Best Unnaturally Poems
What worth am I
in all this madness
what worth are you
in the depths
of all this sadness
there,
see the flight path
to elevation
inside the feels;
inside the fields
of darkness
spring wells of
orbs popping light
the half-stride
of trying phantoms
planting seeds,
half-baked poetry
running
through the veins
the golden fields
of darkness
minutiae sleeping
with Morpheus
under the velvet blankets
of Elysium
terra firma robes
overly well worn
divested now
in waking
kissing the farewell
to be received blessed,
annointed in the essence
of the uncommon
there,
the busy minded,
the unnaturally gifted -
The Poets ...
call you,
see -
the flight path
to elevation
inside the outside inside -
or, called back outside,
there you remain,
forever fixated
on cracking the inside
the hoax planted
in a dybbuk box
unfounded
unworthy demon
sunken
treasure
buried forever
grounded
hear them all, see,
inside the common feels,
the uncommon Poets
call you
see,
the flight path
to elevation
reaching
inside the outside inside
Candide Diderot. ‘24
crosses.
All chickens here assembled, rise and fight.
It’s not enough the humans steal our eggs;
They cut our tender breasts, and that’s not right!
Stand tall upon your skinny chicken legs.
Stand tall and show them all you have some pluck
All chickens here assembled, rise and fight.
Tell all mankind that you don’t give a “cluck.”
Stop cowering like puppy dogs. Unite!
We’re raised unnaturally. Though plump and white,
We’re not all THAT; we’re caged and given grief!
All chickens here assembled, rise and fight.
We must convince mankind to turn to beef!
We’ve got to make them lustful for a steak;
to find the COW more healthful; see the light:
Say no to K. F. C or Shake ‘n Bake!
All chickens here assembled, rise and fight.
It was her kitchen, her family, and my newly-married man, and I aimed to please her by properly being fed.
With a smile and a swish, “We have butterscotch pudding pie for dessert!” My brand spanking new mother-in-law said.
Her excitement had no knowledge of the instant memory of horribleness that leaped instantly to my own quickly confused head.
I tried to take an invisible pretend bite while the family all watched, eagerly waiting but my traitorous mouth played dead.
Tears filled my eyes, as I was unnaturally smothered with the sad, angry hurt of my long-ago favorite butterscotch pie.
The feelings came so damned fast, I could not stop them at all or even slow them down, and they surrounded me, and made me cry.
When I was eleven, my family of origin was in the kitchen, laughing, and playing, and goofing around.
When the phone rang, I was asked to get it, because it was wire-attached to the wall, and I was the closest to the retched sound.
I had never heard my mother wail or keen until that day, certainly never heard her yell, “DICK!” or fall without any game to play.
Our big Dad jumped up faster than we had ever seen, grabbed rag-doll Mom before she hit the kitchen counter in a not so great way.
We all turned pure white, which was odd because we were usually pink. Fascinated, yet, hungry, I took my first bite, and heard the words “Mom is dead, and Dad’s dead too.”
We kids started shaking, sad and scared. Grandma and Grandpa were our king and queen. When things calmed down in a second or two that damned butterscotch pie tasted like glue.
Everyone wailed wild-eyed, faces red. The cousins came, and we huddled together and cried and screamed how great it was sob, sob, that they both went to heaven.
Yes, I know that was many years ago but when my feelings took my body over loud and clear, they clamped my mouth tightly shut, because I was back to 11.
“what inspires you to write
such indiscriminate indiscretions
like that?” he speaks to himself
and thinks
not long
without thinking,
unnaturally he feels,
something, so
he promptly writes
it all down
without a further
doo-diddley-day
there you go
a muse
the muse amused
reads his take on it all
and up her mind goes,
the ride, like a pole
flags, waving
checkered,
black and white,
racing all the way
up and down
down and up
the rollercoaster thrill
of it all
jack was planting seeds
for his bean stalking tour
counting the footsteps
along the imprinting way
she wasn't eating
her curds and whey
you have to be quick
like you know,
nimble
sometimes
she galumphs
naturally
unnaturally
across the page
burlesque,
headlights
turned on, full beam,
delivering the splits
smiling
for laughs,
the laughs,
always splitting the mix
can-can
she thinks,
masked, yet best
in tap dance shoes
nakedly
confronting
fingers tapping
minds pointing
un-a-mused
qué más se puede pedir
Spanish for those untouched
uber tall flaming flamingoes
que puis-je dire
French kissed
all the way
for the les enfants terrible
a - mused
fearlessly venturing
forward
for more
let them go,
the others
waltzing Old Time
away, out the door
'tis better
elemental
she feels
the win-win
can-can
she thinks
and smiles
amused
indiscreetly
not
turning
away
win-win
she smiles
a full-wattage
salute
can-can
She
thinks,
begin
the beguine
indiscreetly
not
turning
away
Candide Diderot. ‘24
She was an aspiring starlet, a real cutie patootie
Folks were in awe of her natural beauty
She wanted to be a great Hollywood star
But she’s taken the surgery much too far
Her teeth have been fixed for a dazzling smile
They are unnaturally white now they stand out a mile
The Botox she had was to smooth her pale skin
But she can’t move a muscle much to her chagrin!
Her eyebrow lift gives her a startled expression
The desire for perfection has become an obsession!
She’s had Botox on wrinkles and fillers on lips
Liposuction drained 2 pints of gunk from her hips
In trying to obtain that perfect pink pout
Its gone terribly wrong she now looks like a trout!
Her breasts are augmented and they look quite obscene
Like over inflated footballs seen in a top shelf magazine
These two huge ‘flotation tanks’ are silicon filled
They are lumpy and hard but her boyfriend is thrilled!
But how did she pay for surgery which was so drastic...
She opened her purse and put it on the plastic!!
Date:05 11 17
Contest Name:Make me actually LOL 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Methinks I inadvertently got entangled
without deliberate intent, sans whirled
wide web, albeit courtesy of yours truly,
who (flattered upon at least one maybe
more'n one Prose.com subscriber click-
king regularly regarding posts this scribe
electronically broadcast) unwittingly, me
violated unspoken/unwritten breach of
considerable proportion, which singular
impetus arose spontaneously to transmit
(without said dude indulging crude, lewd,
nude... offensive faux pas), that hopefully
doth newt engender an unstoppable feud
(tantamount as if purely innocent motive
capital one offence) pseudo cryptic allusion
to female - only referenced her boat oxe
screen name took objection hinting at my
appreciation by acknowledging humorous
indirect linkedin pleasantries at appealing
to inquisitiveness about this generic garden
variety *****sapien, (he just learned how
to walk erect this morning), but much ado
about nothing, asper comedy of errors this
harmless by George run of the mill on the
floss imp pond durable bard, she (naturally
squared the circle, a laudatory feat), perhaps
concluded, aye tried iterating what appeared
as theorem (from unpublished recently disc
hovered "FAKE" testament, sans Matthew),
and of course no ambition arises to hire any
gumshoe - well worth his polyisobutylene in
chiclets will be pursued, but loose vicious
bloodhounds after this doggone muttering
ole coon holding him hostage within his oh
zone unnaturally square cage.
Why is it:
we plant gardens
but we garden plants?
we call natural medicines drugs
and we call unnaturally produced drugs medicines?
we label our disease-addicted corporate-insurance complex
a humane "health care system"?
we prefer fetal alcohol syndrome, pickled livers, and dead drunk outcomes
to THC induced probable failure to ever develop yet another over-yanged Type A personality,
with an antisocial proclivity for sprouting pickled livers and other deadly outcomes?
we tend to respond to uninvited Type B personality invitations
with Type A fully-alert personalities,
yet we respond to uninvited Type A demands
with Type B laissez-faire, neglect, and cognitively hypnotized languishing?
the older our nation grows
the younger our culture appears to prefer?
we pay more and more to elect politicians
who produce positive economic priorities and outcomes less and less?
the louder and longer I persist in persuading you of my wisdom
the shorter and softer grows your attention span
and capacity to hear me?
we produce prodigious amounts of dispossession destined for the trash
yet we seldom intend to ever possess and take ownership of our future trash?
Business As Usual economists respond to eco-logical health
as if their home eco-nomial turf were some alien crazy wealth?
domineering competitive Business As Usuals
fail to see we are a sustainable cooperative economy's
most significant source for disinvestment
away from Earth design health
and resilient development wealth?
we seldom have enough time to notice and appreciate new places and faces
but we drag through ponderous time invested in the same ol' retiring spaces?
if some communication event between two people
is called a transaction
then we think "economics,"
but if some communication event between two non-humans
is called a relationship
then we think "ecology"?
that digital information is always binary
but polynomial information is not assumed to also flow binomially balanced?
we invest in gardening well-crowned edible and ornamental gardens
but we often find it prudent
to nationalistically divest
of co-evolving nutrition-rooted Earth?
Sobbing , weeping he slept that night,
Heavy on his heart,
Pain inside.
Rose up from the slumber,
Heavy fog clouding his eyes,
Dense and denser it grew,
And feeble eyes lost all hope to preview.
Creeping on anxiety, agony and shame,
Society looking at them as people insane.
Understanding their pain is not what they expect,
Just a longing for acceptance , love and respect.
Paralysed they are by the society,
Crunched in the game of hierarchy.
Broad in thinking you say,
Lack the guts to discuss sex any way.
Unnatural act and thus illegal,
Do you even know the syllable of this evil !!
*********** or Dignity, what is it ?
The fickleness of your mind is still uplift.
Blacking them out,
Is this the solution ?
Or ending their bumpy journey,
Is this that will bring the evolution ??
My favorite wild animal is
as strong as Hulk Hogan
and eats fresh quail.
She is as strong as
Chuck Norris, and Rocky,
and they fly faster than mail.
My favorite animal makes a
hungry cheetah look unnaturally slow.
He conforms into a aerodynamic
teardrop when he hunts below.
My favorite wild animal is
a dark bird of prey,
who makes quick strikes.
When mice and rats
and small birds watch them
carry off their friends,
they yell "Yikes!"
Clocked at 242 mph
they are the fastest
wild animals on earth.
The mama
peregrine falcon
reproduces in litters
of three or four eggs,
30 days until birth.
They are located everywhere
except the rain forest,
New Zealand and the poles.
Hungry foxes would
love to catch these white-faced,
yellow-eyed creatures, but they're too slow.
Peregrine's enemies
are the bald eagles,
great horned owl, and the hawks.
They were eating
carrier pigeons in France,
and lots of Frenchmen squawked.
Their natural color is
black and gray;
they strike so quickly, and on time.
They've been off the
endangered list since
August 25th, 1999.
If you ever see a teardrop
shape dropping toward you
swiftly from the sky,
Check your pockets
for fresh quail.
If it's not there,
you're going to die.
written May 12, 2018
Nature tamed, organised, tidied and serving
Consummately sanitised for human consumption
Nature bent unnaturally to suit the human nature
Every pretty maid and ducks…in a row
Florid facilities for townsfolk to fantasise
Looking without seeing, treading without looking
Stepping upon the very thing that they seek
Nature expertly hidden to create rustic bliss
The gravel path isolates shoe from dirt to avert mess
A discreet suggestion to look but don’t touch
Controlled decay, stage managed for impact and effect
Nature has been preserved…in a human natured sort of way
Why has natural human beauty
Been deemed as not enough
Faces plastered and glued
With artificial, unnatural stuff
False eyelashes glued on
The length of camels plus some
Faces orange or unnaturally brown
Not touched by natures sun
Lips injected and pumped
Botox faces unable to move
Veneered teeth blindingly bright
Faces with so much too prove
It is so sad that young girls and women especially
Believe they are not beautiful or enough
Without wearing their artificial painted masks
Their natural beauty disguised and hidden…. behind the bluff
I listen because Sound is not dead, but living.
I listen because I hear life through a variety of sounds. Sounds shout, cry, sing, soothe, provoke, and sometimes even pause.
I don’t listen when sound is compromised, influenced, beaten, killed (to crush silence), overwhelming or even artificial. Sound is meant to be pure; it is meant to be thoughtless.
I listen to sounds that are powerful, but are inherently ignored.
I listen for those who don’t know how to listen. I listen for those who were taught to take pride in their work, that they forget to leave time to take pride in their world. Sound speaks to everybody, but very few listen. We are told to focus; focus on our work, ourselves, and on others. We are distracted by this ambient truth.
I listen to sounds in silence.
I listen because of Mother Nature’s cooing, soft sounds guiding my mind to wander and to be set free. Her pure, natural voice is a comfort for all those who take the time to listen. She is the creator of all natural sounds, residing in every living thing. She whispers and yells; she cries and laughs; she never stops speaking. Mother nature is found is silence.
I listen to sounds that are unaffected by us; the sound of an infant’s heartbeat; the sound of a mourning dove’s song; the sound of a river rushing. Pure sounds are everywhere, but are clouded by us.
I listen, but not always succeed. I am conquered by the artificial, industrial world. My mind is blurred by construction, the radio, buzzing lights, television, and all things that are fabricated by us. It is unnaturally natural to do so, and we can’t take the whole blame. The world has been transitioned into artificial headphones, muting the natural world, and barricading our ears. However, if we detach ourselves, we can listen, listen to pure sounds.
I listen because I heard the truth, and the truth has spoken to me.
Because sounds never stop; they never stop crying; they never stop laughing; they never stop speaking.
Sound will never die.
When Words Fail Me
When words fail me, my shadow will trail me:
A meandering silhouette.
Numerous adventures , we will embark upon
No words will be spoken!
Naturally!
Or unnaturally!
Countries vast with barren lands
Betwixed black chimneyed cottages and
Windswept oceans.
On winged birds, we will fly
Undulating to the wind.
We will look down
And take note of delicate webs
That both the humans and spiders span.
Webs of lace. Webs of networks!
Fragile emotions perfumed
With bitter sweet lotions
Of course I won't have words
To describe these!
In images they will be inscribed.
Beguiled smiles, and veiled eyes.
In stones.
Carved with a scintillating sword.
And corpses: savagely occurred.
In landfills. Cemeteries. And slaughterhouses.
We will pray; my shadow and I
That there will be no more of these
Corpses to come: the savage kinds!
Both of living beings or shattered dreams!
Not in words, shall we pray but
In scents and images and other senses!
The silence seems almost against the norm,
for nature is unnaturally still.
The proverbial “calm before the storm”
permeates the air, but some lightening will
appear, and leaves will quiver on the trees.
Stay not outside! The wind is getting strong.
This is not your usual summer breeze.
Get ready, for the onslaught will be long.
The god of sky’s impressionistic art
swipes brush strokes on a canvas painted black,
displaying genius with his mighty heart
as if he were a warrior on attack.
His lightening is the masterpiece we see
on this night filled with electricity.
Oct. 23, 2018
for "Describe a thunder storm without the sense of sound" Contest
This about tops it all to be polite and honest
a very narrow valley exists between two mountains
Bigots have too much to say between words of hate
racist from a far right wing corrupting the purity of perfection
their goal has finally began working for chaos
overturning basic human rights blacklisting certain virtues
Then unnaturally devaluing human life to suit an evil agenda
freedom of speech, still has a voice and opinion not yet shut down
The good doctors are getting persecuted wrongfully
for speaking the truth in their mind's eye
holding onto moral values identifying with caring
The justice system supports this injustice
it's an insult to knowledge and intelligence
to make an object of certain soul's purity
then condemn good for being bad
it's where love's concerned suffers fate
describing them as physically unclean