the moon commences its' illusion
it rides the crest fully
survivor of Roche's Limit
survivor of human prediction
filling the night with shadow
my early morning walks
the light in the distance
calls thru canopied jungle path
the setting moon
stepping on the soft white beach
where a silver highway plays
in the rippling water, i am
the human past who long ago
beheld such a sight
without the shaman's cheap trick
nor the cold touch of science
have accepted the moon just is
beautiful to behold
we let each other be
we are one and the same
dancing thru the universe
and when this is no more
we will be lip to lip
i do not know what God is
and have no such need
yet whatever it is
it is magnificent
heaven lives to die
and in that death
life finds itself again
my wishes, mere mortal longing
that so might i
even Rimbaud capitulated
the reprobates fear of reprobation
and i have but one question
before the empyreal throne
is there in heaven, a moon
Norma's roof Santa Cruz 95
I haven’t seen “Melania” -
To do so, I’ve no plans,
For I am not, in any shape
Or form, one of her fans.
It’s just another instance of
A move that’s gauche and crass,
To rub into our faces
All the bad that’s come to pass.
Our country ruled by tyrants,
Lowlifes bringing fear and strife
And now 40 million dollars
Spent to showcase one such wife.
Just to think of all that money
And the homes that it could build
Wasted on each White House lily,
Which just reprobates would gild.
When I checked “Rotten Tomatoes,”
Which rates many movie picks,
I was not surprised to see it rated
With a lowly 6.
Called self-serving and pathetic,
Boring, dull and bad and bland,
Critics hated it but not her fans,
Who grovel on command.
There once was a place soupers called PS
Forgive me if I sound a bit too superc-i-l-i-o-u-s
Bloggers delight with fisticuffs
at spiteful bullies bogus bluffs
One day gone, none got along, all unscrupulous!
Delete them at first, what they falsely implore
Seems one can’t hash it out with an execrator
Or block the gates
of those old reprobates
And poof all gone, it’s what buttons are for!
the moon commences its' illusion
it rides the crest fully
survivor of Roche's Limit
survivor of human prediction
filling the night with shadow
my early morning walks
the light in the distance
calls thru canopied jungle path
the setting moon
stepping on the soft white beach
where a silver highway plays
in the rippling water, i am
the human past who long ago
beheld such a sight
without the shaman's cheap trick
nor the cold touch of science
have accepted the moon just is
beautiful to behold
we let each other be
we are one and the same
dancing thru the universe
and when this is no more
we will be lip to lip
i do not know what God is
and have no such need
yet whatever it is
it is magnificent
the heavens live to die
and in that death
life finds itself again
my wishes, mere mortal longing
that so might i
even Rimbaud capitulated
the reprobates' fear of reprobation
and i have but one question
before the empyreal throne
is there in heaven, a moon
Norma's roof Santa Cruz 95
We lost a good guy within the last week
Name of Dean Parry Val halla did seek
A full military career this gentleman had
His family and friends are now very sad
We've known Dean since the age of sixteen
When we joined a life in green
A top soldier and tradesman for sure
Serving abroad in many a war
Tommorows the day he'll be laid to rest.
From all of us you were one of the best
The current climate won't let us attend
But we will raise a glass for this absent friend
You join Andy perks at the bar in the sky
Leaving us behind wondering why
We know about demons that you had
Now they are gone and you can be glad
Our condolences to your family
I hope it goes well. as well as can be
R.I.P Dean Respect to thee.
From all the reprobates of 87C
Champion Squadron
Champion Recruit troop
1st Sept 87
An Ode To Trolls Hackers And Scammers.
.
Hideous evil creatures
Attention seekers
Cowards who hide behind computers
Cold-hearted scavengers
Not unlike preying vultures
.
Childish and pathetic
Bloodsucking leeches
Inflated egotistical heretics
Unhappy with their lot
Blaming everyone else
For what they have got
.
Insecure reprobates
Void of loving
Rabid narcissists
Spreading hate
Incognito dwelling in the dark shadows
Invading innocent victims
Homes and space
A hooded callous destroyer
Without a face
.
Control freaks seeking power
From their lofty tower
Something they lack
But will be paid back
.
Bullies who may escape justice now
But on judgment day they will have to pay
For their evil deeds
And I for one
Can’t wait for that day.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
Heavy with thoughts that abort sleep
My mind goes on a pilgrimage to the sky
The view from above makes heaven cry
The earth is plagued with despotic souls
And altars of different creeds are soaked
With the blood of innocent worshippers
Spilled in mortal conflict in defence of God
Their ancestors did not serve and who
They have no knowledge of
But claim monopoly over
So, they seek to invoke lightening and
Draw rain of misfortune upon all
Who will not beseech Divinity as they do
Or believe their half-borrowed beliefs
That deify robed beings on the rostrum
And abhor supplication made in solitude
And broadcast water offered the thirsty
Or rags put on the backs of the destitute
In concealing their sumptuous abstinence
Their faces resemble those of mourners
They profess compassion but will drive
Seared iron through penitent reprobates
Declaring them undeserving of mercy
Intoxicated in pious conceit
They seek to cause pain because
They possess the power to hurt
I too have read from the books they wield
The letters do not preach hate for neighbour
Insidious, insipid, id-inebriated imbeciles
wage a wanton war of words without wit, wisdom or worldliness.
Regrettable, repugnant reprobates ravage refined realms as
pirouetting pariahic pyres patently a pyrrhic prize.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
16 syllables on every line - checked with howmanysllables.com
2 December 2017
For Barry Stebbings' "Alliteration" contest.
Insidious, insipid, id-inebriated imbeciles
incite impetus into inevitable immolation.
Bombast, bluster and bluff: blunt batons of barbarian bullies;
backwards behaviour blackballs baronial breed's burdens and bonds.
Weasely, willy-waving warmongers wage wanton war of words
without wit, wisdom or worldliness, whilst we weakly watch and wait.
Regrettable, repugnant reprobates ravage refined realms with
reprehensible rapier-rattling and rancid rhetoric.
Clash of corrupt, contemptible cutthroats carves calamity 'cross
continents and culminates in catastrophic conflagration.
Pointless predatory and political power-plays pale as
pirouetting pariahic pyres patently a pyrrhic prize.
------------------------------------------
(16 syllables on every line, checked with howmanysyllables.com)
14 October 2017
White Knights,
Aryan brothers
Sons of the Confederacy
loyal to the Cause
Black lives don’t matter much ...
******* are zeroes
in our Fourth Reich beer halls
White Knights,
Aryan sisters
Daughters of the Confederacy
trumpet the Cause
Picaninnies picking cotton
is the only thing tar babies
are good for at all
Lets make America great again
like it was way back when
Dixie slavery songs was the sounds of the South
at the opening and closing of the plantation gates
Squashing Antebellum rebellion with a good castration ...
lynching was the strange fruit we Union haters ate
And seeing them KKK days again is gonna be great
White Knights,
Aryan brothers
Sons of the Confederacy
loyal to the Cause
So evil strong and abiding is our hate ...
We’re gonna turn back the clock,
and abolish those civil right reprobates
We’re gonna once again make America great
We are true neo-Nazi believers
who slave hard
at making our backward racial beliefs a sinister reality
Fourth Reich of July burning cross White Night
will be the darkest Independence Day in American history
Sort out the new
one of the New
Sort of the New
Millennium I am
Sort out the new
one of those
Reluctant recalcitrant reprobates
Sort of the most
High Speed
Falling in love
In a moment
To tell
To view
To sort out the new
To gift in the old.
Social Injustice
Purging Purgatory holds a few,
of numb nuts on the planet,
reprobates could make you spew ,
like a bloody half baked Gannet,
social justice is sinking low,
where the LNP does rule, [ tories]
careful how your words do go,
incorrect-u-mundo, bloody fool,
National party in the bush,
In the likes of Longreach town,
Wear the Drover Moleskins, pants, the push,
And blue shirts, come to frown,
Drive on past the local cafes and stores,
In their big ole four wheel drives,
Out to the Airport, bloody sure,
How Sir and Mister [class] survives,
Cotton came to Cubbie station,
Now owned by the great Chinese,
I was there on the woodheap yeah,
When class distinction had some freeze,
Jackaroo & Manager, sit in the dining room,
Station hands, into the kitchen creep,
But we are cool,
with the Aboriginal rule,
Eating:
On the woodheap,
down with the sheep,
For we are the despised working class,
The brainless as a sheep,
Swallow lies and propaganda, alas,
Pawns of the super rich, come cheappppp :}
Don
JAMES DEAN WOULD WANT ME TO BE ANGRY
My cruelty is commensurate to my discomfort
My displeasure is pertinent to my pain
My brutality is because I’ve been bruised in the brain
And my delirium is due to my diligent disdain
When I am uncomfortable an uncontrollable urge urges me to give way to a vehement voice
And thus relegate reprobates to a wretched recompense without a choice
When I am not pleased or am teased by torment’s tongue I betray pleasure beyond measure
And present everyone present with unpleasant platitudes
As I malign moods with misery
And a blistery cold shoulder
yet rest assured,
My gruffness grows worse as I grow older
© 2012….PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Looking for poetry off the beaten path. Take a look at "The Menagerie" 74 hand
selected poems by this author. Available for download $5.99
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0052U4O5U
A. W. Nutter
As the suns rays take flight
Pain, mere moments away
Fear grows with the twilight
As a demon prepares to play
No concern of retribution
Atrocities becoming ageless
Habitual, nightly persecution
Cloaked in a veil of righteousness
The barn door slowly opens
Oil lamp illuminates the boy
His eyes black as a ravens
As he views his captive toy
Crying out, from a cold caress
Prompts the demons laughter
Salvation absent for the godless
No mercy from the assaulter
Screams providing gratification
The final act being orchestrated
Priest praying for absolution
For sins already committed
The child’s heart surrenders
Resting in a shallow grave
Safe from religious pretenders
No longer a reprobates slave
Children losing their innocence
Causing the flock to lose hope
False prophet preaching temperance
Pedophiles protected by the Pope
A. W. Nutter
Sympathetic voices
Whispering in the ear
Angels in remorse
Shedding their tears
Droplets of water
A mocking serenade
The darkened chamber
They chose to invade
Alone in the darkness
Depression transcends
Engulfed by wickedness
Prayers quickly end
Pleading for death
Ignored by the Trinity
In a reprobates path
On the edge of insanity
Consumed with fear
Overwhelmed with pain
Salvation for beggars
In hell I’ll remain
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.