Best Miasma Poems
Miasma Ripening
by Odin Roark
The chaff of greed
Feeds the consumer-compost,
While urban disquietude
Marches in lockstep.
Decomposition rages…
Choked roads of sunbaked gridlock,
Spider web into house upon house,
Creating cubic-waste upon cubic-waste,
Richer,
Poorer,
Fancier,
Shittier.
Drive by Reality…
Poor eye the rich,
Rich eye endless wants,
Avarice-bloated ticks of debt
Cruise side by side,
Beamers in the middle lanes,
Teslas in the fast lanes,
Phony nails,
Phony tans,
Corporate coffee,
Frilly coffee,
Strip mall yoga,
Storefront Scientology,
Think it…
You can buy it.
“Parade” the operative word…
As flesh and blood window-mannequins
Masquerading as humans,
Bedeck themselves in ugly clothes,
Garish clothes,
Supplied by the ever-surging China.
Just as toxic denial continues,
So too the enslavement’s rising stench,
Its ripening enticement lingering,
Its seductive aftertaste addictive,
Oh, so addictive.
i've taken up drinking.
talking to a wall.
a wall of confusions.
delusions.
agitations.
in depth analyzation.
sadness.
the word
of the day
of blight.
smite?
a worldly
glorious
delight.
she sits
in one spot
gladly staring
into a face
a
face
a face
a face
a
face.
the face
with
eyes.
with mouth.
with mystery
with
with
depth
long gone.
wonders
what
it is like?
why not?
why so?
why anyway?
ever?
why.
because!
because!
the face replies
showing her
dismay
and assemblage
she thought she had,
but inferiority
takes over
like a raging
baboon
over her young.
her young.
their youth
the youth
of questions
and no answers
the youth of mirrors
the face
and
the ass
tonight
she too
like me
will take up drinking
away from
confused questions
questions not even
formulated.
a
blank.
a language vacation.
start with an
adjective
she ponders
an adjective
a simili of nouns
[auto correct
interjections
correcting her
created words.
the fascism!]
going over
the past before
the word
of written
words
a word?
a word.
!!!!! flee !!!!!!!!!
she flew
melted
into a word
Hazy transmission
the shadow of a tempest
sky erupts liquid
The world is a paradise,
a magnificent melange
of desert and forest,
ocean and mountain,
of birds in flight
amid cotton clouds
and symphonies of flowers
carpeting God's green earth.
But we are
the Outsiders,
WE are
the conflicted species,
never happy for long,
never done.
So we war with ourselves--
then...
we war with the other.
We deny
we wear the same coat,
share the same mind,
feel with the same heart.
We hate---
when loving is easier.
We are so blind yet
are sure we can see.
Our nature,
our ever so human nature,
is a miasma
we never seem to escape.
The miasma of Understanding
Been raining and the pale nature is green again like a new spring, but
it is a fake spring, in end of November winter will pale all living plants in
submission. There is o point sending poetry to anyone, till February,
when my almond tree blossoms and strews petals about in opposition,
thinking the winter has been occupying the stage too long. Last winter
snow fell and for a moment it was winter wonder land, old people said
they had not seen snow for forty five years the river runs yellow after
much rain on the upland and I think of a China’s main river and a rare
dolphin no one has seen for years. Rumours have it animal still exists.
This morning on the track a boar stood, the wind was against it, stood
still it sniffed the air; yeah the bloody animal is in need of good specs.
Standoff took time restless I moved and the fattish pig disappeared into
the undergrowth grunting as talking to itself. Often on my walk I take my
camera with me, but animals are shy, don’t like to have their photo taken,
except trees and thorny bushes that are vain preening and vying for my
attention, so in order not to offend them I take a few pictures and they
let me pass unmolested. Retrospection: my laziness has paid off I have
a charmed life no one expect and I can be forgotten in peace.
re-post inspired by a SO contest word
MIASMA
Inter
laced with love,
on the margins,each life
a gift from God,deserving of
respect
yet humanity
ebbing
restless,flowing
as the tide selecting
morals,claiming ethics do not
matter
such
self-love
catches us out
and cannot be contained;
overflows and spreads out beyond the
atoll.
Meet moments meek where wisdom whirls,
Yes start the flow of ample more.
Move what you seek in mystic swirl,
Etch thought that grows grand subtle store;
Now heed the cause with words that etch,
Think upon ways to master deep;
Aim for the course that frames bold stretch,
Live happy stay in healthy sleep.
Myriad the reach of joy and cheer,
Instruct the heart to know the truth;
Ask love to teach grand joy right here,
See thus true art where grace shows proof;
Make touch align fond poise that wins,
Ask for clear signs from depth unseen.
Leon Enriquez
23 September 2016
Singapore
Messy molten melt
Blazing burning belt
Miasma moving much
Fiery flaming fudge
Hurling hissing hot
Sudden sweeping shots
Deadly debris dance
Crusty crumbling chance
Leon Enriquez
07 September 2015
Singapore
Inter
laced with love,
on the margins,each life
a gift from God,deserving of
respect
yet humanity
ebbing
restless,flowing
as the tide selecting
morals,claiming ethics do not
matter
such
self-love
catches us out
and cannot be contained;
overflows and spreads out beyond the
atoll.
A student battling with Asthma
And vaporous Miasma
Wouldn't he pack up Charisma?
Soon, confront the sure dilemma
Of suspending his Diploma
Or sniffing Hard Work's aroma...
Espy I do Anathema,
Its picture clearest cinema:
A man from a great deal barred
And a future that might be marred...
Worse than malfunctional plasma
Bad Asthma plus Bad Miasma!
humanity
ebbing
restless,flowing
as the tide selecting
morals,claiming ethics do not
matter
such
self-love
catches us out
and cannot be contained;
overflows and spreads out beyond the
atoll.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
The lanes of Yew trees
in the Garden of Remembrance
cast long shadows
over the wilting wreaths of regret.
The miasma
of the colophons
inscribed
superseded by
the suppressed vignettes
at each service held.
Inter
laced with love,
on the margins,each life
a gift from God,deserving of
respect
yet humanity
ebbing
restless,flowing
as the tide selecting
morals,claiming ethics do not
matter
such
self-love
catches us out
and cannot be contained;
overflows and spreads out beyond the
atoll.
“How Long Will This Cryptic Miasma Endure ?”
Till the waking
the undisguised and undisclosed truth
will remain
the prisoner of our ineptitude
Till eyes have seen the reason for tears
till lips have tasted the motive for smiles
till we grasp the meaning
the secrets of living
not until then
my dear
Till we wake
and the new light will not shake our faith in the dark
when dawn sheds its ray and does not obliterate
our dreams
until we dance as we were meant to
through the gardens of our hearts
Till we see
my dear
with a vision that pierces our shadow
and reveals to us in its baneful fear
all the children we abandoned
waiting for us
there
Not until then
my dear
Lingering thick fog
drapes rainy dawn
with its alabaster blanket;
bright rays of sun
yet shines through.
Date posted: 07/31/2021