Long Gloating Poems
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I hear voices.
That leaves two choices
either I'm hearing what's real
or my brain needs to heal.
I don't hear the voices outside
I don't hear them when I take a ride
I hear them when I try to sleep
as if gremlins behind my wall will creep.
The words are sometimes clear
Most often its just the tone I hear
A tone of gloating, dominance too
They know there's nothing I can do.
A drug floated to my frame from the roof
locked onto receptors, a cascade without proof.
I can't tell the cops, they'd send me to an asylum
The shrinks wouldn't believe, I know, I tried them.
One night, I protested the drugs were not FDA approved
Up above, something creaked, something moved.
A woman's voice said "who cares?"
So unexpected, I was taken unawares.
I've been pumped with drugs a very long time
can't convince the FBI of a new type of crime.
Bad guys can get in your house, then drug you
without outside help, what could anyone do?
I bought a scope, inserted it behind a wall
The space was too dark, saw nothing at all
Couldn't enlarge the hole, due to pipes, wires too
I couldn't pinpoint the source, not enough of a clue.
You might ask, if these drugs seep
how they change your body, so you want to weep
Some amplify your urge to reproduce
Drugs to control and can always tighten the noose.
They can wake you up each time you drift to sleep
So petty, so nasty, a moral dive so steep
They can damage your brain, damage your heart
Nobody comprehends why you're falling apart.
Suppose this is crazy, as the professionals "know."
It raises a specter, a scenario.
What if medical knowledge can be used to hurt, control
While disbelief hampers, makes the police AWOL.
I believe I'm drawing a curtain back
You can look or decide it's a schizophrenia attack.
You stand here in front of me
Friend of mine I'm not impressed you see!
You talk as though they knew before
About the way you'd treat them - so raw
You stand in front of me
Say these words to me
No respect given at all to them
You use and abuse - I can't comprehend?
Why you are what you are to them?
Friend of mine you are no more
I can't stand by this anymore!
Your gloating arrogance I must deplore
Don't come here no more
Show some respect you pathetic fool
You think that you're it, you think you're so cool?
The tears they cry over you?
You enjoy breaking hearts
Making women feel the fools!
Right now I can't stand the sight of you.
Papa's condemnation of prejudice...
and subsequent grim statistic one
(among millions, or more)
tragedy with feted kiss
Yarraka Bayles darling son
hoop fully experiences bliss,
yet more vehement rage
against machinations (think
with little effort cruel humans)
trumpets, tools, thrives...
wreaking psychological havoc -
case in point yours truly
wrenched, screwed, and hammered
psyche permanently amiss.
Despite outpouring drummed,
plumbed, and summoned thru
worldwide webbed support,
whereby global netizen (regarding
crowded house village people)
forced to apprise
execrable endemic damnation crisis,
nonetheless, I lament with inconsolable cries,
(methinks linkedin exacerbated
racist, misogynistic, bigoted...
commander in chief doth demonize)
devastatingly loathsome nasty meanness
viciousness super powers must exorcise
immediate mandates necessitate
more than $140,000
courtesy GoFundMe page,
plus good humor guise
Brad Williams (good fellow
celebrity little person)
raised commendable effort implies
Quaden Bayles overnight
social media sensational rise
to send aforementioned lad (din)
upon magic carpet ride,
cuz bullies of all sizes
did relentlessly terrorize.
Since time immemorial, ill legal
pestilential, tyrannical blight,
whereby quintessential, overpowering
maniacal kickass delight
gushed adrenaline spurring victim(s)
to fight or take flight
impossible mission to escape hatred,
no matter ascending topmost height
stairway to heaven no guarantee knight
in shining armor to thwart might
against painful, (pit charred),
promulgated pugnacious plight
aboriginal boomerang promises harbinger,
whereby unbearable insufferable agony
will beget suicide, and/or violent behavior,
which haint right,
no boy birthed with Achondroplasia
rails lame excuse for beasts to subject
with atrocious, ferocious,
hellacious, malicious... mercilessness
comeuppance for venal wickness
will curse devilish fiendishly
gloating hooligans if not tonight...
what goes around comes around...
good riddance I write!
no doubt sympathetic poured in exceeding a ton
sans the reverberations from the supposed terroristic act doth stun
although neither a native bostonian son nor one who opts to run
my track record racks up with any manner of pun
yet only tears for deadly explosions
and incalculable loss of limb it less life barring none
when cataclysmic dynamic explosions occurred around 3:00 p.m. on mon
day april 15th, 2013
with inexplicable psychic
piercing pain punctured as with countless gun
near bunker hill where american revolution
bred battles for freedom bought
brandished weapons
from colonial americans feverish cry for independence caught
with blood, sweat and tears of lexington and concord fought
with nada one justifiable reason and now motive sought
but...when perpetrator identified justice will be taught
adhering the state motto
"By the sword we seek peace, but peace only under liberty"
for religious or those of secular beliefs
whose lives rent asunder with grievous heartbreak wrought
despite the race, religion or creed
of those mortally hurt and/or killed, i feel such heinous deed
only the mindset of a live googly eyed yahoo doth feed
with relish the innocent lives forever he/she now gloating with glee
as a miser with greed
at what august athletes (suffering les miserable’s) lack any wherewithal to heed
for who could foresee where a twisted mind or two would lead
ambitious disciplined bodies would so suddenly need
triage with others on the sidelines to plead
for desperate intervention with utmost speed
heard by ordinary folk now cast as heroes
bursting forth like a hardy weed.
perhaps i should have looked away
my mind takes me back to the general store
of black liquorish sticks red cobble stone walk ways
the reading of immortal poems as william mason
sounds off hot off the press the negroe spirit soar
something that only vachel lindsay could ever explore
while the birth of confusion balances over land and sea
perhaps i should have looked away as your scaly form
crawled over my flesh the flame flickered
the lantern fell your gloating pout captured me
in your haste in your lure daintily aimously mine eyes
leadeth me through hidden trenches a cold damp stynch
of blood soaked wood weeping moss throughout
the musty bayous perhaps i should have looked away
while white sheets were being draped startling
my trembling wide knees stifled my embrace
as i clung to my father's fist lincolns hat tumbles
kennedy's heart rumbles
while my pappy's blood smeared over france
staining britains arches flowing throughout
the niles of jordan pouring into pakistani borders
perhaps i should have looked away
while staring into my blind grandmother's
faithful gaze as her hands clapped the sound
of many men while hatred spread a contagious
outbreak silencing syria corrupting mankind
perhaps i should have looked away my mind captured
followed by this ageless odorless soundless calm
liquifying malice greed and shame into a vile mist of envy
seeping through the pore's of green pastures contaminating
golden corn green giants purdue farms honey suckled plums
red delicious apples into rotten tomatoes tye dying tainted cotton
fields of hanging levi's perhaps i should have looked away then
when none not even one of us could see hear fear evil nor end
The tirade of the tyrant
Has subdued the trident
Gloating over the viceroy
It's the blood and sweat of
victory.
The subdued voice of defeat
Veiled in unapologetic defiance
Shedding secret tears of what could
have been?
What would have been in the hood
It's the defeat drenched in blood and
sweat.
The table is set for dinner,
Choice meats, mutton, chicken beef....
This is a parade of victory for the price
Of blood and sweat of the masses.
The meat is gorging on, the flesh is stuck between the teeth
A pain in the mouth, transversing the whole
polity
The bodies of the dead nationals crushed
A vivid reminder of the price of victory
Of shed blood and sweat.
(Written on the 15th April 2015, after the 2015 Nigerian Presidential elections)
Wild woman twirls her scythe with the power of the confident.
Mastery of underwater breathing aids her in her quest to fix the sea.
Scent of lilacs wafts off her.
I marvel that she has no idea she is attractive.
She is more humble than most beautiful can be.
Dolphins scatter, because we have tried to play with her,
But she does not play.
She is serious about getting the garbage out of the sea.
It is her day and night quest.
I have watched her fight many battles for the rest of us.
She does not tire.
Seems to have energy until each battle is won.
Where she goes to recuperate is unknown.
It is her! The sharks whisper.
For even the man eating of their kind are afraid.
Wild Woman has been in full tilt serious mode all of the time,
since she was a toddler goddess child.
I blame her grandparents who raised her, and never let her be carefree.
She has never had a day of laughing or playing.
Wild woman has sensed something.
I watch her pause. She marches toward a large gray blob in the ocean.
Whether it be man or beast,
she is nothing but courageous in her determined sway.
The champion of sea corals, sirens, whales, and variety of sea life.
She feels every aspect of the sea concerns her.
She protects us in every way.
It will be a lucky god who takes this superior sea goddess for his wife.
Although she is independent and will be all right if she stayed single.
Something I cannot say about most sea goddesses.
The sirens would probably disagree.
They are often gloating about their wiles in catching their mermen.
Due to her self-confidence and determination,
Wild Woman would do okay whether single or alone.
I can vouch for her. But as a dolphin, I do wish she would learn to play.
Can you believe it, indicted again,
By a bunch of pure zealots, callous grey men,
Political hacks given the task,
To take down the Don and in the limelight then bask.
Find any cause, invent a good ruse,
Just make it stick, all tricks good to use.
But boxes of stuff, how low can they get,
Papers with socks stacked in the shower, some wet,
All safely collected in my place at the beach,
Easy to find, easy to reach.
Just mere mementos of my time as the Boss,
Not something I’d part with or wantonly toss.
Now they accuse me under some act,
With great media fanfare like milk to a cat,
Gloating, backslapping each other in turn,
Pouring on fuel, hoping I burn.
Little sick people don't they recall
They tried this before and I embarrassed them all.
To be top of news is clearly my ace,
Providing the fame and my favorite space,
For me to then weave my own brand of spin
And just like last time, that got me straight in.
But if this turn they're sure I've been finally licked,
They won't even feel how hard they've been kicked.
They made a horror flick
He was weak or he was sick
They chose him as the star
He can run, but won't get far
They created a wall compartment
Inside his small apartment
They installed cameras there
Reality show, unwanted, but they didn't care.
(bridge)
He felt ill, he began to ail
No idea of the hand pushing down the scale
Romance and work dove down the drain
They laughed and gloated at his pain.
(Chorus)
It’s a horror flick, but the plot is real,
They aren't like us in the way they feel.
He’s the star they chose, but the plot is sick,
Living and dying in their horror flick.
He heard them speak, felt nerve gas in his room
His apartment was a secret tomb.
He knew too much, but the cops would not believe
And he could not save others, for them we grieve.
So, learn the lesson be an owl:
Around us ghouls are on the prowl
They pass as normal, but empathy lacks
And in normal life, there are hidden attacks.
It could happen to you too
Bewildered by all the bad things that accrue
A life derailed, no suspicion why
When the only exit seems the choice to die.
Each galling ache with steadied prayer dispel.
Let that bland hour bleak with chilling thought
Glow with indelible joys of a yet hoping heart,
And knit such merry smiles as cute angels got.
Hold onto that time-tested unswerving dream
That martyrs' sorrows will just retribution find,
That her sweat and blood and echoed scream,
Shall not unavenged in giddied labyrinths wind.
Often hit by a gloating stare and its acid taints,
Hum within a great carol by famed fallen saints.
In your mean travails attended with dizzying pains,
Trust the holy writ that man’s sorrowing soul trains.
Even as false signs dupe that relief roams far,
May your woe-stoutened faith persist unshorn.
If the only light offs into the lowest horizon-line,
Remember the darkest hour is closest to dawn.
Soon shall the mourning soul’s sobbings cease,
For deepest angst precedes profoundest peace.