Best Monstrosities Poems
BEING HUMAN BEINGS
Some people are evil.
Maliciously.
Some people create drama. Monstrosities..
Some people have ulterior motives. Intentionally.
Some people have remorse.
An apology.
Some people have profound words. Poetically.
Some people are tree huggers.
Organically.
Some people have no common sense. Stupidity.
Some people are real religious.
Spiritually.
Some people are inmature.
Mentalities.
Some people die in crashes.
Fatalities.
Some people are ignorant.
Their just to blind to see.
Some people have a sixth sense.
Let's call it telepathically.
Some people feel sorrow for others.
Some would call that Sympathy.
But when people understand sorrow for others.
It becomes empathy.
Some people are real chill. We'll say Copacetically.
Some people are plain fake. AKA...Artificially.
Some people are solid.
Its called Solidarity.
Some people are single.
Its called singularity.
Some people take their last breath.
They are put in a cemetary.
Some people save their breath and never speak.
Monastery.
Some people are tone deaf.
They have No melody.
Some people dress real risque.
In other words quite provocatively.
Some people rise above the rest. That's what i call Quintessentially.
BUT......ALL.... PEOPLE....
Should love.
Unconditionally.
Demonstrate peace.
Peacefully.
Work.
Systematically.
Live.
Longevity.
Laugh.
Uncontrollably.
Respect others.
Diplomatically.
Throw away the hate.
Practice racial equality.
If We do all those things,
then the world we live in,
could be in,
perfect harmony.
She clipped her faerie wings,
those gossamer monstrosities,
or so she was told by her "friends"
who said she never would fit in
with the everyday community.
She clipped her faerie wings
and cried because it would define her
as an ordinary creature,
no longer wondrous and magnificent
nor magical nor special.
She clipped her faerie wings
and wished she could undo it
for no amount of paring
could turn her into common folk
and something not contrary.
Dedicated to those that live in a railroad town.
Moving metal monstrosities
Speed along rusty, rhythmic rails
freighting needed necessities
onward, toward forthcoming sales.
Its cacophonous, blaring horn
Sounding each town intersection
with intolerable forewarned
early morning interruptions:
Two long, one short, one long, racket.
Please locomotive engineer
shorten your intervals a bit
so those of us who live anear
can get a good nights sleep; instead
of noises that startle the dead.
Beautiful scenery, rolling hills with craggy cliffs adorned with winter scrub clinging to impossible places. Narrow winding roads, leading somewhere, maybe nowhere, finding out when we get there. Rounding a bend just enjoying the scene, finding an eyesore almost obscene. In the ground in front, towering high a plague of of wind turbines I did espy.Not the Quixotic or Dutch that are nice. These huge monstrosities seem to crowd the very sky, killing birds by the score with their whirling wings. The race is on to harness the wind for soon the earth will cease to give up its treasure just so we can enjoy our leisure. Here rivers do not flow for most of the year and our island needs power but not nuclear. So the turbines have come to march over the mountains like a white army of whirling dervishers that sadly will be the future, unless they can harness the suns free power much better.Time and nature will tell, if only we let her.
People think plants are not violent
This is where I will tend to disagree
Have you ever seen a vine strangle a tree?
What about when a fly is devoured by the Venus?
When the weeds clog the yard with such immensity that drains every nearby plant?
Sure you have
Therefore you have witnessed the hard-wired DNA principle
To survive
Regardless of species
The predation and the prey
All within the concept that.....
Celery somehow made it to dominance in a seemingly peaceful fashion
Yet deceptively, as stoic as this ... Celery... seems
It most certainly practices a turgid diplomacy of violence
Showing its importance as
An invaluable part of classic broth
A team player in regards to fiber
And
Let's never forget the partnership with peanut butter
So it began
Celery was allowed into the favored gardens of the chosen vegetables
Walled away from the thorny, thick monstrosities that grew unattended
On the other side of the gate
Shedding their pollen without the slightest of apologies
But none of this was a concern for Celery
As Celery grew strong, robust and prolific
Soon it was apparent Celery had larger dreams than walled-off gardens
It was time for world domination
It was time to run the competitors unto the topsoil
Celery's surrounding mother roots went deep and everywhere within the soil
This unquenchable thirst caused
Many neighboring plants to become so stifled
A massive plant exodus occurred
Creating even more harsh turf conditions
This was compounded with the
Many casualties from plant-like warfare
Yet, one may ask
Did Celery show mercy and a vegetative state upon its face
No (and yes)
The roots took over and drained the essence from every beet, scallion and basil
In proximity
While simultaneously and
Ravenously soaking in every bit of energy needed for
Survival
Even at the cost of Celery's family and friends
So
Given this veracious tale
Do you still believe plants are not violent?
I swim in the murky waters, diving deep, nails claw mud. Lowly, I may be bowing, but I am not drowning. No, I am not beat, the struggle is not defeat. My toes dig into the earth, to feel the tangible for what it?s worth. Eyes search to find light, struggling not losing the fight. Head lifted, I seek the sky. Let this stifled soul fly. The gray clouds follow me, blinding me, I cannot see. Living with the acrid smell of my own stale air. Life may be a gift, but it?s not always fair. Looking to God, I break through the bolted door, caught between Heaven and Hell, feet planted firmly on the floor. When did I forget to live, to feel the sun upon my face? When did I decide to hide from the human race? Strokes of times clenched in fear. I wonder if the end is near. Renew my faith, Lord. I know I am not beat! The struggle is never defeat. I swim upon the murky waters, I fight the bondage of chains, I struggle with a net that was set by the unknown. I beseech heavenly Father on divine throne, Will my words of despair reach his invisible ear? Till I am set free this pain I must bare, The Holy Scripture says have no fear, but that becomes difficult when the many monstrosities appear. It also said to gear thy self with prayer which can move mountains and withdrawal the darkest cloud, but still the gray clouds follow me a darkness swallows me, it seems to devour me. The Lord is my shield and buckler so nothing can overpower me. I will not run cowardly. If the gray clouds still follow me, I'll deploy my umbrella rain boots and a poncho it can continue to rain as long as the Lord keeps me dry...
Collaboration by:Elliott Bowe ThE DrUnKeN PoEt & Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
‘ Monsters, Among Us … ’
Scatter The Creeping Vapor-Stench, Away
Expose The Wake of Eerie, Fog and Shadows
And Nightshade and Fiends, and Vile-Beasts That Bay
Begone, to Taboo, Grounds, Unhallowed …
… for there Are Monsters, Among Us …
Yea, Also An Ancient Curse
We Don’t have To Make This Up …
… to Make It Any Worse …
Yea, There Are Blood Suckers, Self-Styled, Vampires ( Vlad, The Impaler )
Who’ll Drink Your Blood by Starless, Night
Creatures, Who’ll Make You Suffer Their Desires
and Ghouls, Who’ll Dine On Your Flesh, in Daylight ( Jeffrey Dahmer )
Yea, There Are Creatures of The Dark
Who’ll Catch You, If You Do Not Know … ( Rapists )
They Want To Get Inside Of Your Heart
And Make You Do Acts, Foul, Fraught with Woes
Yea, There Are Monsters, Among Us …
Merciless, Malevolent, Maniacal Monstrosities … ( Hitler )
They Do, Indeed, Want To Own Your Soul, Because ( Jim Jones )
They Want To Make You Commit, Their Atrocities ! … ( Charles Manson )
And If You Walk Around Unwary
Doesn’t Matter, If Its Not, Stroke Of Midnight
… Anytime, Is Their Time, To Do Scary
Spine-Chilling Screams of Your Unending, Pitch-Black Fright …
Rituals To Silver and Golden Idols ( Slaving For Riches)
Making A Virgin Sacrifice - ( Child Molestation )
Hexes and Voodoo Dolls
and All Such Abominations To The Christ …
… Now, by a Long Shot, I’m Not Pious
(‘Cause I Too, Like A Good Thrill !)
Just, Don’t Make The Mistake-Serious
By Thinking Wickedness, Isn’t Real !
And Humans, Please Be Aware
Evil Incarnate, Isn’t Just A Movie Theme …
It’s More Than Just A Joking Scare
… There ‘ Is’ A Wicked Scheme
(and there ‘Is’ A Wicked Being)
So, If You Find, You’re Chased or Caught
By Some Monster In A Living-Nightmare
Remember, No Potion, Amulet, Nor Incantation Taught
Brings Almighty Help, Better Than Holy Prayer
Yea, There Are Monsters, Among Us …
Yea … Also, An Ancient Curse
(and We Couldn’t Even Invent The Stuff
to Make It Any Worse ! ) …
It's thought quite excellent for humankind
eyes closed, to pause and stretch the mind;
The seahorse gambols off into the skies
and disappears. The scholar sighs,
then smiles, picks up his book and pen
and turns to the mundane affairs of men,
still wondering which moment is
the wiser use of time.
Ohho! I'll rove where unicorns
will flash their horns, while jaded ones
retreat to nurse their joints and corns,
to dream of wonder sophistry may lack.
It teaches me to prize the wisdom,
the necessity of frequent visits back
to childhood--there where chimera cavort,
where monsters sport monstrosities
and dragons spew their fire.
There I may exercise my memory,
homemade cape to take the air
behind my head, while
I upon my speeding bike again
as Captain Braverider declare
destruction to the dastardly
who dare to venture from their evil den
and flaunt their vile intent.
I think we need it all,
even the ridicule we may incur.
We need, at times, a shaking
of our pride of intellect,
a rest, a relaxation from the pedestal
of triumph that we leap upon,
usually to assure ourselves
that we are most important;
we need to know how false
that really is.
I'll join the unicorns once more,
rush through sandtraps on my bike,
if only in my mind. I'll draw the lagline,
risk again the marbles in my stash,
look up with love to see that girl
(my fourth-grade crush) pass by
along the sidewalk--yes, it is
the sustenance of manhood
that I feed upon
and cannot do without--nor can we all.
Preserve the fantasy;
hug it to your breast
lest you then find yourself
among the breathless ones on pedestals
who closed their eyes to dreams.
~
On site of this forgotten Babylon
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in this annihilated place
What strange creature’s kin
to inhuman race
Dwell deep in antediluvian hells
Uncanny things creep
and scurry in forgotten realms
where Poseidon reigns in dark
crumbling cathedrals built
to worship cryptic gods from
outer voids darkest empires
What hell is this of undiscovered divinities
Babylon burns as nations
of man conspiring to touch
the face of an imperfect god
sink to depths deeper undefined
What afterbirth of leviathan
hide in secret chambers
plot damnation to human minds
insanities spawn monstrosities
that doom mens soul and break their realities
In sight of this forgotten Babylon
Along a desolate Mesopotamian shore
What powerful unrecorded species
dwell with in this annihilated place
Where strange creatures akin
to the human race
Dwell deep in antediluvian hells
Ode to Lovecraftian lore…
Paper spiders everywhere
Crawling through pinholes in my brain
Cutting the corners of my mouth
Tartaric taste curls my tongue
Forming words I would never say
An inferno of verbs
Flying through gutted roots
It’s warm butter to a blade
Until the right ones land and spread
That's when they begin to ricochet
You’re only hurting yourself.
That’s what they tell me anyway
I’m a dirt digging plant
Living in the embers of memories
That took decades to slowly fade
Put out in tiny doses
On a slow drip of acid rain
It’s the smell of melting gospel
Revealing monstrosities
Awoken from pits of smothered rage
It’s inhumane
To mistreat animals like this
Yet they do nothing
As innocence is stripped away
Some of us still live in cages
Gnashing teeth
Snapping necks at the end of chains
Some of us still live in the embers
Feeling a burn that never fades
I’m recording scars in tree rings
As bark covers wounds with age
Building cages for the demons
Nesting in my conjured rage
========== O
Monday night. Moving magazines. Aimed dead at killing an evening, my fingers target =========
These same old four buttons; >.
1, 2, 3, 4. Five’s a pipedream. Gaudy, small-minded and trapped in affected Americana.
Just like whatever the hell this is. Too much smiling.
====== > Diseases. An old man’s mouldy cock. Right there, mid-screen. Mid-bite, I choke,
as they mumble about vulvas
======== > A dog rolls in a mound of white paper. Whimpering at the softest **** tickle.
Like his little tongue? He’s running! With T.P! The Hilarity! Ho ho
======= > A mother and daughter swing together on a sunny day. One is singing like a
xylophone. They bond across a yoghurt.
Processed fried chicken cracked open with a wry smile and a twinkle in those white, white
eyes
======= A familiar street, full of families too awful to hate. Bald men stomp, cheeky
guy’s grin, heart throb’s pulsate. Young filly’s flounce, old hag’s huddle and all moan
mournfully. Other’s pass in between, and outside of, the broad spectrum of emotional
alliteration and post-modern punctuation without so much as a smile ==== >
Kevin Bacon and Kyr =========== > Michael Dougl
========= > Widescreen TV’s at my fifteen inch window
========= > A man with a silly haircut, waving a knife at a pepper with intent
========= Women in windows waving enhanced monstrosities at the wanking and eager.
Tittilitation for the text buck, a half-filled screen of despair. Tribute to the madness
that grips young men through the night
========= > Still, writing this keeps me sane. More sadness
======= > More sales
============ > ============= >
============
That’s a thought.
These images do not create ======== O
Of pale melancholy
And the infinite fall
Of broken machinery
Cast upon vast shores
Decimation reservation
The prodigal son returns
Jagged reigns of jaded egos
Amber suns stretching upon seas of sanctuary
Blue oysters cast a cult of personality
Here is where the mechanicals recoiled
Gears turned deep inside the obelisk
Onyx realms reaching to monolithic cities
Blacken the sky is on fire of desolations dawn
Volumes fills my fancies with arcane dreams
Milky white universe’s immaculate ejaculate dynastic
Covers pale melancholy machinery of it…
Drips and drains into serenity
Tides borne cryptic things from ancient depths
Fathoms different shores
Odd engines images forges, engages, enrages
Facades of the Deities
Castings from altered shores
Drudged up in desolate depths
Dark quagmires in nightmares explore
The Melancholy and pale machines implore
Something fetal feral twisted engorged
An abomination spills upon the floor
A pale machine of marrow and blood
In spines broken bones
Hooked finger Nails Nine Inches long
Pitch black eyes watch a haloed star
Of holocaustic blooms
In infernal flowers, flames, flurries
Something seeps, creeps, down deep, furies
Lurches on to heavens door
Breeds, seeds, forsaken monstrosities
Of pale machinery and mythic beings,
The melancholy of humanity,
A pale something expires
Eternal winter of
Broken Machinery
cast upon vast moonlit shores
Where am I
Seven For Chaos And Order-Of Hells & Heavens
With Love abandoned and Demons are handed your serving succulent Soul
Megalomaniacal monstrosities, hideous oddities welcome you to the devils hole
Dreams of destruction for your consumption with sulphuric scorching smells
Blistering blasphemous bondage, you pay homage to the Master of Hells
My Soul escapes thru damnation drapes, I see the Loving Light
An Angelic reunion a Holy communion, the Heavens are within sight
No more enslaved my Soul is saved in harmonious habitual height.
01.28.2017
SEVEN FOR CHAOS AND ORDER ...Contest
Sponsored by... nette onclaud
I‘m a pigeon
Free in flight
Circling blue skies up above
Somewhere in the world
Makes no difference to me
Taking no particular pride
Whether I hover over Paris
Rainforest of Brazil
Sunset at the Eiffel Tower
Las Vegas or Bombay
I find beauty everywhere I go
Not particularly vain or ambitious
I love my freedom
I can’t be bought
The open skies are
Where I roam
Be they over works of art
Or mundane monstrosities
I hardly notice manmade wonders
I’m happiest when
On a sunny day
I land on a picnic table
Near some busy chipwagon
AP: 2nd place 2022
Submitted on April 14, 2020 for contest STRAND NO.730 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 2ND
Originally posted on February 9, 2020
Within Dantesque fields of dust a calcifugous crushing crust
In layers of lactating lust demoniac deception a deist distrust
Hibernating hallucinations of hope in cathedrals trying to cope
As we push the envelope on a rambunctious rapacious slope
Tangled in declivitous dreams haunting breaths of silent screams
Reality is not what it seems sailing souls in sanguineous streams
Rays of darkness in derelict display like the mantis in perpetual pray
Dragon’s fire of seditious spray falling asleep admits meadows grey
Mellifluous mansions of desire nestled in the night a papal pacifier
Mephistophelian monstrosities up for hire an abysmal abulic attire
Dancing demons in anamorphic air a scurrilous seduction in a stare
Fallacious faces in their lair semisynthetic surroundings in a scare.
Jan.22.2018
Nightmares
Sponsored by: Nayda Ivette Negron