Best Invectives Poems
"The body, like the oak, is bent and gnarled,
The shallow-rooted mind is overthrown,
When we are near the evening of the world."
---From, 'Runes for an Old Believer", by Rolfe Humphries
Facebook post: "Respect your elders!"
My mind may not be now
as nimble as once it was,
and although I might see all
with jaundiced sight, not fresh,
not new, my mood is mostly
cool and quite calm.
--- Until, that is,
some brash provocateur
begins to essay an attack,
thinking to erase the marks
my words have made and to
overwrite them with his own.
I care not very much that he
with logic may displace my niche,
nor cleverly might mock me.
But to disparage Age in dotage,
with vile invectives, is doltish,
brutish and dumbfounding.
My sweetest comfort is
to have no doubt that he
(nor others of his ilk) will
never see how ineffectual
must be this mild complaint.
the staff here at lim’rik flats
has noticed a shortage of laughs
poetry soupers
need some whoopers
Please double your sillies by halfs
And just so you will not get bored
the staff here will give an award
“giggle-of-the-day”
is easy to play
(and playing is half the reward!)
There on your tongue, on the tip,
is a jest, a joke or a quip
turn it loose, silly
it might be a dilly
Don’t be roosting aloof with tight lip
Not everyone is a clown
but better a groaner than frown
an addle pratfall
just may be your call
you might even light up the town
Lim’rik Flats is, of course, biased
We will pick the one which laughs highest
we are subjectives
but give no invectives
and we’ll praise everyone for their tryest!
*if you see “GOTD!” under your sillies, you have won!
Ravenous dream, cluttered and unclean.
Aberrant darkness, hideous and unseen.
Raging killer, seething; hardly breathing.
Raving butcher, leaving death and bleeding.
What demons lurk for a murderer in a gay enclave?
Name the repressed desires by which the slayer is enslaved.
How many kills kill off latent amorous specters in his heart?
Craven homophobe assassinates his shadow from the start.
What torrent of torment molds a gay executioner?
What self-loathing this child of incendiary invectives?
What self-shaming open wounds forever fester?
What ambiguous mask to hide the emotive?
What type of culture is so threatened by how we love?
What perversion of fear breeds within so many thereof?
What sinister civilization spreads this hate potion?
What dogma of night terrors releases this poison?
Ravenous phantoms, virulent apparitions,
The shooter never lacking in ammunition.
Delicate petals hold ethereal love and kindness.
The rifleman can never kill them in his blindness.
T'was not easy for my lord.
Walking on that road to Golgotha.
Heaving the cross, while trudging up that hill of Calvary.
Enduring taunts and invectives from the people He was going to save.
Bitting down the pain of the scourge already inflicted on Him.
For Roman whips were laced with jagged glass pieces meant to draw out flesh when administered on any one.
It was not easy my friends.
But it was worth it.
For we are now saved due to that sacrifice.
Redeemed from the kingdom and paths of death,
Translated into the Kingdom of life and everlasting joy.
We have a comforter because of that sacrifice.
The Holy spirit who quickens our mortal bodies unto righteousness
And is always there to lift our spirits when we are down.
For we must pass through the valley of the shadow of death.
A journey needed to strengthen our faith and sweeten the testimony.
We have a key because of His sacrifice.
For His death washed off our filthy rags and made us Holy.
Holiness which gives us unrestricted entrance into the presence of God the Father of light.
It was not easy.
But it was worth it.
These words, He speaks to His church today.
For He has seen the tripled allure of sin.
And the increased efforts, the world is currently making, to redefine holiness and truth.
Stand firm my beloved.
The world will persecute you for your faith.
Your so called 'church' may even denounce you for your staunch beliefs in the excellency of my word.
Stand firm my beloved.
Against the onslaught of the media like the children of Israel in their grumble against Moses.
Keep standing.
Against the onslaught of friends like Jobs friends.
Keep standing.
Against the onslaught of detractors like Tobiah, Sanballat and Geshem.
Keep standing.
Against the onslaught of the constituted authority, like king Ahab against Prophet Elijah.
Keep standing.
Against the onslaught of your very beloved wife, like Job's.
Keep standing.
#Bashorun
Check out more of these articles at okontas.blogspot.com
Whenever we fight,
It seems we lose sight,
Too much diverts our vision;
So we hurl our slurs,
Dig deep with our spurs,
Invectives make incisions;
So I leave the house.
Away from my spouse,
Go breathe the clean air, calm down;
Find solace within,
The comp'ny of friends,
In them acceptance abounds.
In their quiet gaze,
I find peace and grace,
The release is tangible.
Out in the clean air,
I can shed my cares,
Alone with my animals.
Judy Ball
For Alouette Your Cleansing Rite Contest by Nette Onclaud
A Tribe of Trolls
A tribe of trolls escaped their cage!
Now rabid wrath and rancor rage.
Hurling hurt from hidden hellholes
(most notably, their toilet bowls),
they flush their filth across your page …
Anonymity sets the stage
for word-“warriors” who rampage
as today’s internet unrolls
a tribe of trolls …
Let’s hail the stone-age cyber sage,
“bravely” mounting his mouse to wage
invectives with the screens he scrolls.
Unmask their names! Expose the trolls!
Let public shaming disengage
a tribe of trolls.
E. V. Wyler
Glitter glue laced ticker tape....
Of colourful confetti covering such sight
More and more, their eyes dipped in tars
Infectious quills, beneath these softened feathers
Penetrating, their own fatalities cryptograms....
As they aimlessly blend a colludeds pretentious purpose?
Bending this times fading, unto its very own knees!
Within these, their poisoned spoiled schemes
Buried beneath such smiling lotus faces; cracked
These mannequins dressed in their own dark blank black....
Messengers without a promises clue; not knowing whom they are?
Perditions offspring they seem; these, children of the sintarians star
Venin poised at the tip of their tongues!
Hidden, behind sacrilegious' ruby red lips
Drippings, of a partings depository decay?
Trying to spread their gangrenous green blood
Throughout my venous' veraciously pulsing veins
Like liquid streams of futility....
These pantomimes' grand charades
Parabolics, with hollowed fangs!
Puppets, upon their powdered strings
Amid the soul asylums sanctuary
Of the indeed, vanguards inane....
Colourless confetti, permeating my sight
This contributor, of the jet black pain
Spawned, by the principality of invectives, inverted cross
The bleakest paramour amid the paralax of their unknowings
Souls, thrice times dead....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Perditions Parade
Dewey Hicks
1900-1918
It burns, burns still.
This sweating insidious fever.
This slippery revolting slide
Down down down into the hole here!
I’m on fire mom! More ice!
Strawberries, sweet strawberries!
Please, please something sweet, something
Something cold, some ice
Yes, ice for my parched tongue!
I can still taste!
I can still hear!
But, but I can’t see.
Dear God, where are you?
Dear mother, I need you now!
Please, please, some ice for my lips, my flaming tongue!
It burns! Burns!
Sunset screaming, screaming!
My voice yelling hurling invectives!
My glove, my hat, my ring,
And over there by the door
Her sweet sweet photograph in a glass frame!
Strawberries! Sweet strawberries!
Please please my tongue is scorched!
Down down down into the hole here.
It burns, burns still.
On threads of wispy air,
in breathy undertones of political wind,
I can hear the quiet catastrophe,
the quiet ruination of our commonwealth.
I can hear the sleepy madness, turned avalanche
between my ears.
I can hear the quiet catastrophe,
the whispered words of terrorists,
guttural phrases taunted as political incorrectness,
flaunted vacuous nihilism fomenting insurrectionism,
the quiet convulsion of our self-rule.
I can hear the sullen invocation, turned torrent
within my mental models.
On threads of wary air,
in stealthily vengeful murmurs of pretenders,
I can hear the casual, softly spoken demise of justice,
the grim sabotage of governance by principle,
and with it,
the slow dripping blood of all those who died,
all those long forgotten.
The fading ink on parchments spelled out ideals
never attained or practiced in a nation’s history of enslavement
and genocide.
Yet can the people’s ambit even begin without the
enshrinement of these principles for all?
I can hear the quiet catastrophe,
the reckless, feckless conmen concocting hallucinogens.
Conspiracy contagions so easily playing upon, confirming
the jaundiced eyes, so easily validating the invectives of the addicted.
On threads of wispy air,
in breathy undertones of political wind,
I can hear the quiet catastrophe.
Are you listening?
snakes uncoil...
ready to strike
before
rattling their tails.
flames of rage crackle;
white-hot on
highway.
two drivers
hissing,
exchanging
invectives
madness reigns supreme!
game of Russian roulette
played...
with lives on the road.
Writing Challenge - Yalto Form - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Date: 12/03/2022
Whenever we fight,
It seems we lose sight,
Too much diverts our vision.
So we hurl our slurs,
Dig deep with our spurs,
With invectives make deep incisions.
So I leave the house,
Get away from my spouse,
Go breathe the clean air, calm down.
Find solace within,
The comp'ny of friends,
For in them acceptance abounds.
In their quiet gaze,
I find peace and grace.
The release I feel is tangible.
Out in the clean air,
I can shed my cares,
In the clean, decent comp'ny of animals.
Quietly he goes about assessing situations,
Searching for the weakest link,
The source of consternation;
Seeking out the places where you need to make improvement.
He'll be your guide, a rudder,
The source of your inducement.
Evaluating habits, of each one he takes note,
Caring not how you must feel,
Or of the ire evoked.
Improving others character is his goal in life,
Teaching and chastising,
His family, friiends and wife.
Of singular importance, his opinion of the world.
It does no good to disagree,
Or dodge invectives hurled,
At all who wish to argue point, dispute he will not suffer,
From any who would self-appoint,
Themselves to be a buffer,
Twixt a man who wishes naught but good upon the world;
To bestow upon us all,
His precious wisdom's pearls.
He points out how it should be and what you're doing wrong,
Elaborating on each fault,
It's like a kind of song.
He'll sing it to the very end, though end I've never heard.
When you explode and tell him off,
He thinks you quite absurd.
It's hard to be above it all, you feel so all alone.
They say good looks are but skin deep,
But Dumb Goes To The Bone.
Judy Ball
Thinking it's up to you to point out everyone's faults or what's wrong with the world today is going to drive people in the other direction when they see you coming.
Look, we know
The silent screams of yesterday moan on
Between the quiet dances with
Some random God Queen.
All days are like this.
All dogs love this.
Here it is:
Straight from the center of Heartbreak America.
The undulating weirdness that is all and
Our unifying impulse to label all of the "is all."
While yesterday hurls invectives,
Future gently nudges with a
Presumptive smile,
A scheming brain.
Now beat it. Just beat it.
Be there for your microwave.
Avoid going insane.
Take heart this is your only life
With this inexcusable amount of strife.
Monkey chant and fake fraternity front
Brandished on the grand soccer stage
Rush Russian bear invectives to decant
Insanity and indignity rolled into ribald rage.
Monkey chant and plastic smile politics grow blunter
In post-Soviet soccer stadia. Russian bears under the aegis of cosmopolitanism
Cultivate a bilateral and multilateral blunder
In a soccer show that rings and springs up hollow hooliganism.
Monkey chant voiced in soccer stadia
Embarrasses the beautiful ball with blue eyes
Brown eyes regardless of the putrid propaganda mass media
Propagate to unbind spectators in sub-human sties.
Monkey chant is a shame on humanity’s shoulders
On which human faces united by soccer cry
For opportunities to brush and stash aside blunder boulders
That obstacles and debacles of racism and recidivism multiply.
Storms are brazen, often rude,
Lighting the sky with invectives
Of white-blue light terrible.
The rains carp the submissive
Ground wearing it so slowly
Down into curves, mud.
The thunder stomps through
Heaven’s empty rooms above.
It knows the children tremble
Beneath, conjuring punishments
Through tall silken crowns
Where venomous rodents erupt.
In boredom, the storm sulks
Away.
In time,
The rodents and children trade places.