Best Moldy Poems
Under Moldy Soil, Red Moon Overhead
Under moldy soil, red moon overhead
lay millions of corpses, wars wasted dead
No bands playing, no sweet angels singing
only ghostly echoes, slowly ringing.
Cools winds blowing across such resting grounds
on dark nights, ghost-whispers its only sounds
Low moans, raging regrets of battle cries
rebukes of those that sold such deadly lies.
Sixth of June, sands give up soft wailing pleas
from beach desert devoid of any trees
Earth laced with spent cartridges , red blood and lead
painful memories, of that war's lost dead.
Under moldy soil, red moon overhead
how we may wish that peace had ruled instead.
R.J. Lindley
June 7th, 1976
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 102
Old Note- War is a necessary evil because mankind needs blood letting to soothe its savage soul.
And thus, is far too often a necessary reaction that insures the survival for the party that is first attacked.
New Notes-
1. SLIGHTLY EDITED TODAY TO MEET TEN SYLLABLE COUNT ONLY.
2. Mankind can not give up making war until it can purge ALL evil from its mortal soul!
Only one way to do that exists..
3. I want to thank the poet that suggested that I go ahead and share this poem from my private writes.
As it deserves to be read, I now agree with you my good friend..
Pungent scent plays on the breeze ~ what a stink!
One I think, makes me sneeze
Gagging with each breath, I wheeze
Because of that moldy cheese!
The cloak closet was fairly clean
A brief dust would do it
Then pouring rain set in two days
Leaving white walls unfit
Now the closet isn't sparkling clean
From those down stream's dribbles
On the clean outside all looks well
Inside black ink scribbles
A hard untidy job ahead
Removing the contents
A stinky, stressful employment
Arduousness presents
All purpose cleaner in strong hands
Spray, scrub to beat the band
Unsuccessful accomplishment
Step back, look, the job scanned
Momma said soap and water cleaned
Anything but the soul
But when cleaning problem items
Doubt settles, loose control
Then within my spirit a voice
Bubbles a joyful toll
Just say a prayer for cleansing
And He will make one whole
Finis'
How many times have you wanted a sandwich?
So, you went to go get your bread
And you saw that nasty green fuzzy stuff
Growing like the hair on your head
There's nothing in the world like moldy bread
It can really kill an appetite
They say, that's how they make penicillin
But that still don't make it right
It looks like an anchovie but only greener
They're both pretty nasty to me
And, sometimes, when it's late at night
You take a bite before you see
Now, you've got a furry tongue
With no place to spit it out
So you're running around like a mad man
And flapping your arms all about
Did I mention there's nothing like moldy bread?
Just to think about it makes me sick
I might even need a shot of penicillin
So, I guess I'll give my bread a lick
Moldy feet of clay
Wearing smelly moldy feet of clay,
as purity walks slow away,
the attraction of the pity curse,
a lady solves the verse,
but is she here to play?
Unsent bewitched beguiled I say,
a bird transfixed by serpent gaze,
struggles weakly in the haze,
something in her mind has clicked.
Heart beats fast restricts,
does logic have its say?
A bird in fight she comes about,
in thought the treasures of the doubt,
to test the water hey,
flushed of face she closer comes,
lost in the eyes, is he the one?
Muttering its ok,
surrender rights are done...
Don Johnson
Traveling through all the portals in my head
all as one is one nothing left to do one
unlimited kingdom mosaic of **** and corpses
how many lives contaminated?
How many spiraled out to crash into fate
Oblivious to the actual addicted to appearance
Kingdoms atop kingdoms ageless unfolding of
the universe where lost artifacts burn with
the flow of blood dawn of all that hungry history
awakening continuously this violent
rememembering how to unravel this age of
impossible dispensers this body detoxified
cleansed of the poisoned dust that grows at the
the limits of the slow creeping carnage of the everyday
masquerade
“THE RATS DISAPPEAR WHEN THE
CHEESE IS MOLDY”
Bukowski said:
"If you want to know
who your friends are,
get yourself a jail
sentence."
today I got out of jail,
no one knows me.
today I got out of jail,
everyone's phone is busy.
today I got out of jail,
no one returns a text.
today I got out of jail,
no one's listened.
today I got out of jail
and I lost my mind...
everyone was too busy
to come and see me.
today I got out of jail
and saw where everyone
stood...
it is not near me.
I could count on one hand
those who knew me,
those who answered calls,
those who returned texts,
those who listened,
those who dropped
everything to come and tell
me it would be alright.
today I got out of jail
and I learned who was
who.
Bukowski said:
"If you want to know
who your friends are,
get yourself a jail
sentence."
today my sentence was up
and I learned my greatest
imprisonment.
By: Chicano Eddie
7-11-2016
Out of a moldy cavern I step into the afternoon sun’s radiant warmth
All around me pounds the pulse of life,
yet, among this crowd of my peers,
no other soul feels the Dharma nature. Still,
in their words, their movements, their expressions,
their sighs, their laughs, their struggles, the Dharma
preaches itself to me. Now I walk
straight forward through this cacophony,
slower than ever, no eye contact, deliberate through life,
knowing well I was on the point of epiphany.
There! A forest path reveals itself!
Upon it one lonely soul shoulders the
burden of his backpack as he plods his way home.
Oh, to forge every dull routine of life
into a miraculous, marvelous moment
is to put and end to your rebirths
and drink forever from the Fountain of Youth!