These weak attempts at verse could not be droller.
Your stuff is less inviting than ebola
(but not as catchy). Wordier than Emil Zola,
you haven’t got the steam to be a roller.
I’ve seen more cutting-edge in Pepsi-Cola.
You clearly honed your style in Fuengirola.
About as challenging as last year’s “¡Hola!”
(I’m sure you’re highly thought of in Angola.)
But that aside, I need a favour, mate.
The flood of would-be Shakespeares is in spate.
I’d like you to review – that is, donate
your time and talent (at the going-rate,
which happens to be zero.) Desecrate
the pricks who prattle, and the prigs who prate.
Denounce, detract. Indulge that gelding hate
that wells in all of us. The cut-off date
is looming, so get hacking. Don’t be late!
What would you choose to do if out for fun?
You'd read a hundred pages of ‘Tom Sawyer?
Eat lentil soup, and hug an old sequoia?
She’s seventy next year, and she’s no nun –
the Jackson number five is called La Toya.
Perhaps you’d like to serve on a destroyer?
Attack a kindergarten with a gun?
Compete at auction, to secure a Goya?
Or are you, by your nature, an annoyer?
Trump Tower bound, to desecrate the foyer?
(Have patience, Gentle Reader: almost done!)
Beware the bear-trap, verbal hurdle, pun.
It’s not pronounced ‘La Jolla’, it’s ‘La Hoya’:
Just take my word. Just trust me. I’m a lawyer.
you built a throne out of your own reflection, mistook your arrogance for eloquence,
try to resurrect what you helped desecrate,
your ego arrived before you did,
while your sense of self suffered
every silence was a threat.
you dissect with vocabulary
but cannot name your own loneliness.
you mistook softness
for submission,
pauses for praise.
and when I left,
you called it cowardice,
as if I hadn’t spent years
trying to decipher a man
who couldn’t even pronounce himself.
Quote by: Ring time
And there is a rumor in the forest...
••• If they believed in themselves, as they believe in dark and vicious words that desecrate minds and souls. If that same force will be used for them. Their concrete forests would flourish instead of dying in droughts caused by the minds of dark power . •••
The todos of their language
standing silent yet strong
in solidarity they take a stand
Wolves of a pack bonding together
refusal of the highest order ...
Dark energy of wolves
wolverine primal instincts, darkness!
Turned into strength, by the gentle presence of
intuition and wisdom
To know them is to understand their value
both loyal and strong they are brave warriors
of the forest.
By: Mystic Rose
My tears dried up when I began to commit sins,
In the furnaces of misery, my dreams were consumed.
In the darkness of my impure soul, love committed suicide.
I look at humanity with the dilated pupils of an undocumented illegal immigrant.
I have dark skin like my deported ancestors.
In my bruised heart burn the flames of freedom, equality and fraternity.
Under the weight of carnivorous chains, my ancestors suffered for centuries, so that I would never desecrate my identity.
The tortures of the slave trade and slavery are etched in my tormented mind.
In the darkness of the ruins that humans revere, I wander like a living dead in search of eternity.
The ephemeral pleasures of this polluted Earth did not dominate me.
I love life with the murderous impulses of a drug addict who knows that one day death will liberate.
An ocean of tears to drown this procession of hidden dramas.
In love and in war all is fair
This is no consolation but a scare
Ye gloat but it is loss and death that ye dare
And it is at requiem masses ye remember prayer
Ye clamor to justify a side’s cause
As if the bloodshed is worth applause
And for counting the cost you take no pause
As if you have gone over peace to its last clause
You speak of love as if you even love hate
And destiny as if to embrace fate
Virtues unclear and boundaries obscure for any trait
In your unholy conviction you desecrate
How much blood seeks to be avenged
While the godliness we by our lips pledged
Has in deed and intent been edged
When indeed the earth has no blood thirst to be quenched
We pray for the peace of Jerusalem
May she end her bleeding by touching the hem
Rightful birthright and inheritance be unto them
May she not eat her own but be their gem
K. Muitherero
I am nothing
I am all things
I am the Ancient soul
The uphold and foretold
Put me under your microscope
Make me your prisoner
I am that which you do not
Understand
I am the might of
The day and the right
Of the night
Love me hate me
Desecrate me
Receive me perceive me
BELIEVE ME.
Obtain knowledge
You can not calculate
I AM THAT which you do not
Understand
Know this and harbor it within
And with your kindred
I blend in
The core of the chores
I am that which you
Do not understand
It’s blasphemy for the half ashy to try and blast on me-n-my family/
Fits about brass class for free from that lasting Gee/
A ghastly last plea is all I’d need for a decree to decrease or desecrate/
I’ll diss a crate of hate with what I integrate and create/
Fate did initiate a wait to anticipate the plate with a faint taint and I’d dissociate
The phase we’d taste may have been a graze and raid/
It’ll stay and abase their grave base they blazed/
Fiddle away a trace to appear like zany raves/
Little to say the way his faith’s light is a conclave/
He prays every day for grace to pave a bomb wave/
Delay no more and move forward with your higher courage/
Away I’ll store her more oranges to ravish/
Fly high for yours and theirs as you’re a rad fish/
Plan and pour an attack dish like a bad wish/
A span sore and sad but a serene swish/
Send a band to bore and stand up to ceilings amiss
Sickly sickly treacle trickley
seeps on, mouldering down the crock.
Stickily sticky it steadily, trickily
keeps on for many a round of the clock.
I wonder I wonder if I would turn green
Should I gutsily plunder its festering urn,
Or should I desecrate such a picnic-y scene
If I’d gently expire or clamorously burn.
Quickly quickly treacle slickly
Drippily dribbles down onto the floor—
‘Fore I can supply my sick wonder
The trickley treacle has trickled off and is no more.
Father, where are you?
Please give ear to my plea.
Those I started the race with have gone far,
And I am left far behind.
For my legs have grown feeble,
Too feeble to carry my weight,
That I fall with each stride.
Going forward is a great ordeal,
Going backward a stigma of cowardice.
Did I desecrate your consecrated ground?
Did I cause the treachery of man?
Or are my teeth set on edge
Because of unripe fruit eaten by others?
My heart is always bleeding
From pangs of sorrow and pain.
My eyelids are heavy
From an ocean of tears.
Each night, ghosts torment me
In the day, phantoms ridicule me.
When the wind blows,
Needles caress my skin.
When the birds sing,
It is dirges I hear.
I wanted to find succor
By taking the course of Judas
When he realized his greed for silver
Had caused the shedding of sinless blood
But I abhor the ignominy of self annihilation.
Please, the Benevolent One,
Deliver me from this abyss of despair
For in my own mortal imagination
I have done no wrong.
But if You say I am not guiltless,
Forgive and lift me up.
Love lost
You don't seem to realise the comments hurt, Because of the way my brain works,
It spins it whirls it twirls into a negative Abyss,
Degrading, berating and promoting self-loathing into the mines dentrites,
These metaphorical mental tree roots invade and corrupt,
Rotting every inch of my brain into nothing but pain,
Pulsing throbbing through now trunk-like veins,
It's destination my heart hurling towards my body's loving core,
To desecrate to destroy and leave a loathing reeking heartless corpse,
Where love once ruled there is no love conquered by ravishing rancours
~ A tyrant hides behind a vengeful vail
forever cloaking liberty in fear.
He stands aware that gains of war may pale
beneath the balance due to persevere.
He knows his prey may revel undeterred,
constrained between fidelity and death,
and freedom’s call, once chiseled into word,
could lend his realm to draw its final breath.
But still the clouds, bellowing discourse,
spill down as steel to desecrate the soil,
as freedom rears to front oppression’s force,
the innocent lie trapped within its boil.
Though mortal flesh concedes to crimes of war,
the sovereign soul shall reign forevermore.
3/6/22
ON THE SOUL
My personality has begun a crossing
a crossroad that will open up the truth;
it will link the past to the future.
A voyage that will lead me to a very dark place!…..
…...of my must be forgotten youth!
A deceptive tranquillity is falling upon me deeply;
The dawn will appear very soon;
bringing the unresolved misfortunes of yesteryear’s anxieties steeply.
Two hearts I do have one filled with the present unsatisfied;
the other slowly deteriorating with the failed past…..
…..mingled together forever petrified!
There are no boundaries what life will do to me unexpectedly;
it will sink to the deepest descend;
into corruption;
desecrate and violate time effectively!
Death is drawing nearer…..
…..closer and closer appreciated;
and out of the weakened body,
exhausted with expectations,
never to be realised decimated!
Consequences….
every reason is hidden,
all outcomes utterly displayed understandably so foolish.
Among several sublime
and subprime
sacred meanings
and secular purposes
for HOME,
in October Sunbeams
of BlueSky enlightenment
and GreenEarth empowerment,
Dennis Lehane's HOME
refining peaceful stable minds
defining sacred communion
for unconditional compassionate love,
not intentionally unkind
I could not sync
with mythological
or ecological
or theological CONCEIT
But, also could not find a replacement
until recalling indigenously wise
nature-spirited refacement
of EarthMother's EcoRoom,
a regenerate matriarchal WOMB
Making peace for Here
Now sacred place,
until we disregard
dismantle
desecrate
and degenerate,
in AnthroSupremacist ways
down toward MotherEarth's TOMB
GLOOM
Extracted
cancelled
pathological HOME
of DOOM
Which maybe does say something
about mythologically epic
CONCEIT.
. for public domain
Sometimes we need a God to love,
to rattle the rafters up above,
to curse at, to blame,
to kneel before in utter shame,
a name to blaspheme, a name to scream,
a name to summon in a dream,
a name that withstands an insulting blast,
a name to call on when we breathe our last,
and whether this God is real or not,
a Scrooge aberration from a stomach knot,
we are made to call out, or curse our fate,
embrace in desperation what we desecrate.
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