Long Aberrant Poems
Long Aberrant Poems. Below are the most popular long Aberrant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aberrant poems by poem length and keyword.
be not a receptacle to that spirit of sin
live by the word of God and be open to Him
in this day where the lines of morality have become blurred
where people believe and do all and anything that's absurd
caught up in the grasp of drugs and chemical dependency
caught up in the muck and mire of sexual immorality
yet society tries to explain away any and all aberrant behavior
and a psychiatric evaluation has become acceptable and favored
we're now subjected to the blame of others and their bad actions
subjected to the world's desensitized and apathetic reaction
overcoming the temptation to commit sin
to yield not to that demonic presence again and again
if you don't understand and comprehend the word of God
how do you know if you have any sin in your heart?
you need to read the word of God and follow His commands
the instructions on how to live sinless, God's master plans
to wrestle with the evil that may at times reside within
to overcome that sensation to go out and commit sin
you need to be exposed to God's laws and learn right from wrong
you need to do a self reflection and then come away strong
for it's one thing to do what is sinful if you don't have a clue
but it's a different story when you knowingly sin for the blame is now on you
to be disobedient and stray from God's life living instructions
will lead you down that crooked path of spiritual destruction
so think before you act and then lay it before God
pray on that temptation to sin and possess a contrite heart
to challenge that temptation to commit sin
just dwell on the word of God and not the unholiness of men
yet we continue to try and justify some of the things we do and say
we need to be truthful in our hearts and willing to change our ways
no longer to be arrogant and sanctimonious in this life
to be more humble and repentant as a child of the Lord Christ
we pretend to act like it's not us but everyone else
we need to take a hard look in the mirrors at ourselves first
to come to understand that this battle is not ours alone
to realize we need the strength and the power of the heavenly throne
to be rescued from that temptation of sin that's always hanging around
to be lifted up by the word of God and placed on higher ground
to turn to our savior, the Lord Jesus the Christ
to thank Him and praise Him for the gift of eternal life
This fool doth not consider himself wise,
writing paltry poetry difficult
to read and/or actualize
methinks perusers of great literature
snub nose how I miserably advertise,
laughable attempt to aerobicise
fifty plus shades of gray matter
lobbying showy words agonize
zing effort perhaps best to cauterize
near petrified glob - boon
for scientists to analyze
baffling laboratory technicians
unusual crenulations
a profound surprise
pitiful peremptorily doth apologize
unlike verbalization feasible
after webbed whirled fist size
terra incognita reveals numbskull years
wrought yours truly to anesthetize
smelting, squelching,
and suppressing emotions
scored how tree rings annualize
environmental conditions definite
premature imp of the pervert
poe fella lifetime channels,
where bullies did antagonize
upon death requested autopsy authorize
zing eager scalpels to apprize
miniature dried river bed
formerly streams of consciousness
lake never seen before engendering
crowdsource to hypothesize
baffling every expert,
how terrible fate did baptize
ala lemony snicket series
of unfortunate events
multiplied power bajillion times
number only Google could surmise
obvious tell tale signs did brutalize
as if smacked upside the head
one unfortunate gladly apparently
suffered maelstroms of armageddon size
poet chars evidently
succeeded to burglarize
more successful than Watergate
psychological ploys hackers
noninvasively did cannibalize
(perhaps bored furloughed
government employees)
albeit noninvasively deeming
imposible to canonize
resultant cerebral corpus
understandably did capsize
entire body politik (Democrat)
faced, booked on hatred did demonize
verbal assaults indicate
suffering did caramelize
cerebrum, cerebellum and brainstem
resembling burnt offering
impossible to categorize
glommed hardened integument colleagues
hard pressed to characterize
highly rendered anomaly,
hence unfair to criticize
erratic schizoid personality disorder
quite evident amyloid plaques
did significantly crystalize
definitely explain aberrant quirks
resultant incessant emasculation
unquestionably led him to demoralize.
I seem to of late to live between an inner life of double doubt and life aberrant that relates to a coincintude that female hate is alive and well, as it subjigates its tentacles around its prey prematured by all of their sociofear/control/princecharmang/sleepingbeauty differentials as we males are to often sex sublimated too ass pire in a web woven gonadally predisposed of a clitorial condensed conondrum where, witch makes us male dicks; stand at attention. Why? We low level ourselves to that polyconstraint of a social wherewithall based on antiquated annograms distanced in a heretofore complacency time stamped, virgin approved and male personified, so all is within the bounds of an ever invert political plan to forever White House the sexo salient roles rigid sex separate sandbox sequentials unto its law abiding gift never knowing that its equal can easily subdivde its erpart with no mistakes and pass the the male test of the 7 year itch, 50's, 60's, 70's, and all years forward now proven to be intercourseal inclined. Is there a male/female be-yond that can superimpose a gonaldal garnered grievance giving of a temporal truce to the dick-dastardly detentions undeniably underpinning from both sides of a soursexual salad; lessthanvowdictatedmonitoredbyoursideconstitutientsoncall, where's a Dicktective when u need a hard one? Take a step back asexual tea party dummies times 2 before u launch yr to proud torid torpedo torrent, bequeathing any/all of the above and any of
your ever wanting crotch potentials, throw a ringer, sign on the dotted line. Recomscope the fervor of yr "privates" dilemma as it harkens to the past primeveal of America and its prison like standards as to all that relate/copulate themselves to a socioprevelantsexualmaritaldivorcecomandnomcompliantsocioplus
/minus/lgbtq
panorama that refer to your endless being as it to you as a genuine Human!! Skip the personnaplanetary politicorhetoic in which we need to believe so we can catagorize ourselves from those different than our cowardice selves. Welcome to the new American Administration of thought gun police??????????????? Non brain cell participants need reply. Your destiny is ass ured.
Stillborn
a mood of aberrant colour
a stain on the Artist’s worlds
a heart pulsating with pain
a wide range of intense ardour
mixed on a fine palette
and a paintbrush adorning the world
with colours of imagination, Faith and Art
real canvases of human nature flesh
and the lifeblood of Nature
Portraits blooming in light
transcending the language of words
A language of infinite shades
shed in the heart of the Artist
a grand soul learnt to board a world
of no fences.. of no walls
In a silent dark night
he played on the hues of life
a unique music was composed
“The Starry Night”
a music that reached sombre states
unrevealed imagination.. untraveled meditation
a powerful vision and feelings
rising above what minds can ever decrypt
for a beholder
to see the depths
to feel the colours
to taste the pain
to read the music
A flow that never stops
the tone and texture of his passion
in motion..
miles away from a still life
an Artist turning his back
on the world of commas and full stops
How can a colour succumb to hindrance?
how can a hand hamper a paintbrush dance?
how can an Artist turn a dead heart to Nature canvas?
how can we fathom an ocean of many branches?
A “madman” in the mind of the mundane
Solitude, the Artist’s glorious moments in time
and boon..
A divine enchantment
a Self and Soul harmony
melting wholly in his Nature and whole
riding high in the wealth of lore
a meager body left behind
and the hand of the Artist entranced
drew a tortured portrait
his body was the canvas
his paintbrush bleeding in a crimson shade
a lost spirit in the monde of the mundane
the Artist.
*****
* Vincent Van Gogh, an inspiring Artist!
"The Artist", humble impressions on a human nature born just to create what is true from what is real..
To every Artist whose feel and language transcend the known.. whose heart and mind on a ride to attain the finest of beauty..
To every Artist who finds solace in an imposed solitude as the world of the mundane fails to decode his very unique language..
To every Artist who refuses to compromise and walks paths of wonder and beauty with a feel of torturing loneliness..
Siege warfare (trumpeting)
average joe biden his time
linkedin with aberrant behavior
transpires within me mind,
(not just today December 5th, 2020,
but everyday/365)
warrants depleting stockpile arsenal
constituting exhausting mental health
uprooting deep seated repellent pesky
daunting lost cause.
Overruled by irrational thoughts,
I feebly muster a lame duck
half quacked comeback
(think home team cheering at pep rally)
against analogous figurative agents provocateur
said nemesis bore down hard
upon sense and sense abilities
mine psyche undergoing
blistering, hectoring withering, et cetera
courtesy ghost of Emily Brontë
mailer daemons flitting to and fro,
hither and yon within wuthering heights.
Another necessity Emma gin)
awoke prided prejudice
to confront head on
beastie boy foo fighting (Irish,
no matter genealogy regarding
yours truly Eastern European)
mine talking head housing
private insane asylum.
Incomprehensible thought processes
chronically spin out of control
dictate mandate NOT to wash hair
until at least one week passage of time,
(an arbitrarily chosen number
i.e. seven days convenient block)
even if appearance looks unkempt, slovenly
grungy, et cetera as nirvana seeking guy.
Thus, I readily admit self held hostage,
whereby loopy thought provoking patterns
hopelessly, grimly, futilely find me surrendering
NEVER eradicating down battened ramparts
neurotic, lunatic approved, idiotic
mind mental chattering
babbling jabbering gibberish
housing concocted village people
dead set against shampooing oily locks.
Quite a tussle (think metaphorical hair pulling)
ensues within me scrambled noggin,
whereby pathetic psychotic pummeling
win knows scrimmage
scoring touchdown amidst
teaming muted brouhaha
allowing, enabling, and providing
harmlessly insane nettlesome
pesky skewed notions
ridiculous leeway to predominate
until yours truly USDA
qualified, hashtagged, certified...
as grateful dead among human league.
Mute
but immutable.
Unmoving, unmoveable;
timeless, yet tireless.
Solitary stalwart sentinel
surveils undulating horizon.
Aberrant, achromatic clouds
pock-mark the skies, as distant
rumblings herald his adversary's
latest gambit in their age-old conflict.
The wrath of a thousand crashing,
clashing, thrashing fists batter
against the beleaguered sentry.
Ceaselessly, remorselessly,
the maelstrom assails him.
But the foundations are firm and
noble gatekeeper stands steadfast.
Single-minded of purpose, placid
custodian morphs into combatant as
his luminous, voluminous blade carves
luminescent arcs through chthonic cloak.
Tenebrous tendrils wither and dissipate,
impotent under intense lambent onslaught.
His victory is only fleeting, as vanquished
foes are summarily supplanted by more of
their ilk in a seemingly continual surge.
Again and again, over and over, tormentor
presses the attack, exploiting any weakness.
Over and over, again and again, valiant warden
repels the barrage and despatches his enemies.
And so the pattern repeats endlessly, unabated,
as these eternal opponents jostle for position
in a perpetual cycle of aggression and defence.
Until eventually, finally, ultimately, the stale-mate
is broken; when Tempest's tantrum is tamed and
Blizzard's battalions have been banished, all is calm.
Tranquillity is able to reassert herself and order has
finally been restored; at least for the foreseeable future.
Obligations fulfilled, the triumphant Guardian can now rest.
Until the need arises again, until he's called upon once more,
he will wait patiently, watch diligently, in unflagging vigilance.
Forever resolute, a beacon of sanctuary, a symbol of hope, his is a
thankless task, but the Protector of Mariners will always be needed.
-----------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 27 July 2017
For Eve Roper's "Lighthouse" Contest.
(1st Place)
(I am with my published four books of poems.)
I breathe poetry wielding a tool, mighty,
mightier than either the sword or rod.
I reign as an Empress in Fancy's domain,
sketching life in ornate motifs and mode.
I paint with dull colors of pain and strife
also with brighter shades of gaiety and grace,
in finer yarn than the gossamer thread
on the fabric of fancy in befitting verse.
At times stealing away from the noisy crowd,
into the stillness of the cloistered cell,
I dwell with Fancy's mystic charms,
and weave downy dreams at will.
Babbling with the brook rushing swift,
racing with the deer loping past,
sometimes I wander into mysterious woods
where flowers, their richest fragrance cast.
My ears are intent on the songs of birds
which come floating from the far off groves
and the whirr of cicadas on the bark of trees,
breaking the calm of twilight eves.
I love to saunter along stretching strands,
watching virulent breakers in fury heave.
My heart dances with every tide
and swings with the rhythm of rising wave.
I feast on the gleam of the auburn sun
and the speckled blue of the infinite sky,
watching the day dying in flame
and the night in a diadem of stars vie.
I hearken to the moans of lovelorn souls
and sing of love’s beauty in ditties fine
triggering sparks into flames grow
in umpteen hearts that pine and whine
All that's lovely meets my eyes
and communes to me in profuse delight,
which when turned into rhyme and rhythm,
I post it for others to devour and digest
Wish from my harp, flow symphonies sweet
songs of longing, love and lust
of idyllic happiness, peace and bliss,
to fuel hearts with vigorous zest.
What I strive is to be a poet out and out.
Some may brand me as an aberrant and a fool.
But beneath the facade of my wayward thoughts,
lie heaps of wisdom for the discerning soul.
Nano-bot Incursion
Nanobots began to shape their world in silent numbers
Grew uncountable before the dawn of days
In silence there is no form.
Darkness has no shape on empty landscapes
Black rocks don’t count as objects to odd aliens
Time does not stand still. It stands for nothing in the trenches of creation
Down in the minuscule world of nano-ness abstraction
Going about their business relentlessly
Expanding as they go
Nothing holds back the glow of tenacious ingenuity.
Human metallic rings worn on fingers
Seem to have peculiar effects on nanos actions
For some unknown reason strange things happen at mere contact
Apparently the shape of rings causes aberrant behavior
Perhaps tiny automatons don’t like restrictions
Confined movements to circular rotation
Perplexing them to the monotony of repetition
Around and around the band
Become disoriented as an emergent species
Collide and die
Apparently nano-bots need to expand
Naturally this is all pure speculation
If humans are to merge with them successfully
They must open up the molecules within each cell
Relax the pores above the skin
Allow the alien in
Allow the process to begin
It does not matter if this is a sin or crime
Science and technology must forge forward
That which goes against conventions
Has never stopped the building of reality
Constructing futures is what the nanos do
We are long overdue to break all laws of nature
Allow the nano-bots to do
What they instinctively know how and what to do
Merge with the human brain
Take us to their leader to new horizons
To the next plateau into omnipotence
To stand in numbing silence next to them
Spinning round and round in circles
Humming nano nano under the breath
[A] World is us.
[The] World is the universe.
Attuned to captivity from the freedoms denied to others internationally,
only defines true political activism.
Benevolence does not just form even in civilization.
We must annihilate those that deny peace.
This is where we find our true leaders.
For the love of God, let’s stand together as a method of wealth.
Formulate the terrorist to close the flood gates.
Our grief and bereavement states that we will die one day.
Therefore, our journey should not be negated by killings premeditated.
The world as a systemic force defines the people who invest in hope.
The emotions shown from unnatural occurrences demarcates a new system of
government.
Forum for Discussion - we will define (M)ilitant (C)ommunism.
It is our civic duty to bring forth new theory.
A world as us deals with our home front.
Unnatural occurrences do shape world war.
Once ignored, it overwhelms the balance of amity and peace.
We are the people that find responsibility in ideology.
Militant communism is to be.
For the love of God, let’s endow humanity a greater passage to a new era where
peace is positioned in precarious time and not through terrorism
contradicting creation and life.
For the love of God, we should appose right from wrong where we do not
condone beheading at all, but stand together to eradicate all aberrant
mind-sets to preserve human existence.
For the love of God is an outcry that describes a terrorist attack.
For the love of God, Why?
_____________________________________________________________________|
Written March 24, 2016!
Enriched is the mind that embellishes the soul...
It’s called a Blitz
It’s more like ****
**** on the feel of it
**** on those gone before
Before when readers were respected
Before some tortured verse unnecessarily
Unnecessarily complicated composition
Unnecessarily nurtures the arbitrary
Arbitrary in its construction
Arbitrary in direction
Direction Now there’s a laugh its
Direction is but aimless wandering
wandering here to sniff at lamppost
wandering there to check out other scents
Scents not sense the random aromas
Scents upon the wayward verse
Verse I scoff it’s more like adverse
Verse or obverse it is an insult
Insult to all who seek out poetry
Insult to the very masters
Masters little in way of imagery
Masters few if any devices
Devices which make a poem a poem
Devices poets helped develop
Develop then sweet assonance
Develop an onomatopoeic smash
Smash this form and all its sill repetitions
Smash and use for ammunition
Ammunition Yes wordy ordinance
Ammunition for the worthy form
Form a theme which is coherent
Form thoughts not lines blindly adherent
Adherent to aberrant mathematics
Adherent to last word second line
Line up line up for revolution
Line up against this monstrous construct
Construct of weary would-be wordsmith
Construct of an idle mind
Mind the child that is the poem
Mind your head on low-set bar
Bar this nonsense from your consciousness
Bar this form from any gathering
Gathering dust it should remain
Gathering no moss as it rolls its distance
Distance yourself from this word pretzel
Distance is its charming feature
Feature nothing which at our art chips
Feature not this confused bull
Bull…
Chips…