Long Euphemisms Poems
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If I proclaim to love the Lord
but hate my fellowman,
the Bible says I'm lying. Love,
not hate, is in His plan.
Bad attitudes towards others
if they're fueled day and night,
soon morph into destructive hate,
a vitriolic blight.
Though love can be so powerful,
hate can be just as strong.
We don't like to admit sometimes
our feelings are so wrong.
We choose to sugarcoat the truth
when hate is in our hearts.
We cling to euphemisms
while we throw our poison darts.
Sometimes we're hypocritical,
refusing to confess
to sins like hate; yet we still think
the Lord will surely bless!
Those motivated by ill will
will never know true peace.
They'll moan throughout a friendless life
and find no sweet release.
Sinister snarling swindling scandalous scoundrels secretly slither shamelessly
Implicitly interrogated ‘bout innermost insidious illegitimate impertinences
Ghastly Grotesque grimacing gumption gorging gruesome gimmicky gossip
Netherworld’s nauseating narcissistic nefarious nature nibbling at naiveté
Obnoxious oppressors outrageously ostracizing offspring to oblivion
Facetiously fondling flip flutter floundering their frayed frazzled foibles
Tyrannical temperamental tempestuous tumultuous targeting tallying triviality
Haphazardly harnessing halfhearted heinous hypocritical homicidal hatred
Exploiting embezzling extricating explicit evil entangled ephemeral effrontery
Tetrad of treacherous tyrannical tycoons tackle tantamount transfigurations
Implicit intermittently incoherent infernal insanity idling illicit insidious insolences
Malicious misanthropic madmen monstrously manipulating mangling mercilessly
Erroneous euphemisms explicitly eclipsing evolving estranged etiquette’s eulogy
Staggering systematic spiritual stagnation symbolizing society’s sign of the times
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on April 22, 2018 for contest SIGN OF THE TIMES sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 4TH
The varnish cracks and peels away,
and little eruptions from below the surface
suppurates before us the underlying truth:
An animal awaits...nine meals from anarchy.
Deadlier than any other living thing,
prepared to kill anyone,
even its own kind.
No other creature sets a lower bar.
Surely the wonder of Nature never foresaw this.
Linguistic casualties:
integrity; heroism; courage; sacrifice and love,
for such things sit uneasily with weaponry.
The words of a leader
reverberate in our minds:
"God is on our side:
the enemy is the lowest form of life,
its armaments and behaviour
horrendous in the extreme."
Yet he desires more from his own productions lines
and urges his people to a glorious
victory.
Dignity, goodness, sensitivity,
and empathy,
the basic decency of many human beings,
nine meals from anarchy,
and 'Mental Cases'.
Easy prey.
So does even the shame, the regret,
that searing, the scarred memories;
the tears, the guilt, and the fear,
fall upon the consciences of the good?
To suffer the rest of your life,
an innocent.
Euphemisms, and stirring myths, and lies,
encircle the globe,
like mental fall-out,
nine meals from anarchy.
The protective layers of pretence and language,
unfold and peeled back,
until,
naked,
everyone is enemy?
Suburban resident pretense, a bleak uniformity.
I grew up among the repetitious homes,
isolated alienated, I wandered the conformity,
the endless square yards, the dull feckless syndrome.
Repugnant yet intriguing, a redundant singularity,
fabrications of fortified, fraudulent self-deception,
blocks and blocks of suffocating, vapid vanity,
I endured the bland boredom like an endless inquisition.
All history, all memory was recklessly strip-mined away.
Barren of lore, fat men rode loud, smelly power mowers
belching oil over manicured lawns with access to the highways.
Insular castles in the air, the tributes to white flight silently cowered.
Everyone tried to grin with toothpaste commercial smiles.
Everyone tried flaunting success with Chevrolet Bel Air fins
and backyard swimming pools, barbeque pits, or patio tiles.
Success was a charade hiding deep, wounded chagrins.
This was the sterile zeitgeist of a secretive colonization,
where everyone was living in Thoreau’s quiet desperation,
where in desolation and despair, every heart lay resigned,
where perverse platitudes and euphemisms numbed the mind.
This microcosm where all communal convictions were taken,
where the broken edges of confident affiliation never awakened,
where commodified adorations formed the language of thrill,
where a busyness cluttered every weary mind like a noisy drill.
I grew up among the monotony; I was devoured by the beast,
this juncture of moment and place, its pain has never ceased.
The Great American Make-Believe, for Bobby and Sue.
These property lines were the racial entitlement of a few.
Some recast this age as Great America, craving a narcotic,
but ennobling these glib, obdurate neighborhoods is ironic.
The Great American Make-Believe, for Richard and Nicole,
concealed the dejected anguish, searching for a soul.
In years gone by, folks didn’t like to say
God’s name to show surprise or great dismay,
and so you would hear “Goodness,“ “Gol” and “Gee,“
and also euphemisms for J.C.
Jiminy Cricket! Doesn’t that sound nice?
Jeepers Creepers, Jason Crisp or Cheese and Rice?
Godfrey Daniel! Surely you know that
is slang for God and “God rot it” is “Drat!”
“Oh my gosh,” “My goodness,” or simply “Lord”
replaced expletives that today come poured
from mouths of kids who can’t be mannerly
to just say “Leapin‘ Lizards“ or “Golly Gee!”.
You’ll hear (for damning something with God’s name),
“Dag nabbit” and “Dad gum.” They might seem tame
but fit the bill and give us a small thrill!
But dang it, why would someone say “Sam Hill?”
Words from the Holy Bible we enjoy
employing when we say Holy Moley,
Holy cow, Judas Priest (but WAIT!)
For Pete’s Sake! How did Judas ever rate?
Great Scott, there’s even Jumpin’ Jehosophat!
How the HECK did they ever come up with that?
By Jove, I’m nearly finished. Now pretty please. . . .
Instead of using Christ’s name, just say Jeeeeez!
Written July 26, 2015
Fake news and beliefs in hegemonic certitude at its roots
An epidemic of political correctness spread through the world
Though shalt not speak my name in vain for I know no sin but
Hedonism and narcissistic conquest spread a message of fear
Enabled collusion and falsification of a prophesy of fulfilment
Rooted in distortion as mountains of burgers consumed carnal lust
Off my seed sprang lingua franca truth and unequivocal meaning
For genesis and abolition of semantics to convene com-mensural peace
Mary Magdalene met Sarah and Isaac where Fatima turned tables
At which Mc Donalds launched another greedy advertizing campaign
No ham between buns or else target groups might dictate profits of doom
Yet another idea of Yankees making amends for crude marginalization
Relief from hunger and decadence won’t be achieved by changing the label
Eradication of suffering does not depend on what you may call grilled meat
To be or not to appear but please let Ham-let be nourishing in his words
Opulence still exists regardless of euphemisms and designer designations
Rostra of eloquent meddling won’t make roast beef ovo lacto vegetarian
To honour my commandments you will require a bit more than denotation
So let it be known that my name is Abra-ham and ham-id means true servant
23rd January 2020
He passes through the room like a bubble in champagne, unattached, teflon coated, and somehow freer than the rest of us. “Jordies here,” Leong says in an excited whisper.
“Yeah,” I sigh, adjusting my mask, “saw him.” She smiles like a cat behind hers. Leong knows I’m crushing on Jordie and she finds it delicious information which she waves at me like a flag whenever he’s around.
We’re processing in, distancing and passing table to table. Leong can be with me because, as roommates, we’ll be quarantining together. Lisa joins us, she’s back from the restroom. “Jordies here,” she says, bouncing up on her toes to better scan the room.
I don’t look at him but he fills my horizon like a thunderhead. He’s all I can see, even when I’m not looking at him. We reach the end of a row of tables and bam, there he is, six feet away. He says hi, I say hi - I’m very professional as we exchange looping, harmless, euphemisms for settling in for spring semester - then he’s called to the next station.
“If only we weren’t so busy,” I say, holding this fiction in front of me like a shield. “Yeah,” Leong and Lisa say, practically together, and smiling like thieves.
Poetry is a prolonged kiss from the kingfisher's lips.
The interpreted being of a hummingbird’s wings.
The things you do or the things you don’t.
The things you say and the things left unspoke.
The truth, the lies, the half-full hopes.
The light, the dark,
the near and far, almost there’s.
Euphemisms. Nights spent in alleys.
Alone, apart, together at heart.
The life, the aches, the losses
new beginnings, lovers, losers.
Regret.
Regret.
Regret.
Nature, art, destruction,
or the remnants of.
Winners,
haves and have-nots.
Have you ever danced or chanted naked around a bonfire?
That is a poem.
What is a poem?
You.
What a gift it’s been
to be alive at the same time as your pretty face.
he was making so much turbulence
that he needed windbreaker trousers
his farting more than gas from cheeks
but a fluid blown attack on decency
and common sense in torrential times
full of ..it he let go off all inhibition
and called himself the master of buzz
rose in the polls floated on hot air
mixed with the debris of foul thoughts
but no sweet talking diluted the fact
that indigestion or flatulence amounted to
piles of insufferable hatred and contempt
and the dung heap of his rancid utterances
were never far from the bum end of reason
semantics may cover up irritating smells
rhetoric designs unpalatable euphemisms
distinguished figures of speech propaganda
pretend to be perfume instead of vile stench
but ablutions in dereliction of dubious duty
corrupt even the meaning of four-letter words
when the revolution came and solid walls
of social injustice were filled with excrement
racist homophobic sexist slurs and other
malfunctions of power and marginalization
they gave him the benefit of benevolent doubt
inserted a plug into his mouth and his anus
gave him gloves loo roll and disinfectant
made him a senior lavatory attendant and
the chance for redemption as sluice sink
for his and his followers’ self-righteous stench
when conscience becomes one major fart
a diet of reason and equity will rebalance
who is the latrine and who cleans the mess
29th September 2021
Tired of sterilized poetry
And endless odes to beauty
Though life is so full of these
And everything sweet to please
There is a much darker side
Where sorrow and pain reside
Where shattered dreams do haunt
Rejection and madness taunt
Tired of sterilized poetry
That tells an idyllic story
Where life's as it’s meant to be
And sunshine is all you see
What about the living hell
Souls under an evil spell
Where fear rears its morbid head
Monsters terrorize in bed
Tired of sterilized poetry
Where love’s a sweet mystery
Passion’s power is hush hush
Euphemisms used too much
Where people do not care
Their souls’ desires to bare
So afraid of being real
Or allowing hearts to feel
I’m tired of sterilized poetry
That shows the hero’s glory
Ignores the losers who bleed
And the hungry ones in need
That pretends life is alright
And there is no endless night
That’s perfumed with flowers fair
Not the stench of evil’s lair
I’m tired of sterilized poetry
A fairytale like story
What of the blood, sweat and tears
And the tales of wasted years
Betrayal sealed with a kiss
Everything good gone amiss
I’m tired of sterilized poetry
There’s more of what’s meant to be
Let poems speak of real life
Highlight agony and strife
Shades of sexuality
Degrees of conformity
Speak of you and speak of me
The thirst for eternity.
Eileen Manassian Ghali