Long Monstrosities Poems
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BEING HUMAN BEINGS
Some people are evil.
Maliciously.
Some people create drama. Monstrosities..
Some people have ulterior motives. Intentionally.
Some people have remorse.
An apology.
Some people have profound words. Poetically.
Some people are tree huggers.
Organically.
Some people have no common sense. Stupidity.
Some people are real religious.
Spiritually.
Some people are inmature.
Mentalities.
Some people die in crashes.
Fatalities.
Some people are ignorant.
Their just to blind to see.
Some people have a sixth sense.
Let's call it telepathically.
Some people feel sorrow for others.
Some would call that Sympathy.
But when people understand sorrow for others.
It becomes empathy.
Some people are real chill. We'll say Copacetically.
Some people are plain fake. AKA...Artificially.
Some people are solid.
Its called Solidarity.
Some people are single.
Its called singularity.
Some people take their last breath.
They are put in a cemetary.
Some people save their breath and never speak.
Monastery.
Some people are tone deaf.
They have No melody.
Some people dress real risque.
In other words quite provocatively.
Some people rise above the rest. That's what i call Quintessentially.
BUT......ALL.... PEOPLE....
Should love.
Unconditionally.
Demonstrate peace.
Peacefully.
Work.
Systematically.
Live.
Longevity.
Laugh.
Uncontrollably.
Respect others.
Diplomatically.
Throw away the hate.
Practice racial equality.
If We do all those things,
then the world we live in,
could be in,
perfect harmony.
hey math tutor, I need help.
kids with questions - five at once!
multitasking, aging, geezer.
too much, too much, who needs help?
tasks need doing, people are waiting.
computers, phones, even TVs
are mind-boggling electro-monstrosities
gotta be there, gonna be late
car breaks down again, why now?
did I hurt her feelings or maybe his?
what is she expecting, anyway, and when?
I must improve my mindreading.
to prove myself I must work harder -
give a hundred ten percent
where am I gonna get that extra ten?
lose some sleep? borrow some money?
hey, buddy back off, that ain't funny.
hey mister, watch your step.
I'm a walking time bomb razor
time for me to go ballistic.
maybe I just got pushed too far.
whoa - time out.
kids got 18 years to learn.
they will be ok.
which of those tasks need doing?
which of those things can wait?
I think the world still spins without me.
my friends know i'm well intentioned
things will work out - it's ok.
I don't have to prove myself.
hey, buddy, nice to see you.
it sure is a beautiful day.
Become formless, like the wind in-between the branches that form a tree.
Where no two patterns are alike to becoming completely free.
Learn the language of human, where they can't instill their projections onto thee.
Where they are second guessing if they can try to control or manipulate he or she.
Become formless, like the waves in water in the sea.
Where no two waves are the same, like lines in ice when water starts to freeze.
Study the patterns of life and all of its entirety.
It may get lonely at times but that is why they invented diaries.
Become formless, like a flock of birds flying in a straight line, free-for-all or horizontally.
To get through this thing called life, with its certain beauties and everlasting monstrosities.
So easily pleased,
All they ask is a little space,
To kick or throw a ball.
Is that too much to ask
When we grant space for liquor stores by the score,
And places to gamble money that should pay for the ball.
Is it right that adults get a choice of golf courses
Even in the city.
And malls get first call on our green spaces
Yet we don't seem to object when they get to share the street
with the cars.
Even when space is saved to kick or throw the ball,
They find that they are too small,
And don't get called onto the pitch.
It used to be that a playground could be used to kick the ball at a pinch.
Now sadly the space is filled with monstrosities of every shape and size,
That preclude the use of a ball,
All to make a profit for people who have a product to sell.
Have they not suffered enough at daycare
Where space to kick the ball is mostly a dream.
And when they get home with no back yard to call their own
How can we say we pander to their needs
Do they ask too much for a little space to kick or throw the ball,
Or should we just accept that down the track they will be not fit enough
To enjoy any space we care to provide.
i took them in
amongst a pile of other glittering monstrosities
the low-pitched liquid consonants
behind the counter thanked me
and i ran for the doors
really went for it
a year went by and they were there
next to Auden and Pam Ayres
Berryman & Betjeman just down the road
what madness i thought on the way home
and two months later i was in bed, in the dark
listening to the large repertory of Carmen
its immortality is assured by the deft harmonies
and perfectly judged orchestration
like my collections in the charity shop
covered in dust
and high levels of vehicular dredge microwaves
waiting for the apocalypse
This generic creek king mortal mwm
(who generally river ears the bay sea gully feels ire ate
asper propensity plundering positive human qualities
tested to the max), bait
ting virtue with rapacious opprobrious
malicious lugubriousness, and hatred create
head via the violent wickedness yawping zealously
oceans of tears that in un date
every nook and cranny of society, wrenching,
whip-sawing, and hammering extirpate
ting, the delicate nuances that anthropological fate
bequeathed to *****sapiens
species and genus undermining great
ness brought forth by artistic, democratic,
and graphic accomplishments with HATE
diluting the virtuous unification treatises
agonizingly tried to insulate
basic rights, whence erosion, corrosion,
and abrasion with goliath gangrenous monstrosities of late
subtract at frightful pace, the very survival of mankind and doth mate
absolute evil that percolates into the body electric,
where bloody fiendish genies prosper upending immunity
fostering broods that deign devious strategies in Nate
to destroy any salient sliver via BuzzFeed ding fifty shades of a gray pate
outwitting tentative grasp upon survival
barely fending off lashing off faux kings who e quate
might with right, and bring out the big guns
which blitzkrieg magazines fire at greased lightening speed rate
this battle whereby competing credos, ethos,
and grand Poobah grinds by force state
mints that all most obey lest Das Capital life will not tolerate
nasty, short and brutish torture engendering wailing ululate
diminish in a vain attempt to escape the maws of madness
where the grim reaper doth patiently wait.
Threads trembling
the pulse of a dying star.
Silver veins stretched thin
the twin sparks of an oncoming car!
Fragile as a lie whispered at midnight
the air crackles stillness
a map of hunger, waiting…
Of beauty so precise it bleeds
eyes like black shadows
hollow reflection sparkles in the dark.
In rhythms & rage
make silence scream, step!
Into dances between
what is & is not a symphony
composed of fear and insanity.
Bodies twitch, shadows
ripple somewhere.
A soul quivers in fire
Its wings caught the darkest caress.
Of a perfect trap, a final embrace
the web glistens in morning's breath
dew-like tears that forgot their treason.
A crystal grave, beauty sleeps
in the jaws of all that feeds
something waits, unheard.
Painting the dark, designs unformed
creating order from the chaos!
Of things delicate monstrosities
intricate atrocities!
Understand that beauty lies
in the stillness of horror
in the perfection of prey.
Whispers of the night across the air
a silent orchestra conducting shadows
spinning gossamer glass shards.
Fragile, dangerous, beautiful a map of hunger
catches the sliver of moonlight.
Into a constellation, broken dreams
inhaling the mist of dying stars
exhaling the sigh of one's clipped wings.
Silence in screams, their eyes glinting
black diamonds glisteninG the thrill of the inevitable.
But there is beauty in horror
the violence of creation destruction so tender.
How the light flares within the darkness
a passing of a car
a tapestry is woven
in the pulse of a dying star.
I‘m a pigeon
Free in flight
Circling blue skies up above
Somewhere in the world
Makes no difference to me
Taking no particular pride
Whether I hover over Paris
Rainforest of Brazil
Sunset at the Eiffel Tower
Las Vegas or Bombay
I find beauty everywhere I go
Not particularly vain or ambitious
I love my freedom
I can’t be bought
The open skies are
Where I roam
Be they over works of art
Or mundane monstrosities
I hardly notice manmade wonders
I’m happiest when
On a sunny day
I land on a picnic table
Near some busy chipwagon
AP: 2nd place 2022
Submitted on April 14, 2020 for contest STRAND NO.730 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 2ND
Thong Thing Is Wrong
Thong thing is wrong
Cellulite women rolled on folds of flesh
Over waves and seas that crest
What are those monstrosities
Whales washed up on beaches
Thin strings not quite bikinis hide nothing
Obese creatures covered by mounds of pounds
Blot out the sun uncomfortably
As the fat eat Twinkies, dream of being Twiggy
Oh Doris please don't put on weight
Put on your tent. Save us from nightmares in the day
Tides move when you step in the water
Displace the natural order
Fish run from you. Forget how to swim
Naked can be scary by the sea
What is that giant thing standing in the sand
Dressed in almost nothing, held together by a string
What waddles down the shore
Thinking a black cloth makes one thin
Oh this fashion does not make for happy
Dreams and illusions bury the thighs in lies
Under the sun filling up horizons sky
Surprise! Eyes bleed at this frightening sight
Makes old and young cry. No place to hide
Ocean sojourns once were fun
Watching bikini clad women run
Nudity is meant for others more young
Eye candy, shapely, sexy and thin to begin with
Weight escaping on all sides exposed
Pretending to be pretty and thin is quite the trick
Girls come in all shapes and sizes
Some have been known to raise the tides
In disguise, hiding behind a smile exposes it
The thong thing is wrong
Please make it stop. Make it quit
A Monotetra
Spirits arise into moonlight,
bats flit in blue twilight,
broomstick riders soar in flight,
upon this night, upon this night.
The tiny goblins, ghosts out there,
collecting candy without care,
hearts of gentility, they bare,
costumes they wear, costumes they wear.
Etheric ghosts will haunt the land,
zombie’s reach from dirt and sand,
a hoot owl, on a tree branch lands,
making demands, making demands.
Stories told of things that creep,
into nightmares, as we sleep,
oozing monstrosities from the deep,
souls to be reaped, souls to be reaped.
From stygian depths and slime arise,
slithering specters in disguise,
creatures oblivious to our cries,
a devils spies, a devils spies.
Among these dark imaginings,
more pleasant beings can be seen,
the light outshines the darkness’s sheen,
on Halloween, on Halloween.
For fear is just conditioning,
we’re taught to fear what is unseen,
things we face within our dreams,
such peace will bring, such peace will bring.
Yet we relive each year without a miss,
the fears down in our unconsciousness,
adrenaline rushes bring such bliss,
dark reminisced, dark reminisced.