Long Insidious Poems
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Keep paying your dues when liberalism
packets profits from your sweat;
and don't mutter a disapproval word...
when your stomach growls for an altruism
that enriches the lives of the smart,
while yours is not considered sacred.
The horrifying screams
that were suddenly halted
by an exhaled breath are fragments
of all hope and the beginning of all strife;
they remain inside and make
your agonizing soul bleed:
don't think of possible revenge...
while smelling the stench of the blood.
It's the ultimate self-sacrifice
preventing the horrendous carnage
of thousands who cling to life,
barely making their ends meet,
just picking up their breadcrumbs
and continue the squalid living and ache
for the abundance promised
by a liar who only sought gold.
Is it possible to avoid cruel glances and hatred feelings,
not hear threats that disquiet a tranquil life
meant to be lived by all who seek happiness,
not disharmony, conflict, or insidious rife?
Is it human to break hearts and rejoice
over their grievances caused by malicious deeds?
Mend yourself for the actions that brought ambivalent moods
of distrust, why hurt others and not be punished by the same token?
Don't keep spinning your wheel...it will stop and bring you down!
The horrifying screams that were suddenly halted
by an exhaled breath in distress have retained
their fret to encounter more frightful images that prolong
their play of mischievousness among enlarging shadows,
no powerful light will make them vanish into nothingness:
there's no redemption without realizing the gravity of wrong.
instead of crunchy bread.
Silent It Kills
In the quiet corners of your heart, pain took root.
He, the architect of hurt, wove his cruelty,
thread by thread, into your fragile tapestry.
And you? You bore it silently,
a secret locked away, a whispered plea.
No cries for help escaped your lips
they remained sealed, like ancient scrolls.
You believed in change, in redemption
a flicker of hope that danced on the edge of despair.
But the silent Specter had other plans.
It crept, insidious, through your days
a shadow staining sunsets, blunting laughter.
Time slipped through your fingers like sand,
and you never tasted the sweetness of mirth.
Instead, you nurtured a monster,
shielding it with fragile excuses.
And now, the coffin awaits a final embrace.
Your laughter, a forgotten melody,
echoes only in the hollows of memory.
Did you ever imagine it would end this way?
Perhaps not. But silence, my friend, is a relentless foe.
So let me whisper this truth
Monsters thrive in darkness, fed by silence.
But you, you deserved light, love, and life.
May your story be a lesson
Speak. Shout. Break the silence.
For in your voice lies the power to save not only yourself
but others who tread the same treacherous path.
Rest now, brave soul,
and may your silence find peace
Insidious, insipid, id-inebriated imbeciles
incite impetus into inevitable immolation.
Bombast, bluster and bluff: blunt batons of barbarian bullies;
backwards behaviour blackballs baronial breed's burdens and bonds.
Weasely, willy-waving warmongers wage wanton war of words
without wit, wisdom or worldliness, whilst we weakly watch and wait.
Regrettable, repugnant reprobates ravage refined realms with
reprehensible rapier-rattling and rancid rhetoric.
Clash of corrupt, contemptible cutthroats carves calamity 'cross
continents and culminates in catastrophic conflagration.
Pointless predatory and political power-plays pale as
pirouetting pariahic pyres patently a pyrrhic prize.
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(16 syllables on every line, checked with howmanysyllables.com)
14 October 2017
Armies gathered going to war,
the Devil rises we're not safe anymore.
The rapture came we were left behind.
No way to escape our sins made us blind.
All of our flesh will be stripped from our bone!
God cannot help us we face this alone
We didn't believe Jesus, we're headed to Hell.
We trusted in a dark angel, from heaven who fell.
His kingdom insidious, filled with pleasure we chose.
Now replaced with pain and sulphur in our nose.
We throw ourselves from mountain tops, still we don't die.
Stung by strange demons, our insides start to fry
Unimaginable pain in the end all nations bow.
The King arrives on the clouds, the future is now.
A beautiful city, comes down from the sky.
We look on in amazement, as we ask ourselves why?
An amazing promise, the heavenly father has kept.
To the lake of fire, the rest of us sinners are swept.
Claustrophobic, saturated white walls constrict,
sucking the oxygen from every molecule of deprived blood.
Hypoxic cells circulate through an increasingly unstable body,
whilst rivulets of sweat flow from clammy palms.
Insomniac reality blurs with insidious shadows,
dancing upon the ceiling.
Naive faith keeps insanity just at bay,
but with each sunrise, hope is chipped away.
How much longer can a soul survive without respite
before it splits open—
spilling into the realms of delicious delusion?
Counting spots of dust in sunlight streams
now becomes the norm.
Two hundred yesterday—
is that two hundred and four today?
Slowly losing grip,
twisted nursery rhymes play out in a fracturing mind:
One, two, no one is going to save you.
Three, four, get ready for the relentless gore.
Five, six, they will play with your bones like sticks.
Seven, eight, for this occasion you better not be late.
Nine, ten, you are now in their sadistic den.
Praying for sleep, it never comes,
as reality dissolves
and this phantasmagorical nightmare commences.
1G, 2G, 3G, 4!
Keep the wheel spinning
We have to have more, more, more!
GENERATIONS, GENERATIONS, give us more, I say
How about 5?
This is what we need: fast, faster, fastest
Ooooh! Now we are alive!
More ready access for swift swiping
One through four were great but 5 is living
Dead to the incontestable reality
Just an illusion, all this fancy glossed over technology
Old and watered down, just mere reflections of Ancient Kemet
Now, what is all the hoopla for when health is compromised and
COVID-19 is in it?
Birds and bees sucker punched and disoriented with 3 and 4
Now, man is practicing social distancing because of ignorance and a want—what an evil conjuring like never before
MADNESS, MADNESS spinning all around
From China to Italy and America, no tissue, Lysol or Doritos can be found
STOP! Unplug from this insidious darkness
AWAKEN! Plug into sweet luminousness
What is this god of mine?
That I’ve constructed to reveal,
My brimming hopes and my real glances,
My bright intentions and all my farces,
For him to befriend me in prances.
This imaginary friend beckons me to procure,
Stability for my everyday goings on,
And so he can’t be a preexistent god,
But only one human’s invention,
A product of many post societies,
And so a mirror of contemporary adulation.
I ask him about my cousins,
And what i should weekly buy,
At the supermarket of much choice,
Asking him to soothe my voice.
But pure action does not need questioned,
The daily is your business,
Because we well with good intentions,
Not voids of the insidious.
I talk to him, or her, each day,
To connect with my future destiny,
Dismissing today’s science and research,
Into tomorrow’s ailment i suffer from silently.
Only, the finger of god never occurred,
But apparently nothing existed,
To build life, space and minerals,
To create sex and make intelligence,
And negotiate the detested.
I saw your cowardice hand time and time again
But I studied non-observance in an attempt to mask the pain
Why? Why? This was the preeminent question
Bafflement met by discernment, now overwhelming frustration
Throw and hide, throw and hide, Now, what an insidious plot
To think I'm the ineffectual kind, ooh, I think not
Only when the light is too bright does one need shade
Oh lucky you, you have a pair that's homemade
My silence was sadly mistaken for weakness
What you failed to see or comprehend was quiet strength guided as meekness
A beaming source of light
Walking on purpose and leaving the night
Sweetly into the days, I go
Far, far away from frenemies and foes
Onward to my beautiful, WHY
I'm so excited, I can't tell a lie
But now, I digress from all this child's play
I got big fish to fry, so I'll be on my way
It’s a hard, hard thing to conceal
When you live in fear of ‘the real’
A terrible thing is to feel
When you’re a wheel within a wheel
I look in your bright blue eyes
For a moment, I’m tantalized
The pupil darts back into grey
Well what is the shade of today
Under the same old sun
The Same meaning for everyone
But there was a time when it wasn’t
The center of everything
When there were circles up in Heaven,
We were frozen by them forever
Depart from the insidious “Never”
Control our own flow together
or just vermin underneath weather
Let me taste of this world
Its sweet delights, I must unfurl
Tantalus of Twenty-nineteen
Break this clockwork machine
Back in the Middle Ages,
The days were unbreakable cages
An eternity of rigid ruin
Stone walls and unthinkable doom
Thanks for these changes,
Heraclitus
Thanks for bestowing
a window inside us
Hattie L. Rogers
1844 – 1917
The playing cards of life are a stacked deck.
As soon as you begin to breathe
You begin to die and disintegrate.
All of the winners in life
Eventually end up the losers.
You enter this Big House with nothing.
Nothing but a cracked soul, a cursed heart
And that stacked deck of crooked playing cards.
Your destiny, my friends, lies in the dust.
So I figured early on, like King Solomon,
That there is no use; it is all futile and hopeless at best.
When I came to this sad realization
About life on this staggering planet,
I decided the only worthwhile meaning in living
Is in finding true happiness,
Even in the midst of hopeless despair.
Even in the midst of this mocking gaping graveyard
That lusts for flesh and blood
Like Odysseus’ giant with the one eye
Like a carnivorous Scylla, hiding high up in its dark perch,
Up there in the insidious shadows,
Awaiting another human meal at noontide.
So, what happiness did I find in my 73 years?
Years that seemed to fly by like a hummingbird in April.
I found ineffable joy
In the phenomenal nativity of my twin boys.
Found indescribable ecstasy
In the tender embrace of my loving husband,
Found incomparable elation
In the survival of my children and grandchildren.
Living descendants, you are always welcome to loiter at my grave.
Bring a pack of cards though.
I am always up for a new ante.