contracting enteritis?
The whole thing seems to hover
between contrary poles:
by killing (or by dying)
do we achieve our goals?
I’d hoped to fire some shots, then go,
but war’s prolonged, extensive.
I can’t defend aggression, though
passivity’s offensive.
Lopera – is it Cordoba,
or is it part of Jaen?
We’re lads with rusty rifles,
but do we count as men?
And am I now a soldier,
or a Marxist doctrinaire?
Five turrets glow down on me,
three round, while two are square.
Pondering from perch the other day,
a thought grew as two conversed.
Addendum to what you have to say,
gives quarter to him, sacred cursed.
Utterances,hurtful, make others tense.
Apathetically dissuaded with "no offense".
In a tandem embraced scene
fearful men wage war with a word.
Cutting low, they boast and preen,
stating jest to cover what's slurred.
Wringing anguish, anger invoke.
Flippantly stating it "was just a joke".
Insecure ego's infesting pride,
spitting frozen nouns, verbs of acid.
Empty friendships, unwanted guide.
Destruction complete of spirit placid.
Pleading personality and decision.
Haughty pretense. Mocking derision.
-Angel Fatale-
Cooperation is
about potential of relationship,
for equitable integration,
maybe even some healthy co-arising assimilation,
correlation
co-relations.
Cooperatism is about investing our healthy time
in ourSelves
and each and every EarthBound Other
Earth’s vast loving health potential,
evolving
revolving
dissolving
involving
divesting
investing
infesting
While Capitalism is also about wealth-investing our money,
commodities of sacred Earth's equivalent value,
net-working anthroprivileged resources
and ecosystemically synergetic assets,
Earth’s therapeutic regenerating AnthroMind/EarthBody balance,
political and economic cooperative
perennial revolution of healthy climates, of course,
but recovered
re-involved
re-connected
re-ligioned through polyculturing/multiculturing
resilient/resonant true-health EcoLogic
wherein Earth’s longing to repurpose
greets sublime AnthroErotic coital co-redemption.
Capitalism, divested of its Cooperatistic Political and Economic Evolution,
is a sad reminder
of AnthroSupremacist wealth v. poverty
over-industrially militarized
divestment from permacultural eros roots
Neurosensory win/win reiterative health
versus
win/lose 0-sum pathology
Capitalism, divested of Cooperative Models and Theorems of ReGenerative Developmental Creolization,
is a suffering suboptimizing reminder
of Capital's integral potential
when re-invested through natural/spiritual
EarthBody/AnthroMind
Cooperatism’s co-binary
vast health wealthy potential
politically resonant within
as economically resilient without.
Wealthy republican capitalism
healthy best re-invests
in healthy democratic Cooperatism
as light is drawn
toward Earth's revolutionary recircling.
Capital feeds agapic cooperatism
as wealthy AnthroMinds
erotically co-engage
healthy political
sacredly integral
EarthBodies.
The output is out of a lot of inventions living
Infesting only some powers and weapons
Pervading the earth and air are circling
Enthused in insensitivity and blushless clash,
And have stood in an open contrast
Endeavouring him to mentally crush
To commit him first dead in those trash
Raising a violent war around the global village;
But he with his group
And every power are merely standing troop
Hiding the grave fault fighting to mark
Striving to subdue but groping in the dark,
So, all his policies, gaining and ethical part
Are cursed in the century’s worldwide dirt.