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Mary Gay Kearns Aug 2018
Few people can be believed
The lips are packed with lies
Words fall as if manœuvred
To benefit selfishness’s world.

I carry the dust of deceitful
tongues, swollen, diseased
Where is cleanliness left?
‘The dog’s bowl at the door’.

Love Mary ***
Troy Aug 2018
Crimson drops
Silent killer
The darkness falls
A Pool of tears

Thy darkest deed
So simple and pure
Thy shallow breath
Gasping for life

Heart beat slows
Death is upon you
For in this darkest hour
Your worst fears come alive

Shadows lurk
In hallowed halls
Terror rises
As they begin to move

Silent forest
So sincere and divine
Casting evil
Where thoughts may lie

Evil begins to flourish
The light all but vanishes
The darkness grows
Upon this devilish night

And in the hallowed halls
Of a once great heart
The beads of deceit
Begin to unfold

Travesty awaits
All who enter
For in this heart of crimson
Lays the demon of defeat
Tammy M Darby Oct 2014
The days descended inhaling the goodness
Smothering
Murderous
Diseased and dark

.Mankind swallowed down the perverse evil and sickened
Desperate for the emotions once felt
No longer remembered
That will once more warm and quicken
Dead jaded hearts,

Rose from their bank's angry rivers
Now rocky dry brooks
The ocean overcame the land
Islands sank to sea beds below
The earth furious heaved and split
The coals of the sleeping volcano's were lit

Humanity shivered in moldy damp caves
Counting their once thought endless days
No longer gods of the earth
Of green rich ground
Or untouchable stars
The world was falling apart


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Oct. 8, 2014
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Leaches and bloodsuckers all!
Parasites to our hearts and minds,
diseased by location encircling a waterhole.

I’m done with this, gone to future dreams overdue for life,
shedding years of hopeless frustration
as others wallow in their ignorance.

Sickness deepen as their pool thickens.  
New life drains away
running for its existence toward light and hope.

Leaches and bloodsuckers all!
They drain us of lifeblood and energy.
One more waterhole and gene pool;
a cycle without end and death to all who stay.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
1981

They came in like diseased eagles; mutated
forms of those they wore on their chest and
with the change once again in the weather,
the ZOMO swooped in to quell what was
‘wrong’, what would bring them down. They
run in the streets as well as the miners,
running for different reasons and different
aims. I look down, out my window and see
the army helmets littering the street like rats.
            Police.          Rats.
I could no longer see a difference. My father
went to work that morning. I clutch my doll
knowing the chance of seeing him again is
            Miniscule.   Poor.
There is no more cereal in the cupboard;
there is no more cereal in the shop; there is
no more shop. The ZOMO set it on fire when the word

                          Solidarity

appeared in the window.
“We are closing the border for the safety of the People”
            Incorrect.     Unjustified.
For the safety of You, the Elite.
“Nine killed in mine shooting”
Which side?
Only the ZOMO carry guns.
            Fascism.       Communism.
I could no longer see a difference
MJL Feb 23
Diseased turnip
Rooting in the dirt
Rotting fodder
Unpicked
Untapped
Gnarled and bitter
Lying under your bridge
When you are gone
No-one will miss your rancid rag


© 2019 MJL
KnudsonK Sep 2013
Your actions
speak like knives
that carve away at the soul of my being.
They stab the tender flesh of my faith.
Your words force their way
through my heaving chest
From the fork of your tongue
and rip out my battered heart,
Leaving a gaping cavity
of tangle arteries
that ooze out scattered emotions
from deep within the shredded
bloodied tissue that remains.
Exposed and vulnerable
to the elements of your
ramped terror,
the wound quickly festers
from the stench of your
infectious hatred
that slithers it's way into
the detatched arteries
and consumes any thought
of compassion.
And is diseased with
progressive revenge
and retaliation
that becomes the driving force
of strength that remedies
the  forgiveness
that unconditional love's
natural immunity  produces
and is temporary remedy to
the heart retching incurable
depression and permanent
lifelasting pain.
That haunts me
it taunts me
again and again.
...... And so begins the plague
King Panda Mar 2018
your fabric—torn and bent
into antlers as you
breathe in the chimed field
now, caught in fire
now, diseased
now, a hatchet peeling the rotting apple

this is the paradigm of my sadness
King Panda Jan 2018
you are called away
clear and cold

pummeled by the ice
that tears dove wings
into water

diseased blood is spread
in the snow
art in the clarity
of genius as

evil is cut
from your body

here there is
no winter

only a deep light
harbored within as
you sit on dream’s pier
with a worm in your mouth

you

alone

and nature
watching you cry

the furrow of
your brow grows deep
as a bear’s growl

your eyes split two
the bang of
red sweetness
the communion of sleep
never to wake
Inspired by John Berryman's 77 dream songs.
Lizzy Jun 2016
These summer days
Are so strange.
There's so much silence
That I wish was sound.

I've always craved quiet
But it's different now.
Something about quiet
Makes me uneasy.

I'm trying to stay busy,
Occupied,
Distracted from all the quiet
That's laughing at me.

Maybe I need noise
Because in silence
My mind demands to be heard.
And I do not want to listen.

I do not want to listen
To what whispers echo
Throughout my skull
When there's nothing stimulating
My attention.

I've heard them before
And I have no interest
In being held hostage
By what feels like
A foreign voice.

I refuse to follow
My diseased train of thought.
It will only lead me
Into wars
And off cliffs.

So I will make noise
By any means necessary.
I will scream songs
I don't know the lyrics to.
I will play my guitar
Even if it's out of tune.

I will listen to a comforting voice
With a mesmerizing face.
I will smoke until
The silence is friendly.
I will paint
And become enthralled by colors
That only have examples
And no names.

I want my days to be
Loud and
Vibrant.
No more dull
Silence.
Elena Mar 6
To Our Weary Souls,

If you build a wall between us
How long till you break it down?
Will it corrode over time
Will it continue to make us blind

If you grow acres of fields
And call it yours
Will you **** the unwelcome
Or will you let them explore

Will you tell them to leave
As the night tells the day
Because when you close your eyes
You want to keep the threats at bay

So I ask you now
Who do you turn to?
When your fields flood
And your cattle is diseased

Will you turn to your neighbor
And what if you have none?
Will you turn to the sky
That’s been ebon like your eyes

Is your heart broken from the loss
Do you long for a change
From this god forbidden place
Are there parasites in your skin
Do you feel them deep within

Well so do they
But you refused to hear
Instead you built a wall
A wall too near

Just so your hand could push for miles
As all of our cries, echoed to the heavens.
rgz May 1
"Thirty grams of gold leaf, please."

"Have you got i.d.?"

I thought for a minute
about what she asked me
I could see in her eyes
she wasn't looking at me
Could I really provide
an identity?
If I'm a reflection
is the reflection me?

Or a distorted projection
of imperfection
perfectly sculpted
through self-taught lessons
that contort perceptions
and preach of rejection

         Is that me?
                Are they me?
         Is that other me, me?

Meaningless meanings
and deceiving reflections
you see what you see
what I see
you can't guess
you feel how you feel
what I feel
is infection
diseased by the fear
of perceived perceptions

         blessed with quick wit
        cursed with quick fists
         tattooed with
         blemishes, self-inflicted

Flesh built with incisions
of artisanal precision
a well of bad decisions
my third eye's seeking visions
now I'm witnessing
the witlessness
of giving up on living
now I'm sampling
every single thing
my lips will let me sing
but I seem to
keep on clinging

Self-destruction is my thing

         It's in my waterfall
         it's the ***** in my lens
         it's the river of ink
         that flows from my pens

To the sea of relief

but on a dry day it feels
like a basin of grief
an insane, faithless leap
a fall into a cold
deep
dreamless sleep

         but I need
         to cling
         to something

even if all it can be
is a glass guarantee
an etch a sketch contract
a washed out receipt
for the dream of a kiss
before reality hits
a toothless bite
concealing poisonous lips

         forever second-guessing
         every thought
         every lesson

Reflections get messy
when you stare too long
rippling and bubbling
they silence your song
hijack your mind like
a derailed train of thought -

"Have you got i.d.?
What did you need?"

"Yeah, I've got it here,
thirty grams of gold leaf..."
More on Reflections
but is it long enough..

(gold leaf is my lung cancer of choice)
shout out the smiths, what she said and etch a sketch
Tiara I S Mar 6
bitter honey slipping from my lips
an acquired taste of hyper sensitivity
don't whisper to me any pain
it thunders violently- rupturing my brain
molten eyes capturing 1000 frames
processing what a diseased mind poisons
rose lenses shaken from memories
hung to dry into pungent trauma
Tommy Randell Oct 2018
Child alone in the grief and tumult of Battle
He is the Man with the means of destruction right there in his hands
****, Soldier it's your job!
Poetry is how we make things reprehensible.

Child alone on a barren and dusty field of gleaming white bones
He is the Man without a plan to feed his family today
Cry, Farmer it's your destiny!
Poetry is how we make things intolerable.

Child alone amid the debris of broken pledges and covenants
He is the Man whose promises are nothing but expediency
Smile, Politician and be proud of your legacies!
Poetry is how we make things unconscionable.

Children alone on a planet of diseased and contaminated potential
They are the Men who meant well, had dreams, made more children
Smile, Humanity and accept the Fate of your speciality!
Poetry is how we make things undeniable.
Okay, so I'm having a bad day today and my faith in Humanity has taken a few knocks of late. But ... Poetry is how we make things sayable.
Kathryn Heim May 11
We honor plants
We honor trees
We honor birds
We honor bees
We honor all creatures
Of the seas
And all contained in nature's
breeze.
When human life
Through self
And greed
Is not honored
It is diseased,
For life is not a choice.

God have mercy
On you and me.
Andrew Nov 2017
I scoffed at my minor cough
Until I was immobile as a sloth
I had to press pause on my life's tale
After I became a beached whale
And my body turned frail
In my illness jail

My stoic resolve tested
My pain threshold crested
The way I act is antisocial
The way I feel is anti-hopeful
For I treat others poorly
When I'm hurting sorely

In sickness for health
I give away my wealth
To feel one hundred percent
That's the physician's intent
To make me experience drainage
But I need the healing medicine
So I can practice the discipline
Of removing my diseased shark's fin

Ramses II, known as Ramesses the Great
Had a permanently fractured finger
And his teeth were significantly rotten
The pharaoh's excruciating pain
Must have effected his reign
A massive amount of men slain
Is discomfort what's to blame?

When there's no pain relief
We give each other grief
And there's a lion with a thorn stuck in its paw
Eventually that simple thorn becomes a claw
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