Best Miasmic Poems

I dream poetry;
I breathe poetry, for poetry 
calls your name, feeling your 
inerrant essentia—
your soul bleeds into mine—
a collision of cosmos, 
diffused magnetically, once 
a...

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A marionette to the mind,
Whispering fading schematics,
Deluging the heart and soul, in a 
Juxtaposition of good and evil, 
Betwixt Heaven and hell, amidst
Snowdrifts that swirl...

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IT REEKS ANEW
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS


When a Cow Defecates Onto the Grazing Field
There Is a Stench, That All Miasmic Odors Yield
But Given Some Time the Weathering...

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An opened fifth of hangovers
rests beside his dried driveled arm
(drug used by underachievers.)
Out cold, head resting on forearm
Unconscious in a dreamless world,
a portal often frequented:
an...

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When summer pierces earth and dying root,
And winds, the golden-honeyed flowers sweep,
And liquor rays bathe every bud and shoot,
Newly awakened from the depths of sleep,
When...

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THE SENTINEL
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS

					

I took the elevator to the lobby of the small hotel
I’d been here six days the ennui was starting to tell
I’d been...

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Calypso red dressed in dawn’s vague morning mist
Splendor painted behind the miasmic curtain
An enigmatic temptation dripping of murk and shadow
A delicately cruel mélange lost within...

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Burgeon within her grace
For soon your eyes shall open
To the wondrous truth abounding
For you now hold the key
In mourning we stand bewildered
How can we truly...

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Timidity pronounced them timorous,
Stout hearted glanced askance on their lot,
Scare of fear chagrined their visage,
Gladiators belittled their blushes,
As they sunk deeper into quagmire of luxuries,
They...

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Emotion is the designer of dream 
Search for the meaning of feeling is futile 
As they mingle totally in my twilight time   
My...

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SPIN MASTERS SPINNING AWAY THE DAY
Every moment
I turn on the TV
What do I see
Nothing but liars laying down lies
Spin Masters spinning spam of deceit
 
Chanting
The...

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The dimmest portion
Of a brighter light be I
Trapped in a miasmic
Cloud of misconceptions...

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miasmic,


alighting the foul bourgeois powers that be


bounce like carrion crows


on the prone corpse 


of the bled world....

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IT'S NOT TOO LATE

God gave me a blank diary, its pages numbered,
and in the hand of destiny a pencil for my take
when I came in...

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A dolorous mournful miasmic hue,
colors all of my closing days blue, 
sweetness of days gone, 
that can't be retrieved, 
has me missing those souls 
whose...

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