In dead silence, there’s a sound,
noiseless and yet profound.
Deeds provoking, not quite just,
from tainted minds that think, “we must.”
What a precious gem if caught,
the divinity of thought.
To control the human heart,
that takes something very smart.
Some may think the silence means
no one hears, or so it seems.
But there is the speechless word
in the spirit that is heard.
In the caverns of darkness stands,
an element with strict demands,
whose jaws will tighten on the lies,
and wrench the truth from its disguise
Times now test all living strength
pushing patience to end's length.
Power drives the merciless bold
to suppress the pitiful fold.
Clearly, some, will choose the wrong.
They must follow with the throng.
And stay silent ever since,
deathly fearing to speak against.
But in the silence, right prevails
In spite of suffering and travail.
Injustice cannot stand for those
who in a quiet fight - oppose.
In Heaven's silence, there's a sound,
holy and most profound,
the numbered reckoning of days,
that terminate life's foulest ways.
In public, it shows dominance
it threatens and pretends
But later on in private calls
it grovels to make friends
It begs the leaders to make deals
they mock it everywhere
The butt of jokes, the world around
it thinks that it’s a player
Filled with all the foulest traits
a creature can contain
Greed and racist, bigotry
a narcissistic stain
And every place the Thing has been
its putrid stench remains
Lingering and poisoning
more gullible, weak brains
Betraying all our allies
and making them our foes
Damaging our friendships
in its dirty roadside shows
The GOP relinquished
all its power to the Thing
They trashed the Constitution
and replaced it with a king
Now the Democrats must fight
to knock it off its throne
For we’re the fruit from all the seeds
Democracy has sown
I dread Monday —
Unlike any other day.
Tumbling upon it — with eyes groggy,
And limbs bound tight with festive strings,
Accompanied by the foulest halitosis from a wayward breath,
With all the liquor and litter,
From the dizzying heights of the debauched weekend —
Reminds me of the journey from
Banterland to Queryland.
In the marketplace,
from a woman vegetable vendor
a bazar cow snatched away
a big mustard plant.
She shouted at the cow
rebuking it with the foulest words
she could muster
while the cow relishing it's loot.
An old Street dog,
loving life ,
rested in a shaded corner
looked at the youthful cow
with envy.
The Simpleton twins were quite a pair
They'd leave their calling cards everywhere
On beans they loved to munch
For breakfast, lunch, or brunch
The foulest pair that ever broke air
For laughs they thought that it'd be fun
To light one in front of everyone
When his twin struck a match
He bent over to scratch
And died from internal combustion
fork has many interpretations
connotations
as do
eviscerate
slaughter
butchery
all can mean less than they
appear to be
context is important
but War
War is the foulest of foul words
a word that only the dead hear correctly
the living
choose from a lexicon of oaths
they may banter
or throw stones
but War
War kills every word
in the dictionary
even to the last
blood-soaked letter
Don't anyone on this flatter
Nor leave the matter to Martha.
To her it might mean 'No matter'
While it's one that could things batter.
Long-built relationships scatter,
When challenged lips simply mutter
Once clean lives in foulest gutter,
Quiet room source of loud clatter.
Each time, I awake this matter,
Fears of waiting ruin get fatter:
I glimpse feet and hear their patter.
As they inch closer, blood-spatter
A look i took at her flesh
Waiting to see something fresh
But fancied not the tissues
With which she had has issues...
In her mind lots had clustered,
For she had seemed quite flustered:
Might I roles play of Duster;
And I the courage muster?
Then, I sensed some brothel behind
Where she would paradise find...
But in reality life grind
And foulest Demons unbind
"So it's all about a mind
Its owner made sure went blind!"
The forces of self destruction wax in their strength.
Virus of creation that goes to every length
to snuff out the dancing lights coloring our soul,
making soft oblivion preferred to control.
From what wellspring comes this sour, blackened madness?
Foulest demon shrouded - sowing seeds of sadness?
Perhaps it is intrinsic to created things;
the sight of our limits may falter one who sings.
But behold the wonders within your pulsing hearts!
Dreams, love, curiosity, and other upstarts
who see the race of time and somehow still rejoice,
knowing that to be has e'er been the noble choice.
So cling to art, romance, and all may still be well -
Withstanding death's sneer in your neon citadel.
Written 24 April 2022
A smelling tribe
With a Culture of Bribe,
For Bribe is often A Lever:
The Answer to A Short Fever,
Doctors to face “The Other Fever!”
To Bribe she never says “Never”,
Its purported sweetness “Forever” …
A Blind-to-Truth Tribe
You daren’t describe
Her passion for Bribe;
With the foulest fancy for it,
Often bringing it about with wit;
Where spared enough time to Bribe
Is her Most Erudite Scribe!
Tricksters-for-life’s Tribe,
Always for the All-Time vibe,
Where suffers not a jibe
The Damned Crooked Giver
Nor his Brother Stylish Receiver.
Born in the same hospital as Victory,
A set record and enviable history;
For the benefit of the Self- Deceived,
With the gloves of the same midwife received
And in case another tries to lead one astray,
He from victory but a cot away!
Both blokes the achievement of the same maternity,
Between the two an infant-rooted fraternity.
From the Do-or- Die Sprouts, staggering skill
And from him a conqueror’s rare will
Yet, from him also, the foulest rough play
Besides terrible things one mustn’t say.
After a defeat judged upsetting
Starts a battle with cascading tears
And for a performance ruled irritating
Eyes as deadly as spears.
The Do-or-Die Athlete could make The Alive The late
Enough water for the blood-smeared hands of Pilate.
Treasures Midden
David J Walker
It is in the midden
The story hidden
In the heap
The truth entwined
With dung and grime
To keep
As secrets from the
Eyes less bold
Where orates swear
To the foulest air from
Truth in scripted told
The dung heap
Is where the
Cleric keeps
His gold
Creepy crawlies in your head
Stay away from the living dead
Is itself delusion coming over you?
Or are you finally able to see the truth
Evil creeps up on unsuspecting souls
Can make the warmest hearts black as coal
Caution given you better heed
Do not feast on that in which the wicked feed
The foulest stench rises up from the depth of hell
The darkest fury burns the worst of smells
Do not breathe the toxic air
It will thieve your soul and leave you without a care
The shadows of darkness are always trying to reel you in
Keep your sight straight ahead, pay no attention to them
Curiosity has cost the strong there lives
The purest hearts are blind
All ye who have yet to bow before the king
Better get wet before you fall prey to the beast
The court Judge is at my house
I cannot tell anyone, not even my spouse
He's come to inspect my claim
And I've only myself to blame
It never occurred to me when I sued
When I was in the foulest mood
I saw the damage in my new property on the wall
To my lawyer, I made a long call
I would easily win this case
And I realized my mistake when the Judge and I came face to face
In my home
The judge wanted to see what I was making a big fuss about
Me and my big mouth!
I had the ruined wall rebuilt
Should I wither or should I wilt?
Without a receipt I'm screwed
Now I'm in a real bad mood!
Copyright@BrigittePace2019
It describes that moment when someone is so
stressed out and angry that starts blurting out throw
abusive language,
foulest profane language
to gain emotional relief, relieve stress, woe.
~X~X~X~
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