"blaspheming" poems
You wake me up
Yelling and screaming
Clawing scratching
Demanding satisfaction
So stubborn full of your own desires
Pull me from slumber by the roots of my hair
Searching frantically for the fix you cannot find
Violence is the sign of a true addict
Cursing and blaspheming you tear into my skin
Failing to find it you resort to torture
Once I relent you greedily ****** up your coveted prize
Leave me
My usefulness has been outlived
Your claim to it is only that it is yours
Never thinking of the risks or problems it brings
So addicted you can't survive a day without it
Constantly craving
You forget the world
Come back to the living it isn't too late
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 1:22 PM UTC
What do you do at 3am when you're tired and bored and its raining?
Maybe this is punishment.
For eating those grapes before you paid for them in Sainsburys.
Or that time you forgot who Buzz Aldron was, or when you took pleasure at beating a five year old at Cluedo.
She started crying, and even then, you still
would not relinquish your title.
Maybe its for that time
You were accidentally racist to the chinese guy taking your order.
Or when you forgot to buy your mum a birthday card, or when you made fun of your best friend for not being taller.
Or when you said, 'Maybe
selective breeding in humans,
Is not such a bad thing after all.'
Yes, Its definitely punishment for that.
But maybe its for all the litter you've dropped, inadvertently or on purpose.
Or for last week when you accidentally kicked the cat, or for stealing those library books,
For swearing at kids
and blaspheming at the dinner table,
Christ!
Maybe its for nicking your brothers chips, even when you're not really that hungry.
For halfhearted apologies handed out like office stationary, for scoffing at most modern art.
For not revising when you
Really, really should
...But telling your parents you are.
But even with all of this, isn't the punishment, just a little bit too harsh?
Well now you are sarcastic, and bitter and pessimistic at least 90% of the time.
And you do hide the fact that you quite like country music, and that you have a blanket with sleeves (and you genuinely use it) and that you're really rather patriotic at heart.
And you didn't say all that stuff when you should have.
And you said all that other stuff you didn't mean
And you spend far too much of your time
Invested in impressing the people you're never going to see again.
And you realize all of this... at three o'clock in the morning, alone but for the fading of the rain.
And you swear to yourself, with all the fervour of a tired insomniac. That tomorrow.
There. Will. Be. Change.
But in the cold, harsh light of nine o'clock the same day. Six hours after you fell asleep. You resign yourself to the fact that last nights punishments can all be absolved, by a nice warm cup of tea.
And despite what you say
at 3am when you're tired and bored,
listening to the sound of the rain.
You will always be a pessimistic idiot, with delusions of grandeur.
That watches too much American TV.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
____I'LL NEVER FORGET "THAT-NIGHT"___ It was 8;00PM, a Thunder and Lightening storm had just begun and what seemed like thousands of BB sized HAIL WERE PELTING the roof, making it Hard to Hear the Ringing Phone ! ! I Barked OUT a "HELLO",,,the tearful, hesitant voice on the OTHER END....CRIED OUT... " Come over quickly" She pleaded and continued with "IT'S LIKE DEMONS Have CONTROL OF HER ! ! ! ,and SHE KEEPS CRYING OUT .. AUNT BEA,,, Aunt Bea... Over and over"_______ . This was going to require a SPECIAL-EXORCISM I Stated... "I'm ON MY WAY" ! Upon my Arrival , I was greeted by a trembling,sobbing LaCretia,,claiming, "HURRY to the Library Room.,Rochelle is waiting ! !" The repeating AUNT BEAS were spoken as if Gargling... "WHAT are her Symptoms " I Queried ? IN A VERY-SLOW Determined Voice, LaCretia detailed the following,,,, "She has the BLUES, She has the BLAHS, She has BLEMISHES, She has BOWEL Constriction, She has been BLASPHEMING, She has BUTTOCKS Wrinkles, She has BREAST quivers and has been having BELCHING FITS "! ! ! I THREW MYSELF ON THE FLOOR IN PRAYER...Asking for the strength to DEAL-WITH these DEMONS..._____** A N D **____Here's what CAME-OUT of ROCHELLE,,,, *(#1)=BREEZEWAY-LIPS= when encountering these rascals ,it's highly suggested that WE BE UNDER Proper Cover.. (#2)= BISTRO-BREATH-LEADER= Demons that emit SPECIAL AROMATICS into the air ,that keep screaming ,,"IT'S TIME TO EAT"....(#3)=BEHEMOTH -TESTER= Demon assigned to see how BIG OF A MONSTER he can turn you in to ....*( #4)=BRAZEN-FELLOWS= Demon who attempts to Get "YOU" TO **** INTO EVERYBODYS BUSINESS, and ruin their whole day & night...! ! ! I THEN SHOUTED OUT TO **ROCHELLE ** " ARE there any more " B " DEMONS IN there ??" Rochelle, collapsed to the floor,, I promptly RUBBED-IN the BROWN SHOE POLISH into the soles and heels of feet,,*** FOREVER-BLOCKING ***__" B " DEMONS , the ONLY-ENTRANCE to our BODIES .._______ Rochelle ,with a new found strength, lifted herself from the floor, Gingerly grasped my hand, Pulled me "VERY-CLOSE" . KISSED me with a FERVOR , THAT I CAN "TASTE" TO THIS very-day... I bid LaCretia and Rochelle "GOOD-NIGHT",, AND FOUND MYSELF "WHISTLING" and "THINKING" as I walked to my Vehicle.... "The Demons are increasing their activity ! ! I MUST "BE-PREPARED" for the NEXT-CALL_____PERHAPS FROM * Y O U * ??___
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 9:06 AM UTC
It positively affects my mood.
I become more independent of the society, I help people with their stuff and entertain them with my poems, stories, couplets, jokes, essays, songs & guitar.
I also take to first-hand social service whenever possible and I've also taught some underprivileged children & imparted elementary education to them.
I get my poetry ideas from this activity.
I think & feel differently about the world.
I look the others into their eyes with piercing confidence and I think you never had that confidence.
I feel stronger & more in control.
My appetite has greatly improved from being a poor eater in my childhood to a healthy eater in my adulthood.
My virility isn't affected at all and instead, I gain more stamina and manliness; my tool is strengthened.
My imagination power, IQ and hence smartness is also increased - believe me these have actually increased.
I cleared 9 & 10 examinations in my engineering degree two different times at one attempt each and my response time is greatly improved.
I become more confident.
My strength isn't reduced, but I go to the gym and I exercise as good as others.
My power & force are perfectly normal.
My eyes are shining bright, dark black in the middle of pure white.
I have never got any dark circles.
It takes me no more than 10 minutes to recover completely, it depends on the body about how it performs.
Over-use of anything - even oxygen as it oxidizes body & mind - is utterly harmful.
Quality has become thicker & brighter each day I exercise.
So keep hands on your tools than some ****** books blaspheming against the new-found rage.
Consult an expert instead of developing your own stories or believing the same old ****** stories.
Everything has a limit and within that limit, it is extremely enjoyable.
Just one last tip: Keep yourself humane with yourself & don't become a dumb & helpless addict to get embarrassed in front of your family one day.
Now if you feel that I'm spreading blasphemy & bad thoughts, you may please stop reading my poems instead of cursing me in vain.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
God Almighty. It puts the fear in you.
Jesus Christ. Again?
Yes, again. Don’t be a ***
Oh please.
Jesus.
A hanging silence.
You know William Paley?
No. Go on.
Oh. Paley’s Watch?
******* go, James.*
Uh, Paley’s Watch is a theory that the universe is too complex to exist by chance, and therefore there must be a creator. I mean, just like the existence of a watch presupposes a watchmaker ‘cause it’s too complex to be there by chance.
And you eat that?
Yes, or something similar. What offends you so ******* much anyway? So I believe-
*It’s defeatist. Jesus Christ, the only reason you and anyone else believes this dogshit is ‘cause you’re ******* terrified of dying, and the reason a ******* graveyard puts the fear into your thick skull is ‘cause you want to join them when you croak. That’s what it is, it’s ******* insurance.*
Another silence.
Okay. Alright, fine, it’s insurance. But I am playing this insurance, see, into my benefit. I believe in the creator, and if it turns out he’s watching me he’ll put in the good word and I spend my afterlife in eternal sunshine, and if he’s a scam like you say it is I join you in blackness or hellfire. I win either way.
Oh, very faithful, doggy. Arf arf.
Oh, for the love-
*What’s life worth if you’re so sure where you’re going? I reckon I’d rather drink and steal **** and burn in hellfire than **** away my life in the service of some shitbird in the sky who may or may not exist.
Jesus, mother-*
Stop ******* blaspheming.
**** you, James.*
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
Godless men wearing back
sit within blistering sun.
As they carrying their sacred book
soaked in an evil not from any GOD.
And they some how get
**** **** ****
**** for God.
As they ironically tell the
world that it is
blaspheming.
Come and join us
or be buried alive.
Yes come and join us
Let us brutalize and castrate
your daughter your child.
And give your son a gun while
we go cut of some heads.
As we rip out your heart
with blood and violence.
And ask you to spit on all
love and humanity.
As you stand within your shaking bodies
you look into the eyes of your
wife and only see terror in
her heart.
You know that you must
RUN
Thousands of you are swept
like the dirt into the sea.
Mothers and Fathers crying as
children are lost and drowning.
Someones baby washed up like
drift wood or a log.
Cut all with razor wire
climbing caged out fences.
As a heart cry's I only want a
new family home I will polish
your shoes wash all your loos.
Please they scream we are only
human
Sorry I don't think anyone
is listening.
Westerners wake up lounging
on their sofa belly's spilling
over their trouser.
Stomachs extended inflated
from just a little to much
extra seconds.
Looking on disconnected
at those who traveled risked
their lives even walked
a thousand miles.
And some how spill out with
their lager down their cheek
thieves ****** and
lazy freeloaders.
And those who succeed to
find a new home some how
elegantly find a dignity
in being unwanted.
And those who failed their
perilous path trust in God
has left them homeless
As they find the west
also Godless.
As we with a cool glare tell
them go back to your guns
bombs your not welcome
here.
Stone face matter of fact
immigration explained
take your children back.
As we try to through them
back like babies into a dog
or snake pit.
SHAME ON US
for this frosty reception
and cloudy perception
I hold out hope for a
better conclusion.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
Alone,
In this jar of darkness
Wind of poison
My lungs no longer care
From a lively spirit to only a bone
To exist,
I run out of reason
Belong I where?
I want to run,
Oh God
Lift me,
I want to run...
Sinking,
In the misery of my nightmares
Haunted by demons
Tied in chains
Eating me inside out, blaspheming
Feeling
Nothing but stark pain
An agony treason
Am I in so much vain?
I want to burn,
Oh Devil,
Stab me,
I want to burn...
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 11:51 PM UTC
dance, blaspheming butterfly
against the black and ignorantly blessed sky
Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 11:37 PM UTC
I looked
for symmetrical images on a page
to reveal the suffering sacraments of the sage
an easy path to some transcendent place
above this infinitely lonely space
I could find
a tasty recipe for baking one’s life
without really enduring the strife
that comes with every shuddering breath
as we allow ourselves to think of d_ _ _ _
I can write
this (w)holy horrifying WORD
that is really only heard
like the distant dance of a blaspheming butterfly
against a black and ignorantly blessed sky
I choose
to not scratch the letters nor utter the sound
of something so frighteningly profound
as the wretched writhing
of
nothing
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
I can see the numbers rolling back behind your eyes.
Never know what the slots will bring.
When I told you I liked surprises
I didn't mean I'd like to find you spilling your mathematics
all over the bedroom sheets
counting how many times you could divide yourself
from yourself
and the languages spoken by mumbling mathematicians
always failing to find the difference
between their science and the love you needed.
I was 7 digits from talking you down.
You felt you were born 6 feet too high.
There are 5 times I can remember you laughing
the last of those was on the 4th of July.
How can anyone believe they are free
when we are bought at this calendar price?
You were laughing at the irony of the time it took you to say it.
Silly woman,
time is not made of numbers,
but of songs.
I replay that memory at least 3 times a night.
Your 2 shoes are the only music I'd still like to hear playing
I am currently discovering that 1 is not a lonely number.
I have spent cozy evenings
cuddled up with the burden you left behind.
It is colder than I remember you
and always seems to squeeze my neck
just a little too tight.
You wanted to become 0,
ignoring my side of this equation,
but before you left you swallowed my equilibrium whole.
I fell down bell curve cliffs
until my words themselves became improbabilities.
My love was more than average,
I mean...
I miss you.
I mean...
You're so **** stupid.
I mean...
I loved you.
I mean...
I love you.
If you and I are numbers
we are easily replaceable,
replicable as science has always wanted us to be.
I am telling you now
that no one else fits.
I should have told you that a few days ago
when I had more of you to stand by
than fragments of memories
each one passing, blaspheming your sum.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
He sat in dewy grass
Writing a pastoral dialog.
“And death is also here,” mused he.
“All art depends on gravity.”
He neatly ordered his pages.
She wove lilacs in her hair,
Standing on moss in the damp morning air.
He considered that God might be in all things.
Was he blaspheming by crushing the grass?
But of course Bentham’s calculus obviates sin.
He thoughtfully scratched his chin.
She approached him from behind,
Dismayed by the clutch of wildflowers
Someone had wrenched out by the roots and thrown away,
Yet suffused in the absolute peace of that day.
She touched his arm—a summons.
What was that sensation?
He was left without rational explanation.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
It takes the sky to make me feel small anymore,
Ridicule from orange light
To make the ghost town fill the bluing coast.
Single silhouette, the wailing breath,
A trailer park becoming fast and
Coming near the closure of her home.
Drinking quickly stars,
The eating face of face-consumers
Touch the late-night masters, late at night-time shoppers:
Impartial is impervious, but he is much the more impious
After years blaspheming from rejections.
The magic circles spell out years
Of demons that have failed to come--
Have failed to wake the hands
And slap the machine like deviant memory can.
Hand into the cup into the hand:
Same business.
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
I have no room for new scars.
My heart is more glued seams than pieces of
Hope and muscle.
My smile is as pale as the back of a
Dalí painting; all canvas and
Dirt.
I have opened my arms for a hug and
Stood accused of impersonating Christ.
Meditation rendered me unsocial.
As misunderstood as Latin, yet
I yell at the walls of common reality with
The dead language of my innersoul,
Cursing and blaspheming for the attention
Of deities. Some may listen; not one needs
To reply.
All I want is to break down the wall
Between myself and any creator
Listening,
And say Thank You. The Love
Of my Life is
My life.
What I love the most about my
Life is
It.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
Moonlight looked all around herself because she feels something is about to happen why else would she see an angel was sitting on a long park bench, with his head held down like it was praying, and what would he be praying about? then she gets images of things that were going on behind him. It was a green city park and tall trees scattered all around, and behind that images was a very big building of importance...and life was carrying on, but she felt something was very wrong, why else would she be seeing this? Then another angel pouring a bowl upon the city and soon everything became darken, and people and beast were screaming in so much pain of deep agony that they never felt before. In this darkness, she would hear people of all evil saying words that are blaspheming God's good name.
- Judy Emery © 2020 The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 5:24 PM UTC
"The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me" Sylvia Plath
Red is a restless diva
pacing in the wings,
making an entrance
as the carmine tulips
of a get-well bouquet.
Red is a strumpet
blaspheming the temple
where caring hands
smooth pristine
beach-white bedclothes.
Red is a snooper
********** her body's
fresh wound, wearing
her flowering heart
as a throbbing corsage.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
i
Beelzebub, oh Beelzebub, was thou so foolish to turneth from god
Thineself was the highest angel, leading now thy devilish flock;
What was thou thinking? Oh foolish one? To tryeth to be thy god
Thou tried to be the one who created thee, now kicked down here
ii
Lucifer oh Lucifer, thou was made in his image, not him thy own
Now thou hateth, now thou taketh, what thy greediness hath left;
Satan oh Satan thine blaspheming brute, where art thou now?
Art thou killing? Looting, and causing misery for the world's suit?
iii
Bearer of light, oh bearer of false light, I've seen thy face at night
Bearer of false promises that mankind follows, I canst waiteth to see thy works cast into the flame, and for thee again to be chained, with the rest of the hellion with thee in Hell's shallow.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
In the school corridor
Sheila waits for John,
gazing along the corridor
to see if he's coming.
Kids pass her by
on their way
to the cloakrooms
or lockers.
It is a clear blue day,
so she can go out on
the sports field
at midday break
and see him
if she doesn't
see him now.
Her elder sister stands
and stares at her and says:
Who are you waiting for?
Sheila stares back.
Jesus, who do you think?
Sheila says.
That's blaspheming;
I'll tell Mum when
we get home tonight,
the elder sister says.
Mind your business,
go say your prayers,
Sheila says moodily
and turns away.
Her sister goes off
with a turn of her head
and off down the corridor.
She sees John coming
with the boy Goldfinch
and is anxious
what to say or do.
John is talking
to the other boy.
Should she stop
and talk to him;
hope the Goldfinch boy
walks on?
He gets near
and her anxiousness
increases,
she feels so
self-conscious.
He looks her way
and nods and says:
how are you?
She fumbles
with her satchel.
I'm OK,
she replies,
wanting to say more,
but her words cease.
Good,
he says,
see you later
on the sports field?
She nods and smiles.
He has gone up
the corridor
with the Goldfinch boy;
she follows him
with her eyes,
wanting to touch him.
And he didn't notice
she'd done her eyes.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 3:13 AM UTC
my house is a ship & it’s sinking.
there’s water in the cellar, it’s flooding
back into the bog where it came from,
back into the soil where t’was planted
and all the lovely things that happened inside
will soon be consumed, so join for the ride.
no one marks a house with a gravestone,
it’s just a bitterfield battlefield skeleton.
sh, you’re going to blow out our candles
with your coughing & your moaning.
and all the town came to watch us drowning
sputtering, blaspheming, and dying
on a place long ago they were divining
for bedrock by the hedgerows.
the photographers were solemn
beneath branches all but forgotten.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
Words have a strange way of ignoring me
when I need them most.
They fade into the folds of blankness
blaspheming the truth of my reality.
Sheepishly I stare at the laptop screen,
hoping it would crack open
to gift me the word
that decodes the dilemma of my existence.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 3:14 AM UTC
Monday morning
Playing my guitar
With my vanity
I run myself a bath
For crossing the evening
To be with my royalty
I worship my feeling
By the glorifying me
Thanks for the to be or
Not to be
So I quaff my lover
As his Piteous Law
Of Bottomless Pit
Drawing a fresco
About the way a King
Blaspheming God
By his swearing *****
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC
in this isolating night
swallowed by anxiety
my head, shrouded by questions
"does she, also like me?"
the questions, started to grow enormously, filled with such an enormous curiosity
then came, another hundreds of questions
"is this love, or affection?"
blaspheming to the narrow walls,
place where i hang all my hopes and dreams.
oh, the ****** one is me!
"does she know me?
does she also wonder about me?
is she also filled with an enormous curiosity like me?
or, is it just me?
what would she think about when the rain came and dropping the tears of memories?"
oh, how only a creep and a ****** could ask such a questions.
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 2:38 PM UTC
Your eyes could kindle ash to fire
Your touch revive a dying flower
Your smile is like the sun at noon
I cling to the very essence of you
I long for you like a wolf for the moon
Oh creature of heaven that you are, take me soon
Words are my stock and trade
Yet I have none when with you I am faced
I am not a hunter I have no thrill in chase
I am but a cat gazing upon you a queen
You, whom are perfect and must be a dream
Oh can you truly be, all that you seem
Angels weep as you pass by
God gave up creating
After seeing the glimmer in your eye
Israfel dedicates songs to you
Though he knows he is not your equal
Sings of you wildly well, from his lyre in the sky
On the mortal earth below
Mortals too seek to bestow
Upon you, tokens of their love
In spite of jealous god above
You are the person
Whom all love
When you walk, you draw all eyes
Birds fall down from the skies
Or hungry cats miss their mice
Fixed upon you, are their eyes
And upon the sight of you
Newborn babies cease to cry
I think that you shall live always
For with you, life
Wishes not to part ways
You could tame the sky or sea
For even nature's beauty
Cannot compete with thee
Forgive me, I have praised
Only your appearance
Though your soul, is thrice as lovely
Your voice, a gift to all who hear it
And your anger, although rare
I would doubtless fear it
And of course, in others
You provoke a host of feelings
Ecstasy and joy
Why to explain
Would simply be
Blaspheming
And so my dear
We are here
The end of my verse
I wish you well
And pray do tell
You liked what you read here
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 1:22 PM UTC
Well...
It's not fair, and I know he's our maker, but it's not fair!
I'm jealous that he made you and saw you before me!
I'm jealous that you talk to God more than me!
I don't mean any blaspheming, but I want to be omnipresent to your eyes.
Through your eyes, you may see me as God!
I'm jealous that the first words you uttered weren't my name, you see I like how you call my name, how the letters roll down your tongue.
I'm jealous of myself for not seeing you nearly enough!
I'm jealous your mum spent more time with you before you existed!
I'm jealous that other men come up to you, I mean look at you!
Oh the sun rays, the brittle gentle touch of the wind on your skin, I'm even jealous that you touch your body more than I do!
I'm so jealous...
Apr 15, 2024
Apr 15, 2024 at 11:34 AM UTC
Readers scour the white pebble beach when the tide rolls in that certain way
frothy, black as calligraphy ink still drying on the page beneath the sun mid-day
collecting omens on the rocks to declare the future or omni-present fortune
heel, toe, stained with a skeptic life your sky-blue silk and black bristles
carry along over the landscape like a paintbrush, leaving a thin red line
the murky tide of fortune is high
A goat dances on its hind legs the kagura in the traditional garb of the Miko
with his foreign tongue hanging long from his foaming mouth and horned head
wildly speaking of heresies yet to come and blaspheming in manners not invented
unaccompanied, the brush approaches this desecration of all sense standing
with hobbled feet from the miles of prophesied shore that never foretold its coming
to stare it eye-to-eye, without kneeling, as soon as the demoted kami locks eyes
the dance stops, the tide itself stops and begins to roll backwards, recoiling from the land
where this thing has set foot
Clots in the thick, wooly fur of the beast form first, revealing the reversal
dry death rolls wetly backwards up the throat into a long cut,
near severance of the head, a fountain erupts from the terrain in four pillars
all flowing back into the eyes, nostrils and mouth of the goat
without revealing the terror or flailing away, she stands witness to it
stalwart with stoic determination and faith, nothing can deter her
unnatural as it may be, the loosely hanging fit of the Miko fall to the ground
a bleating animal stands on all fours, and leads her into a temple of white ash
high up in the thin air and snow of the mountains, where there is only the unwritten of the pale to behold
with only the trail of her long spindling fate behind her,
and not a natural thing occurs beyond the Kami's gate where they meet
and nothing good can happen once she was drawn to the dance
now a queen in ice, bloodless for all her love given
loveless for all her love given, godless, faithless
and alone.
Aug 28, 2022
Aug 28, 2022 at 3:32 PM UTC