SPILLEGE SPOIL SYBER SIST-- Vogon Unofficial Anthem Poetry
Infused intensity of immense ignorant
Boils of blast feme burbling
Crackle and gilling clump coils
Of filament retardants…..coverings
Egos frost bitten frozen bumps
Cabbage patch dolls provocateur
Running ruins caveating wretch
Worldly scum virgate arresting…..whose
Developing deepen darts of daze
Daring divorced deities
Spillage spoil syber sist
Rope gatherings of responsive reeps…..what?
Tweet twik ti tork
Tweet twik ti tork
Tork twik ti Tweet
Wailing walls worship waters sung-songs
Of open offensives offerings
Spillage spoil syber sist
Vested virtues very vast
Undermining unfixed unumerously…..anthem
Spillage spoil syber sist
1/17/25
For Vogon Poetry Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Police will work for the government, not the community.
They will stalk the homeless, be merciless mercenaries, entrepreneur, agents provocateur.
Women will be bought and sold. Even some of the married ones.
Fissures will line the roads from sinkholes and earthquakes. Walking, driving anywhere will be a hazard.
There will be businesses and homeless street business.
Info and dirty deeds, sold.
Cannibal diners will be the nouveau, patrons will be the next course.
Cyborgs, cybernetics and children will learn to be street savvy.
The Hunger Games will be real.
Running Man will be real.
Prostitution will be done in the open.
Haters of Christians will be narks, in charge.
Satanic priests will be their dignitaries and lords.
Everything you do will be tracked.
Groups will be punished
Non Government sanctioned Militias will be outlawed.
They will no longer hide that Google is a government agent.
Bibles will be considered hate speech propaganda.
Poetry will be filtered through the Government, like the News is.
In the shadows, harpies linger as agents provocateur,
for the Fallen Watchers, for pecking order.
Prostitute mercenaries,
addicted to mercury and disorder.
Their claws sharp, their cries a shiver,
their motive insanity from hell's hateful quiver.
They pluck you from the light of day,
leave you in the flames to barter the fray,
to drown in the sea of faith no more.
Till nightfall,
where they tend the fires of a black wind,
poking signal lures,
preying for entropic thunder,
and romantic moon,
lyres to ascend your spirit
for the purpose of dropping you again
in despairs pit and swoon.
Denoting your abandonment and seclusion,
shoeing the fit,
wild horses couldn't drag them away.
Hoping to find you behind chaos's fire-line,
enemy mine,
a broken rhyme-
not asKing for a new day;
a soul adrift, in a sea of doubt,
no compass, no sails, no wind,
no faith, "tag you're it, hide your eyes and don't count."
on being saved from the fade to black
from grey lack of faith.
When rallying for a cause, do not indulge with or ever be,
a Provocateur, or you will surely fail your cause in solidarity.
Someone can remind you ,
"I told you he" she" is a bad person."
Ask yourself about the motive
of the informateur
before further reactions.
The so pointed bad,
he " she" always open
his"her"mouth and deliver the truths.
he is now painted as
"Social Provocateur"
as long as he "she" is one
of the "Peacemakers"
which is good for all the Nations.
Question yourself first:
does he "she" bad because of posting the truths
or because of one misunderstanding?
Then allow love to do it major role in the hearts
of the entire societies.
July 24/2023
Oh, the scent
The tingling touch
Of unseen fingers on the air
Teasing instincts interest.
The essence of the feral
Laying lust upon the wind
Hope among the hedges
An unknowing provocateur
Fumbling with the dark art
Of pheromonal folly.
John G. Lawless
©10/25/2022
As you move,
Be humble in your development.
Leaving a softened Wake
So for those with you,
May experience the Joy of Peace.
Not an easy task,
Considering how the world
Is so easily provoked ;
Into violence
Into hatred
Into division...
The provocateur is hard at work,
Trying to sabatoge the work of the Soul
And the Spirit's journey upward.
Do not be afraid
Do not fear
Do not give in to the negativity of the world.
As you move,
Be humble in your development.
Leaving a softened Wake
So for those with you,
May experience the Joy of Peace.
"Provocateur"
Provocateur
lit the
Light
Bonfires
for you
to see
Mirrors
reflect
descendants
Ascending
Light
lit Provocateurs
Mirrors
reflect
departure
Transcending
Arrival
Me in you
You in me
Light
lit Provocateurs
Bonfires
lighting
LOVE
the path
for you
to see
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
gvlm
11.11, 11pm
"Hine-i-te-Awatea"/Lorde
https://youtu.be/P3TQz_7-rOY
“In order for the light to shine so brightly,
the darkness must be present”.
“There are two ways of spreading light;
to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it”
“In the right light, at the right time,
everything is extraordinary”
Clasping onto the wildest dreams,
grasping for those lost strings;
Crashing on air that doesn’t come,
wrapping me in excruciating longing;
Prisoner of this world you created,
conspirator as I breathe your energy;
Provocateur dancing bathed in stardust,
closer ever closer, to synergy.
"The body, like the oak, is bent and gnarled,
The shallow-rooted mind is overthrown,
When we are near the evening of the world."
---From, 'Runes for an Old Believer", by Rolfe Humphries
Facebook post: "Respect your elders!"
My mind may not be now
as nimble as once it was,
and although I might see all
with jaundiced sight, not fresh,
not new, my mood is mostly
cool and quite calm.
--- Until, that is,
some brash provocateur
begins to essay an attack,
thinking to erase the marks
my words have made and to
overwrite them with his own.
I care not very much that he
with logic may displace my niche,
nor cleverly might mock me.
But to disparage Age in dotage,
with vile invectives, is doltish,
brutish and dumbfounding.
My sweetest comfort is
to have no doubt that he
(nor others of his ilk) will
never see how ineffectual
must be this mild complaint.
A woman, or a girl,
hooded and hiding,
may pensively gaze down
at the sun, or a sinking stone.
Or a man, not a boy,
neither hooded nor hiding,
may, in her stead, gaze, ecstatic, upward
at the corner of the mystery.
A crawler on the oceans floor
may cling as an ocean crawler would,
sucking up whatever remains
from the feeding frenzy above.
Or a larger beast
may extend its armoured frame upward
and arch its back to swallow
the sun, or a sinking stone.
A jester, or provocateur, laughing quietly,
is surely nearby,
suspended upside down for now,
he, too, will change with the change.
Stones cast off, or scrupulously gathered,
and the bleeding edge of enigma,
may change or remain the same,
we won’t know until we turn.
17th April 2019
Perhaps,
there are just too many
writers of poetry out there,
I have read their poems with joy and sadness.
Gathering their thoughts and parlaying them
to images seen and postulated
with the eyes closed shut but seeing
life in their embellished dreams.
When I was a child of nine or ten
I longed to be a writer of sorts,
visionary, ingenious provocateur,
storyteller, unraveler for and of the times.
So many others beat me to it,
displaying my words with a better grace
and said what was on my mind,
beating in my heart, living in my soul
spoken well, far better
and more eloquently
than I could.
Never number one,
always second, third or more
still, some inner need
forces me to keep trying.
Therein lies the me,
determined and persistent
as with life, ever moving forward,
looking for just a little more.
Corinthians 9:24 clearly states
"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run,
but only one receives the prize?
Run in such a way as to take the prize."
So I'm running
as fast as I can
hoping and trying always
to become number one.
King Vlad the Greatest
Supremus-Dictatoris
Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin
Bamboozler-Provocateur
Arrogance absolute.
Master of Malarkey
Bolshoi-Apparatchik
Mask of a Monster
Hooliganism to boot.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
August 20, 2015 (Double Dactyl)
Who is my reader? My reader is my guest
In the secret of his corner of host
He welcomes me as an instructor or tractor
In the sector of her golden mind
She listens to me as minister or tax collector
Who is my reader? My reader is my leader
My reader is my adviser, my redeemer
Transports me from writer to author, messenger
Elevates me from speaker to preacher, immortal
Promotes me from player to director, instructor
My reader is my uncle, my reader is my anchor
In the dark street of his solitude, altitude
He accepts me as nephew or follower
In the cold corner of his addiction, condition
He sings along with me as inmate or soul-mate
Fight me with ,his muscles brown, wrestler
Read me with her avid eyes full of tears, lawyer
Who is my reader? My reader is my listener
In his mental imagery, he scans me between lines
He portrays me as storyteller or fortuneteller
Scrutinizes me between my words, inspector
Who is my reader? my reader is my provocateur
Who is my reader? My reader is my challenger
My reader is my mother,my reader , my mentor
my reader may be a writer,my reader is my printer
Indestructible you
Endowed provocateur of origination
Forger of paths unknown
Awaken
Yesterday was an option
Today a decision
Tomorrow will come
Eventually
Head high
Shoulders up
Walk
Fear is perception
Defeat is an illusion
Perverse as it is
Fills a void
To incentivize the outcome of glory
For as long as you walk
Deceiving external predictors, you prosper
Enticing hate and curiosity
From your resistance to fall prey to darkness
If perhaps you stumble
Along the way
No worries
That is the way
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.