Best Puerile Poems
When the
seaside sepulchre
of a kingdom,
without its queen,
is smeared with
screams of lighting,
I wish to crackle
these slivers
of silver shakle,
and devour
that consoling
taste of balsamic
twilight, which
drapes every
ritual of woe with
maleficent vows.
I wonder, if
the thievery of
of my soul, will
enhance the
crawling of
raven sun
or, bestow power
upon the baptised
mannequin,
by slaying those
jealous lilies,
floating in
summery
estuaries of
my stolen destiny.
As these sage flames
fly across the
chambers of
my castle,
petrifying those
puerile promises
of life, I seak to
be an amaranth,
rising beyond
oak skies as
I engulf those
taunting meteors that
enshroud my
solitude and
dethrone every
essence of
false light, that
consumed those
waltzing scents
of my sangria spring.
Has my heart
become a
fickle thorn,
who will keep
bleeding guidance
in moonlight or
shall this
fortnight be
traced by the last
streak of treacherous
bloodline?
Perhaps,
'The Goddess
of Thunder'
is unfurling
those flaming
rose' maidens,
who wish
to splash ebons
of roaring wreath,
across the
woeful vaults of
my ribcage,
which concealed
their silence
in sentinels of
sacrifice.
I don't assert
the want of
swathing myself
in the perfumed
petrichor of
heinous healing,
as I don't want to
quench this
rage that
is carving a
strife to
refuse my
surrender towards
this succumbing
darkness.
" I wish to be
the soul of a marionette's
pearly pupa,
satiated by fiery halo
of chrysalis,
and slowly weaving
silken hymns of
desperate hope,
desiring to emerge
from the emeralds,
that betray every eye... "
Playing With Fire
Afraid for your miscreant soul
While the Devils licking tongues of flame at your heel
With oh so dirty thoughts
Afraid for the flesh
As you are lead to the pits
All the torture there in of your imagination conceives
Be pleased, to afflict on someone else
Swallow your morals
Like a sanctity pill
A Eucharist aspirin swilled down on holy water
Fear the flesh you stalwart middle class
While the upper-class
Enjoy what you cannot
As you wallow in the resistance of sin
And narrow your life to acquiescence
Puerile in such judgements
Of fickle moralities pleasure
Live a life unlived
And all its pleasure turn to guilt and reprieve
Salvation will come
When it ends
Ascend then, the Jacobs Ladder to heaven
Never knowing what it meant
To kiss with abandon
But rather, suckle to demon lips
All those desires in their fetish of flesh
One last look at the skin you left
Untested
Resist my swarthy middle mass citizens
And ply the trade
Of your own oppression
Condemn me, I dare you, to some raging inferno
Where the appeasing of your righteousness
Knows no bounds
In another climactic prayer for torture
I will play with the bonfire
Rather than mess with poor dripping candles
I will stand proud and defiant
And declare that I
Am Human
for Christie
We wander all, in feral dreams
of jagged thoughts and cryptic yearns;
a labyrinth of mirrored turns.
Along a ridge of moon stitched seams,
lie melancholic tapestries,
unfolded in an abstract frieze.
Subconscious angst weaves heart loomed themes
from pain sewn deep, through puerile eyes,
till daybreak’s alabaster guise.
As savage beasts from darkened streams,
complicit servants of the id,
form insights purged at slumber’s bid.
Claw toward light as urging deems;
these taloned gasps of hidden truth,
burst from the depths of shuttered youth.
We wander all, in feral dreams
along a ridge of moon stitched seams.
Subconscious angst weaves heart loomed themes,
as savage beasts from darkened streams,
claw toward light as urging deems.
19 Nov 2019
I marvel at the tears of stars
that loudly blush as they pass Mars
Toward earth they fall in streams of dust
on cosmic winds that swirl and gust
No doubt it seems a madman’s tale
a rotund lie of cosmic scale
I ask you though, with much chagrin
please wake that child that naps within
Though hard to see with grownup eyes
The puerile heart unveils their guise
Near tranquil ponds where sorrow feeds
they land and spark among the reeds
Tenacious ichor tells entire construction
Divulges puerile battles during idle procedure
Relic compiling spotlight show seduction
Library ivory tower truth siphoning beseecher
Adapted lady adorns princely throne
Padlock hammocks tween valuable threads
Warm cove cocoon moors love's loan
Imbibing cover only, for information dreads
Mould folded within her novel costume
Pacifying massage, limbs lubricated levitate
Elephant keratin tusk thrusts impromptu
Smudge of shame fades chalk dust archaic
- Fifth September
Fabricating Sculptor
I
I am with Liberty
At least I was
Until 2019, before the Virus
Now as in puerile freedoms
(Just words, not many will sacrifice for;
Most people go along, as with Trump in USA)
So, I was with Liberty University
In Virginia, the world's largest Christian university
When Jerry Jr. supported the Donald, I left the country
"Leave of absence," I said
Now how many atheists support Donald Trump?
II
Mandela of South Africa might have rotted in prison
Yet 27 years later he emerged, with more passion
For freedom than those who were "born free," taught "Reason,"
How do we explain this Freedom's mystery?
Men - and women - under the boot of racism
Emerge with a greater testimony of Freedom
Than the Teachers, the advocates, the age-old Practitioner?
Gandhi, too, born under British colonialism
Not only imparted freedom in South Africa, but in his own nation
Then a dose of Christian moral conviction:
"I'll be a Christian if the West practices Jesus' famed Sermon"
III
Hey, I was a communist and atheist by persuasion
Because as a child I knew no fairness, no freedom
Then how this Christian conversion?
Now I come to my theme, topic, and Question:
There is a Spirit, we call it Spirit of The Original QUESTION:
Yes, God is the Original Question, Miss & Mr. Reason!
As He seems to ask the rhetorical question:
When a non-life form, Corona Virus, can quiet our planes & "System"
When every Tom, Dick, & Maggie are in prayer now
What are the atheists saying, what are they doing?
Maybe some good atheist will help us Predict the next dislocation?
I had a troubling dream one night, sweet Lady Liberty, shining bright
Standing proud in quiet grace, yet tears were streaming down her face
A country's strength lies in its folks, yet we oft' elect these proxy jokes
Vain leaders who pledge loyalty to wealth gained, not democracy
It makes no difference what's their side, the gulf between is far too wide
Wasting time with pointing fingers ... progress dies, corruption lingers
Their puerile quarrels make no sense - smoke screens for stark negligence
They CAN see paths to compromise, but only for those OTHER guys
And while they claim that all is well, our blessed country goes to hell
The peoples' voices, shot and skinned, while hope hangs twisting ...
In unchanged wind.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "It Really Gets Me Going" Poetry Contest, Kevin Shaw, Judge & Sponsor.
I fell through the cracks,
There's no coming back,
I'm on my own now,
My only question is how,
What did I do,
To deserve losing you?
Where do I go,
Now that you are my foe?
When do I rise,
Off the ground to the skies?
Who will I be,
When I'm no longer me?
How is this real,
When I no longer feel?
My wings expand,
I soar off the land,
The wind's in my face,
As I fly from this place,
The air becomes warm,
As I flee from the storm,
I'm forgetting my shame,
As I'm learning my name,
Who says scars don't heal,
That cliche's so puerile,
My scars are now fading,
My past is downgrading,
My skin is now smooth,
My mind now feels soothed,
Like a phoenix to a flame,
I've now found my name,
My old name is abandoned,
And replaced with the name *Wind*
Love rang my heart where I rebuffed her advances, hoping to heighten the longing love felt despite my fickle indifference, complacency and obstination. Love walked away and stoutly locked her door hermetically. I rue my puerile procrastination...
Love slips into longing
hearts quiet, unheard, unseen
until it vanishes.
Visual 1
Earth does ballet to stay in shape
dancing before the rubbernecking moon
that chases us around the sun
making waves in oceans like our emotions
…for an obnoxious pet.
Mars and Venus are anxious lovers
who can’t cuddle in their king sized bed
because restless Earth sprawls wide between them
constantly turning, warm and feverish.
...but not like Mercury.
Mercury has cancer and a great tan from all the sun.
Puerile asteroids caper about the solar system
giggling and sharing jokes with the big galoot--
Jupiter is stupid, but loves a hearty laugh.
Poop and fart jokes are favorites
…Jupiter is always gassy.
Saturn is too discerning for such unrefined buffoonery.
She’s the hula hoop queen
…4.5 billion years and counting.
Loved by all, but secretly engaged.
Mopey, woebegone Uranus wears the other ring.
On their first date Saturn was pretty in pink and
Uranus smelled awful
…Jupiter loves that joke.
Still, nobody stirs up trouble like Neptune who
takes a three-pronged approach to everything
and made Pluto cry with news of adoption.
Since then, Pluto has grown
…quite distant.
All the while, the sun smiles a contented smile...
...and looks on.
05/28/15
Submission for Lexi's Art Contest
Hosted by: Mystic Rose
The things you do are not worthy of compliments.
I thought even someone like you would have more sense.
Sometimes I wish you would stay on the other side of the fence.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
So often, you would display a puerile scene.
Nobody else I know would break a slot machine.
Your impetuous action was something not too keen.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
Nobody likes it when you rant in a vociferous way.
Your deleterious actions seem to be here to stay.
Nothing has ever changed. It’s the same from day to day.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
Whenever it is payday, you run off to a casino.
You disregard your bills and obligations, and off you go.
In no time at all, you no longer have any dough.
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
The way you act in public appears bizarre and strange.
The family and few friends you have are treated like small change.
Is there a possibility your brain we can rearrange?
Inside your cranium, there does not appear to be much room.
That is why you have always been a boomboom.
You made a puerile and repugnant scene.
That was the night you broke a slot machine.
You did it in the casino right out in plain view.
There were scores of patrons around us to watch you.
You pestered me for money in a pertinacious way.
I kept saying to you, “No more money today.
You are having bad luck. This is not your night.”
Your ostensible behavior was enough to cause fright.
With your fist, you thoughtlessly broke the machine’s glass.
The men grabbed you immediately and hauled away your ass.
Furthermore, what happened next did not surprise me
The security guards treated you roughly.
In handcuffs across the floor, they took you away.
Upstairs in their office, you had to stay.
They had you in a dire predicament.
Casino security called the police department.
It was a wasted night with a comp I could not use.
For damages, I wound up paying your dues.
It seemed you realized what had occurred.
You were lucky not to be nailed with a criminal record.
Unfortunately, that did not stop your gambling.
Back to Atlantic City, you kept rambling.
Apparently, you have not learned your lesson to this day.
You thoughtlessly continue to throw your money away.
Interrupted Solitude
A sentence here, a comment there
Your ponderous thoughts you were forced to share
"Who is this man?" I'm sure you said
As words were drawn from within your head.
‘Twas on the flight, a normal one
Until your thoughts and reminiscences - gone!
Those abstract feelings within your mind
Temporarily suspended - did you really find
The puerile chatter of things like verse
From some pedant, sure to disperse
The many who really understand
The written word of our fair land?
A voluminous poem of no set school
Scrawled by one, who though no fool
Really tried - not to impress
But to get comment from the Bards' mistress.
Comment given, yet little criticism
Of the traveller's cynicism.
Relate you did - or so I thought
Or else these words would come to nought.
The serenity to the world you show
Scarcely hides the turmoil below.
For though your manner is no pretence
Your well thought words seem so intense.
There's something there inside of you;
A pain so deep it's like a screw
Turning deep into your heart
As you search your mind for the words to start.
Because of this these lines did I show
Because of this I felt you'd know
Just what it was I was trying to say
As you read them through, without dismay.
Was it this - a common ground,
That hidden pain without a sound,
Which made you talk, while instead
Your book of poems you could have read?
And so I thank you in my small way
For your time shared with me that day.
And I hope that soon you'll find
That so elusive peace of mind!
Silence
Let's not talk of fantasy
Of moon or stars and things
Let's not talk of romance
And the heartache that it brings
Let's not talk of sleepless nights
Or times we've come to dread
Let's not talk of sexuality
Or things not left unsaid
Let's not talk such puerile thoughts
We're adults after all
Lets not talk of latent lust
Lest our duty duly fall
Let's not talk of deepened friendship
Prolonged, subdued, but more
Than passing ships in the night
Drifting to each other's shore
Let's not talk of passion
Or tightening of the chest
Let's not talk of nervousness
Or the heaving of your breast
Let's not talk of you and I
Or distance in between
Let's not talk of barriers
Of race and fear unseen
Let's not talk of making love
Of holding you in my arms
Let's not talk of my caressing you
Lest it sets off more alarms
Let's not talk of happiness
In the short time since we met
Let's not talk with open hearts
Lest the pain we should forget
Let's not talk of emptiness
Of voids left deep within
Let's not talk of stolen hours, days
Or the abyss that we'll feel in
Let's not talk of rush nor haste
Of want or fire inside
Let's not talk of my departures
Or of feelings we can't hide
Let's not talk of fantasy
Of moon or stars and things
Let's not talk of romance
For who knows what tomorrow brings
My childhood elm of outgrowth stout
Nourished His formative buds about
While holding me during youthful sprout
Yet far I fell from Him.
For thoughtless Time forgives forgot
He waited for his puerile tot
My seasons passed far from his plot
And further I fell from Him.
Upon my adolescent spark
He let me stab his bleeding bark
With foolish whim, a lover’s mark
Still further I fell from Him.
While seasons passed with nature’s grace
And changed the lines upon my face
He kept my sacred vernal place
Still further I fell from Him.
Soon I was met with fortune’s snide
And chilling winter did preside
His thickened limbs He did provide
Still further I fell from Him.
When life bestowed my last defeat
For years of folly and conceit
My eyes beheld His sad retreat
How far I fell from Him!
That tree that held my girlish jump
And greenery once rich and plump
Was now a sickly blackened stump
How far I fell from Him!
I wept upon His tattered rings
For all the comfort He did bring
Throughout my vain and endless sting
I'd not ascend to Him!
Somehow He felt my tears abreast
And cleansed the faults I had possessed
He offered me His stump for rest
I did ascend to Him.