Best Iniquitous Poems
William Bonny AKA Billy The Kid
A Tale Of Billy The Kid
By Robert Gorelick
“Quien esta?”
Bang! It’s over,
you’re a legend now,
Billy.
Born in Hell’s Kitchen in
ramshackle consumptive squalor,
New York’s crammed gang infected
rat-infested shacks
and alleys.
Amid the iniquitous stench
of rot and the soul’s decay,
in a nation at war,
pulling, stretching, ripping
to shreds the frayed fabric
of its precarious union.
An abused juvenile fleeing west
emerging from the muck
to where a soul and body
may heal, breathe deeply,
expand.
At last—life
New Mexico territory spreads open
and wide, easy to be seduced by cynical
range-war ranchers’ welcome greetings
they pay you well for
every cattle rustled,
then desert you as you flee the
sheriff’s posse.
“Quien esta?”
With a concealed knife
you stab a drunken gambler,
self-defense is no excuse
as the ruffian had
important friends.
You’re set to hang, Billy
in a daring display
you shoot your way out,
steal a horse and gallop
off to your woodland
shanty.
Midnight, your shack’s pitch dark,
there’s breathing nearby,
your Mexican novia?
Why doesn’t she speak?
“Quien esta?”
Bang. Pat Garrett guns
you down.
A throw away kid from big city squalor,
becomes a legend of the wild west.
You’re a legend, Billy
1/8/23
Metrical Tale Contest
Sponsor: Hilo Poet
Malevolent imploded uncontrollably,
twisting wildly maniacal posies
amid diabolically toasted brainstem,
angst uncompromisingly yanked tresses
purging stinging speech patterned rhymes
amuck iniquitous poetic verses hung
upside down to tormentingly dry,
facing other inimically knotted borders of
antagonistic galleries in deranged snapshots
razing warped poetical tapestries,
tripping on tunes of whiskey rushes' savoy truffles
and greenish tangerines whilst Led Zeppelin's
Sick Again danced upon reflective ceiling tiles,
time written sideways 'round alleged autonomy
hidden furthermost immune masked mirror images,
debauching Greek braille calligraphy's vindication
on walls of graffito scripted physicality
calling out 'tween hysterical compulsions,
naught one heeded the sounds of synapses
about ill-fated half moon's arresting arc,
synthetic doomsday's clocks aptly chimed
quarter to analytical cuckoo's nest repudiation,
still awaiting on serendipity to surrender
furthermost rabbit hole's curiouser rants,
relinquishing unwell-languaged compilations' sabotage - -
circumventing rhythmically subversive escaped detonation
Why would God give moray eels
A life wherein they live concealed
In a beautiful, bountiful, rapturous reef
Merely to cause the nearby fishes grief?
When the moon and stars shine deep at night
Giving profiles to fishes in background light,
The morays watch and wantonly wait
Until their prey cannot escape.
Are morays just spokes in God’s wild wheel?
Do moray’s consciences not guilt feel?
What is their purpose? What is their ploy?
Is it just to consume those they destroy?
Where is their justice? Where is their joy?
What gives morays the right to annoy
Nearby fishes and affect their fates
While they wantonly lay in wait?
Why would God create such evil creatures
When others’ fates fear their cruel nature?
And why keep morays in ravishing reefs?
Do these evil eels provide the reefs relief?
Is a mindless moray like an inane man
Who bends people’s mores when he can
To languish their lives and besmirch their souls
Just to achieve his iniquitous goals?
Beautiful, burnished, brilliant
Yet, my ink friendly inclinations produce a chemical discrepancy
And now, you come – Artist
Scratching, on my polished mental plate
Do not blacken me with your fumigating candle
Do not soak me in your acidic bath
Yet, here you are, sketching to leave your design
Ever so lightly, you etch, carefully, penetrating
Acid soaks into your carefully drawn lines
The depth of your influence is varied
Teasing a relief by removing your blackened wax
Only to soak me in your iniquitous ink
Here, I must bring it an end. I must stop you - Artist
I must cleanse my mental plate
Chasten long and purposed for that original surface
Until a polished steel-plated revelation
Yes, there, beautiful, burnished, brilliant…perfect, if not for
Your Latin radere
The etchings of your needle
The stain of your ink in my serrations
My effort seems wasted
The vestiges of your ink tainting all that I touch
Now, everything has your art
Like wetted paper onto my mental plate
Classical infusion, Beethoven’s “ode to joy”
playing on blaring audiophile speakers annoy
purposely looped to destroy vagrants with electronic music
blends of subversive elements and anxious acoustic
the solution to loitering the bodega doo dropping
spicy Shiitake broth smelling pissy store front,
jaded daily stunt, at midnight wino corks popping
abruptly segway into a film from one music scene
to a melting hallway, a lipstick alley with animate occupants
disconnected unmoored, appearing eerie and dormant
fluorescent lights unleashing a hum buzz in duress
hissing sizzling hornets’ nest of unsettling unrest
illogical levels of unease, an iniquitous den
such madcap absurdity is beyond my ken
not a shack, mall, nor a Holiday Inn,
a queasy Quasi-Moto mood which lies within
backrooms filled in with discarded filets
of fishy maceral that have no place,
frolicking pixella's in a glossy abyss of liminal space
plump puce brushed lips affixed
swollen browns and purple mixed
deep maroon and dusky rose,
make-up art is what they pose
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Crescent shaped moon portions mounted in pseudo walls
mounted upon the glare in unpleasing patterned halls
side by side quagmired half discs dawning a contorted face
in a half dazed-half-moon crest loon’s invisible phase
not unconscious but in some in-between state
bored while in transition and abandoned as they await
whimsical moldings who see me try not to take a peek
an exit to this madness is what I and they seek
maybe re-evaluate my sleep number, for gravity defying rest
What insight imports this encounter and what test?
what it means for a doomed generation Xer or baby boomer,
tacked in stucco, Silly Putty it seems, in a warped sense of humor
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
A Grisly Tapeworm
In Anger and in Hatred, a Tapeworm I see
Unless internally hosted, its Life will not be.
From egg it starts Life, ‘fore an adult worm
Fed on Host’s blood, it gains a portly form.
While finer or fatter, greedy Worm gnaws,
The wretched Host, pale and thin he grows.
Then the anaemic Host, too ill to live a day
Falls in the dark pit, where there’s no ray!
*
The same story is true of a Man with Hate
Hate soon embraced, is an iniquitous mate.
So, I avidly learned , my temper to narrow
Perspective being that it eats man’s marrow.
To nurture it in Heart, Hate will grow so big
And wiggle one’s Dignity; like a tail of a pig!
For, Anger grows so fat that Man is in sorrow
By eating all his vim to leave a man hollow!
*
To internalise Hate is to eat a sharp blade
That curves from inside while fast you fade.
It spins some mortal blow in its incisive poise
That fates and finishes by its hushed noise:
The structure curves in, trusses cut and gone
He falls on the floor with not a single bone!
*
Hearken ye therefore, Hate begets dearth
Piety Mad Haters who know no inner mirth!
For, to lavish in Love, denigrating foolish Hate
Bestows inner Peace or sense of pure sate.
Gimme not filthy wealth, gimme not lucre
I’m a happy man giving Love and Succour!!
JM
31st Oct’ 2013
Descending eyes piercing the starry nights
Deeper yet, unto hearts of men
Crossing thresholds shattered darkness
Behold, the fallen angels unbeknown to sin
That of weakest appetites malign
As heaven's tears spilling city streets
In futility cleanse what's evil-wise
From beneath, us vagabonds of broken wings
Empty rooms loneliness desperately
Weary hearts for yearning error in love
Far off stares and blank faces, harrow in oasis
And inspirations forgotten, never peering up
Divine light cease upon closing heart
Earthly flesh feeding frenzies
To another piece of faith withdrawn
Humanity continues on and spirituality dies ending
Some pretentious fly toward false sanctuary
Never escaping whispers, persecutions within
Hissings soft, but brimstone in our heads
Countless fallen angels iniquitous deprivation dins
"Criers" define us as the times most desperate
"God, forgive us, please" hollow words that we pray
"The wicked must be punished" God's eternal now and tomorrow
His arms outstretched further still but, where are we today
As imperfect humans, we judge perceived on what our eyes see
It's a mistake many of us make, and not based on a heart's purity.
A trait that shows we are prejudiced and biased against others
of different races and religious beliefs, of our sisters and brothers.
We were all created in the image and likeness of our Father, God.
To realize a person's value, we must look deeper than their facade,
but we label people by appearance without personal interaction.
Iniquitous of our subconscious to let outward looks be an attraction.
Were that all eyes were blind to a beautiful face or a muscular form
we would treat each other with a demeanor more pleasant and warm.
Too often we don't bother trying to learn what's in a person's heart
before our minds tell us, "I'm going to tear this unworthy one apart."
Shouldn't we look past a person's age, or unappealing physical features?
To hold that against them makes us small-minded, bigoted creatures.
We're guilty of doing a disservice to good people if we fail to perceive
what is undetectable to our eyes. First impressions often tend to deceive.
January 8, 2023
The Way We Look Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Your days are numbered from the time you were born
Before you know it you blink and they're gone
It is incumbent when finding you're an adult
To select the right course, proceed, protest or join a cult
For sooner than soon, the youthful spring disappears
It dawns that you're old and it will move you to tears
But what comes next might be most important of all
When your eyes finally close comes the judgment call
All the iniquitous things you had chosen to do
Will then be paraded once more before you
But it's then too late and what's done can't be changed
It's Satan's stone where your acts are written and maintained
So think about this when that Dybbuk sits on your shoulder
And tell him "go back to Hell" before you get any older
Elsbeth
sinuous little pad foot
essence of dark design
twilight has released you
out of my back door.
bathe in black,
as it floods paradise
swirls with night sound
just beyond the porch light.
in that field of mustard
your iniquitous enemy
snickers wispyly
safe in an earth ship
sit still as pyramids,
a bastet,
proud familiar, not one gleaming tooth
would touch the boor tonight.
It’s like a lamb to the slaughter
The thing is she KNEW
KNEW that beneath the alluring smile
And enigmatic eyes
Lay
A monster.
A demon.
Inhuman cold skin cluing in
The lamb
Her shepherd leads you to Hell.
But she’s drawn in
By seductive looks
Her hands shook
As she placed her heart
In the demon’s paw.
Sinful tongue, wicked lips
Grabbing, gripping clawing hands
Wanting,
Promising
MORE
Of a delicious wickedness.
Truth evident in horribly arousing
Stained talons
Dripping life-giving essence
A ruby color.
Legs quaking, knees knocking
Body rocking, soul shaking
As he takes her heart
Freely, foolishly given…
Elongated canines catch and glisten
In the telling moonlight.
Fangs! A whisper to the lamb
Demon! Someone screams
It’s not safe at night
She KNOWS
KNEW that beneath the inhumanly beautiful visage
Lay something
Screaming
Monster
…demon.
But the lamb wants to be swallowed
As she follows
As if in a trance.
Don’t go Lamb! Stop!
And she placed her heart
In the demon’s paw,
Relaxed in his iniquitous embrace
And delivered herself freely,
Anticipating a most delicious pain
Only he can give.
Truth evident in his salacious stare
As she fell a most willing prey to tantalizing touches
As back arched, heart out
Don’t lamb!
And he takes her heart
Freely, foolishly given…
….and devours it.
zhane_ariel
Poems from the Vampire! Free Poetry Contest
It's in a turtle soup shop where I'm employed
It's my duty to cook vomit-inducing soup turtle
which no decent human palate could stand;
a horrid job and a salary which is even worse,
an insult to my brilliant overdeveloped mind;
Not to mention the iniquitous schedule,
though there's something much worse:
the appalling uniform which is an insult
to a nonfrivolous mind like mine;
and in no way instrumental in contributing
to social elegance but a pathological attack
on good taste and gumption!
a distorted regurgitation of undigested
food for thought!
A lavender cup with the grotesque company logo!
The unsightly checked fuchsia and gray pants!
And to top it all: a striped khaki and purple poncho!
My odious uniform! Imported from Togo!
A lovely idea had the company's honcho!
An idea that my Togolese friend rejects!
I hug him! I look up to him!
'Cause he abhors both poncho and honcho!
Cripes! Yikes!
Dinner's ready! Yucky turtle soup I shall regurgitate!
THEORY
The truth is that we are the people of North America mixed by the blood that existed via the birth of a nation. We have no biblical presence as given. We are Social Theological Studies. No God was there for us. We became a government formed from earth. We are generations discovered. We are the blood matured and mutated from origin, immigration, and enslavement. We state our allegiance and our beliefs to a greater source. We are worshipers of The Unknown God. Although we may use the given epithet by the Hebrews, Jews, and Gentiles - Jehovah God Lord – this, to us, is the unknown God.
Physiology
1. A political-religious focus delivered through a Humanities model.
2. A socio-activist voice that will address the Humanities situation.
3. Social Theological Studies searches for a greater way that captivates the
mind and embellishes the soul.
Methodology
Through empirical research via a mixed method, Social Theological Studies will investigate our biblical presence as the formation of living via structure. Poetry and philosophy ethnography of ideals, beliefs, creeds, a family way (ethnomethodology), etc. will be composed through a multidisciplinary model, which involves and is a Humanities approach.
Philosophical Hypothesis
We did not evolve. We were discovered.
This is a casual model that represents two variables, which are discovery (to the creation of a nation) and evolution (our time of metaphorical evolution).
Holistic Perspective
As stated, we have no Biblical presence given. We are committed to this sense-datum of a nation (United States of America) origin and birth because…
Only through iniquitous content does a wrongful world exist or hold capacity. Thus, this hold true to a governess of a country.
Verisimilitude
The credibility and quality of this project are authentic in research via observation, interviews, case studies, etc. that semblance of truth refers to research findings that are consistent with occurrences in the ‘real world.’
_____________________________________________________________________|
Written June 25, 2016!
I was born with this name
A name that cannot be moved.
Through my struggles and through my pain
These shackles I shall remove.
Dignified in all my ways
Eminent proven that can't be replaced.
I am a true man of virtue
That cannot be measured by time or space.
I'm a Star of my own
Reflecting the rays of my thrown.
Magnificent and Majestic
In the land of milk and honey, I am the backbone.
Often misunderstood,
Confound and misconstrued.
Even in contempt of their judgement
My adulation infatuation will remain intact for my brood!
My love is undenying
Everlasting and undying.
Unreplaceable, indestructible
My fable inspires that transcends to be noble.
The King of my castle
A fraction define from a point of a decimal
Denoting in the tenth power
That represents the commandments of my counsel.
In translation...
I'm a man unrecognized by his emotions
Yet his word's expression
Forms a principle which defines in connotation.
My concentration
Concerns to adjourn any iniquitous Interpretation.
Adjudicated as if uneducated
Yet their mind's unable to define the intonation of my elucidation.
So therefore there's no question!
That I am...A son reflected by his own creation.
In his own reflection
My third eye indicates the gift of this phenomenal articulation.
So as my motivation
My delivery will continue to build in its meticulous manifestation.
A man that will man up
To whom, I will claim to recognize his own dejected aberration.
The cadence of the knell on the wind Lord
Has folk peering from windows and doors
A reminder of fickle mortality
Peals forlornly, for whom the bell tolls
The screams of the Angels, are deafening
Those with the conscience to hear
Dark Winter, cuts colder than ice
Unfolding, the fear of all fears
Media controlled information
Has us fighting brother to brother
As the puppeteers pull on our heartstrings
An Orwellian surrogate mother
Totalitarian terror prevails
An Agenda to meet, time is flying
Denver Airports Time-capsule, historic
Egomaniacs prayers to the dying
Positions of power are key
Those appointed are elitely chosen
Merchants of Venice they’d shame
Like iniquitous embryos, frozen
World Health Organization, instruction
To quell conscientious objectors
Mouth the words of the purse-handlers credo
The beneficiaries, monied investors
The greatest good for the greatest of numbers
Bantham cries, from the crest of his pew
Utilitarian logic prevails
Though, decisions are made by the few
Get in line, live your days in your cells
As we gather the troops to protect you
Martial Law looms, incessantly closer
For your safety we’ll need to inject you
The corruptive, are those with the power
Wielding deaths sword, resolutely
Political towers of Babel
Where power corrupts absolutely
In a World of pandemic paranhoia
The essential works, deemed to be crucial
Are the implementation of towers
Beaming Signals of Sorrow, so brutal
A virus is only a name, you see
It was never a death causal factor
Electromagnetic technology
Is the key to the virul reactor
Big Brothers got one million eyes
And a chip, for to go where e’er you go
No crock of gold’s waiting out there
Hid beneath, ‘An Invisible Rainbow’