Best Pillaging Poems
What smug pseudomorph
inhabits my reflection,
adroitly mimicking my
every manner and expression,
mercilessly mocking me
with flawless simulation?
She is the great pretender;
a master counterfeiter;
a furtive opportunist;
a thieving imitator.
She is a soul-sucking demon
of the gravest degree;
a brazen parasite
feeding on health and ingeny,
pillaging my youth
with savage gleam and glee;
siphoning my precious hollow
of vitality.
Time ticks across my aging face
while our eyes lock in defiance,
and in the end, my spurious friend
will demand my full compliance.
So, with a twinkling eye I wink
at my mirrored facade,
acknowledging this fearsome foe
with a playful nod.
Respectfully reciprocal,
she gestures back to me in kind,
and we part as esteemed enemies,
to my last breath resigned.
And I for one would like to sleep
but I cannot, because I weep
for lives and dreams and nations lost
We never thought to count the cost
So many are the pirouettes
of running, flailing silhouettes
as flames behind them flicker high
to set aglow the night time sky
Becoming so habitual
this savage urban ritual
of settling some phantom score
by pillaging a local store
is just a New World Order nod
like summoning some pagan god
These worshipers show ignorance
while sacrificing common sense
And mass hysteria abounds
while cultish television clowns
erroneous, declarative,
perpetuate their narrative
That theirs is right and yours is wrong
so you had better come along
and join the other little sheep
Oh how I wish that I could sleep!
Alas my mind shall never rest
My soul, this world does daily test
Let my last option be my first
In God's sure hand I'll be not cursed
My money doesn't mean a thing
Possessions make not my heart sing
But steadiness in spirit form
shall guide me safely through the storm
And though the world be set ablaze
as we come to the end of days
I pray that you and I shall be
together in eternity
© Mike Wise
5-30-20
[ credits to LAURENT YVAN from France who read my poem ]
Launched over ages of primaeval forces
my nomadic ancestry calls out to me
winds howl driven over rolling hills
atop a ridge of rugged mountains
beyond vestiges of the long silk road
the Mongolian empire looks back at me
the spirit of the great Genghis Khan
runs feral forever through my veins
Mongolia and its harsh wilderness
its barren lands its haunted past
drumming echoes of summoned spirits
unleash the wrath of heaving heavens
I’m more than hoodlum with a vision
I’m a rebel at the helm of my said destiny
My brothers and I are born of a lineage
that’s jagged ruthless rich and proud
fierceness and freedom integral to our dna
we’ll defend our land and way of life
with brute strength and sheer intimidation
in spilled blood we write our history
come hell highwater feast or famine
the spirit of the great Genghis Khan
runs feral forever through our veins
We’ll round up the horses
and harness voracious winds
go out protect and safeguard at all cost
wave our swords and in hearts instill fear
cast our thunder over hills and valleys
earn respect for our ancestors’ inherited land
a kingdom conquered piecemeal by our warlord
father to our people and to our nation vast
A deep longing larger than life compels me
to preserve my legacy against betrayal and conspiracy
dark alliances with sights on pillaging and plundering
no more brutal bloodbaths and massacres
neo-medieval Mongol tribes and clans united
The spirit of the great Genghis Khan
feral through my veins forever runs
and that’s the Mongolia that calls on back to me
Read on air by invitation ~ May 30, 2020 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 2nd place 2025, 2nd plance 2022, 3rd place 2020, Front Page Pick 2022
Submitted on May 26, 2020 for contest BRIAN'S CHOICE V sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 3RD
The battle between body and spirit
Housed as I am,
in this earthenware vessel
I witness,
the raging between body and spirit.
My mood- sullen and morose,
a telling sign-
a flashing indicator-
pointing to a weakness in my will,
a slow debilitating decline in my convictions-
indicating a buttressing of my resolve-
is urgently needed.
This paroxysm has been a body blow,
and my spirit is reeling.
I am cloistered, incarcerated now these three years,
having served a portion of my sentence.
What is my crime?
These four walls,
such contemptible, wretched creatures-
mock me, taunt me, deride me
as weak and worthless;
but I know better!
I am shackled to the two evil twins-
misery and myalgia-
myrmidons- secret agents of the devil
serving at his pleasure.
Hell-bent they are on a wicked crusade
raping and pillaging the golden storehouses
of my treasured faith and hope.
Sacred vaults protect my integrity,
my zeal is still intact.
As I wrestle with my afflictions
I throw tantrums-like a feral beast
charging towards the drawn sword.
However, I succumb to the inevitable.
I sense the folly of the fight and submit,
although-unwillingly to this intransigent,
auto-immune disease.
How do you fight an enemy who is
entrenched in your marrow?
This enemy is coercing me on this death march
and it is unrelenting in it's insistence.
The gates of Sheol* beckon to me to enter,
I resist the clarion call, although the gravity
draws me ever closer to my sealed fate.
I see visions of paradise, here on earth,
where pain is no more,
and all suffering is a distant memory
until eternity erases it from my mind.
Unfortunately, for me,
looks like I'll be taking the subway,
instead of the train to paradise.
December 17,2018
For Misery contest Edward Ibeh
*Sheol Hebrew for the grave.
Not hell as a burning place of torment
as is commonly taught and believed.
There's a viscerally vial creature loosed,
Which is heinously hideous and vicious.
This barbarian monstrosity destroys people's vitality and flesh,
By raping and pillaging their lives,
Killing and ravaging entire families and villages,
Forever cursing all those it consumes.
I've taken up armament against this enemy,
Vowing an oath to eradicate this foe.
I wage continued war on this unholy vile behemoth,
Thrusting my dagger through its abdomen,
Ripping and slashing its bowels,
But it shrugs off the assault undeterred.
I shoot arrows through its heart,
Only to realize tis useless as no heart exists.
I take my sword and behead the beast,
But like Hydra, it restores its venomous crown.
I hack off its limbs chopping flesh and bone,
But it slithers demonically onward.
I gouge out its eyes blinding it from finding victims,
But it smells weakness, fear, and depression,
And tracks its quarry like a bloodhound.
I smash out its treacherous bloodthirsty teeth,
But it mauls its prey bludgeoning it mercilessly,
Slowly but surely till it's powerless.
I wrestle it and break it's back so it's paralyzed,
But its grotesque distorted mangled body trudges forward unhindered.
Nothing I do stops this devastating onslaught,
And I relinquish my battle and succumb unwillingly to this curse.
Destined to be enslaved to this ruthless foe forever.
Left helpless to struggle until I die,
Fighting with my own sins.
The Angel
Heart of Peace
In the hills and glens of the Bosnian homelands
Roamed the Serbian chetniks, with swords of the devil
In the name of nationalism
Raping and killing, burning and pillaging
Their aggressions they called it defending
Carkic the rapist of all of humanity
Drank himself to a stupor
To hide his soul from his very own gods
As he burned the villages, children and all
How can such evil stand so tall?
From the ruble of hate, and Serbian addictions
There rises an angel from the concentration camps
Malice none, for her heart is filled with compassion
She listens to the victims, her kindness is her fashion
Esmuda Mujagic, content to build bridges to rainbows true
She is an angel of inspirations
Asking only for warmth for the victims of torture
No reprise is sought, only admissions of truth
So through forgiveness, life can mend and flourish
Instead arrested and harassed
The soldiers of Serbia, still carrying on
The Wild One
I watched, as in a dream mist….
….after a day of rain, fog rolling in off the rocks of Lake Superior
Three large deer, nibbling moist leaves from sapling trees, unconcerned with my presence,
only 20’ away. Two were young bucks, both with fuzz-covered antlers, stopping occasionally
to rub them on branches, they must be itchy. The other, a splendid doe, larger than the
bucks, with golden brown skin, blinking her ears at me when I moved closer. This was their
forest, I was a guest, my people were busy fighting wars, scheming profits, and pillaging the
earth, while here, in reality, life was unchanged, the only sounds were warblers singing from
branch to branch, a couple ravens overhead, barking my location to any other forest
dwellers interested. On the forest floor, orchids bloomed, and an impressionistic collage of
wildflowers in every direction, the yellows: jewelweed, buttercups, bellwort, aster and
coneflower, the whites: yarrow, trillium, hemlock, queen anne’s lace and solomon’s seal, the
reds: bull thistle, Indian paintbrush, spotted coralroot and prairie blazing star, the purples:
wild geranium, spotted knapweed, shooting star and dameweed, and the wild one: me
…..the wild one
me
08/22/10
11:22am
The pious dealings
Of Isis doth stealing
Pillaging and raping
In Allah’s names saking
They, who worshiping in utter silos of hate
Are enemies of all civilized states
Western senses, selling moderation
Those extremists won’t buy that sensation
Islamic terrorists are not of the book
Lets not blame the west, we are not the crook
They view kindness and compassion as imperial weakness
I say, lets conquer sharia law with even more forgiveness
Don’t be fooled with words served with sugar
When after tea your head is sliced and severed
There is no righteous or wrong towards God
He loves all, regardless of Islamic blasphemy or hog
Sir Henry Morgan, Welsh born
Wasn't a pirate but a privateer so it's shown
As he had a document from King Charles II
Authorising to attack enemy ships for gain
His most famous attack was on
Panama City in 1670., where he seized upon
Vast amounts of Gold.
Then captured Puerto Bello by overwhelming the garrison
This was a legendary attack
He agreed to leave the town not ransack
After receiving a handsome ransom.
Written about ever after this unbelievable luck
Although he had exceeded his commission
He returned a hero his likability was proven
he was given the title of
Pirate Lord of the Brethren Court so it's written
He stormed the Caribbean Coast attacking the Spanish fleet
Then going ashore and pillaging and ravishing, an easy feat
Looting the gold stored there and causing havoc
Always on the attack, never governed defeat
He fought one battle too many and
was captured in 1672 and transported to England
Where at his trial was able to prove his innocence.
he said he was but obeying the orders he had in his hand
Was acquitted sent back after being knighted
by King Charles II, he was delighted
when made Lieutenant Governor of Jamaica
Where he lived up to his name of being farsighted
From a humble beginning in Wales
Astounded people never fails
to wonder about this life he chose
To live his life attacking, plundering under sails
Penned 6 September 2015
14 July 2010
The Sea Rover
Moving sideways or careening
All hands hoay and avast ye
Sea dogs and landlubbers go on pillaging
Jolly Roger is flapping guarded by cannon and artillery
Pistol, daggers, and doubloon among things inside the sea-chest
Walk the plank if they caught you as offenders
Or heave to an island and marooning them as helpless
Yo ho ho! and a bottle of rum as a way of pirate’s laughter
As the ship rolled about on high seas
Plenty of cackle fruit to serve a salmagundi
A drink of grog or bumboo wobbled their sea legs
In tossing ship, proves them as scallywags
Blow me down! alerted by a cannon blast
The enemies have climbed on their Jacob's ladder
Black spot meet their way on to Tortuga’s vast
All hearty and brave soldiers have fallen to Davy Jone’s locker
The augury of him in Crimea was so
That Ekaterina said she was tired of sandwiches
But I did have black tea, black Latvian bread with her black Ikra near Black Sea
Hundreds of kilometres from Kiev and from Moscow in Odessa where heresy breaches
I beated her wings in no confinement,in no vituperation
She flew flower to flower to no destination
She knew I was a drinking son of pride straightaway
And I apprised me that she was a drunk daughter of arrogance having me in sway
At night on table when Putin came with my rassolnik
And said that he had seen many earthquakes being not born a Japanese geek
I felt in my bedroom her shenanigan moves
A carefully preserved time capsule in grooves
Rubbers burnt got her season
and wheels vulcanized got his prison
Dudley Castle and Kremlin cannot be friends
With Timoshenkos pillaging appetites in trusses and bends
Keep your red gown for the right time Ekaterina
For I have eaten all meats-that of a pig, of a cow,horse and bear
And eschew my emotions like a ballerina
A square,a quadrilateral,a rhombus and a parallelogram are not the same when each buccaneer
Vladimirs have always condescended bloody Mirs of Dagestan
In the duel between Russian charlottes and Turkish harems
The fishing villages of acrimony and Satan
I will not count Ekaterina`s eggs for my child`s Ukrainian mother in tandems
Vocabulary used
Ikra-Russian caviar in poetry`s context its the black caviar or fish eggs.
Rassolnik- is a traditional Russian soup made from pickled cucumbers, pearl barley, and pork or beef kidneys. A vegetarian variant of rassolnik also exists. The dish is known to have existed as far back as the 15th century, when it was called kalya
The Viking gallery slipped quietly through the night
the oars just barely skimming the gentle swell
sails were fur-lowed tight to help hide it from sight
the warriors ready for the signal sounded by the bell
Silently they landed, ferocious was their appearance
wielding their great battle axes wearing winged helmets
they crept up on the sleeping village in timeless trance
plundering and pillaging killing some helpless pets
Taking captive the fairest of the maids enslaving burly men
to work the gallery's oars, filling the hold with stolen treasure
drinking wine from carved horns and spit roasting a tasty hen
soon well into their cups they ravished most maids keeping one pure
She of flaxen hair and hour glass figure and tender years was spared
a most fitting present for their king, the rest would be auctioned for profit
the coin added to the treasury. Now under full sail the waves they dared
knowing a welcome most raucous awaited they now their torches lit
Their king was most pleased with his gift and vowed they would be wed
a great feast was prepared and the mead flowed thick and sweetly
the Viking cheered as their king took the maid first as wife then to bed
weeping as she was ravished, he rode her like a bull until she bled badly
Back to the feast he downed some horns then lay down to sleep
the maid waited until all was silent and then into his heart she struck deep
she took back her shame as he lay dying knowing her own death she did reap
turning the dagger on herself her life no value she slipped into eternal sleep
written 05/01/2014
contest Any Poem Any Subject
Elegant in burnt orange afterglow,
sparkling starlight opens the show.
Neighbors and strangers appear all aroun’,
porch lights and car lights enlighten the town.
They arrive afoot and atop handlebars.
Tots wave from strollers like famed movie stars.
Mothers bellowing orders to stay in sight,
transgressors will rue being naughty tonight.
Flickering lights and untied laces
nudge fidgety feet through their paces.
Masquerade masks make eager accomplices’
too impish eyes and mischievous faces.
Scowling Jack-O-Lanterns carved in creepy effigies
prove impotent charms to appease candied fantasies.
Festooned arches adorned in orange and black,
ornate ornaments to win the neighborhood plaque.
Into the gauntlet of terror they swarm;
dressed to play in pillaging uniform.
Tree and flower tremble and quiver;
Bumped and trampled in their fervor.
Werewolves wailing through grimacing grins
herald a night of howling hymns.
Ghostly spirits from the bowels of earth,
hang from gallows, grinning in ghoulish mirth.
Silken chains embracing all who stray,
beckons the widow to her frightened prey.
Garnished by cackling cries of certain demise,
steaming cauldrons poach their pitiful prize.
Spades of woe shadow souls who rashly ignore,
ominous omens attached to windows and doors.
Like tocks from a clock they continue to arrive,
will the morrow find anyone left still alive?
Hostiles charitably looting town,
sacks of booty slowing them down.
Toting bags of looted plunder,
looming hordes scatter asunder.
Pass me by, to my neighbor grace his stage,
assuage with him your gluttonous rage.
Rapacious hands swaying in ritual dance,
exuberance untethered in blitzing advance.
Eyeing my castle the rioting rabble rush in,
guarded only by growlin’ dog an’ smilin’ pumpkin.
Upon my stoop they brazenly climb,
my breath on hold, I hear the chime.
My time I fear is near at hand,
my blood or treasure they demand.
Hunkered down and hidden from sight,
no mercy presented for my plight.
With sweaty palms and pounding heart,
please Lord I pray, make them depart.
For a shot of strong “Spirits” I silently scream,
‘cause I forgot the candy on this Halloween!
As you flee behind you hear
Your hate filled screaming foes
Pillaging and burning
Their tutored hatred beyond reason
For no reason
Loudspeakers hastily erected amongst the rubble
Play a dirge of victory
As they hold a pyrrhic parade
As you flee to who knows where
North, south, east or west?
Don't know. Don't care
Just away
Unknown lands ahead
There be monsters?
You only hope you've left them behind
As you flee you see the broken crowds
A caravan of the barely living
Some men and children in uniforms
Now just costumes
Clutch their weapons that failed them
The debris of war litter the poisoned earth
Twisted metal entomb twisted flesh
Broken souls pass by
Your town is gone
Your home is gone
Your family - alive or dead - gone
Your life - your past - gone
Your food - the last scrap - gone
Your water - the last drop - gone
Your hope - gone
You have nothing
But you are not nothing
As you flee become the seed
That penetrates a fertile land
And makes it grow afresh
You may fall on stony ground
As many will
As you flee you reach the well meaning camps
A pale shade of existence
Living in forgotten limbo
As you flee strike out to promised lands
Schizophrenic peoples that both welcome and revile
As you join their underclass
A scapegoat for all their ills
Cast aside your skills, your art, your education
And toil and sweat on the work that no-one wants
And when you finally accept this is your lot
Toil and sweat for your children
Who can never understand your struggle, your journey
But carry the seed of your people
Maybe one day they will return home
And rebuild
Entry to the "travel light" contest
Written 12th January 2017
I've found true love within our nature now;
For only when one sees how small he is,
How insignificant to the big man;
Can one feel empathy for trees or fish.
To the flower a tree is strong; sturdy;
Through the current, a fish is powerful;
Yet man destroys both with ease; remorseless.
And thus man then also destroys himself;
Raping and pillaging his own life source;
Encasing his survival behind glass.
And so too, do the huge corporations;
Suffocating that which keeps them afloat;
Enslaving the very souls of our youth;
Bastardizing natural compassion
And degrading our very innocence.
In a world of who has the bigger stick,
I'm just the trout at the end of the pole.