Best Infractions Poems
You are one cruel hearted man.
One too many for my life span.
You have inflicted one too many abuses.
I am so tired of your lousy excuses!
Whether it be with your mouth, fist, or actions
You found ways to punish for imagined infractions.
It sickens me that I did not leave as soon
As I realized that you always sing the same tune.
You claim that I don't love you enough.
I am not falling for that bit of fluff.
The truth is, it is you that doesn't know how to love
Go on you know this is true what I speak of.
Wrapping your hands around my neck to choke
Because you did not like what I had spoke.
You giving me a black eye
Because you assume what I say is a lie.
Some one says a victim that makes me.
Well I guess we shall see.
I no longer want to be thought of as that.
Survivor...yes I have that down pat.
I survived your endless abuses.
I survived all those bruises.
Victim...me....HELL NO!!!
SURVIVOR that is me. Way to go.
Categories:
infractions, recovery from...me,
Form:
Couplet
Last night I had a dream
to give to you this song I'd sing
Tho on my mind was someone else
But there were you from off my shelf
So here I am to write to you
that poetry so long overdue
The walls of life were
so high and wide
But feelings are emotions
dictated by the eye's
The dragons that guarded
your tower so high
Responsibility and honor
were reasons to hide
Yet even now
those feelings they stayed
forever in my heart
the beauty it weighs
The eye's, the hair,
and guiltless tones
No reason was ever given
to leave you alone
Never in your actions
would harm I'd see
No rumors infractions
almost sin free
A lasting attraction
you'd always be
Little girls play with dolls
And in a way boys do too
Countless were days and nights
my doll would be you
But always in reality
I could never persue
That higher class fatality
inner feeling I saw as you
In a sad existance
shyness always reigns
Your nothing but a pauper
To a princess your just a stain
But here I am now
with feeling I've not outgrown
I imagin now we both know these feelings
I've only slightly shown
This morning I'd sing you a song
I meant for someone else
But instead I write this poetry
for this reality is myself
She might be my today
But you'll always be my tommarow
And it's a fact that I cant hide
what God see's as my sorrow
Categories:
infractions, angst, crush, love,
Form:
Rhyme
I stand neck-high tall
within the quicksand
of my infirmities.
Green and gaunt,
I hesitantly genuflect.
Ravaged tendons and corpuscles
are barely breathing
within the vacant corridors
of a soiled carcass.
My ardor for vindication
has been abandoned.
I presently refrain from accepting
the consultation of
umbrous soothsayers.
Readers of tealeaves and tarot cards
hurl my infractions towards
the apex of your divinity
and the nadir of my scrutiny.
I espy no Judas rope
(dangling from lofty boughs)
as scores
of unanswered novenas
sleep beneath my fingernails.
Scars flourish upon my skin -
agnate to larvae
and dried leaves.
The density of my marrow
turns moss covered and dank.
Choirs of starving nestlings
bear witness to my afflictions.
Swallowing the last notes
of a disenchanted requiem;
they slowly bind my wrists
with twigs of knotted reflections -
as Harper Lee's macaws
peck my cheeks and
the calculated feast ensues.
A murky blanket
of eventide quilts me
in fibers of remorse.
Lesions burst
underneath my skin;
they herald my inhumanity
as I impishly smile.
Connect-the-dot cold sores,
(not found in children’s books)
entwine a raw endoscope probe -
mocking
my charted results.
Inky woodlands
are devoid of carnival mirrors
and inner deliberations.
Such forms
of bun coed celebration minuet
within another's emptied psyche.
The conduits
to my umbra are blocked.
All exits are closed.
So, into the woods I go,
medicine chest-closed
and matchstick available.
Searching for answers
the starving nestlings
formerly consumed.
Categories:
infractions, introspection
Form:
Free verse
They write in the language of perfume
flowery powdered words all layered
colours rising and lowering
in different light spectrums
as if the reader could discern
without wisened translator
their seductive dimensions
conveyed within
their small larger other worlds
notes upon notes, heady notes,
their subtle infractions
like music tinkling through
the brain bleeds, poets
and their otherworldly refrains,
naphthalene aired for old time’s sake
shaken out like clean crisp white sheets
billowing in the translucent lingerie breeze,
bedrocks shaken
the little flocks
small black murders flying
provocatively erratic stirred up
off the cobalt page
into an evocative
higher wider
elusive space
taken shockingly aback
where the heady blast
of Spirit of Hartshorn
shakes buried lover’s awake
to walk barefoot and naked
blindly in love
touching each other
through the long wet days
sugar-coated addictions
tall poppies crimson pimpernels
wading nubile through blades
of silver moon grass
licking their ankles and heels
raising their prim outskirts,
forbidden territories
within the rising mist,
the ever present,
like a breeze,
kisses their ripe
cherry orchards
unending hunger
satiated, all is manna
as they meander
through daze of
dusky dawn valleys
those garden of eden thighs,
the transparent,
slithering like hands
caressing treasure trunks
ivy leaves for plucking
further up above
the high waists
to touch what
wastes away, unheard,
what beats there,
where the crown sits
like some holy being
under its ribbed cage
red ripe like a seeded apple,
that place, just there, beating
singing some kind of hymn,
like a regulated anthem,
they're way up into their feels
like some devilish chase
like heaven's come
calling them away
They write in the language of perfume
flowery powdered words all layered
colours rising and lowering
in different light spectrums
as if the reader could discern
without wisened translator
their seductive dimensions
some things are better
left unsaid
like this Magdalene,
K.I.S.S.
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Categories:
infractions, heaven, romance, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
There is a bubble of illusion right here on the soup
Its shadow still finds the same sozzled group
This conjuring is cloaked and lobbied with scripture
But ego confuses the muse and its picture
Artistry is squandered and concealed by the night
Infractions are made in the absence of light
When opportunity is lost, despair fuels our anger
Conviction falls duped to this unyielding danger
Compassion and patience, are a poet’s best cure
Lost thoughts will return, of this I am sure
May your pen drip with ink and your ego soon go
Your muse will return, it’s just ebb and flow
5/17/22
Bubble of Illusion Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Categories:
infractions, confusion,
Form:
Rhyme
Warning!!
This is a free verse poem.
It may not meet the high standards of poetry soup.
It is also highly controversial.
The writer of this poem realizes that poetry is supposed to be light and fluffy!
Just like TV sitcoms.
But hear it is anyway, (oops hear, I mean here, is spelled wrong, automatically
disqualifying this poem as reflecting any beauty or talent at all.)
Hope it does not wound anyone too badly.
I Wonder what the headlines would be like if Fox News existed in the early 1800's?
Perhaps something like, "Despite minor slave trade infractions this month, such as 10,000
pieces of human chattel suffocating on their own defecation, 5000 female slaves being
raped by their masters, and 9,000 male slaves beat to death for smiling at their master's
wives, ABOLITIONISTS CONTINUE TO PURSUE THEIR OPPRESSIVE, SOCIALIST AGENDA!!!!"
Wow, how badly I long for the good old days of "American Morality!"
When the American Spirit was "Strong and Virile!!!"
Before all these bleeding heart abolitionists freed the slaves and destroyed the Southern
Economy!!!!!
Ah, just brings a tear to a brotha's eye.
Thank God for Fox News!!!!
Who else do we have to keep us honest?!!!!
Categories:
infractions, angstpoetry,
Form:
Free verse
Numbers Count On Themselves
3’s make love in the open
Twist with trees that turn from Winter
Count on music to reveal Spring
Several 7’s take lessons on how to Jitterbug
They disco with 6’s by the river to keep in step
Zero’s boat house is open for business
Even ants look for action
Reason to leave the house
4’s step in with them
For the common good
For hours at a time, for whiskey and a song
The audience breaks into applause
8’s broke into fractions on the floor (Which is against the law)
7’s did illegal sambas (Knowing it was wrong)
Cops stepped in to stop this numbers game
Questionable digits and their issues are cause for inquisitions
Zero, the owner of the boat house business
Had no power in this matter
8’s and 7’s, embarrassed, reduced by more demotion
Showed no emotion as they left the show
Taken off to jail for infractions of the fraction code
There is nothing wrong with any number
They all wish to rise above themselves
To make a better future for their children
Who start out like 1’s like everyone else
Zero never had a business plan or house
When he started out
We all began as little 1’s without a clue
Counting on ourselves to get us through
I guess you could say that is a plus
The calculus of us
Categories:
infractions, business, celebration, change, identity,
Form:
Free verse
A Deconstruction
I speak of nothing but
destruction
Buttered prose; a mere
distraction
Recited when the flux lines
froze
Resolved, I became a fraction
Convergent series; no inflection
Crossed divisors as I pleased
I would grasp imagination
With fingertips; resignation
Not once would cross my mind
Was each word a permutation?
Mere chance; a fluctuation
In the cosmos more than once
Like signs they go in one
direction
Number lines; clear infractions
They will reach and go no more
Categories:
infractions, writing
Form:
I travel in my imagination to talk to the sky about the sound from crying
Mum, the coastal area erosion my interest to take the risk to talk the
night gown glowing beneath the wind from the vile of verbose. The night
sombre to talk to me in lusty thy heart call to convey the conversation to
the contraction of my imagination pole to polemic night.
The cart of load middle of office article of etiquette acquiring the anchor
of life floating on the top of leafs to the drop of a pen that sound
inculcate Carbon Monoxide in my lungs, the bugs ramming the trim chopped to
the shape of my poetry garage, where lullaby play violin appeasing the
heart to function for the follow six years to come in the future to the
Futuristic that I have to feature all the songs sang by the birth to take
to me to my birthplace over second of ponder to pedal the hurdles to better
future star.
The shape of a room isn't my stop where building of atomic infractions dust
the dock to the documents of love, salad of emotions building in to into-to
Ruin not thy heart it sound correct to the correspondent reticent, the
Wagging of tail enjoins the brown color to the skyscraper in the heart of
the city sun. The ink of hate won't drop to the sound of pebble and the map
Of courage cool down the ridges moan of baby.
The high thinking keep on colonizing my entire colorless breathe that
wanted to shake to the voice of the night, the taste of understanding swirl
meek hard and aim of okra is too slippery the road to sound of success is
second hand to those placed theirs, the might blame the corrosive
Situation pink of flowers impact changes to the scent of cigar.
Categories:
infractions, blessing, loneliness, love, ,
Form:
Alliteration
12/28/18
I just received a gift from my {step}mother,
Only three days late this year.
It's a Santa Claus soap dispenser... with a twirl and a twist.
I used to own it well over twenty years since.
It has yellowing soap still clogging the spigot...
*****, you've even treated old Saint Nick like a {step},
How true to your form and fitting that is.
{Step} Santa was more of a message than a gift.
After all, I've been a half-assed {step}son at best.
but {step}mother you must admit, I was always your third-class citizen.
From the brackish affection, impish rags you stapled to my rear,
Minor infractions swiftly met with a belt called, I'll bring you to your tears.
You were the metal toothed snapper in the pond of my youth.
If you deny me this, then you're an abuser of the worst kind
an abuser of the truth!
For the most part, I've freeze dried your slipperiness,
I think {step} is a glacier cold but the perfect prefix.
Categories:
infractions, abuse, holiday, mother,
Form:
Free verse
There once was a little girl who played in walk in closets
She'd shut the door to the world outside because her mom
was neurotic and psychotic
And her step dad was a raging alcoholic
This tiny space was her safe haven for her imagination
to fly metaphorically
See her mom would talk nonsense her brain couldn't
comprehend
And her step dad was drunk and would speak sideways
in tounges
He would get violent and mean to the little girls mom and
that was so scary
Also her mom would go on a warpath for the smallest of infractions
And grab a wire handled flyswatter and swat this poor little girl
til she was black and blue all over
Oh yeah. And her mom was religious and would take the little girl
to church with long sleeves on and tights to hide all the whelts on the
little girls arms and legs
One time in the bathroom at church the little girl was on the potty and
her auntie walked in and saw all the mayhem on the little girls body
And exclaimed Oh My
But nothing was done and the little girl had to go back home to play
in her walk in closets all by herself again
So by this time for this little girl the damage was already done
She found out real young that no one cared anyway
That she was worthless and unloved so escaping in closets was
her only way to freedom with her imagination
Then time passed and this little girl grew up still feeling worthless
and unloved and no one cared anyway
And that's when the psychopaths started their feeding frenzy on her
They picked up on her pain and played their sickest of games
They knew she hid in her imagination and wove stunning tales of
how they loved her. Fantastic and unbelievable fantasies
And her imagination would fly metaphorically
Until the last psychopath she had a relationship with wanted to
destroy the art behind her imagination
That's the day this little girl who used to play in closets
woke up and said to herself
That's all I have left of me is my artistry and no one is going to
take that away from the little girl inside of me
So she opened the door of this little girls closet
Stepped inside and grabbed that little girl and they walked out of that
tiny space together
with the promise of brighter and freer days on the horizon
Not looking back. Not even glancing
Categories:
infractions, butterfly, child abuse, courage,
Form:
Free verse
It all began with Adam and Eve and that wily snake!
Eve was tempted and ate the fruit - that was the first mistake!
Adam was right there at her side and took a generous bite as well.
"'Tis Thy fault, Lord! 'Twas the gal Thou gavest me!" he was quick to tell!
Thus the blame game and "it ain't my fault" stratagems began,
Causing consternation with each generation since the genesis of man!
We tend to blame everyone and everything for the problems we create,
Even blaming Burger King and Pizza Hut for being overweight!
Moms' and dads' and their wayward offspring without fail,
Blame society for their kids offenses and ending up in jail!
Dad blames his boss when he's passed over for promotion.
Could it be that he lacked ***** and on-the-job devotion?
Wily politicians blame the other party when things don't go right.
Voters blame the other feller for electing fools adding to our plight!
The President blames The Congress for not supporting his schemes.
The Congress blames The President for most everything it seems!
Ain't it time we stood up and took responsibility for our actions,
And stop blaming everyone and everything for our dumb infractions?
Lord, I pray that I be among the very first to bring about a halt,
To the finger pointing and proclaiming, "Well, it ain't my fault!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Catie Lindsey's "Outrageous Rhyme" Contest - October 2010
Categories:
infractions, funny
Form:
Rhyme
Can we talk about love in the twilight years
Ain't not no expert I must confess
But the older I get, find myself ogling young ladies
Might even think this old guy's obsessed
Not at all my friends, I can take 'em or leave 'em
Now what the hell am I saying
Prettying up the landscape more than us guys
Hope there's plenty upstairs I'm praying
How boring to live an eternity without ladies
Sure wouldn't look forward to that
Rather go down below where the bad girls are
They'd certainly adjust my thermostat
I've led a clean life for the most part I'd say
But for a couple of minor infractions
Like running around with a bunch of loose women
All part of a young lad's passion
Let's talk about love, a favourite subject of mine
Ain't not no expert I must confess
The older I become, the more decrepit and sad
Going to miss seeing girlies undress
© Jack Ellison 2015
Categories:
infractions, age, love,
Form:
Narrative
PLAGIARISTS BEWARE
My(1) dog(2) went(3) out(4) again(5) today(6)
And(7) watched(8) some(9) children(10) in(11) the(12) hay(13)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..
NOTES
(A) A full list of references (1) - (13) is available on request (S/A envelope needed)
(B) All rights reserved. I withhold all rights to the maximum extent allowable under law.
Any unauthorised broadcasting, public performance, copying or re-recording will constitute an infringement of copyright, unless it is in North Korea or Yemen.
Permission will be granted to reproduce for personal and educational use only for schools, hospitals for the insane, camps for re-orientation in North Korea or Yemen.
Commercial copying, hiring, lending,borrowing, plagiarism, stealing, and destruction by fire is prohibited. Use as toilet paper is equally prohibited.
May be used free of charge by members of minority groups, only if they are accompanied by a member of the majority group. Selling without prior written consent prohibited. Selling the written consent itself is equally prohibited.
Even the mildest infractions of these conditions will be punishable to the fullest extent of the law.
Categories:
infractions, funny, rights,
Form:
Couplet
All my real and exaggerated infractions
Over the years you meticulously engraved in stone
But your moral indiscretions against my soul
I recklessly and occasionally scribbled in the sand
The storms we weathered in our years of marriage
Kept erasing all your faults without a trace
But mine became more distinctly etched with time
Until there was no forgiveness left
9/2012 Copyright
Categories:
infractions, betrayal, break up, lost
Form:
Free verse