Best Insidiously Poems
A cocooned cacophony of crickets serenades overgrown fields,
drowning out the creaking of rusted cars long since abandoned.
Maroon and sable tents blot the dilapidated ground—
bloated and weathered,
strips of fabric flapping in the harsh elements.
Legends of wraiths wander,
replicating whispers of infected insanity.
Laughter lingers in suspect echoes,
Rippling from pasts reborn in presents: futures to be later replaced by the past.
The smell of burnt sugar crackles with the purr of buttered kerneled corn: invading the nostrils with senses whose stimuli feign belief.
A faint humming of Entry of the Gladiators creeps in loudening crescendos, adding to the cacophony deigning dormancy in the field
Fragmented timelines intersecting by the call of the Barker
Stained cotton candy melts, reconstitutes, melts once more
Saturating replicating stands with insidiously sticky omens
Ghastly sickeningly sweet mori mementos
Resurrecting the dead from preternatural slumber.
Within fractured milliseconds, the cycle of the tormented deceased rise
From the ashes of unburnt airwaves,
Rippling through screaming minutes yet frozen in the midst.
A varicosed bearded woman floats aloft grassy overgrowth
Reanimated tigers lurk and phantasmal elephants howl,
Rings round the air in gaseous hush, like cigars puffed by moustachioed men of game,
Insufflating smoke with striped suits in candied reds and white.
The air rises to the resurrected show,
Cries confused for laughter tickle cochlea of the living.
i thought i could see clearly
clearly was an overstatement
there you were
an intruder in my concealment
leading me astray
insidiously blurring my vision
yet i pursued you without hesitation
uninterested in the warnings
how could i be so careless?
you brainwashed me
fed me lies upon lies
how could i be so stupid?
you made me feel precious
somewhat valuable
i took a chance on you
you were patient with me
carving away at the wall i had built
vulnerable,
i let you see the real me
you told me you were different
i believed you
we laughed together
made memories
i felt at ease with you
you told me you loved me
i believed you
all along
i was chasing a mirage
was it all a coax?
i reminisce about the smirk on your face
seeking your port in a storm
i wasn't the only one you made feel precious
there were others
i thought you loved me?
you told me you were sorry
but the damage you did was irreparable
you finally revealed your true colours
i couldn't forgive you
and suddenly
i could see everything clearly
Gradually the crystalizing dawn -- more hardened
Than folded steel --- more sharper than
The blade that cuts!
Wisps of thin vapour, once loitering insidiously
At the steps of each staunch door,
Swirling away -- seemingly almost alive!
Coiling and uncoiling. Has all the litheness of a
Dancing girls weightless silken ribbon.
Until, retreating back, high, into some lofty,
Inaccessible mountain...
Dissipates as if just abandoned dragons breath.
The trees and streams are no longer so solemn.
Circling over the temple, above the brittle lands
Frosted chill, red-beaked choughs noisily engaged
In agitated clattering...
But now the temple bells are commanding those
Monks to prayer.
The blind and withered monk, who sits alone
In his unassuming corner, reminds us:-
"An emperor who abuses his power unsettles the
Equilibrium of the whole nation, the workings of
Nature,
And the livelihood of all people;
His responsibility is to maintain harmony in
Himself and the empire...
By acting in accordance with Confucian principles".
It is for them to contemplate what we cannot
Comprehend:-
We are peasants and it is not expected of us
To understand such wise things; nor should we.
We understand the fish and their ways, and the
Ways of the Blue River...
Just as monks understand our gracious lord Buddha.
Rouses the sun. Slowly lifts an enormous sky.
Glistening hoarfrost spun from bramble to
Bush -- strung from bough to branch like
Giant spider web;
Stiffened grasses that so pleasingly crunch
Underfoot;
And from these grasses, droplets of moisture
Ready to be released like slow weeping tears;
They will join with and sweeten the vibrant
Spring waters -- clearer than quartz --
That stream in tripping rivulets over yellow rocks
To splash from shallow cup to pouring pool...
Once you have tasted these waters you would
Have little more need of wine.
Wine is for idle men, or for our warring masters
To drink when celebrating great victory;
What use have we of intoxicating wine?
It is better kept as an offering...
Lest the river Gods grow angry and
Spoil our catch.
The Atheist believes in Rationality
He mocks all religious emotionality
Calls it the opiate of the masses, pie-in-the-sky
The snake oil of sinister ministers, insidiously sly
Whereas Human Reason, the Atheist confidently opines
Leads man -- become god -- to outcomes supreme and sublime
Yet this very 'Reason' has provided justification
For centuries of inhuman horror and abomination
The 'great civilizations' of Greece and Rome left 'imperfect babies' to die
Abandoning them upon birth on rocky mountain-sides ...
'Scientific theories' of dark-skinned peoples' inferiority
of Caucasion superiority, led inexorably to humiliation and slavery ...
While millions of innocent people died all too recently
At the hands of Stalin and Mao, among other atheists, so brutally ...
It was 'reason' that led Adolf Hitler to conveive mass murder via gassing
in showers which 'facilitated' six million Jews,' he labeled 'vermin,' passing
So, regarding the Atheist, the facts are quite clear
~ His 'rationality' does not consider human life to be dear
Entry in "The atheist" poetry contest
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
What are we to ourselves
lingo sought
scapegoats of our own identity
lost within the trials
of times temptations sought ~
to ne'er find struggle
we assail our own belief
and brashly condemn the world
for having the same frailty!
What are we ~
but children of contempt
for ourselves, for the intrusion
of someone else, who calmly
professes our identity
as if catching a foul ball in a park
left insidiously clean
by youth who gather there willingly
before the world has brought
their realness to themselves
Who are We!
but condemners of the wrath
that we feel for ourselves,
for the mistakes that led us to believe
the world had no choice, but to condemn us . . .
A child of virtue, when the world looked forward
and wars were fought for a decent outcome,
and not the perennial ideal of fighting for wars
to happen, to prove we had strength, and justice!
Who are we ~ now
while we are aging, and the memories are the same
as the ones of childhood, when we hurt ourselves
wondering, if we were worth the time to dream . . and love!
Who are We!!
Irrelevant anomaly?
individual autonomy
Irreverent reality
(consumate depravity)
Continuing disparity
divisive inhumanity
Nhilist demographics
insidiously tragic...
Why are you back again?
you keep plaguing me,
creeping up on me
attacking me from within.
Insidiously you invade,
loving my warmth
and my sweetness settling
in, making yourself at home
You attack me slyly
not welcome in the least,
yet you do not care
what damage you do.
Four times now this year
you have invaded me
rushing into my body
germ that you are.
Enough I say, be gone!
find yourself another host.
Leave me alone to recover,
go find yourself someone else.
.
In tight contests,
rivals flash sour,
scheming smiles
of ignominies.
Some are spiteful
though they're down
beaten on bended,
wounded knees.
Their front act of
dire deceit: feigning
sportsmanship, not
conceding defeat.
Rancour and rage
behind their civil,
congenial masks
insidiously lurk.
Though, quietly they
lick their wounds,
they vow vengeance,
and defiantly sulk.
.
Grandpa’s rustic, once crimson red barn sheltered so much and so many different things
From biting bitter cold, to cyclonic winds, and hard-drenching-down-pouring rains…
Great memories lie heaped, buried in antique red rubble and sifted gray ash
Decaying on open flat grassy plain along with the historic Civil War past…
The red barn was where I learned about his cranky, short tempered, milking cow
Never wander too close to hind legs for they will surely send you tumbling down…
The weathered red barn held fabulous hiding places for rodents, snakes, and me
I know its brave red heart protected me from countless accidents and waiting dangers…
I acquired great joy sliding down its majestic shingled low-sloping roof
Continuously riding into insidiously giant pillow-soft snow drifts…
Sacred memories of childhood absorbed in knot holes and immense pillared rafters
Echoing in the attached silo and milk room where laughter gathered non-stop…
Along the country roadside, down a pot-hole filled gravel dirt road, were neighboring farms
But not one barn could match the strength or beauty of Grandpa’s weathered red barn…
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Fifth Place Winner ~ "That Old Red Barn” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Rick Parise
Dec. 10, 2010
On dark Halloween Night
The moon will lose its light
The goblins will hunt you
To cook your entrails into barbecue
There will be loud screams in town
Cry of crows will be heard all around
Ominous howls of wolves will be the worst
They’re Draculas’ Foreboding Blood-thirst
Ugly wraiths will hung themselves in gallows
On ghost gum trees with monster shadows
Hunchback men will haul caskets with their spade
Putrid carrions will soon be insidiously laid
Witches will set scalding poisons in cauldrons
Tarantulas will scuttle out from their alley holes
Be wary and wear your red-lighted horns
It pre-empted them from feasting your eyeballs
On that very dark Halloween Night
Your friends will be out of sight
Grave yards will be widely opened
Zombies will be searching all hunky men
If you are really one of them
Better hide from those arrant Zomb-women
A warning for both adults and children
To ignore a bloody and one’s horrifying mien
There will be more scary creatures
On that Halloween night if you go out and venture
Just wear your spooky costumes and make sure
You cannot only walk but fly and crawl
Sept. 12,2014 1.50am
Fear of Terrorism
T raumatized tortured tumultuous feelings of trepidation
E ncapsulating effervescing emotions everywhere eventually
R esponding rapidly to ruthless and relentless repetition of
R evelations of revolutionaries remorseless rapaciousness
O bstreperously obliterating outrageously the innocent
R etributions replicate as ramifications remonstrate
I nsurrection insidiously intensifies as ideologies immortalize
S trategically surreptitiously suffocating silently sons sanity
M ankind muses meticulously as methodologies morph into misery
John Derek Hamilton
March 24,2016
It courses through the blood
hidden from view it seeks out
the T-cells attaching itself
it silently goes to work
Invading and taking over
not caring if it's host
be a young person or old
killing of the white cells
Your gender it cares nothing for
or if you are straight or gay
insidiously it can hide for years
a master of disguise it patiently waits
Growing stronger all the time
breaking down the body's defences
it corrupts turning cells alien
not caring that as it slowly kills
That eventually it will too die
that as it completes its invasion
leaving a sick body open to attack
covered with open sores and abrasions
This silent killer in murdering you
does itself meet its own doom
dying along with its host
will we ever find a real cure?
This is about Aids/ HIV though it could also refer to cancer HIV is ingenious in
its ability to hide itself inspires by Harlan Coben's book Miracle cure
Thoughts of you perforate my normality.
Insidiously creeping in and ‘squatting'in my heart.
You are a sitting tenant in my house of reason,
yet my heart cannot evict you, for you have become
the focus of my emotion - and I love you.
Thoughts of you occupy my fantasy:
constraints of responsibility lifted and living the dream.
No need to think of others or what ‘ought' to be,
just you and me laughing, living, loving.
or riding on a stallion wild and free.
In our normal life, the one of social expectation –
where there are rules to keep and duties to perform –
we spin in opposite wheels of existence, rarely touching:
moments often wasted, afraid of what to say.
Yet sometimes there are glimpses,a mutual acknowledgement;
a lingering look, a tentative touch, an innuendo,
toe dipping in the water of possibility;
testing the temperature in case one day
we dare to dive in and swim in the
illusionary sea of our reverie.
Yet, in reality or fantasy, one thing rings true;
one golden thread; one commonality;
whether in my dreams or in my waking: whether
riding on a stallion or performing the dressage of normality,
when I look into you eyes I know I love you,
……………and I feel you love me too.
Before they silence my voice
Under jackboots and bone crushing dogs
I must set fort before dusk
As I am shielded
By his gore
And crafted like Daniel
In the lions den
And Jonah in the whales gut
I must scurry to ventilate
With my traducers
At the gate
Because they engage nocturnally
I shall not look for a black goat
At the witching hour
I discern they loathe me
And my kind
They hiss, gnash their canine
When they hear my strange name
They curse the day
I was sculptured
They question why
My palms, sole are snow
While my soul case nocturnal?
Their revered face, soul case is snow, innocuous
But entrails insidious
As a welders fork
Forty friend's, fiends, foe and counting
Looking for a straw
In hay sack
Sneaking, feigning, meandering;
They huff, puff,
Sniffle, shuffle and snizzle,
Insidiously, frantically, scamper
For a Judas
To bell the cat, dog
How do you bell a cat, dog,
With nine lives?
They mob, sop, smother you
Like ants swam honey
Then,
Forget that like amoeba
Your outer layer
Is a cyst
Which immune your entrails
From vultures insidious fangs
Alas,
Spider's web, bobby traps, mines litter around
But,
A tortoise never gets
Enmeshed in a spider's web,
Big Ben never irretrievably hushed
Or a monkey ambushed
Trailing a snakes shadow
This jaunt is not for the faint-hearted
I have journeyed forty days, nights
In the lions den
In my arsenal is locusts and wild honey
My traducers eyes are crossed;
They are hard at hearing
Their necks are stiff,
They love gold, silver
More than good name
I shall ventilate
What their fore fathers
Did to prophets before me;
Chastising them with whips, scorpion
And because they denied me honor,
I must shake my dust off
Their door posts.
Humble,
Rudimentary,
Comfortable clutter to abate fears of agoraphobic stumbles,
A 4x4 white-washed landscape provides the perfect artistic study.
Claustrophobic,
Artificial,
The clean floors become lava so I've practiced my aerobics,
Ugh my artistic inspiration is siphoned by this unfortunately accurate description, an obstinate mockery of my work, look at it sitting there all pompous yet still so superficial.
Blank canvas,
Infinite utensils,
Every little "mess" perfectly fills settles in its stanza,
Of graceful brushstrokes and triumphant crescendos to form my easel.
Insufferable antithesis,
Genocidal doctrine,
Insidiously contagious and unbearably loquacious,
Infecting homes content in their mediocrity and ensembles' sheik rebellious fashion.
A standoff at high noon,
Between libertarian creativity and authoritarian germophobia,
Both sides claiming a fair fight between equal rivals yet they both undermine each other through sabotage and flaunt their charm like geisha,
Who shall I choose?
Eh, I'll figure it out in the morning.