Long Derides Poems
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Take notice of the beggar man that soon your eyes shall meet,
Offer out an outstretched hand and ask to take a seat.
This man is more than just another man who’s lost his way,
He’s more than just a man who walks the streets alone each day.
Within his eyes, a story lives, a past that's rich and deep,
A tale of love and loss, of dreams he couldn't keep.
The lines upon his weathered face, the echoes of his pain,
Yet hope still shines within his heart, like sunshine after rain.
Beneath the tattered clothes he wears, a soul of strength resides,
A spirit undiminished, though the world his worth derides.
Extend your kindness, let him know, he’s seen, he’s not ignored,
For every heart deserves a chance, each life a new accord.
In every step he takes alone, a silent prayer is cast,
For someone who will see him, not as shadows of the past.
So take notice of the beggar man, and offer what you can,
A moment's grace, a gentle word, the touch of fellow man.
For when you see beyond the veil, the surface and the skin,
You find the common threads of life that bind us all within.
We all have stories yet untold, and dreams we're reaching for,
In every heart, a world awaits, an open, endless door.
Birthdays.
What a dubious way to celebrate the imminent proximity of an epilogue.
A concept I have found myself familiar with, as I wait for its darkness to breathe my flesh into an eternity of condemn.
It’s so monotonously profound, rousing my revulsion into a cavern of numbing ecstasy.
The hallucination of confetti blinds me in a disdain of joyous vibrancy I beseech for a defrauding.
A joyous vibrancy I elude in a hope of inevitable invasion.
A joyous vibrancy I hunt until the trail of its scorn boils with the distraught of my blood.
The mascara pours down my face; a river of infamy, coercing the heft of my obscenity.
The lipstick smears down my chin; a sadistic endeavour to ravage the dereliction of my leeches.
The highlighter gleams; a grotesque jubilation of a fibbing mockery.
And the fundamental rigour of my perished rot derides in a soul prompting conjecture;
I hope this is my last birthday.
Darkside of Aquarius Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Contest Judged: 9/24/2025 10:36:00 AM
( 6th Place )
The heavens break in rivers lit by flame,
the scattered stars bow low, their crowns of shame.
Beneath their weight the trembling earth is torn,
and voices vanish where younger dreams were born.
The oceans burn their silver currents lost,
dark smoke lifts to wrap the sky in frost.
A rider moves across the night in red
while whispers lift among the countless dead.
Mothers defend their sons with quivering hands
as iron footsteps mark the broken lands.
The seer cried out but none would heed their song.
a shadowed reign had gripped the earth too long.
Amid the ruins, one faint spark remains
a gentle light that bear all the chains.
Though heavens vanish and every fate derides,
the human heart keeps burning through the tides.
I have decided to be more Christian
less anything else.
A tiny Jesus-voice,
or a bug inside my head has said:
'enough is frigging enough.'
Since Christians are derided, abused,
and killed without even a headline.
Since I am not 'saved' and don’t need to be,
since I will always stand for the
guy with the sweaty shirt collar,
the woman who has faith in her womb,
the dog under the fat man’s table
the individual not the rabble.
I have decided to join a church.
I am not going, just joining
no one needs to know,
it will be just my little chapel for one
and no one else.
And if some intellectual buffoon
with a simplistic degree in applied logic
derides my secret belief,
I will enlighten that pitiful person
with a curse horrid enough
to make the very devils-own blush.
Implant within me a seed monthly, though the pulverization derides me. Let it conjure hope and solace to shatter my reality as venomous weeds entwine it, sickening me as I lay still in the liquid birthed from my own fruit. Implant within me a seed; let the feral roots ensnare it, suffocating my every breath and cell until it ruptures--obliterated within my frail and aching tree. It be destined to return but stripped of the avant-garde its predecessor once possessed. Implant within me a seed; it’ll part for months, leaving my psych mangled as blood seeps through trypophobic perforations crafted solely by its hand. The seed, thriving as I decay, renders its final blow the day we die. Implant within me a seed; force it into a sanctum where it does not belong, and let fate, warped and distorted, contort my marred soul. That which I once refused to acknowledge shall now delude my senses, forcing me to reach for those who feel not love but only pity for my aberrant roots. Implant within me a seed; let me perish within its absence, yet perpetually suffer under its presence. Wound me with my own creation.
Your end creates you
It will return to rip you
Plant it, watch it die
A deep, dark kindred spider looms to proffer the sentiment,
That abuse just objectifies the long persistent winter:
Scouring around playfully, but embedded in the night -
Two way of seeing it but only one plight.
That black body, its piercing eyes drive acutely,
In the lengthy web that’s receptive but selfish with quirk,
With thin, spindly legs which effect to mobilise,
The creature only some befriend to glamourise.
We hold to the summer, autumn and spring as the norm,
Not winter’s harrowing chill which makes us so often ill;
The act of telling someone you've been raped, abused,
Should not be a sick kick or a jester’s a thrill.
If you don't give us our minds, stance and chirps,
You'll just be cushioning that admiring psychologist,
Who asks us about physical abuse, sexual, and rape,
But who we hate to have as we’ve no trait.
Give us our spirits, intellect and powers:
Don't glare, glance and glower at our ordinary activities;
Equality only exists when you feel it and can tower,
In the informal social networks of civil conviviality.
And of course, nasty small talk itself causes rape,
Violence and abuse which derides and can shape,
The heart that reaches out to befriend and welcome,
The fence-sitter, the open mind who quietly relates.
But if you say physical abuse just objectifies other lesser evils,
Like criticising needlessly, cutting us off, and gloating,
Then your sick in the head and unforgivable,
Because all discrimination is unnecessary and avoidable.
Written: November 17, 2023 For Charles Messina Contest
___________________________________________
In peace of mind and unwavering pride
Draw out your inner disgruntled callow
Expunge ailing masks and set them aside
Shackled and phony leaches start shallow
Untamed freedom leaves a rage of delight
Lightning strikes when volition avails reign
As the noise of fists and yells echoes fight
It implies launching rough assaults again
This momentary gladness won't last long
Dark distress derides its way to the fight
And celebrates its mocking with zest strong
Frenzied fractured fragments into full-sight
Constraintis like an itch that chafes the mind
Shields the vile impulse that we must all bind
gladness won't last long
expunge ailing masks aside~
untamed freedom roars.
Shackled leeches start shallow, rage of lightning strikes~constraint chafes the mind
Days pass into the weakest of loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath the colored brush of Van Gogh. He links.
Comets trail snowfields of light pass agonized cypresses, schizophrenic concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightening bugs mimic the starlight, atoms sneer.
Those who spout love and friendship abandon him sneering.
Their images dance beneath his half closed lids, when he blinks.
Though denied visual compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, palpable pain, he still links,
with the life which has both absorbed and excluded him not complaining.
Night passes without his mistress, Sien. His mind writhes, eternal concussion.
His torn visage trembles with the brass sounds the storm's ranting concussions.
The butcher, the baker the candlestick maker, derides and sneers.
How unmerciful is this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain?
And, if indeed, lack of mercy is just, may he not know “Why?” Time blinks.
Just the act of thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him to the link.
He must accept both the pain and the art as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.
Voices always the voices, the paint, the moon, the voices, reciprocate.
He chases the mice. The cheese, pewter plate and all, falls with concussion.
He rubs the backs of gnarled hands across his lids, maintaining the link.
“How? Why?" But, the mice eating his cheese grimace and sneer.
Inside the cottage sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in vases, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls in an attempt to sit, the insubstantial chair does not complain.
He had thought God clear, clear as sunlight, yet the damn paint Lord! complained.
He was Not God, and try as he would, the light escaped. He MUST reciprocate.
After all who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust, life blinks.
“Ah death…le grand mal…no minor concussion,”
He must escape this mortal coil, join the celestial spin without their sneers.
Sick, he was sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, no link.
I am a creature of this world, A man of flesh and blood
No man owns me or should, I eat, I breath, I live
All I need is a roof and some love.
Yet my fellow man derides me, denies me
Wishes me harm, and watches me drop into the abyss
Scared in case I shake his trust in his conservative beliefs.
Yet I don't want his job, his wife or his 9 to 5 life.
Let the rats race, and the work horn sound
Come home to the kids who cry and ask who is that man.
Give me the freedom to rule my own life
To not have to waste this one chance at life
If only the mover and shakers could learn.
So just a reminder, live and let live.
Hear my plea… consider truth’s earnestness
Bringing to your ear this factual soundness:
I’m Hell --- a prison of endless darkness
Where misery’s gloom prevails in blackness
Due to sufferings, despair, hopelessness
Leaving the guilty in their sins’ fierceness.
Listen to my voice from this dark juncture
Echoing warning midst urgent posture:
I’m Hell --- a place of eternal torture
With restlessness’ angst and despair-puncture
Sealing the faithless in their doomed future
Midst cruel hatred’s defiant gesture.
Acknowledge my vocal predicament
Loudly clear despite painful sentiment:
I’m Hell --- a cell of everlasting torment
Expressing death's wailing every moment
As sorrows, anguish, woe wildly lament
With constant gnashing of teeth engagement.
Consider my call from this space, unlit
Since radiance of Scriptures does not quit:
I’m Hell --- a dungeon where there’s no exit
And each one slides toward bottomless pit
Struggling to reach foot stool summit
Yet never to taste freedom’s air a bit.
Neglect not my admonition’s love-guides
Which one in his self-righteousness derides:
I’m Hell --- lake of fire* where God’s wrath abides
Unreached by His mercy, while His grace hides
There, worms die not, with pleas’ screams at all sides
Along unheard prayers … deserving chides.
I welcome you in my darkest manner
When you flee from the perfect Pardoner:
I’m Hell ---waiting each one who’s pride-winner
Bearing “You’re forever condemned” banner
Verdict to the claim, “I’m not a sinner”
Rejecting grace midst selfishness’ dinner.
Decide now… from my drowning blackness, flee
Choose life; against darkness’ grip and be free:
I’m Hell *--- with my gruesomeness you can see
Trust Christ the Saviour and you can miss me
Have faith in Him Who died at Calvary
Resurrected to bring you Heaven’s glory.
*Revelation 20:14 And death and hell were cast into the lake of fire. This is the second death.
January 24, 2022