Gloom blooms as more bombs boom;
Even saints are tainted by crimson stains.
Fears tear through cradle-cries,
And withered blood floods the clustered gutters.
A prowl of projectiles surrounds their bounds;
Wounds whine on a round ground.
Pleas fail to heal the skin’s impetigo—
As silence stains the lens.
Then violence dons another garment,
While silence lies dormant;
Cries from festered wounds pry the dry, wry air,
As echoes crawl along.
All goes to soothe egos,
They boast with coats of loathes in floated boats,
In self-conceit concerts,
They celebrate nothing, noting no woe.
Wicked wicks don’t wink weak,
They sow discord and spit splintered discourse,
They supplant hate as baits,
And their words plunge the world to more dangers.
Peace peeks through a bombed hole at round tables,
Yet war speaks through their mouths;
Those who would quell the spell still sow their guile,
While skies scold, souls lie cold.
Lips
My lips can be
gross pink against my
green skin.
I’m a biting into
the lower lip addict. My bottom lip loathes my
less cracked top lip for
he’s cracked more.
My muse doesn’t understand my poems
She just likes to hear me speak
You give her a flower and a gentle smile
And she starts to dance through my eyes
You flirt a tiny bit
Slowly hold her hand
She’ll show you heaven
She’ll show you the brightest corners of the moon
Look into her eyes, you’ll no longer speak of gloom
She walks on sunsets, the night stars worship her cicatrices
When I talk to the skies they tell me that the rainbows dance to her laugh
Jason forgot about the fleece when he saw the quater of her half
She continues to mesmerise me
Hades left the underworld
Persephone sowed her flowers
Even Aphrodite loathes me now
For only hers is the nectar, I devour.
I taste ‘Dolce Far Niente’ as I inhale her moonlike skin
He hates me for my wrongs
She’s the only right I’ve ever done
If I were to fight Hydra for her
Hercules could have never won
And I’d give her the world, I really would
But the world doesn’t know me.
Between my sun and moon it’s only her who ever stood.
The tiny specks grow titanic tension.
They’re often harmless,
Google consoles her.
Yet a rare chance burns beyond solace.
Is it a harbinger of retinopathy?
Will her eye-LEDs illuminating soul be burnt out?
Will tomorrow be void of light and colors?
As she moves her eyes,
the eye floaters drift,
weaving a cobweb of questions.
If the sense dominating her brain fumbles and falls,
the eye sockets will be graves.
Precious sights from her memory lane will haunt her.
She loathes retreating into the dark burrow
like a greater bandicoot rat in the daytime.
Later,
an eye chart and a slit lamp efface her optical anxieties.
‘Life floats across a variety of blurring things,’
she muses and smiles.
Eye Floaters are spots in vision, like black or gray specks, string or cobweb.
First published in The Literary Hatchet (Issue 30).
Life is quite good
-indoors in Inwood.
It’s uptown Manhattan
at the northern tip
-the northern tip is
the tippity-top,
where the kitty cat
Calvin loathes to stop
-cat napping.
Curled in a chair
100 paws from
the door…
clawless paws curled
and inert.
Licked immaculately
clean of dirt.
Perfectly content
to go nowhere,
or at most a stone’s throw away.
“Everything’s here,
I’m in NYC”, he mused.
“If I get bored
I’ll watch the news,
or read the New York Post,
and the deli downstairs
does a pretty good job
with a Denver Omelet
and whole wheat toast.
The Bronx is a pitter
patter away, just in case
I want to stray.
I checked the map
(there’s a little bridge)
but for now, this chair is
where I’ll stay,
and take a kitty
cat nap…
all day.”
Why do you elitist traitors do what you do?
Did you not read the back of the book to see who wins?
Do you really think that a created can overcome
the Creator who holds all things into being. Devils advocate, if I was God and lost,
I would destroy everything rather than hand it over
to evil.
Are you so frightened of Satan's lies
that you believe there can be no forgiveness
of your deeds?
I am still waiting for one of you with the integrity
to fall into hell with an "I was wrong',
(one last caress to humanity, manuscript),
exposing you all.
Did you not know that if you were to serve humanity instead of destroying it, then you would be given
the things you steal now out of sheer gratitude and respect.
Instead, you ally with one who doesn't esteem you.
Satan does not and will never consider you a friend.
He loathes you.
When he is finished with your services
he is going to take great pleasure in dragging you
into the smallest hole available.
He will torment you by reminding you that you
betrayed a God who loved you.
Jutting out dangerously.
Attention needed urgently.
Gashed and hurtful no one liked.
Grating metal barbed and spiked.
Exposed wire to catch your clothes.
Dull and jagged everyone loathes.
lodged in fragrant loo
crap craves to be there for good...
loathes flush inventor
To the man who makes us moan
“Hello” in the poorest tone:
Your mean boss too strong to fight
He’ll defeat you ‘The Too Light,’
An old child’s watchful father
On coarse games it takes farther,
Mother who loathes your girlfriend;
Merely meets her, sees a fiend!
Does she want to break your heart,
Over you run a big cart?
“Good Day” in the tiniest voice;
The birds know it’s not your choice!
We forgive them, when they’ve dead
And now relax to eat bread.
from SELL OUT
Nick Armbrister
Cry Scry
She loves him beyond compare
He loves her beyond his eyeballs
She moans and complains
He swears and bangs about
They belong together
In Karmic ways met along
The old factory road
She’s his girlfriend a year
Same attitude as his wife
Who he loathes with passion
While passionately ing his lover
Wife and girlfriend mostly the same
One he loves other he hates
Why this way what is the cause?
Greek gods and goddesses up high
Take away their scrying bowl
Just Another Average Christmas
Just another average Christmas, not especially good nor bad,
When everyone says dinner was the best they’ve ever had.
When Mother works her fingers off with no respite nor leisure,
But keeps her best face forward and pretends it’s all a pleasure.
Just another average Christmas, when kids reject their presents,
When parents wonder why they tolerate their adolescents.
When grandparents sit smugly, watching as their offspring suffer,
Reminding them that Christmas always used to be much tougher.
Just another average Christmas, a day when booze flows freely,
When those in party games would rather watch the telly, really.
When Granny loves her pot-plant, and Granddad loathes his socks,
And speculation reigns about what’s in that extra box.
Just another average Christmas, not especially bad nor good,
When everyone feels ill from forcing down the excess food.
When kids go play their X-Box games, whilst Dad pulls on his sweater,
And vainly hopes that next year’s Christmas Day will be much better.
Is a kiss still a kiss when
In the air and ever care
Where it lands blown by one who
Loathes missing
Blowing kisses more kissings
Contort your brow purse your lips
Come forward plant the kiss so
As not to worry whether
You'll miss, feel the pleasure of
Good measure stay and persist
A kiss of a kiss of cautiousness!
Have patience...... My gracious flow
Into it!
For personal addiction, I'm aware
Dealing with my desires, I must beware...
Such are arenas for daily conquest
Putting faith to test amidst chosen best.
Sweet desserts please my tongue, I do confess
Yet, flesh loathes to gain weight in the process…
Discipline for well-being should prevail
That I need to practice, though sometimes fail.
To honesty and truth, my mind does cleave
From hypocrisy or deceit, I leave
In so fulfilling, I struggle in pain
As heart trusts the Lord for blest pardon-gain.
With passion for perfection-striving deed
Versus vexation against error-breed
My soul admits human weakness and flaw
While thriving in peace, learning from guilt’s claw.
Conscious of carnal and divine nature*
My spirit seeks to live as new creature
In Christ, quickened by His grace, mercy, love
Doing God’s will, sharing gift from above.
*2Corinthians 5:17 Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.
October 5, 2022
9th place, "Desire and Aversion" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker; judged on 10/11/2022.
It hurts to tell the truth
I guess that's why so many people walk around with fake smiles
Avoiding the pain not knowing they are only stirring up a thunderstorm
Wishing that the rain would go away
Do you know what it feels like to have tears that hold weight
Do you know what it feels like trying to open your mind when your eyes don't want to see
A closed intellect during regular business hours
January cold with a February that loathes
Those who choose to March and not give up in April
May I offer a suggestion
Some of her changes in June
But mother earth will always provide the truth
To the lies in July
I want to be more August
But the 10th month brings more dark to light, as daylight savings time ends
November then December
But that's not the end
Because I forgot to mention these September showers, continue after hours
Listening to the dark lane tapes
Trying to make my own words to put on vinyl
That's the truth
And it hurts to say even though it's good
But the more we tell the truth the easier it will be
Stop hiding
p.s. you can't control the weather...
Do please, your loins gird;
The pest is a bird:
Low-flying, sharp beak,
It’d outsmart The Weak!
Plainly take my word:
Leave the grazing herd
On plains, at the peak,
Your protections leak!
Scarecrow would pests cow
And pests won’t farms plough;
In your food-rich farm
The birds sure means harm…
Try you should Scare Crow.
I shall show you How:
‘Ugly clothes your balm
A shirt with one arm!
Their presence pest loathes:
Plants putting on clothes!
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