Best Molesters Poems
It’s a sad situation, the state of this nation
of murderers, molesters, and thieves
I can’t help but wonder as we continue to plunder
at how we create our own grief.
We bully and batter, look out for the splatter
as we rob our own children of pride,
It’s no wonder our sons take up their guns
while we all sit back and ask why.
In this generation, of vain masturbation,
which can create its own self in a tube,
Each woman is master and can now choose to blast her
fetus right out of the womb.
Gender reversal is no longer controversial
(in fact it’s barely thought of as odd).
As men become women I find my head spinning
at man’s struggle to be his own god.
When possibilities ignited we just got so excited
about the fact that we could,
that perhaps we forgot to think whether or not,
as a civil society we should.
Somewhere in the thicket chirps our Jimminy Cricket,
hoping that someone will hear,
While we in the piety of civilized society
stand stoic with fingers in ear.
Make no mistake ‘bout the risk that we take
by not heeding ol’ Jimminy’s call.
Consider the thought that God you are not
and pride always precedes the fall.
No amount of political education
could quell his mingling organ they call ‘simple brain,’
while mutations from grammar association
to unravel civilization's complex pain.
His shield prepared against another man’s logic
a mind opened only to serve his needy soul,
he knows the whole wide world lost in pedagogic
actors all on strings portray their orthodox role.
Many years he stood in testament of this place
a visual creation of his ancestors,
deluge of emotion the wind of change did brace
where cultures collide to appease his molesters,
forced to greet one’s neighbour face to face in shackles
before moral bait preached from veiled tabernacles.
© Harry J Horsman 2019
PARTS AND COUNTERPARTS
scrawled on the blackboard jungle, a mural
of profanity – pronouncing women’s names,
their parts and counterparts. reality creeps
from the verminous city streets. the mundanity of
laying out private jewels as a juxtaposition,
where silk and careful hands of morality are much kinder
and richer. but humanity takes hold of a fair lady’s dress,
tearing it off, shredding the human form to pieces,
leaving it drowning, cut off, creating the volcanity of a whore.
of this insanity is born the fatality of our newborn, with
no need for formality. the brutality of drug dealers and
youth molesters pulls the innocents down into the sewers.
they sense, they know, something is not right, but their fingers
slip, their feet cannot grip the slimy pit that drags them down
down
down
no one hears their cries for help. smoke like fog swirls around
their sacrificial heads. their eyes bleed with blue breaths.
the inanity and anonymity of their broken lives unbearable.
the mentality of cobblestone above their shattered roof, flowing
with the vitality of gold, silver and diamond luxury. a boy, a girl
can hear the click of red heels, the laughter of freedom, just out of reach.
he screams, “no, come back!”
she screams, “someone hear my cries, before i die!”
urbanity, so at ease. no one sneeze. no address of poor kindling tied
to the monster’s altar, where malicious eyes and tongues squeeze out laughter.
1/23/2017
Silent One’s Word Challenge Contest
A time for golfing after the crime
Crime committed but do no time
American justice is that what you call it
When guilt is determined by the size of your wallet
The government doesn't care if it's not fair
As long as they get their fair share
If Capone had paid his taxes long ago
He would have been Mayor of Chicago
If you have the cash, judges sit in awe
And put your actions above the law
A push for gun control is really hot
So their friends, the criminals, won't get shot
Hail the defendant, put his name in lights
Deny the victim his civil rights
For child molesters we need to change course
I would recommend a vigilante force
We can't fix organized crime and that's a sin
It's our own fault because we voted them in
American justice will never be the best
Until we enforce the laws like they did in the Old West.
Let me tell you a story of my night journey;
After a hazardous trip from a far off state
With drooping spirits and waning energy
I alighted at the station to catch the night train
My heart besieged by memories of my home, left behind
Like a drop in the ocean
I quickly merged with the buzzing crowd
In the blinking light of platform lamps
I saw a huge crowd- the young and the old
With baggage heaped on baggage, patiently on wait
Time slouched on at snail’s pace….
At last hearing a long drawn whistle from far
I looked out and saw the train coming, snorting noisily
And halting with a screeching sound
The real ordeal begins as one lifts his suitcase
And pushes his way along with all strength,
Between bags and boxes and people,
And the porters running after you to carry the cargo
Finally I got into the train and occupied my seat among strangers
My mind plagued with fears of thieves and molesters
It was my first journey alone at night
I don’t know when I fell into a deep slumber
It was with the sound of * ‘chai…chai’ that I woke up
The inviting aroma of brewed tea entered my nostrils
At last I have reached my native soil!
I am heading home, every step and every inch
Drawing me closer and closer to my sweet haven
My heart began to pump quicker
I felt like a marooned mariner
Suddenly cast ashore by a rescue boat!
__________________________________
*‘Chai’is a local term in our language for tea !
April. 19. 2022
Form N- Narrative New Poetryy Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
Topic- Journey
I think that I will never see
A rule unbroken; disagree?
Traffic laws, command for games;
Making false insurance claims.
Ten commandments, trespass signs;
People cutting checkout lines.
Litterers and all molesters;
Scammers cheating lame investors.
Those who simply won’t comply;
Laws for them just don’t apply.
Rule creators can’t persuade
Some that rules should be obeyed.
He put his hands on a little baby
His thoughts and actions, total impurity
Does things that, to us, are so obscure
The kinds of things no one wants to hear.
His 9 year old son,
To his head- Dad holds a gun-
"Now you do as I say," trying to
convince the frightened boy,
"You'll like it, we're only going to play".
He has found his mark
Breaking into her home,
he planned to embark-
in the middle of night
the coward rapes her in the dark.
She is almost eighty
has always lived in love & safety
A happy life she has always lead
Until he beat her over the head
Spread his seed and disease
leaving her for dead, he simply fled.
Immediately thereafter,
He was caught,
his life now a disaster!
Behind bars they want him,
for "Some kinda social sin."
A sweet talking lawyer
convinced the jury he "had problems"
"No need for prison, sometime in a
Mental hospital"
"Conversion, not conviction."
"After all, most testimonies are
pure fiction."
This is the reality we, as a society,
face every single day.
Forget converting these freaks,
sexual predators - molesters
and child **** geeks.
I say fry 'em all
and let them know what it feels
like to be so helpless, so small.
A. Green
Trafficking
Safe, protected, free, just, wealthy.
"You're safe in America."
"Our government will protect you."
"We have the most just system in the world."
"America is the wealthiest nation."
Welcome to the United States,
where safety is police brutality against
our own citizens; where the food we
eat is pumped full of poison; where
our guns are taken from us to keep us
"safe", when the enemy is on the home front.
Welcome to the Land of the Brave,
where men and women lose their lives
over another nation's resource, even though we've
got the technology to keep them home; where
a man turning into a woman is more
important than hundreds dying in an earthquake.
Welcome to the Land of the Free,
where free will and creativity is
frowned upon and conformity is the
latest trend; where its citizen's opinions
go straight to the garbage while those
already in power continue making decisions.
Come on over to the USA,
where child molesters serve less time
in prison than those caught with a plant;
where you can be arrested simply because
your skin is a different tone; where a mother that
killed her child got away with a slap on the wrist.
Make a trip to the wealthiest nation,
where one percent of the population holds
every cent, while homelessness is at an
all time high; where religion means no
taxes, and it costs an entire years pay
just to afford a higher education.
Make your way to the Land of the Corrupt,
where the War on Terror is a scam,
and our nation's biggest tragedy was a planned attack;
where the poor are forced to pay taxes with
money they don't have, while the wealthy
gloat in flashy suits and Mercedes Benz.
Don't eat anymore out of their greedy hands.
Take your freedom back.
House our homeless.
Block out the media, it's an illusion.
Stop fighting for a country that wants you to die.
It's time to make a change.
To teach some virtue on broadband
To spread God's word from a bandstand
To require more clothes during a suntan
To eliminate lewd dances in lap-land
To take lust fanned and begin a ban
To fight child prostitution in Thailand
To remove molesters' favorite gland
To vanquish tears throughout the land
To banish lewd stories from the newsstand
To compel greedy people to disband
To stop cattle rustling in the rangeland
To remove abused plants from pusher's cropland
To not stick my head deep in the sand
To teach righteous living in my homeland
To stop mankind from sinking in sin's quick sand
Contemporary values are not God's plan.
© January 27, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
POETIC FORM: List with Monorhyme
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Contemporary
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
I'll tell you whats wrong with the world today, Everyone all caught up in texing facebook and all this here say.
People so busy with their lives and making money, Did you dumb asses forget why GOD put u here it isnt even funny.
Whether you believe in GOD or not were here for one thing, its about showing love not whose got the biggest bling.
GOD gave me one gift its called I keep it real, I'll call you out on your stuff and tell you how I feel.
Pick a topic any topic and I'll spit my ****, the only question is can you handle it.
If I had my way theirs a few things I would do, Get rid of the death penalty, change the drug laws, put child molesters on an island alone just to name a few.
People can change this I know, We all got love its in our SOUL.
Everyone has one,
yes my friend its true,
those deep dark secrets,
that make yourself YOU.
Skeletons in the closet,
call it what you will,
sooner or later that closet opens,
and those deep dark secrets reveal.
And when everythings out in the open,
how your life changes so,
all because my friend, those secrets,
are usually the lowest of low.
Child molesters and rapists,
are just an example of a few,
and who it is, is a mystery,
it could be me, or it could be you.
Now that I got your attention,
and you can't deny it for I know it's true,
all the sudden you recollect those secrets,
as you think of what that closet has kept hidden for you!
Raven stood in the foggy moon illuminated graveyard
searching for that one dirty grey tombstone.
The memories are still painful and hard;
Yet she lives! But not so alone.
Black crows pass above in the midnight sky,
and Raven becomes an necromancer.
The spirit tells her, "He wasn't ready to die,"
And he would like a few answers.
Painful as it is for Raven to respond,
she finds her voice and does so.
"I murdered you standing next to our fishing pond
for reasons you well know!"
The spirit gets angry screaming, "Why, why?!"
For he obviously don't know what he did.
Raven says, "Child molesters deserve to die!
Now you remember what your hands did to me as a kid?"
The pathetic spirit begins to quietly weep,
and shake beyond control.
Raven has no remorse for the emotional scars are deep;
And Raven has long ago forfeited her soul!!
Note: Wrote for A Rambling Poets contest "Among the Dead"
By Jimmy Anderson
How many times must a scripture be read to us?
So many ways they suck em in to follow and trust.
We're led to believe that heaven is made of gold.
I say heaven is without don't trust what they`ve sold.
The purest of hate, most evil is Wiccan turned catholic black in red.
The weak, the blind, the burning glazed in dread.
All sheep follow the next, like that life of a drone.
The simple mind cannot help itself if it`s left all alone.
The priest, the pope, the father's, and every single bishop.
A fact them fu*kers spread suffering, I've had enough.
No longer can I just sit and have faith in a holy religion.
There's one thing I know, and that`s they have never given...
A holy father, or a graceful joyous place.
My mind expansion is like that of cosmic outer space.
Misplaced every single person that I loved that has died.
I know cuz I've tried, and tried and have only cried.
Most times I was wretched in my life.
But I was awakened so I'd realize such strife.
How many fathers would kill their own son with such brutal torture just to be a God.
Surely you must find this interesting, wicked, and odd.
You should look harder when there's much more mayhem.
Why do you continually contribute and constantly pay him?
The same song for 7411 years.
Is so weird, as the sight of the Seer`s
How many times can the same story be the savior of man.
Every age span gives life the same fu*king hand.
I've been to the place of my real grace,
It is not what you think.
It took lots of time,
It tore the deepest of pain.
For me to vomit the master of the my insane.
Took it all in then realized my misguided path of destruction.
They perform black magic under these cathedrals of corruption.
It was me who was wrong to have been so disarrayed.
Where was your God each and every time a child or woman was betrayed.
By a church of child molesters and the torturous murders of women throughout it`s entire existence,
There`s an absence of god`s love and his power he displayed Egypt, no interjections like exodus with no interference nor his holy assistance .
empty hearted herself
she cozied up to me
offering the magic
of imagination
of stories in the moonlight
of dancing early in the morning
around the misty lake
it didn’t pay to argue
for logic was always on her side
she was always right
i was always wrong
except sometimes
she would shock me
when the worm threatened to turn-
she would acquiesce
gifting me with a rare compliment
i did know what i was talking about
i could sew a straight seam
i could create
until i expected it
then she would turn, herself
and accuse me of perversion
in my imagination
in my poems and stories
when i wrote about the simple beauty of a young girl
and a small boy talking to a magic tree
- i must be a ‘closet something’
and why did i write about child molesters?
i had to stop sending her my thoughts
my dreams
my wishes
she was talented at opening me up
making me ripe for the killer sting
which i prayed would not come
this time
in that, she was always right
and i was always wrong
to hope she would ever change
Yes the Catheolic's will have their day, so do the Protestent and the Baptish and also
the Christian's are all subject to see sad day's. Yes-yes happiness is an adjective de-
scribing a feeling that becomes seen on the faces of all that celebrate Christmas in
their own way. In their own way, face's tend to hide just what is going on in their lives
as pain or some tragedy has happen, and now all the commercialism of this particu-
lar day (Christmas) is more convind and the more serious picture is doctrinated in their
minds. Some mother's on this day may find it hard, a child is gone and somewhere even
walking thru the crowded malls, there's still an emptiness that the pagentry of the holi-
day's doesn't miss the heartache or a good gesture of kindness want replace.
The story tells us in our bible that he's the sacrificial lamb of life that shall die for the
sinner's you and I and even the great new's of the Messiah, born in Bethlehem can not
stop the flow of tears when the Catheolic's, Protestent, Baptish and all the many different
religious folks realize they had killed the son of God. "Sad day's of Christmas, Jesus you
are that gift that bring's gladness of everlasting to the real reason this mad-mad world of
envious and child-molesters and all kinds of truculent people's that have turn your birth-
day to a day that they tried to implicate into the wicketness of their own sickness". So
Mom's and Dad's this Christmas season if for whatever reason you are sad this day, rem-
ember Jesus loves you and from the richness of Heaven did he come, he comes to reunite
from the seperation. Mankind he tells-us, "I am the truth and the light, no man can come
to the father, less he come through Me". With every tear-drop there is prayer, and with
every sad moment, he's the atonement of joy and with hug's and kisses, "he is the Lamb
of Gladness!!".