Long Scurrilous Poems
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The naysayers are going to "nay,"
So why are you concerned with what they
think or say?
They're just doing their job,
And some are quite good at it...
Remember you had a glorious destiny
Before they had an opinion.
So please never forget--
To forget would be tragic;
Knowing you never unleashed that God-given magic.
It was given to you,
So you must see it through.
Yes, by being true to yourself--
And no worries; you have all the help.
So...
So, what, they give you the evil eye?
Stay true and remember your "why."
So what if they launch scurrilous attacks and
Act jealous?
It's okay because truth shines in darkness like a
waxing gibbous
So what they throw lemons at your feet
Step on them and then pick 'em up and make
Lemonade that's cold and sweet
So.... So.... So.... What?
The stage has been set; the time is now. So strut!
Premonitions of a vindictive kiss.
Seeing the shadows of a hand that makes
one flinch.
Scurrilous language that burns in one's ear,
So clear,
One's eye's began to fill with tears.
Waiting for the next blow that thrust down through
one's soul.
Hearing a voice repeating the words..
Stop!
Please!
Help! and No!
Repeated hit's sends one to the floor.
Sliding,
Crawling,
Reaching,
Trying to get to the locked door.
A silent whisper clears the air,
One finds a mirror and begans to stare.
Trying to hide the reminder of one side.
Going around loved ones with the same old
lie.
But why hide the pain that just passes by?
So blind to the others mind,
So clueless to the forbidden sign,
So ignorant to the streams of water that covers a
face with a ' Silent Cry'
Tiffany Saxon
All alone you sit there in grip of graveyard, hosting demonic thoughts,
Listening to cries of tombstones, squalling from lovers’ somber epitaphs,
Recounting how you chased prospects, innocent souls you courted,
Celebrating your maleficence building bonfires on the burial grounds,
Where you buried them one by one, watching the dance of demons,
As your stony heart laughed aloud, mocking the dead in total disregard.
You lured them with synthetic smiles, faux glamor of loveless stance,
Never meaning a word uttered, attired in stares of spurious glance,
As you prayed on them, then discarded; in landfills of broken-hearts.
Relationships initiated in springs of life, often parched in summer heat,
As passionless encounters burned in flame of hideous promiscuity;
Got washed away by the feisty storms churning scurrilous intensity,
Propelling hurricanes lovelorn, flooding realms of lovesome prairies,
When aspirations of your lust subordinated inspirations of pure love.
Old and fragile, you ruminate now, in frigid winters of your miserable life,
Speechless, motionless, fearful of your pitiful world swiftly passing by,
Haunting your eyes, as paranormal spirits, the silhouettes of the dead,
Mock your decrepit existence, shouting insanities at your grimacing face.
Remorseful beneath moon and stars, you inscribe your own epitaph:
She was a gloom of stygian clouds, shrouding arc of love on sunlit dawns,
She was a dubious counterfeit act; she was a vile curse on romance,
A cooing dove of morn she was not; a phantom of love she sure was.
O, strange, unusual, odd one.
You never seem to fit in; you always find yourself in front of the gun.
Always at the end of scurrilous attacks
They aim and shoot vitriol with their shameful acts.
But fitting in was never a part of the plan.
Apart, you were set apart to do a great work that most will never understand.
Yes. The black sheep of the family by far
When you walk, when you talk, their burning desire is to pull the veil on your star.
But shine, you will.
So, peace be still.
And be ashamed of your calling? This you should never be.
You were chosen to stand and tell a beautiful story.
Anxiety, Anxiety-
you creep, you lurk, you worry me
Mangy monster under my bed
on all my fears you must be fed
and when I try to starve you out
you stab me with a blade of doubt
You sneaky, scurrilous, savage beast
I don't hate you, but I like you least!
You are not cute or cuddly
why do I let you cling to me?
You're ugly and you're worrisome
you drain my joy and leave me glum
Anxiety, Anxiety-
I hear you've achieved notoriety
evidently I'm not the only one
you'll hassle them all before you're done!
'Though, I don't see how you find the time
to carry out your heinous crime...
For all day long, and nighttime, too
a hovering pest, too big to “shoo”
you hang around and taunt me fierce
by dangling daggers with which to pierce
I tremble in my delicate skin
but chin stuck out, I'm determined to win
Anxiety, Anxiety-
you will not get the best of me!
You've wasted enough of my precious years
you deserve no sympathy or tears
like the monster you are, you'll be destroyed
I've armed myself with the likes of Freud
While you watch me, I'll study you more...
know your every weakness- for this is war!
I'll vanquish you for once and all
I've armored up for the bloody brawl
but hey- what's this, a hasty retreat?
Don't tell me that you admit defeat!
No Anxiety, Anxiety-
you're devious, sly and slippery
Before you let me kill you off
you slink away to smirk and scoff
knowing full well that you'll come back
to get me with a sneak-attack!
At What Cost Shall We Ransom This God
At what cost shall we ransom this God!
Held hostage in the towers of sanctity
by the scurrilous usurpers of His throne.
We pay homage to the hierarchic harlots
bow and scrape to the gnomish gatekeepers
pray to the hollow echo of an empty dome
worship at the bloody feet of tyrants
begging for their intercessory indulgences
weeping at the feet of sainted idols.
What is this God, this silent myth,
this silent, helpless, savior
mocked by those that call him Master.
When will He show his hand,
His mercy, His power, His love
to those who cower in the shadows,
struggle to exist outside the temple walls
hold hungry children in the scent of feasts
offered to the fattened inquisitors.
At what cost shall we ransom this God
free Him from the confines of His keepers
share a crust of bread, a moments peace?
4/17/2016
submitted to – Any Poem Written In April 2016
sponsor – Laura Loo
To Hellie's credit, she had rightly judged...
for, all told- the young man was quite shady
so from her guard-post she would not be budged
for she was most loyal to her lady
And when he cooed and whined to survey
Bronwyn's hide-out with treasures galore
(and blinded by love, the lady obeyed)
Hellie let out a terrible roar!
Before he could pilfer a single rare item
our Hellie put Beau on the run
snapping and snarling, she'd viciously bite him
her fun had only begun
He squealed sissy screams and kicked out at her
but she got the better of him
he called her a “hideous, scurrilous cur”
she pursued him with vigor and vim
Rapidly round all the high piles of loot
she chased him with eyes bright and shiny
while he scuffled (and occasionally gave her the boot)
and she snapped at his delicate hiney
At length, he shot out of the mouth of the cave
in a desperate dash to break free
but he'd nowhere to go- and wasn't quite brave
so he threw himself into the sea
As Bronwyn looked down with an irritated frown
(she was actually becoming quite peeved)
old Hellion beamed up, and drooled on her gown
her ultimate mission achieved
Her lady turned to face her, and warmly embraced her
while Hellie soaked it up with a smirk
soft fingers stroking and fluffing her fur
for dispatching the devious jerk
They spied the poor devil as he met his sad fate-
and they watched from their perch high above
a bold pirate queen and her canine first mate
the next-best thing to true love!
____
This is the swashbuckling sequel to my "Barefoot Buccaneer" poem... ;D
Written: December 28, 2023
______________________________________
flounder in fictional field
—squeals and squeaks
Whimpers and growls
Sylphic swaying,
of flames spewing,
inwardly throbbing
of my nostril
lobotomized cosmic orbs.
scent of cinnamon
and coral on a rosary
interlaced of aurulent rimes.
Shrouded your burgundy &
coniferous ravines
loop of vitality
& unbearable redemption
in spanning eons,
ineffable wonder cradled
by melodic hums and buzzes
of lazy heat
and whistles of pitches
of endless hymns
echoes of choral chants
sung by soloists.
black ravens croaking,
like peals of doom
dewy allelomorphs
with waft-aloft wings
angels of ethereal whisper
of thunder,
that rang deafeningly
through the crevices,
of anodal motion
scurrilous loci
modeled as diploid.
The American Library Association
implores cognoscenti tubby alert
impersonators, who
call themselves Ernie and Bert
took a page from Sesame Street Playbook
oft times accompanied
by a Soundcloud of dirt,
boot none other then Pigpen,
(who worked for Peanuts),
and pay-dirt, though
dismissed, cuz he did not exert
true grit, plus more seriously scandalous
sordid details suppressed kept from press,
(which scurrilous breach of conduct
involved said scallywag
violating more than flirt
discovered in prurient compromised activity,
where his skin flute encircled,
with an ambrosia girt
transgressions possibly affected
public television station benefactors,
and sterling reputation of bottom line, nor hurt
locker talk (albeit via exaggerated mainly
to make a profit sounding proper
sanctimonious Cliff (hanging) notes,
asper faux expected by
a "FAKE" trumping prophet,
sans motley crue comic
stripped of more'n
motion picture PG ratings,
hence future lurid, graphic,
banal, ampersand
(&) dressing room banter
muted, disallowed, and banned
so storied characters birthed by Charles Shulz,
(who passed away prior to near canned
aforementioned indiscretion debacle)
returning amidst fanfare hoopla
much as possible grand
jour "Making Peanuts Great Again" hand
diddly restoring full metal paperback jacketed
glory and apple pie order land
ding rebirth of cherished popular iconic
easy to digest bookworm feed
which unexpectedly, inadvertently,
and horrifyingly
brewed ferocious breed
on par with the Alaskan Bull Worm,
whereat armed guards
strategically stationed
at libraries entrances indeed
aware voracious young readers,
would pay no heed
to any obstacle, and such unstoppable
ravishing knowledge
hungry kids did exceed
capacity security details dashed away,
faster then Clifford
the big red dog speed!
Socialization
When does socialization become sexualization?
When does socialization become sabotaging?
Socialization isn't sexualization
Socialization isn't sabotaging
Saboteur isn't a socialist
Socialization isn't sacrilege
A socialist isn't a sacrosanct
Socialism isn't sadism
A sadist isn't a socialist
Salacious isn't socialization
Socialization isn't admitting safe sex
A satanic isn't a socialist
A socialist isn't a scandal monger
Screwy isn't socialization
A socialist will not be scruffy
Socialization isn't scurrilous
Seamy isn't socialization
Seduction isn't socialization
A socialist isn't seductress
Sociality is morality..
©® 27/12/17... Junaid Abdul Wakeel. #YoungWriter