Best Vitiated Poems

The Lay of The Best Man - Part 4

I ask you this: Have you ever known a man to ‘buckle under stress’?
Or have you never seen a man have a ‘moment of madness’?
Have you not heard about the unfortunate Child Physician.?
Lynch-mob [illiterate] shout “Paedo!!”… at...

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There is a method in your madness,
A vain and venal nature,
You possess and masquerade.

I wish you were a mere memory,
Not the vast, vertigo inducing
Sentiment, which mesmerizes me,
Which murders me.

Monsters, both of us, darling,
Vulnerable and villainous,
Muddling each other's feelings, thoughts.

What my mawkish heart could not bear,
Was...

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It is time to grieve a cop has died
Son to a mother, darling father to a child
Leaving kin behind and many more
Claimed by the force to have been beaten to pulp by a mob seeking gore
An honest cop fell of which there are a few
But...

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by Michaelw1two

 Thinking’s challenge is to weigh,
 all of one’s life substance;
 quandary thus, illogical fuss,
 which blinds the mind's acutance;
 adscititiously into thoughts bleed,
 vitiated indurate boastance;
 corrumpable sequella fortuity,
 each thought, is truth’s desistance.

 Retrospectively choices trial,
 stands outside an untidy purport;
 merycism...

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Within Pantheon Of Classical Gods

stricken with affliction,
sans amyotrophic lateral sclerosis
(also known as ALS, 
or Lou Gehrig's disease)

in the prime of his youth wrought
underestimation, vitiated termination,
targeted sequestration,
solidified rigidification,

rendered quandary,
per paralyzation obliterated,
nixed navigation,
morphed motivation,

marked limitation
kickstarted infatuation,
jinxed immobilization,
induced intellectual hyperfunction,

garnered fundamental fascination,
fanned fabled exploration,
devastation demonstrated
delectable declaration,

cosmological constant comet
clinched, chained...

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During a period of despair and emptiness, 
I used to peer into deep tunnels of pettiness. 
Dark and dull hobgoblins gnawed at my heart,
I've developed a strong sense of impart. 

Now, each one grasps what we are withholding,
The term "long and narrow" is thrown around. 
I am on...

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Personal vicissitudes pronounced irrepressible self loathing

Ever since mine late boyhood
when unstoppable coded 
cellular processes did segue
I experienced abhorrence
toward yours truly,
an extremely introverted kid,
whose parents nor siblings
(one younger and older sister) could
not arouse him 

out of his emotional torpor 
(even enlisting powers of druid)
akin being on...

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My CAPTION of the poem is Childhood as I see
 
An opening or APERTURE of education in ones's life is school,
for in school we just not only learn but it is also a fact that we also ATTEST the discipline,
making me fit enough to look...

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I'm not an 'ingénue' anymore - that’s been vitiated.
I'm not innocent, pure, naive or vulnerable -
which are technically, 'ingénue' requirements
(I don’t make the rules).

That being said, if no one has an objection,
in terms of narrative trajectory, I'd like to be
considered a 'fémme fatale' until further...

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Momma always compares me to the trees
She says... I'm tall, thin, and free spirited in the wind
But now I lay before you as a TREMBLING TREE!
  Attacked by the axe of ambulance, due to my
decomposing disease. Ligaments languish as fragmented
foilage and organs become tainted...

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Doomsday Clock minute hand...

hovers over 100 seconds to midnight 
as of January 2022, 
which apocalyptic prognostication
established by the Bulletin 
of Atomic Scientists
maintained since 1947, 
the clock quantifies a metaphor 
for threats to humanity 
from unchecked scientific 
and technological advances.

Very thin sliver of time remains
before zero...

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Ever since mine boyhood
I experienced abhorrence
toward yours truly,
an extremely introverted kid,
whose parents nor siblings
(one younger and older sister) could
not arouse him out of his emotional torpor
akin being on par with
Peter Peter pumpkin eater...
whereby he (meaning
author who wrote this poem)
kept himself isolated, quarantined, and xed out
within...

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Serious sibling subluxation... 
rapprochement somewhat salvaged dislocation

Truth be told about following poem 
mostly written quite some years ago, 
and revisions made to recreate
and revise a more satisfactory literary product.

This trademark ungainly, unsightly,
and unwieldy title essentially
huzzah mask ***** aid,
(my humble apology NOT
to incite unwanted 
and unwonted...

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I sit, this morn, on the bed of
A dried-up rivulet,
Head-bent and full of compunction.
It’s clam-quiet except for the impatient
Squawks above which prompt my heartbeat.
I raise my head, heavy with grief.
Climbers and weevils align in a silent choir,
Singing with precision the lines of a forgotten
Mirth.
It’s 5...

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