"villainy" poems
**Holding me with the color of her skirt**
*Catching me with nets of her eyelashes*
**The time now is ripe for my villainy**
*Yes I've long been to the kindergarten*
**It's now time for my evil wicked plans**
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
Enemy training, one, two three
Is notable for its simplicity.
You just arm yourself thoroughly
And shoot people with alacrity.
Don’t worry about being wrong
Or whether an action is right.
That they don’t want you to shoot
Is enough to start the fight.
Please take this as truth
That this is how it is done
If you see someone as enemy
You cease to see a human.
The fact that they are armed
And don’t like who you like
Is enough to create words like
**** **** ****** and ****
Enemy training, one, two three
Is notable for its simplicity.
You just arm yourself thoroughly
And shoot people with alacrity.
Line up the opposition forces
Against a bullet-riddled wall
And shoot them many times
And see how many will fall.
The ones who do not die
Must be minions of the devil.
They are the enemy, you see.
That’s all. That’s on the level.
Don’t worry about being wrong
Or whether an action is right.
That they don’t want you to shoot
Is enough to start the fight.
And those people that don’t
Believe in your own form of Jesus,
Like Aerabbs and Jews and such,
Shoot them as much as it pleases.
Because they won’t go to heaven,
And are just heathens anyway
Like them Buddhist dingdongs
Like them ****** lesbians and gays.
Enemy training, one, two three
Is notable for its simplicity.
You just arm yourself thoroughly
And shoot people with alacrity.
And people in foreign countries
Well, you can guess how that goes;
Take a look and easily compare
Canadanians to them from Mexico.
The French are Frogs, Spanish spics.
None as good as us Americans.
And nothing good can come out
Of any **** place that is African.
Don’t worry about being wrong
Or whether an action is right.
That they don’t want you to shoot
Is enough to start the fight.
Now if you find some of this offensive
And if this is revving up your motors,
Just bear in mind, this is what goes on
In the mind of the average voter.
Want to change this, make life better?
Drop your representatives a letter.
Tell them you are on to their villainy
And see them as supporting the REAL enemy.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
I am utterly convinced
that my spirit is a ten-cent *****
letting any passing nemesis
**** it in the mind
with almost no tension.
It must enjoy the sensation
as its host clearly shows
in the streams of tears
that flow through the eyes,
the spirit's ***********
It must moisten its knickers
at the viewing of torture,
as its host sits in an icy stupor,
with the times of grotesque
spectacle-sobs on tile flooring,
nicks on the wrist, what have you-
the only times of breathing.
My spirit must have stolen all the
charm it takes to captivate
the enemy into arousal,
as the host stumbles awkwardly in
public, pushing all potentials away
with vehemence and convincing itself
of its inferior quality to
even the vermin of the sewer.
My spirit has made me the loathing host
to the parasite of my own being,
my mind the main casualty,
ridden with **** from villainy both
outer and inner, decay from traumas
more persuasive than the tongue
of Casanova.
I hope it's happy.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
*I know there is a place in life
For all things great and wise,
But many people mistake certain
Things that are not of that guise.*
A practiced profession a vague recollection
A violent war, a hit and miss game,
People looking for others that they
Have even hurt or ruined to blame,
This is what has become and what became,
We are the "example" of purity.
Our hands soaked with blood,
A hateful flag waved in your face,
An obscene way to show "mature" grace,
This is what made America great,
To go forth, destroy, pillage, use plague,
To steal from the tribes on all counts,
Our excuse and our reasoning? Based on fear.
Showing nothing but "needed" destruction
And savagery, a form of selfish "non-villainy"
Practice an "innocent" thing called slavery,
Blame the blacks for selling them to our
***** filthy tainted "pure" white hands.
This is for what the southern flag really stands.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 3:27 AM UTC
Eye of a stone,
Blinded in shame,
Snakes on my head
Crying in vain
Dare not trip in wires of the sky
God or men, hate them or die
duel of chic, Angels of brothels
Serving their bodice, mind and villany
To art disown heaven
Or to burn into dust
Hell is just the reality
Rising
To face,
To fall,
The superior
Or call him
Unworthy, fake,
Terror is his name!
"He is wise, he is great!"
Only fools pass his gate
To drag Lucifer the bringer of light
Into shadow, the dark of night
Call him Hades, call him bad
It's the truth in his hand
And how could i forget Poseidon
Dear me, the conned face of villainy
dragged my flesh and sent me to hell
Burning his desires unto my breadth
And i stood for justice name her
Athena she is fair
or so i though till i read
"She's one of them, beware!"
And turned my head into a snake like crown
fighting my innocence bringing me down
Alone in this misogynist land
Grab my bitter hand!
Mankind is cruel
Man doesn't build home,
Justice contradicts itself
And Gods turn us into stone
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
Percepts of enlightenment & civilization to encounter
The grim aftermath of tales unspoken from the galaxies afar
Betokening Indian tales of deeper truths than ever,
For the Great Spirit still swirls in gestures previously milder,
At a snail's pace and surely winning the pursuit among souls or
Is example better than pre-conceived precept?
or
“Is that a dog in the manger?”
Now cherishing the viper?
The human dilemma between liberty & authority?
“Has mythology now become psychology?”
A dingy white color in disguise of tranquility
To suit the blemished features of the 21st century
With fair women & brave men turning fables into verse,
Yet Socrates’ doctrine about death bespeaks a wafture so callous!
The new-age “iron claw” screams nastiness in time and space.
The pretences of mankind like the puritan;
Mars trapped in the net of Vulcan,
Jupiter is serene and above the conflict to win,
While Venus tries to fight upon the plains of troy
That the Greek gods of serenity may win at Tuscany.
“When do these sultry groans of mortal remorse cease?”
To calm the sordid uproar that Love may peruse
Through the scattered white aromatic rose petals
In search of the scintillating path back to the highland stables
Were snowflakes are an irresistible lure for the Arctic snowbirds!
Nature herself is proud of her designs
Yet!
There is nothing grating in mortal cosmoses but direct villainy.
Sinister fate climbs the lonesome banister faster
Before the “fanged dawn” descends nearer,
As stronger minds virtually become weaker;
These “shameless actors” are melted into “thin air”
“Must they cheat themselves with that same foolish vice of honesty?”
Mischievousnesses feed!
Like beasts till they be fat, and then they bleed
As they are led to bend the curve of “No return”
Since it is only rational that after the darkest of nights
There is a brighter day to reveal the true knights
Of the once gloomy age of Democritus.
Tis plain, from hence, that our vows
Request hurtful intense things,
or useless at the best.
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 5:16 AM UTC
Hillary wants the top job
in Washington D C
but to give her position
would be a travesty
America had one Clinton
at the White House
does it really need
the other spouse
the oval office
can't be stained by Hillary
it took well enough
of Bill's awful villainy
a fresh outfit
is sorely sought at the place
Americans don't want
a trace of Hillary's face
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
You don’t get to say
You were always there
You don’t get to pretend
You saved me
You don’t get to share my story
With you as a hero
When your villainy
Set me on a dangerous path of destruction
You warped my mind
And sent me into the darkness
Ill equipped to handle
What would be waiting for me.
I don’t understand what you expected
I don’t see how you thought you’d be anything more
Than a bad guy in this.
How dare you share my growth as your personal success
When all you did was throw me to the wolves
And the act surprised when I was almost devoured
Or maybe I’m wrong
Maybe you were surprised.
This little lamb
Wasn’t ready to be sacrificed
And bit back,
Took down the wolves,
Escaped the pen and ran free.
Maybe I wasn’t supposed to survive.
I was helped along the way
By those who stayed by my side
Who heard me cry
And held me high
As I rebuilt
And now
Now I’ve come a long way
You want to pretend it was all to help me?
This little lamb knows the truth
I’m stronger not because, but in spite of you.
Jun 13, 2022
Jun 13, 2022 at 9:07 AM UTC
Nerves fulminate, fissuring skin
As bones crackle, to weary tear,
Volcanic face, pooling hot tears,
Gaia weeps, her world despairs,
All of land's flora, and all of seas,
Erupt, displeasure at man's villainy.
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
It is vice versus virtue, in vindictive victories, laden in vanity, as venial villainy, intervenes in the memes of the idolatry, that dauntingly hangs from branch-less trees, vetted out, and stripped by thieves, as only on our knees we breathe, in peace.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC
i would compromise
--i compromise. i appear to i mean,
with peace-demeanor customized for show
paraded there and there, obeisant nonsense
in a confidence of meek to render compliments
crowding infancies of all
for the sake of art
i bend my frame about cliche
to have a human dragon claim
"the real persists unknown"
and gather at a sacred dolmen
fascinating morals sung beneath the stars and sun--
you said there was a butterfly
tasting at my skull, shaking with uncommon music too..
its skinny, immigrant feet abuzz
within the world they called a One, wings on pause, my eyebrows in flight.
a blanket iris cries warmth
in clusters hung ripe, filming over all
a native ceremonial, falsepolitik
i pluck at them atop a fence
obscure for comforts masking truth
discarded, found, fashioned
into furniture for candled houses
built with children's sons
where families try to see
a clearing in the warping
mirrors saddled with a dripping time no illustration comprehends
. wooden beams help it rise and dim,
the sunny lie, genuinely fake,
authentic trick of aeons hidden in the true
-- growing young, stemming back
to foil brighter undiscoveries for otherwisely
patient basements full of heirlooms,
sheik dining areas all
nodding over cheap wine we still manage to squint up at nothing at
in apple layers
symbolizing tidy crimes invented ceaselessly,
serving existential voids--
grace, fall, stumble catch
acquired tones of oak or berry--
other fruits would do, or none,
as i still feel
praised by your rejections --
when indifference gains a sweetness
like a novel vengeance won
i am indulging villainy
workshopping staling norms,
garden dark as cultivated loam.
where i am words
mooding intellect to torment,
faun complexity awry
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
How can you feel holy
By enjoying the pain of others?
Where is your righteousness
When you deny starving mothers
And brothers and fathers
And sisters and all others
Who need your help the most?
Does it add fat to your roast?
Is compassion some kind of crime?
Does it rob you of a dime
When you have so many millions
And not enough time to spend them?
Your logic is totally illogical!
It’s just short of scatological,
And adds up to the villainy
Of a well-armed sworn enemy.
This abhorrence of equality
Is your standard normality.
It often seems that being smug
Works on you like a kind of drug
That makes you see your neighbor
As nothing more than slave labor.
You who won’t throw dogs a bone
Did you get where you are alone?
How can you feel holy
By enjoying the pain of others?
Where is your righteousness
When you deny starving mothers
And brothers and fathers
And sisters and all others
Who need your help the most?
Does it add fat to your roast?
Is compassion some kind of crime?
Does it rob you of a dime
When you have so many millions
And not enough time to spend them?
You are taking a word such as liberal
And making a synonym for criminal.
You seem to want freedom to choose
As opportunity for religious abuse.
How are these oppressions you do
Good for anyone, not even for you?
For sure it might gain you some gold
That won’t love you when you grow old.
Unless you intend on buying affection
You won’t get much from an election.
The people who will applaud are shallow
If they let the world’s fields lie fallow.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
He led me down
To the confines of hell
And there I saw
I was no different than the rest
River Styx
Called me in
To swim its black waters
And I felt seaweed grab at my legs.
The sirens came
And they pull me down to the depths
I would breathe water in
Suffocating on the sea
Awaiting my turn to die
Waiting for eternity.
I saw the voices of a thousand fiendish angels
Take form in the air around me
As wars and battles and fights raged
And the clash of civilizations was among us once more.
Heroes and villains alike re-appeared and shouted noiselessly,
making the entire universe sound like the chaotic mess
that it once was and still is and will probably always be.
I followed Dante as he followed Virgil and we followed nobody down and down further into the depths.
Winged chariots came
And whisked me away
through the halls of fire
I crossed the bridge
Crumbling and tumbling down
To the caverns of stone
Rocks smashing
I’m falling and falling
Never to land.
The acrid smell of flesh burning
Fills my nostrils
the fires singe the hair off my body
and I burn in oblivion.
What deed hath I done
to earn the demons of Lady Macbeth?
Out, **** spot
Get me out
GET ME OUT
I will never breathe free air again.
The villainy you taught me, I executed
and now I am here with them and you.
I am a wanted, haunted man,
As my telltale heart beats louder and louder
Until I see the face of insanity
And realize it’s my own.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
.
I would write a poem
of bigotry, hatred and contempt.
Using every politically incorrect
name, word, phrase and insult.
A poem of vileness and villainy
of coldness, anger and disgust.
I would bear the onslaught tide
of derision, bile and utter rage.
To show, that beside you my friend,
there are 7 billion ***** in the toilet.
© Pagan Paul (16/01/17)
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 6:11 AM UTC
Twinkle, twinkle, GOP
Scaring hell right out of me.
Platforms aren’t worth a crap
I’d like to give your face a slap.
All your antics have grown old
And your twinkle’s not from gold.
Twinkle tinsel seems to me
Not of diamond quality.
None is precious metal grade.
Fake as promises you made.
Hating is your stock in trade.
Embezzlement the game you played.
Missile epistle, you love war.
You forgot what we are for.
We were formed to protect
Not hanging nooses around necks.
Freedom was the reason why
Not to make foreigners die.
Swindle, chisel is your game.
Set the economy aflame.
Locking down the government.
We knew bigotry was meant.
Voters have begun to see
Your ranks filled with villainy.
Sizzle, melting is our wish
Just like Oz’s ugly witch.
That would be a perfect end;
Nothing but a smudge to tend,
Thirty years from now when we
Have repaired your bastardy.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
To my disdain...
Their stare, violent in nature
and here I thought for sure
the papers, the newscasters
(for vultures they are)
would see, would glee
at the ugly underneath
from all the slander and banter
that I could gather to slather
upon the wound of your economy
to cover the scars of your villainy
with boasts of your generous chivalry
and yet, the eyes of the vultures mutter disparagingly
about warfare, murders, and highway robbery
as leaders of the Moons, and the Five Red Stars
lick their lips in harmony at your display
They're ready to clip your wings 'O War Eagle
to ***** the flame 'O Lady of Copper
You must strive to prove your regal
Or soon will be our day of violent upheaval
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
scars are a blighted currency.
we speak in overstatements,
blood capsules and parlor tricks
translated villainy romanticizes eras of naturalism
our fate
in the balance of underwhelming prose
and i think i would know
cradled curses
baby i was born this way
you've got to catch up
puking emperors exemplify judgment lapses
and solidify an irreconcilable clash
the study of clinical lycanthropy
is just a step above and beyond the underwhelming
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
I lie there painted in red looking to my sky of sorrows praise the sun and it just might be the last thing I see.....But pain is not so easy to loose I am not any soldier I am a lot harder to **** than it seems I stand bloodied with amber eyes to light the way of war and victory My sword no longer shakes the earth it shatters it.
my strength surpasses the power of a thousand man as fire takes hold of my soul i am no longer cold I run and fight against an impenetrable wall but I am now and unstoppable force with fire as my guide so now the sun shows itself to me.
my fear has vanished my wounds have healed my sword is no longer Iron but it is now steel it is now unbreakable as well the new heart I wield. The strike of fire and steal
I have stepped foot into my battlefield.
my soul of fire spreads through my body engulfing it in flame but it does no burn instead it outcast the darkness which has devoured my home my roar brakes the mud of the sky so that life may show its face.
my enemies stand united in fear I stand united with the sword in my palm.
I will not fall, God has answered my prayer I will go home but only till it is safe from the cold, hate, death, and villainy.
I will walk those thousand miles so praise the sun in all its mite it will no longer be the last thing i see it will be the face of peace and love.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 8:48 AM UTC
(by Bruce Bawer)
In Sønderberg the other day
A teenage girl used pepper spray
To rout a randy “refugee”
From somewhere far across the sea
Who threw down and molested her.
The cops arrested her.
As part of a jihadist plot,
A brute assailant took a shot
At a fine Copenhagen man
Who'd deprecated the Quran.
When the brave soul who'd nearly died
Then publicly identified
The **** who'd tried to **** him, he
Was charged with grave delinquency:
Breaching privacy.
In Mölndal, a Somali teen
Plunged a long blade into the spleen
Of a young Swedish altruist
Who'd yearned to do one thing: assist.
The land's top cop went on TV
And trumpeted his sympathy.
For the poor girl who'd lost her life?
No. For the kid with the knife.
At one time it was understood
That a devotion to the good
Didn't mean one should be blind
To evil, or pretend to find
Some virtue in sheer villainy.
To see what isn't there to see
Is not a sign of rectitude.
To point out evil isn't rude;
To fight it is good.
You can't, however hard you try,
Mistake for a speck in the eye
A loaded *** in the hands
Of some rough beast from foreign sands
Intent on taking out a child.
You'll win no points for being mild
To members of a desert creed
That seeks to make the heathen bleed
And preaches that the kind and meek
Are contemptibly weak.
Christ said to turn the other cheek.
But what if it's not just your cheek?
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
Can we please have a moment of silence? shhh! That is for shame
The consciousness of impropriety and dishonour, a soul eating emotion, an inner burning flame.
Disembarked and render anaemic by a queen dark and evil, for with her, shame is non-existence
Blame her not, her wicked soul is the caprice of affinity with being an outcast and unlove
For before her heart became embroiled with dark powers and all the ingenious gore that accompany an unrepentant soul,
She had the lassitude of the perfect woman, a languid ease, the obeisance, lovable heart and knew nothing foul
But deep inside her aching heart, all that she suffered silently, she could enlighten no one, from her devastated childhood,
the sheer indescribable horror of neglect, unreturned love, the treachery, the villainy, melancholy motherhood
And castigation made her seek power even into the maelstrom of the blackest tempest of the darkest part of hell.
Her hunger for power and macabre mode of it acquisition, renders the thought of her been shameful, lilliputian
As she journeyed towards the castle, her conscience wasn't pricked by volatile outbursts of her sins from the angry crowd
she knew what she wanted, she sold her soul for this, she knew this was what she has to go through to get it.
A rite of passage stolen by lucifer from the Saviour of the world
Let them strip, beat, and mock you.Let them make you walk through there crowd disgraced,
but be rest assured that when all is done, you'll be the ruler of all
For too many a time, the story has been told,
be you good or evil, fortune only favours the bold.
The castle was her own Golgotha, the throne was her own cross
beyond that castle wall lies all that she needs to rule and have dominion
for there in that castle live the old man and others waiting to make her there queen
I was swift to condemn her for all, but after a retrospective thinking, my judgement became ambivalent.
wasn't it judgements and condemnations that made her felt sequestered, separated, segregated and all other equivalent?
To be continued......
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
There among the lushly verdant
Mosses damp and darkest green
Enchanted by a single word and
They call to life the darkness queen.
She slept with one dark resolution
Born of ages long forgot
Sworn to find her retribution
For what his villainy had wrought.
Sorcery built his path immortal
Claimed her castle of the North
Centuries five bring forth a portal
The key? One word to call her forth.
In an old, forgotten oak chest
A parchment found, it told the tale
Three women struck out on the quest
Resisting rain and blowing gale.
Gathered round the glade of green
At time foretold by old quatrain
They prepared to raise the queen
One word to resurrect her reign.
Rising now from forest floor
From deep within the ancient henge
Brought forth she flies to wage her war
Raised-up by one brief word: "Revenge"
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
Your tenderness spread from the flesh of bitter fruit;
it razed the ground it was born of.
It is the beating of a wardrum and the shadow of death.
And I found myself at the end of a rope
without the aid of drink or dope.
In my hand I held a note:
A confession without a sound
brought me to my knees.
When the day is too hot for coffee
you find the fog wont lift without it.
I am there, groping at the Thames
Without your hand there to guide me.
Her fingers carved a melody
Wrenching it free from the depths of pain,
and the bottom of white horse hooves
sank beneath the waves.
Whilst Lady Godiva sat by the window
and gazed out a heartfelt glance
at the children in the gutterand clothed her naked villainy
In silk and ermine fur.
And under the weeping tree we left each other letters
that cast aside the discarded uniforms of youth.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 2:31 AM UTC
Born under Artemus
To the mother, Nemesis
Born to fight against
The hounds of hell
Has earned his company
In the temple of villainy
Has earned his place
Among the lore
For the lore be written
To include the villians
For the lore be not a judge
To cast shame on him
His actions have bound
His fate with the hounds
His actions will decide
Which road to chase
Which sends his soul
To a heart once his own
Which sends his mind
Into insanity
His state on the plane,
A strange domain
His state on the dais
A pawn to the fates
Who allow him to rectify
His mistakes in life
Who allow the hounds
To snap their jaws
At the gates of hell
With a familiar swell
At the gates of Hades
With a heart of hatred
With a beautiful prize
Held up with pride
With a beautiful emptiness
Caused by vengeance
The hounds snap their jaws
And click their claws
The hounds move aside
To grant his passage
Into the forever abyss
That is born from hate
Into the forever
His name, Eucledes.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
Beneath the Amber sun,
above the reflection of the waters,
his armies did assemble,
ready to smash, bash, and gnash,
the hope of the Fea'inor
dwindled.
Numbered so few, that any host of evil
could easily leave them ruined,
Rua'grain, absorbed the fears,
and disolved the confidence,
until, Mædhras, delivered words inspiring
to all.
'Be brave my fellow warriors,
that this day Evil may take not one
step more, and We the free,
may tell the tales of this day.
Fight not for the chance that you
may live, but that your children,
your wives, you families may have
just one beloved day more!
Waste not that which is sacred,
be not careless with your lives,
but fight for that one extra day.
It is worth it.'
Resounding horns, echoing on the waters,
the flash of steel, magnified by the reflection,
the hearts of Men, united with Old Allies,
once more bore a flame, akin to none
beheld before.
The force of Good with swiftness moved,
the host of Rua'grain,
creatures from every shadow,
crevasse, and lair,
assembled to have at the free and fair.
10,000 creatures, all with sullied eyes
stampeded in a wild craze.
With courage, the Fea'inor defended,
pushing back against the rage,
fighting to the last,
and making this en-darkened host pay.
Mædhras, stands, resolute upon the eastern shore,
his foes strewn all about him,
smote upon the bloodied shore.
His courage unyielding,
strength unending,
the host of evil festering around him.
To his call his men did rally,
showing all valor and courage,
defending, and assaulting,
inflicting devastation upon they
who sought to destroy fea'inor' homes.
In one final push,
one last show of strength,
Mædhras lead his men
along the endless shore,
and forced his sword,
gleaming and rubied,
into Rua'grains soulless chest,
The Host of Evil, corruption
and all villainy departed,
fleeing for the hills,
and making a victorious sound,
Fea'inor went in humbled pursuit.
Yet, along the endless shore,
after all Good and Evil had left
these two figureheads engaged
in the greatest combat,
Locked for all eternity,
to create the birth of Day,
and death of Night.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC