Long Obnoxiously Poems
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Joy to the world! Vengeance will take its toll soon! Be aware!! Negativity has arrived at the front door, knocking obnoxiously! Don’t answer it or you’ll be inviting bad company full of bad luck and demonic zeal…illuminating with greed and selfish ambitions! Don’t try to get her attention or she’ll erupt like a violent, vicious volcano. . . . . . .
Oh, wait! Are you joking? Here comes that pessimistic, sadistic, rage-indulging woman again, watching that TV 24/7 with cruel envy, shattering the bones of the innocent…observing the wickedness of the world with malice painted in her brownie-like and plum-purple eyes – avarice growing in her like cancer, inflicting pain and depression upon others without a trace of guilt – that ignorant WITCH! That insidious fallen angel, wishing upon remorse and morbid luck on others and doing it tactlessly – she has no heart…her heart’s tainted with malevolent, ill will determination and makes her sister, hope, weep in vain – she watches her sorrow just like she gazes at a television screen, thrilled by fantasies of good and evil… love and hate… ice and fire… bliss and grief… the living and dead… etc. – GOOD GRIEF!
Yep – a typical witch she is – casting evil spells on people with the way she presents herself to others and how she starts riots and quarrels, dragging people on her level and putting them under a bittersweet, wretched spell! She’s infuriated and will take revenge in her hands…joy to the world!
(Ch.2 of the series)
Ice say... water we dew wing to planet Earth?
Tis appalling *****sapiens legacy,
the future survival of species can ill afford
hence we must not dodge and dart away,
but heed urgent call to arms decree fiat,
lest vast gamut of flora and fauna
deprived their rightful respect
courtesy ewe buick wit us ram
me bipedal hominids wresting
driver's seat and steering fate
all species unfairly doomed
analogous to horse and buggy
only far worse, whereat naked ape
that nasty short tempered and brutish
beast finagled, hijacked, besotted,
usurped... sacred covenant taurus
once illustrious precious habitats
escorted to shreds
innocent plants and animals, we
signalled anonymous poetic mouthpiece,
cuz world wide webbed tapestry
irreparably tattered, thus swiftly tailored
measures beg critters to needle
arrogantly depraved, galling humans
violating, tormenting, ruining...
basket of deplorables mankind
violently, obnoxiously, indiscriminately...
destroying carte blanche - absolute
zero guilt whittling, vaporizing,
uglifying, trampling, slashing, razing,
quashing, paving, oppressing,
eradicating, devaluing, burning...
once upon a time edenic oblate spheroid
now crowded house overpopulated
teeming billions wantonly annihilate
at expense of avast extinction
to sustain global industrialization
kickstarting lamentable machinations
spindling, fondling, mutilating
permanently desecrating scarring
wreaking havoc rendering uber
terrestrial plain untenable
massacring, incapacitating Gaia,
she unable to shuck off yoked aggressive
lymphatic, metastatic, narcissistic...
asphyxiation, choking, eradication
biological diversity flummoxed
hounded, jackknifed, liquidated
promulgating me, no matter futile
effort to appeal against doom
fervent clemency against
effrontery, queasy temerity...
mercilessly rained down pell mell
upon inimitable mother nature
unspeakable, unpardonable, unforgivable...
despicable, horrible, ineradicable... demise
affecting every living organism.
March 17 Scripture Meditations Based on 2Kings 1-5
Key Verse – 2Kings 2:3 And the sons of the prophets that were at Bethel came forth to Elisha, and said unto him, Knowest thou that the LORD will take away thy master from thy head to day? And he said, Yea, I know it; hold ye your peace.
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR TAKING ME AWAY TOWARD YOU
Thank You for taking me away toward You from what You forbid
Against sinfulness, obnoxiously gruesome of effects that are morbid
So that I can forsake wickedness that’s sordid
By Your holiness where You bid me that’s biblically candid.
Thank You for taking me away toward You from what You don’t support
Against falsities, deceitfully bringing evil report
So that I can bear fruit with Your favor’s comfort
By Your grace where You bless me in Your provision-fort.
Thank You for taking me away toward You from what You hate
Against idolatry, fatally alluring as a satanic bait
So that I can stand with conviction for Your mandate
By Your love where You pull me inside Your fellowship’s gate.
Thank You for taking me away toward You from what You don’t approve
Against hypocrisy, obviously hiding in meekness’ cloak You disapprove
So that I can repent sincerely with my earnestness to prove
By Your wisdom where You check me as my bad motives You reprove.
Thank You for taking me away toward You from what You defy
Against rebellion, perilously instigating my disobedience to intensify
So that I can follow Your instructions and Your name glorify
By Your power where You place me to testify.
Thank You for taking me away toward You from what You don’t enforce
Against slothfulness, definitely leaving me fruitless in my spiritual course
So that I can work hard as faithful stewardship You endorse
By Your guidance where You lead upon Your strength’s source.
March 17, 2022
Allow my pen to expose mind’s folly
in the meantime, silly poetically
as I narrate of fictitious Xilly
whose pastime is cheering hilariously
while pondering meditatively
on natural phenomenon deeply
striving to explain them celestially
respecting facts scientifically
defying not Scriptures she trusts dearly
by her perspective, expressed wholesomely.
She claims that angels play bowling gaily
when thunders burst, roaring boisterously…
Oh, for lightnings that blaze tremendously
saints are having pictorial candidly…
See the sky as spacious canvas clearly
spirits present their sketches abstractly…
As rainbows reappear radiantly
color wheel spells R O Y G B I V completely…
Amidst rains that are falling ceaselessly
heaven’s gardens are watered lavishly…
On meteor showers beheld wondrously
cherub and seraph broke stars playfully…
Fret not for eclipse momentarily
since moon and sun meet on-line actually…
Now, check this info she’s shared currently
dealing with climate change accordingly…
Volcanoes do erupt frantically
spewing sulfuric ash obnoxiously…
Such awful smell comes from farts in hell’s belly
thus, masks and face shields must be worn daily…
Xilly’s news is trending contagiously
though fake, its humour ripples truthfully.
*Proverbs 15:21 Folly is joy to him that is destitute of wisdom: but a man of understanding walketh uprightly.
September 25, 2021
10th place, "Fart-tastic" Silly Poem Writing Premier Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on 9/27/2021.
Listen up lowlife, I make greatness look trite,
Arrogance so far below me, I’m way out of sight,
The whole world’s something, stuck to my shoe,
Never wear mainstream, only designer brand new.
Could not care less, weather you live or die
Be sure your funeral cortège stops, as I pass by,
Don’t even look at me, gaze upon the ground,
Better not breathe same air, when I’m around.
Completely flawless, no mirror can reflect me,
Chosen by myself, to judge everyone that I see,
When speaking put polished marbles in my mouth,
Step outside our mansion, everything goes south.
Family’s so privileged, only private tutors we seek,
When at the opera, have our own personal suite,
Only best Moët Chandon, passes through my lips,
No matter how good the service, I never give tips.
Yes obnoxiously happy, confident I’ll never die,
So just go and wallow, but find your own pigsty,
I’m a total master class, in unbridled snobbery,
Made my billions, defrauding the IRS in robbery.
By
David Kavanagh
If you hear the sound of rat-tat-a-tat
It's not a woodpecker or a chattering cat
Tis George F. Latulence an aristocrat
Playing ping pong with his gold crested bat.
A competitor and show-off he deems to be
Dresses each day in his noble finery
Pantaloons his normal fancy day wear
His ancestry, finery, regalia, style flair.
He never shares glory or plays with a partner
Winning trophies for himself, what he is after
Agile and swift, rarely points he would miss
The downside came, when you did get that whiff.
To gain advantage, a parp he would do
Clenching bum cheeks, in case he followed through
High class energy foods for his body to sustain
But his parping was every one else's nose bane.
George on first serve, parped, as he hit the ball hard
Swiftly attacking, George butt did bombard
In that spilt second threw off his opponent
Point gain to George, aided by his flatulent moment.
Silent and deadly they all came out fast
Odourous gas from George nuclear fueled ar$e
If one made a noise he'd give a loud grunt
That was his bum burping cover up stunt.
Knew there was trouble when audiences pulled faces
Some even fainted, brave stayed in their seat places
George didn't care, just wanted top podium status
His methods and thinking obnoxiously atrocious.
Audience faces were different shades of green
People were swaying, some even vomiting.
He called it his ping pong, parp-crafty-art farts
Next point to win, final round about to start.
The ball went to and fro like a speeding fast bullet
George, with match point, he was about to secure it
Hitting an ace, made a spark, that caused a boom blast
Left the audience with mix feelings of relief and aghast.
Breaking news of his death headlines did broadcast
Even able to download from what's called a podcast
George F. Latulence died from a blast from his ar$e,
He blew up one too many, too dense and not sparse.
May The Gas Be With You Farts Part 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Written 07.10.21
An unexpected burst of energy
helped fashion a second poem he
ving up from deep within the key
per of Matthew Scott's ideas - nee
i.e. unexpectedly manifesting que
cull lee coalescing, buta not three
endeavors crafted since quota we
kind to exhaust passion before zee...
land revisited, when
a call for shot eye
guarantees, a dearth of ideas
will no longer fly
with plentitude, whereby
exertion from this guy
will necessitate to type
briskly before hie....
ah...whew...just when
I felt at a loss what to write...
bitta bing bitta bang
(optional chitty at no extra cost),
lo and behold ear splitting,
appalling sounds did in vite
until dusk hands clapped
over each ear tight
to muffle noise pollution spite
fully generated by
rambunctious youths,
who know no right
that gunning engines quite
obnoxious, and that conviction
edited (by me) tubby polite
buffer this chap hunkers
down for the night.
the following constitutes the e-man
soup pay wanton declaration
emphatically, independently,
and obnoxiously
transmitted thru ether
these loathsome roar of dirt bikes
punctuates the formerly quiet air
where local high school
teenage mutant ninja
male turtles blare
(an educated presumption)
at top notch threshold decibel
definitely inducing deafness,
which will soon be clear
to those motorheads
flooring accelerator scaring deer
and other sparse wildlife,
whose engines I hear
miles away, cuz this bard ****
got extreme (ear river rent)
hyper sensitivity to sound
perhaps linkedin
tummy predisposition,
could allow ma
Welcome to the circus
of discrimination-
where soft subtle glances
and fragrant
touches of femininity
are burnt in ashes,
through howling rays
from the sinister sun,
triggering wildfire
chaos,
conquering and controlling
roles of women;
endlessly shape-shifting
from predatory postures
of pretend protectors,
that twist and turn
tangled heartstrings
from a patriarchal pantomime
of their treacherous charade,
obnoxiously oppressing
obscured boundaries,
with their art of arrogance,
placing labels upon
our need for freedom
as sheer ignorance
of aliens aspiring for acceptance.
But what if there was
more to a flower,
than to be left-
dreamlessly
paralyzed in puddles
of poisoned petals?
Is there no wind
that can wash away
wounds of the world
engraved as a
secret symphony
of sorrow,
within sepia sepals?
Will storms carrying
songs of a
suppressed soul be
forever heard
as forced dreams?
Mimicking motionless mountains,
silently static, mistaken for
serenity,
whilst enchanting hills
draped in olive green silk
are confused as gilded
stars in worn novellas,
streaming rivulets of
emerald lakes,
where manuscripts
of tears are apprehended
as melodramatic melancholy.
Oblivious to the wilderness,
where words whirl as poetic
prophecies,
descending as
theatrical thunder,
striking upon abandoned
entities of earth, eclipsed with
fingerprints of
love lingering
liquid fears of
a female fighter,
rising above acrobatic
tyrants—
for maternal daffodils are lions,
glazed in an idle arias,
composing battles
using only words as weapons.
Notions Of Birds
Millions of birds fill in the yawn of morning
Most of them turn out to be blue or pink
The noisiest ones in the flock are wired electric
A census is not required at these events
The yellow light of day amplifies
Calls attention to loud sounds in color clarity
The sun mocks bad behavior of small creatures
Including flying ones gathered together wearing feathers
Trees stand by rocks to wonder in the grass
Why can't birds fly straight
White clouds move in slow motion
Come apart like cotton candy
Contemplate their own fate
Meditate on other things like quiet dawns
Something other than overpopulation
Of the obnoxiously loud bird nation
The junk drawer of my mind processes MOMENTO, like golden Ark Dulcimer, Cimbalom that shatters the font of unfinished sound, into pixels of mime, song bound, PUZZLE PIECE orchestrated by the filter of Time
In swirling depths of thoughts refined, sorted, assorted, twine.
The junk drawer of my mind resides, to be found again.
A hope chest realm where memories find their place, in their proper chaotic order digest.
In fragments, scattered from venture, far and wide re deployed.
Like the land of forgotten toys, a painting of unfinished joy.
Junk drawer, lessons from God.
Mind processing synapse, synod.
Poetic lines of insightful mysteries
Unfinished thoughts. "-"
Why a kitten is so endearing.
Why a cat has its own chick as a plushy,
(it's very own rainbow Charizard, to squeeze obnoxiously, then capture the void, bon avengers within junk drawer, purr upon in wave of polar oid.)
Within this hidden, sacred space,
lies an Ark of sorrows and joys,
mysteries.
Dulcimer ABACUS, plucked with fervor
of background noise,
composes, comprises, compromises the melody life employs a place, not a junkyard,
but a station of honor and grace.
Cimbalom strikes, resonant and pure,
opens to unfold precious capture.
Drawer opend, creating ripples, echoes of the past, beckoning you back in naked allure.
Shattering the font of unfinished sound,
of a song of nostalgia cure.
Bardic STRING shows where you've been
and flashes like a CARD to bring you back
within its kingdom, labyrinthine idiom fragmenting
of lessoning vaguery.
A PUZZLE PIECE, intricate and profound.
Each memory a stroke upon life's canvas,
framed in rainbow, tornadic hope, victory,
touchdown.
Orchestrated by the filter of Time,
crafting back, story, poetry wondrously
open to assemble to my need.
As I delve into this harem,
emotions rise and fall like a symphony's tide,
cascade to the sea, mountain sides.
For the junk drawer of my mind possesses
a BAND that TIES.
The power to stir, position, place,
a fall into the hole to leave an imprint inside
upon the whole, preside of unveiling,
behold my wares, MISCELLANEOUS,
extemporaneously-
stare wondrously as it doesn't lie, as it lies there
about the truth of whose
belongings are shuffled nigh.