Best Inoculated Poems
Has the convenience of technology
inoculated us from reality?
Do androids dream of electric sheep?
I pray the code my soul to keep?
Does your universe live within 4G
Or megapixel infinity?
Which memory lies within
The one that was
Or the one that's been
Or how much gig how much ram?
Which reality is true?
Cyber me
Or cyber you?
Cyber bully
Cyber crime
Cyber hate
Cyber time?
Cyber boxer
Or cyber brief?
Who is the real identity thief?
Cyber pleasure
Cyber pain
Hours spent glaring into the screen
Choosing an alternate username.
Status updates and trending tweets
Fill your mind and rob your sleep.
Clever hashtags and Instagram
Will shape your image and gain more friends.
Is the you you've shaped in cyberspace
The same you I'd see face to face?
We hide behind our computer screens
And criticize with brutal ease.
Virtual reality
Is buying souls of men you see
And robbing the ability to dream real dreams.
I want to conquer something real
That I can grab that I can feel.
I want to touch life and hold on tight
I want to unblock true friends
And "like" real sights.
I want conversation face to face
In real world time
In a real world place.
Categories:
inoculated, computer, culture, identity, satire,
Form:
Rhyme
I hold myself a prisoner
A captive taciturn
Unspeakable enticement still yearning
Since coming of age to discern
Yet never knowing
Except in part
The fullness to overflowing
In the cerebral cortex of my heart
The heart knows reason
Which reason does not know
Inoculated by truth a lie will weaken
Like the dawn of a child in an embryo
For this the battle to bring heart to speech
In mind, for one to live oft' another thing dies
It's the delicate balance when determined to please
Suspended between fulfillment's death and the giving of life
The beauty of a fractured symmetry
Where thinking heart meets mind
To know this elusive camaraderie
Perhaps in a world in eternities time
So I see myself in another life
Where sorrows hold no interest
A wistful smile proves transparent
While intensity conveys my signet
Warmth and wrath bear equal zeal
But I, an antithesis in perfect balance
A lonely vagrant thronged by faces
Embraced by insipid attachments
As honey brines by way of nectar
In homes fashioned with wax
Void of every ignoble stinger
Known to propitiate the diffident task
Thus so masked I travel still
The duplicitous road yet shackled
Until my tongue finds clemency
From the demons my mind embattles
Categories:
inoculated, caregiving, conflict, deep, emotions,
Form:
Quatrain
To take the vaccine
That is the decision
People must make
On Covid nineteen
A choice to decide
by the close of day
I have just reached that crossroads
knowing that the conspiracy theorists
warn people not to have it. Some deny
the existence of Covid, and claim it is no
worse than just a common cold, but I have
decided I'll receive
the first inoculation
It's an easy decision
A no-brainer for me
Although inoculated
sadly my poor Mum
has caught the virus
I can't visit with her
It's so heartbreaking
because she lives in
a facility that I can't
visit as long as there
is a quarantine edict
CROSSROADS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
09/26/21
Categories:
inoculated, conflict, health,
Form:
Shape
To build a better human use a robot
Genetics are overrated and outdated
Androids make the perfect man
With nuts and bolts who needs a soul
Love your machines
They come with metallic hands
With instructions to construct
Transgender bathrooms built to last
Humans make great pets
When inoculated they are the best
Venereal diseases are a breeze
Hmm.... Are they really needed?
Bots speak bot languages
Abstract thoughts are optional
Don't need visas to get about
Robots work non stop for free
No clocks to punch or dirty thoughts
Void of affection and infections
They follow the instructions of God's plan
To build a better man
Categories:
inoculated, appreciation, change, creation, humanity,
Form:
Quatrain
OSAMA
Obdurate Sadistic abductor as Machiavellian now abashed
Senseless Saboteur with Sabre sword,
Ablutions of wickedness as apology from vagrant
Mercy and peace mixed fleetingly against unprovoked America and the innocents
Abomination of true God explained as religion, hatred, wickedness, murders, and Jihad
Bin
Bigots brewing bestial behaviors before innocent kids,
Inoculated ideas of incorrigible iconoclast and unlettered extremist
Namby-pamby in acts of cruelty, yet, not man enough to face the consequence
Laden
Laden, lackluster, laggard, languid, despising better option
Abnormal spiritual schizophrenia and hallucination
Doctrinal heresies and contradictions shaming Islamic scholars
Exposing the fallibility of the questionable renown “Sacred book of blood and wars”
Now convince us again, that you bring Peace, Love or seek the Prince of Peace
Categories:
inoculated, angst, religion, satire, peace,
Form:
Burlesque
Why does the heart get all the credit for love?
By so-called affairs of the heart,
that most storied of organs is not unduly inconvenienced.
It beats,
now faster, now slower,
that is all, its task ever unvaried.
But the brain.
The brain is swarmed
by a scream of consciousness,
the amount of work that lands on its desk
swollen by an epidemic of incoming data
as body-wide receptors caffeinated by intimations of love
report frequent sightings of
unexampled beauty followed by euphoric contacts.
Every signal, real or illusory, is taken into custody and interrogated
to determine its authenticity or duplicity.
Every word is a code that needs to be deciphered with a
clear-eyed detachment it can no longer muster.
Every look is transferred to the left side
for facial-contextual-inferential analysis but often hijacked by the right
for the purpose of aesthetic appreciation.
Every scent is identified and catalogued with
a perfumer's olfactory precision.
There are hints to catch,
spats to be postmortemed,
crucial dates to be inoculated against amnesia,
preferences to be recorded, compared, grafted,
model answers to catch-22 questions drafted,
declarations of adoring allegiance crafted.
The subject’s mind is apparently required to be read,
two sets of past, present, future to be crossbred,
blindness to other females pled.
There are virtues to exaggerate to divine proportions,
flaws to modify to virtues with willful distortions,
desires to mollify by counseling patience,
thoughts to be felt,
feelings to be thought,
vertigo to be fought.
Still the to-do list grows,
the repairing of an attention that no longer spans,
the mistaking of what happens to millions of others daily
as a unique personal miracle,
the confusing of being loved with being special,
the projecting of an untested passion into an eternity,
the steadying of feet that has taken to walking on air,
the murdering of ballads meant to be trilled,
and the admonishing
of that nonchalantly speeding heart
to be still.
Categories:
inoculated, body, crush, emotions, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
A NATION IN CRISIS…FALLING APART
It has been said that America
is an experiment in democracy.
If that is so—and it seems to be—
this country is in deep septic trouble.
Today, the mad dog political moniker
can no longer be looked upon as a joke;
for America, in its political experiment
in democracy, has truly gone made and
is now falling apart from its rabid agents
of abject bigotry, hate, and racism.
It appears that the pre-experimental exercise
of attempting to make slaver as common
as shackling pets today, has forced
modern-day mad dog political power mongers
to readjust their corruptive variables
to ensure desired collateral damage outcomes.
Indeed, the demonizing of the innocent
to rationalize ethnic-based murder,
has become a Hitler-like tactic
that has proven its “negative-good” desire
that has arisen from this Frankenstein-styled
political experimentation—sick exploitation.
Though most of the rabid “hit men” of the racist
power-mongers are dead, others and their backers,
due to the allowed irregularities of justice, will and do,
remain alive to pontificate their demeaning rhetoric
of coded domestic terrorism, painfully canvassing
a bloody mosaic of a grieving nation in a bloody crisis.
How long America…how long shall it be…before
this nation becomes inoculated against the viral infection
of apathy that seems to have taken on a rabid smallpox-like
endurance, that continues to mesmerize us to simply watching
the newsy dramatization of the falling apart of a nation in crisis?
Pray tell—God’s will done—the answer will be…not long!
Wake up, people! This is no damn nightmare; it’s today’s reality.
Categories:
inoculated, america, conflict, discrimination, imagery,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I was a starving minion,
questing after the deep highs
of luscious laughter
that slip off slumber's linen wings,
pleasantly removed
from the pain of wanting
what can not be owned
and so I begged asylum of Nyx
and buried my face in her bosom
seeking a bed among the poppies,
so I could seduce Hypnos
at the edge of oblivion;
and be sleep inoculated
against plagues of Pathos.
I sold my shadow
for the opium phantasms flung
from Gates of Ivory,
such beautiful deceptions,
flawlessly manufactured
to be reality resistant
but lately,
the Tribe of Dreams
have brought blistered drops of winged darkness
from Gates of Horn
to kiss me goodnight
and populate my skin
with the cool slick of death
and disturbed somniloquies,
prophetic warnings from Thanatos...
if I loiter too long
at the edge of Death
I will have paid my life
for false dreams.
Categories:
inoculated, introspection
Form:
Free verse
A HIDDEN DISEASE. (2006 July 2006)
A pack of wolves,
Their eagerness reined,
Like men imprisoned, whose
appetites are awakened to
maim...destroy. Anilihate.
Await to devour lambs.
Pleasure sniffed through flared nostrils,,,
Behind glistened eyes.. hidden glee!
Joyous gloating, Power!
surges at the forth coming massacre.
The innocent...
cringe, quiver,
scared, powerless, confused.
Cries for help hidden, desperate,
Victims...
who dread the break of day,
from the never ceasing , merciless
hunt.
A few lambs will flee,
Sickness for some an excuse,
Many will stay away,
suicide the answer to others,
to stop the endless pain.
The bleating voices of the sheep
will baa! They are weak, that
it has always existed...
humanity is the same throughout
it will never change,
they get what they deserve when
they don't conform,
is the argument of hunter's, bystanders,
amongst the mindless flock.
Everywhere civilised, enlightened, people live,
Disguised in wealth, fame, middle class, poor,
The silent disease rampant though denied,
Leaven that taints the bread,
Inoculated to it cries.
The masked bully carries on untouched.
Categories:
inoculated, people,
Form:
Free verse
The howling winds of March
Furious gusts of air
mightily blow bestirring anchored poet
sitting comfortably numb
securely strapped in his hard to maneuver
easy bath chair
while all around him debris
strewn helter skelter everywhere
heavy objects unmoored
pirouetting topsy turvy
defying laws of physics
cue Adam Smith
courtesy his invisible hand
eulogizing, kickstarting, and regulating
unseen cogs and gear
in order to avoid being plucked up
analogous to whirling dervish
ye dear reader best don
top of the line name brand ironware
to fend off soundcloud
analogous to webbed
whirled wide rooky banshee
hounding kingly bishopric
inducing royal knightmare
whereat pawns called play
as damage control representatives
ultimately linkedin to medicare
for bodily harm suffered
and property destruction
doled out courtesy Nationwide Insurance,
nevertheless yours truly
experienced heightened anxiety
cuz I accidentally, casually, easily,
et cetera eavesdropped,
though a polite gentleman (boot no scholar)
loud talking policyholder
anyone could easily overhear
their strident vocalizations
and they owned chutzpah to *****
re: me for listening to conversation
threatening with abominable language to scare
living daylights, which nearly caused
writer of these words
to soil his underwear
such vociferous threats
wrought quick thinking defense posture,
whereby my ordinary shy demeanor
empowered after downing
powder milk biscuits
(cuz heaven's their tasty)
and declaring warfare
against being bullied
versus suffering as token scapegoat
most every year
from boyhood until emerging adulthood.
After crafting above lines
current generated via whoosh;
I sat mine hind quarters
(otherwise referred to the tush),
which signalled to Doctor Quackenbush,
(id est Groucho Marx)
not deficient with quick wit
whose hook, line and sinker
word of the day namaycush
helped one environmental seaman
high (fish) tail to Hindu Kush
where removal from madding crowd
spiritually inoculated one
with a profound hush.
Categories:
inoculated, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
I was born married to the master of subservience,
fell in love with the master of somnolence.
I dissolved Reality, divorced carnal calamites,
and the raw ache of captivated chaos.
I commanded a tactical tilling of damning emotions
and made a bed among the poppies,
so I could forever seduce Sleep at the edge of Oblivion.
I sold my soul and barely chafed chastity
for a phenomenal phantasm of passionless pleasures
beyond Gates of Ivory.
Wafting winds cradled creativity and I was a starving minion,
a zealous zephyr, questing after the deep highs
to capture luscious laughter and opium kisses
from Slumber’s linen wings.
My psyche reveled in these unrestrained orgies
climaxing far above ashen alleys
where life corroded the living.
A patron of illusions,
always hunting for more fruitful fascinations,
avoiding natural navigations through wicked whining
and the sight of probing pairs of crescent craters
searching for substance in battered faiths.
Deliberately oblivious to the sadistic salutes
of Godforsaken souls;
sleep inoculated against plagues of Pathos
that dawned with prehistoric procreation.
Amethyst apparitions fiercely feigning blindness
replaced callous captions with textile thoughts;
such beautiful deceptions, flawlessly manufactured
to be reality resistant.
Yet, I was sleep abandoned,
blistered by drops of winged darkness,
deceived by twisted twins.
Euphoria arrested, phantom limbs flailed,
swatting swarms of bleak sobriety
but Death was already aroused,
masturbating memories I thought I’d purged.
Retribution for a life lived at the edge of death?
Pollyanna caught loitering, rotting in sweet dreams
and living in the mirrored mirage of a Glad Book illustration.
My disturbed somniloquies became railroaded ramblings,
paranoid confessions of a Happy Addict,
torn from forgotten scenes, stripped of sunny sided semantics.
Death swaddled my crippled soul
mummified in the bunting guts
of my patchwork playground.
Each time I blink a resentful, halcyon curtain cries
yearning for my cuckolded Life.
This restless, sentient existence is eternally mine,
dictating discharges of cruel insomnia.
Pinched, folded, and squeezed
in the fiddling fingers of inescapable reality.
Categories:
inoculated, death, imagination, life, sleep,
Form:
Free verse
We have taken up arms
Against what has been rejected
Inoculated ideology
To prevent perfection from being infected
All energies focused on creating
A world promised, yet not attained
Hiding sins and transgressions
By jailing the saints
Cycle after cycle set to repeat
Medal adhered, firmly, to the feet
Ride on, brother and sister
....ride on
But try to make it count
Reason every season
Walk the talk
To reveal what LIFE is all about
Outside, in depth
Everywhere you go
Exposing or hiding
Someone will always know
....secrets
It is the fear of what will be
That holds the power of what we see
...as true
Perception of self, destroyed
Identity, armed and deployed
...as worthless
So tired of the fight
Just wanting to be known, in life
Fully embraced and accepted
Judgment pulls the lure
Invites and adjures
To idealize the perfected
....idol
Written by Trudy Schrader on 03-04-2023
Categories:
inoculated, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Absolute Power
Absolute power is an enigma
He has no known friend here
But deadly dictators try to befriend him
He is a blind cannibal
He consumes parent, friend and foe
But deadly dictators praise him wildly
Like water, he has no shape
He can fit in any known vessel
But deadly dictators try to shape him
Like HIV/AIDS virus, there is no cure
He dictates over life and death
But deadly dictators try to get inoculated
Absolute power is more powerful
Than the powerful of this world
Who can tame him, but a joker!
Categories:
inoculated, addiction, analogy, corruption, crazy,
Form:
Epic
There was, among the very distant few,
A rose-hip that was hid in desert place.
The few I mean, the greatest lights, and you,
You shone more bright than them, by some strange grace.
You were the rose-hip that inoculated
The spirits and the bodies of the lambs,
That cured and spared and healed, emancipated
The innocents. O, how hard are the jams
We put ourselves into by errant thoughts...
My thoughts, you cannot cure, but sure, I can!
I’ve mastered mine. BAH! You have trials enough.
You’ll find, these troubles, you are greater than.
You will survive it all, have tales to tell.
And sure, lady, I know you’ll do it well!
Categories:
inoculated, appreciation, confidence, faith, love,
Form:
Sonnet
Those nights be crazy but livid while my imagination runs wilder than poison ivy which could be deadly
but with the right antidote could be inoculated in a way by means of inoculation metaphorically yet I like the deadly part more so cause I'm falling in love with poison ivy that has deadly force which makes me crave for more ivy yet I'm well aware but it don't seem to stop me from this poison ivy, I yearn it more and more and more to see if I could tame this poison ivy. This Ivy is so evil and deadly I yearn more yet it has never made contact with a woman of my stature, could I be the one to tame this bad, evil, poisonous Ivy to a good, liveable, great Ivy. I believe so. I crave and yearn for more from evil to good is my cause in Iife I crave, only me... I crave more turning evil to good. I am one of a kind told I go whr some Angels wont even go to make a difference for a greater cause of GOOD.
THIS IVY IS ALMOST TURNING BROWN AND BROWN DAILY
FOR EACH DAY I GROW STRONGER AND STRONGER WITH MORE FOLLOWERS. Creator IS GOOD
Categories:
inoculated, beauty, blessing, change, encouraging,
Form: