Best Malingering Poems
I THINK THEREFORE I AM
"An ounce of hypocrisy is worth
a pound of ambition" --Michael Korda
Liberty...
This everyone's want--
stretching an autonomy to unbuckle self-discovery
I got mites and bugs living in my head--
infesting my mind. They... daring a chance
to worm my guts and electrify my peace.
They adulterate seeking ways to emerge
from claws of doubts to grains of trust.
My veil of grace they bite and bite
devouring me 'til I set to pursue my act.
Should I repulse...
then spread my wings to fly?
or should I be a little puppet--
controlled, slave to strings attached to me?
or I'd rather choose a mask--
my gamble to earn sympathy or popularity;
my weapon sheltering my luck;
my fall or my win?
Cogito ergo sum.
I think, therefore I am.
The mites and bugs in my skull blown
from shocks infused by my firing drive.
My cavalry of Modesty, brave to rise
face the furnace of battlegrounds.
Insincerity. Malingering. Pretension
are artillaries luring hypocrisy
but love, honesty and bravery:
the bombs I defy to conquer the trades.
If God is with me, who can be against me?
Standing like a Molave
rooted evergreen, ever strong.
My face bulletproof
to those who I believe wrong.
A standing soldier ready to offer her life
to fraud and tyranny.
I refuse to be fed on standing lies.
The harpoons of verity, I battling dart,
raining towards the barbaric boxes as they...
They are my lioness roar, my freedom and my soar
piercing the pumping heart of those who eat innocence,
I... dauntless!
_________________________________________________
** I think therefore I am is said by Rene Descartes
Romans 8:31-- If God is with us, who can be against us?
O. E. Guillermo
10:43 pm, April 18, 2015
Her luxurious penthouse
is like a cocoon with plenty of pretty distractions,
so she keeps her door firmly closed,
because she prefers fantasy
over the handicap of reality.
Afraid of light,
her malingering mind,
keeps her hidden inside.
To shield her from the sun,
she won't open the curtains,
as she thinks it's certain,
her mechanisms may melt.
Shyness is her veiled excuse
to separate her from society,
But it's the anxiety, anxiety, anxiety!
Preferring to be an option,
rather than a priority
her caution from socialising,
breeds from the alarm bells,
set from abandonment,
betrayal and manipulation.
Trust is her terrorist.
People hunt like packs of wolves,
devouring her mind like a candy snack.
Fears of her heart are like an aeroplane,
shaking from a turbulent storm,
with her hopes forever crashing.
Trying to forget in a flash of courage,
she takes one step towards the door,
but the noises in her head become louder,
and Louder and LOUDER!!!!
repeating, Repeating, REPEATING!
Violent vibrations induce vertigo,
silent screams screw with her sanity,
struggling to breathe, feeling like
air is being sucked out of her lungs,
she vomits, collapsing to the floor.
Nothing can take off the 'edge',
the therapists do not work.
There she remains in her internal prison,
away from her eternal nightmares.
Safe in her sanctuary,
from engagement with stranger's eyes.
Like a chocolate bar
in her shiny wrapper,
that looks so sweet
but feels so darkly bitter.
It amuses me when people ask
“How are you?”
Fortunately for us both
They never ask
“Who are you?”
For that answer relies upon a deep dive
Into the hollows of a heart
The scorched remains of a soul
A lonely walk
Through the darkness of youth
The crumbled “joy” of innocence
The malingering residue of defeat.
Do not ask who I am
Just leave me to further become
The residue of resurrection’s raw madness
The only ounce of energy I'll be expending today
is having picked up a pen to scrawl these lines...
"I have declared this to be Dolce Far Niente Day."
Enjoying the sweet life, doing nothing by design.
I'll be spending time as I desire lazing in a chaise,
pretending I'm vacationing in the hills of Tuscany
whose orchards are heavy with grapes I must praise
for the mellow flavor of the fine wine offered me.
I will indulge myself enjoying their sweet bouquet,
malingering while listening to Chopin's Polonaise.
It's my intent to hold an annual Dole Far Niente Day
and have it last 'til stars ignite the night sky ablaze.
I will enjoy pampering myself with nothing more to do
but gaze on the clear blue waters of the Ligurian Sea.
Nothing will be hampering my idle nor twist it askew,
for I'll pay no heed to misgivings while in this reverie.
No more writing for I've taken good measure this day.
Pool waters are calling me, where I'll float peacefully
as twilight darkens. I'll take pleasure as I gently sway
in a hammock, content to stare at the moon dreamily.
My name is John--the work horse
And I was teamed with Prince.
We could easily do a job at which
An Arabian horse would flinch.
Prince's work is over now.
He's buried in the pasture.
I am too old to work so hard,
According to my kind master.
He tells me I must take my ease
And to just enjoy my leisure,
That he is going to retire
And be a lazy old geezer.
But he still drives the plow team
And I just follow after.
I try to mind his gees and haws.
He doubles up with laughter.
When he keeps his promise to retire,
I will stop working too.
We'll spend our time malingering
Beneath the skies of blue
Written Feb. 29, 2016
PTSD, this is nothing that's new,
it's just a new label to stick on you
They now blame it on the wars today,
unless for your trauma they have to pay.
Then all of a sudden, it changes it's name,
and you are accused of the malingering game.
So you lost an eye, arm or a leg or two,
that's happened for years, it's nothing new.
No one over the years ever tried to explain,
when you scream and shout they say your insane.
You could fight and yell until you were numb,
then they hid you away in the insane asylum.
Now in the 21st century, they start to see,
that your moaning and griping is reality.
Your suffering can't be swept under the mat,
too many now shouting, we deserve better than that.
We were beaten, spit on, blown up and abused,
why should we take this, we're not the accused.
We did our duty as we were ordered to on the day,
now all we ask for is a sense of fair play.
Years ago when into a corner we would flee,
from years of molestation and depravity.
Whether your a child or have already grown old,
you have a story that needs to be told,
If your in authority listen to me please.
This pain hidden inside is not a disease
© Dave Timperley 19 August 2016
PAIN I DISDAIN MADE PLAIN
Upon a road of crooked adventure ventured I
With my words flowing from the forest to the naked plain
Two statesmen and one stately lady censured I
Claiming, perhaps correctly, that I was inane
Upon a street that wound around a town I wound
I had little in my pockets and even less of a chance
Ties had me bound while unaware to where I was bound
Tied to tumult and shackled to a circuitous circumstance
I chose to meander down a meandering lane
While my muscles made their misery very well known
Too many people claimed I complained about a malingering pain
But my aches were actual down to the very last bone
On a rambling road I rambled down a wretched road
While describing in detail my detrimental disdain
No one carried me but I carried a heavy load
While those people maintained that I must be insane
I was strolling down some high rolling hills
Whereupon three strangers accused me of commanding them toward crime
I forced no one to do anything since I believe that cajoling kills
Besides the fact that I had neither the inclination nor the time
These people made their pertinent predictions perfectly plain
I didn’t ask them nor did I need to know why
They vowed I’d grow more insane from years of the pretense of pain
But they’re all very wrong since I have only one year till I die
© 2013 copyright PHREEPOETREE….~.free cee!~
I catch myself with thoughts of us
standing by the shore
Feeling so content with life
and never wanting more
Battles of our former lives
grow distantly behind
With gentle waves
of tranquil peace
as all that's left to find
I look into those crystal eyes
of tropic ocean blue
Finding myself thankful
I could have this time with you
Then you smile as if you know
exactly how I'm feeling
Seems as though I just can't hide
the words I've been concealing
When you reach your hand for mine
in such a tender way
Soon our fingers intertwine
as if they're there to stay
Slowly you lean in to me
and sweetly beg a kiss
Then we share a moment
I would rather die than miss
With lips so soft we gently touch
and I can't help but smile
Every tear I've cried to here
It's made it all worth while
Floating on the ocean breeze
we linger in the feeling
Sensing how the magic
licks the wounds that we've been healing
Then we begin to walk along
malingering around
Feeling sand between our toes
and ten feet off the ground
Soon the time will bring about
the setting of the sun
When we begin an evening
where the Sparks have just begun
Watching how the firelight
glows dancing in your eyes
'neath the twinkling stars
across our moonlit tropic skies
As if a spell were slowly cast
that ended in surrender
Our evening would be spent
enjoying all of passions splendor
I lay awake and think about us
laying on the shore
Tangled in each others arms
and never wanting more
Should my tropic fantasy
soon be a dream come true
I'll know your love was real for me
as mine was real for you
-Jeannie Minor
Beautiful Eyes
Yin and yang had resolved the conundrum of diametrically opposed promises
No longer one sided her receiving end glimpsed into the barrel of a shiny gun
Far from being a passive shooting star only her lop side held the heavy metal
One hand gently stroking the trigger the other one where the third eye would be
Was it her divisions that started the apocalypse of that pleasant oracle of intent
Or civil unrest’s cacophony transcribed by all the screaming voices in her head
How hollow are spiral’s suggestions when everything points one way only
It is only hysteria her usual neurotic malingering perpetual self harming way
But when kaleidoscopes of irresistible chaos painted holograms in her mind
She resolved third eyes were just metaphors and confusion the basis for change
2017
The wondrous sea captivates my soul
as I sit beneath the malingering palms
I can close my eyes
and dine on imaginations from its offered sounds
I can listen quietly to the soft throb of the waves
as they rush to shore
changing from dark blue to light blue to white
before vanishing in the sands of the shore
along a red thin line on the horizon
a sailboat slowly moves
the sails are pushed by the wind toward the sunset
pelicans glide in the distance
between voluminous clouds of white and gray
then fall like spears into the sea
seagulls arrive like thieves to steal fish
their squeaky sound belies the struggle for life
between the hunter and the hunted
the scent of salt air fills my attention
with every breath I take
I look out at the sea's great expanse
and have a sense of smallness
filled with wonder
the power of all this I feel deeply
my soul touches time and space
in a union of serenity
from the sea's immeasurable beauty
4/7/23 Writing Challenge "S" Words
sponsor Constance La France
"SEA"
The insurrectionists of January 6 are NOT patriots!
They are criminals of the lowest amoeba-types
Most patriots were at work improving the G.N.P.
Not carousing and malingering to air their gripes.
Can you imagine an American president colluding,
Encouraging rabble-rousers to storm the Capitol,
Giving tacit approval to hanging his vice-president?
In my opinion, his behavior was clearly lunatical!
And, he is still clamoring for the nation’s attention
Bloviating far and wide, spouting despicable lies,
I’m flabbergasted that so many are on his team
Celebrating and cheering on our nation’s demise.
A long-time presidential aficionado, I hasten to say,
That Donald Trump’s picture among our presidents
Is utterly disgraceful, a travesty of the worst kind,
He should be prosecuted to law's fullest extents.
Written July 30, 2022
Haywire ghetto, lingering corpses, malingering sunshine,
Malignant malediction, staccato with disseminating stench,
Portending: ichor, insipid blood and wenches.
Juxtaposition of aphotic with aphotic; incognizant iniquity.
Noxious oxygen, attenuated jasper, jejune jardiniere:
Zion.
Smoke: implicative cornice,
Sherry or vitriol?
Ours, a world, that feigns polo in alcohol!!
-Pin Dew (30/04/2017)
My ego is a crippled creature,
A monstrous malingering monger of misery,
Shriveled, decrepit, it sits hunched between my heart and stomach,
A squat grey toad with bulbous dispirited eyes
Ugly, riddled with the cankerous sores of self loathing
It governs me,
Assuming its dominion with a cruel unwavering ferocity,
Subtle, insidious, it sends out its tendrils of crushing contempt
Coiling them about my heart and mind until they can scarcely breathe
Cutting off the sunlight, cooling the blood that flows skittishly in my veins
Convincing me of my worthlessness,
Reminding me,
Over and over and over,
How ugly I am, how pathetic
It jeers at me with those wet dark eyes,
A gaping crimson slash of a mouth opening to spill poisonous cruelty
‘How dare you think you are worth anything?’
‘How dare you presume anyone could love you?’
‘How dare you impose yourself on those higher beings – your loved ones?’
Rebuffed, reproached, reviled, I heed the mocking hisses
And shrink away,
Imploding, collapsing into myself, like an unwanted building crumbling to the ground
In a cloud of dust and decay
I begin to walk with hunched shoulders,
To keep my eyes riveted on the ground beneath my feet,
To recoil from eye contact as if it could burn my fragile retinas,
And all the time my ungainly awkward footsteps beat a rhythmic tattoo –
‘You’re worthless, you’re worthless, you’re worthless…’
Rigors of weary battle long abated
The haze and smoke linger; the
fallen obfuscated
Ignominiously deposited; in death's
unseemly clutches graded
Gradually emanating from the
debacles' debris taut, ghastly forms
emaciated
Battle's residual fodder on spent
ground masqueraded
With the accoutrement's of nature
and nurture now attenuated
Unrequited carcases posthumously
paraded
Only the malingering sun palls the
hulls now jaded
At dusk, dark shadows girdle the
remnants of slaughter dated
Anon, with the eery sounds of
bewitching night serenaded
Death's awning a patchwork of
gleaming stars cascaded
By bleary, mortal shadows in
quilted tents shaded
Waiting for morn's truce, their valor
with honor to be equated
What God(?) is this
That walks warmly alongside death
A malingering menace
Feasting on the pain of life’s limitations
A sadist, reveling in life’s clinging pain
Supping on the angst of agony’s doubts
Holding trembling hands
Promising nothing.
Who’s God(?) is this
Erasing the lines of life’s lunacy
Denying the agony of love’s departure
Reveling in the emptiness of alone
Offering no choice but death’s mystery.
What god?
I ask with venomed breath
Would slay youth
Extend a lifeless life
Of endless need
Prolong the hollow need
Of a God(?)
Who walks warmly alongside death.