Best Subversion Poems
What a slap in the face!
It’s an international disgrace!
(Descriptive distraction)
and (subversion in action)
It’s now commonly used in parlance by judiciary
while in literature this prevalent (lie) I see.
With a bland, enough face?
or is there the hint of a trace?
Could there be in its origin, a.. motive? or motion
created to infiltrate a nations notion?
A.. (sort of sufferance)
involved with its utterance!
So (abused & misused) is the category
I must zero in all my batteries,
Now I am clearing my decks,
here I go, what the heck!
For I have admiration for a Francophile
would converse with a Russophile
I so enjoy your work Faberge
and appreciate the charm of the Gallic sway
But for me there is no third way!
(now) without any doubt I am coming about
And stoking all my fires
for full ahead’s my desire.
On the literary beach
I see a very (rotten peach)!
And it was ‘hidden’ in full view
Hmm.. let’s see what some firepower can do
For the doting parents who pray
keep our kids safe today.
Hardworking moms & dads who care,
find time that is to spare
From extra help with early reading
to painting nursery room ceilings
Some working 14-hour days
it makes me angry I say.
Aunts & uncles, grandparent, teachers
of calm nature and reason
With motives pure and in step
with life’s seasons
And the name of the paedophile should by rights be theirs,
its been hijacked, does anyone care?
It’s too good a description, just not the depiction
to be bandied about, LISTEN
AS I SHOUT WITH TRUE INDIGNATION
CHANGE THIS DECEPTION OF NATIONS
© Joe Maverick 25-04-2011
Categories:
subversion, caregiving, literature,
Form:
Couplet
The era of catatonic self-destruction has risen yet again from boulder-blocked caves,
Whose cavernous stalactite incisors drip with the blood of thorny crowns,
Worn in punitive irony for the subversion of fertile inferiority,
Which, like rabbits, duplicates and hops about in trouncing contentment.
Yet despite the grin stretched beneath empty eyes,
Which are eclipsed by dilation of cimmerian shades poured from tipped inkwells,
Darkness ripened by age has inflated its penumbral grasp upon the solar plexus.
Hearts beat now to the false circadian rhythm of telemetry.
Screens fueled by waves polluting the air scramble for attention;
Screaming as if the spotlight has slithered away from their thespian heads.
But even so we watch as if waiting for a nothingness we know.
Petulant performances pretending to perfect the perception of reality persevere,
Despite their lack of empirical validity.
Our bodies and the space around they occupy have become irrelevant.
Experience and physical stimulation have been replaced by mirror neurons,
Firing incessantly at the sight of electromagnetic facsimiles,
Which are vomited in projected disproportion into our unwitting faces,
From nauseating mouths of those whose disease has spread to lower echelons.
And so we sit and stare upon the square on walls and in our hands,
As the prefrontal cortex and its dehydrated lobes succumb to the reptilians.
Another era of lack of mind borne from the fruitlessness of parasitic seeds,
Planted by the pretenders who swim in the wealth of our applause.
Clap away, we will, until we collapse in the arthritic solidification of redundant repetition.
Welcome to the show; a televised apocalypse of thought.
Where worlds were once created in cognition,
They're now created in the lenses of cameras.
When worlds were once refracted light coruscating from the eye,
They're now flickered in slides reflected from the television.
Categories:
subversion, addiction, social, society,
Form:
Free verse
My sister and I have different personalities
Never alike, two peas from the same pod,
but not germinated for the same Winter crop.
We never argue over mundane trivialities.
I like halibut, but she always chooses cod,
and I prefer vacuuming; she loves to mop.
But there is only one topic we cannot discuss
Our political views caused too many disputes
We disagree on the qualities of a President
and had heated debates. Oh, how we did fuss!
When I said Trump was immoral and in cahoots
with crooks, and he was a stubborn old cuss.
She fired back that Biden was senile, much too old
and she didn't like Kamala, which made me sigh.
Round after round we boxed, in verbal objections.
She watched the numbers as voters were polled
and I wanted scissors to cut off Trump's red tie
and no more commercials for Presidential elections.
Finally, I said, "Our bickering is tearing us apart."
She agreed for the need to put an end to our feud.
We're both much happier, but once in a while
she'll mention his name, and I'll say, "Don't start!"
I'd never vote for a man who's crude and lewd.
I can't understand why she can't see that he's vile.
We'll never agree on which man is most deserving
or which one truly lives by America's Constitution.
We avoid politics when we come face to face.
But I know Trump is unfit, and is totally self-serving
Biden isn't perfect, but Trump started a revolution.
He made a mockery of the office. Such a disgrace.
Yes, I blame him for inciting the Capitol subversion
But didn't say a word to her so we'd keep the peace
Sometimes it's still difficult not to interject a belief
so we talk about taking a pleasant holiday excursion
perhaps to the Caribbean or to the isles of Greece.
I'm just glad that we found a way to stop the grief.
Categories:
subversion, angst, sister,
Form:
Rhyme
A Comrade like Ben
A statesman like Mandela diplomatically
suspended the necessary struggle of opposites,
gummed his fragmented land together with reconciliation….
exploiters to exploited , murderers to martyrs
imperialist to invisibled indigenes
lives in Sandton and councils Bill Clinton
and Naomi Campbell on plush carpets
a sinewy activist, hard as nails, like yourself…
Ben Palmer Louw, always
cajoling
conspiring
criticizing
organising
uprising
forever
beautiful in your pregnant concern
that freedom , dignity and justice
is tangible and beautiful as black skin, kinky hair
is real when a continent’s wealth is fairly shared
is manifested when the state collapses in selfless deeds
old man Nelson turned ninety and is now a teddy
to those who feared the terrorist at forty.
He no longer speak for himself but for his party
and the party is a self-serving affair.
Pity your death at thirty-something
when Nelson started talking to his racist oppressors.
For ten years you and your young militant army
punctured holes in the racist ideology,
marched flames and thunder through townships,
died in your thousands,
stopping with blood and bones
bullets casted for centuries by the fascist
in black holes of greed and fear.
“A shame … but subversion is to blame ”
`` the defenders of law and order loudly exclaimed
“Not good for business”…the moneybags conceded
“ if Soweto bleeds , profit –rates receeds . ”
“Give black chiefs and compradors the garrotte
and stick the small change of capital under their nose .
They will throttle the radical noises at the root ”.
Wounded deeply, your rapid-firing baritone voice
still thundered on battle-fields and in halls,
urging us to destroy mental and wage slavery.
I saw you fight for freedom
the whole scorching way,
every hour of that long bloody apartheid day…
but one night
you leaped ,
proud black brother of mine,
right into the sky…
fist raised high as heaven with a two-hour smile
whispering re-assuringly “Don’t ever give up, gents…
the harder they come , the harder they fall.
See… brothers and sisters…revolution is!
In memory and respect to Ben Palmer Louw (1950-1987)a student leader of 1976 soweto insurrection
Categories:
subversion, history, inspirational, loss, political,
Form:
Elegy
The Bohemian Grove
There is a place in San Francisco called the Bohemian Grove. It’s a boy’s club you might say. But when is the last time you saw boys offer sacrifices to Lucifer and burn bodies at the stake in honor of their loyalty to him? And when is the last time you saw a bunch of boys planning out who will run for president and for governors and then throw the elections later in their favor? This is subversion of the powers of government. This is undermining the true process of our democracy. I wonder what the American people think about people who do such vile and lewd things? I say to hell with their owl and their altar to Satan. And to hell with all the parties that they throw in honor of their king of hell. When will the children of God take a stand against this immorality? When will we wise up like their wise old owl? The Bohemian Grove is a self-serving cesspool of the vomitus of Satan. The Lord will destroy this encampment and with his mighty right righteous hand bring it to a crumbling halt!
Many of the past presidents sat around tables at this so-called club and drew cards as to who would be the next president. They would get drunk on their own power and on the power of the dragon from the bowels of hell. They had orgies and got so drunk that only the Creator knew of the lowliness of their immorality. Each person that was sacrificed upon this property had their bones buried there. Each person upon this property that was offered as a sex slave unto Lucifer’s minions was ushered to heaven as their lives were taken from them. The Lord’s compassion runs very deep for those who are oppressed and tortured for the antics of the dragon and his minions. Our God rules from a Mercy Seat and as he sits upon his Mercy Seat he delves out the most amazing mercy to those who truly need it.
The Bohemian Grove Boy’s club is really no club at all. It is the organized crime center of Satan! It’s just that simple!
Gwendolen Rix
2-15-15
Categories:
subversion, christian, corruption, culture, hate,
Form:
Prose
The Living God has moved on
Jesus in his memory, cherry taillights
Receding down a long desert highway
Jesus’ words were, and still are,
The only true gold
The ones that were actually his
All else is ruse
There is still divine wholeness
The two basic polarities remain
Light/darkness, atonement/isolation,
Order/dissolution, love/hate
That other pole remains a
Polished, tantalizing, well-advertised
Abyss of suffering and decay
As it always was
Echoes of the Word can still be heard
Through the cavernous edifice that bears His name
But two millennia of editing, revising
Using the Word for purposes less than divine
Has reduced it to echoes only
God can be found through His words
Or forever lost through their subversion
Walk like this, talk like this, do it right
Stand up, sit down, fight, fight, fight
If you read him, he was anything but
A conformist tyrant
Don’t believe me?
Just ask a Pharisee
They’re not hard to find
So now riddle me
Why you think dogma and rigidity
Are the pathway to the divine?
To some this will be blasphemy
But not to the Living God
6/16/16
©Thomas W. Quigley
Categories:
subversion, god, jesus, religion,
Form:
Free verse
Feminized
“This subversion was accomplished by taking advantage of two kinds of vulnerability that women raised in our society tend to have. The first is the quality of self-sacrifice, a learned willingness to set their own interests aside and be used and even used up by the community...
The second kind of vulnerability trained into women is a readiness to believe messages of disdain and derogation.”
~ Mary Catherine Bateson, Composing a Life, p. 54, First Plume Printing, October, 1990
In the moment at which her lovely shoe has just reared back
After I’d come to a stop atop it
My temerity in having been shoved down the flight of steps
At the bottom of which she stands
Having resulted in annoying her dainty foot
What inspiration’s thrusting it forward
To bury itself amid ribs
No longer mine?
In the quiet conversations betwixt Sunday school and service
What inspiration’s guiding the gossip
About yet another young man
Following a call of seduction
Followed by a call to the police
And the final call to a court that believes her every word
No longer his?
In the august halls of corporate consummation
Where products once designed to last
Crafted to provide quality service over years
Via jobs that straddled whole careers
What inspiration’s driving the quarterly cycles
Moody and impertinent as menstrual periods confined
No longer home?
In the light like it’s like light of heavenly grace
Where before an audience of like familiar litsos rolls or sidles
The most lovely young devotchka you could ever hope in all your jeezny
Whom Alex the large would like to have right down there on the floor
With the old in-out real savage
What inspiration’s coming skorry as a shot
Making him want to like heave in entrailing keeshkas
No longer his?
In the society rendered bereft of male vigor and energy
What inspiration’s asserting steady direction
Toward care and heartfelt protection
Of those weaker more wayward of less physical capacity
Shifting drifting changing winds in exchange for brash audacity
Armchair sports the glib vestige of masculinity
A world that once could’ve had a purpose
No longer ours?
~ Thanks Always Returns
Categories:
subversion, angst, men, relationship, society,
Form:
Verse
Once there was an imperative need
for the little crabs in the bucket indeed:
If and only if the little ones were taught
to use their skills to climb out,
would they survive—no doubt.
So a change was mooted brightly
(as inspired by Benjamin Bloom rightly)
by a bucket crab—in the life-skill program for the crabs new;
and there was stiff resistance – phew! –
particularly from a couple of old king crabs among the lot:
the little ones shouldn’t be taught anything new—no matter what.
The resistance was stage-managed ably—
a strategy they could use expertly.
Need? Where’s it?
Hurry? Where’s it?
Venture, none should,
Anything the oldies thought “no good.”
Nobody likes change but a wet baby, said Mark Twain
And it was meant mainly for the oldies twain
The cold war started
And five long years it lasted.
Strange crustaceans they were, both outlaws,
armed with multiple pairs of claws,
which now they were using skillfully —
from talebearing through subversion to anything to bully.
The committed reformist-crab had to fight lonelily,
And the repeated attacks repulse boldly.
Thus the five-year war was fought continually.
And the kids were saved—eventually.
Oh, those five long years!
***
Winner III, Meraki Poetry Contest, sponsored by SO, December 21, 2017,
Categories:
subversion, allegory,
Form:
Rhyme
I have dug this one out of the poetry attic; composed when a teen, hence the dated references. Fellow Soupers of my age-group (60 in a few weeks- Yikes!) might enjoy it:
Friend, watch out! They're talking.
Have you heard what they're talking about?
They're not talking about revolution
Nor of mystical ablution,
Not of meaningful discussions
Nor of drastic repercussions.
Not of drugs and their results
Nor of wars and satanic cults.
Not of full-blooded,Medal-studded,Octo-Olympians
Nor of the tragedy of fading Ethiopians.
Not of whether the weather will hold out.
Will I tell you what they're talking about?
They're not talking about extinction
Nor about energy diminution.
Not about the bludging bureaucracy
Nor of stifling plutocracy.
Not about student-Left activity
Nor of the signs of cultural declivity.
Not about aspects of phallic domination
Nor of real genuine insemination.
Not about who is sure and who in doubt.
Should I tell you who they're talking about?
They're not talking about Nixonfrancocastroamin
Nor of that handydandy, non-returnable
Devastatingly non-biodegradable container
Their fingerfriedlickinchicken lunch was served in.
Not of astronautical penetrations
Nor of the psycho-sexual implications
Of the demise of Chairman Mao.
Not of matters affecting us right here and now!
Nor of suicide, VD, rape, fraud, famine and disease.
Not of all the things like these
Which make this world the wonderful place that it
Most certainly is (and
All divinely-ordained to wit!)
No! They're talking about subversion,
Of unabashed, unwashed perversion!
In short ( and I hear all this is true)
Those bastards are talking about ME & YOU!
Categories:
subversion, introspection, drug,
Form:
speak softly soothe skeptical soldiers.
solicit sages solemn solace sombre soliloqy.
silence sinister speakers speaking
spiritless slogans spiting spightful signs
sift spontaneous sincerity signaling sooth
switch stuborn stupidities superflious supplications
supply superior supplications seeking Soverigns succor
search subtle subversion spreading such syphilis
silently subvert singularly subtle saboters
stimulate stern stewartship, stifle stinginess
spurn squawkers spurious spouting
stymie stylish subdivisions
sing songs signifying single sole solidarity
stupendously swing swift swords
stand strong stoic stern stealth
show splindors spiritual side
send special supremacys silver sight
such suitable sufficent spontanious souls
sow signals sought selflessly since salvation
savor Saviors salutory silence
seek sanctuary since sacrifice
so sacred so sadistic
saith saints suffering sagas
save sordid self searching sealed soul
sence sensation salvation shores
shun satans six six six
smell smoldering sinners smitten
solitify salvation seeing single source
Categories:
subversion, faith
Form:
Alliteration
Henry is revered as a great man, a teacher, like he was our saviour,
But what about his immoral philosophy and evil behaviour?
The Kent State shootings, an act of insanity,
Operation menu, a crime against humanity.
A brutal bombing campaign against an innocent civilian population,
Not a single person ever brought to justice from the Nixon administration.
A monster philosopher of wealth and subversion, a master hypocrite,
But so many describe him as a man of great charm and wit.
I find these comments perplexing, the man violated human rights worldwide,
Was involved in Pinochet’s bloody coup in Chile and Indonesia’s genocide.
Christopher Hitchens told the truth about this monster, he even wrote a book,
The trails of Henry Kissinger, an interesting analysis of the crook.
His crimes were ruthless and cold, an obvious amoral megalomaniac,
A two-faced, callous beast who just loved to attack.
Categories:
subversion, abuse, anger, evil, horror,
Form:
Rhyme
As the devil roams the earth, sometimes
believing church folk depend on other
Christians for support during occasions of
doubt and despair. I find myself
errantly choosing the wrong paths
forgetting that I have professed
God as the One on whom I depend.
He is my faithful Redeemer who
intercedes with mercy’s kindness, yet
judiciously knowing I need a Father's
kindling fire for my disobedient heart with
love, forgiveness and discipline.
My earthly friends would condone my
narcissism and stubborn conceit which
occludes the very Paraclete within me;
penitence is what I really need.
Quashing the ploys of the evil one,
repentant souls refresh their
spirits. Spurning Satan’s subversion
teaches us dependence upon God's remedy for
unfaithfulness, the loose rocks on our route.
Vital to our strength is a well-meaning,
wise Friend’s honesty. God’s Spirit is that
xenolith who supports each believer,
yokes Christians yearning to bring
zealots back into relationship with their Redeemer.
First words of each line can also be read as a "abc" type poem:
As believing Christians doubt
errantly forgetting God,
He intercedes judiciously kindling love.
My narcissism occludes penitence.
Quashing repentant spirits teaches unfaithfulness.
Vital, wise xenolith yokes zealots.
February 10, 2020
Caren Krutsinger's ABCEDARIAN contest
Categories:
subversion, 11th grade, blessing, encouraging,
Form:
Abecedarian
One day, watching a reddened evening sky
over the western horizon, it’s peculiar though,
a thought that is so preposterous suddenly came to my mind
and that was the earth is not revolving. Is it because the world was
too quiet? Or the world was too chaotic.
Once this absurd thought ran through my mind,
neither of those great names, Copernicus nor Galileo
bore weight on me and their heliocentric theory faded away
as well.
The papal absolution bestowed on Galileo after four century’s
long years of silence, to me, was not only the meaningless gesture of
such an arrogant God’s institution but was the subversion of God’s majestic power or it means that God was ousted from his throne and became subservient to his own creature, man.
After all, it can be said that then,
it was not because the earth revolved on its own axis, time flowed,
or the earth orbited the sun, seasons changed. But because I think
time flows, the time flows. I feel seasons change, the seasons change.
For my wildest notion came to this far I felt uneasy inside. I wanted to hear sound of passing clouds, I was keen on seeing winds pile up under my feet, in this utter stand-still-soundless world.
That is why I thought I should spin earth with all my strength,
though I was weak and flabby. I pushed earth leaning myself
against air, I pulled it, I tried to carry it on my back, but, alas, earth did not move.
I was, therefore, all run down, and that’s why I laid on the ground
staring at the sky and grumbled just like that cowardly Galileo muttered
while exiting from a sacred and inviolable court of the Inquisition after his recantation, “E pur si mouve”—[But it does not move!]
As I grumbled, I heard the sound of drifting clouds,
I saw flowing water resting on the corolla becoming clear dew,
I was stepping on the pile of fallen leaves blown by the passing winds. And even, before I was aware of them, I noticed that stars were twinkling in the darkening sky high above.
Categories:
subversion, earth, metaphor, seasons, ,
Form:
Free verse
Religious cooperative
When I do- as a liberal should- defend Muslims and
their religion and the right to worship as they wish
yet I think Islam is holding the people back as it is
too self - obsessed putting the absolute demands
of this subversion of this eastern religion that is
a comparatively a new religion with elements of
Judaism and Christianity, yet Islam is despite what
we have heard and the excesses of the fanatics, who
contrary to true Islamic thinking, spew hateful lies,
a peaceful religion as we see practised by
the Palestinians.
Both creeds Christianity and Islam reject the idea of
free for all sexual norms of Judaism and before we are
dismissed of anti- Semitism I still think we are right
Categories:
subversion, age, allah, angel, anti
Form:
Blank verse
In an orb of knowledge, walks a colored girl.
Her celestial being is ethereal.
Abreast is she of her past but fragile to the imminence.
Her strides are hindered because once she was poor and her life was lost in that
remembrance.
In the present day, she is born to be a rich woman.
Her compositions oeuvres her as a legacy lost.
Her cognizance delineates her as a renowned Poetess.
She remembers herself as well spoken.
Prestige she was given by her family.
However, she was born in the time of human suffering.
An antiquated being esteemed to write is this girl in her reincarnated life.
She was born before her time and now the good Lord has revitalized.
Metaphysically she conceives vivacity.
With effervescence learnt, her vim and vigor are expressed through her lexes.
The echoes of her thoughts are parrots.
Emotionally she enters her past life and begins to compose the opus.
Her perception manifests the images of her verses.
A modern day Poetess against subversion is a Poetry Diva verge of curses.
___________________________________________________|
POETRY DIVA - OBLIVION DARK SUNSHINE - VERLENA S. WALKER
PENNED ON JUNE 21, 2014!
In Truth and Integrity, this is ambiences of the author's connection to her past life.
Categories:
subversion, gender, girl, god, how
Form:
Free verse