Best Sullies Poems
Do you really think, that I am going to trade my eternal soul,
for your bowl of germ infested puke? Think again!
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O' sullen sullies of darkness....
How you often paint yourself so very innocent and pretty
While you drool at the corners of the edges of jagged
Within your ever deceiving, and your taintedly twisted smile and corroding mouth
Galloping around as if you were some fortitude of light and wisdom?
Amid these pretentious comforts, cast, from within a hollowed and daggered heart
Just as long, as you can capture everyone else, within your chains of bindings
Bound, unto your own darkened perspectives, beneath, your clinching claw sharpened
grasp....
Eructing your molten lavas, spewed, of your gargoylish poisoned vomit
Upon the lives of those who are somewhat already blind, themselves?
Offering your beguiling and benumbing putrid stench, to alluringly, lure them in
Into the depths, of your own black widow webbed horror show....
While pounding upon your chest, as if you were the conqueror of them all?
As you leave your trails of excrement and slime, within the dust, of your ever slithering wake
These your offerings, before all of Heavens disbelieving and watchful eyes!
Unto the unknowing and eternal souls, which you try so desperately, to swallow whole!
But your indignities and godlessness, will not escape your forthcoming demise....
For your manglings, disfigured, shall lead unto your own wraths, pending doom....
And yet for now, you do still stand, unscathed, within your wantingly amissful ignorance
Projecting unto others, as if you were some sort of mighty tower, in which they, should
believe?
But knowing deep inside of yourself the truth, of how very feeble and lost, you truly are!
Standing in front of this melting mirror, within your plotting poisoned mind....
A flower of the darkest soils, charcoals of crimsons ashes, your burning, and scorching flames
Lucifers child, of the neverendings, forever, and endless pain...."You!"
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....Darkness Falls....
{The final kiss}
indescribable,
untranscribable ~
imbibable, your exotic, quixotic perfume
spiraled me into a quandary
of dirty laundry, penance,
no superintendents in attendance
I come from ragged boys, no poise,
just noise ~ a quiver of quavers,
no saviors of silence,
but if some sap sullies our sister
we'll flatten him
you come from platinum
a blessed nest of nuance,
a quay of kindness,
finesse, fineness ~
savvy sophistication, subtlety
a quaint saint I ain't
then poise met noise
you became my bible;
undeniable, heavy sighable,
unclassifiable ~
indescribable
Written 12 Feb 2021
Within despair,
through the dark,
it stings deep inside
No one appreciates
the anguish I endure,
resulting in me
baring the burden alone
With no respite,
no one wants to see
the blackness
that sullies my soul
Only I can pull myself
through each hurricane
of torrential suffering
My only saving grace
is blind optimism
The belief it will get better
and I will be here tomorrow
In the hold tears are shackled
White eyes stare dark corners
Bare breasts hang limpid
Humanity dowsed in sewage
The slaver pitches, rolls
Each wave a fathom from home
Each trough a deeper despair
The screams and creaks in rhyme
Lost souls ghost the gloom
Living meat on planked beds
The stench of shame fills the air
The cry for God but no one there
The slaver ponders onwards
With its holds of sins
Black gold, worth in weight
Only time holds their fate
Bilges slurp of piss and degradation
Chains chatter, implore salvation
But the lash comes quick
Skin and hearts so easily broken
White sails on waves of shame
Sullies forth in evils name
Devil smiles at man's behaviour
And fortunes gained on slave labour
On the quay in lines they stand
Commodity of a human brand
And brand they will, darkened skin
With each mark a white man's sin
Dark these pages of history
Have we travelled in our thinking
Just how far have we come
The nettle of conscience does it sting
As racism still festers in the heart
White sails still float waves of shame
As Sol sulks in an obstructive place,
flakes of alabaster mask His face.
And like a wailing banshee's dreadful moan,
howling winds bring a chill to the bone.
Falling temps take the fun out of play,
as blustery winds blow hard all day.
And depression sullies falling snow;
hinting Winter will never let go.
Snow blankets all in a white duvet,
color is absent from Nature's cache.
And as geese flee this barren landscape,
creatures hunker down; they can't escape.
Salt and slush coat the city like clay
in dull hues of melancholy grey.
And skyscrapers anchor clouds of mist;
stifling airflow, as flurries persist.
Spiraling thoughts let sadness take hold;
driven by merciless months of cold.
For city folks recall winters past;
dampening hopes this weather won't last.
a yellow sun burns
icicles morph into drips ~
spring sullies winter
white trillium sprout
smothering the forest floor ~
a floral blanket
green leaves ink the trees
snowmen are a dying breed ~
songbirds signal spring
The best artists are outlaws
Vandalizing our sanctity,
Our sanctimonious freight trains,
Our parsimonious neglect.
The best artists are culprits
Chiseling our school desks,
Scraping our bathroom stalls,
Doodling our notebooks.
Graffiti spray paints the struggle,
Scribbling defaces the pretense,
Defilement arrests the complacent,
Disfigurement sullies the platitude.
Defacers embody the dialectic,
The opposition to conformity,
The betrayal of uniformity,
The rebellion against authority.
The best artists are pariahs,
Trashing our temples,
Tossing out our moneychangers,
Driving out our shysters.
Dog Star
The clarity with which youthful vision perceives the world
Is increasingly fogged by the successive days of life.
Simple magnanimity is replaced by complex reservation.
Knowledge is replaced by uncertainty.
Hope is replaced by the leaden awareness of the cold laws of chance, and of time’s passage,
By the degeneration of familiar forms,
By the merciless reaping of the best in human spirit:
Gazing upon the heavens and the deep stillness of those constant lights,
Searching course of purpose lack; unsettled certainty, brain benumbing.
Castor and Pollux, lucid pilot stars, begin to calm the fever of my blood,
Settling upon me a vision of a mystic green and silver thread that links existence round.
And yet, sadness when sylphs withdraw, and Ariel weeping for Belinda flies,
And Umbriel, a dusky melancholy sprite, as ever sullies the fair face of night...
Down to central earth, the realm of rocky truth.
Repairing to search the gloomy, yet whitely glowing, cave
Where, sharp-witted and dull-eyed, a god,
Ankle deep in sterile and lifeless mud,
Moved in a rhythm perfect to reason.
Yet delicately astray to hope;
Separate from all the golden harmonies
Ordained by the measure of bowel and heart;
Machined cortex, sailing through gaunchious deeps, unimaginable heights,
Built step upon step; Cheops’ pyramid a fly speck by comparison.
Still unknown, unnoticed, the green and silver thread......
Unbend the substantial back, honest god!
Upward cant the neck!
Toil not; drink green and silver wine as the Dog star rules!
(The cricket sounds sweetly from the leaves and the jonquil blows softly.)
Cant the neck! Observe….
Phantasm swimming in space,
Covered all over with visible power and beauty.
Green and silver interlaced, the whole its parts beminifies.
Endemion, Diana, and Pan ooze from mesh of mass and law as limpid condensements on cold granite:
Man’s lonely vigil, a warmth that lifts magic… creates,
Imbedding blue-green strands.
Reason fails; life begins!
Cut open pomegranate Christmas lights aril
Syrup drips erupt bitter volcano alluvium ooze
Blackberry gall sullies crust creamy caramel
Chroma pervades pavlova cracks in lilac hues
North Pole prepared sugar sack, sans limit
Blizzard whip season removes several months
Egg fragile igloo glitters in shell smash grit
Featherboa snow stiletto cabaret flamboyance
Santa avalanches resume a ruby ice unity
Investing in fuel for rocket launching research
Sleigh's sky laughs at axle trapped gravity
Astronauts unconcious core to raunch dessert
13th March
Thirsty for Departure
Once upon a time holly loosely based
upon a true story
There was a man who shall be called
Lord Mountbatten / Battenberg
A true Hero in every sense of the word
Or so we all we're and have been told
1 part German somewhat British like
his father before him
Who now looking back upon reflection
truth now be eventually able to be told
The fact's don't seem to bare out
what we were in fact told to believe
and make of him
Because what he in fact seemed to
be was this
A man who rose to the lofty position
of Admiral despite the fact he crashed
3 ship's and cost countless lives
Who ingratiated himself through any
means into the grace's of the upper
echolocation of royalty and polite
society in order to service his agenda
Who resided over partition which the
losses and aftermath are still being
counted till today
Orchestrated the introduction and
marriage of his nephew Phillip to
Queen Elizabeth
And dropped his lifelong childhood
friend the King in waiting for his
brother when he abdicated
In retrospect not fit to even be granted
so much as an audience in or with
such company in fact sullies their good
name and reputation
Unlike a man who through his deed's and
actions saved 2 million plus lives and
shortened the war by breaking the Enigma
code
Who unlike him was not repaid with
numerous honours and titles bestowed
on him in recognition of his contribution
But instead was chemically castrated
berated and worst of all suffered the
indignation of being hidden and wiped
from history altogether
At least now it's finally left up for prosperity
and history to decide with all the facts placed
clearly clarified on display
Who is fit to be called a Hero King
in all but Reginal name
It never is an easy ride
And I don't mean to deride,
But your imaginative sense,
Far exceeds experience.
Of course you must learn how to fight,
Gird your pen for unmanned flight,
By never making yourself wrong,
Though your youth sullies the song.
Youth's insights are sometimes shallow,
Tend fields that should stay fallow,
But plant your grain and pray for rain,
Do not exaggerate pain.
Remaining true to you today,
Welcome muse, chips fall as may,
Though muse may always be your guide,
Color's just yours to decide.
A skeleton the muse gives you!
Living poems come to view,
With flesh, with heart poet donates,
No life served on silver plates.
For poem's sake share what is true,
Then you'll know what's next for you,
Your history's all you need know
To preserve the poem's flow.
A clever title serves your need,
(And reluctant muse can feed)
Often gets the juices flowing
When no sure path is showing.
A dream can sometimes give release
To deep feelings seeking peace,
When you're at war help you discern
Moves to make the battle turn.
Try to stay close to what you love,
Don't waste time on what's above.
Know it's just you that you're selling,
Make peace with fears you're quelling.
And no, not once forgo the chance
With living poems to dance
With humble, breathless savoir-faire,
Please escort her from her chair.
Brian Johnston
May 4, 2014
To always have control,
Live on deserted isle
No one to interrupt your sleep,
No one to ever judge your smile.
But give up your control
And hear words children sing,
You might just find a stranger's smile
Can be worth more than anything.
When you are in control,
Friends always disappoint,
And insignificant events
Can put your nose clear out of joint.
When you give up control
You're free to meet the day,
A shower doesn't bring you down,
And you participate in play....
The urge to keep control
Destroys your holidays
Shows fear that’s bottled up inside
And sullies pray’r when God you praise.
But give up your control
And just enjoy God’s plan
Give trembling brain a needful rest,
And trust instead God’s love for man!
Brian Johnston
Sept. 10, 2014
A quagmire is a soft, murky bog that shakes
or yields underfoot.
In other words, a swamp,
that is imbued with sticky mud:
where progress is slow,
for it's easy to get stuck.
A quagmire is also a synonym
for an unpleasant, constrictive situation;
which is not easy to escape from.
Look around; we are stuck
in a swamp of greed and hate,
a quagmire of our own making.
Bigotry is a by-product of manufactured fear,
as the blood of innocents sullies our souls.
And we are sinking into conformity;
stuck in the quicksand of complacency.
The hope of change is strictly rationed to the masses,
while tightly controlled by a few.
We are born as a cog in a system
designed to extract individualism,
and replace it with compliance.
Thereby keeping us stuck within the very gears,
that are grinding us down.
We need to drain that political swamp,
even though its alligators are always on patrol.
Undercurrent of Melancholy
beneath yawning ribs time-eaten bay sinks
down the sea-poose of the blues
carrying somber hues
mind reverberates with the fall of ice
sullies tramp down a stuffed soul
ushering in smolder
against it come the menacing thunders
through the world not left at peace
and spin old memories
Pick A Title, Vol 11 - Kimo(3 Stanzas) - Poetry Contest
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4. Undercurrent of Melancholy
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
15 November, 2019
Dust decays the minds remains,
sullies clarity while slow it stains-
Slow it stalls each calm refrain
scowls so deep my new disdain.
Cloudless day, yet chill surrounds,
then quiet falls upon the grounds-
Eases silence until all around
I’m lost among the words I found.
Gathering close the gloom foretells
echoes of the church-yard bells-
Quiet then both the vale and dell
so quickly, so sudden, so it fell.
Stark the darkness heavily weighs
dances resolutely thus it stays-
Along grey gravel does it play
then dead to earth it kills the day.
Stalks away and leaves unkind
unravels deeds, stops the mind-
Once taut now the heart so finds
purpose loosened it slow unwinds.
Fade cold sun beyond the trees!
Rush to earth upon your knees-
So small, so small you are to me
still stoic though, your majesty.
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