I am the rot beguiling the saccharine summer hue
I am the self in selfish sorrow, sullying the morning dew
Sickened with the mortal blips of emotion
To fall with the fragility of flesh hipped erosion
Hipped bone beneath browned bandage
Honed the hand hither, 'ncase fickle flesh cannot manage
T'stand aground the mortal vantage
Health t'sickness, worn to wear, not to manage, thy
Breath be dragged'n rancid acid, lipped from the dazed haze of exhaustion
She who had not a gun to brandish, but the naval blade o'self-famish
She who chose to awake, who awoke'n self-loathing
Whose body is irate with the dawned dam break of bile
T'overflow mine own organs, and hinder the words of hungered mind
Breaking the tide of the thrum drum pendulum heart
Shalt th'tounge twist rue th'bile duct of recovery
Drool the drivel of a mere reason 'why?'
And retract the bile of thy sickened mind.
I am to drool the drivel, of love from human kind
Im so tired'f this mortal mortuary
In place of mortal mind.
I am the mind that threatens to die.
And i am the mind, prepared to fight.
Categories:
sullying, future, imagery, recovery from,
Form: Free verse
Dust floats in the air like it belongs there,
and then accumulates on everything.
Dead skin and mites suspended in mid-air
adhere to practically anything;
sullying surfaces to which they cling.
Dust bunnies gather, morphing into balls;
that hide under beds and roll down the halls.
Dust spreads allergens, dander, and pet hair
that collects in corners and sticks to walls:
it's everywhere, yet no one seems to care.
Categories:
sullying, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Dizain
My Doberman Pinscher won best of show
and was strutting around like a peacock.
One judge was none too pleased and let me know,
while scrutinizing my dog like a hawk.
She was a sarcastic bitter old prune,
treating both me and my dog with disdain.
And swore he'd be stripped of his standing soon,
she preferred the Schnauzer, and made that plain.
Unfortunately, as dogs often do
he lifted his leg and started to pee.
Her shoe would have to do, since there’s no loo,
and it got a resounding laugh from me.
After sullying this finger-wagger,
he walked with a champion's swagger.
(Sonnet)
09,02,2019
SWAGGER Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Categories:
sullying, 10th grade, animal, dog,
Form: Sonnet
I can't wipe past betrayals away;
those transgressions are here to stay.
And while love holds no guarantee;
at the very least, trust in me.
Failing to reconcile old fears,
questioning love brings only tears.
And building emotional walls,
you ignore the truth when it calls.
Your fears choreograph each move
as if I've something to prove.
And as doubt denigrates your mood,
you act insane, getting unglued.
You think you're being ill-treated;
cursing your fate, you feel cheated.
And sounding completely deranged,
insults get angrily exchanged.
Armed with lies and a bruised ego;
you recoil, the wounded hero.
You don't give love, only receive;
and, in truth, constantly deceive.
When will you ever trust again,
put yours aside, and feel my pain?
Sullying my dreams with regret,
you're losing my love and respect.
Categories:
sullying, angst, emotions, feelings, hurt,
Form: Rhyme
Interrogation
by JD DeHart
Bright spotlight
displays the quiver
and sullying squirm
of bare blood red humanity,
pushed back in the chair,
beaten for truth.
Categories:
sullying, angst, fear,
Form: Free verse
Bitter Truths
How much of bitterness is truth we cannot swallow.
The acridity of words held idle for too long, fermenting
in the cauldron of conceit, the spoils of victory flaunted
in feigned servility. What scales measure life against
life, gain against greater gain, success against success?
Can we not savor the sweetness of another’s gifts
without coveting them, bathing them in our envy,
sullying them with our rancor? Could we not applaud
the valor and perseverance of the triumphant, revel
in a rivalry well played, tip our equally soiled cap,
nod in an appreciation of a job well done?
Must the fist of failure pummel all who do not win,
remove the joy of competition’s camaraderie,
negate the lessons learned, the hours shared,
diminish the successes in setting and
eclipsing goals and gains. Does not the acrid stench
of final gun fade, slowly drifting on a passing breeze?
Why must the truth hold bitter still, unable to accept
the success in every failure and the failure in
disparaging success.
John G. Lawless
1/17/2014
Categories:
sullying, education, school, sports, success,
Form: Prose Poetry
CHILDREN
Children are the blank sheets of paper in a new-bought writing book
And each page is clean and pure white, untrammeled,
Waiting for ideas to be created
The pages are the future
Not just theirs but yours and mine, for if
The children are raised imperfectly
What sort of world is it to be?
All their ideas are implanted by you and me
So if those ideas produce great results then we have done a reasonable job;
But if their ideas should prove unworthy
And lead to a worsening of life for one or for many
Then eternal regret will echo round the walls of heaven
And the angels will yell for the blood of us perpetrators of such damned falsehoods:
And we’d better hope for the indulgence and forgiveness of God, for we
Cannot hope to ever justify the sullying of perfectly new sheets of bright paper.
Better to have a millstone around the neck and jump into a deep pond,
As was said by a guy a lot smarter and purer white than me.
And He wrote the book on the subject.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest "Children"
Categories:
sullying, childhood, hope,
Form: Free verse
Pungent sounds sullen, sullying,
Feelings stark, severe, stressful,
Aflame, singed, searing, smoldering,
Thoughts surging, seeping, slinking,
Placid…As my eyes awaken…
Categories:
sullying, angst, life, visionary,
Form: Alliteration
Rising from within my quill
Waves of ink crest and crash
Upon the papered shoreline
Riding in and out on the tides
Of yesterday found…
Sullying the once untainted
With both the rash and tender
Of the restive poetic spirit
An autonomous symbiosis
Of today’s moments…
Endlessly seeking identification
Ink scrawled candle flames illume
Scratched out paths into tomorrow
The journey of the minds eye
Of tomorrows chance…
Each penning a new step forward
Into our own intangible dreams
Our elusive target moves ever further
Where no direction can lead us on
Of our poetic hopes…
Categories:
sullying, introspection, on writing and
Form: Free verse