Exorcised Poems | Examples

Redemption

Who will Cure our moral cancer
Why does Hate hang heavy in our hearts
What is Recklessness but ruin 
Where has Insolence brought us to?
When can Sin be exorcised
How is Temper tamed

Six honest serving men

Who dares defy the laws of nature
Why do we stray from the straight path
What cruelty are we not capable of
Where can recklessness be rectified
When will hatred not be harboured
How do we find spiritual fulfilment

Who will Cure our moral cancer
Why does Hate hang heavy in our hearts
What is Recklessness but ruin 
Where has Insolence brought us to?
When can Sin be exorcised
How is Temper tamed

We burn

Consumed from inside out,
by a benign bliss burn,
fear demons exorcised,
in our void-centric stance,
clear truth is realised.

Consumed from inside out,
by the kundalini,
our dormant soul is raised
and as bliss beats heighten,
soul presence is amazed.

Consumed from inside out,
in a fire without smoke,
all nodes of form align
with the cosmic current,
flowing through spine supine.

Consumed from inside out,
by divine magnetism;
God’s touch, we bid welcome,
doing nothing at all,
we enter His kingdom.

Lady Sultana

In the invited place she got precious gift as new guest
After derived back to home it made her unhappy fest
The temple deity was floating on her sight without mist
To forget she exorcised with betel leaf the west to east
She come to her son child and kissed him delightfully
And went to bed with fear thru anger on all silently
Whole night no one come to wish her a peaceful sleeping
After daybreak she got no sunlight on path of greeting
“Married life is not blessings” she cursed life saying this
“If no one replies walk alone” she sang the song in peace
But the biting cold of winter made her mad to coolness
She thought nature is against her also in mocking grace
No tears she wanted to devout to the stone of the deity
At last the gift she sacrificed to the fire of wounded angry

©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
12/01/2023


Metrical Tale Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Hilo Poet

I Would Speak To You of Anger

If you asked, I would speak to you of anger
lurking in the archives of the mind
bound to things long past but still too real
ready to explode within the things we feel

as though the moment’s moment is still true
to summon up the rage of yellowed page
curse again its shallowness and pain
wild stallions riding wild emotions range

‘til spent, in vented violence of thought
cast again into that silenced pit
of demons that will ne’er be exorcised
but harbored midst the mayhem of a past.

Small hands that could not grasp the truth of lies
now lulled to sleep by anger’s lullabies.


John G. Lawless
©1/3/2022

Arson

they slipped with the lobotomy

red-hot poker in the eye

electrocution grilled her mind


bonfire of insanity

a straight jacket squeezed the last drop of lucidity

but she would not see the light of the day

leeches drank happily in search of blood

swollen and fed up they spilled their prey on her skin

her sugar addiction succumbed to insulin coma

almost ate up the last crumb of resolve


the final straw came when they exorcised her

and satanic verses stirred devilish crosses

to the tune of hymns psalms and insurrection

of flesh body soul and lost Self


she borrowed a lighter and burnt a candle

immolated demons and ghosts of the past

saw luminescence and freedom

set arson to hellish oppression

burnt down the asylum

and decided to be her own crazy warden


25th March 2021

A Meaningful Poem Contest

Sponsor Constance La France

Work For Success

The power of the spiritual
Within the ritual
Blood let on the sigil
Repeat so it becomes habitual

Draw a circle and light the flame
Recite the mantra and speak the name
For good purpose or to hack and maim
Focus with your pure intent, know this is not a game

Under full moonlight
Both blue and bright
Bloodmoon in sight
The spell is full with almight

Open your mind, soul, and body for possession
Know now that you're in the middle of the session
Perfectly in tune, master this profession
Study and learn, work each little lesson

Now thank the demon, respect the spirit
With open mind you can now hear it
Always remember that with acceptance, you'll no longer fear it
The path invoked from within, meditate while you sit

In the middle of your temple is your altar shrine
Around you is the template, now you are mine
The feelings you feel will be all so real, so sublime
These powers you've exorcised are ethereal and somewhat divine

Now end the session and close the gate
Put everything back properly or receive its fate
The love and respect can be hostile with hate
The powers conjured will embody you with its aspects trait

Possessed By An Angel

My demons were in a slumber
I finally saw the grime in the glamour

My demons were asleep and done
When I was woke to goodness in everyone

I confronted hatred and jealousy
With kindness and generosity

I overwrote scars of enmity
With shades of benignity

My red eyes intoxicated by hostility
Where brightened by hospitality

I exorcised the demons back to the hades and hell
For I was possessed by an angel

The Doll Doctor

He would mend and renew,
heal with glue, tack, and brush;
heads broken or blind
smiles cracked or erased, lips peeling.
Dolls bruised by too much love.

Some he brings back from dark places
their porcelain demons exorcised,
counter-curses sewn into scalp and labels.

At times he is more a fallen priest, secretly
wishing beautiful dolls could grow
into more adult dreams.
Then he would berate himself;
descend to his basement
to visit the forsaken,
the forever broken.

He stitches heavy winding sheets
about the irreparably maimed 
and deformed,
so that the tortured 
may not escape and turn to evil.

A Dead Man's Boat

A dead man’s boat
rowed itself from isle to isle,
dragging its dead man in its wake,
partially submerged, their tether tenuous,
yet somehow never broken.
Past The Isle Of Reeds,
where the slaves had been freed
from the crack of their master’s whip,
and their master, with great resentment,
would be exorcised of the malice
that he had so slavishly curated.
To The Isle Of Defeat
where it was fortunate to escape
the ruthless jagged rocks,
its dead man did not escape,
but in death was spared the agony
of the broken bones and lacerations.
Painfully close to The Isle Of Cleansing,
adorned by sands and rocks made new,
freshly crafted for their arrival
just moments before their arrival,
but the dead man’s boat
would not surrender its dead man.
To The Isle Of The Precipice
where gulls and albatross
sullied the ancient cliffs,
the boat stared up at them
but gave no thought to climbing them,
its dead man may have fallen from them,
perhaps in a better life.
The dead man’s boat
left the isles
and returned to open waters,
it’s dead man dragged in its wake,
together to sink in time.

27th March 2019

Of Who Is Me

Remember me
Remember then
1250 years
Will it ever end?

1250 years on different streets
So many different faces, so many different lies we’ve been
But it’s still the same you and it’s still the same me.

Do you remember 1215
The begging screaming crying
We made them kneel
Before we exorcised justice
Yeah....you remember me

The quiet we have to hold
The sacrifice we have to see
Too many stories told about the real you and me!

We stand here in their halls
We listen quietly
Legends of truths untold
To them - mere fantasy

I recognise the stance, the silent history seen. I recognise the eyes of someone knowingly.

Until the next time perhaps a thousand years it will be without a word said between us

I know who you are and you know of and who is me.

Monster

What makes it live inside their fine brains
Sparing us though marked with kindred stains
Invading or growing with passing of time
Till stumbling they fall down the hill we all climb

How can we who are not so affected give aid
And when God shines the light will that brighten their shade
In a world poorly purposed what should they embrace
That has meaning enough for their darkness to face

And does calling its name loud and strong give it flight
So they feel its cold shadow passing from sight
Is it exorcised now or instead still abides
Until in despair they bring death alongside

If the levels correct do they shrivel the beast
And reveal the clear path of a longed-for release
Does dissecting it now aid in figuring out
Its beginning so that they can silence its shout

Or is there no escape from its relentless grip
Are they destined to manage the wearisome trip
When the will to endure seems to come to an end
Stay with us and fight on lest the damned monster wins

The Epitome Begets An Illusion

The force is erupting another deified element. 
A calm walkabout that's gathering the fully intent.
The realm you seek is forward down the left hand path. 
To each his own, by this  trickery of faith and Holy wrath.
Devoured by the misunderstanding, and  directed by the multiple guises. 
Cast down beside the blind, by a God whom craft  demoralizes.
Ready to be the unforgotten besides the unholy moral compass is always true.
As the universe is constantly watching, of which belief do you truly  ensue?
Can it be possible that it's all been a climactic of a fully misinformed course? 
With an open mind to  believe, you must abandon  to completely  question it's  source. 
By my name is a casting of a runic force.
Bludgeoned by blunt words, provoked with their prayers, another exorcised possession.
Consider the exorcism to be the invoking of demons directly into human form from a demonic dimension.

Slam Negatively

Get a life

Need I say more

GO outside
Fill your lung's with fresh air

And scream for all your worth 
At what is really bothering you 

Until your voice is horse
Or you have exorcised all your Demons

Then think or write something nice
That you wished someone would say back to you
And maybe they just might

Spite breeds spite which only the foolhardy write

If you can only praise half as good as you scorn

You will never ever be alone

The world is not out to get you
You are

The Epitome Begets An Illusion

The force is erupting another deified element. 
A calm walkabout that's gathering the fully intent.
The realm you seek is forward down the left hand path. 
To each his own, by this  trickery of faith and holy wrath.
Devoured by the misunderstanding, and  directed by the multiple guises. 
Cast down beside the blind, by a God whom's craft  demoralizes.
Ready to be the unforgotten besides the unholy moral compass is always true.
As the universe is constantly watching, of which belief do you truly  ensue?
Can it be possible that it's all been a climatic of a fully misinformed course? 
With an open mind to  believe, you must abandon  to completely  question it's  source. 
By my name is a casting of a runic force.
Bludgeoned by blunt words, provoked with their prayers, another exorcised possession.
Consider the exorcism to be the invoking of demons directly into human form from a demonic dimension.

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