Best Purulent Poems
The Man casts a shadow purulent with stealth
Having seen his apportion of nebulous days.
In fear of himself... too long on the shelf
And a vague memory of far better days.
He then lowers his head.
Overcome with a feeling of dread.
Dreaming of marmalade and bread...
As he ponders the end of his days.
"I'm the Marmalade King!" He shouts
To a world passing him by.
"I'm the Marmalade King," he pouts
To those who are left alive.
"Was I somebody once?" He reflects.
"Who was treated with gentile respect?
But I have a vehement tendency to forget
This thing for which I strive."
"There are vile beasties intent on mischief."
He whispers to a Juniper tree aside his tent.
"They task me when I am fast asleep
In a melancholy slumber of sly torment."
Now the tree failed to address
To the comments so pressed
But the King would have to confess,
"You seem a perfect and absolute gent."
"If I truly be King?" He continued to say.
"Then I should lord over all that I see.
But my Kingdom seems to have filtered away
And I'm not sure where my subjects might be.
So I will remain here on this spot
Until my loyal subjects are brought
Whether they come freely or caught,"
Said the King to the Juniper tree.
"Oh how silly of me... I've made a mistake."
He said as he rose from his chair.
"It is good to have given my head a fair shake
As there are new facts of which I'm aware.
I've been unloading my fears
But it has now become clear
While standing right here...
My Kingdom is right over there!"
"I see you're a conifer of hearty regard,"
Said the King to the Juniper tree.
"We must do well to keep up our guard
As lesser mortals have been known to flee.
But I've come to the conclusion.
The outer world is a fallacious delusion
And if I'm meant for seclusion...
I'm glad it's just you and me."
While a callous world attempts to ignore him,
There is a venue for which he might cling.
Made only for him... less dour and grim,
Where he has control over differing things.
And in that sacrosanct place.
He will find not a whiff of disgrace.
Bathed in the love of God's Grace...
All hail the Marmalade King!!
The End
Categories:
purulent, courage, humanity, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
‘Turn swords into ploughshares and nightmares to dreams’
I have not one plough and no shares in the market
Insomnia has taken over my nights the rest is illusion
Ambitions are exhausted and hope has no yearning
Freedom dangles on the rope of puppet-less strings
Vacuum reflects an echo of silent ear bursting rasping
Dissonance oozes from cacophony’s apathetic rattle
The heavy clanger of other’s fraudulent forge melts disowned blood
Into ice in my veins as a purulent mind oozes vile battles' cries
Muted by trench feet scraping bottomless mind-fields and apathy
‘Pull yourself out of catatonia’s core-less pits’
But there is no kernel of truth and fruits of desire have rotted
To the acrid stench of a Self carefully lost on broken branches
Snapped composure looms over a well-trodden treacherous path
Carved into an involuntary hermit’s cave by a cliff edged road side
It is grave in the cavern in which vacant vagrants jumble their bones
Disconnect their last possession and wilfully trade skulls and bones
‘This too shall pass and so many others have been stuck in the rot’
And yet suffocation in some muddy sludge is sinking
Slowly and excruciatingly tempting to join forces of evil
A dark rusty anchor floats high on the unreachable ceiling
Time I have endless measures of but the world is upside down
I am out of the picture that has faded memories for the future
Dislodged and dismembered I am a powerful union of nothing
‘Change your perspective and find solace where it is hidden’
So he who is I from the distance finally lets go of unwarranted grip
Descends as far from the surface as possible beyond expectations
And finds footing of the shackles where the ploughshare should be
The spikes pierce my soles and my soul ostensibly drowned in sorrow
At least there is pain and some place in between scars to feel emotions
That tentatively nurture rescue apparently beyond impossible salvation
‘Your advice seemed hollow but there is some loving space left inside my shell’
29th November 2019
Categories:
purulent, courage, depression, hope,
Form:
Free verse
she had lost the plot long before in an insane labyrinth of her mind
trapped in the rat race of high speed and the volume on full blast
incarcerated shackled and straight jacketed thumb screws and all
contorting denial delusion and psychedelic support to no valid avail
and the wall of her self-imposed prison was barbed with wire of pain
the maze of synaptic connections discharged commands of unreason
torturous wheels of cognition failed to balance fierce contradictions
twisting and hurting she succumbed to a myriad of fake solutions
turning the tourniquet tight to receive the message of brown sugar
winding serpentine paths misconstrued from temptation and promise
and still the garden remained a wasteland of intemperate indignation
she had fallen off the wagon so many times that the engine had stalled
sinews lay bare under a sinuous array of purulent scars and punctures
a tattered puzzle of perplexed bewilderment awaiting the ultimate shot
the heroine submerged in near namesake poison in face of the needle
as the epitaph neared completion and the funeral cortege proceeded
she prayed and surrendered to a white knuckling ride of withdrawal
dragons danced with cold turkeys on her tomb stone but they refused
to relinquish hope for affronted vultures puked at sight of her ghost and
she recalls near death experiences and abstinence as a miraculous gift
25th June 2020
Categories:
purulent, 5th grade, drug,
Form:
Free verse
the tattoo on her eyebrow frowned
at the sight of yesteryear’s cutlass
the well-rounded blade had become
blunt dull and worn down from overuse
and yet straight to the point of salvation
the pain cut unceremoniously deep
like a double-edged sword that
protracted the kill in anticipation
of slicing from a lacerated mind
saw teeth serenaded an ode to demise
one more incision and the blood flow
would take her across the river of tears
lacerated dreams punctured and carved into
her epitaph a forgone pleasant conclusion
the point of no return loomed un-capriciously
her wounds had festered in purulent beauty
and she appealed to her inner resolve
why prolong the inevitable release
and she was calm with no tremor
as she faced the extinction of terror
her glance fell upon the scalpel
next to the toothbrush and lather
and the mirror liked what it saw
cracked glass a few shards missing
a borrowed fantasy and reflection
of a bloody life unwanted as she
pondered upon what message
to inscribe on her tombstone
the shower curtain ready for a last splash
cheered her on ‘don’t you worry’
‘I’m easy to clean the mess will abide’
grout bleach and tiles lured a whitewash
and the toilet brush smiled in applause
cacophonous bristles caked in foul smell
took her closer to the crappy memories
which had darkened a life not worthy
of living and she let out a flatulent moan
ultimate and terminal the fizz pounced
and she gripped the rapier with
surgical precision and intricate joy
then Occam’s razor pleaded for parsimony
and she went back to self-laceration
prolonged suicide suited agony’s hurt
much better than a knife in her heart
17th May 2021
Knife’s Edge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Categories:
purulent, death,
Form:
Free verse
Tim had entered the state of a corpse while
the chorus assaulting his purulent soul festered
Callouses on his corpus callosum pretended
there was no connection just chaos exhumed
Corpuscles splattered astray ice in his vessels
in the same vein of demise as so often before
He stood at the pons dissected in cerebellar
disconnection nauseous detached from brain’s stem
A sequence of rapid succession seceded left overs
Hailstorms of concussion hailed hell freezing over
Snow gathered fast only that the crystals were black
Thunder and lightning electrocuted his passions
A squall out of nowhere invited rapidly raging squalor
Violent tempest arrested in sunken emotions
Blistering blizzards invaded the shelter of survival
Flooded with emptiness he crouched in the corner
of his neuro-toxified mind complicit of oblivion
He had tried the loneliness of a desolate desert
but then sand storms seeped through his pores
poured increasing abrasions towards ashes from dust
A vicious assault broke all defences’ containment
as he listened to the dispatch of an exploding skull
Caustic corrosion dangled from sockets of blinding sight
Tim attempted to drown himself at the oasis only
to find the mirage dispersing convoluted conclusion
But whirl winds returned him to the point of departure
He lingered at the crux of pontificated bridges
crucifix in hand and resolved to jump from the past
Ready to escape from judgement he stumbled and
fortunately the overpass had collapsed due to the storms
Faced with the murky slate of destruction he
gathered the debris and waited for fate to abate
04th October 2018
Categories:
purulent, depression,
Form:
Free verse
She gazed at the looking glass, but the mirror refused to grant her a preview of what might happen, a clear picture of where she had been and if she existed at all, the spectre of the moment seemed to be disguised from inspection. Coming to terms with having absorbed and condensed too many of society’s norms and demands had seemingly been her duty and the prism of requests on her image of beauty had failed her inner Self. She drooled onto the spitting image of nothingness and the slobber ran down to the frame that upheld phlegm and contempt before it trickled down onto the baseless floor founded on hardcore delusion. Diet pills and dark shades had not relieved her from a succession of errors of reason and emotion and when she had blindfolded herself, the blinkers tore deep into her misrepresentation of surrender and cosmetic denial.
scanned in revulsion
vacant echoes burst the sight –
shards of glass splintered
So many fragments pierced into her eyes, that dry tears covered the pulverized viewing and heart-blood sprayed all over her soul. A point of no return, because if she failed to stem the flow and bandage the wounds, gangrene would set it soon and salving the lacerations would only speed up infection and purulent grime. The wall in front of her blurred out of proportion and there was nothing she could do about it other than retrieving bristles and paint from the storeroom and gloss over the shiny remnants of disrepair. And therefore, she entered into a journey of the unknown, drew rose petals and thorns onto broken canvas. Before she knew it, she decoupaged disintegration and fractures, glued a mosaic of imagination to mirror what should have been there in the first place. Sweat dripped from her forehead and smudged aquarelle shades which reassembled self-worth and confronted demons and abuse. An inner voice shouted, ‘all you need is a mantra to caption the artwork which you truly are.’ That is when she wrote her first poem and became free of doubts, oppression and cynical critique.
blame discredit reproach
failed to appease me in vain –
reflections can change
26th March 2021
Categories:
purulent, anti bullying,
Form:
Haibun
Freya was not quite sure whether she dreamt or floated in a bubble of hope
Her anchor cut loose the compass’ needle bent and stuck in past of beyond
A mouldy flare with no flair a life vest punctured and riddled with sea weed
She felt like a discarded cork from an old bottle but where was the message
Bobbing up and down more submerged than afloat Freya drifted away
Was she jetsam intentionally thrown overboard or flotsam lost by chance
Not that it mattered much she felt rather weightless in the swirl of the sea
The harbour drifted away and the lighthouse got smaller in the fog of her soul
Freya rode the crest of wild waters and had no charts for the journey ahead
No sails and no steam only the pure energy of the white wash of the waves
She flowed past buoys ship wrecks and cutters on the far-fetched horizon
Seemed to make no progress no island of respite no land for her shores
Seagulls got fewer and fewer but she came upon a dolphin leading the way
A single jellyfish with glowing tentacles brushes the bracelet on her ankle
While the sharks were not hungry she regained an appetite for her life
Salt parched her skin but the sun had dried all tears that had torn her apart
The festering boils that had boiled her inside healed from purulent ooze
‘I am naked my hair is entangled my mind and my bosom closer to home’
Anger and sorrow laved and cleansed her wounds of scarred scared sadness
When light dawned after another long night of waiting for imminent rescue
She opened her eyes and looked at webs on her hands and lush fins on her toes
‘I am a mermaid a maiden of the ocean and if this is a dream I’ll follow its call’
01st March 2019
Categories:
purulent, journey,
Form:
Free verse
Dream-Blisters
by Odin Roark
“…Like the glow of star-dispelling lights
rising,
saturating air
from 5th Ave
to Trump Towers,
to the Bronx,
atop the bridges glinting brazen shouts.
“Hurt and pain guised as success,
a purulent throb of discharge,
woulda
coulda
shoulda
now,
like always,
decorative wounds,
cover-ups
flung high over and through,
settling seasonally in Pennsylvania
2nd homes, where farm animals
gaze from fields
at repeated history,
learned celebration,
attainment’s price.
“So it goes.
“Rising,
spreading,
oozing dream-blisters,
festering from forever frictions.
Id and ego,
smooth and calloused,
reduced to screams and laughter.
"Have and have not antecedents
surviving now as virus,
knowing not of antidote,
immunity prevention
long ago ignored for addiction.”
“Why is that Mother?”
“Like the book says, sweetheart…
see here the illustration
barnyard animal-looking humans
all dressed in party finery
wondering what
to do now.”
“Why are they wondering?”
“Mr. Orwell told the story long ago.
Another writer addressed it again
a bit different,
but with the same warning."
“Is that what they’re wondering about…warning?”
“Yes, dear.”
She caresses her daughter’s forehead
“Some things take a long time to learn.”
“But we do learn them…right?”
“Sleep warm, daughter.”
Categories:
purulent, addiction,
Form:
Free verse
Mind The Mines
Deep in the pits he digs with no miner’s lamp in hand to lighten the grime
‘alight’ whisper diminishing grips from the edge of bored winzes whence
the shafted canary slowly progresses towards breathless suffocation
Fists in anger palms and realms blistered oozing from purulent scratches
surface subdued in labyrinth’s mazes wretched wrenched and perplexed
An ossuary with bones and fragmented ember of mental contention crushed
seduced by toxic waters confronting the essence and one final leap for the void
Then buried yet glimmering a candle flickers to shine and gold dust blows
the canary and the miner a kiss of life so that Orpheus finds solace in realisation
that shadows and light must be married for a way in and way out to emerge
26th November 2016
Categories:
purulent, depression,
Form:
Free verse
It’s not just Jesus who rose into grace with scars from nails and the cross
Trees grow new branches from knots like wounded soul’s blemish’s scars
A rainforest’s undergrowth thrives in the mist of weeping from heaven
Ebony needs ivory for harmony preferably with tusks attached to the rhino
An elephant under cover of the hat inside a boa constrictor pleases the Prince
Joaquin would write poetry had he not been swallowed by a black raven
On his shoulders and dogs that growl can bite fiercely with razor sharp fangs
Puncture marks empathize when they emphasize conjunction and junctures
A semicolon tattoo depicts the survivor from darkness shadows and light
No smoke without fire and his pen could not heal without fountains of sorrow
Juanita views wrinkles and stretch marks as cinnamon bark’s fine poise
Hides no longer self-harm lacerations with bracelets or covering bangles
Heals from a maze of disgraced projections owns grazes slashes and cuts
Paints a new canvas frames it with witch-hazel twigs leaves howling behind
Sounds all three pedals on forte’s piano has dampened onslaughts of fear
Joseph is a seer who had once lost his vision had dangled his ropes both sides
Of the sea saw but recovered the fulcrum of balance reads palm trees and palms
Life lines strife lines blisters blistering hardship hardened calluses’ resilience
Scars do not scare him as he places his faith into prayer gracing graces and hope
Tosses tussles meaning and harmony moulds silent retreat into flickering candles
‘Can’t put all your eggs into one basket no ominous pancakes without breakage’
What does not bend splinters and rages oozes and festers in foul purulent rage
Confusion needs contradictory feelings or one crosses Styx and Acheron too early
And the boatman needs both oars and currents to negotiate drift wood and pain
Any two master needs departure and destination roaring storms and calm respite
True ivory cannot be burnt and grace is a virtue but not without turning the table
21st April 2019
Categories:
purulent, celebration,
Form:
Free verse
it is dark in my soul and yet
obscurity is piercing like a laser beam
an eerie cacophony endures
the silent screams of a sledge hammer
pounding destruction and oblivion
display bizarre connections
lost in time space and emotion
gloom mingles with a wicked shadow
a corrupted vice proves second worst
for the latter would entail
complete
apathetic
sadness
and he will not accept such defeat
without a fight
of reason and senses
while some feeling at least
is better than complete numbness
for a while poetry might drag the writer
down the drains of a confused script
might inflate context over contingency
pen metaphors and distraction
in order to arrive
at some kind of understanding
if it proves true itself however
and once the surface is pierced
purulent festering will ooze
and form new foundations
built on reality and vital composure
after all abandonment can hold the key
to a lost heart and perished composure
08th June 2023
Categories:
purulent, conflict,
Form:
Free verse
showering in the virgin rain
apparent angles of discrimination
perfectionist is a neurotic
she was dancing shamanically
wild rejoicing in the
birth of a wild
mushroom
purulent phlegm is a tonic too
supernumerary bands of light
no one is perfect
nothing is perfect
it is disease
she was sleeping now
at the shore of peace
10.39 am
july 19 2016
Categories:
purulent, allusion,
Form:
'The storms are raging on the rollin' sea, and on the highway of regret'
It was surfers' paradise weather but he had only captured a dinghy
Made from lost dreams and drift wood collected in seasons of love
No shoreline in sight he set a flatulent sail on his passage to nowhere
The lighthouse of aspirations had timely faded from self-imposed doubt
His double edged fishermen’s knife offered only cut throat conclusions
As waves cut a Janus-faced image of himself into the surface of rage
For too long it had been his way or the highway and stark pirates loomed
Hooked into remorse he regretted that he severed tranquil emotions
But instead tried to prove the compass wrong and succumb to unreason
Riptides currents and wild torrents resembled the inner chaos of his soul
Salt on thin macerated skin oozed blemished truths and purulent candour
Once he lost anchor and lifebuoy and had to solely rely on stars’ navigation
During a lull he meant to befriend a dolphin but was mocked in contempt
Which made him to feel the disrespect he had once shown to his friends
How he wished he was a butterfly feeding on herbs in sweet meadows
A clairvoyant had warned him not to tempt fate when seeking conclusion
She might have the last laugh now as he stared into drooling shark teeth
Parched to his most integral core the wary voyager shed one final tear
He vowed promised and bargained with mad delirium and entered the sea
Gave himself to the depth of rock bottom and left his fate to the swell
Washed onto a beach his only regret was that he had not surrendered before
17th February 2020
Written on the theme of ‘The storms are raging on the rollin' sea, and on the
highway of regret’ - Bob Dylan - Make you feel my love
Categories:
purulent, conflict, courage, solitude,
Form:
Free verse
Please tell me if you have a moment to spare
And do not discount it as too much of a dare
Honesty and truth can do don’t think its a scare
But the mere question is does anyone care
Dwell deep if you must inside your own mind
Until you find evidence be it wicked or kind
Emotion and pure reason may be intertwined
Opinions and facts although must be aligned
Could you live without love faith and devotion
Spread hatred and warfare for self promotion
Worship crude conquests and Armies in motion
Or is it more worthwhile to seek some magic potion
Please look in the mirror after a passionate night
Does the reflection smile on the virulent knight
Are broken shards weapons of self-absorbed fight
Is your conscience clear and sincere motive tight
Are you projecting on others when leaving a mark
On this poor planet which seems unbelievably stark
Wolf in sheep clothing fantasy figure or magical snark
What stops you from being a candle lighting the dark
Burnt out at both ends or have you lost plot and wick
Have your excuses been feeble and disguises too thick
Soul searching has no easy fix and solutions are’t quick
But remember that untold secrets can make you sick
Eye’s splinter fester when faking purulent contrition
Take off the blinkers when blaming the human condition
For lack of caring enough in acts of fruitless abscission
At the cutting edge of my sole request lies your volition
10th February 2020
Categories:
purulent, courage,
Form:
Rhyme
gauntlet of mirrors transparency personified
transparency personified when the curtain falls
in an arena of quick sand and impromptu judgement
the stage was well set though actually
it presented itself as rather empty
epic theatre art form at its vacant best
I placed himself at the very manifest epicentre
of concealed and subconscious intentions
would I shed the gauntlet despite sharp sordid shards
sharing poetry soul-stripping and nakedly honest
Freud would think of an electrifying Egopuss complex
Jung’s shadow play might reveal phallic saints on display
until of course Nietzsche found God in Mary Magdalene
a marriage apocalyptically consummated in Dante’s inferno
with four horsemen in G-strings frottageing lust and desire
no contest is real unless the audience may be allowed
to pervert justice or shed more than hypocritical applause
constructive critique does not forbid foul language nor rage
at times I felt deprived when my poetry in the soup’s cauldron
merely attracted kind comments or however heartfelt approval
when I put myself into the lioness’ den I expect to be ravaged
ravaged displaced exposed devoured and put to the stake
a wizard needs fire because talent and flair have to be moulded
publishing poetry is an interaction between consenting partners
otherwise it risks to become pantomime or unilateral megalomania
mirror mirror on the wall am I not the best screwball of them all
where is the podium what is my prize accolade and quilled line squall
a masked persona falls short of the truth and I am the court jester
expect my bells and whistles to jingle as tools for the eloquent fool
tomtoolery when Machiavelli meets de Beauvoir in the boudoir
oh crystal ball kaleidoscope gemstone alchemy of soul and mind
nights in white satin and shining armour pain pleasure and words
words that cannot express my conflict when the prism is smudged
footnotes:
Egopuss complex refers to Oedipus’ gender neutrality, although it could be
viewed as a misspelling for the purulent excretions of Self on autopilot
tomtoolery are male tools of trade and craft, but could I not be the feminine
version
Categories:
purulent, allusion,
Form:
Free verse