It stood alone potbound on a ledge -
wild and unapologetic.
This proud,presumptuous flower
would wince
at the very prospect of a pollen grain molest,
or of an admiring glance -
taking it whole root to tip.
In the raw of a nature manifest.
And so it remains
anti-social,uncaring,arrogant.
Forgetting how to share itself.
Certainly no flighty sort
dare pollinate this flower
or scoop its nectar gone sour.
For its active role in creation -
better dead!
Without tribute,too much alone -
it withers gradual in a heap.
Its only spouse - the soil
in bountiful riches once more,
absorbs the last dissolving leaf.
Inaction - no falsifying now!
Forgotten without trace,without love.
Its paradise..For those that choose it.'
Eternal seperation for those that loose it.
For the ( predator class! ) maybe they live
With you.? Types Like pope leo epstein mandleson, gates, wexner, andrew, all drew
The shortest straw..Blinded by riches and
Power galore' now the sick-o-phants, who
Once called them elites..Press frantically
On the button delete.' Yet God keeps all the
Tears in a jar.' Of those who were tortured.'
He tells me Ja.! You have read my writes
On the pred-o-viles.' And what did we hear
Epstien advise his (friends erstwhile?) To
molest an innocent girl child.'
Dress as Yeshua..! Now reader you might
Understand.? Gods voice and judge-ment
Are close at hand.!!!!!!!!!
You know who
the sycophantic murderer of 51589
majority been Innocent God fearing people.
Their souls will testify
keeping him in the hell fire FOREVER.
Only did his mother know
what evil he’d become,
she would have summon God
to stop his evil birth.
Greed has no moral,
just a carnivorous cannibal
scheming to manipulation human intelligence.
Blood fascinates his egoistic insecurities
he molest the living and the dead.
Take away the butchers knife
he becomes a belligerent vampire.
Human corps excites and motivate this maniac.
His pastime is watching
hawks picking the bones of his Kill.
Sick son-of- (you fill it in as I don’t use those word.)
A pathetic psycho killer.
This is scriptures.
Al Juman the said poet © 9/30/2024
One candidate will rave, lie, cheat and molest
The second seems ready to be a hospice guest
But we have a third choice
With a strong forthright voice
Half his mind is brilliant, but a worm ate the rest!
buds open at night
like the stars on a clear sky~
bees come to molest
dandy butterflies
land on bunches of flowers~
kissing each in turn
claws of predators
dig deep into the soft flesh~
audacious abuse
dark assaults the light
white clouds scurry in great fear~
gross molestation
Dec.1.2022
A Brian Strand Choice Hiku, Footle,Tanka, Clerihew Poetry Contest
The camera inside the picture
concertina's time-lines into exclamation points.
Antique tripods brace themselves,
their quaint brass fittings
help minds to adjust.
Some turn a grooved infinity sprocket.
Some cave paint on the arching
bones of elk heads.
If we are to discover what is out there
we must board a ghost train,
plot a milky way over a whiteboard -
orientate to relate.
Spirit, that invisible violin
in a trio of appearance,
is a lone lover.
The third lover arrives at night
walking across fingertips,
while a pale moonlight
moves hands around
a clock of want.
The other elements
of frequency modulation
are the sex machines
that transmits power to pressure,
they are small devices
that molest moments into prayer.
Lastly there is
the whistling tinker man.
The rattle of pots and kettles
behind his moving caravan
enchants all we children
of much lesser gods.
The ugly American likes waving the flag.
And dissing what he doesn’t understand.
He’s scared of change and threatened by intelligence,
But says he’s only honoring his clan.
The ugly American can’t think for himself.
He follows the herd spreading rumors and fear.
He’s a self-taught gomer, and a sucker for conmen
Who always tell him what he's eager to hear.
The ugly American is an immature child.
He wants to live in the past as though those days were gold.
He’d have worshiped Father Coughlin, and Kingfish Huey Long.
Now he champions a modern demagogue.
The ugly American doesn’t need to rob banks,
Molest little children or murder his wife.
All he needs to do is keep his head in the sand
To see the consequences of an unenlightened life.
The ugly American never looks in the mirror.
He prides himself on honoring his roots.
If he saw his reflection, he’d be faced with the fact
That he's as useful now as worn-out cowboy boots.
The ugly American likes waving the flag,
And dissing what he doesn't understand.
Today was not so bad,
Yesterday, pure horror;
Tomorrow, I cannot predict,
Yet in terror I live;
A touch so much I dread,
For suspicion is my daily bread;
Every word a leery undertone,
Every smile with hidden intent;
That such evil so very well hid,
Is the crux of the matter within;
Today the child you cheer to see,
Might tomorrow be wickedly despoiled;
Their trust so shamefully they do exploit,
The hurt of the child so well disguised;
For shame will none in truth reveal,
The truly vile deeds in secret are done;
A wish to live with nary a worry,
Truly, only if wishes were horses.
So today I beg your child do keep,
That tomorrow you'll have no cause to weep;
Today find time to teach and train,
That tomorrow you'll have no painful regrets;
For in plain view vile people abound,
To steal the sweet innocence of such a child;
To rape, and hurt, and trick and threaten,
for towards the child is their malevolent intent.
She breathes honesty into the bedroom
Dispelling liars and troublemakers
Flinging lechers into the fires of hell
She takes no guff
Sure at first some thought she would go easy
Targeting her at the bar
Sidling up, expecting her to fold
Someone to take home and fondle, possibly molest
She disarms them with her light green eyes
Her lilting laugh, her pretense at being inebriated
She gives them the little girl smile
So they will take her home.
When her eyes go amber and her face goes gray
She takes their lives, trying to conquer their souls
Some wail and scream
Others go quietly, knowing they deserve it
She gives no mercy
No hope
No relief
For at one time
When she was young
None was given to her.
There she is, playing with her toys and dolls.
An air of peace surrounds her. Aww, isn't she
Lovely? Smilingly, she turns and calls
Out to you. Innocence is all you see.
There he is, busy hitting on something,
Singing a funny yet familiar song.
Oblivious of cares, he leaves you doting.
You feel something so tender yet so strong.
Who are they? Where do they fit in your plans?
What are the things that you can do to them?
They are children. They are fully humans.
Love them. Don't molest them. No, don't hurt them.
Whereas these children make up the future,
We would do well, in love, them to nurture.
We are great friends, Shauna and I.
She is fun to talk to until the last five minutes.
The last five minutes of every conversation
is always about Kennil, her brother.
Kennil is sick, a psychopath, a terror.
He tried to molest her, abuse her.
He killed her baby sister by kicking her mom
In the uterus when he was four.
Kennil, Kennil, Kennil.
She always says “I don’t have to worry
about that piece of …..”
at the end of every conversation.
Yet I can see that she does.
I have figured out a way to get out of
hearing about him. I now ring off
before she can get to him.
Sad she does not see this pattern.
Come, see the battle in that ship,
I see through these binoculars.
Master pilot fights for his soup
With up in air his dull sword;
Horribly the chief mates squabble
To gobble a slice of bread,
And authority’s ragged diapers
Pours anarchy through.
Handsail swiftly draws down
To veil Themis’ blushing face,
For pirates molest her;
Everyone fights on the deck;
They scream but no one listens,
And tall towers fall suddenly flat.
The ship floats hither - thither,
For there’s no one to steer her
And sailors just clutch at straws,
While a tempest is at hand.
Sept. 24, 2020
Clutching at Straws Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Delicately smoke stacks rose in tendrils
From my lobotomised mind, tracks of steam
Channels which searched for surrendour
Teased unfamiliar air aflame, eventual glean
Chances which blind chases never uncovered
Now relaxed stance soul caresses confirm
Worth in the venture for connections recovered
Ratified tangible textures of trust returned
Sharply sprung tongue sprig of marjoram burst
Sends corresponding signals sweet salty
Cardboard dry enclosure summoned my thirst
Seasoned with fish fall apart white sultry
Flipped on my untrained pallette, ripe silk drips
Nourished throat thrums an unsung tempo
New reward captured bite butters impatient lips
Slippery flesh accosts a switched off depot
Aniseed's dark unrivalled flavour pinnacle
Nasal travelled spice kidnaps bland indecision
Abrupt acetic fingers, processing difficult
Held captive by capers strange punch derision
Ambience clink clanks cutlery's untimed tune
Calls faithful patronage who pay in blood
Inner soft lobsters promise flesh of high noon
Claw shards pave a love path summoned
20th September 2020
Memories' claws catch weakness, sore substitutes for truth
Mind's future sambas hipswung with anticipated brew
Mother bird waits for non viable form to peck forth
- Maybe deserves haven, hollow where wings never grew
Taken for pyschiatric watch, her dignity snatched
Wheeled through corridors' dizzying demented askew
Violent spine flings translate her refusal to succumb
Praise oblivion wets periphery drenched in dew
Crazy called, insane answered, chat ensued furious
Before corridors consumed, dance quenched, she flew
Rhythm of obedient pulse beeps sanity's seep
Doctors molest old memories trenched, vague faded few
Sigrid's void has only her instinctive drive to leave
Hopeful risen dandelion seed on next gust blew
August 30th 2020
Syllable count per line is 13.
Bears no representation
to my experience
(just thoughts)!
Austere magic and verdant odor
in sombre shades of thick forest,
nature breathing a breeze of life
among lofty trees and tall grasses.
wilful beneath a boundless blue sky,
sunlight dapples an emerald canvas.
Lilac bushes soothe alder woods
wildflowers cluster charteus groves.
quaking aspen and towering oaks
fallen leaves sussurate soft rambles
a quiescent stream basks in splendor
squirrels crackling birdsong ballads.
Orange butterflies on musk of wild rose
drunken bees reeling on wispy tendrils.
swooshing, hissing roaring , howling
hunting and preying , stalking goes on.
A virgin green forest, in wild extravagance
don't molest its freedom , my civilized world.
Dated 22nd March 2020
Sponsor Julia Ward
Contest Name Wild Country |
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