Best Malign Poems
Winter Wildflower
A billion snowflakes do collect upon a wasteland of neglect
The sky frigid no sun to reflect appears a dot lonely specked
A tear does fall melting snow as the speck staggers to grow
A wildflower starts to sough as the winter winds seek to blow
***
Amidst frozen fields lost in time, a wildflower begins her climb
Awaking beauty stretches sublime with petals strutting chime
Behold the wonder you see displaying love near a wounded tree
No one bothers with her plea standing around the white debris
***
Courage keeps her alive with recluse radiant colors to survive
With a calming chill, she will thrive awaiting the storms to arrive
And dreams now blurred that the fallacious frost has spurred
Her silent screams are heard carried by the malign mockingbird
***
Standing still before the dawn alone a wildflower winging spawn
Within her will, she must go on before slumbers of her next yawn
Secluded in her salient solitude she eagerly embarks to be renewed
Now a wildflower subdued all she wishes is to be virtuously viewed.
...dedicated to my Mom, May.16.1941~Oct.24.2017...and to all the Wildflowers here at the SoupBowl...they know who they are...
Oct.22.2018
SEASONAL OR UNSEASONAL Poetry
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
N/A for contest
Darkness descends,
And the destination lies far behind
God! Let the fire that burns in you eternal ,
Which is the only true fire,
Light up my eyes to perceive the right from the wrong,
The genuine from the sham.
I ask Thee, blaze my spirit with your fire
So that I get the prudence to escape the snares
Laid by wolves in lambs' clothing.
I ask Thee, the courage to dissent,
When forced to act out against my will.
The glitter of gold or the sceptre of power
Let them not dissuade me from my resolve.
I ask Thee, to grant me the fire,
So that I get the power to resist,
Justice denied, rights violated,
The weak exploited, the poor smothered,
The innocent accused and the guilty acquitted.
I await the true fire to ignite my whole being,
As the darkness of gloom envelops my spirit
Where fear like worms eat into my core.
I await the eternal fire to break into me,
To see myself bare and naked!
My cavernous interiors hide designs - malign.
How I put on appearances to suit my designs!
As I burn in the fires of worldly passions
Oh Lord, send the flames of your fire,
And with their tongues, swallow the darkness within.
March.6.2023
~ Placed Fifth
What Fire is Eternal Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Joe Maverick
I never enter every contest on soup
Sometimes sponsors can be very hard to please
Achieving first place is not always a breeze
Some don’t like me writing poems about poop
Yet every person is unique in our group
Some wonderful poets with great expertise
Writing different forms with consummate ease
To be skilled like them then I’d be cock a hoop
Yet people moan when they don’t get a high place
Think their poetry is much better than 'mine'
Tell the sponsors their judgment is a disgrace
It saddens me their feelings are so malign
Criticise until they are blue in the face
For each of us thinks our poems are divine
Written after reading Tommy Boy's recent blog
Jan Allison
N/A in contest judged on 20th November
Submitted to trashed #4
sponsored by Broken Wings
10~17~15
Italian Sonnet - Rhyme Scheme - abbaabba cdcdcd
you know some people talk out of their a$$
to fill inside some deep unspoken need
and so they try to make their gossip pass
to let the demons out and to be freed
I do not know who's spoken ill of you
why would they so malign an angel fair
they fling malicious words, I'm sure untrue
and now you've gone, there's not a poem there
I'm sad, I'm sad, I'm twisted deep inside
You gave to many here the chance to write
the gates of membership, you opened wide
and now your name is gone from on this site
To those who know not what they do or say
Your words, your deeds have pushed my friend away
Eileen Manassian
I'm very sad because a very dear friend of mine has deleted her account from this site. This women has handed out PMs and Life memberships as though they were candy. She's intelligent, smart, and beautiful, and I'm gutted to know that some people have been unkind to her. This is a sonnet slam, if such a thing exists. I have not been told who the people who have spoken unkindly are...but it isn't the first time it has happened. My friend is above and beyond pettiness...She left quietly...but this is me being upset.
Round and round the rumors go
As rumors often do
And each one adds a juicy bit
Of gossip about you
Reputations crumble down
And evil ones rejoice,
but I am lead to stop and think:
Is there a better choice?
When innuendos fly around
Do you take time to say?
“No need to add to pettiness
Let’s drive these words away?”
For I have learned this simple truth
The ones who must malign
Are sometimes those who suffer most
They’re sullied in the grime
In flinging dirt, you will get hurt
You will get dirty, too
So stop the rumors that go round
Let kindness shine on trough.
Eileen Manassian
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
The capacity of kindness,
the surplus of charity,
people give all,
without deficiency.
Sympathy without bias,
belief without bitterness,
inspire kindness.
Unity surrounded by disarray,
liberty contained by suppression,
charity begets unkindness,
some are led by oppression.
Moralizing harmony and kindness,
should come from the spirit of human shame,
Love and kindness do not come in class breeding.
A dog is not just for Christmas is a poor saying,
The loving thoughts eradicate kindness,
The mouth opens and speaks only of audacity.
follow,
the path of kindness,
don’t kid yourselves of being blameless,
you’re both destructive,
and malign.
Attractive lips,
Evolve,
by expressing,
Only,
words of kindness,
as language is honey,
Upon,
the lips.
A soul mate conceding all the loving-kindness;
Bestowing unto me tender leniency,
For all my transgressions.
A decent Christmas to secure,
The triumphant hope survives;
Children of God shall smile,
A little kindness changes live.
Friday 9th November 2018
A Little Kindness Never Hurts Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brenda Chiri
We see them sitting in towers
carved from ‘learned’ ivory,
insulated by their tenure
from the world of reality,
poisoning their students minds,
putting bad ideas in their heads,
the kind that in a century
left one hundred million souls dead.
They know they face no consequence,
they even blacklist all others,
it’s the students who pay the cost,
in the real world they all suffer
for imbibing leftist nonsense
that they learned at academy,
betrayed by malign professors,
by ‘elites’ who are not elite.
We see them strutting in Hollywood,
convinced that their fame is greatness,
they want us to watch ever film,
yet our values they dismiss.
Thinking they’re on the cutting edge,
and the we’re all just inbred proles,
they think that lying well on film
makes them the people in the know.
Yet most of them have more spouses
when most people have fingers,
all their rapes are upsetting,
the pedophilia disturbs.
Once called the city of angels,
now just a Sodom on the sea,
a mess of ruined human souls,
an ‘elite’ who are not elite.
Glance upon the creative scenes,
you’ll find many more of this kind,
like the ‘artist’ who wants thirty grand
for a spray-painted orange rind!
Or maybe the plotless writer
who calls it ‘literary fic,’
bad characters just moaning on
about how they’re damaged and sick.
Don’t forget today’s architect
with his swiss-cheese ‘masterpiece,’
it’s supposed to be a building,
nut I looks like concrete feces.
I wouldn’t take any of this
even if given out for free,
they’re making all art hideous,
these ‘elites’ who are not elite.
Then there are all of the blowhards
who make up the modern news,
thinking that you will only see
the things that they pick and choose.
When any man with internet
can see through their partisan crap,
and lord do they get all annoyed
when you call them out on that.
If they cannot win they censor
and double down on their madness,
the idea that they can’t control us
is one they cannot stomach yet.
Those fools will tell me it’s raining
while I walk down a sunny street,
it is far time we tear them down,
damned ‘elites’ who are not elite.
My pen bleeds
through ink veins
My pen tells
truth that stains
My pen kills
hopes and dreams
My pen swims
in malign streams
My pen ignites
flames at night
My pen explodes
like lethal dynamite
My pen swallows
anti-depressant pills
My pen displays
my poetic skills
My pen lives,
faint hearts cry
My pen dies,
so do I
Her seemingly happy dream was killed before it was born
Flabbergasted she is by the shattering response you have shown
You believed the stalker and left her with tears in the phone
I could never imagine that your heart is as hard as a stone
You listened to those rumours and lies, but couldn’t hear her heart tone
For you she is but a phoney, but without you she is dying alone
She became a recluse and in the sea of her tears she is thrown
She is shambling along in a tumult of agony. My heart, my heart she moans
And she is no longer the empress who was to wear the crown
She packed up her things; it’s her last day here. She is leaving the town
Leaving your memory forever;
Toward an unknown direction, without a compass she is wandering alone
Was that a real judgment, or it was just an excuse to let her down?
Ever thought about the pain you caused, to an innocent lady; who loves you alone?
I know you bear a grudge against her and without her you’re so fine.
You once vowed: ‘I’ll be there for you”, but the way u left her was so malign.
Best wishes of an effulgent future; with another one your life will surely shine.
In endless quest we sought seclusions peace
hiding in the mystery of a strength always thought weak
and so denied the hero the still of death’s parade
waved surrender’s handkerchiefs to fill his empty grave
relied upon the charity of victory’s feeble thrill
struggling to rise above fresh bloodied horror’s sound.
Relentlessly the ears decry the loneliness of empty sound
as furtive eyes no future seek in fear of war, in fear of peace,
the agony of their disgrace, the joy of living without thrill
they know they’re strong, they know they’re weak
for somehow evading battles grave
to march in fiction’s harsh parade.
Solemnly on hush of wind, wars ghosts, in shadow on parade
march to history’s retold lies, leave no footprints, make no sound
for they will not resign their fate to earthen shell of shallow grave
nor will they let it slip behind the fragile wall of unearned peace
returning to a world in which we are perceived as weak
malign them with contrived disdain, condemn their sacrifice as thrill.
Podiums will hail the cause, cheering crowds create a thrill,
rolling drums will precede taps, politicians will parade,
orators with fiery words that make us neither strong nor weak
echoing across dead ears jaundiced by the painful sound
of promises that never are the troubadours of peace
and fall, as soldiers fall, alone upon a grave.
Newsmen mumble, double talk, of situations grave
amusement parks entice us with a death defying thrill
fire crackers, waving flags, noise to celebrate a peace
heads will bow when passing by war’s endless parade
the young will even shed a tear at taps lamenting sound
grit their teeth and know that honor’s tears don’t make us weak.
For freedom is the resting place for the bravest of the weak
who stand in freedom’s honor when the threat is grave
and rally to defend her, to keep her promise sound
not seeking to be heroes, nor the deception of war’s thrill
just honoring the memory of those still on parade
knowing there’s no solace in seclusions peace.
At heart we know that all are weak, that war is not a thrill
that those who fill the graves are shadow soldiers on parade
that the melancholy trumpet sound is the exhaled breath of peace.
John G. Lawless
©6/19/2014
There is something about thy
Odor- almost infallibly refined
An awakening of the senses
A roasting of the oblivious mind
For never have I,
In feeling and thought combined,
Ever lusted for a complexity as such
Of a lover going blind
Even if night and morning
Were to intertwine-
With you I shall soar
Into the ages erstwhile
Sinking in thought
Of Theology implied
And the ages of yore
Of a primordial mankind
Observing the Mesopotamians
Worshiping in their shrines
And the Phoenician ships
Sailing through the Seas of Time
This all takes place
When near thy marvel I lie
Deem me insane
Deem my passion malign
When I claim that a cup of coffee
Is what all this is behind
Shame on those who malign the green bean casserole!
It gustatory delightfulness I shall e'er extol!
With 'fork in cheek' I'll take nonbelievers to task,
And their foibles and biases will strive to unmask!
Folks who disdain this dish ain't tellin' the truth.
Their culinary tastes are so pitifully uncouth!
I'd like to meet the feller who began this unsavory fable,
To ask why he destined it for such an untimely label!
At the church potluck dinner on fellership night,
There's always a green bean casserole to my delight!
A holiday repast with bountiful board just ain't complete,
Unless there's the inevitable green bean casserole to eat!
'Tis such a scrumptious dish, yet so easy to prepare.
Even I could whip up a batch, I really do declare!
Mix some beans, some onion thingys and mushroom soup,
And there you have it folks, all in one fell swoop!
Ere I flee this realm I aim to found as one of my goals,
"The Society For The Propagation Of Green Bean Casseroles!"
Upon my stone you may etch when I end this life's pursuit:
"Many were the green bean casseroles consumed by this galoot!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Brave New World
A 'world' it is and it spins around in mad circuits of loopy loops.
Has reached an infinite array of denominations in which foolish
insane clowns have taken over the asylum once more as bedlam
pretends liberation as the counterfeit currency of nauseating progress.
'New' I have my doubts though when fiddling with reconstruction
conjures novel aspirations from Holocaust to Hiroshima from pure
race unadulterated megalomania to narcissistic greed ‘all can be
done’ but the genie emerges from Huxley’s toxic bottle unrestrained.
'Brave' should pertain to courage when golden means and common
sense of virtue defaced by ugly grimaces facades mascara of tainted
moderation succumbs to mediocrity construed by disingenuous evil.
An aberration of jesters plotting naked feasts of blinded engineering.
Temptation is an ancient theme and just because we are capable to
plot our own demise does not preclude some hesitation or valid
inhibition as courage must incorporate the rationale. Not to follow in
wolf’s clothing a script of Faustian cloning just because we can.
Manipulation of chromosomes through twisted recombining helices
as a stairway to hell gave us Dolly the sheep. Another incarnation
braying ‘Give me body parts’ to harvest stem cells modified amino
acids like little devils on steroids and protein shakes of unpredictability.
The most cunning argument for creating whole new persons brought
to the fore the notion that if we the ‘good ones’ do not follow science
to create what evolution failed to build from nature’s garden and God’s
promise then the malign others surely will and consequently all is lost.
The mind boggles in the light of self-righteousness and the delusion
that refusal and resistance are signs of cowardice and the misconception
that two or numerous wrongs result in right and law when duty could
prevail as guardian for another world of sanity and accepting our limits.
The thought police and miscreant paradigms of Dolly’s dogma will surely
try to silence my opinion that courage has another merit than the scientific
infestation that my mind and brain needs to be cloned in order to restrain
my voice of caution but when I shout ‘enough’ at least my dignity remains.
There was an optician somewhat blind
Whose patients found him easy to malign.
So he gave rose-colored glasses
A move that calmed the masses.
Now his practice has become sublime.