Best Scruple Poems
Death and Forlorn Time in the Shadows of True Evil
Death and Time holdeth onto eerie and most frightening shadows
Whilst pervading deeply within that infernal region where the dark
Evil and uncanny mists occlude the terrifying presence of a great
Dark Doomsday cult of vicious and horrifying beasts that are now
Perpetuated from a putrid Hellspawn by Lucifer’s own command!
Corrupted with the presence of sacrilegious beasts of true violence
Who hate all aspects of humankind with their spirit of maleficence,
And wince not whilst decapitating the heads of those who disagree
With them, and creating a mindless havoc of unparalleled tragedy
That’s become an expected, sad occurrence of Mankind writ large!
Brandishing a razor-sharp, coal-black-blade is their evil incarnation,
Of a time, that’s totally indicative of their chaotic rampage of bloody
Burning attacks as battlegrounds are drawn into an eternal darkness,
From whence there may be no return since there’s a dark, blood-red
Poison, from the dark afterlife, in which every drop of blood is toxic!
Every drop of this spilt blood-red poison has a deadly demonic aroma,
That produces nasty swarms of ravenous locusts to torment all innocent
Victims caught between the machinations of Almighty God and Lucifer.
In this reality, these evil spirits cast their malevolent spells without any
Scruple, wishing for Mankind’s swift destruction by Lucifer himself!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – November 24, 2017
(Quintain)
Categories:
scruple, dark, evil, fantasy, horror,
Form:
Quintain (English)
For the past I pray in the tumorous night gone heavy and long,
Churning in the chirp of the tree frog’s soporific song.
The air thickens like cream churned thicker into butter,
Spinning in the muttered fumes of mind’s fogged clutter.
Coagulating light into an onyx-colored yet broken stone,
A celluloid flash of silver shines sight into solid bone.
From the peek-a-boo split of an aperture’s peeping pupil,
Pours an undeveloped pity in a dope’s pathetic scruple.
I seek episodic hippocampus Netflix films inside me,
For memory is better than that which my eyes will ever see.
Categories:
scruple, depression, dream, drug, night,
Form:
Couplet
The Little Sisters of Divine Disapproval
A holy order with a long long history
Known to women but to men: still a mystery
For ascendance of our gender we are crucial
The little sisters of Divine Disapproval
When your men are being tiresome, acting stupid
Disregard kind impulse and the darts of Cupid
Make a call - for fast stupidity reproval
To the Sisters of Divine Disapproval
If your husband’s being stubborn a real pain
There’s no need for you to argue and complain
You will find us if you go on line and google
‘Little Sisters of Divine Disapproval’
With lips tight pursed and frowning eye brows darkly set
We will shovel on the guilt and shame, you bet
Til they realise their protests are all futile
For we’re the Little Sisters of Divine Disapproval
Call on us whenever men are acting badly
They’ll capitulate, surrender to you gladly
If you follow all our guidelines with no scruple
The Little sisters of Divine Disapproval
There’s no need for words aggressive or of violence
Don’t forget cold shoulder and the stony silence
Just hold on and he’ll confess, make no refutal
To the Sisters of Divine Disapproval
When he comes back with the boys from a bender
He’ll be wise to not make jokes but surrender
Should be cautious looking sheepish, a bit rueful
In the face of your Divine Disapproval
If he fails just one more time to clean that plug hole
There’s no need to shout harsh words in his lug hole
He’ll make sure of every blockage’s removal
For the Sisters of Divine Disapproval
Behind each great man a woman goes along
To keep him abreast of all he’s doing wrong
We are proud of guidance given them for perusal
By the Sisters of Divine Disapproval
Let us all unite in fearless sisterhood
For we know we do it for our men’s own good
Without us life would be hell painted by Bruegel
So God bless the Little Sisters of Divine Disapproval
Categories:
scruple, humor, relationship,
Form:
Rhyme
Death and Time holdeth onto eerie and most frightening shadows
Whilst pervading deeply within that infernal region where the dark
Evil and uncanny mists occlude the terrifying presence of a great
Dark Doomsday cult of vicious and horrifying beasts that are now
Perpetuated from a putrid Hellspawn by Lucifer’s own command!
Corrupted with the presence of sacrilegious beasts of true violence
Who hate all aspects of humankind with their spirit of maleficence,
And wince not whilst decapitating the heads of those who disagree
With them, and creating a mindless havoc of unparalleled tragedy
That’s become an expected, sad occurrence of Mankind writ large!
Brandishing a razor-sharp, coal-black-blade is their evil incarnation,
Of a time, that’s totally indicative of their chaotic rampage of bloody
Burning attacks as battlegrounds are drawn into an eternal darkness,
From whence there may be no return since there’s a dark, blood-red
Poison, from the dark afterlife, in which every drop of blood is toxic!
Every drop of this spilt blood-red poison has a deadly demonic aroma,
That produces nasty swarms of ravenous locusts to torment all innocent
Victims caught between the machinations of Almighty God and Lucifer.
In this reality, these evil spirits cast their malevolent spells without any
Scruple, wishing for Mankind’s swift destruction by Lucifer himself!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – November 24, 2017
(Quintain)
Categories:
scruple, dark, evil, fantasy, god,
Form:
Narrative
I fly wide-eyed into the glinting night,
Along valleys with man-made stars aglow.
Thrills and sorrows on both sides line my flight,
Neon rivers flow restless down below.
Grandiose dreams from serried rooftops crow,
Million-watt schemes fuel every lofty light.
'Neath a sky scraped by monoliths of gold,
I fly wide-eyed into the glinting night.
Avenues wind like serpents of delight,
Sate designed desires that with lucre grow.
Fresh-minted wonders glut to gild each sight,
Along valleys with man-made stars aglow.
Manic hustle hijacks the threadbare soul,
Calls the mind daily to the ring to fight,
Ten baubles purchased for each scruple sold,
Thrills and sorrows on both sides line my flight.
Gray ghettos sprawl to host the loser’s plight,
In potholed lives the city takes a toll,
Broken windows exhale long peals of fright,
Neon rivers flow restless down below.
Yet the sidewalks gleam for all to behold,
The fittest triumph above wrong or right.
Where virtues are haloed, vices extolled,
And breathless energy scales a new height,
I fly wide-eyed.
Categories:
scruple, city, culture, desire, dream,
Form:
Rondeau Redouble
Freudian Slip --- Insight of Lip --- Dane Ann
Gravestone ---Heart- Mark ---Dane Ann
Gall --- Vexing Vixen --- Dane Ann
Happiness --- Bounteous Bliss ---Dane Ann
Hog Sty --- Power Pen --- Dane Ann
Indigent --- Penniless Pauper --- Dane Ann
Insistent --- Relentless Nagging ---Dane Ann
Jerring ---Heartless Heckler --- Dane Ann
Jovial --- Cheery Chirping --- Dane Ann
Sports Nuts --- Crunchy Food, Poetic Mood For All to Read --- Linda-Marie Bariana
Good Vibrations --- Ghostly Groove --- Catie Lindsey
Last Will and Testament --- Dead Bread ---Catie Lindsey
Fine Wine and Spirits --- Wink and Drink ---Catie Lindsey
Agreement --- Words Concurred --- Dane Ann
Argument --- Quite Quarrel --- Dane Ann
Banter --- Chat Wit --- Dane Ann
Care --- Need Heed --- Dane Ann
Conscience --- Scruple Snooper --- Dane Ann
Detective --- Fact Grinder --- Dane Ann
Ducking --- Waddle Quacking --- Dane Ann
Emotional --- Frazzle Dazzled --- Dane Ann
Ship Mate --- Toy Boat --- HG
Gravestone --- Dead Cert. --- Sean Kelly
Broadcaster --- American Female Newscaster --- Sean Kelly
Cold War --- Battle Against Swine Flu ---Sean Kelly
Silicon Valley --- Cleavage, After Breast Enhancement --- Sean Kelly
Hebrew --- Jewish Tea For Men Only --- Sean Kelly
Categories:
scruple, friendship, funny
Form:
Light Verse
Light of love as others may say
Would blaze the best in you throught out the way
No winds, no seas, no roaring from the dim
'Cos it would shine for you as a beam.
For all my life I have come to hide
For the perfect love others seek to find
That's why I thought myself to be brave and might
To prove that "I don't need that kind of light."
With all those years of life's demise
I made myself pure and wise
As I conquer in the life of fight
I would rather say, "I don't need that kind of light."
It might be fear, it might be scruple
But it popped up easily like a bubble
Maybe it was huge, maybe it was heavy
But with you, I conquered it very lightly.
You taught me how to be
Courageous enough to be me
Not to run away from reality
And embrace the light of love tenderly.
Categories:
scruple, first love, for her,
Form:
Couplet
Did you ever have a lover
with long red hair?
For long red hair
seems too unfair.
Did you ever have a lover
and then another lover?
For there's added gain
if you feel no pain.
Did you ever have a lover
who loved your eyes
and never ever lied,
and let you cry?
Whatever was the trouble.
You'll never have a lover.
if you have no time for others
for love needs care,
say,what is here.
Here and there are many lovely people
who live with their lives with scruples;
if you're scruple free,
then let it be.
Oh,let it be is fine,
Except for the divine.
I want to be involved
For I can't please all the folk,
Who touch me with their talk.
My heart has melted down...
and now I've grown a world
completely on my own.
Were you ever quite alone
Like a toad under a stone?
Did you ever hear a groan
as you wrote your poem?
For you'll never write a poem
that makes me laugh..
Because my feet are in the shower
but my body's in the bath.
My head is on the shelf...
and I've lost all of my teeth...
Yet you will love me
Evermore.
What allure!
so clear..
Evermore and evermore
You'll be standing on the shore
Watching the horizon,
wondering what she lies on.
Oh,you'll never be a poet,
Unless you learn your notes..
They take you to the limit.....
Love.whatever is it?
Evermore ,evermore...
The words seem like a roar...
I love your heart's deep core.
Ever more and ever more.
Categories:
scruple, allegory, angst, confusion, friendship,
Form:
Rhyme
Fleet away!
We fleeted the time carelessly
We fleeted the time carelessly
I had a long wait,
A fretful heart and a dance troupe.
And I sauntered into the room.
For a fleeting moment,
I saw the face of a boy.
By now, my time consumed by wanderlust.
In the choice of lust and love,
I scruple of prudence is worth a pound of passion.
For a split second...
The girl has caught your eye!
And her gestures eavesdropping his ears.
They fling for more coffees
Not breed to encased themselves in linen
By now, their time consumed by wanderlust
'Only they knew everything was ephemeral'
'And the cessation of time scribbled'
We fleeted the time carelessly
We fleeted the time carelessly
Categories:
scruple, best friend, boy, desire,
Form:
Narrative
A monochrome of boho days
segue one another surreptitiously.
Endless pantomimes of idle chatter flutter by.
Cantilever bridge, a one stop halting site for gossip and suspense.
Small talk, bespoke winged creature, Combe of pleuron.
Turin shroud spotter in the mise en scene melting pot.
The spirited stride of pavement strollers prompted by
agenda.
Metatarsals on the march.
Street vendor’s spooky cry with banjo beating busker at his side.
Dirt pan bellow and brittle strum about the
orange alert ahead.
Crowded car park, careening bus, frustrated taxi driver rank and file.
Backstreet Barney or kerfuffle on the lawn.
Swing sign overhead, a pawn in every trending breeze.
Office block malarkey cutting capers for the press.
New age ante-fix, the cover tile for corruption.
Whistle blowing wag inside the
city centre fault line.
Brass neck
reservoir of hoodwink high and low.
Harassed mother, barefoot beggar
nervously extends her rusted tin.
Guilt edge coin as bandage to our shoddy scruple.
Bag lady on the fringe of some haute couture complex.
Stasi-like security whose bluff veneer belies an inner
bludgeon.
Crouton salad diner has his finger on the pulse but not his pulse rate!
Tycoon in transition with an open brief!
Teflon tyrant
back to the future.
Ambulance chaser …. legal eagle…..with fortune in misfortune their calling card .
To the limit and beyond like an offshore Ansbacher.
Noonday bell
interloper at the scuttlebutt tavern.
Seconds out,
moments out,
hours in a hari kari haze.
Sensei’s of the left filling void with vacuum.
Laboured diatribe against dynasty, trite slogans, empty rhetoric, mannah from heaven?
All this from the cadres of social despotism!
Passage, the
pollinating insect of aroha.
Behind the rhythm of the grind a broad leaf grain of hope may sprout.
Green shoots of bounty.
Latent sidewalk bloomer.
Blossom by default or tender impulse
Categories:
scruple, birth, business, care, caregiving,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The dream that calls me,
I can`t sleep...
And break all this
For travelling
Go through the darkness, Wind & snow
Follow new sunbeam...
To find the music
Of my soul
With the heartbeat
In unison
I know: my ship
Keeps right direction
To my dream!
The tailwind,
Rushes ship on full speed,
And soon I see
Familiar pier
What time I'm here
It is impossible to wrong!
And, it`s a real
The jingle sound
So many people here
Around
Under this light
& I it seems to me: at home!
Let`s cold each moment
Tries to catch
I don`t know
Who could warm so much!
With such a heat
Nothing would fright me!
So fury, clear sparkling
Snow...
Snow everywhere…
I`m going on…
The road is my life...
And the night came down...
But soon the night
Gone to the end,
& damned dawn
Lit up again,
& it`s time I was left
Left on the will of fates...
Lost in the snowy,
Nordic wind ...
Be callous-
What a greatest sin...
There`s nothing scruple
If you are conscienceless
Betraying once-
Betrays again
Their rotten blood
Their punishment.
This is incurable,
Don`t spend the time
To change them.
& there`s no arguments
To blame!
But God is witness!
Great & main.
The ways back always
Fraught & useless
Retrogression...
Let search new paths
That wait for us:
Direct & winding,
Slow & fast,
With someones, who
Will never let you down,
Quit you one…
Categories:
scruple, hope, moving on, travel,
Form:
Ballade
(Played to the tune, “When Sly Calls,”
by Michael Franks)
When Trump tweets,
Mo’ scowls furrow
When Trump tweets,
the scandals grow
As rumors shake,
idle sits the Boss
Bankrupt morality
is the grifter cost
When Trump tweets,
the rubles spin
When Trump tweets,
the dictators win
Decorum falls,
indecency begins
And on Fox tv the jokers grin
to complete the mockery of Stalin democracy each time
When Trump tweets
(Don’t touch that send) Dub over Chorus
(Don’t touch that send)
(Don’t touch that send)
(Don’t touch that send)
His fingers are near, Chorus:
tapping out his ego rage
The words you fear
darken the digital stage
He’s flying north
for rallies and taunting
(A gambling resort)
Listen to the message when comes the chortling
(Don’t you dare touch that send)
When you reach the
(Don’t you dare touch that send)
When you reach the
(Don’t you dare touch that send)
When you reach the end
(Trump voice-over sounding upbeat)
Hello, citizens ...
I got some bad news for you
When Trump tweets,
underdog becomes top cat
When Trump tweets,
rat packs now gnaw attack
As rumors quake,
Enquirer minds doubt
His ‘Publican house
fears impeach fallout
When Trump tweets,
Putin truth is Oval spoken
When Trump tweets,
debts due come Russian in
Chaos is replete,
as normalcy fades
Lower the bar for scruple downgrades
Then parrot snooze with no canary alarm to coal mine choose
When Trump tweets
(Don’t touch that send)
(Don’t touch that send)
(Don’t touch that send)
(Don’t touch that send) Repeat Dub over Chorus
Repeat Chorus
Categories:
scruple, humorous, parody, satire, song,
Form:
Lyric
Vendors ply their trade in open air without an air or grace,
the velvet chocolate slabs so neatly laid,
suitable for vegans but a salve to pointless guilt the label said,
my texting fingers drip
with honeyed scruple,
Like dates?
give us this day our daily bread is how we earn our corn,
a corny line no less,
pumpkin seed in barrels dot each loaf as if it were an invite
to a milling throng
another corny item on the menu,
off the wall, off the tongue and off the fork
from shell to shelf is how we go to market with such buzzword brand elan.
Yet us artisans must surely set our sights beyond the sound of cash tills or the pin pad swipe and scan zeitgeist
Categories:
scruple, adventure, art, beautiful, beauty,
Form:
Free verse
Unmet expectations damage the dormant psyche,
unkept promises smother the rays of fading hope,
unkind words tear the lattice of the mangled mind.
My life turns into an urn filled with your ill feeling.
Your senses become the fast spreading wild fire,
uncontrolled, it boils the blood of intrinsic pride,
and as it flares up, it burns my gentle demeanor,
its viciousness blazes the bonhomie of bonding chords.
As the bitterness smoke billows thick and intense,
upset conscience loses the equilibrium and crashes.
Vile breath is charged with the acrimonious ashes,
while the patient facade of restraint you deface.
Your flashing eyes reveal you seethe inside,
generating an inferno of malice in your heart .
The twisted tongue spills out words so brutal,
smeared with the toxin of your malicious mind.
The scruple of sane sagacity turns into ember,
erupting out of your fuming volcanic conscience,
flows in the spreading smoke of stifling spite,
consuming the remains of reason you lose outright.
With the arcane acumen of a trickster devil,
as sordid silhouette of menace you crawl stealthily
into the quintessence of my being to suck
the ambrosia of my soul, the casualty of your cruelty.
Categories:
scruple, anger, betrayal,
Form:
Free verse
I’m on the synthetic stage of the deceptive domain,
revolving with my split mind, entrapped in bi-polarity,
under the illusory limelight of the pretentious time,
where I’m enmeshed within the contrived paradoxes.
In the make-belief drama of life I act with no scruple,
for I face so many false faces flocking around me.
Losing identity in the conglomerate of counterfeit facades,
I don’t perform by the prompt of my prudent hidden heart.
In the masquerading faces reflected in my warped mirror,
I see concealed the contorted lines of rancid rancor.
As with their phony pretense I play a compromising role,
my transformed face of spite, the actor in me disguises.
As the turning time’s deceiving show goes on and on,
prevailing spotlights glare on the veiled visage of fraud.
Finding a fake place to survive in the pretend archive,
I’m a configured antique in the museum of masked faces.
Categories:
scruple, identity, life,
Form:
Free verse