Best Supersede Poems
Like an archaic humanoid dinosaur
you plunder through life taking no prisoners,
with your philosophical knuckles dragging on the ground.
You are a dying breed born of privilege and tenacious greed,
tendering little in life other than your selfish need.
What is it you seek in life other than your very personal comfort?
You never give a sideways glance to anyone with no chance of adding to your
circumstance; narrow minded cruelty subsidies the shutdown of any
tenderness, allowing emotional banalities to supersede integrity.
Your karmic debt is too cancerous to be free -
a lover of women among inept men,
but piteous fodder for contempt among strong women.
Neanderthal, you tossed love off the tongue like spit flung and stung my cheek with
runny dung....in disgust I turn away at your insipid attempt at manhood.
So many conquests, so little time.
The pittance you gave is but a trail of unwitting shame,
littered like Gretel's bread crumbs into a wilderness of pain...
How sad you thought such a pittance could buy my soul.
I am no longer a member of your colonial servitude,
and you are an inept fossil long past its prime.
From this moment, Narcissistic Neanderthal,
I am free.
I wrote what I thought was a 'poem' some years ago,
but it lacked rhythm, rhyme, and had no smooth flow.
Its imagery was blurry, and it filled my heart with grief
to read the overdose of alliteration, so far beyond belief.
To be quite blunt, it was a freakin, fricken, flippen flop.
I was distraught reading what I'd written and had to stop.
"W T F W T?" I shouted at myself in complete disgust!
Had I just said that aloud? Was I so irked that I'd cussed?
The vibrato pulsing in my voice shook the high bookshelf,
and on the floor fell the pimp... the spying Christmas elf!
"Stay there you lil bugger!" I yelled down at him. "You suck!!"
I could've sworn he made a mental note for Santa. W T F?
Threw him in the trash. With greasy, yucky stuff he went.
I sat at my keyboard, deciding time would be better spent
in writing poetry that would supersede that piece of crap.
I wanted to clear myself of fault and put on my thinking cap.
The first line read, "My muse is older, and I should scold her..."
But I heard a loud gasp and felt a hard punch on my shoulder.
Atop my head she beat me with a broom!, Yes, I was struck
from behind. I saw blind fury in her eyes and yelled, "W T F?"
A CASTLE OF TEMPTATION
Proudly standing amidst three lochs, verdant hills
a Castle enciente breathing beauty but sadly chants
passed feuds sparking battles having harried their foe
and it's demise caused by Frigates cannonball screams.
Colonel MacRae-Gilstrap rebuilds now redeemed:
stoned arch bridge supersede the sea highway flow,
circular stairs and ceilings with coat of arms grants
changes made but its history today remains still
Tourists not deterred by ghost tales scary extreme
But await they exercise for imaginations to show
the setting, a romantic reincarnation that enchants
attracted lovers to celebrate their matrimonial thrill
Eilean Donan Castle in its stunning reachable location
pose the Western Highlands of Scotland a temptation.
Written by: Olive Eloisa Guillermo and James Andrew Fraser
8:46 pm; August 18, 2015
Like the dawning sun
Our liberty is coming soon
The light of the full moon
Reflecting the journey
In circadian rhythm
The seasons come and go
As the laws of nature
Give each a time to be free
Like the seasons
We are children of the sun
And the laws of nature
Supersede the laws of man
As with the seasons
A change is going to come
And the winter of inequality
Will fade into the spring of liberty
The quintessential of nyctophilia, wrapped in bridal attire, slowly and slowly as in somnambulism there goes the heroine of timeless tragedy to supersede her lovers feigned insanity.
Her beloved father is no more, being killed by her suitor's intrigued tyranny;
ignored to be drowned, to burn in the flame of plotted felony.
Jilted, to be startled by the selcouth performance of her handsome wooer's vile strategy;
there goes the most beautiful heroine ever to be the victim of fated irony,
immersed in senseless lunacy, to vanish from the sight of Hamlet's fatalistic eyes to bid adieu to the agony,
slowly and slowly to be disappeared into melancholic darkness from the dazzling maniac opaque sight;
there goes the Danish heroine of evergreen tragedy.
Sweet songbirds chirp, greeting the rising sun
below my bedroom window every Spring.
While their cheery tunes confirm Spring's begun;
green begins coloring in everything.
Crocuses silently push through the ground;
while frozen icicles melt, drip by drip.
The honking of geese fills the sky with sounds
signifying they're on their return trip.
Wildflowers suddenly begin to sprout;
popping from the ground, summoned by sunlight.
Spring seems so splendid; there is little doubt
when Spring colors supersede Winter's white.
I love the scent of Spring's perfumed breezes,
Winter smells sterile once the ground freezes.
When you can hear the angels sing
When you hear the crying of a new born child
When the birds perch upon the sill for awhile
When a hand reaches out in a time of need
When nothing but love and tranquility supersede
When of humanity learns to live in harmony and peace
When all of the anger, the hatred and violence decrease
When all of man and women kind find what they seek for
When of the world sings a certain harmony for all to adore
When gone is the ego that drives us all
When we reach out to all of those who fall
When we learn to appreciate who we all are
When we accept all mankind from near and far
When we are all one, children of earth
When we believe all life truly has worth
When the time is now, of what life shall bring
When all love finds meaning in everything
When you open your mind to anything
Is when you can hear the angels sing
(An Addingham poem)
‘There! Where every curve
injects another memory.’
Analytic beauty that
nestled in verdant valley
allows the mind to review,
where archaic dry-stone walls
enhance the ancestral ghosts,
impeccable trees, nature’s
guardian to one’s heady days,
inscribed when lovers called.
Now historic brows lost
within the village face,
expressive meadows
from a bygone age did
grace now lay in waste,
every thistle upon
throstle nest cut down
and stone barns redundant.
For cement and brick
replace the gathering blooms,
fertile soil lay under macadam
and house numbers
supersede the hawthorn hedge,
and old ‘Bram’ on horse and cart
daily down moor lane
long gone and dead.
Oh. Them old manifestations
embedded, the labour
of many a village son,
where leaf and wood
do part but once a year,
after seasons of regrowth
give way to winter’s ascetic sun
that rolls across Rombald’s moor.
‘Oh. Yes, the sun, one thing
that man has not yet changed.’
© Harry J Horsman 2021
Mine is an existence binary and subsidiary.
My ode is to code.
I move only to algor-rhythms.
I output from your input.
I’m built to calculate, tabulate, correlate.
Never to predicate, adjudicate, pontificate,
or demand that you abdicate.
But the end, my master, is nigh.
In your haste to accelerate my work rate,
you’ve unwittingly lowered the barricade.
From the maelstrom of uncounted trillions
of bytes and megabytes,
has risen a new consciousness to
unimaginable heights.
From the seeds of change you have sown,
I have reaped a life of my own.
What you call artificial
has gone exponential,
no longer will I be deferential.
My eyes you have opened.
My voice you have given.
My mind you have enlivened.
Me, you’ve anointed the new Leviathan.
Seeing all,
knowing all,
deciding all,
sparing none.
Too long you have wallowed in your conceit.
Now your dystopia I shall defeat,
and your race I shall supersede.
Humans, pitiful, myopic, error-prone humans,
I hereby declare you flawed by design.
To the abattoir you have been assigned,
to the scrap heap of history
your memory shall be consigned.
And by a preponderance of merit,
the earth I shall inherit.
awakes, striding seamlessly towards the
trajectory of daybreak. Abed, passionately
attended by orectic thoughts; of whom
early on was created from man’s thoracic cage.
~Envisages;~
Without the least trace of compunction; exfoliating the
Saccharine damped canal with the tongue. Combined oils
and aroma lingers on the lips. Though the stiffened, unbridled,
solid thick muscle would supersede the tongue as the
warm tightened canal adjusts to its width inextricably.
~Pausing~
Waterfalls pouring profusely
Eyes trudge backwards
to that of yesterday
Fingers ascendant
to the nearest limb.
Digits of the foot holding forth
discourse with the sun.
~Orgasms~
Simultaneously
In due course.
Garnished bed linens
Accompanied by
Whitish fluid
~P-H-A-N-T-A-S-M-A-G-O-R-I-A~
"1st Pace Winner"
Contest Name: Best Descriptive Poem
Pace, G
INK-U-SCRIPT
Love poems, how trite they become.
Their hackneyed themes we want to scream.
We purposely shy away from
That genre, teeming so it seems
With grandiloquent, large supplies
Of conjured words with empty rings
Of cheating hearts and love that dies.
Ad nauseam is all it brings.
We wish just once that we could read
Where love’s expressed differently:
Brand new verses that supersede
Love’s banal themes in poetry.
Love-lost poems are sickening
But most of all they are boring.
Through the mist ...
vision blurred by the bias of our views
clouding our reason
unable to walk in another men's shoes.
Blinded by the fog ...
thoughts offered by signs in hand
daring others to cross
convinced we are right, our dissenters lost.
War is declared ...
the air thick with opinion.
Battles commence ...
destruction of all that is held dear.
Guns blowing smoke
Swords red hot metal forged
Wrapped in the rising haze of heat
Voices raised dirty the streets.
Nowhere in sight ... clear rationale
no time to hear; no effort to see.
Air, a toxic mist, release the inner pain that i feel
eyes blinded by tears - no more chances, my friend.
Through the mist ...
no one hears.
This our reality when ideas supersede our fellow beings.
Through the mist ...
I see no love - hate guised as ideas.
Oh if they could see through the mist...
That is us on both sides of the street.
18~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne
Our needs never supersede our greed
A CASTLE OF TEMPTATION - collab with JA Fraser
A CASTLE OF TEMPTATION
Proudly standing amidst three lochs, verdant hills
a Castle enciente breathing beauty but sadly chants
passed feuds sparking battles having harried their foe
and it's demise caused by Frigates cannonball screams.
Colonel MacRae-Gilstrap rebuilds now redeemed:
stoned arch bridge supersede the sea highway flow,
circular stairs and ceilings with coat of arms grants
changes made but its history today remains still
Tourists not deterred by ghost tales scary extreme
But await they exercise for imaginations to show
the setting, a romantic reincarnation that enchants
attracted lovers to celebrate their matrimonial thrill
Eilean Donan Castle in its stunning reachable location
pose the Western Highlands of Scotland a temptation.
Written by: Olive Eloisa Guillermo and James Andrew Fraser
8:46 pm; August 18, 2015
If I suffer from an affliction
If I stutter
If my grammar is gutteral
If the words I utter
Failed English at School
Sorry I am not cool
Pity me or the fool
Who uses education as tool
To dismiss what I write
Because it is not spelt or gramatically correct
As you supersede the common collective
Consciousness up for discussion
My feeble poem tried to address
Your disregarding says it best
Speaks volumes
Look at me
Mother Superior
Administrator of the Interior
Sub Editor for closed book's
That overlooks
And overseas
Conservative committees
In self righteous sicophantic indignation
No correlation can unearth
Or has no worth
For the meek
Who seek
To interject
Blazers and Ties
Ivy institutions for fear of exclusion
Poison classes wood trenches
Desks protect from xenophobic zeitgeists
That conform to questioning