Best Provocateur Poems
A woman, or a girl,
hooded and hiding,
may pensively gaze down
at the sun, or a sinking stone.
Or a man, not a boy,
neither hooded nor hiding,
may, in her stead, gaze, ecstatic, upward
at the corner of the mystery.
A crawler on the oceans floor
may cling as an ocean crawler would,
sucking up whatever remains
from the feeding frenzy above.
Or a larger beast
may extend its armoured frame upward
and arch its back to swallow
the sun, or a sinking stone.
A jester, or provocateur, laughing quietly,
is surely nearby,
suspended upside down for now,
he, too, will change with the change.
Stones cast off, or scrupulously gathered,
and the bleeding edge of enigma,
may change or remain the same,
we won’t know until we turn.
17th April 2019
As you move,
Be humble in your development.
Leaving a softened Wake
So for those with you,
May experience the Joy of Peace.
Not an easy task,
Considering how the world
Is so easily provoked ;
Into violence
Into hatred
Into division...
The provocateur is hard at work,
Trying to sabatoge the work of the Soul
And the Spirit's journey upward.
Do not be afraid
Do not fear
Do not give in to the negativity of the world.
As you move,
Be humble in your development.
Leaving a softened Wake
So for those with you,
May experience the Joy of Peace.
In the shadows, harpies linger as agents provocateur,
for the Fallen Watchers, for pecking order.
Prostitute mercenaries,
addicted to mercury and disorder.
Their claws sharp, their cries a shiver,
their motive insanity from hell's hateful quiver.
They pluck you from the light of day,
leave you in the flames to barter the fray,
to drown in the sea of faith no more.
Till nightfall,
where they tend the fires of a black wind,
poking signal lures,
preying for entropic thunder,
and romantic moon,
lyres to ascend your spirit
for the purpose of dropping you again
in despairs pit and swoon.
Denoting your abandonment and seclusion,
shoeing the fit,
wild horses couldn't drag them away.
Hoping to find you behind chaos's fire-line,
enemy mine,
a broken rhyme-
not asKing for a new day;
a soul adrift, in a sea of doubt,
no compass, no sails, no wind,
no faith, "tag you're it, hide your eyes and don't count."
on being saved from the fade to black
from grey lack of faith.
"The body, like the oak, is bent and gnarled,
The shallow-rooted mind is overthrown,
When we are near the evening of the world."
---From, 'Runes for an Old Believer", by Rolfe Humphries
Facebook post: "Respect your elders!"
My mind may not be now
as nimble as once it was,
and although I might see all
with jaundiced sight, not fresh,
not new, my mood is mostly
cool and quite calm.
--- Until, that is,
some brash provocateur
begins to essay an attack,
thinking to erase the marks
my words have made and to
overwrite them with his own.
I care not very much that he
with logic may displace my niche,
nor cleverly might mock me.
But to disparage Age in dotage,
with vile invectives, is doltish,
brutish and dumbfounding.
My sweetest comfort is
to have no doubt that he
(nor others of his ilk) will
never see how ineffectual
must be this mild complaint.
King Vlad the Greatest
Supremus-Dictatoris
Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin
Bamboozler-Provocateur
Arrogance absolute.
Master of Malarkey
Bolshoi-Apparatchik
Mask of a Monster
Hooliganism to boot.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
August 20, 2015 (Double Dactyl)
When I step inside your twisted reality ...
this is what my spiritual eyes see,
your soul revealed in it's totality
A scaly skin of self-serving morality ...
you always ask, what's in it for me,
what can you do for me materially?
Got emotional raging volcanity ...
spewing verbal pyroclastic debris,
you say you only speak Pompeiiese
With your serpentine smug urbanity ...
prefer a gated community,
only mingles with high society
Spread suburban mundanity ...
selling cookie-cutter, debt prison housing to families
with furnishings of faux upholstery
Invest in commercialism inanity ...
everything must be sold is your belief,
even used products with expired warranties
Keep a get-rich-quick mentality ...
you think everybody envies a successful thief,
need only confess to your corporate priest
Suited sharks all have an aggressive vitality ...
eat or be eaten is the mindset to be beastly,
you pick the bones clean with ravenous mendacity
Hiding your lewdness in the cloak of formality ...
giving gluttonous divinations at pagan feasts,
your rented body is the patron jinn of soiled sheets
Cutting all soft hearts with the blade of hard brutality ...
unlock the cages of your rapacious menagerie,
killing souls has been your most primal urgency
Tampered traffic lights creates a mass fatality ...
your hand pushes the button and turn the key,
creating carnage for all to witness your legacy
You pepper life-and-death stakes with vile profanity ...
a seasoned, master provocateur you be,
poisoning the minds with rancid digital obscenity
Rejecting all that is good for humanity ...
cursing the fruit of the life-giving tree,
you rage against the people of the holy
Time to step outside of your straight-jacket insanity ...
the evil that lives within the madness of your psyche
The truth of the cosmos shall consume you utterly
This poem is submitted to:
Contest: Word Challenge
Sponsor: Silent One
Date: 01-30-17
BLACK,RED and GOLD
Location---SOMEWHERE IN KÖNIGSBERG 1945 APRIL 9
Scene---A Dying German Agent/A Soldier`s thoughts/reflections just before death
On this periphery of life
Let blue jeans of my ice blonde Brenda wear me to marry with death
Fire will be her gown, ashes shall be my girdle, shattered is everything beneath
Smokes so discerned sprawling
Some will say it was a poetic corpse after so deadly the strife
Wrapped in unknown funerary fetes
My blood will be poured in cask of mimicks
A yawn concealing me in semicolon as I saw I was dying,
sickened of the sicks
All the ravens of sorcery lurking the corner in full stops
As if I knew nothing following the wisdom of Socrates
Boots and kilt emphasizing my lost treasure
At last the casket to embrace me from the provocateur
No persuasive argument will be my candy,
a keepsake solidarity in barter
A marked plot spewed by shrewd men
An aftermath velvet and a last squint of Prussia far and near
Death so dear only to see if the lady in red silk I loved has red roses
My dear Soviet plezhvadya
for the wide-brimmed black hat, red bloody eyes hers, a gunshot
,yellow mouthful venom of words oozing out in raucous abuses
Hatred carped in end and unend Olesya, good as gold my Olesya
Now the bastion they called bastards buccaneered before her epithet
Kaliningrad`s cloud full of black so black an obnoxious smoke
Davai! Davai! they shouted and again nemesis eavesdropped
Eagles died I know not if a death of glory as I felt I saw an 1871 gauntlet
That’s my last shot of life before I became death`s forgotten lucky bloke
Vocabulary --1-Plezhvadya(Russian/Czech)- A Soviet dish
2.Davai!(Russian)--Let`s do it, Come on!
3.Obnoxious-extremely unpleasant
4.Gauntlet-An armored glove of the tectonic Knights
5.Raucous-Harsh,Sharp,Loud
6.Barter-Exchange,Trade,Swap without use of money
7.Buccaneer-Maruader,Plunderer,Raider
Who is my reader? My reader is my guest
In the secret of his corner of host
He welcomes me as an instructor or tractor
In the sector of her golden mind
She listens to me as minister or tax collector
Who is my reader? My reader is my leader
My reader is my adviser, my redeemer
Transports me from writer to author, messenger
Elevates me from speaker to preacher, immortal
Promotes me from player to director, instructor
My reader is my uncle, my reader is my anchor
In the dark street of his solitude, altitude
He accepts me as nephew or follower
In the cold corner of his addiction, condition
He sings along with me as inmate or soul-mate
Fight me with ,his muscles brown, wrestler
Read me with her avid eyes full of tears, lawyer
Who is my reader? My reader is my listener
In his mental imagery, he scans me between lines
He portrays me as storyteller or fortuneteller
Scrutinizes me between my words, inspector
Who is my reader? my reader is my provocateur
Who is my reader? My reader is my challenger
My reader is my mother,my reader , my mentor
my reader may be a writer,my reader is my printer
A butterfly flapping gossamer wings,
she is unaware of the breeze she brings.
She's a natural beauty, sought by kings,
but being no puppet, she cut her strings.
And like a babbling brook, her laughter sings,
the kind of girl men buy engagement rings.
A cuddly pussycat, she purrs in bed,
playing games till inhibitions are shed.
An artist, she's skilled with needle and thread
and a fashionista, she won't be led,
not tethered to the past, she zooms ahead.
Like an orchid, she exudes a sweet scent
and speaks to me in a sexy accent.
And always gives me one hundred percent,
my guardian angel, she's heaven-sent.
Armed with a smile, she thinks that I'm funny,
Queen of the hive, She's as sweet as honey,
a gourmet chef that likes her eggs runny.
She's a provocateur, oft capricious,
and yet, her kisses are so delicious.
She's a Goddess, and yet, she is my wife.
My confidant, she knows hearts aren't playthings
she's a passionate soul, happily wed.
She stretches hope to its fullest extent,
wise as an owl and cute as a bunny.
And the first time we met was auspicious,
for that's when she chose me to share her life.
(Minuanetta)
7/24/2018
Volition, orientation familiarization aahing
and oohing within restrictive paradigm molding
inviolable honorable gentility -
flagrantly, desirously, clearly boyz abandoning
willfully skirting, panting (heavily)
forfeiting abominably, (no Joe King) abiding
chomping at bit, damning delineated, or obscure
parameters, between one acceding
Earthlinked selfish living
psychosexual pining human bing,
and another ardently avowedly ambitious
altruistic agent provocateur (lol)
at first blush hinting Moulin Rouge adulation
under dim (witted) lighting accenting
individual randy salient
traits savoring tête-à-tête
tasty hors d'oeuvres accentuating
nuances highlighting flirtatious countenance
initially unconditionally stubbornly accepting
dire hormonal straits
as prickly fledgling acquaintanceship
quivers, negotiates, kickstarts abolishing
inchoate biochemical protracted coupling
conveniently interpreting accessing
breeching, catapulting Dickensian estuary,
non verbal communication nsync abridging
painstakingly erecting complex edifice
suavely, urbanely, wittily accessorising
tried and truevalue tricks acclaiming
debonair heroic manliness princely
qualities dutifully dominate directing
demure damsel in distress absconding
convincing, foreplaying, jimmying,
rollicking readily acclimatizing
challenges thrust up gracefully parlaying
most savvy serious similarly sophisticated
totally tubular testosterone tactics
versatile repartee accomplishing
dynamics cultivating atavistic romantic ballet
on duh poe whit tick abutting
metaphorical foot accoutering
trappings adorned since mythological
Adam and Eve accrediting
latter, sans virile unavoidable temptation
savoir faire verboten fruit, accelerating
action whereby unsuspecting, slithering,
lurking serpent teen accounting
rattle unheard by apse cent church fathers
subsequently excoriating, condemning, accusing,
nonetheless indomitable transcendence achieving
pinnacle of prostrate poignancy
inexpressible ecstasy acquiescing
nonpareil acquisition adulation activating
ascendence assaying administering
amorousness activating. aching.
Mysterious mime or calculating creature
Misanthropic recluse or doting benefactor
Shallow Charlatan or discerning teacher
Obstinate hauteur or modest beseecher
Erudite miser or innovative vizier
Bridled subordinate or confident mentor
Repressed miscreant or extroverted courtier
Natural predator or nurtured fancier
Meager cipher or extravagant couture
Perennial malcontent or persistent pacifier
Venal provocateur or unremitting stabilizer
Wavering transient or steadfast accompanier
Pessimistic mentality or positive reinforcer
Incessant doubter or faithful believer
Opportunistic voyeur or resolute lover
Impulsive actor or objective personifier
Francis Scott Key ...
a song provocateur, who spoke
most ungentlemanly
Scott “Don’t set ‘em Free”
had to be
the most rabid racist
you never wanted to meet
Francis the Talking Mule
wrote a rousing anthem of war
Liberty for poor black souls like me,
wasn’t what it was written for
That patriotic song is so off-key,
sung with puff prideful bigotry
And wavy flag folks
want me
to un-spangle my hand,
and bray
star-struck dreamily
What kind of a Francis fool,
oh do you think I am
Got promised a scam:
forty green acres and a mule
But was only given
Jim Crow promissory rope hope
Was bandit banner handed
free penitentiary space,
and plenty foreign soil uncut dope
The Star Spangled words
said the “gloom of the grave”
was the foul refuge for the slave,
who chose bad British liberty
over good American slavery
Now they want me to stand,
and place my heart under my hand
Open my mouth
to sing aloud
off-key,
about liberty
that wasn’t originally
intended for colored skin
people like me
That tomb song is so dead off-key ...
sung with ignorant, dogmatic glee
Francis “Skeleton” Scott Key,
turned a man-stealing lie
into a flag truth on the sly ...
hybrid lyrical rapist of liberty
Now, them bones rest uneasily
in the wavy, bottomless deep
As that blotted out, blood-wrong song
is forever sung silently off-key
My daughter heard
a Decent Cool-lio smart phone stranger
(with an African sounding name)
give a four fifty one Fahrenheit warning
Some said: the fellow was loco insane
Others said,
not taking heed was the crux to blame
Mr. O Mgeni
said he saw a sickly pale man,
in an ivory tower,
feverishly delirium shouting
And each time he opened his mouth,
everything went up in flames
When the spit started to gushing out,
it petrol-fyingly
burned down the calcium frames
Mr. Onyo
sadly viral said,
the charred voting remains
was carbon dust crematory claimed
Some said this stranger
was a Pygmy green card provocateur
Others said this Mgeni fellow
was a temporarily sworn Masai allure
But, I believe
what my daughter said
Shavola told me: Daddy,
the burning photo negatives don’t lie!
Each time he opened up his mouth,
everything burst into flames
When the spit started to spray out,
it gaslight-ingly
burned down the calcium frames
And I bare witness
to what she said
Mr. O Mgeni avowed:
The 451 Fahrenheit early warning came
Some listened for the ominous, approaching sirens
Others didn’t ... too their crying shame
The holographic records retinitis-ously declare:
When the ground-zero man spoke ...
everything not fire retardant
quarantined,
went up in a green pyre of flames
Every wouldn’t osteopathic frame
Tho’ the early warning foreign aid came
Nevertheless, the charred voting remains
was hot-white coals crematory claimed
Matthew Scott The Marionette...
(Concocting cock and bull poetic pap
promises to approximate bovine rap
worse case scenario..., you will snap
so friend me at funny farm in Trappe
Pennsylvania, or frankly yukon zap
this poppycock poetic
emetic entailing...vowel)
movements deftly managed skilled puppeteer
unseen hands adroitly maneuver paraphernalia
bajillion miles away deep into thee atmosphere,
where Soundgarden's black hole sun serves as
infinite energy-feeds performing artist career
inherent behind the scenes trickster leveraging
mine every move master of ceremonies appear
ring poking his oblate spheroid noggin thru walled
sky inquiring, asper state of being paternal care
oft times addressing him as father, cuz proficient
craftsmanship forged me from nought meticulously
rendering yours truly complex functions, an engineer
ring feat cosmic artisan whipped out applying greased
lightning rods (unbreakable accouterments) endowing,
and endorsing creation with uber tender loving care
divine intervention nary clue hinted, thus me unaware
leverage, sans remote control bound tethered bond
most every day of "FAKE" existence never suspected
every aspect of my being linkedin at mercy of pioneer,
who more or less cornered, fabricated, patented... the
market, sans configuring sophisticated kin o'man near
lee indistinguishable from offal housed in Augean stables
essentially explaining incessant mooing "holy cow" & rear
ring like a bucking bronco, though mastermind did milk
golden opportunity calf full not to exploit this cash cow
loose sing hybridized mutant amidst green acres, where
past chore age of cornucopia frequently dredges muck
cob bray, and remembrance of things past, I Angus here
hoof hit might be convenient Taurus to part ways lest
ye accuse me being lame provocateur, spewing this slop
(from well chewed cud) out the figurative derriere!
It is no mystery I'm in a quandary The look on my pretty face Is a bit misplaced The surreptitious halo floating askew above me Gives the impression I'm quit free But quite the contrary I in fact can be a provocateur for sure But please continue to think That I am sweet innocent and pure