Long Vengeful Poems
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6/28/24
Oh heck no
It's not good feeling like a puppet made by Gepetto
The overhead downpour constant and torrential
Can't find my way through this god forsaken residential
My sleep was hardly ever restful
So much blood on the money that it turned to red gold
It's kind of sad how easily men fold
As a battle hungry general
Many many heads rolled
I slayed my enemies by the denful
Plenty said I was another hell-bent soul
Wasting all of my potential
Just living a life that was uneventful
Problems incoming by the tenfold
Still folks being petty and judgmental
Doing things that are disrespectful
Or considered dreadful
Never resentful
They don't ever feel regretful
It's beyond coincidental
As well as being consequential
Time has proven with it's credentials
I find it hard to trust anything presidential
Why do so many poke the bear and rarely settle
I'm thankful for this meal of lentils
No matter if I have utensils
Will humans ever stop being vengeful?
Too many quick to fire the first projectiles
Little good it does to be forgetful
And far too neglectful
It won't stick if I write it in pencil
Life gets stressful
So I got to have the mettle
To take care of what's essential
Times turn harsh it just can't always remain gentle
I'm sad that I can't find or understand anything ancestral
We've no proof of anything celestial or spectral
I could be wrong though I'm not a perfect vessel
Still not yet fully successful
For now I'll make some medicine with flower petals
By using a mortar and pestle
The smell of cherries, stem and all, sours the quiescence of the room.
An ethereal tongue midair, lilting with laughter, daunting and petty.
Crushed, he turns the opposite of robust red - this poisonous groom,
Realizing he’s released the bloodroot from the bottomless pit of hell.
Tortured for his life’s eternity, he will remain under her vengeful spell.
With wickedness of a serpent-bride, venom in her veins - a pitiless betty.
The softness of her skin, golden wheat hair, rich and honey sweet.
A treasure he’d wear for a while, whilst a murderous plot he’d kindle.
He’d not counted on this country mouse developing skills to cheat.
Thus he plotted a slow and painful death with plenipotentiary pain.
His Eve, he’d drive her body with arsenic, until she’d go insane.
~ Nettles of incremental hours, the widower’s squeals ne’er dwindle. ~
3/28/2018
Laura Loo’s Rhyme Time 1 Contest
In diminishing degrees of denial and doubt,
I find myself taking inventory of emotional stock
to scan it for inconsistencies:
Let's see...
Right now I feel…
Confused, scared, angry, vengeful, murderous, and demonic.
Yet also…
Calm, peaceful, nurturing, merciful, caring, reassuring, and reassured.
Who am I to follow the yellow brick road
that lights the way out of Oz? (my Wizard seems so far away…)
Who am I to question the path it leads me on?
These strange and unpredictable twists and turns,
tramples and tumbles,
ups and downs,
highs and lows…
I’m just a lost and lonely soul hoping to reconcile
the light and dark,
the white and black.
the generosity and greed
the spirit and flesh.
Yet I only end up compromising my deepest held beliefs
in the hopes that I may live a normal life
and carry on normal conversations
in a world that is everything
but normal.
Full of lost and lonely souls, who like me,
only seek an understanding shoulder to cry on,
that could lessen this tremendous burden,
lighten this harrowing load,
and offer true direction
towards a lighter shade of gray.
Signed a contract, the devil is a liar
Just to save a loved one,
Now I'm baptized in fire
Alone i trail blaze the night
Hair of fire,
Skull burning bright
Cruising a few hundred miles per hour,
Mounted on my hell cycle
I am the vengeful rider
Don't you dare look into my eyes!
If you do
I will see through your lies
I hunt down the wicked
Into the dead of night
Armed with a flaming chain,
Do you really want to fight?
I am the HELL biker
Just try and fight the fire
Johnny Blaze is the name
Vengeance unquenchable,
This fire
Forever remains untamed
So don't you dare look into my eyes .....Go ahead, Just try to give me the evil eye, If you dare to DIE!
Comic book characters- poetry contest, sponsor-shadow Hamilton
05-29-2015
Sixteen and lonely,
a young bird,
has gone lame,
from her broken wings,
unable to fly the same.
Happy,
with the first one,
who shows her,
the attention,
she desperately needs.
But he soon binds her wings,
and the little bird,
no longer sings,
her savior,
has turned mean.
She tries flying away,
but her wings,
are still weak,
for she has stumbled,
over her own two feet.
She tries to be brave,
and unhappily stays,
she makes a nest,
and lays her eggs,
fledglings they had made.
One day her savior,
teaches her fledglings,
how to dive into,
a natural plant,
that brings him much joy.
The little bird,
does not like the plant,
she feels it,
will harm her fledglings,
and they wont learn to properly fly.
So the little bird decides to leave,
her nest becomes empty,
her fledglings,
have found,
their own two wings.
Her mate is mad,
he is destructive,
he is vengeful,
he attacks her,
making fun of her wounded wings.
The little bird,
that never sings,
finally finds,
her own voice,
and mends her wings.
She sings,
and flys,
without the plant,
she,
gets high.
While soaring,
I saw her reflection,
in the lake,
starring back at me,
a warrior, her scars had made.
On threads of wispy air,
in breathy undertones of political wind,
I can hear the quiet catastrophe,
the quiet ruination of our commonwealth.
I can hear the sleepy madness, turned avalanche
between my ears.
I can hear the quiet catastrophe,
the whispered words of terrorists,
guttural phrases taunted as political incorrectness,
flaunted vacuous nihilism fomenting insurrectionism,
the quiet convulsion of our self-rule.
I can hear the sullen invocation, turned torrent
within my mental models.
On threads of wary air,
in stealthily vengeful murmurs of pretenders,
I can hear the casual, softly spoken demise of justice,
the grim sabotage of governance by principle,
and with it,
the slow dripping blood of all those who died,
all those long forgotten.
The fading ink on parchments spelled out ideals
never attained or practiced in a nation’s history of enslavement
and genocide.
Yet can the people’s ambit even begin without the
enshrinement of these principles for all?
I can hear the quiet catastrophe,
the reckless, feckless conmen concocting hallucinogens.
Conspiracy contagions so easily playing upon, confirming
the jaundiced eyes, so easily validating the invectives of the addicted.
On threads of wispy air,
in breathy undertones of political wind,
I can hear the quiet catastrophe.
Are you listening?
Your help empowers their hope,
your hope enlightens their help.
Your help empowers their health,
your health enlightens their help.
Hopeful trust thrives healthier
than trauma-terrorized
cynically vengeful distrust.
This is not a mental health
nor a political science
nor a religious
nor a sex therapist
secret.
Why does this same health-receiving and care-giving connection
seem so disconnected in our capital-fueled
straight white exclusive male ownership
historically dominant
public service business sector?
Governing
our tribal reds v blues,
our ungreen town halls,
bored with multicultural
inter-religious
compassionate reading and writing
and nonverbal communication
Co-empathic
FatherSun enlightened
EarthMother empowering
win/win cobinary
co-intelligent
indigenous wisdom education.
Actively curious care-giving,
compassionately pleasing peaceful pleasure,
enlightens economic co-investment
and democratically cooperative health,
further expanding boundaries of co-empathic trust.
Competing despairs of economic and political
financial and social dissociative dissonance,
violent irreligious discommunication,
decays into mutually assured destruction,
unweaving healthy fabrics
Of God's mind-passion
and Gaia's body-pleasure
coming from
and powering toward
a global green
resiliently wealthy
polyculturally curious
compassionate care-giving
Whole Holy EarthTribe EcoSystem
Within which
it is no anthropocentric secret
that unitarian care-giving
empowers universal health-receiving.
Born in a radioactive life with few friends
Rejected from a place he never felt was home
He finds himself stranded and alone
His eyes blinded by the sun
Armed with only a baseball bat and a empty gun
The world tears at him with hungry jaws
A scorched world with cold hearts and no law
Attacked by raider, robots, and death claws
The dusty capital wasteland he roams
Scavenging the ruins of a desolate world
Super mutants appear around every turn
The lone wanderer finds a flamethrower and makes them burn
Their collection of mutilated organs make him want to hurl
Searching for his father and food for the day
The lone wanderer hopes and prays
Revelation 21:6 I am alpha and omega the beginning and the end
Bloody footprints mark where the lone wanders has been
Scars mark his wounded heart and are etched in his skin
Favoring a shock sword and a 44 magnum
Custom armor most wastelanders couldn't fathom
The lone wanderer carries the maximum
Sailed to point lookout and thrown in the pit
The cruel wasteland tests his grit
Abducted by creatures from outer space
A life of haste, rugged is the beard on his face
GNR radio keeps him company
The lone wanderer runs about while feeling funky
Finally he found his father
Together, Persuing a righteous goal ever further
Only to die a martyr, his death hits the lone wanderer ever harder
The lone wanderer's wrath! Awakening rage
A vengeful path, darkening days
Kicked out of Jefferson's memorial
The enclave takes over, creating total turmoil in the purifier
With no time to prepare a funeral for his father
The lone wanderer grabs 'Vengeance' the ultimate vaporizer
On his way to vault 86 to find the legendary kit of Eden
The lone wanderer lays waste to many a demons
Troubled by the loss of his best friend,
His rampage across the wasteland begins
You never knew you were an ocean,
and because you never knew,
the richness of your humid breeze transformed
our dour familiar shore
into ebony ripples of panthers with hot orchid breath
and thousand-colored trills of frantic plumage
in an emerald vigor of spirits who stalk through the sun’s dream
to render their hearts in proud sacrifice to nameless rivers.
But I knew you,
and knowing you I could not face you,
because I knew that if our eyes met
the vengeful angels would come crowding back,
and I knew that if I spoke your name
our shabby corridors would crack into veins of agony,
and I knew that if I touched you
I would be dying naked and alone in the desert without god.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When the light dims
The man in the lunch café drank 3 tall glasses of wine
he spoke loudly trying to draw attention to himself
not that I'm an expert, but he was, clearly divorced and
on holiday on his own.
After his meal, which he didn't eat much of
had coffee and a liqueur, not having anyone to talk to, he fell
silent, looking sad, perhaps he had children, but he was not
allowed to see, that some women can be vengeful
As the café emptied, I felt I had to say something, but
my wife stopped me, saying you can't get rid of him
I know how lonely life can be, no one wants to know
you are an embarrassment to others
To be middle-aged and alone is not easy the happy
days of youth is over, the bell rang and clear this morning
when I tried to contact a childhood friend he has
Alzheimer, he didn't know who I was.