Best Plague Poems
In Spring there’s friendship that’s lasted through the Winter,
all those cold nights of salted drops and quilts of snow.
The obsidian plague of midnights, melancholic drapes,
but all the while the candlelight of friendship did glow.
you’d think she’s the sun -
i wax and wane in restraints
having lost my way
The flickering of her tongue as she wet our weep with wine.
O how the shadows flickered on the walls as if in mirth.
The slow burn lasted as the wind howled, the chimney choked.
Her wrinkled, waxy skin, a kin to suffering and pain.
each deep etched line spoke
a sticky web of knowing
lips barely moving
That Spring, she showed up with an armful of daffodils,
and silliness, tears stinging her neck, this honeybee.
She understood madness, and the brumal sun. Outliers
could not drink our elixir nor interlope upon our phoenix rising.
cascade of the moon
no longer afraid of dark -
white lacy curtains
Raven Speak Not To Me, For A Plague Flees Thy Lips
Sadness came, in clumps of ripping hard, smashing waves
as if morbid thoughts could such sorrows ever save,
none but the blind and deaf could know a darker realm
or more lost ship with, blinder captain at the helm.
Yet even in such pains, one must seek out the Light
for the blind can see, if they embrace truest of sight!
Wayfarer now in hideous ancient abodes
mind burning flames, blasts of misery that explodes,
born of the vile demons that plagued Master Poe
from fiery depths they sprang, as savage and dark foe.
What greater black-curse can one thus be forced to bear
or evil that sends monsters that nightly scare?
Raven speak not to me! For plague flees thy lips
weeping soul, prays not to enter such ghastly trips,
save your epic lashings and thy horrific calls
as well as scalding-hot brands from thy torture halls.
We that saw deepest pains, you once sent Master Poe
enter not chambers or beg more accursed shows!
Your friends attack, forcing each soul to further flee
from hell's first dark levels, with its pitiful pleas,
into caverns wicked, filled with flesh eating beasts
with each new arrival cry, more food for our feasts.
Sirens lure fleeing lost souls into black-sea pits
always seeking, more blood, deeper cuts, harder hits!
Raven, thy terror-nights will soon come to end
for in bright flooding lights, I have found a new friend,
stalwart ally, armed with more than long sharp teeth
one whose true faith, will silence thy calls from beneath.
Dawn's shimmering lights, you shall plague me no more
I bow to he, his powers seals your wicked door!
Robert J. Lindley,
Dark Poetry, ( Poe, Raven and Nightmares)
12-18-2018
Isn’t it ironic?
That the plague called the bubonic
Killed the man but not the rat
And did not even kill the cat
That caught and killed the guilty rat
Isn’t it ironic?
That in this age of the electronic
Ebola is running unabated
It’s deathly thirst left quite unslated
Just like the plague as earlier stated
Isn’t it ironic?
That in this age of progress so terrific
A plague is not spread by a rat
Nor by bat and not by cat
But by technology - imagine that!
O' cloned creations,
mirroring deceptive diction
scattered in liquified letters,
across android canvases,
here comes the plague of
fabricated foolery,
spiraling in figments of
black and white illusions,
injecting illusive veins
screaming for vanity,
with verses plagiarized
from villainous valleys.
There’s nothing poetic about
the way AI is pickpocketing
rhythmic runes from the
museum of dead poets ~
immortalized on the walls
of glass galleries.
Their sonnets, now imitated,
to adorn artless skies
with stolen synonyms,
weaving soulless symphonies,
to please the apocalyptic algorithm,
unaware of how filtered
procrastinators preying
on pencil-streaked pages
are lonely earthlings starving
for superficial accolades.
I care not for the futuristic
benefits of artificial lies,
yet I see no escape from
these alienated alliterations,
and personified
pathological hypocrisy,
typed behind silver screens,
multiplying metaphors
into robotic ruins,
flowing with
perfectly metered clichés,
coded in complex cadence.
So let me find the inked corpse
of silicon silhouettes,
lost in the labyrinth
of virtual vultures,
flaunting repetitive rhymes
for clueless readers.
Tonight the strawberry moon
frowns at the
neon frequencies
of digitalized fakery,
and my onyx heart aches
for the unknown realms,
where originality floats
as a forgotten fantasy,
fogged behind a fictional facade,
while in silence, stained stars
claim phrases snatched
from the
thesaurus of thieves.
So flee from this venom-less virus,
you and I know better than to
lean on spineless cyborgs,
created mindlessly
from financial felonies.
A poet with a pen that
lacks authentic pigment
is the victimized alter ego of
designed trickeries~
masked as midnight musings.
Every morning upon rising
Routinely searching my vital signs
As a poverty stricken person
Searches pockets for spare change.
The grim news reports,
The skyrocketing death tolls,
Mausoleums more populated
Than the emptied churches,
Many desperately seeking God
From the confines of their dwellings.
I remember the time, early in life,
When I use to peer from my window
Into the darkness outside
For the headless Dullahan at the reins
Of the Cóiste Bodhar (coach-a-bower),
Its four black black horses
Powerfully pulling the death coach
Up to my front door, as I ruminate
On the words of Yeats, casting
A cold eye on life, on death.
Life, death, such separate entities,
Or so it seems, on the surface.
Yet, forty-two years of lessons
By grieving families have only
Taught me the oneing of life, of death.
As the beloved Anchoress of Norwich
Gazed out the window of her cell
Upon her nation devastated by
The Black Death and war,
So I gaze out my window on a world
As broken by plague and political violence,
And am comforted by the word of Christ
To this simple Middle Age mystic,
“All shall be well, and all shall be well,
And all manner of thing shall be well.”
(c) 2020, Robert Charles Wagner.
The Castle and the Plague
copyright 2020 by jon gutmacher
There was a castle dark and tall
surrounded by a towering wall
and those without
did fear that place
but never once
came face to face
The trees grew tall thru summer rain
the woods grew thick
with vines not tame
and slowly, surely
castle tall
did disappear
the forest wall
Now decades passed
the people grew
the town once there
that once all knew
grew larger, larger
rich with goods
forgot they did
what’s in the woods
And then a sickness
came to pass
it struck them dead
it couldn’t last
but last it did
and many died
the families left
so many cried
And then a marvelous thing did come
through forest walls
their help did come
from castle deep
in protected wood
a potion made
this cure was good
And knights in white
not ever seen
did come to town
like in a dream
and gave the potion
one by one
the sick were saved
the plague was done
And then the king
from castle tall
whose magic cured
both one and all
did bless the town
and those who lived
did promise them
and this he did
“I promise you
“not once but twice
“my gates are open
“to make things right
“and in the future
“if death should come
“send runners here
“My will be done!”
And then, as magic
he disappeared
the plague was gone
but still they feared
so left a knight
with power great
and magic potions
this knight could make
Now town does flourish
the plague is not
the lessons learned
no, not forgot
and white knight keeps a place of peace
on a hill so near
within their reach
Now days go on
the sun does shine
the clouds come daily
all things are fine
and white knight who is now called Mage
does keep the potion
their lives all saved
A brotherly jaunt through sinister mirth
behold the brothers Death:
gowned and guided, an ill century
the fourteenth, an alliance of crop, of plague
in ground-down death of torrential pains
in sores and blood under the rains
that drowned the land, starved the bellies
there echoed howls of ill exclaim
a wanting of a light to shine
is where the brothers thought that they
worked well together, effectively
one would scoop from ruined crop
one from sickness, war, attack
the beak, a sign, of the plague mask
in shacks, where hags mopped weeping rot
crosses on doors, on floors of straw
with nothing in the cooking pot
the brothers danced and sang their wealth
of many clientele they sought
and on they went, and on they struck
perfecting songs on appetites
of pestilence and of disease
hand in hand like trees whose leaves
do smother, smite, in murderous breeze
the brothers, down the ages tease
and beckon, wreaking havoc on,
like rolling waves of seas on high
always taunting their sister - life
I mourn for your passing
for your family
for your friends
for those you held close
but do not mourn for you...
you came to our shores
you came and you lied
lied about your baggage
illegal baggage you bore
within your body...
your baggage was deadly
lethal and contagious...
biological warfare
launched upon our nation
silently exploding...
first target: Lone Star State
close to my home
close to my family
close to my grandchildren
why did you come..
your predecessor: a playboy
who detonated a viral bomb
in a gay bath house
through seduction
why did he come....
he was careless, he was cruel
he was a selfish, silly fool
as were you
as am I
why do I judge...
(I mourn over suffering souls
whose insides turned to mush
a congealed and bloody mush
who writhed in ineffable pain
who mercifully died...)
yes I mourn for your passing
but do not mourn for you...
grandfather
died in the forgotten plague
of the last century*
I sit musing under the cherry
startled by a white possum
*tuberculosis
The Mathematics Plague
By Elton Camp
It’s a fact of modern life we must face
Mathematics holds an important place
Arithmetic, basic algebra, geometry too
All are important skills for me and you
Of the people, only a tiny percent require
Advanced algebra, trig, calculus or higher
An educational development to abhor
Is to require all to take more and more
So much of it is of virtually no worth
To ninety-nine percent of folks on earth
Quadratic equations I’ve never had to solve
Nothing ever have those inequities involved
So far, I’ve gotten along in life just fine
Without using tangent, secant or cosine
Nor has it, even once, been of value to know
How fast, to overtake a car, I’d have to go
But we are making school increasingly tough
By continuing to teach our kids such stuff
It’s high time somebody cried out, “Enough!”
And childhood slavery to higher math rebuff
A “Big Mac attack” and “Have it your way”
are all past slogans from fast food places
for most Americans fast food will stay
because Big Macs and Whoppers feed faces
Americans love to eat on the go
we love pizza hamburgers and hot dogs
and the value meals never cost much dough
other countries may think we’re all just hogs
truth be told we need to eat to survive
Burger King and MacDonald’s does the job
some may think fast food as food at a dive
Long John Silver does have corn on the cob
right or wrong fast food will never leave us
until the day all Americans bust
WAR IS THE GREATEST PLAGUE OF MAN
As war is fought it takes charge
And events spin out of control.
The madness of men can alter the soil
Which nourishes the roots of their soul.
Many things will forever change
Far more then wished to be.
As the wrath of war starts to destroy
Those things we fight to keep free.
War is the greatest plague of man,
Religion, state and sanity.
Any scourge is more preferred
Than the one which disables humanity.
When war breaks out, boundaries change
And all who die are a token
Of the rage that must run it's course
Before words of peace are spoken.
War I hate, though not men, flags nor race
But war itself with its ugly face.
When we lose faith in the brave, which die
Then we're not fit to greet those who cry.
What distinguishes war isn't death
But that man is slain by fellow man.
Crushed by cruelty and injustice
With his enemy's murderous hand.
War tends to punish the punishers
So the losers won't suffer alone.
The essence of war is but violence
Till the survivors come marching home.
Sometimes it's hard to defend what's right,
Sometimes we're forced to rise up and fight.
Sometimes we survive, while others must die
Sometimes never knowing the reason why.
The rush of combat is a natural buzz
Caused by fear, leaving nothing as it was.
Hunting one another like wild game
Without a shortage of those to blame.
Sometimes victory comes too slow or quick
Sometimes the cost on both sides is sick.
Sometimes God is asked to intervene
To help stop the savage from being so mean.
War is a hell we visit before death
Fueled by the whisper of the devil's breath.
There must be a reason man destroys man
But why it is so, I can't understand.
By Tom Zart
A fat cat from Ararat
Ate too many mice and there she sat,
I have gorged myself I do confess,
My stomach is in great distress.
All I can do is sit and stare
As mice pass by without a care,
There's only so much one cat can do,
Perhaps the farmer might need two.
-more poems like this can be found at:
kidscomedypoetry.com.au
sweat shops exist all over the world
they are crowded factories
with poor working conditions
big name brands wanting to cut cost
contract these sweat shops
to make fast trend fashions
jeans, shoes, bags, and so much more
they exist in every country in this world
we hear a lot about factories
in places like China, Indonesian
Korea, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka etc, etc
they even exist in USA
the land of the free Canada
and I imagine the wages in "civilized"
countries are a bit better but still not very good
the workers receive insufficient wages
that do not even meet basic needs
in many cases there is child labour
there are no benefits
with long hours with no extra payment
you have seen the images
workers bent over sewing machines
in huge factories their children at their feet
what the pictures don't show
is the exhaustion to survive on each face
imagine making 3 cents per hour
and working 14-16 hours a day
everyday of your life just to have some money
or paid 2- 6 cents per piece
and working 60 to 70 hours a week
these factories even use
human trafficking as labor
perhaps think about that the next
time you buy some new clothes
from well known brands
and it does not stop with clothing
shoes and bags, it is much more than that
_____________________
February 10, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/the sweat shop plague
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1429-244-10
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, The Sweat Shop
sponsor, Kai Michael Neumann, Judged 03/05/2022
On Sunday, the sweet soft tone of the choir was muted
The church pews were brimming with dust
Ushers were unable to give directions
For even the congregation was stuck up in isolation
Preachers had to minister to the echo of their own voices
No trace of humanity has witnessed such a calamity
A pandemic with the propensity to spread faster than fake news
The entire globe is bleeding a single wound
We have to stay at home to avoid the blood stains
Meeting friends and family seem to be the good old days
The latest trend is keeping a distance and washing your hands
Who knows?
What's in the air or exactly how this thing spreads?
The beautiful feeling of just going out and getting fresh air
Now, it seems like a bad idea
This Plague, like a fiend, feeds the earth thousands of righteous victims every day
It's striking a newly sharpened double edged sword into the hearts of mortals
This is not just a virus, it's fear itself
Take precaution!