Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
july hearne Jul 2019
neil young is still the ocean
you're the plastic in the ocean

taking takes a generation
offspring of takers
vipers and invaders

twice the welfare
snap payments holding up the line
beware, beware
in the kinship of the reprobate mind
there is a point of no return
the self-righteous among nations can only pass
but never discern

tribe against tribe
gay blood on the pavement
a point of no return
a head to behead
a church to burn
a tall building uprising
a crane collapsing

a cat named nasty
a cat named ******
all meowing so loudly
across your delusional path

give me give me give me
me me and mine
tribe against tribe
in the fellowship of the reprobate mind
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...

“tell them
about the dream
Martin”

transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future

from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...

from  the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags

“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky

cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
intransigence
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho

today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...

from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
admonishing
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares

advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children

yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...

Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis

witnessing
to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s
refuse

he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage

Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed

Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…

Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on

Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho


MLK Day
2014
Oakland
Thomas W Case Feb 2022
What has become of me?
I've turned into such
a reprobate.
Watching ****, and
neglecting writing.
I think of Nin and
Henry Miller, turning
lust and clitoral
stimulation into
****** literature.
And here I am...
*** stains on my
laptop, and looking
sadly at the miniature
bust of Shakespeare on
my writing desk.
Even he looks disgusted.
poem for word of the day by BLT...Reprobate
Extra...extra...Trumpasaurus Extinction

(Only a pipe dream)
Obsolete "FAKE" news
Extra...extra...Trumpasaurus Extinction,
Now Putin Rules As De Facto Leader!

Pastor Of Muppets – shout huzzah...
no mo' Trump he's Gone er re: ya
especially “father figure” for Miss Piggy
-----------------------------------------------------------­----
More'n a ***** dozen deeds done dirt cheap moon units ago
since presidential election took us down the highway to hell  
emotional, social repercussions still reverberate
how reprobate Trump triumphed

graduating magma *** lug head
to become leader of free world
acing highest score (via cribbed cheat sheet)
per Electoral College examination.
noah yam aghast (still feel nauseated) as
Donald trump got nominated president elect,

or more apropos an inept apprentice,
though a teetotaler delirium tremens,
brings corporeal bris
ling foretelling premonition
oven approaching crisis
as one basket of deplorable,

whose shell shocked eggs ess
tints did not peter out
re: fate rigged 2016 election appalled hike con fess
at prospect outsize bully nabbed
most sought after house seat - ugh guess

thine psyche fearful that arrogance, indecency,
pomposity, and vivacity will break ranks and restore Hess
shun militaristic modus operandi crowning himself
King Kong of amerika - applauded
by a *** dread locked Klansmen less
or more, with spirit of a jolly roger intent

shredding sacred documents, and creating a mess;
ages will require to restore righteous, and officious,
amazing gracious steeped ford did legacy
of forefathers and mothers
(against trump driving the country
into wah hell in a hand basket),

which democratic rubric Paine stay king lee
easel lee trampled oh press
sieve lee in sync with missteps
made during on the job training

at national ex pence augments ominous
ramping up of tess toss tear roan,
wherefore if happenstance finds Czech mated express
train tearing down the tracts,
we the people of the United States might vouchsafe
for a veep ping Petsmart prodigy to take over - YES!
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
Reince Priebus promises to hold sway,
while hi yam rez hind tune augur
race shin, more than approximately 300 hours ago,
a fate worse than death doth bode

despite hangover lingering effect
unable to shake mice elf sober
despite chugging nary an ale
memory summons back,

hide dashed hoof well-healed poem express
sing reaction while shuttered in me man cave dale
how Democratic Party did fail
to clinch nomination,

thus with measured words this male
wants to air and share his non-rapacious sentiments
others no doubt harbor various
seas sinned reactions that might pale

in terms - their private tear ring expressions
explicitly rant and rail against unexpected
and unacceptable result, where scale
of moderation heavily tilted
toward possible global travail

armaments stacked as thee Barron doth un veil
bombardiers carpet bomb
(whoops....accidentally kilt Trump heathen)
while manning his Taj Mahal casino gun whale.
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
ABOUT ONE MILLENNIUM LATER
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
what cha red back in history class i.e. yes...
that traitorous treacherous treasonous tale,
but truth told since time immemorial
whom sever decreed demise
of terrible lizard beasts aye

moost upend long entrenched theory,
and bid good bye
sans foursquare extinction reeks foul,
cuz one pea brained reptilian

o’er shadowed all as fiercest, he ranged free
amidst a cut throat rogues gallery
thee unnamable overlooked
sinister species sought supremacy

(gamut of miniature game pieces
model available at sundry department stores
wherever schlocky plastic model toys sold)
popular trapping of childhood imagination –

imbue vainglorious ventriloquist
inciting fiendish cry
such kiddy paraphernalia
forever a top selling plaything
snapped off shelves leaving allocated space bone dry.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Since time immemorial dinosaur makeshift gewgaws
did cap cha ominous jaws,
and populated fertile land of cave dwellers
whereat swaddled kinder babes bellowed believable
farcically feigned ferocious fabrications foraging bankrupt

foretold foreclosure to espy real McCoy
perhaps assembled from mud, rocks and sticks
noisome predators snatching
voice some innocent prey  -

ripping to tatters and shreds
unlucky victim rarely escaping
in fizz hicks of time – witnessed first hand proof positive
how I came that close (pinch thumb with index finger)

simian snack aye haint fool’n witch cha,
nar doth this medieval troubadour –
spin a yarn approximating
verity of nasty Hobbesian brute

trumpeting fiercely bruited
his bombastic buzz hard
carrion feed small fry to Golgotha donning topface,
could dice in a flickr emulate, and twitter

rang one excited live hotmail riding Pegasus,
while those in his Isis Petsmart warpath
on outlook to avoid get linkedin,
per imp (of the pervert) pale’n maws

simultaneously masticating and able to shutterfly
hither and yon, to and fro rousing
seditious twittering rogues gallery
of reprobate ruthless minions -

ruminants to become  apprenticed
fired up en mass thru the art of the deal
vis a vis venal pet peeves
pygmy male hominids revered
his racially stirred debacle

while straddling as a humungous towering hill,
he pill or reedlike lex Lucifer usurpation,
whence auld dish diehard don nah sore
dominated as demented species,

thus, he didst not perish from this earth
boot yielded rubric of emperor by the peep hole,
four the pea pull, of the peep pill.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This older ville lad spurs rumor -
more than just food for thought or eating crow
does generate quite a wishful after thought to flow
whence sum divine

wind blown comedic act, an inflow
of furies rise from Dante's hell - don bell low
aye wood pine fate to hammer
sic culled swathed headline oh
brings joy to the world wide webbed land,

where Rob zombie i.e. Ivan Ca Rho
into dustbin of hiss tory;
stuffing of legions of legends
recollection and object lesson to hooligans woe
full derelicts, who might be forced
to cease clowning around like - bo Zoë.
Dear Trusting Nurse-Maid, must we Speculate
The Favours your Leader asked has mulled
Far healing cry a tearful Reprobate
And supposed Cheerful Innocence has dulled
As soon as the Red Tabloid goes to Sin
And whips the Pink Horse we all fantasy
Your Prince suddenly squeezes on a Whim
Which the Next Frustration will testify
I envy you all. Despite Fashion's Change
Like Solemn Dakinis prayed for Support
Cry the Call for War; And within a Range
Mark him a Target then file my Report.
I have lost that War. And the Battle as well
Yours straight to Heaven; Mine a Journey's Hell.
#daleysangels
there's a guy
sequestered
someplace in a
secret location

his job is to keep
****** alive

since the purported
death of mein Fuhrer
this has become the
most important job
in the world

with ****** alive
and well, we know
what evil looks like
and it sports a
funny mustache

compared to ******’s
lip growth even
old Beelzebub’s
goatee looks
kinda cute

with ****** alive
nations churn out
industrial strength
collateral damage
on the scale of a
Fortune 500
sausage maker
wholly blessed
with the
moral impunity
of profiting on
the war on
terror

assembly lines
manufacturing
the stewed vats
of pink slime
soylent green
lays a wide grin on
Henry Ford’s face
watching happy
Chinese proles
grind through
the day’s
bleating stocks
grateful to have
a wage paying job

we are
the righteous
dudes,

hanging ten on
Malibu pipes
water boarding
the terrorists

pouring waves of
umbrellaed  
Coolattas down
the desert thirsty
gullets of
dead enders

and they don’t
even have
the decency
lay a tip on
their earnest
servers

freakin
barbarians

we are the
empowered
heavies
licensed to
dispatch
immediate
fast food
have it your way
justice,
with
drone strikes
on reprobate
Americans who
spent their last
bill of rights on
a Happy Meal
of Freedom Fries
leaving the
executioner
begging for nickel
change so he
can pick up
a dime bag
of the best
Afghan horse
after laying a
bullet between
old Osama’s
cross crooked
eyes

when civilized men
begin to wonder
if the modus operandi
of intelligence
gathering could be
construed as torture,
we point northward
to scurrying Koreans
sneaking briefcase
nukes over the the
southern border
cleverly disguised
as Chicano grape
pickers heading
for Napa.

in national
tantrums of
undulating
shock and awe
we launch
cruise missiles
to deliver the
news of a well
considered
Bush Doctrine
self conferring the
sweet liberty
to detonate
bunker busters
in noble strikes
of preemptive
interventionism

we hate war
so much
we initiate
warfare before
a war breaks out

we reserve
first strike
blitzkrieg
prerogatives
as an exalted
strength to
alleviate the pain
of enduring
the weakness of
protracted peace

we are firm in the
belief that the blasted
dust from our bombs
form the cornerstones
of future democracies

to serve the greater
global good, America
has dispatched a
humanitarian team of
Navy Seals to East
Africa to get Kony

we’re rooting out this
bad guy whose
trying to implement
his twisted version
of a Santorumish
10 Commandment
based paradise

Kony is living proof that
Islamo Fascists don’t
hold a monopoly on
terror and though
Kony’s got some
powerful supernatural juju
Seals got motion sensors
that can spot a
cantankerous poltergeist
through the darkest jungle
canopies

it also will minimize
the risk of friendly fire
casualties

they’ll have to be careful
not to wander into
the disputed oil fields
of southern Sudan
and they’ll need to
be mindful of Chinese
engineers building
pipelines and refineries

But thank goodness
that guy has kept
the touchstone of evil
alive and well.

we’ll always
recognize it
when we see it
and get hot
on the trail of
******’s latest
incarnations
when they
show their
ungodly face

civilized people
demand justice

and we will not rest until
Kony’s head is displayed
atop a spike on YouTube
buzzing with the hum
of ecstatic flies joining
the chorus of happy
tribesmen singing
kumbaya with
stirring gratitude
from the aboriginal
comfort of their
mud and
grass huts

****** lives
Osama is dead
Lets get Kony

Music selection:

Smash Mouth,
Walking on the Sun

Oakland
May Day
5/1/12
jbm
Anthony Mayfield Jun 2018
Return to the river that roars
And razes ravaged lives
And remember:
Your mistakes will find you
And history defines you
So hey, hey, Little Reprobate
Say "hi"
To your fate
The one you built inside.
Take watch
A chalice of broken glass
Falls dry as the story unfolds
The Vacancy Saga continues...
SøułSurvivør Aug 2017
~~○♢○~~

there was once
a girl unnamed
ever doubted
ever shamed

untamed fire
high & wild
she was a haunted
white-hot child

a wayward waif
she had no guide
no way to hold
her rage inside

"you're a ***** little girl,
watch me as I wreck your world!"

bursting brain
as well as bubble
he brought her
a world of trouble
now unloved
unlovable


charcoal lily
ragged ****
neglected garden
a bad seed
never knowing
her great need

a prickly thistle
tried to hide
all the pain
she held inside

chorus

for years she went on
in this state
unloved, unwise
and reprobate
no turning back
it was too late

wild parties
dating thugs
drinking *****
doing drugs

chorus

But deep inside
the little-girl-lost
a seed of faith
grew at last
she grabbed a hold
and held on fast

then, when things
were at their worst
she began
to hunger ~ thirst!
because her God
had loved
her first!

"I've loved you, child.
I had a plan
long before the world began.

Please do not be sad or blue,
this destiny included YOU

you are SO important
to My story
you will bring Me such great
GLORY!

here below
in heav'n above
I'll show you how much


♡♡ YOU ARE LOVED ♡♡


the woman changed
she was set free

who's the woman?

she is

ME


SøułSurvivør
(C) 8/16/2017
I know I've been gone a while.
My phone has been giving me grief,
and I needed to use it for a telephone
prayer line I have with some friends.
But it's time I got back on site.

If you only KNEW how MUCH God loves you! How much *I* love you! You're in my prayers daily!

I'm going to revise my site a bit.
Only uplifting poetry about God and His creation will be featured here. I love ALL my followers, but i want to dedicate this site to JESUS. Thanks for understanding.

♡ Catherine

P.S. it's 3:10am, so please forgive any typos! Lol!
We gather in Old London town,
the time is getting late.
The fog is slowly coming down,
the year is eighteen eighty eight.

The Leather Apron stalks this eve
ladies of the night beware.
Such things he does you wont believe
and for your welfare he’ll not care.

Hello Mister have a heart,
a girl has got to earn a crust.
A shilling for this fine old ****
for you look like a gent to trust.

In her hand the coin doth shine.
Does she lead this toff astray?
Here’s a quiet place that’s fine,
as she walks up the alley-way.

Face to face and eye to eye.
The victim happy to be plied
with vigour she lifts up her skirt
but now her hands are occupied.

Seizing strongly at her throat
he strangles her till unaware.
Unconscious although not yet broke
he lowers her by head and hair.

Now insentient on the ground
the Ripper sets about his work.
In the dark without a sound
there is no detail he will shirk.

He keeps the body to his left,
her throat is sliced from side to side.
The woman’s family now bereft,
whilst she lies here without her pride.

Left to the nights illumination
Jack executes his deadly art.
Performing such skilled mutilation.
and leaving plus one body part.

Daylight opens up commotion,
"Whitechapel Murderer", strikes once more.
The peelers haven’t got a notion
who it is that killed this *****.

Scotland Yard are in despair
as they try to Investigate
their credibility beyond repair
for they cant find this reprobate.

Eventually the death toll, five,
the murders now come to an end.
Folk are free to live their lives
but could you trust even a friend.

Over an hundred years or more
professional research is far to late.
Jack, can we ever know the score?
"No... All you can do is speculate."
1st August 2011 Jack the Ripper series. poem 1.
Larry B Oct 2010
Bewildered, I walk this barren place
A place my soul can't feel
Too much damage to ever turn back
A place my soul can't heal

Forgotten dreams adorn my path
With seas of liquid pain
Broken promises, my only friend
The scars are all that remain

Mistakes I've made are my shadow
They follow where ever I go
A regretful heart refusing to beat
But shouting I told you so

Memories becoming a stain in my mind
Illusions now taking their place
Reprobate, not knowing right from wrong
Hope, overcome by disgrace

Unfaithful souls walk in this place
A place where it's ever too late
Turn away from the one that you love
And this will be your fate
Brycical Dec 2012
Closed my heart for a moment
to open my eyes
& mind,
didn't realize
I was nakedly dancing
with some reprobate snakes  
because I was trying to make them smile
like a stripper searching for tips.

I liked the way they rattled
through life, their *****
thoughts synced
up to diff'rent
drums 'till I felt the venom
in my veins they claimed were
love bites, despite the paralyzation
of my intuition and warmth.

I was seeking out the snake's smile
if only for a little while
cause I thought my heart could help.
But snakes can't crack a smile,
no, snakes can't crack a smile.
Does it matter more to you that you care for others or that others care for you?
Would you take a series of bullets
Would you leap before a dashing car
Would you dance on sweltering embers for the sake of one who does you nought in return?
Wouldn’t most or wouldn’t anyone endure the worst for acknowledgement and commendation…

I try to be gallant—self-sacrificial,
Try to be benevolent, bleeding heart beyond comprehension
Yet am I worse than the slaughterers?
The iniquitous, the rest?
No more than the vile, reprobate, devilish…
For who, after all,
Cast oneself beyond forgiveness
The felon who would exploit acts of selflessness
To assemble his own
Maleficent, pernicious lair
Of praise, acclaim, and comfort.
Kaitlin Evers Jan 2021
I cast my line and reel in my bait
I cast my line and it's a snake
I cast my line, a reprobate
How much longer till I break

Patience is not a lesson I care for
I like waiting even less
I say, "that's enough", You say, "there is more"
- I'm breaking, I must confess

Vice on my heart, squeezing out tears
Thoughts are swirling all of my fears
Ripples in the pond spread out from my float
All goes still, there is a lump in my throat

Chin in my hand
Slumped and alone
My pole, unmanned
Heart's monotoned

I have cast in shallow waters
And reeled in dregs
Wandered forbidden corridors
And near lost legs

How much longer must I wander?

I trust You not to tip my boat
Believe You've brought me where I float
You've kept my rod from breaking
But not my hands from aching
It's the catch that I doubt
It's all one endless bout

I'm trying to practice trust
Though my heart's dusted with crust

Fishing, endless fishin'
Waiting on fruition
Fishing, oh, endless fishin'
Perhaps I'll reposition
Francie Lynch Sep 2014
I've a sinking friendship,
Torpedoed by the *******,
And listing.
The first mate mutinied.
Once a blood brother,
Like no other;
An intimate
At an imminent end,
An alter-ego
More than a friend.

I've been too patient,
Veered off course
With understanding.
I'm quite sure
This Pythias
Would run and leave me
Hanging.

I'm on a cliff
And won't hang on
To a blade of trust,
A fawning pawn.
He had my back,
I turn,
He's gone.

This partisan
Must part
A homeless homeboy,
A dissembling fraud.

No longer a mainstay,
He's insecure,
His equivocations
Make lines blur,
I don't believe
Him anymore.

He really needs a soul-mate,
Classmate, playmate,
But he's become a reprobate,
Lying prostrate,
Lying up straight.
I'll drown my Boswell
In my inkwell;
No longer
An advocate.

The laughs have left,
Yes,
I'm bereft,
But I'll catch the wind.
My course is true.
This friendship
Can't be salvaged.
It's scuttled,
And I won't
Sink with you.
dZang Roller Jul 2015
Some kind of out-of-tune
Conversation stopper
Wired backwards

Rolling with shades closed
I was doing research in Hubei
Where they executed Yu,
That deity soldier glorified
By Buddhists, Taoists too,
I sat perusing manuscripts
That dated from the Ming,
And came across a reference
About Yu’s finger ring.

A ring of gold so broad that it
Would fit a peasant’s wrist,
For Guan Yu was a mighty man
His ring, an amethyst,
Set round with groups of diamonds
It was lost the day, they said,
That Sun Quan had ordered them
To lop off Guan Yu’s head.

They lost it for a thousand years
It turned up with the Ming,
Was lost again in battle with
That mighty force, the Qing,
I’d heard it round the market place
A whisper, now and then,
That ring, it might have surfaced
In the village of Maicheng.

I scoured the streets and alleyways
For signs of old antiques,
Researching as I went, I walked
Around the town for weeks,
I found a backstreet corner shop
One night, and open late,
Run by a dodgy Chinaman
A total reprobate.

He had links to the Triads, they
Would come into the shop,
A shifty group of gangsters with
Their stolen goods to pop,
From where I sat with manuscripts
Up on the second floor,
I’d look straight down the staircase
Watch them come in through the door.

One day they brought in a bundle
******* in a burlap sack,
Threw it down on the counter, said:
‘What do you make of that?’
Fang Zhang then opened the parcel and
He pulled out a giant hand,
The flesh the texture of leather with
A monstrous golden band.

The ring was almost immoveable
The hand, with fingers spread,
Could grasp a maiden around the waist
Or crush a warrior’s head,
I held my breath as the Triad tried
To disengage the thing,
And all the while the diamonds flashed
On that massive golden ring.

Fang Zhang paid over a block of notes
That looked more like a brick,
There must have been a million Yuan
From what I saw of it,
The Triad left and I caught my breath
Fang Zhang had pulled it off,
He threw the hand in a ******* bin
And then I left the shop.

He hid the ring as I walked on through
I had to get some air,
I’d caught a glimpse of a famous ring,
A thing I couldn’t share,
They’d say it didn’t exist, that I
Was dreaming, if I tried,
They thought that it had been lost to view
The day that Yu had died.

I went back down the following day
The Police were there in force,
They stood out front and barred the way
From normal *******,
They told me through an interpreter
Of the ****** of Fang Zhang,
His face was black, for around his neck
Was a massive, ringless hand!

David Lewis Paget

(Pronunciation: Guan Yu - Gwon you
Hubei - Who - bay; Sun Quan - Sun Chu-arn
Qing - Ching; Maicheng - My - cheng
Fang Zhang - Fang Shjang (soft J))
Whiskurz Sep 2013
As I listen to whispers trapped in my tears
I'm haunted by regret
A shadow that's followed me all of my years
Making sure I never forget

Time has recorded the mistakes I've made
And stores them in the past
Long and winding, the path that I've laid
I didn't expect it to last

Twisted and broken as days pass me by
Time will never relent
Uncertain, disheartened, as tomorrow draws nigh
I fear it's too late to repent

I see the world with a reprobate mind
Confused in all that I see
Today is so clear but my future is blind
Whatever will be, will be

Forever I'm tied to the path that I chose
Be it Heaven or be it hell
Will tomorrow bring judgement? nobody knows
It's still too early to tell
Shannon Jul 2014
My Darling, My Dearest
I sink to the dirt,
My regrets swirl around my body like a brides wedding dress.
White lace, virginal unsoiled regrets lay about me lazily-
biting my ankle, scratching up my legs to be held.
My Cherished Treasure,
I will carry my torment like an old man carries his walking stick
Gnarled with time and miles,
before any step I will take-
My regret will mark the path.
And I will walk for all of time with my walking stick. I will walk until I bend over in a broken bridge of bones, all the while letting my regret lead me onward.
My Beloved,
I will wallow in the mud of my sorrows and grief
I will roll and dry, caking dirt on my belly-
like the beast I have become.
My Beautiful,
The wounds that mortification of the flesh will produce-
will be sorry attempts to understand your pain.
The whip braided in tight thick leather
but I can never cut deep so I might
produce enough depth so instead will I bleed-
another sin, another crime!
I cannot feel your suffering-can only guess at the depth.
Oh the endlessly black waters of your sorrow!
I hold my breath, stones piled deep in my pockets.
I dive, I dive...wanting, needing this sacrifice.
But **** this survivalist in me. My lungs betray me-
sputter and cough.
I inhale my water of my sins and breathe them deep so I may drown and
free you from the shackles of my crimes.
My Cherished one, my Shining one-
Forgive this old sinner, forgive this reprobate heart.
For I love you.
When the stars exploded, when universes expanded
I loved you.
When the first blade of grass poked it's willful head above soil,
I loved you.
When first Adam kissed Eve,
I already loved you.
In the next life where you are caterpillar and
I am stump,
I love you then too, and beg you use me to reach closer the sun.
Forgive a fool his foolish ways, he knows no better
Forgive me, cherished one
and let me love you,
Let me love you as the faulted love the Divine. As the sinner loves the penance, as the child loves the stars.
Let me give you the moon, let me put it in on your lips.
So you may kiss the moon, beloved, kiss the moon.

Sahn 7/6/14
as always i have to write, but you choose to read, that humbles me and i am grateful.
Reece Apr 2015
Your Instagram tinted daydream solo self-help projects
are naught compared to the many faces of my Ketamine addled
multi-faceted bed-ridden wasted ****** aesthetic
Bring me my poppers while I can smell them
or get off my ******* rocket ship
These are the bed sores of regret
tinged in tingly jingle-jangle garage rock twattish twee twaddle
Smoke my tea drink my plants, Kratom of the smack recovery
cat come cat-call **** all to be done
the ladders lead to the plateau that the Meat Puppets sang about
Some say I've been away, some that I've been dead
dada said daddy in the monotone voice, slippin' mickeys and mandys in the drinks of the boys and girls for spoils of war
and causalities of the political system
I hope the vote for your preferred pederast is enough to stop *******
or in fact let us turn to your queen so the monarchs can reward the patriarchs that beat the matriarchs and maybe we can sleep a little better tonight
Truth is these four walls are enough of a prison within the prison that I feel free in slavery
Words too imprison the soul, so I stopped using them
implicit in silence
explicit in message
call on your horses
kneel before the great *** of democracy
these are truly the end of days
and her natural milk shall flow through our veins
until the new dawn awakens from solemn slumber
and your faux-intellectual ******* returns to witch doctor ritual seance ******* matador squeaky clean record having gutter-troll reprobate sunshine easy listening solipsist elite country club golf retreat in the hills where you **** the carcass of the empire with your dysfunctioning penises and praise your zionist overlords that mock your ****** hospitality through gritted teeth as they push you over the edge onto the wailing crowds of peasants below where your alien bones crumble to dust and your stagnant coagulated blood oozes into the Earth where it burns like gallons of acidic chemicals and the world rejoices at the sight of fallen greed and toppled regime until the next time it happens again
There is no meaning in these words, don't read them, don't worry, stop caring
To define someone is a task,
which word? how many? how honest?
The English vocabulary stretches onward.
It's like looking for a needle in a haystack.

I found five needles
And with each I sew your quilt.

So relentless and pretentious
to everyone you meet.
With every little show
these stitches are easier to sew.

And as a reprobate
you should surely know,
the blackened thread gets blacker,
but you just can't let it go.

You are violently twisted,
as the definition suggests,
you're a contorted individual
that doesn't pose a threat.

Ah yes, you read it right.
For all your will to fight,
your lack of might
labels you innocuous.
That's correct, you're harmless.

These needles pierce the quilt,
they thread in every word,
and as you lay your eyes upon it
you realize you can't be cured.
Brent Kincaid Jan 2017
He was the meanest kid on the playground
If the kid he picked on was half of his size.
He abused his playmates if they were weak
Had freckles or wore glasses on their eyes.
He was not a handsome lad in any way.
It was almost like he took it out on the world
That none of the guys wanted to play with him
And he seldom got lucky with the girls.

There was the slightest hint of intelligence
But it was always of the devious kind.
Nobody ever thought this kid would turn out
To be the type to make fortunes with his mind.
Taking little kids lunch money from them
Was why he even went to school each day.
If he looked a bit older and wasn’t lazy
He might just have hid out and run away.

He didn’t play ball or do any kind of work
And his mom waited on him hand and foot.
You could tell when he reached legal age
He’d find a woman who would follow suit
And treat him like a six foot baby brat
As if he was a gift to the whole world.
Of course he was in luck there because
It’s easy to hook up with  that kind of girl.

At work he will call all the women sweetie
And soundly slap his cohorts on their backs.
He’ll always remember his boss’s birthday
It pays to keep the important things on track.
If he can block a promotions of co-workers
Who are not Caucasian and Christian,
He will stick to his hidebound beliefs
And stick to ideas of The Dominion.

And if this reprobate ever has children
They will grow up to be just like him;
They’ll subject siblings and playmates
To their own temperament and whim.
Because bullying is passed by parents
From their parents to their own children.
And bullying adheres to no rules about
Morality, propriety, intelligence or wisdom.
Brent Kincaid Jul 2018
You would think
A fool who always lies
Would finally surmise
He is known to be unwise
In most other people’s eyes.

You would think
A snake in the grass
Would not have an ***
But it comes to pass
That some are all ***.

You would think
A pile of dog manure
Would smell himself for sure
And that would insure
To show that he's not pure.

You would think
A **** so full of hate
Would not aspire to be great
And instead would wait
Until humility reached his gate.

You would think
Being socially quite blind
No ability to be quite kind
Would someday soften the rind
Of almost any creep you’d find.

You would think
With so many tramps around
And unfunny political clowns
Someone would knock him down;
Teach him something on the ground.

You would think
Some lesson would be due
To give this reprobate a clue
And help him know what to do,
But that might never come true.
haste the day my breath
will wash away under
the waters of my intentions
already dead is my soul
salvation is for the lighthearted
for those that have not
experienced everything at all
theres no hope for the reprobate

tis fools folly to think that
love is enough to hold heaven
at some vast in time
your only comfort is in the
prayers for my speedy demise
for body to catch up with spirit
for these decaying eyes to
close and open no more

with disaster looming in
todays headlines my only
wish is that you were with me
to hold me as I pass from
one hell to the next
that your face would be branded
in my mental memory of this
fateful extrication


© 2009 joshua deathdealer
One of my more popular poems also revised into a song.
Byron Oct 2012
I am the artist
echoing into oblivion
echoing
I am the artist echoing into oblivion the song of degenerate youth and reprobate age.
giving up my right to opinion to play the devil's advocate
because he was once an angel
why must we demonize anyone who wishes to match us in greatness?
do we fear our own success so much? or is it failure?
or is it virtue left to the necessity of virtue?
I am God because I must be. if you could be, then I could not
echo into oblivion that Satan was once good
he is still good
he wants nothing more than to be Christlike
this too is our fate
our desperate plea for sanctification
is commission of suicide
whether we seek evil. or perfection.
we are fated to damnation
is this justice?
God is a petty child. impotent if matched. a bully. silencing those of power. crippling those with promise.
echo into oblivion
child of God. seek not Christ. hell is your fate
hell is your fate
hell is yours
hell is you
hell is
hell
brandon nagley May 2015
Hidden meanings foreshadow the gradient eminence off campus,
Stampless letters to be sent to thine dearest of ones!! Mother's hold thy daughter's, for you've lost your youngest son!!!!

Extensive Colgate frames to cover thy soulgaited plains,
Where fewest of animals hath roamed!!
Your caught in scrimmage,
Still Soo unsure if your found or lost at home!!!

Paceth back to and forth as far as thy walls will take you,
Where reprobate minds will break you,
Where loan sharks will rewrite tunes,

Sharking is their key to Finnish game!!!

They feeleth no Elysium,
Their one to thy flame!!!!!

Trilateral thinking freely turns negative,
Primitive to all known consistencies,
Bleeding at thy gums?
Third world indecently!!!

Misconstrue thine own miserly pull,
Galoot of what's not thine own!!!!!
J Christmas Aug 2011
So much time wasted clouding every breath
   Drinking&Drunk; On lust,
      obscenes & Sweet mad death

          Living dead walking Deprived of all my Dreams
   Filling my empty cavity     with cheap poison and fantasy

For Salvation I'm  Reprobate And I Abnegate any God
My soul it lags a clime behind Wondering along a Trod
          Upon rough road This Night I drag my soul
        My Eidolon I so abhor, And whats more -
                     The debt of sins My Father left
                  I am cursed to forever labor just as
                    My iniquitous score is payed for
                      Not by me But my first born

                                  All my wrongs  Forgotten
                                  All the chores I've left undone
                                  And of the least do I concern
                                 Our battles cannot be won &
                                  some good deeds if not them all  
                                                           ­               are bound to go Unsung
John Deryck Christmas *copyright 2011*
Hal Loyd Denton Apr 2012
Sacred Ground

Space a dimension it is the ancient days converging and a priest with agelessness holds your stare

He looks beyond all artifice he scrutinizes thoughts where they come from where they are going
Your mind feels the fire it is all consuming it burns all impurities waste is hunted and pure blue fire

Annihilates this reprobate that was born when time began it has robbed all of true consequence
It finds only holy flame in this your most sacred place the priest moves with purpose into every corner

He carries the thurible filled with incense it permutes all nothing does it miss it represents ancestral
Wholeness you are indivisible with your mortal forbears this collection of prayers and thoughts  

Bespangles earths dark night arrest visions left by unseen visitors they open to you as the secretive
And as rare as the ghost orchid it only blooms at night it is impossible to find but here they grow

Profusely in this hideaway where temperate air breathes its mixed wisdom from the fount of
Creation here is where you further order make laws that are unbreakable and no one dares to trespass

The sanctity of the soul is impossible to breach by oath of death you have sworn to keep it pure
The place where you kneel for Holy rites like God’s holy mountain continually smoked from his presence

Here the foot hills are vestured by the spirit that gives you life beyond earths short span crowned in
Glory robed in righteousness not one speck that would mark you as unclean oh Holy fountain feed

Your waters into my sacred ground make them rise and then shower this place that spiritual fruit
Grow without end while I occupy this contrivance of flesh let them cascade down from the high rocks

A water fall to cleanse me from all evil not just it realness but its very appearance to thee I have bowed
And have forswear allegiance to you forever may my commitment be made stronger in these Holy

Waters enough to sway the souls of men and women who suffer pain and sorrow to follow thy word to
Their Sacred place where the gifts of heaven materialize as they commonly do in Heaven if such things

Can ever be called common here we have harnessed ancient ways brought it as quarried stone we have
Carried across centuries to build our castle that bears you Holy name and blazes throughout the

Darkened lost world so all can find relief under heady tides that seethe with untold blessing as well
As the natural sea.

This writing attests that God hears when we cry out for divine assistance to help others I parked by
Sacred ground that Sunday night it was where my grandmother lived and prayed and fasted sixteen

Days so this Town could have a church it started on her front porch now we must go to the harvest field
With new Zeal time is short do today what is needed tomorrow isn’t promised
Brent Kincaid Oct 2016
Donald, what is wrong with you?
You’re really acting strange.
It’s like your mind has measles
Or bubonic plague or mange.
Something sick is going on
Down deep inside your mind.
It seems to make you stupid
As well as deaf to facts and blind.

Maybe sometime decades back
You might have made some sense
But we have watched a long time now
And it hasn’t happened since.
You don’t seem to be able to
Tell the facts from the lies.
You are getting stranger daily
We can see it in your eyes.

You always were a reprobate
A fact you couldn’t really hide.
Your responses were so obvious
We saw the truth you kept inside.
You looked down on women,
Looked at them as just toys.
You carefully referred to gays
As naughty twisted boys.

You never had much use for blacks
Except for menial kinds of labor.
You certainly didn’t want any of them
To end up as your neighbor.
And now you want control of
The Presidential nuclear codes.
Do you want to sell them off
To buy stuff to put up your nose?

No, Donald, you are sick as hell
And we’ll be glad when you are gone.
The rest of us have had enough
And think you should move on.
Maybe you can get a job
Playing high stakes liar’s poker.
That might fit a guy like you:
A dangerous and unfunny joker.
Whiskurz Dec 2012
The sound of broken promises
Haunt my very soul
The chains of regret keep mocking me
By a spirit I can't console

Compassion cries out in silent screams
And doubt now feeds my fears
I'm drowning in this liquid pain
Made from a million tears

Silence filled with empty smiles
Second chances long since dead
Reprobate understanding
Filled with lonesome dread

Mistakes are now my only dream
They haunt me to my core
All my memories repossessed
I can't feel you anymore

This haunted love forever lingers
A stain my heart must wear
Everywhere my heart will look
Your spirit is waiting there
/////SPEED OF LIGHT
HAS RECEIVED
EPIPHANIES FROM
THE DISLOCATED
ARK.

MULTIPLE LAUNCHING ROCKET SYSTEM IS DESCENDING IN 3.
2.
1.

And so I hail
from the borderlands.
I am a
disenchanted
Malice in Borderlands
with wounds
from daggers of
w o r d s.

And I have
imagined a
darkness in the
hands of the
disciple of the
n i g h t.

I think we
are all born
as heroes but
only very few
of us aspire to
be heroes.

Striving through
blunt indignations,
it's a
c u r s e.

Through the children's eyes,
heroes turn human
in front of them
when they
grow
up.

The winds
from today are
not as erratic
as they usually are
most of the
days.

I shouted at
the famine crows
deep in the
darkest scope.
WE STRIKE HARD.
R E A L HARD.//

One day,
a group of
conservative adults
asked me
who my heroes are,
I answered a
lot of people ranging from
Voltaire to Che Guevara
to Dave Grohl;
but deep inside
my real hero is
only my
bright past self
before all of these
happened.

I think we
are all ****** up
in our own ways.
We're all reprobate
creatures of misadventures
that live through
weaknesses.
WE STRIKE HARD,
AGAIN,
STRIKE HARD.

[Do I fight for geniality?]
No. I don't. I never cross through the paradigms of those who appear indignant.

I seem to
have mastered
the art of
deception.
That's why I deeply
treasure people
who told me that
I'm not good at lying
whenever I told them
things are
safe and
steady.

A few things I learned:
1 If I keep being who I am and I don't change into someone else, I'll always be stranded forlornly with malicious wolves wherever I go.
2. I was a real Alice in Wonderland when I was younger but I took things too personally and let them aggravate me so I became Malice in Borderlands.
3. With this personality, I'll never understand what people want. I'm just incapable of it.
That's why I
S T R I K E
******* I N G
H A R D.
Michelle E Alba Jun 2010
so i write to you my confession...
to speak loudly and clear.
for so long, under such suppression,
damnation i had to fear.

greatly i have wronged you,
in more unutterable ways than one.
the truth of my infidelities
have yet to come undone.

i write to you my confession...
of a man of twenty-eight,
my lustful thoughts woed me,
actions i reprobate.

i write to you my confession...
of a man of twenty-two.
in which i spoke salacious words,
a man who is not you.

i write to you my confession...
of heinous and deliberate lies,
knowing quite well the manipulation
would lead to your demise.

i write to you my confession...
recite what you dont know.
the body that belongs to you,
i proceed to show.

i write to you my confession...
for i no longer wish to hide.
my words, my thoughts, my actions,
may now all coincide.
Jill Sep 19
Beyond worth
Knew it at a glance
Never had a chance
Verdict-stuck and public scorned
Hardly noticed, never mourned

Beyond hope
Always them to blame
Father was the same
Ruling-locked and villain stained
Nature surely deep ingrained

Beyond thought
Pointless waste of time
Never mind the crime
Cover-judged and rubber stamped
Name and image rumour-tramped

Beyond help
Judges sit unmoved
Felonies unproved
Stigma-sword to reputation
Vanished view of approbation

Beyond sight
Don’t avert your eyes
Recognise the lies
Tarnish-washed and shame-suspended
Approbates with hands extended
       Repeat until we’re justice-mended
©2024

BLT Webster’s Word of the Day challenge (approbation) date 19th September 2024. Approbation is "a formal word that refers to praise or approval."

Thank you to CJ Sutherland for introducing me to this challenge!
Nallely Martinez Nov 2019
This fear has stricken me,
Sweat trails down like a foreboding shadow.

Forbidden calligraphy marks the walls,
On tortured wood that holds our sacrilegious scrawls.

Repeatedly caught running from that abhorrent phobia,
Never seeming to be rid of that sense of crippling dysphoria.

I will adore yet remain remote from this place,
From this horrible, mossy awning to an earthly casket.

It remains haunted throughout its elongated hallways,
Forever causing intermittent whirlpools in the mind's eye.
I wrote this while listening to "Haunted" by Poe. Arguably my favorite song of hers. It carries such a sorrowful yet ghostly tune. Her brother is the author of "House of Leaves" an amazing book, which I also used as inspiration.
Elihu Barachel Dec 2014
Saint Paul did preach the Gospel, of the Grace of God
According to the Scriptures, and he published this abroad
-
To the church at Corinth, two letters he did write
Told them of Salvation, and how to fight the Fight
-
He wrote of Jesus Christ, crucified on Calvary
And His Resurrection, for all the world to see
-
He did this all from Scriptures, From the Torah he did site
From the Talmud also, Paul shined this Holy Light
-
From Geniuses to Malachi, he quoted chapter quoted verse
All about the Lamb of God, nothing was adverse
-
And Paul wrote about the Last Days, of men with minds corrupt
Reprobate from Truth, his Gospel they'd disrupt
-
They'd twist God's Holy Word, the Scriptures were ignored
Paul did warn of this; do not blunt the Two Edged Sword
-
"According to the Scriptures", to Corinth Paul wrote twice
This is the Word of God, not just mere advice
Why? Am I so down on the ***** that calls itself Christianity?
a) The Gospel is NOT John 3:16, it's 1st Cor 15:1~4
b) Even if you know the above, can you site chapter and verse for "the scriptures"?
c) see my Bio
d) The ***** of Babylon, headquartered in Rome, is in a class all by itself.
Anthony Mayfield Jul 2018
Did you know that I would say no?
I only asked for a brief flash
A beacon
A sign
That refusal is acceptance
Now this hatred is mine
The light was bright
An instant of white
I asked for it yesterday
Now it haunts me tonight
Tonight
Tonight is the night of the monster
I slew him once before
Now he plagues me from outside
External at my door
Tonight
I smile?
I die?
Maybe both
Death to the reprobate
One last time, say hi
If I’m to truly live
A piece of me must die
My monster lives forever
With me side by side
All these things I’ve seen and done
Shows me now the light has won
But just one question plagues me so
Did you know that I would say no?
Moving on...

— The End —