Best Villainous Poems
Hey, my name is Aaron and I am kinda a modern day superhero
Now I know what you’re thinkin’
Okay, this guy? A hero? Like with powers and skills?
Nah but before you think further hear me out.
Yes… I don’t have money like Stark or Wayne
I don’t have a back story like Peter Parker and definitely not a love interest like Mary Jane.
I don’t have a super serum or gamma radiation to explain the chemical imbalances in my brain
My super hero name is not catchy or personifying.
Normally it comes along as,
“Dude”
“Brother”
“Son”
“Dad”
But you see I know how it feels to not be able to save the ones you love most,
To always try and do the right thing but still fail the ones closest to you.
When other's worlds are falling apart I’m always the planet they land on
Now what I do have is a secret identity,
Hiding the pains and struggles I bare to bare the problems of those who can’t themselves.
While Ironically not wanting to put the burden on someone else because I feel I’m strong enough and the traumas others go through are way worse than mine.
My super powers aren’t swinging from roof tops or having my fiery flaming eyes glistening,
Mine are as simple as loving and listening.
Never judging and forever being understanding,
Fighting the villains that are your biggest weakness that have no effect on me.
You see,
Depression, Anxiety, mental tortures
Family traumas and mental disorders
Those of which I’m immune to like superman to bullets,
Now I do have a kryptonite.
losing site on the ones closest to me because I go out of my way to try and save others.
Because even though my life is impossibly knotted,
If I can still manage to untangle someone else’s and hopefully inspire them to be the light they want to see in this villainous world, then I know I have done what I’ve been called to be,
To be the hero I don’t deserve.
4 letters can describe us all
Sane, Slim, True, Tall
ironic and solemn
Your 4 letters Will change
Love. Hate.
Here. Gone.
simplistic and short
yet complex and infinite
Baby to Wife
Wife to Mama
This is Your
Four lettered Word
pasted within Your incredulous Mind
Your 4 letters.
even you Will Hide.
****. Spic. Tard. Twit.
oh no! no, no one can Know.
Hide. Hide. Hide.
no one Shall Know my Most
precious Word
ridiculed and cursed
ashamed and misunderstood
Hide From Your True Self
Hide From That
Four lettered Word
in the end our 4 letters Will all be the Same
no one can escape From This
villainous Word
It lingers the longest
seared swiftly on the Soul
This
Foul Four lettered Word
cursed Upon us all
is
Dead.
How much can i be vicious?
How much can i be worst ?
If i stop forgetting and start holding..
The devil whispers in my ear
Heart started to sink .
Lets just forgive
Then here comes villainous voices
From my heart .....
Which strangles me and says..
"I wanna kiss his face
With my broken heart.
I wanna paint his face
With all my scars.
I wanna get him back
To give him heart attack
I wanna feel his death
From all his heart .
I know i m being dramatic
But that's only left to imagine.
I just think what he owes?
Should i tell his mom ?
That his son suckkkss
What he does could proudly hurts."
Then i just swallowed the evil
But heart hurts deep .
He kept knocking .
Knocking on my valves.
Till it gives me heart attack.
I rise from the white-wine siesta,
letting go of the serpentine songs,
like a crimson-winged dragonfly
lost in the poppy prairies of Persephone,
untangling my prisoned heart
chained by the churning
deceit of Hades’s immortal chains,
savoring pomegranate promises,
pirouetting through petrichor nirvana,
as the sky smells like a saffron rose
above the castle of emperors
dressed in fallen flowers.
Yet the diamonds sometimes are
engraved with ominous omens
and remorseless remnants,
while I return to cinnamon seclusion,
dancing to the mood of my moon.
O divine dandelion,
in your eyes I see suppressed sighs
of a splintered sunrise,
flickering balmy zephyrs of paradise,
as my soul is tied to the softness
of your delicate dusk~
like a faithful disciple,
forever following your footprints~
while velvety roots of florals
face the glows of alchemy,
amidst the array of arrows,
left as ashes of gold gone cold,
and the gracious gusts of gloaming
devouring the unscrupulous wounds
of a fragranced dawn.
I am the aching pigment
in your palette of purples,
longing for butterfly blurs
to bring me back to a
kingdom of kindness,
where I’ll forever breathe tender lilies
rinsed with wind-swept wishes.
But amidst the clusters of jewels
and raining sakura,
tonight I choose to walk with
specters of scorching stars,
allowing curves of my scarred skin
to burn from the blazing breeze
that bleeds nefarious narratives
upon the bleached borders.
So watch me waltz into the
infernal waters of the deep, bruised bay.
There I’ll write an elegy,
for the sorrow that swallowed your spirit.
I will find an anchor to pull
you back to the land of paper lanterns
as I surrender to the
haunting hues of the horizon;
the sweet sacrifice of a beloved blackbird
singing farewell in silence
to save you from the devilish underworld.
As dandelion dreams
are designed in lucid lies,
carving my essence into wintry wires
of woes and verdicts
from the
growing vines of a
villainous valley.
I feel the blackbird weep, it’s everything
I see the blackbird quiver, it’s what you bring
dreary
d a n d e l i o n
Are you happy with your work doctor?
Look at me when I talk to you.
I looked in the mirror you know.
Mirrors don't lie.
What you see is what you get.
Like a miserable computer.
Is this the best you can do?
Look at my scar. Red?
Livid red I should say.
The best aesthetic surgeon in the world!
He slowly rises his eyes to meet mine.
Calmly he reminds me what has taken place.
The surgery is always risky.
The damage done, he grasps
Desperately to say more words,
Any word to vanquish the villainous
hate hurled at him.
I can see how he wills me
To look into his eyes, begging
silently for grace.
I feel the purple bulge of blood
Beat frantic under my pale skin.
Denial fighting reality
My volcanic pain slips one tear.
He pleads me to see his afflictions,
Hides putrid human failings
That are not borne for this spleen
of contempt.
I fume, screaming inside my
words back.
Look at me! Look at my scar!
Mirrors don't lie.
Then he comes out with one
fantastic idea:
"I'll pay for everything.
All you need
Is a dainty cheek tattoo!"
For my first collaboration to be with Victor,
is an honour and experience
I will cherish forever.
To Victor,
I am especially grateful and appreciate your
generosity, time, kindness and sage tutorials.
You are a true gentleman, extraordinary Poet
and a beautiful friend.
Thank youxx
04-09-2017
There are many birds that gather
In my yard all through the year.
However, there is one I favor.
I wait for her to reappear.
You'll not find her at the feeder,
Like the others on the dole.
I think her mama taught her
Self sufficiency is the goal.
She and her faithful hubby
(Oh how that guy is trained)
Have come back to their love nest,
On my porch where it remained.
She showed him how to mend it
And he worked hard at his task.
Aything at all she wanted,
All she need to do was ask.
Their nest abuts the ceiling,
I bump my head before I see
If the little ones have hatched yet,
But if not they soon will be.
Once here, their mouths will open
And will never close again
Until they're big as their own parents,
But they're never offered grain.
No, it's bugs and bugs and more bugs.
They keep Mom and Daddy hopping.
She tells him they have mouths to feed.
There is no time for stopping.
While he is gathering the food,
She's shoving it into them
And passes him when he returns
From committing insect mayhem.
Now Daddy gets the job of feeding
While Mama's on the hunt.
In this nest of well fed children
You will never find a runt.
She grabs all of the mosquitos
That her little beak can hold.
Her mate is going out for more,
She doesn't have to scold.
You will not find better parents,
Human ones or otherwise,
Than these precious little swallows,
With a love that's supersize.
You would think they would be happy
When these youngsters leave the nest,
But they start another family
Busy swallows never rest.
Any villainous mosquito
Won't have a chance to do me harm
While these persisting swallows
Have a nest on my old farm
By: Joyce Johnson 6/17/03
We had a garden gnome named Griselda
the bane of our small bungalow
she was nasty and mean, at times quite obscene
the worst that you ever could know!
Her garden mate, Gregor, had feared her
but one day he mustered the nerve
with all of our backing, to send the girl packing
with cleverness, cunning and verve.
But she was vindictive by nature
and wouldn't let 'bygones' be gone
if it took all her years, she would stir up our fears
her plans were all plotted and drawn.
She waited 'til we'd quite forgotten
her villainous, vile, evil reign
then with fierce aggression, she took bold possession
of our lovely, dear, docile domain.
She poisoned the pansies and lilies
and shredded the sweet climbing vines
she disturbed my repose, when she broke the windows
with a shriek that sent chills up my spine.
She tore down my front porch swing
shattering the flowerpots and planters
mad wreckage in her wake, as she sought all to break
taking off to the back at a canter.
I squared off to defend my back garden
grabbed whatever I thought I might wield
at first, on my guard, as I entered the yard
I found she was hardly concealed...
And 'though she seemed alone in the garden
I soon found that I was mistaken
for, succinctly put- I was bound head to foot
and carried off, unhurt but shaken.
Griselda had built quite an army
it seems, in her time far away
for gremlins and trolls, from the caves to the knolls
were under her terrible sway.
They answered her orders directly
and smugly, she smiled and she smirked
a gleam in her eyes as she planned my demise
as her minions continued to work...
Heaving in stones from the quarry
they were piling them higher and higher
and my strength gave away as to my dismay
I saw they were building a pyre!
But Gregor'd escaped all their notice
as he'd hid 'neath the back garden shed
and despite his wee size, he would prove her demise
at his bellow, her company fled.
He used a cheap trick, an enchantment
that he bought from an old witch named Rue
and it seemed there were thousands (as far as the eye scanned)
of Gregors that came into view!
Her face was distorted with terror
and she promised that she'd stay away
and off like a blip- she jumped on a ship
and sailed to somewhere near Bombay.
O' cloned creations,
mirroring deceptive diction
scattered in liquified letters,
across android canvases,
here comes the plague of
fabricated foolery,
spiraling in figments of
black and white illusions,
injecting illusive veins
screaming for vanity,
with verses plagiarized
from villainous valleys.
There’s nothing poetic about
the way AI is pickpocketing
rhythmic runes from the
museum of dead poets ~
immortalized on the walls
of glass galleries.
Their sonnets, now imitated,
to adorn artless skies
with stolen synonyms,
weaving soulless symphonies,
to please the apocalyptic algorithm,
unaware of how filtered
procrastinators preying
on pencil-streaked pages
are lonely earthlings starving
for superficial accolades.
I care not for the futuristic
benefits of artificial lies,
yet I see no escape from
these alienated alliterations,
and personified
pathological hypocrisy,
typed behind silver screens,
multiplying metaphors
into robotic ruins,
flowing with
perfectly metered clichés,
coded in complex cadence.
So let me find the inked corpse
of silicon silhouettes,
lost in the labyrinth
of virtual vultures,
flaunting repetitive rhymes
for clueless readers.
Tonight the strawberry moon
frowns at the
neon frequencies
of digitalized fakery,
and my onyx heart aches
for the unknown realms,
where originality floats
as a forgotten fantasy,
fogged behind a fictional facade,
while in silence, stained stars
claim phrases snatched
from the
thesaurus of thieves.
So flee from this venom-less virus,
you and I know better than to
lean on spineless cyborgs,
created mindlessly
from financial felonies.
A poet with a pen that
lacks authentic pigment
is the victimized alter ego of
designed trickeries~
masked as midnight musings.
There are bastards in the world,
too many of them for my liking,
but they don’t care about my likes
or dislikes for they are bastards.
Bastards!!
Hollowed out beings filled with a
pus green aura of
disdain.
Bastards!!
Scumbags, callous miscreants,
lousy, scuzzball, son-of-a-bit-chin,
sleazebag weasels.
Bastards!!
Villainous,
snake in the grass rogues,
reprobate swine, spineless, jellylike,
amorphous lowlife scoundrels,
Bastards!!
John G. Lawless
2/3/2013
See how frozen rice brings gaiety
from the weight of a half-starved life ,
palms etching the barbs of terrorism;
Already the villainous hours smell of puss,
ripe lesions , and unbearable heat :
dried bones snapping from gun-barrels
of greedy, power- laden pillagers --
the hissing growl of wars
rake bloody sky from its quiet days .
So chidren , listen well...build
A new earth blessed with peaceful hearth
and fresh broth,
clutch all neighborly moments endeared,
whispering prayers for safe glide
soothing night's guardianship ... and as
You lay on pure lights from angels' wings,
live each hour with grace of integrity
to hold not a chaos brimming with envy;
as Spirit renews a world lulled by love,
Dr. Jekyll
Diabolical, villainous
Experimenting, killing, hating
Murder, schizophrenia, man, husband
Loving, caring, rationalizing
Gentle, friendly
Mr. Hyde
TO JSB, WITH MUUUUCHLY LOVE
AN INCRUDIBLE RIDE
381 YOUME
Infamous duo Bonnie and Clyde
traversed a rollercoaster ride
covert collaboration
sweet exhilaration
forged identikits
spotlight bandits
villainous
genius
us
Part Two
SEVEN STARK WORDS
Seven alliterative blockbuster words struck so
they rhymed initially in juxta-positioning lineal parallels
pausing but in the fourth
to resume breath in the fifth
Leaving the interstitial morphemes in resonating ellipses
The economy of your parsing has wreaked havoc down the ages
in all trans-explicatory tongues
Tough-minded men come from afar
with other gods to serve
and sacrifices to make in the name of their Lords
bent your versification to limp rhyme
and left meaning a hung pursuit
in the hands of plagiarists professors preachers
who
not knowing nor divining the reason for your craftsman’s
concatenation of weighted phonemes
advanced theories for your elastic pregnant mind
strung myriads of pages in exegeses
each staking a claim to posterity
the villainous hanging on your lips
In a time devoid of papered learning for the poor
When to be born a Sudra or Pariah was a sin
When masters were those top-heavy manically-mantric Brahmin priests
Preying on the duped loyal sycophantic Vaishyas
wishing to earn karmic merit with their agricultural gain at their altar feet
such servant-financers as they by legions now lay their souls down
as even the long-gone royally leisure-dispensing Kshaktriyas
how would he who sought the spread of knowledge
not seek to encapsulate learning in mnemonic couplets
arranged according to rigid design
for those who could not count either
Ten fingers in the hand so
Ten the number of facets of a thought
a subject
a theme
even if theme subject thought were stretched too thin
(The scene from Movie Ulzhan, Drama/German screened at 2007 Festival de Cannes)
( English Style)
I met, Shakuni, in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words
He travelled a lot and the words he sold.
I met, Shakuni, in a foreign land.
Sold words like “Moksha” an Indian word
Meaning a peaceful death without bad deeds
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words.
I met Shakuni,in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words
In words“O.K., Ciao,” not interested
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land.
He liked “saudade”, the Portuguese word
Meaning melancholy, longing andlove
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words.
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words
Sold “Dharma” duty and law combined
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land
Sold“Tarof” an Iranian word,
Meaning to refuse something of wishes
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words
==================================
Honorable Mention
Contest : The Troilet Movie scene of Andrea Dietrich
*Shakuni is a character in the Movie Ulzhan. Une Coproduction Franco-Germano-Kazakh.
*Shakuni is a villainous character in the Hindu Epic Mahabharata. Shakuni, a Sanskrit
word means a cheat, very skilled in playing dice.
Ollie Ollie Oxen Free
by Odin Roark
Corners to peer around
The harlequin of angles
Where peeking
Reveals
Where being stuck
Confines
Where feeling trapped
Separates
Our remembered child stands
Eyes squeezed shut
Face buried where two walls meet
Counting to one-hundred
While confidence sought
To play out our innocence
Beneath
Behind
Beside
A trusted game
Waned
Time passed
Shorts became pants
Pants became suits
Nostalgia echoed once more
“Ollie ollie oxen free”
Still we remained
Unwilling to believe
The forged sincerity
Baited with fiendish smile
Enticed with charm
Was but to set up
The next furtive trap
Suddenly
Acquiescence lay naked
Villainous schemers
Knowing but numbers
Who lured
Cajoled
Seduced
Our reluctance to cave
Are…
Later
We dragged ourselves away
Kicking and screaming
“We only wanted to play the game
Not be the game”
Emptiness invaded
Freedom to respond
To return home
To trust a voice
Wasn’t so
Anymore
Ollie ollie oxen free
So simple
So everlasting
Now but an epitaph