Long Pretentious Poems
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Given the once over by the Sister,
The church goer and the tower,
Of Christian family morality and life,
Of character for faith and social power.
Understanding fundamentalism well,
And having grieved myself thoroughly,
I took the three sessions that were offered,
Albeit waveringly, hesitantly.
So I glided through the conversation,
Understood the Sister’s fears,
That me and James were an item,
That he did have carer gears.
So I said that we were close (once),
And that he fed me often at tea,
And every Saturday lunch time,
He was my carer affectionately.
But I had to validate myself,
By disclosing that my dad attended,
To me sometimes for some things,
In the evenings normally when he was handed.
But she scowled and brushed with her hand her face,
Expecting me not to note her query,
About my mother as my sole carer,
Because of religious assumptions dreary.
But I assured her that I got male care too,
And worried about the consequences,
Because I then concluded she’d been told,
That only my mother did the care exercises.
I found my mother pretentious,
In the question of care domination, control,
She wanted to exemplify Christian purity,
And fulfil her Christian wife role.
But at the end of the three hours,
After the three counselling sessions for bereavement,
The Sister thought I’d by ok in the future,
And that of my life there would be no temporary adjournment.
But when you lie, things just don’t work out,
So I exploded three weeks later,
At Charlie about her psychological model,
Said that I was gone, a gater.
So he talked to me about James,
And to him I managed to say I was ok,
Because I had grieved and then gone on from that,
Knowing that the weeks would bring a better day.
He told me to talk to him in the future,
For bereavement counselling,
But I felt the Sister’s disapproval,
Upon my back when leaving.
That was fine, to reject the church decisively,
To illuminate their lack of perception,
About life’s real issues: death, effort and love,
So I was happy to be from then to her a complication.
And he said unto them, If ye had not plowed with my heifer, ye had not found out my riddle.Judges 14:18b
They plowed with the heifer,
A stranger of a day,
assigned from the pit,
to bring a Samson down.
She feigned false affiance,
with a mission so deliberate,
trans-versing vast territories,
to cage a man by Lust.
the disguise of a demon,
derailed a man on mission,
suspending the vision.
The bargain was too costly,
her comrade the philistines,
pretentious while purloining,
hides in ambuscades,
dictating schemes to kill.
The captives now entrapped,
They kept their walled territories,
inflamed the loose Cyprian,
for fleshy lust and greed.
Are you the man on a mission?
Oh! be not complacent.
The flappers surrounds you still.
Keep this emblem on your chest,
Delilah is not a friend.
Full court press on the press
an all out assault on speech
verbose wit-nitts sowing deceit
supremes masquerading liberators
an all out assault on speech
university protest branded
supremes masquerading
liberators fabulist executive derided
university protest branded
agitators bolstering antisemitism
fabulist executive derided
the light on genocide
agitators bolstering antisemitism
tattooed ICE on immigration
the light on genocide
muted body snatchers
tattooed ICE on immigration
NPR CNN DOGE DOA
muted body snatchers
power play MEGAphone
NPR CNN DOGE DOA
funds deemed unfundamental
power play MEGAphone
spitting lies into the wind
Funds deemed unfundamental
Full court press on the press
Spitting lies into the wind
Supremes masquerading liberators
Simply dispel the assumed notion of friendship and trust,
be stirred by this truth summoning a heavy morality cost;
in adolescence we bursted in laughter and gave spontaneous embraces,
it's very different now, distance has withered the smiles of tenderness.
Friends forget the ones that life forsakes, alone to confront their demise;
are we the ones who watch them struggle by hiding behind a thick wall...
instead of lending a hand and offer comfort when tragedy and illness strike?
And to prove our true friendship, we must stand by them whenever they fall!
I feel sorry for that one fighting fate without wearing a protective shield,
that indispensable armor to fend off adversities and win his many battles...
when nobody stands by him, and I rectify this injustice by defying his foes:
by coming forward, fighting side by side with him and be his defensive friend.
Friends forget the ones that life forsakes, the ones that shared all;
won't greed and idiocy show on their looks of pretentious pride?
Won't shame be smeared on their restless conscience as they appall
at their ingratitude by admitting the massive harm done inside?
Don't cover me with a mantle of glitter
For a circus parade that flaunts
A pretentious kaleidoscopic dream,
Where I am tricked to enchant an audience
Paying hard-earned bills while I roll on a tyke--
Or use my ivory as decor for varnished tables,
Chests and even antique inlays on narra beds:
And my furry skin you peel, turn into
Stilettos, even haute- couture labels designed
Only for those vain magnates...how impertinent!
I am the spirit of the wild forest,
The towering giant of peace on a roam
Where my ears listen to children's fables
As they mount on my back through a landscape
Bathed in night's purple glow... a mystique
Setting a ride into a dazzled starlight,
While we strut away, unmindful of how
dense mankind can be in this journey
Soothed by fresh murmuring of a breeze...
If I were an elephant, let me rock, indulge
On a sacred place made innocent
By the gods who created playful, grassy trails.
For Rob Carmack's Screwed XV1 Contest
Submitted 3/01/2017
-----------------------
Originally Written 12..13..2016
They call it lunacy
They call it a problem
They call me pretentious
They call me ridiculous
But I'm just ahead of the curve
Yeah, ahead of the curve
Truth is I'm a little insane
Blinded by all this pain
So I cut myself open
To see if it would make a stain
And no I am not vain
Nor the sum
Of what flows from my vein
And no I'm not going anywhere
The verse is my lair
So let them all stare
I'll flip them the bird
And a bit of a glare
Because it's not like I care
It's just words that I share
They call it poetic
They call it possessive
They call me a hack
They claim that I'm wack
But I'm just ahead of the curve
Yeah, ahead of the curve
Truth is I have what they lack
Not afraid to talk smack
Because with these words
I assuredly have a knack
To garner their flack
But I want you to take a look
Just open my heart like a book
And see in me an innocent
They tried to call a crook
And claimed I made a mess
But if I have to confess
I'm playing 4D chess
To get the regret off my chest
And finally feel blessed
They call it trite
They call it infantile
They call me washed up
They say that I'm done
But I'm just ahead of the curve
Yeah, ahead of the curve
And I'll be the first to say I was wrong
To call my last poem my swan song
My flow is still gold and I'm feeling strong
But when I go out it'll be on my own terms
When I finally tell the hobby so long
They said it's impossible to get close to the edge
When the world isn't really flat
But I'll knock everything off like a cat
To show how superfluous it all really is
Because Coronavirus is God's pop quiz
So call me ahead of the curve because I aced it
With my written wit
And like I said I'm not ready to quit
My words have only just got lit
They call it spoken word
They call it slam
They call me Chris
They say that I'm back
But I was always ahead of the curve
Yeah, ahead of the curve
Facts now have alternatives to fortify an elite’s status
Truth has lost its authority
Principles abandoned as minds become amorous to like-minds
Intellectual treachery
Corporations have frozen the status quo
Arrested ideology
Anti-capitalism is pretentious and treasonous
Distrust the politics, kill the new entry
Religion is a sanctuary of poverty walled by tyrants
Machiavellian weaponry
A cloaked politician claims anointment from God
Blind flock in an amen chantry
Jesus misunderstood for good for life is good
Yield to Caesar with slavery
Every system wants a piece of your livelihood
Patriotic puppetry
They invade privacy with dosages of conformism
Online artillery
I am an armoured guerilla in a humanism suicide vest
Blowing up the system
Is there anything so excruciatingly exhausting
As to feel the need to look at everything
Through judgmental eyes
No background or context
Barely half the info
Yet so quick to jump to conclusions
Always quick to pass judgment
As if holding all the cards and criteria
Seeking perfection everywhere
How arrogant and pretentious
Like trying to wear God’s hat
I once said the worst thing
I could imagine was to see
Someone imprisoned for a crime
They did not commit
Am I so stupid to not realize
I am guilty everyday of doing
Exactly that in a million little ways
Over and over again
Of doing the worst crime I have imagined
That I am judging and sentencing
Without hearing all facts…
And even if I did hear all the facts
Who died and made me almighty judge?
And anyway…
What’s with this overwhelming urge
Needing to quickly evaluate and judge
Possibly born of some caveman instinct
To protect oneself from imminent dangers
If so, it’s way beyond that and outdated
Not only ineffective but destructive
Become much the enemy within
Blackening my heart with every cynical thought
Separating me from everything that surrounds
Isolating me empty of compassion or empathy
Whatever happened to a little bit of humility
And admitting that none of it concerns me
It is what it is good bad or indifferent
God just called
He wants his hat back
AP: 3rd place 2020
The rhapsody of rainbow
melts in morose mélange,
the concoction of colors
bleeds bland in
shattered silence,
sucked out
of crumbled core
of sensuous cloud,
soothing rain rinses
the stains in broken hearts,
shades of grey paints
the frayed linen of love,
redundant.
The requiem
of longing patina
of repentant rose
resonates melancholic medley
in the portals of petals,
the faded gloss
turns into tears
in pearls of mourning dew,
desiccates uncared
under the summer sun
of the desert mind,
the wilted flower falls
on weathered gravestone
of spent passion,
departed.
The cacophony captured
in the melody of forlorn music,
chaotic symphony floats
out of tune
on disharmonic wave,
strained smiles displayed
with elusive enactment
in ostentatious podium of life,
songs turn into echo
of convoluted noise
in hollow souls,
pretentious.
The intriguing facet
of listless life
seen entranced
through liquefied layers
of cynical stratum,
configures pessimism
in the sunken essence
of living exaltation,
the apparent aspect
refracts defiled expression
of warped existence,
enshrined.
They invade the cafe at first light
Then with latte and laptop held tight
They seize tables for four
To let go nevermore
So all others drink coffee upright
With a bored intellectual stare
That one hankers to be Molière
If he's writing a play
For a hit on Broadway
Then its plot must involve Solitaire
One's quite the scientific young chap
For which typing is no handicap
He must write his thesis
By psychokinesis
Cause the keyboard gets hardly a tap
That one with the big apple fritter
Is researching a mental transmitter
He's receiving the thoughts
Of strange cosmonauts
Transferred through Facebook and Twitter
Perhaps you will think I'm pretentious
And more than a little contentious
But it's just a disgrace
To monopolize space
And I think that's the general consensus