Best Purposely Poems
He speaks metaphorically to avoid dealing direct,
shows the unknown hand he’s against too much respect,
writes about his bravery though it’s no where to detect
or talks in the third person like this I'd expect.
Going on about himself like it’s happening to someone else,
distanced from reality his distracted mind plays stealth,
deflecting the desperation straying from his fails,
because being himself is hell with his fractured mental health.
You’d think he would try to save it but instead he stays away,
doesn’t acknowledge the slaying, writing on as if okay,
creates a situation where he has the final say,
when really just a coward putting himself on display.
He must have found comfort writing this because it's structured,
a new angle on the old tale nothing more than a distraction,
because as soon as it finishes he's back to a spineless buster,
hiding from conflict comforting another poor reaction.
How long will he go on paving this path of pathetic,
in a dangerous direction purposely neglected,
there’s the renegade he speaks of, self elected,
walking towards death being naturally selected.
But deep in this metaphor he doesn’t change a thing,
in his head it’s someone else or a tale of some thing.
To know what happens next go back where this poem begins,
now knowing what life is when your name is Nick Trim.
Ink spills purposely on paper
forming letters of certain alphabets
to vowels and consonants.
Though speechless, one puts
forth effort to enunciate and
pronounce aloud the syllables
carefully to articulate loves interest.
Do you
want to
be my
one
and
only
Love Interest?
Pace INK-U-SCRIPT
03-07-13
Place parsed pennies, purposely upon pretty porcelain palms.
The wanderer, restrained her raised ranting wrists!
She fell to her Humpty Dumpty position,
unable to ever be put back together again...
Each of us witnessed her fall,
yet we failed to gather those colourful leaves.
I believe we could have laid them at the base of her wall.
She sees the trees as he increases her diseases.
Deepening predatory penetrations as he pleases!
Cracking, fracking, hating, taking, and breaking.
Bringing about disappearing, as pain stains, her shamed awakening!
If we could have, would we have, mournfully watched?
Or instead, would we have held her wrists,
pulled at reddened panties, excruciated her sufferings?
Instead, we placated horrific tugged observations,
waited, pretended to see nothing,
drank our mocha-chino from starry cups!
we sat and licked our lips to the calming sound of muzak,
preferring voyeuristic aristocracy.
Oh how she cursed his kissing and biting,
the sucking of her Texan black gold!
All the while he praised her caged loins,
filling a billion barrels with her oil...
Until the time her flame set fire to his cursed wanting!
Until she summoned the winds from the east.
It was time to birth the spawn of his treachery.
Lava poured forth from mountainous risings!
He must suckle upon her displeasure,
until like creosol, his noxious presence,
combines with his own wasted wood.
Thus preserving his monumental failures,
encasing them within layers of his strangled death!
A voice called out from the West, "Where is the foolish man?
Who is left to sing about his great accomplishments?
His peculiar monuments have been laid to waste,
not a single brick remains in it's place."
No one is left to excavate the woeful forgotten.
She "Mother" seeps into the soil to reclaim his blood,
her womb is once again fertile.
She asks "Do we wish to begin again?"
The start of a great pause stings her ears!
She looks and understands,
"It is no longer good.”
All I Have in Life
My joyful 'witchy' friend
thinks only good of ev'ryone
She taught me how love works
conspires constantly with angels;
captured my soul in water colors
She's the true spirit of friendship
My two sensitive new friends
have allowed illness to intrude
and all I have to give them
are paper orchids and good wishes
and butterflies of poetry
Now I hope they listen to their inner truths
They are the reasons for friendship
Then there are my false friends
They faded like fog from daylight
They mystified me, made me feel regret
I try, to seldom think of them
For they were not friendship
I have friends who are
drama queens, they add 'delight,'
my favourite word, and often they
can be as distant as mountains
and as purposely absurd
I treasure moments with them
They are the poetry of friendship
I have friends whose children revolve,
like tiny planets, around them
I have friends filled with passion
too deep for expression
and some who never seem to lift their heads
above clouds of depression
They are the longings of friendship
I have friends whose expectations,
I failed to live out, and so they left
I have friends in far away places that
I'm always promising to revisit
I have friends with whom I share a perfect affinity
but with no time left over to spend with me
They are the lost potential of friendship
I have had really good friends, until
our lives drifted apart and all of our longing
we kept hidden in our hearts,
expressed in imaginary cards
and letters we often failed to write
They are the regret of lost friendship
For me there can be no end to the cycle
of friendships -I am certain
For all I have to live for
is my friends.
Suzanne Delaney
GHETTO GOSPEL
BY STREET CRIES
ABANDON BUILDINGS HOUSES WITH NO PARENTS ALL CHILDREN
READY AND WILLING TO BE PROGRAMED BY THE TELEVISION
GUNS WITH PRECISE PRECISION
PAIN PILL GOT US COMATOSE LIVING
KIDS MAKING ADULT DECISIONS
TO SURVIVE IS THE MISSION
WITCH EQUALS TO SENSELESS KILLING DRUG DEALING
LIFE IN PRISON
NO RESPECT FOR THE LIFE THAT'S GIVEN
PEOPLE GETTING RICH OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING
SATANIC RITUALS CELEBRITIES PRACTICING
OPEN YOUR EYES AND SEE WHATS HAPPENING
ARE WE A SLAVE TO THE WAY SOCIETY GOT US ACTING TODAY
ARE WE PURPOSELY LEAD ASTRAY
CLONE MEAT APPROVED BY THE F.D.A
VOICES BEING SILENCED THAT HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY
WE SEEM TO BE RUNNING A RACE WITH NO RELAY
STUCK IN A PLACE WITH NO LEEWAY
TRYING TO OVER COME OBSTACLES
THANK YOU FOR READING MY GHETTO GOSPEL
GOODNIGHT
The falling man, one photograph captured in time
An unforgettable image, imprinted on this mind
He represents us all, weather we like it or not
His faith did not kill him, destiny was his lot
Spiralling out of control, once the planes hit
Acting purely on instinct, not champing the bit
Fire and terror stoked decisions, until overcome
Incinerating heat compels him, never did he jump
This was no leap of faith, Infinitely more than that
A transcendence into agony, he’s looks down at
I try to pen his plight, impossible as it seems
Of a world going mad, upon our Tv screens
I wish it was over quick, that fall to his death
Alas he suffered slowly, until the very last breath
I’m been brutally honest, won’t gloss over the facts
For we owe it to him, it’s with innate honesty, he acts
A picture’s worth one thousand words, some disagree
Falling man, gives nothing away, we can clearly see
My heart’s telling this story, his fall sets the stage
An immortalised snapshot of life, will never fade
For all other innocents, murdered that fateful day
If there’s a silver lining, it’s with confidence I’ll say
Your loved ones cradled you, as the towers fell down
Far across many nations, pain is felt inside every town
Sun and moon appeared together, purposely that morn
Heavenly bodies, bore witness to a new world reborn
And this occurrence, should give a tiny ray of hope
Not used as a tool of glee by Helios misanthropes
Below is a comments box will the Helios misanthrope set foot in it
not a cowardly chance
By
David Kavanagh
I penned a couplet for you today.
Rather, a quill manipulated
my hand and scrawled mendacity.
The misanthrope's who read the ode
applauded with flippers on.
Such insight. Such depth.
Mussolini meets Monet and
the Mephistopheles Mambo mounts.
Call me a scribe and I murder myself.
Call me a liar and I impregnate your charm.
I purposely dislocated my arm today.
Rather, your tongue severed bone
and flesh was torn from my shoulder;
a needed braised boomerang
to stimulate my poetic prowess.
Such clarity. Such wisdom.
Lenin leads Lichtenstein and
the Lucifer Lindy is launched.
Call me a poet and I gnarl my fingers.
Call me a fabulist and I bow to a crooked smile.
A jellyfish swam through my veins today.
Rather, the tentacles of a tyrant
triggered a fabricated Tanka.
Maudlin stumbles when I laugh alone -
more comedic when we cackle together.
Such simplicity. Such compassion.
Bundy befriends Berchtold and
the Beelzebub Bossa Nova begins.
Call me a dramatist and I gag upon reflection.
Call me a simpleton and your wishes are granted.
I solemnly yearn to expire today.
Rather, a fool fires in a fury
and a mannequin lies in his casket.
The curse you've driven towards me -
a combination menu
when a lone Woolf inconspicously
devours a battered Browning.
Such diversity. Such nothingness.
Stalin seduces Seurat and
the Satanic Samba softly swoons.
Call me a parodist and I choke upon perfection.
Call me a realist when I'm sleeping on nails.
(Read later stanzas for more of the humour part ; parody of politics)
I Can't think well of a democracy
if nepotism and false promises
are part and parcel of its idiosyncrasy
A system of governance can't appeal to me
if it forever stinks of the 'stinking' rich plutocracy.
The media the ravening wolves many times their puppets,
together they howl for our divided attention
With wily words to win the masses of marionnettes
The nation's welfare merely their scheme in pretension.
Wonder why political power has to be the monopoly
of ambitious, vainglorious affluent power moguls.
Why can't they simply choose leaders
from any sincere poor yet wise and humble individuals?
The promises of a better world by 'em' politicians
are simply the oratory tricks of slick tacticians.
Demagogues come in all shapes and sizes
They come in 'perfect' future leader disguises
Pulling you and me to polling booths, luring us the dumbstruck voters
To amass as much power and wealth as possible in their limited quotas.
No wonder poor presidents are turned or burned
in the form of their rude and crude effigy cartoons
Comic sarcastic politics I say, since a caricature
it purposely lampoons!
Then the demonstrations, remonstrations
but they only invite riots and tear bomb gas
So if yah can keep your rallies peaceful
maybe you won't be such an ass.
And if yah do go ahead ranting, panting, slogun chanting
No seeds of discord nor weeds of hate be sowing, planting
for a showdown with fleshy arms, no metal arms can still be prancing, advancing
With sloguns not shotguns be ye protesting and demanding.
Thus I really wonder if politicos politicking
really do make the world tick.
Or do they simply in many places cause
timebombs to parallel the clock's tick?
(ok cast d ballot n vote 4 me as funny presidential candidate
of no-man's land ;
Gentle caresses sweep my skin
with creeping tenderness,
devouring every curve of my body
and feeling its sizzling melt
against your skin.
Your loving gaze enters my soul
striking away all attempts
to keep the padlocked
heart and mind
shuttered from any harm.
Your finger tips tantalize
my womanly form
raising delightful awareness.
You lead my chin towards you
brush your nose and lips
over my face as you slowly
move towards my mouth
then meet, magically.
Explosive emotions
dynamite through my mind
as we meld together
powerless
I become putty in your hands
and you play purposely
mastering your art
knowing it’s your attention
to detail that matters
in loving me.
Classical infusion, Beethoven’s “ode to joy”
playing on blaring audiophile speakers annoy
purposely looped to destroy vagrants with electronic music
blends of subversive elements and anxious acoustic
the solution to loitering the bodega doo dropping
spicy Shiitake broth smelling pissy store front,
jaded daily stunt, at midnight wino corks popping
abruptly segway into a film from one music scene
to a melting hallway, a lipstick alley with animate occupants
disconnected unmoored, appearing eerie and dormant
fluorescent lights unleashing a hum buzz in duress
hissing sizzling hornets’ nest of unsettling unrest
illogical levels of unease, an iniquitous den
such madcap absurdity is beyond my ken
not a shack, mall, nor a Holiday Inn,
a queasy Quasi-Moto mood which lies within
backrooms filled in with discarded filets
of fishy maceral that have no place,
frolicking pixella's in a glossy abyss of liminal space
plump puce brushed lips affixed
swollen browns and purple mixed
deep maroon and dusky rose,
make-up art is what they pose
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Crescent shaped moon portions mounted in pseudo walls
mounted upon the glare in unpleasing patterned halls
side by side quagmired half discs dawning a contorted face
in a half dazed-half-moon crest loon’s invisible phase
not unconscious but in some in-between state
bored while in transition and abandoned as they await
whimsical moldings who see me try not to take a peek
an exit to this madness is what I and they seek
maybe re-evaluate my sleep number, for gravity defying rest
What insight imports this encounter and what test?
what it means for a doomed generation Xer or baby boomer,
tacked in stucco, Silly Putty it seems, in a warped sense of humor
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
shall I dwell
in the palette of extreme
where canons lounge unchallenged
indulging parroted truths
of rigid dogma
or maybe
the grey
sublime in its centrist hue
let me struggle with dangerous assertions
in the crucible of original thought
birthing new epiphanies
unmoored from the status quo
drifting purposely between
black and white
I stared into the mirror today.
I saw you -
a needled zealot
hovering around my left shoulder;
Adolph Hitler dressed in
opium-perfumed swatches.
You smelled like her.
You acted like him.
You looked like me.
Swastika tall and evenly abhorrent.
Syringe-insured yet,
never sharp enough to
successfully stab
outside the 50-point cork.
You slithered like a quadroplegic,
into my stratum.
Pointing and probing
a crooked finger -
never healing
the martyr's wound.
A broken grimace leaves me
ugly flesh to ponder.
Your tentacles:
toothless cleavers eclipse
black-dilated pupils,
servicing our
boomeranged arms
with dingoed malice -
peppermint leaves and peroxide boil
as the living corpse cackles.
Mussolini removed
thirteen quieted quills
from his heart
shortly before the noose was tied.
Into square knots.
Into napkin pleats.
Into a poet's silence - where
our self-induced stupor
was dragged upon
spiked cobblestones -
and for that,
my dear Stalin beauty;
I sew my spit into
vile words -
dribbling purposely
upon this diseased
cotton-swabbed
canvas
for you
and I
to clean.
How Hungry for GOD Are You?
How hungry for GOD are you? Do you pray and read the
Word daily? Do you stay in an attitude of prayer throughout
the day? Do you stay in fellowship with other believers?
Do you support the work of the Kingdom?
Do you hunger and thirst to know more of HIM? Do you feel like
you just can’t go on any further till HE touches you afresh? Do you
cry out for the fire of GOD to come on you by HIS SPIRIT?
Do you look for HIM to send you to unsaved people so you
can tell them about JESUS and lead them in a prayer to HIM?
Do you pray for the youth of this country and ask the LORD to send
a tremendous revival to them? Can you hardly wait for another
service so you can worship HIM with other saints?
Do you sing and worship HIM around your home and as you are doing
your work, cleaning, washing, and cooking? Do you sing n the SPIRIT as
you are mowing the grass, changing the beds?
Do you and your husband go to the mall purposely looking for
people to tell about JESUS? Do you seek out young people to
pray for them if they will let you and when they do, are you
praying for HIS SPIRIT to saturate them and use them and
keep them?
Are you longing and crying out for JESUS to come for HIS church?
HE is you know! Do you look for opportunities to tell people about
JESUS whenever you check out in stores, restaurants? I tell the
clerks or checkers that JESUS loves them and that HE is coming
soon, sometimes the reaction is tears, some laugh, some love it,
some hate it but needless to say, they got the message.
Do you pray for our nation and leaders to be safe and to be
led by HIS SPIRIT? And also, are you still and tuning
your ear to hear HIS still small voice? When you came to HIM
did you jump into the river of revival with all of your clothes on?
Did you tell HIM, Whatever YOU hate, I will hate, whatever
YOU love, I will love! Did you determine you would give
HIM everything and will follow HIM wherever HE wants you
to go?
Did you determine to be like a good little pot of clay made
by the GREAT POTTER and asked HIM to cover that little
pot with HIS SPIRIT and fill it up so HE could pour it out
on who so ever whenever or wherever HE chooses!
Oh, yah~~! Then, you are definitely hungry for our
GOD!
GOD bless,
Written by: Marilyn S Jennings
May 6, 2019
Purple leather turtles
Smoking hippy rats
Gastric glands
Secrete Orange Juices
Leave my stomach
Swim in land.
Cauliflower hairy clouds
Pouring purple rain,
Heavy inches
Salt dry water
Sad the clown
Drowns again.
Mushroom confusion
Stop long haired ants,
Angry bitten leaves curse
Paparazzi popping plants.
Slow feline drivers
Married canine sky divers,
Jump outside
Hot left shoe.
Cell phone starts ringing
Soprano liver singing
Strange writings
Because of you.
Hush rush
Drink liquid Ink
Flamingo thoughts
Dream is pink,
One pill
Black rainbows will
To purposely get lost.
Time and rhyme, from somewhere it will shine.
Time and rhyme, will sometimes, be mine,
and when it does, it makes me high.
I want you to feel my long lasting sigh.
Please lie with me and taste these letters.
Make it better. Drink, and utter sounds that
make my lips feel like butter.
I think of you and purposely I try to flutter.
Float ideas and kiss your mind so much it floods
my words with thoughts that matter.
Lend me ears, and lend me eyes to
dream your face, and dream your thoughts
seduce you wet, untidy, naughty,
even though we never met.