Best Sordid Poems
Soundly you sleep, your insides at ease. Beside
you, I surge an uncharted storm of fearsome break for
it thunder-threatens my own sun’s velocity melt. Your
breathing is even and bears no concern, no fear or
resentment squeaks to rust your dream’s churn. All my
wishes wish it would; I want it to rob you, break your peace
to pieces, rough up all your pleases and scatter your calm.
Yesterday morn, the same ever alarm was greeted by our dual
yawns. I poured your coffee, you jellied my toast, we teased
about who loved the most versus who knotted our bed covers
tossed. I heard the garage jerk and bolt, the squeal of reverse
being forced and grinned that life so ordinary was actually a
fulfilling choice.
Later I chanced upon blemish, a day scar drama erasers can’t
touch, time can’t discard or blow into bits a kind wind might
take far. Even hours gone, with eyes closed, I cannot look away.
My insides toss green, then turn blue-black. My heart is cramped
and crumpled uneven, and my doubt is sure love-innocent trust
will never come back.
Our longtime love is not mere try or habit or lie, I know you want
me at your side, so why not a plan more focused to better secret
your sordid? Why carelessly litter dramatic change that my feet
must step around or in? You sleep unaware of my awake seeped
with betrayal:
Passionately you kissed another, gifted eye
smiles on the street to each other,
while I was framed in the window
of our local and favorite grocer.
Villanelle: O! What a wonderful world this sordid life could be
O! What a wonderful world this sordid life could verily be
If only humans were not subject to envy nor jealousy
Worse than that pride of place makes man a chimpanzee
Our primate brother carries on his butt his Wounded Knee
We by contrast drape our tender unders in frills of Paris
O! What a wonderful world this sordid life could verily be
The garbage man carts away our rotten odours with glee
While we look on in disgust the irrepressible onset of palsy
Worse than that pride of place makes man a chimpanzee
Brothers mount thrones on humped backs in every dynasty
And slice the throats of those they love by gouging gentry
O! What a wonderful world this sordid life could verily be
The primate flees from human greed into his community
While humans stoke fires to roast their brothers up the tree
Worse than that pride of place makes man a chimpanzee
Birthplace pride makes man a hunted primate un-free
And envy turns the key in livid eyes to seething jealousy
O! What a wonderful world this sordid life could verily be
Worse than that pride of place makes man a chimpanzee
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Politics
Activities associated with
The governance of a country
As simple as
The administration of an organisation
But there is always power struggle
And greed for wealth
Politics become unusual
Because of power struggle
And greed for wealth
A sordid affair indeed
Conspiracy, canvassing
Scandal and bribery
All make things complex
And bring great sorrow to the people
Who are ignorant and innocent
Sometimes
We should blame the politicians
But not the political ideology
It seems I can’t escape this plot, this telling of the tell;
a mandatory element is a first-person write.
Just don’t make me the villain of this sordid villanelle.
I much prefer to narrate from deep down within my shell;
I like to lurk in shadows and remain tucked out of sight.
Alas, I can’t escape this plot, this telling of the tell.
It’s not that I’ve got much to hide; that’s one I can dispel.
But making much about oneself: a war I’ve had to fight.
Just don’t make me the villain of this sordid villanelle.
I’d rather paint a masterpiece or cast a magic spell
With heroes bold and brave and strong, with maidens fair and slight.
Alas, I can’t escape this plot, this telling of the tell.
Or tales about redemption from the fiery pit of hell
with pastures green to rest one’s head on clear and starry nights…
Just don’t make me the villain of this sordid villanelle.
And so, dear reader, though I strain to bring you in as well,
I hope you can forgive a man’s self-referential plight.
Alas, I can’t escape this plot, this telling of the tell;
just don’t make me the villain of this sordid villanelle.
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for the First Person Villanelle Poetry Contest
sponsored by L Milton Hankins
written on 08/26/2022
There's money___then there's love
Looking back at him __desiring
Brief encounters above
Husband's comments deriding
So handsome fire__home ice
Guilt, shame, remorse____desire
One last glimpse maybe twice
Marriage but children__can't transpire
Inner turmoil__wishing
Should I walk away now
Turn turn around running
We'll say the wedding's vow
At his readiness, medley reduced to romance
Pure patched with strategy, pony Rosinanthe
Slick sleuth rotund from a thousand tutorials
Ideality frisked into quixotic filly deplorable
Avid lover Danton handles haggard hill driven
Hoof throb corruption chorales sin's provision
Ever after mantra mashed into lurid intervals
Putrid piebald frames racecourse, analytical
Etching on ranch entrance, ostler is cognizant
Required for pyxis stamina, rubies resplendent
Camofluer canters to sumer anonymous rural
Damsel plans her Danton's conclusion brutal
Mid August Triumphant Lament
Are the sordid stories about the surreal,
sharp, stoney Greek isles known as Sirenum Scopuli,
supposedly inhabited by sexy, sultry, sirens,
who salaciously seduced stupefied shipwrecked sailors
by simply singing lascivious songs,
surely mythologic or surprisingly true?
Rotten leaves
Disgust and wretch
What good then is with rains?
30/11/17
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Simple or fancy? Sordid or prance-y?
Lily or roses? Tiptoes on proses?
What kind of poem will my mind see today?
What will happen if I stop to pray?
Trixie, my muse, is laughing right now.
She has no idea the when or the how.
But when she comes full force into the fray
Poetry to my day is pure play….
Tulip became orchid upon death,
As false as sordid love I held.
Wilting in withering light
I'm afraid I lost the will to fight
Demons dance in the abyss
Between us monsters a soulless kiss
Impurities fill my mind
Perhaps how I'll be defined
Burn them like tea leaves
Nothing will be left for the thieves
I sing of all that could have been
Before the bottle and before the sin
Deep inside is the hero held down by this weight
Damned by a black fire fate
No deity ever sought to save me
So this tainted soul is all I have to set free
It brings me pain but I don't seek pity
Because the truth isn't pretty
In my hand is a blood filled chalice
Which I gaze upon with serene malice
Truthfully it's to hide the malaise
As I ready myself for the blaze
Wilting in withering light
I'm afraid I lost the will to fight
Demons dance in the abyss
As I meet the flame's fateful kiss