Best Stagnating Poems


Greatness Calls!

Its whispering gentle 
 through breeze to leaves
rustling each to a frenzied clamor
 Can you hear the heightened sound?
Inaudible then so loud...so Loud!!
  So loud you cant hear at all
As the days slip past do you
  stop and listen?
Greatness calls!

Aptitude resides in minds...hiding in wait
  as a coiled snake rearing to strike
A glimpse...a flash...a window we passed
  our sight steering down a narrow hall
life carrying our feet too fast to see...
  to left or right in brilliant hues 
So vibrant and lively, ideas hiding in wait
 Can you see them in the passing panes?
A moment of brilliance lays dormant 
  awaiting your attentive audience
Greatness calls!!

Outside stimuli grows so rapid
 numbing our minds of freedom
processing the intake derails a train of thought
A locomotive whose motive is motivation
  Rumbling on tracks reverbing through your soul
Can you feel the power surge in your veins?
  raising hairs with the electricity of knowing...
...knowing an idea tingles with possibility?
       crawling below the surface of skin
   Itching for pores to release it
Greatness calls!!!

Sweetly epiphany drips of honey
 cooing with a flavor we seldom devour
To settle for dreaming is to savor bittersweet
 repression attacks the tongue so sour
Can you taste the food for thought?
  A peach drizzling juicy images with clarity
    sating the tongue, these dulcet revelations
Greatness calls!!!!

In realization the scent of lilac spring lingers...
  fresh and intoxicating with the nectar of creativity
Wafting through with pleasing achievement
  swirls of petals and spice compound a nasal euphoria
Yet in squandering ability lays the stench of rot
  Reaking strong of regret this stagnating refuse 
    overpowers with the odor of inhibition
Can you smell the promise of flowers blooming?
  in spite of doubt using rubbish for compost
Emitting a fragrance of intense talent
Greatness calls!!!!!

Greatness Calls!

Its whispering gentle 
 through breeze to leaves
rustling each to a frenzied clamor
 Can you hear the heightened sound?
Inaudible then so loud...so Loud!!
  So loud you cant hear at all
As the days slip past do you
  stop and listen?
Greatness calls!

Aptitude resides in minds...hiding in wait
  as a coiled snake rearing to strike
A glimpse...a flash...a window we passed
  our sight steering down a narrow hall
life carrying our feet too fast to see...
  to left or right in brilliant hues 
So vibrant and lively, ideas hiding in wait
 Can you see them in the passing panes?
A moment of brilliance lays dormant 
  awaiting your attentive audience
Greatness calls!!

Outside stimuli grows so rapid
 numbing our minds of freedom
processing the intake derails a train of thought
A locomotive whose motive is motivation
  Rumbling on tracks reverbing through your soul
Can you feel the power surge in your veins?
  raising hairs with the electricity of knowing...
...knowing an idea tingles with possibility?
       crawling below the surface of skin
   Itching for pores to release it
Greatness calls!!!

Sweetly epiphany drips of honey
 cooing with a flavor we seldom devour
To settle for dreaming is to savor bittersweet
 repression attacks the tongue so sour
Can you taste the food for thought?
  A peach drizzling juicy images with clarity
    sating the tongue, these dulcet revelations
Greatness calls!!!!

In realization the scent of lilac spring lingers...
  fresh and intoxicating with the nectar of creativity
Wafting through with pleasing achievement
  swirls of petals and spice compound a nasal euphoria
Yet in squandering ability lays the stench of rot
  Reaking strong of regret this stagnating refuse 
    overpowers with the odor of inhibition
Can you smell the promise of flowers blooming?
  in spite of doubt using rubbish for compost
Emitting a fragrance of intense talent
Greatness calls!!!!!

Ten Mile Universe

thirteen year old boy 
south central 
stagnating pond 
in a ten mile universe 

he had dreams 
aspirations 
knew there was more 
education, it propels 
he would teacher 
(aim lower doug) 
a social worker 
something 
anything but 
the gang 

seventh grade came too soon 
'blood, you are not better 
we are the same 
i say you sell 
you sell 
you feel me?' 

he felt a lot 
fear 
electrified anxiety 
his heart pounding in his chest 
plummeting at terminal velocity 
just before impact 
and the feeling he might pee 

fear motivates 
so he sold 
corner of Imperial 
LA cap over deer eyes 
hoodie masking baby lips 
rosy cheeks 
wishing he were anywhere 
but here 

he grew small ball 
and got things down 
head low 
deepen voice 
small $10 big $25 

no fear 
any trouble 
run! 

a year dragged 
his big day arrived 
life changer 
f#@k 
he didn't want a tat 
screw that! 
nevertheless 
he was getting it 
on his neck 
that was the worst part 
branded for life 
for all to see 
f#@k 

he contemplated running 
but where? 
they would find him 
cowards don't survive the hood 
in a ten mile universe 
with no Benjamin's 
he wasn't going anywhere 
life on lock down 

inked up homey 
with a scrapbook body 
flicks the switch 
buzz 
buzz 
blue ink 
dip
he wants to touch his neck 
one last time... 
'move your hand, fool' 
no time for goodbyes 

ten minutes later 
NSL 
running from hairline 
down his neck 
and that's that 
another one bit the dust 
demolished dreams 
innocence lost 
future? 
what future? 
maybe he could teach in the pen'


Premium Member Security Deposits

With thanks to the Environmental Defense Fund,
Advice from ecosystemic pantheists

PENGUIN:

Dive into life;
Avoid undiving into dying, stagnating in reverse-time ruminations.

Appreciate regenerative daydreams;
Depreciate decomposing nightmares.

Take long intuitive wilderness walks
away from short deductive domesticated pathways.

Stand together;
Avoid falling apart.

Go extra cooperative miles
rather than staying stuck
in competing monocultural piles
of divestment away from
polycultural health.

Keep your cool;
Sweep your warm incarnation stretch
into excarnational meanings,
hot co-arising vocations.

GLACIER:

Carve your own path
opening to bipartisan polypaths.

Go eco-slow
by stopping ego-too-fast.

Channel your strengths
with ecosystemic decomposition 
of dissonant weaknesses.

Smooth the way for others
by struggling with your own anthro-supremacist addictions.

Keep moving rationally forward
which is not irrationally backward.

Avoid meltdowns,
Embrace freeze up frames 
of dipolar co-arising balance.

Be cool, trusting,
by becoming empathically warmer.

SEA TURTLE:

Swim with the current;
Fly with bilateral enlightenment.

Be a good navigator;
Become a self-as-other optimizing listener, 
follower of Earth's nutrition.

Stay calm under pressure,
Grow resonance with wu wei midway
slower resilient revolutions.

Be well traveled, outbound,
to become less homebound,
paranoic inbred.

Think long term;
Feel short-term compassion.

Age gracefully;
re-ligiously childlike.

Spend time at the beach,
invest space in one surfing ocean 
of nurturing dreams.

POLAR BEAR:

Live large;
anthro-die down toward (0) Earthcentric.

Be thick-skinned;
Become transparently inter-religious.

Sniff out opportunities;
taste internal crisis, risk.

Learn some good icebreakers;
Unlearn some mad meltdowns.

Be fearless;
Become peace co-empathic messiahs.

Keep it cool,
not so much climatic warming
of melting EarthTribe landscapes.

Iron Lady

She’s dead
But will always stay alive
A beacon for everyone with a gripe

Thatcher snatcher was their war cry
When with apparent vigour
She tore asunder all society held dear

A divisive strong willed fighter
With femininity covering a steely frame
She moved gracefully among men 
A force of reckoning
In a world sphere where enemies are held dear

She finally met her maker
But will never die
Her legacy outlives her presence
A formidable opponent now in a grave 

With glee they gloat
Ding dong the wicked witch is finally dead
Praises and condemnation come from all over the globe
Some will assess her on her overall impact
Both then and until now
Others will always remember wrongs
That were brutally inflicted
On an apparently obedient society and country

Dragging us away from our empire building
Death always calls
He will not be out smarted
No matter the heights in politics one reaches

An end of a life
Often brings a renewed interest in the past
The bandwagon has catapulted her
Back into The limelight
When she was almost forgotten

To divide and rule seemed to have been her best skill
Her un-bending no alternative mantra
Caused much ill-will
Yet the country prospered

The right to buy scheme made
Home ownership possible
A vote buying scheme
That made the middle class grow
Pity the milk tokens are what condemns her so

She hammered a few who with
Entrenched special interest
Mangled the country
Stagnating both the economy
And society

The belief in individuality
Coupled with free market economics
Set up a house of cards that blew over
Long before she breathed her last

Virulent machismo
Where the sharks circled
Even when they smelt no blood
Overcame her eventually
She was of course partly to blame
But no one has ruled since as she did

A woman in a man’s world was she
Wielding much power
Over the men that surrounded her
Over Her party and ultimately a short sighted country

To the pinnacle of both party
And country she rose
Her handbag swung far and wide
Her three times victory
A testimony to her longevity
And he ability to play the system
She didn't invent 

Rest In peace
Or pieces Maggie
You came
You Conquered and
Have now left the stage
Your legacy will be fought over incessantly

King of Tears

The pools of sadness I have left behind
Broil and lie stagnating abandoned on the heath,
Their surfaces are restless, ill-defined,
Ripple-shot, concealing of the things that drown beneath.

The refugees of memories I suppress,
Wander lost and lonely, ragged ghosts out on the fen,
Decrepitly awaiting life’s caress,
That sparks them scant existence now and then.

The infamy of love that I have borne,
Beaten down and buried, walled in tombs of quarry stone,
Left nothing of themselves that I should mourn,
Nothing I could cleave to as a trigger to atone.

So gather ‘round you soothsayers and seers,
To charge the glass with misery and chase the whisky down,
For I will tell you of the king of tears,
The resist of abdication and the need to wear the crown.
© Tony Bush  Create an image from this poem.


Premium Member Faith and Belief Hidden Miracles See

Vimanas in flight; 
centrifugal delight.
Ezekiel’s wheels; doing reels; 
Ophanum high, up in the skies; 
we see them and still deny.

Logical mind, it is so blind; 
perhaps even, a bit unkind.
Denial is a realm of fools, 
who live by very limiting rules.
They let this defect, 
crush all hope and possibilities;
true progress, they neglect.

The faithful are blessed, 
to have passed their tests.
They pray with great belief; 
they will not be deceived.
Their souls have eyes, 
that stay on the prize.

What some label, “simple truth”; 
all that is and isn’t on a list; 
they think it doesn’t even exist.
They’ll be surprised; I surmise; 
when their souls slowly rise, 
up to the sky and soar miraculous highs.

They’ll take it all back; 
citing their knack; 
for the vision that they lacked.
The open mind, these souls will find, 
does not leave its soul behind; 
stagnating in a void; 
instead promotes progress;
it’s ignored, nonetheless.

Miracles are all around; 
in mortal realms, they do abound; 
just open your mind and see...
believe.

Free Cee Refining and Mainlining Hyperbole

REFINING AND MAINLINING HYPERBOLE

Something reliable, desirable, easily obtainable and consistently good
So a junkie best know the right neighborhood
The right junkie to see who won’t stab you in the back
And who doesn’t have a deck of five aces to stack
Some junkies have held eights and aces and lived to tell the tale
When the “dead man hand’s” reputation came to fail
But tragically the guy with five aces came to die
It seems the number five was one digit too high
And that’s simply what happens when a junkie plays poker and bets too steep to boot
This, of course, is all hypothetical hyperbole for a hypodermic and the dope that some junkie wants to shoot
And a junkie who won’t shoot him in his attempt to shoot his way out of a showdown with death
While a junkie named, appropriately enough, “Junkie” on Eighty-Ninth Street and Lex takes his final breath
Because his old lady named, appropriately enough, Lady
As I always suspected, turned out to be Lady, a lady who was shady 
And I find it unspeakable that a junkie wouldn’t warn another about a hot shot
Which, in junkie parlance, means the shot is hot but his body will soon be not
Because one grows room temperature rapidly after a hot shot amidst the stench of rotting flesh and muscle melting into a putrid mess
But don’t expect Lady, the shady lady, to ever confess
****….that junkie named Junkie owed Lady’s ex-old man too much money for a junkie named Junkie to owe
And Lady knew where Junkie hid a kilo of blow……….
To this day Lady the shady lady will tell you that she had no choice
And of course blames it on a chick no one but Lady seems to have known named Joyce
Whose dad owned a Rolls Royce
And whose half-Asian half American Indian step brother had a beautiful soprano singing voice
But that’s neither here nor there
However, I will tell you what is obstinately and obviously clear
A junkie better know the right neighborhood
Because the acrid aroma and stagnating stench of rotting flesh don’t smell very good
© 2012……free cee!

A Potter's Hand

Coarse, featureless shards stagnating
Fodder for a discerning hand's mending
Putty strands their potential value bleating
For a potter's touch; new life entreating

Gentle hands rough surface massaging
Rubbery texture patting and preening
Carefully each lump, fold kneading
Instinctively more clay into mixture feeding

Pressing the mass around the wheel now speeding
Softly caressing, while each corner buttressing
Holpen hands new shape, form deeding
A spherical chalice deftly molding

Each cascading side symetrically scaling
Delicate fingers each crenelation each groove formulating
Peeling off excessive fragments, proportions receding
Moisture from the master's hand now bleeding

Patiently, a primitive, tidy colander forging
With rythmic, patterned movements shearing
An artistically, woven pot from the wheel emerging
A magestic artifact the maestroes skill divulging

Barren Estate

dry desert wasteland
infertile heart stagnating
unrequited love

Premium Member Human Resource Molestation

Red ink covers every written page
heads on the realm yet like no government
no planning rots the goods in the carriage
but the toppers still do not see this dent
mismanagement and corruption so flex
stagnating prosperity in a cuff
poverty and conflicts play and have sex
selfish leaders close their eyes and rebuff
lay foundations for the next to maintain
on the woe of kings, citizens languish
nothing of significance to sustain
now a starved nation of men in anguish
the people have long been the casualty
they’ll rise to make them pay the penalty.

Premium Member Dorian Gray Revisited

If (I / you) were to observe (myself / yourself),
Would (I / You) really know (myself / yourself)?

-----------------------------------------------

We prosper but we also strain -
This "Game of Life" is that refrain.
It carries on from day-to-day
And we stay steadfast in the fray

Playing our roles up to the hilt,
Life's psycho-social endless tilt -
Casting our lots on roulette's wheel,
Love's psycho-analytic deal.

Gazing into the mirror's face
It's who we are in that embrace.
It's what and why we can't explain -
Our Egos whitewash loss and gain.

We strive to find identity
And picture what we'd hope to be.
At times we feel it's all for naught
When falling short from what we've sought.

Stagnating in complacency
We hold on most tenaciously
To limits of expectancy
For what we'll suffer change to be.

Our portraits in the attic wait
To frame the essence of our fate.
The chronicle of life is great
And Truth, through time, applies the paint.

Most will be shown with minor flaws -
Some, as affronts to norms and laws
But all, one day, will be displayed;
How will your likeness be portrayed?

Television As Glorified Citizen Kane

Upon making
     the treacherous
     undertaking optimal
     poetic theme to write
dangerous, and
     arduous foray into
     spooky catacomb, I in vite,
     where fear doth 

     dill liver worst
     trek to our mailbox tonight
risking life and limb 
     at very right
angled turn
     summoning em mon ent
     mettle pluck quite
for quotidian plight,

asper hiding unseen creatures
     sealed in dark shadows
     along the edge of night
way after deep
     into nighttime hours,
     I cautiously slink
     with steely might
thru barely adequate light

even for this healthy
     as an ox good knight
relying on a Jack o'lantern
     designed jacklight
with superb vision,
     and supreme insight
steadily held above
     mine five feet and

     ten inches average height
espy spilling thru underneath
     securely eye 
     booked deal lee shut tight
locked heavy metal doors,
     a faint glimmer
    sans gaslight
possibly from blaring,

     flashing, and placating
     television screen se
essentially keeping curmudgeonly
     aged residents company,
     while reminiscent nostalgic
     "FAKE" memories take flight
as such wistful 
     foregone reflections

     upon the gift of
     a watermelon pickle excite,
viz the cobwebbed 
     whirled wide
     give "tearful", though
     pained years gone by
     blinkered back teary delight
a hermetically sealed story,

     one will never
     get ghost written, nor
     affixed with a copyright
depressingly clamped 
     down inescapable
     emotionally stagnating
     autobiographical blight.

Casualty of Loss

Casualty of Loss

Drifting in murky waters
shadows lengthening
with sorrow’s darkness blight.
Cobwebbed remembrances
take flight, taking with it 
prism’s life-light

Shades of gloom
mist yonder shores
obscuring vision, while
leeching into the life source
stagnating the living waters.

Cruel fate laps brutally
against the sands of time
while memories smother
and are swept away
on death borne
callus waves

Lifeboat sinking 
with life’s bleedings
along shadowed shores.

Evaporation

Windy winedy worms never visit any workshops. It simply isn't feasible for a dormant formation to reform and radicalise. It is not the case of the bees to gather for no change. And alteration is in the currants. Musical interludes in a government pot. Potato men and lemon women ate slowly. The slime injected from a whirling slug us quite simply stagnating and biscuit faces crushed with ice glass particles. Tailor not a suited wildebeest and yachts sink down and down. Demoted to underwater segments whereupon a glass arrives to deliver final medicinal assistance to the underworlds. Deeds done data delivered. And a fat cat with very bushy eyebrows laughs. For it is in his interest not % that humanity be saved and altered at this time. His hidden chambers swarthered in secrecy. Exact to none. Exacta anomie and now a fish in a bikini dancing under a pink hue. Hurt hurrying had happened. And a further freedom gained. For many a heifer makes the best jam. Hahahaha later and hahahaha a number of stolen goods returned. Hahahaha and a fraction framework hahahaha *** salutations z. P equals q in a market dew. Evaporations z

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