"pestilence" poems
please dont touch my crown
the black rubies were encrusted by steve biko
madam cj walker made it a sign of royalty
blood was shed for this ***** hair
i am a servant to this crown, and i will show my loyalty.
please dont touch my crown
i can feel the curlism in your fingers
your greedy hands appropriate it for relevance
you have hated volume and colour for centuries
but now you see beauty where you once saw pestilence.
please dont touch my crown
let your eyes feast on the sight of true glory
forget about vanity, and hear our chains
taste our dry blood, smell our lynched bodies
but never touch our hair without remembering our pain.
- t.m
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
Check back soon to resume and consume
every tight-lipped, slack-jawed fool in the room.
See, it's all what you know
as the fires start to grow
and the future burns slow.
Keep your eyes on the ceiling,
and your antenna feelers feelin',
for when your senses stop reeling,
you will finally start believing.
Kick-back to the basics,
not too far from the basement,
and close enough to show
that **** really isn't basic.
It's another mid-west, ******
******** freak show.
Another evening drinking whiskey
with the seedling's peep-show.
So, it's time to relax and relapse
into acidified broken synapse.
The lights keep flickering
and the couples keep bickering:
***** I am not above homicidal snickering.”
I steer clear of these diversions,
and wander past the sermons,
just to chew up all the crooked talk
and spittle out inversions.
I shovel mockery to hypocrisy,
pin-prick the empty *****
whose passions lack predicates,
and in the background, I'll be complexifying my medic-kit:
ketamine, morphine, ecstasy;
marijuana, mushrooms, LSD.
Watch those ******* jitter-bug college *****
procreate while sloppy drunk,
but keep an honest eye
on the flies that will rise above –
then fall back down in existential angst, like:
“Dear God, why must I be free?
Oh, God! Why is every universal eye on me?
I'm just another acid war veteran,
sneakin' through these gutters
with pestilence and bitter sin.
When they reach the promised land
of golden clouds and holding hands,
I'll be underground with the slugs and the spider band.”
Yet here I sit, sick of sippin' poisons with illiterates.
So, let the skies fall and the buildings crash,
as you stand on the wall with a fist full of cash.
I'll be on the front lawn,
picketing for dawn,
while the night around me slowly ambles on.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with
themselves, remorseful after deeds done;
I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying,
neglected, gaunt, desperate;
I see the wife misused by her husband—I see the treacherous seducer
of young women;
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love, attempted to be
hid—I see these sights on the earth;
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny—I see martyrs and
prisoners;
I observe a famine at sea—I observe the sailors casting lots who
shall be kill’d, to preserve the lives of the rest;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon
laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these—All the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out
upon,
See, hear, and am silent.
6.5k
Adieu, farewell earth’s bliss!
This world uncertain is:
Fond are life’s lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys.
None from his darts can fly;
I am sick, I must die—
Lord, have mercy on us!
Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade;
All things to end are made;
The plague full swift goes by;
I am sick, I must die—
Lord, have mercy on us!
Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour;
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen’s eye;
I am sick, I must die—
Lord, have mercy on us!
Strength stoops unto the grave,
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate;
Earth still holds ope her gate;
Come, come! the bells do cry;
I am sick, I must die—
Lord, have mercy on us!
Wit with his wantonness
Tasteth death’s bitterness;
Hell’s executioner
Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply;
I am sick, I must die—
Lord, have mercy on us!
Haste therefore each degree
To welcome destiny;
Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a player’s stage.
Mount we unto the sky;
I am sick, I must die—
Lord, have mercy on us!
6.2k
Over on the crescent wing
The bitter gales bring waves of rain:
Listen. Frozen windows sing.
Enraptured by the searing pain
Like pestilence in hurricane.
Buildings rise up to the halls
Impenetrable planet-bane
As summer lost, and spring withal.
Then the writhing storm-clouds bring
A storm of ice and wind again:
The sun rears up, but sets during.
And past the steel-laden plane
Silver orbs first wax, then wane
Then plaster to the mighty wall
Midnight buses, lane-by-lane,
Of nature not, but city fool.
Ascended like a spiteful King
The whispers rise, then sink in shame
No sound is here, no, not a thing.
Soaking in like liquor-stains
The buildings survey their domain
Not city-life, nor life at all;
They wander in the pouring rain
Where love is lost beneath the sprawl.
Tears and laughter, much the same
All are whispers, doomed to fall.
Dystopia without a name:
Not so distant after all.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
Barack Obama
Is a fork tongued devil
Who supports abortions
And homosexual marriage
The Lord said
His hand of judgement will come
Against the U.S.
The first devastation will hit
There will be another right on its heels
A series of devastating events
Look to the skies---- (nuke)
Look to the seas---(tsunami)
Look to the earth---(earthquake)
People being killed with guns
Marshall Law
The United States will fall
Because of its wickedness
The U.S. will decrease
And Israel will increase
It will happen
These things will happen before
His return
The sword will be the nuclear war
Drought from no rains
Pestilence new strain of disease
5 year war
Then famine
Fill up storehouses
Landscape of America will change
Waterways will become poisonous
Sun will emit flashes of radiation
His hand is on the weather
(Hand of the Lord)
Ocean will come as far as the Rockies
Geological plates will shift
Russians will attack infrastructure
Of the nation
A nation of lies
Darkness will overcome
A deep darkness will cover
The people
Because they love the lies
The Lord said to her,
"Do not despair my children
Out of the darkness
Comes the glorious light."
There will be
Cities of refuge
For those who know Him
Intimately
There will be a city of refuge
Stay close and He will instruct you
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
What we hear
We don’t understand their plight
As we are more afraid of them than they of us
Thank God they are over there and not here
Their ***** little disease will ruin us more than religion
Thank God they are over there and not here
Some impenetrable God-Shield has protected us from the pestilence
We must guard against those who would bring them in our bubble
What I feel
I understand their dilemma
And love them
And want to hold them
And thank God, for they will find peace someday
I wish more would help and nurse them
If only I had the skill to care
And do more than pray
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
I pursued my disease
With a virulent persistence
Like the plague
Or your pestilence
I fed upon your opulence
Walking red death
I marked your flesh
The whooping cough
The symptoms most forgot
Dreaming darkly
Poets cry sadly
Artists die crying
As the fever kept eating
All of their sanity
Inch by inch I crept
Awake while you slept
Burning holes in your brain
Until nothing of you remained
Just a cold cart to carry
The carrion left behind
But I still miss
That delicious mind
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
Imagine a warehouse of apples with their individual conciousness.
They are labelled and categorised.
They are segregated.
The apples are gathered and put into boxes marked
by what they want to be known by,
their commonality/mentality.
If a bushel of apples are a stigma, they are put into boxes marked by what the other apples tag them by.
In a self-marked box, by the name of “surat zayifa” an apple lays at the juncture of the pyramid of analogous red,
maggots eating away at it’s heart.
The apple turned crimson hued to an evangelist blood maroon. Smouldering; festering like an open wound.
A stinging aura besieged it,
suffocating the air like sharpnel stuck in the throat.
The apple, consumed by a dark resurgence and a devilish resolve,
spoke in tongues of the serpent and supplanted seeds of pestilence in the hearts of the apples who joined his brooding virtue.
A collective conciousness was supplanted among the fruit,
imprinted with the face of death.
The world of apples, thrive on each other and face the forebodings of life together in spite of their marked differences in a state of throbbing dependancy.
The apples feed on the apples.
Another self-marked box, by the name of “khalas” were set to consume the apples from “surat zayifa” to continue finity,
unwary of their poisoned souls.
The apples fed on the apples and almost every other apple rotted and perished.
The apples that survived were the ones who consumed the apples unblemished in spirit.
All the others apples from all the other boxes blamed “surat zayifa” as a whole.
Even the apples purest, were tainted by the sins of the other apples,
the ones to take the blame for the misdeed of their creed.
The box was now marked in disgrace, a vehemence, a scourge.
The last remaining poisoned apple that was set to perish from “khalas” did something morally unhinging before it’s spirit departed;
the apple smeared it’s tan blood with words on the cardboard and dropped dead.
The singular light bulb flickered, the pulse strained.
Everything fell silent.
The words read “ We are ourselves. We **** ourselves.”
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
Monroe Ave c. 2018, in my own dream land. K. Daniel's Revelation, cannot reverse what's starting to happen. Darker, more forlorn. No more bar and restaurant patrons, the streets are just a scattered herd of pestilence. No cars, the somnambules own the streets in silence. Honey dripping hipsters, years gone. ***** clothes, hair past their pearls. Asking for boy, asking for O.P.s, asking for girl, asking for crack, asking for methamphetamines. The only noise.
We lost the reclamation of the city our parents left. Escaping dead end cul-de-sacs of basement poverty, we no longer had to drive. Stacked with our friends in tenement commune. We delivered the body we consume in service, catering to a more privileged few. Only responsible for one when long work was done, I ensured my red blood's full of fun. We drank and inebriated with design when allowed more free time. But, darling, I think this town was already gentrified. We changed no thing.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
You who graced and
adorned my life with
the fantastic I adore you
for you are my glory
and my salvation.
I am so grateful for your love,
thank you.
The one who made
my life possible,
you are the God of my realization
thank you.
See where I am today just
because of you,
thank you.
I survived the onslaught of the
wicked ones because
of your presence,
thank you.
Everything is working out the
way they should,
thank you.
My heart is at peace because
you are the God of my heart,
you reign in it,
thank you.
The world I see is beautiful
because of your glory,
thank you.
Night and day comes and goes,
yet you keep us safe and secure us
from the evil pestilence,
thank you.
Fear can never interfere and intimidate us,
for your spirit abound within us,
thank you.
I have a sound mind in a sound body
for there is no affliction or illness,
you are the God that heals,
thank you.
Incredible increase on every side,
nothing is wrong or lacking,
you are all sufficient one,
thank you.
Everything within me says,
thank you Abba father.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
I walked blindly into that night,
Or so I led you to believe.
No, I knew what I was doing, and how wrong it was.
I just thought
It could stay a secret,
Just a secret
And nothing more.
Of course I hoped for more,
But how much can one hope for?
How much can one hope for with signals so unclear?
I set my goals too high
And ventured to lows too low.
I knew what I was doing,
knowing it was wrong;
Even knowing how she would feel if she found out--
I knew it was wrong.
But that didn't stop me.
No, it takes an eighteen-wheeler going eighty,
Hitting me right in the face.
It isn't until then that I see.
It isn't until then that I see I'm a selfish *****
A homewrecker of sorts--
Undeserving of your love.
Leave me here,
Alone,
To bask in my desperation.
Though I'd give you my heart in a second,
Turn me down,
For I am more deserving of pestilence.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 11:54 AM UTC
Good Day spoken in a bad austrailian accent
bad juju voodoo clear light poltergeist on disablity
Hoarding every scrap of miserable memories attached to trash
your apartment is a holiday for nightmares and childmolesters
******* magazines, old sanitary napkins , bad vhs movies
lay like dead soldiers waiting for the war to end
Black bags and boxes scattered every where are villages to rats
and every unknown pestilence you can only read about in medical textbooks.
half eaten pizzas covered in pickles dried up sadly looking at empty pills
You have no hold on me I can't understand your pain nor will i listen to your overdramatic ******** about whoever
or scheming to defraud Walmart
Your mutilation is a scar spelling sociopathic miscreant child trapped in an old mismatched shell of no clear gender.
Your diagnostic prophecies from the dsm5 dismissed like school on a snow day.
Will commands the unentanglement
uncurse
unfear
dispell all your contradictions accusations monologrhthyms
bad music choices and echoes of muttered mustard.
only truth will be uplifted
Peace be with you
whereever you are currently infesting enjoy your dora the explorer ice cream
Was there ever a floor in here?
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 12:53 AM UTC
Here comes Jesus
from his tomb
With baskets full
of gloom and doom
Judgment, famine,
pestilence and war
He says the end
is coming soon
I wish he’d sing
a different tune
Something that
we haven’t heard
before
He’s got Aids for Tommy
Parkinson’s for Sister Sue
There’s an STD for Mommy
(Daddy hasn’t got a clue)
Here comes Jesus
from his tomb
With baskets full
of gloom and doom
Judgment, famine,
pestilence and war
Maybe if you’re
extra good
And try to do
the things you
should
He won’t come
around here
anymore
You’ll wake up one morning
and you’ll know he isn’t there
And you will see the smiles
on the children everywhere
Oh here comes Jesus
from his tomb
With baskets full
of gloom and doom
Hippity, hoppity
what a ******* day!
Jun 10, 2011
Jun 10, 2011 at 10:48 PM UTC
how does one manipulate others how does one manipulate each other i dont get it.
this world was at peace then random one pokes at them until a ****** war starts.
you may be the biggest ****** for it but you can cry and moan and ***** because you recieved a beating that you started i say your manipulation will be your down fall you can tell your mom your dad hell call the cops because theres one option in mind shut the hell up and fight what you started jesus these people are the biggest hypocrites i ever seen because this one person has ruined my life ever since he was born so when your falling off a cliff you can fall to the rocks like a the little coward you are your pestilence smells like a rotten apple core
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
Oh, the great city's madness when at nightfall
The crippled trees gape by the blackened wall,
The spirit of evil peers from a silver mask;
Lights with magnetic scourge drive off the stony night.
Oh, the sunken pealing of evening bells.
***** who in her icy shivers sheds a still-born child.
With raving whips God's fury punishes brows possessed.
Purple pestilence, hunger that breaks green eyes.
Oh, the horrible laughter of gold.
But silent in dark caves a stiller humanity bleeds,
Out of hard metals moulds the redeeming head.
2.5k
Deadly pestilence came to distinguished Florence.
Spread east to west, roamed sickness without human cure.
Divine and human authority disappeared,
God’s wrath prohibited remedy and good health.
Families emptied, gentlemen fell to corpses.
Evil free to **** men indiscriminately,
Ignorant doctor’s advice left medicine like
filth. Day or night decomposing fortune is death.
Sick set aflame in neglecting infinite fire.
Disease black with misery, wicked affliction
with livid spots. Medicine removed anything.
Contact to dead or sick doomed a person sad death.
Every part always died. Abandoned all the laws
rightful behavior a fallen plight. Faithful shame.
Plague is a noble executor’s careless deeds.
A woman with no necessity of required
morals communicated upon death. Healthy,
beautiful, and attractive multitude consumed.
Avoid no very past pestilence in the fields.
The sick had made servants of the required dwellers.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
Past altered states tests postive and subtle
******* So and so's teeter Paleolithic après time puddles
And submit terrible philosphies
Ashy stubble ticks politics
and sacrafice to peer approval sacralige
Test probably appears stable
Top patriarch's able suddenly to
Pop above submerged tables possibly
After, something tests patience awkwardly
Stumps tarot practioners and *** testers poor application sterily
Topology plain, astrology scorpio
Torpedo power aptly strikes to pedal antlers sour
Take particular appointments
Stop testing please apply sorted
Terror power and sexless torn pigs
afterhours pen and store tips, plow.
Alter simians testosterone, pow!
As scientists type papers about sexing tasteless past alligator snouts
testing partly after science takes party alliance south to pawn army
subtle tipped passion. artsy.
Start these.
pick atoms smarmy
Tally past all sentences take pride
As stencils test pestilence. And sigh.
The previous alterations simply tried.
And didn't work, hence the present
Path lit incandescent.
I'm looking towards the east waiting for positivity to peak
You're turned backwards nostalgic for something that'll never come repeat.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 5:02 PM UTC
Clearly observing the wicked danger lurking within you…
What a paradox to witness a change of benevolence ridiculed by your truth.
If only you understood what it takes to genuinely smile,
You could move mountains across those magnificent cerulean skies.
Even after our unpleasant confrontations, so cruel and wry.
You deliberately chose to dance around to a distinctive rhyme.
Using your words of trickery, resembling a serpent hissing fear.
You untiringly strived to strike fatal arrows through an artificial crack on my fortified shield.
I gave you only one chance to earn my professional trust.
Then you destroyed it with mendacities absconding from your Machiavellian filthy mouth.
Candidly, after foreseeing your vile pestilence emerging from within.
I erupted in an outburst of laughter to have ever believed in your skin of sin.
Beware, you have revealed an irrevocable glitch that is deceitfully sly.
It portrays tyranny and narrow mindedness, depreciating with every malicious try.
Running cunningly through your veins oozing massive animosity in disguise.
Have you not scrutinized the gruesome language intensely stimulated from your heinously gazing eyes?
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
A doer of evil deeds
Selfish in the stead of Selfless
A wild wicked mind
A twisted and crooked heart
Did love escape through,
A clutched fist?
Did the angel of death deliver,
An old friend?
Did life steal your innocence,
Only to be replaced with pain?
Bearing witness to rotten fruits
Of your corrupt labor
To see the pestilence wrought
At the Arbiter's table
Two choices arise
Introspection weaves the way:
Tread further into the deep,
Embrace self destruction
Or
Allow redemption to chisel
Carving the flesh of the ******
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 12:27 PM UTC
Life
And all its endeavors
Usually end in forever
But never
Surrender
Your smile
Death
Is an unjust
Punishment
But never
Surrender
Your smile
Power comes
When weakness grows
But never
Surrender
Your smile
Evil will triumph
A time or two
But never
Surrender
Your smile.
Because smiles have power
Smiles are infectious
Even when life is sour
Smiles' sweetness silently severs
Our connection to pain
Pleasantly putting to perspective
This putrid pestilence
We call progress.
So when you feel down
Never.
Surrender.
Your Smile.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
the dark ice cream man
floats up and down the empty streets
his truck weakly cranking out a warped sounding song
that leaves a trail of dogs objecting
the truck has the word pestilence painted on it
instead of ice cream
his dark form hunched over the steering wheel
his cheshire grin has aspects of his delirium
imprinted on its clean toothy shine
he only comes out at three am
and glides the cool pavement in search
of Delilah's phone number
she promised him that she would be his one true
and he meant to hold her to it
he would do anything to have her all to himself
Delilah walks barefoot along the train track
with one ear nailed acutely to the train whistle approaching
the other ear in her pocket
where she hums a **** version of
the battle hymn of the republic
all good girls love horses and shotgun weddings
she wants her shotgun wedding on the saddle
with the ice cream mans brother
who she thinks is just too nifty to be anything but heavenly
she always pictured him with angel wings
carrying a sword and riding a pale horse named death
there are echoes in the concrete parkland
the neatly trimmed grass glistens wetly in the darkness
a dew touched tree stands on a narrow hill
its leaves thrashed slowly by a whisper of wind
the sound of running feet
laughter
its an illusion
she is an illusion
i make matchstick men
watch them march in precision lines
i am a matchstick man
watch me scribble in precision lines
the ice cream man now sleeping
away the humid hot afternoon
stashed away in the back of his pestilence truck
while Delilah learns how to knit and make candles
that ice cream mans brother sells at flea markets
we all settle for what we think we want
and in the end we all get what we deserve
Delilah marries the brother and they live happily
while ice cream man spends his mid-life crisis as a
politician who leads a double life
making ice cream sandwichs out of his basement
and i am discovered 'neith the truck making
matchstick men out of twigs
from the tree of life
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC