It’s cold.
It’s cold in my lodes.
It’s cold in my cells.
It’s cold in my lobe.
My ears, blessed with plagued tint; your windmill of everlasting exasperation, pacifying the turmoil beneath my dermis.
Again, again, and again.
The recurring depiction inked onto the dip of my lips, the pink waning into the virtue of my ward.
The tears gash as I attempt to pelt away from the ceaseless predation I reluctantly melt into.
The eyes scan me head to toe; I remain a simple dispute to the contrary of my dearth.
The eyes strip me head to toe; I remain a simple fiction to the turpitude of their obscenity.
The eyes scourge me head to toe; I remain a simple anathema to the excretion of my blasphemy.
The exploited nudity travels beneath my tangible, under my demeaned stance of a humiliated vermin.
Nothing but a figurine carved into flesh.
Nothing but a mannequin scribed into skin.
Their degradation caresses the mortification of my fragility.
And the epithelium of my delicacy probes at me;
I’m not making it to 19.
Birthdays.
What a dubious way to celebrate the imminent proximity of an epilogue.
A concept I have found myself familiar with, as I wait for its darkness to breathe my flesh into an eternity of condemn.
It’s so monotonously profound, rousing my revulsion into a cavern of numbing ecstasy.
The hallucination of confetti blinds me in a disdain of joyous vibrancy I beseech for a defrauding.
A joyous vibrancy I elude in a hope of inevitable invasion.
A joyous vibrancy I hunt until the trail of its scorn boils with the distraught of my blood.
The mascara pours down my face; a river of infamy, coercing the heft of my obscenity.
The lipstick smears down my chin; a sadistic endeavour to ravage the dereliction of my leeches.
The highlighter gleams; a grotesque jubilation of a fibbing mockery.
And the fundamental rigour of my perished rot derides in a soul prompting conjecture;
I hope this is my last birthday.
7/14/2025
Humane?
You pen with shame!
Selling your dignity?
Tell me, why trash your only voice?
No, thanks!
Obscenity in action, with trusted land managment out of
Action..The la la la landers.' With blisterless hands.' Set
Overgrowth conditions.' It could not be worse if planned.'
After bushfires have raveged.' They decide 'to kill' at least
Seven hundred Koalas..It gives me the chills.' Riding in
Helicopters.' Clinical and cold.' The result of a green plan
That is now overly bold.' Things must change.' And for the
Better.' Get local farmers involved their 'lore not of the letter' yet drawn from the love of that place where i have
Walked.' From generational learning.' Listen as we aught.'
Yet there is focus on new buildings and unesco rules..
These Koalas now the sacrifice.' For no doubt 'convid era
Initiatve leading fools.!!
Children in Palestine
He sat down to write a poem for nature
When he closed his eyes saw, bombed-out buildings
Rain dripping from wrecked concrete onto
The street, a muddy pool, but that
didn`t stop the children from playing captains of the deep sea
Another bomb fell and obliterated this harsh idyll
What was left was mist and fire where it once had been
A muddy puddle.
His pleasant poem about a track and olive roots trying
To trip him up, the shepherd, his dog, and the sheep coming
His way the good small of wool like an obscenity today
did little to stop his fear for the future.
I rise and fall like a fountain
Sometimes I live, sometimes I die
sometimes I soar above the mountain
Sometimes I trade my laugh with sigh
I once lived in this place for long
Until my toil stole my time
And with you all, I wrote my song
Until my time refused to rhyme
But here I come again like wave
I hope that this will run for good
So tired of creeping in my cave
I crave to be where I stood
For in here, there's serenity
Here are the eyes that see my shine
Where flair is not obscenity
And same minds give what's truly mine
He spoke of faith. I told him I had none. He laughed. I scowled, muttering an obscenity. He continued. Telling me that we all had faith, that I had faith. He asked me if I had a brain. I told him I did. He asked if I had ever seen it. I said I hadn’t. He chuckled. I scowled loudly. “So you believe you have a brain though you have never seen it.” ”Do you use it?” He asked. I smartly replied: “every day”. “And you trust this brain to be there when you need it?” he asked. “Of course I do” I shouted, “I’m not stupid.”
Then it happened. He sprung his trap, asking: ”So you believe in the presence of something you cannot see, trust that when you need help it will be there, rely on it to assist you in making decisions.” Some would call that “faith”.
“When you wait at the bus stop for the bus do you believe that the bus will come?” He asked.
“Of Course”, I replied, “I’d be a fool to wait if I didn’t think the bus would come.”
I had no faith
Save the faith I didn’t have
In having faith
I’m bad tempered and upset,
Feeling tired isolated alone
Sitting hopefully waiting for
Someone to answer the phone .
I just want to hear
A normal human voice
But these days my dears
You don’t get a choice.
Androgynous, emotionless
It’s going off again
Promising an answer but
Never saying when,
Any second now and we
Know what it will say,
Your call is important
Please don’t go away.
When somebody invented
Automatic answer machine
Life got more complicated
Than it had ever been
Then the multi choice options
To save wasting their time
But they just don’t bother
About them wasting mine.
There used to switchboards
With real people to call,
Probably shoved out on the dole,
Machines don’t need wages at all.
The inventor of this obscenity
Is over the seas living in style
A successful and much lauded
Multi faceted rain and tax exile.
All I can say is,
Enjoy it while you can.
One day you may meet
One very angry man
Who’s spent ages feeling
Isolated and all on his own
As he’s waited and waited
To be answered on the phone
Every doggie has,
In time, their day
And, oh brother may be mine
To make him slowly pay.
He made you to be honored and to function.
Not to make a poem into some X-rated laughing function.
Whatever you write, you think God does not see?
Believers,poets, that goes on our moral records
permanently.
Our bodies are most beautiful.
The pleasures we have in them most bountiful.
Comedy is not that easy to write.
I get sad when a body is nothing but a joke, and trite.
There is no need to make world leaders wrong,
When obscenity, becomes our international song.
God knows all we write, stays on record forever.
Do we love God, or do want friends to think us,
way beyond clever?
1-18-2022
I shall live the rest of my life in serenity
With beautiful thoughts filling my mind,
A desire to love and be loved is my affinity.
Some may say this lofty goal an extremity
No doubt, some will bitter criticism find,
I shall live the rest of my life in serenity.
I have never sought the fame of celebrity
And, I have no jealousy of that kind,
A desire to love and be loved is my affinity.
I have found nothing surpasses integrity,
While fostering those filial ties that bind
I shall live the rest of my life in serenity.
Life, I find, comes with a prized amenity
When to live the noble life, one is resigned
A desire to love and be loved is my affinity.
Anything less would be a rank obscenity
Present and hereafter could not be aligned,
I shall live the rest of my life in serenity
A desire to love and be loved is my affinity.
written December 17, 2021
Another blazing steel
That carve wounds which don’t fully heal
Besides those of Big Brother Rape
Whose injurious clutch very few escape.
A pointing finger by forensic evidence maintained
About your grips of her blouse stained
And infuriating caresses of a waist
You were scheming to morally waste;
Playable, her taped shut-doors against your visits
And “Buzz offs” to your offered Hellos and biscuits…
Indeed, your tactless remarks of obscenity
Verging on intrigues against her chastity
In court, to you read out by a voice of steel
To your disbelieving ears all but real;
All the brooding minds around you also wrestling with the matter
While you hope or wish their suspicion won’t get fatter!
It’s a new impulse to often adjust one’s lens
And with expectoration break a silence,
Not skipped, prompt remembrances of your itching jaw
To scratch it in a manner you could never the Law.
Let not ill-tempered words destroy your serenity
But let the perfect peace which resides within
Be the most memorable portion of your identity.
Let others see your calm nature-defining affinity,
Your strength to take raw adversity on the chin
Let not ill-tempered words destroy your serenity.
Keep in mind that hatefulness is life’s obscenity
Do not let anger or lashing out become your sin,
Be the most memorable portion of your identity.
Negativisms should only reside in our proximity
When they approach, push them far into oblivion
Let not ill-tempered words destroy your serenity.
Frequently take measure of your prized integrity
Review what motivates acceptable behavior again,
Let not ill-tempered words destroy your serenity
Be the most memorable portion of your identity.
A touch, a dance,
a smile, a joke.
I’ll take any kind of human connection.
A grope, a sordid hand fishing for pink,
come home with me.
A mouth bent into a snarl, a hastily thrown obscenity.
I’d be so grateful.
Just give me something to talk about,
think about
that isn’t him.
Hate
In civilized quarters, an outrageous obscenity:
Unwashed, perishing pant
And, for real, a dismaying insanity,
When a hater heatedly rants
At his subject of unusual dislike,
Whom he would’ve loved to strike:
His heart hammering vessel –damaging beats,
His head contending with an ache a doctor treats.
With hate, nothing is normal any more,
Haters best action, an unsightly sore,
With glances that like dagger stab
And fast breathing that would air grab
And reflections on hundreds of things
United by Death with wings!
Hate is the firmest shutting
Of the outlet to delicate love
And trust me - mortifying hitting
Of a non owner of even one boxing glove.
Knowledge of enemy’s demolishing fate
And serial number on Satan’s punitive slate
Comes with the Supreme Hate
Also, how long his success shall have to wait
Plus the exact date
Of the unlocking on his behalf of cemetery’s gate.
Innoculate against the forces
of the dark spectrum and it's Siren tune.
It's sickly pale green and gold hues. Monochromatic scale of hallucinogenic hopelessness.
Uses your Pride's Holden Magnet in it's vacuum.
A fog in the distance closes in,
like a Harpy in Venusian Projection,
streaming obscenity,
zooming in mirror of it's dirty vanity.
Principalities stalk the bog of your ruin.
Embalming your soul into insanity, Heretic Cocoon.
The Dance of Death's pompous Melody.
Dreamweaving sutured organ,
piping your fog into Mummy Womb.
Nightwalkers overlook the ritual.
Demon Satellites orbiting your perdition.
They argue this violation is consensual.
Taking not in_- the adorn of light's prism.
But staunching irreverence, a shadowed-stench where the light bends, grotesquely mishapened.
The Lord of the Flies-traps closes as if nothing happened.
Rainbows end.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.