"turpitude" poems
*all my life i held a dream
of a woman i would love
of course
she would be alluring
supple
a charming countenance
erudite, with an angelic face
her body
a muscular stretching willow
arching her legs over head
kissing her own
curving soft feet
a graceful contortionist
in confetti colored sparkle pantyhose
stretching towards me
silken hair draping a perfect symmetry
with spun sugar kisses
wafting the scent of vanilla
and candied vaporous breath
lips like cherry lozenges
but
one never knows ones destiny
i met her
my girl destiny
and except for a faint look of languor and ruin
with a tinge of withering
she was without doubt unbearably titillating
with razor-thin blackened lips
mascara slits for eyes
hair pulled straight back
jet black
jelled like hardened licorice
with satanic blood rivulets
and pitch fork tattooed ****
a vice of lechery
a malefaction of moral turpitude
her *** scarred from orgiastic beatings
her **** became
like a large wrinkly mouth
resembling the face of a bullfrog
from pleasuring herself with
tableware cutlery
her soul
a broken creel
suffering bouts of anxiety
like a weeping moon
having been institutionalized
in Mother Marys Hell House
from a ghastly bout of parricide
her father,
a hobbling gloomish troll
while the dark veins of mother
ran through her soul
leaving little choice
but to dispatch
the parents
abandoning their corpses in the kitchen
like strewn litter
turned out
just my
kinda
girl
d
e
s
t
i
n
y
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
I , Frank Wilson , would be lawyer , represent myself in this attack upon my honor ! For I am a studious , God fearing man ! I bow before no Judge , Lawyer or Constable ! Your court dwells beneath moral turpitude , a jury of my peers will soon know the truth !
I do not recognize that woman and child , I'll not pay the stipend your foreman has read out loud ! Your verdict means little in my hardened eyes , one that I refuse to recognize !
Bailiff ! Send for the State Patrol , summon the officer before this Court ! Take this man directly to jail ! I want him in Reidsville by five p.m. !
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
With querulous turpitude, I stood
Disdainful denied reassurance;
Selfless. My crying heart
The echo of the wind rebuking
All that is remaining of
what I used to be.
Grotesque deformities my reflection
The pain of pure love etched
In dreams of aeons passed.
Hideous beauty a frightening peace
A sweetness I founded corrupt;
Hell my heaven
My paradise.
Honesty a musical once
writhing in my breast
A seraph convoking legions,
Now wings out-stretched
I break my own treacherous heart
A fiend of Heaven a demon of Hell
The first fallen
Unto likeness absolved
The pennated breadth of twilight
Breeding familiarities contempt-
I have wearied myself, O God,
And I am consumed,
Resolute of inequity.
He that is down need not fear plucking,
Experience is the teacher of fools
And a gentle lie turneth away inquiry:
If the mountain will not go to Mahomet,
Mahomet must go to the mountain;
The nakedly wan mantic
Velleity to tear Christ's body
Malapert, before the ruddy shoal;
Society covers a multitude of sins
Within the penitent sanctity of
Heaven's holocaust, in which
No man can serve two masters-
Oh that I had wings like a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest
Eternal and absolute,
An angelic image of my shadowed self!.
ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 8:35 AM UTC
Seeing such said-to-be veracity
made spurious by truer voracity
left me in a downward maudlin spiral
caught in the gravity of pejorative thoughts.
(They were right about you)
Shown to be mendacious and meretricious
with such audacious and ignominious cupidity
that is, apparently, insatiable
by external stimulation.
These words are for thee.
(They were right about you)
A
Mistress of Verisimilitude
Sorceress of Perdition
Goddess of Rapacity
Nugatory Luddite
Fatuous Epigone
Specious and unctuous Girl
of gratuitous turpitude
These puerile and rather flavorful words
fueled by seemingly insuperable motifs
arranged in a terse, inimical verse
for a rather insipid person
who will likely never even know of them,
and yet;
such sweet felicity.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
Quietly...
a new future
races past my attention.
As thin as,
a liberals funding
chased by an old
and toothless past.
Slipping changes by...
in bite sized pieces
now so regularly
that some pass ...
barely tasted....
almost inhaled.
Tides of modern history
are beating
rhythmically
on ugly
worn out barriers
affecting all,
both near and far
As bright and untouchable
as the new moon.
The looming certainty of...
what now seems
inevitable.
Lingers...
not quite accepting
it's progression
and now is both...
dragging it's feet...
and clumsily
rushing over
what's left of
ancient weights...
that lay so heavy...
so long....'
Equality and Justice
are hummed to
and called forth...
to not simply usher in
a few changes...
but navigate the floodgates
of what our world
now dare to dream of...
The last of the Boomer's
are having their say
and the idealistic. psychedelic,
poets and builders
dream through a "stoney" mist
and contemplate
next season's crops
and the affect they may have
on moral turpitude.
Finally.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
It is a smile on the turpitude of scorching sun that inflicts on us
A harbinger from the kingdom of heaven.
Descending from above -soothing ,dancing ,sizzling mizzling and torrential at times,
Sluicing down the earth bed ,end to end, wherever it touches.
It has power to sustain this world
It has the power to raze this world
It has the power to ornament this world
It made this abode a rarest one in the matrix of the whole universe
From past to present, ever and forever.
It is a presence felt as long as the earth is green,the sun shines,
The ocean whirls and the moon chuckles,
Be it called -the clouds,rain ,life or water
All in one the manifestation of the other.
A benediction from the Soul Supreme
To which we all owe our existence.
By D.R.Mohanty
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
The thumping and darkness in the bowels of Irene
sit lugubriously on the edge of serenity
the pounding and the tears through all these years
languishing in turpitude and solace from her knowledge
unceremoniously, recklessly and without feeling
while listening to her tongue lashing and
harshness of her venomous and thoughtless words
cracking like a whip, “do you think I’m an idiot”
Not once but twice while searching through black clouds
of disappointment and destitution … no rhyme…no reason.
All due to confusing north from south and east from west
reality from fantasy as we all feel the sound of her thunder
Irene crashes on and above the banks of New Haven,
Guilford, Fairfield and the Housatonic
lapping and licking at the shores while throwing
her magnificent weight in her favor, and the swells explode
the question, “how can she possibly know the children”
Even though downgraded and ebbing
the uneven strength and fortitude asks the question
and all my determination fades in the wind.
Trees weakened as we begin to dig out and explore
power lines and internet down, hampering communication
flooded streets and nervous bridges impeached
yet Irene serves notice with an ace of her own
dressed in her sheer-like vest and turquoise ring
her hazel eye filled with scorn and distain
while brightness and candor follow her path
with her feline temperament scratched and clawed
the tears begin to taper amidst her howling breath.
Irene begins to move northward stoically away from me.
I’m not a victim so I pick what remains of my heart
and begin to reattach my churning stomach
with the threads of her words of disbelief
bringing the force she was most capable of exerting
as the storm continues her long, unforgiven journey
hatred and disdain replaced by disinterest and apathy
as the breath disappears, the light becomes brighter
and Hurricane Irene decides to leave Connecticut
impact in place, on the broken bows of the sturdy trees
perhaps she was right, after all was said and done.
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 2:43 PM UTC
My heart - delicate,
and malleable
undulates
within two poles,
seamlessly juxtaposed -
beauty and affliction
capricious container-
truth and fiction;
the sheer surfeit
of choice
reverberates with
imperious diversion,
settled invitation-
loud and shiny things.
Hard to breathe,
I'm in exile
slave to my emotions,
obsequious and servile
barren, cold and mute
existence - the brute;
tilted reminiscence,
scars of loss
contrive frames
around moments -
footprints,
interminable -
being and time.
Infinite deity,
triune polyphony
artist of sublimity
smearing shades
of loneliness,
vestiges of faith,
to retrieve
hues of meaning;
oddly convivial
prophets
of reprieve.
Orpheus lost Eurydice
palpable discordancy
suffused in time
could not resolve
without verse
decidedly sonorous,
canvas showered pain,
splashed
Jackson Pollack stain
Love - onerous,
deep beneath
the veneer,
it's mercy severe.
Fiction from the first
Eden‘s fatal gift,
lucidity cursed
altered cosmos murmur,
parlance of
disordered elegance;
effusive language,
phrasing art nouveau
tacit script;
ensconced within
the fabric;
create a Thirst
torment - visceral
and immediate.
Ardor and innocence
once quenched,
render
pathos in proportion
to the pleasure,
conveyance of beatitude
The past absorbed
into the treasure,
Inscrutable Heart -
devotion and turpitude
desire, loathing and paucity
affinity in abundance,
fear and doubt
inhabit certitude.
©2009 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 11:19 AM UTC
my darling
i will visit you in your boudoir
tumescent Satan, I
you, a goddess, your body-- the temple it was built for
our hermetic union,
two bodies entwined on the hearth,
the argent moon looking on, clutching her vestal livery
heathens, heathens!
how can something so exquisite be a turpitude?
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
Right or Wrong?
Wrong or Right?
Black or White?
Moral Turpitude?
That question only lives in shades of gray
What is pure of heart anyway?
Is EVERYTHING open to personal interpretation?
Does logic walk with morality or does morality defy logic?
If it helps you get what you want, then is it not logical?
Yet, it will seldom be moral
The high road is often a lonely place
Why is it that others always seem to come before you?
Are others always more important?
How is that logical?
Black or White?
Right or Wrong?
Shade is only useful as shelter from the sun
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 6:49 PM UTC
HUMANS ARE OBJECTS
LOVE IS ONLY PHYSICAL
*** IS A RELEASE EVERYONE NEEDS
HAPPINESS THROUGH PROMISCUITY
SOCIAL STATUS THROUGH LEWDNESS
WEAKNESS IS REPULSIVE IF NOT ******
EMOTION IS DULL AND BORING
YOU NEED ME
MORE THAN YOU WANT TOO
EVERYONE NEEDS ME
MORE THSN THEY WANT TO
I HELPED PULL THE LEAVER
THAT EXTERMINATED LOVE
AFTER *** ED LED THE CORRUPTIBLE
TO MY TURPITUDE
I CAME TO YOU AS AN AFFLICTION
ILL LEAVE LIKE AN ADDICTION
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 1:06 AM UTC
I dream, I dream and morphine seems to take the pain away,
the poppy fields are my armour,
the shields against the clamours of
the day.
If I could,
I would and should awake but that takes moral fibre,
and I am just the turpitude, the crude and base, no shame,
and furthermore, I can't face the accusing looks, or
the debits in my credit books.
I dream, I dream and lean towards the light that
shines from the opthalmoscope,
there is no hope I hear them say,
more clamour in the clamour of my day,
more morphine takes the pain away.
I dream to dream and dreams dreams me,
dreams will be my
downfall.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 4:39 AM UTC
That climbing ratitude
In nightly interlude
And moral turpitude
Eats all the birdy-food
(I haven’t thought up an appropriate amphimacer [yes, I had to look that up] “ude” rhyme for the destruction of a bird feeder, but if I do it will go here)
Thus shows his gratitude
Oh! What an attitude!
I speak with acritude
Thus ends this platitude
For the true adventures of Billy Possum, see Thornton W. Burgess’ wonderful Mother West Wind stories.
Thanks to L.B. for a correction - Mr. B's possum is Billy, not Johnny. No wonder Billy sometimes hisses!
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 3:20 PM UTC
Right or Wrong?
Wrong or Right?
Black or White?
Moral Turpitude?
That question only lives in shades of gray
What is pure of heart anyway?
Is EVERYTHING open to personal interpretation?
Does logic walk with morality or does morality defy logic?
If it helps you get what you want, then is it not logical?
Yet, it will seldom be moral
The high road is often a lonely place
Why is it that others always seem to come before you?
Are others always more important?
How is that logical?
Black or White?
Right or Wrong?
Shade is only useful as shelter from the sun
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 6:50 PM UTC
From the mud to the stars we sail
Space derelicts that fight troubles well
Running errands intergalactic
Treating travel like a punchbowl in hell
Turpitude rules in the hearts of the sane
New worlds don’t blend in the stem of the brain
Heavenly elixirs must be then taken
Lest those from below come up and take reign
Drawn to the beaches till the hurricanes come
Hostage and accomplice then become one
Psychic peace is violated
When worldly beauty weighs a ton
The wicked are estranged from the womb
Plucked out of the cosmos like a plume
Immense forces battle for worldly power
All that’s seen returns to the tomb
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
You can't catch me 22
I'm miles dead ahead of you
Runnin' circles round' you squares
With lion shares and grizzly bares
Livin' on a cobra's prayer
With taboo turpitude'n tongue
Conundrums that I'm summon'un
The meta-Orpheus has come
Since 21, the chosen one
I'm neo-hippy rebel ****
So ante-uppers, get you some
Eleven seven slurpee sun
Super-soaking supernovas
With a matrix water gun
From vats of hydrochloric
Spillin' Joker on the masses
Turnin' Gotham allegoric
Into clown prince rhymes of passion
Of a blood of Christ fanatic
Jimmy Jones'n as I'm cashin'
In the semi-theocratic
Weapon cache'n checks imbalanced
Chemically unstable attic
Bat **** crazy poison gases
Spewin' power-trippin' fascist
Cataclysmic autocratic
Devolution clash of classes
Resolution's prehistoric
Meteoric democratic
So I'm risin' from the ashes
From dismayin' to conveyin'
How I'm goin' super Saiyan
When the treasure hordes of Mordor lords
Corrupt the men of Numenor
For Bard the Bowman heroes
Are the roles that I am playin'
In shadows of the Arkenstone
When I go dragon slayin'
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
Destiny is determined
There'll be no eternal bliss
Fate was sealed with it's fatal kiss
No longer thinking for yourself
Letting it's calling
Be your compass
Surrendering your mental fortitude
Allowed it to be broken down
From a constitutional latitude
Diagnosed as terminal
Malignant raging attitude
Againgst all humanity
Expressed in displays of moral turpitude
Hope's light is fading
Darkness moving in
The battle is waged daily
Never seen but alone
The screams are empty
From a voice without sound
For this battle is my own
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
Cast upon cruel two headed snakes
A treason in its own right
Crucified what was last seen as peacefully content
The way that leads least leads best
Spiteful reasoning. So fused with control of ones lost will
Trek on the roads over oblivion that we embrace
Labored over paintings drips down like lighting
Calm as we are, tamed, timid and conditioned to follow
How was I so confined, so tethered to what I was given not earned such as knowledge
Gather all that is matter, all that is consciousness and breathe
Take in evolving oneness within yourself, to truly fly
Floating along with love as your raft.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 2:25 PM UTC
I have come head bowed and barefooted to your door
I genuflect and lay in supplication at your feet
I leave my grievances at your altar and implore lore
For I have been wronged by knaves and vixens' deceit
A blameless life shredded by steaming turpitude galore
Meshed in the inglorious machinations of gainsay replete
In the formidable vista of the Most High I bared my soul
Worn sackcloth and ashes inviting to be smite and buried
In that epoch if by deeds or misdeeds been to others foul
Or if in grimness I seek deliberate harm, injury or such varied
Upon this salient oath I stand for I know no sword will be levied
Except the Most High desires me a sacrifice of which is unqueried
The Divine atoned a fearless spirit within His chaste chosen
Blessed with gifts talents and the Light of Everlasting redemption
Whether on earth's ground or the Majestic Throne of the Most High
Oh to have the rare honour of hatred and nays from the ******
A pristine Charisma so sublime as to furiously unsettle darkness
Only graces earth by Divine ordination and steps with ArchAngels
[email protected]
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
Thundered cloud, drops falling!
Here the rain, o rain ! Kids began shouting.
Frogs start dancing ‚ hollow steams overflow.
several bossomed‚ barren land get glow.
Far from it‚ a lady who dwelt in hut‚
Moaning‚ pleaded to God‚ to cease it up.
Her tears eulogize her sorrow‚
The grain now vain which she'd borrowed .
Tatter shelter is leaking‚
Her kids start weeping.
She cursed to the averse rain ‚
The scudding drifts and extreme pain.
Sudden‚ rain-storm abated‚ the sun began gleaming.
A saint consistently stared her‚ come her nearing.
"What you have lost? trifles ! Which was not yours ‚
Nor the God's Havoc ‚your turpitude make you poor".
God doth need to menace His child's treasures,
you are own responsible for your laments and pleasures.
The Hell and Heaven are not in world,
All have to suffer sooner or later,
If God is the Destructor, than who is the Creator?
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 12:43 AM UTC
what hot,
estimable lances
of adamantine night
pass drowsily
of exact turpitude
before my hands drunk
in comely seas
of neck clean
and wholly depraved
grasping
(the hanging of a boy wish
between sallow columns
of chaste eve;
a caricature emerges:
that self of sometimes dreaming
illeasy
nymphness. )
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
Concrete. Concrete dirt and concrete clothing
and concrete skin and concrete air. All
grey but for the fires and the maroon
and crimson and black marks of ash.
The ghostly father doddered down the residue
in barren feet. He held his arms wide and puffed
his chest. He hoped for an embrace from God.
Atop the rubble the mother hunched over the child. She
seeped. She jiggled and jounced the body, waking her young one
for school. The body’s blood pooled under its shirt and streamed down
the mound.
The father reached the bottom and dropped to his knees. As
if in slow motion, he clasped his head and caterwauled,
“Who will wipe this blood off us?
What water is there for us to clean ourselves?”
His child’s life crossed his feet.
God had left him.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 6:54 PM UTC
I am disengaging with reality
I don't mean to but
I've measured my days in unrequited affection
Each day ends the same
Never is there a change
The sun still tumbles out of existence
Releasing a shroud of turpitude, for me to cloak myself in
Watching doves has become an annoyance
Daydreaming on how easy they can fly anywhere
With whomever they wish
I draw my knife and poke it against my temple
And feel the wetness of frustration tread lightly
Down it drips,
Splashing against wanted hips
Staining painted fingertips
Solidifying a destined kiss
Down, it drips
All I'm left with
Is a streak of
unrequited affection
Hoping it fades someday
But for now, it drys
Giving me the mark
Of unbridled emotions
In the shape
of a caged mourning dove.
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 9:37 PM UTC
We are not monsters.
We’re more terrifying.
We are human:
Peeping on toil crouched, through cracked doors.
We always sink to new floors.
I don’t smoke, and it would be suicide.
But breathing that in beats bearing us at all.
We sting and **** like pesticide.
I hope we’re heading for a great fall.
All of us gathered on this rotisserie.
Lathered in a grease of turpitude.
Always in such disarray.
Our evisceration wouldn’t be so rude.
The beginning of the rest of our life.
Hopefully chalked to the brim in strife,
And more near than soon.
Should bring us a fitting moon.
If that wasn’t clear enough for you,
you ******* tool who can’t read a hue.
I want us to die, I want us to end.
So we can be cleansed of our malady.
So we can begin to find a blend.
One without awe in violence, and parody.
Who’s bitter taste creates our insipid existence.
I think we can find a future merrily.
And isn’t enjoyed just for an instance.
Mar 14, 2020
Mar 14, 2020 at 1:32 PM UTC
Somehow we opened each other's hermetic hearts.
Our perspicuous love rippled across the cosmos.
Distancing ourselves from the turpitude of the world.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 1:04 PM UTC