"abasement" poems
Miscommunication
serendipity, anticipation,
blurred reality -
lost in the dialect
of a dream,
in pursuit
of Love
find callous irony;
subversion of desire
what's it all about?
to know and be known.
Mere seconds
of scrutiny
inferior,
I am shown.
Her appraisal
eviscerating
my warm flesh,
her tilted criteria
supplanting the interior,
voluble with
saccharine neologisms
and preferences
for the exterior.
(not mine)
Ironic was my
attraction to
her brain.
Lines, features
and symmetry,
image - the commodity,
aesthetics, the
currency
in this transaction,
cursory liaison,
incendiary,
collapse of the
insurgent ego -
there was no
us in the
the affair of
nothingness.
Bruised in
abasement,
I'm not the one -
I thought I was.
Hyperbole -
the center
of delusion,
a curious
diversion -
avoid my life.
The allure of
the illusion,
transference,
the ordinary to
the romantic,
the perfect other.
Searching, the
absorbing project -
aquiring wholeness,
did she reject me?
I rejected me.
The escape into
fraudulent
sadness,
to mourn,
is to displace,
the disowned heart
by self is tragic.
Should
I not mourn for
the one I'm
deferring?
Inside of me
It's safe,
to lament
the loss of
identity -
tension is agony
without resolve
sequestered,
in my pain,
self-imposed
familiar terrain,
upon retrieval,
awaking in
renewal,
mystery and destiny
providentially,
I am free.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Streaming glitter
Suspended laughter
Delayed happiness
Evident abasement
Surmounting fears
Shadows dance in torment
Pleasant gestures
Pretence abundant
Deferred bliss
Creeping obscurity
Empathizing stares
Lured smiles led to drown
Malevolent touch
Masked intentions
Insubordinate emotions
Disappearing identity
Longing spirit
Laughter is beheaded
Joyful wickedness
Jeweled thorns
Loving stabs
Poisoned kisses
Unassuming mortal
Beauty lays dead
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 8:05 AM UTC
XVI
And yet, because thou overcomest so,
Because thou art more noble and like a king,
Thou canst prevail against my fears and fling
Thy purple round me, till my heart shall grow
Too close against thine heart henceforth to know
How it shook when alone. Why, conquering
May prove as lordly and complete a thing
In lifting upward, as in crushing low!
And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword
To one who lifts him from the ****** earth,
Even so, Beloved, I at last record,
Here ends my strife. If thou invite me forth,
I rise above abasement at the word.
Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth.
1.8k
The fog crept in on giant monster claws,
Surely no itty-bitty feline foots, I pray:
“Feets don’t fail me now,”
A line that will live in infamy,
Way back in a vaudeville when,
A minstrel Chitlin Circuit then,
Was an actor known as the
"Laziest man in the world,"
A character designed to stick to a
Collective white consciousness,
Stick like Tar-Baby, that negative
Image of African-American men--
I speak of The Brothers--
Who for over a century, have been
Struggling to live down a pernicious,
Most persistently demeaning,
Hollywood trope.
Tribute is due to the black actor born:
Lincoln Theodore Monroe Andrew Perry.
Oh, Mr. Perry, & yes, you were the
First black actor to receive
Screen credit in a film.
Well, I guess that puts you right up there,
With Jackie Robinson & Sidney Poitier,
Carver or Tubman, or any of those
Countless northern abolitionists--
With no personal stake in slavery,
Or emancipation, but fervent nonetheless--
Color-barrier breakers &
Household saints a-coming &
A-marching in, in that number . . .
You paid a big price, Mr. Perry:
The indignity & débauche,
By abject surrender to the Boss Man,
Tribute, recognition is due for
Feats of humility & self-abasement,
Entailing total superhuman surrender,
Capitulation to the dismal, prevailing
State of American race relations at the time.
Stepin Fetchit: a name & a persona,
Not just painfully racist, but
Downright subversive.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
We learned that freedom of speech is
Is a privilege granted by some
For seeing the abasement of millions
And remaining politically mum.
The violations of human rights today
Are too numerous to record
And the rich perpetrators of the crimes
Grant each other the rewards.
We learned that rich people only care
About the money they make
And the rest of us can congregate
And please go jump in a lake.
If the forests are all sawed down and gone
They don’t give a stinking ****
If they bees are all dead and we all die
They lie and say ecology is a sham.
We saw that fossil fuels are the biggest game
And they’ll **** to win and get rich
And anyone that gets in their billion dollar way
Will be a sad and sorry son of a *****
We know that our country is run into a ruin
By the greedy whims of a stinking few
And they care not all that much among them
For the outcome for me or you.
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
Sin, something I shouldn’t get worked up about,
But I feel that I betray you when I sin.
You comfort my heart so that I feel okay to transgress.
I pray for forgiveness and
With some abasement felt I am still forgiven.
It’s not like I’m hurting other people.
Just turning to passion and desire.
I see no road into the heaven of purity.
It is fake to me now.
It is fake because the most pure woman I know divorced me.
She turned her back on me
And I’m supposed to want to be pure?
When will I meet a person who will treat me right
Whom I can call pure?
My friends are pure for lending me their ears
And spending time together thinking of each other.
The people that treat me the best aren’t perfect.
They are just learning everyday like me
Or are stuck in sin like me.
I have my demons.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
To face the world, a runt,
With such brunt and abasement,
Is to know ones place in the scheme,
Standing in the stream of frivolous
Happenings, this is the dance,
To be danced, this is the play,
Yet, he has the ears of a king,
To jest with such fire is to be
Ferocious, not feeble, his mocks
Are mostly mirrors for the blind,
For madness is a known methodology,
How he revels round the sad theatres
Of the high born absurd, how he speaks
In tongues and with bold proclamations
Only taut whispers of wind would know?
He is certain that the spindle fates are real
And that lightening strikes purposefully,
Kingdoms will fall, as the sun will rise,
As the noble trees ring with ideologies,
Without travails, he is always arriving,
To sleep out of doors, this is his way,
The path, the masted ship of fools.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
i can no longer distinguish pain from pleasure;
abuse from affection; contusions from caresses.
embraces could be delivered in tightly-clenched fists;
words of affirmation in abasement; trust in forced hands.
i can't tell the difference between love and hurt;
dark bruises and soft kisses; belittlement and support.
all i am familiar with now is the aftermath -
the tears, the marks, the aches;
hot showers soothing stinging skin, shaky knees and trembling hands;
the nauseating guilt; encapsulating, overwhelming fear
and the sickening inability to just walk away.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
I have been seeking solace
In fantasies
Of meeting my quietus
All my pleas to the maker
To be exonerated from the tyranny of drudgery
Fell to the wind
In the throes
Of self-abasement
I have been torn asunder
And rue haunts me
Like no ghost ever could
I don't quite know
Where this road
With no footmarks leads
Marching into the uncharted
All what my eyes perceive
Are visions of fractured glass
As I stare into the distance of a destiny painted in eerie hues.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
And on the brink of everything
I can see the startling drop
A lit edge surrounded by darkness
Darkness before but so much more after
I am at the edge and I can see it at my feet
About to fall once again
Into my head
Now riptide tear aside the marriage of lust and bust the crust
Lyrics and cat kicks and acknowledgement starry sticks sticking me in my brain outward bolts of lightning
Get through, break new, into two, flu-idly, without precision or corrupt incision or a terrible decision
Every new line, teach me asunder with otherworldly wordy blunder
Drum-drop-gum-pops scepter purple contract smash into the flash
Smash the flash and raze the crash and save the rash with boil which I am spawned from, stink
I am the **** eatin'-lady pleasin'-love feastin' GOLEM!
I've grown fat and disgusting with enough inner abasement to grow old with!
Surely there is not a single piece of self-confidence left inside
Coffee buzz is dyin'
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
Sometimes silence has little use.
The "made white" ghost even feels silence a burden.
Sirens call "them" to me.
Wicked Caucasians here mostly.
Is it circumstance that calls my back to be straight?
Poor Caucasians drunk, violent, mischievous, or in possession.
Why do we do it?
Are we fed up with the powers of the world, so we lash out against what we see is their society?
Is it really a lack of gratitude for the wisdom that the hand of God has dealt?
For we are all equal/united in wealth, for God's wealth is in the possession of the poor and God's destitution is in the possession of the material wealthy.
But if ignorant of this unity, or in doubt of it, who can help one in rebellion against God?
For those who we think are more powerful, really abide by the "unity of station" where no one is exalted above another. For exaltation and righteousness is expressed in apparent abasement and wickedness.
For many an outer bad deed has hidden an inner good deed.
Can we not be agreed?
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 1:00 PM UTC
It starts with curiosity;
fascination,
admiration,
affixation.
Excitement and expectation.
Fondly falling for flutterings.
Paying too much attention to alterations.
Getting hung up on fluctuations.
It turns into frustration.
Feelings of inadequacy.
Indignation.
Self-abasement.
Fear and loathing.
Dread.
Followed by annoyance.
Re-evaluation.
Revulsion.
Remembering what's important.
It ends with indifference;
over it.
Free again,
thank goodness.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Fitting perfection into imperfection; ****
Destiny’s paths in a fallen world; crooked
Sticking to the original script in spite of modification; stubbornness
Purpose contrary to the films of the soul; conflict
Bogus revelations from false prophets; false rights
Subject to the interpretation of the bearer; truth
Scripts that leave with a new feeling contrary to believing; doubt
Birth of belief and place of surrender; the heart
Authority to rule and reign; ‘Kings and pawns’
Set against enemies, an army; game of chess
‘Come with me I will lead you;’ submission
‘I will lead you to the light;’ enlightenment
Do without questions; acquiescing
Ability to choose but submitting; ‘Free will’
A path of morality and virtue; noble
Journey led and guided by a sage; life
Multiple paths and closed doors; labyrinth
Noble hearts and genuine allegiance; humanity
Unfeigned confidence; tried and proven
Result of weariness and exhaustion; stumbling feet
Inability to walk along due to doubt and disagreement; separation
A journey of backwardness; digression
An act that devalues; abasement
A sentence that is unjust and from a hot judge; wrath
Crooked paths lead to broken streets
Broken streets lead the soul into debasement
Debasement leads to corruption
Corruption leads to horrors that make a freak
A freak of nature
The result of lies, lies, lies.
A broken plot
A bogus belief.
P.S; written at 5am(16/04/14)
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
.
To face the world, a runt,
With such brunt and abasement,
Is to know ones place in the scheme,
Standing in the stream of frivolous
Happenings, this is the dance,
To be danced, this is the play,
Yet, he has the ears of a king,
To jest with such fire is to be
Ferocious, not feeble, his mocks
Are mostly mirrors for the blind,
For madness is a known methodology,
How he revels round the sad theatres
Of the high born absurd, how he speaks
In tongues and with bold proclamations
Only taut whispers of wind would know?
He is certain that the spindle fates are real
And that lightening strikes purposefully,
Kingdoms will fall, as the sun will rise,
As the noble trees ring with ideologies,
Without travails, he is always arriving,
To sleep out of doors, this is his way,
The path, the masted ship of fools.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
Willing slaves are obsessed by freedom,
and envy free men's riches;
Loathe to steer their own course,
yet they curse their masters wishes.
Beneath their oppressor's dominance
they beg for their own choice,
but, lest they acquire freedom
even they hear not their voice.
Willing slaves merit their abasement,
as an odalisque securer still
than the terror of sovereignty
and the burdens of free will.
These willing helots, shall they ever tire
of their ruler's amnesty,
and shed their dark age chains of fear
to decide their own destiny?
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
Willing slaves are obsessed by freedom,
and envy free men's riches;
Loathe to steer their own course,
yet they curse their masters wishes.
Beneath their oppressor's dominance
they beg for their own choice,
but, lest they acquire freedom
even they hear not their voice.
Willing slaves merit their abasement,
as an odalisque securer still
than the terror of sovereignty
and the burdens of free will.
These willing helots, shall they ever tire
of their ruler's amnesty,
and shed their dark age chains of fear
to decide their own destiny?
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 2:43 AM UTC
.
To face the world, a runt,
With such brunt and abasement,
Is to know ones place in the scheme,
Standing in the stream of frivolous
Happenings, this is the dance,
To be danced, this is the play,
Yet, he has the ears of a king,
To jest with such fire is to be
Ferocious, not feeble, his mocks
Are mostly mirrors for the blind,
For madness is a known methodology,
How he revels round the sad theatres
Of the high born absurd, how he speaks
In tongues and with bold proclamations
Only taut whispers of wind would know?
He is certain that the spindle fates are real
And that lightening strikes purposefully,
Kingdoms will fall, as the sun will rise,
As the noble trees ring with ideologies,
Without travails, he is always arriving,
To sleep out of doors, this is his way,
The path, the masted ship of fools.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
walking down the wet pavement,
rain clouds creating more than puddles,
can’t withstand such abasement,
she wishes absence of those troubles
feeling enslavement in her own mind,
the world doesn’t understand her struggles
a.b.
Apr 12, 2024
Apr 12, 2024 at 4:56 AM UTC
Visage full of tears,
Abasement due to fears,
Longing and lamentation,
Epitaph and addiction.
Naissance --
Today, I am reborn
Ignify at dawn
Nay, sorry not sorry
Everyone, I am worthy!
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 4:14 AM UTC
“As that of butterfly she sits not afar off from me,
Ah I notice a glance procure every so often,
Oh the body of excellence the skin of papal host,
She has made me feel alive again with her allure,
The wind blows the aroma of galbanum,
From this ethereal beauty,
As I now sit with an apothecary of emotions,
Abasement has slain my inspiration to continue on,
Light of another diurnal is not sufficient for my cogitation,
Could earth be cloistered in some obscure place?
In her curves and the galbanum of her body,
I am besieged by the enlightening celestial beauty,
This could be the most ecstatic point of my life,
Your skin, your big eyes, alluring one be my alluring one,
You are beginning to be my light my shadow alluring one,
Magnetism is what you are alive in front of me my allure,
I can feel the Tender Touch of your hands the tender lips upon, mine,
As the sea influxes collide in the sea before us,
As we cosset in the sand you are now my,
Ethereal ALLURE”
By AG 04/1/2018
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
To face the world, a runt,
With such brunt and abasement,
Is to know ones place in the scheme,
Standing in the stream of frivolous
Happenings, this is the dance,
To be danced, this is the play,
Yet, he has the ears of a king,
To jest with such fire is to be
Ferocious, not feeble, his mocks
Are mostly mirrors for the blind,
For madness is a known methodology,
How he revels round the sad theatres
Of the high born absurd, how he speaks
In tongues and with bold proclamations
Only taut whispers of wind would know?
He is certain that the spindle fates are real
And that lightening strikes purposefully,
Kingdoms will fall, as the sun will rise,
As the noble trees ring with ideologies,
Without travails, he is always arriving,
To sleep out of doors, this is his way,
The path, the masted ship of fools.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
I am not a poet,
But I can rhyme
My thoughts are read,
not heard
and I write.
I wish that like a poet,
I may drown my emotions
in words like an ocean.
I'll throw my ship's anchor
to the bottom
along with my heart.
But I am not a poet,
Rather a mere sad lad
And the only thing I see
to be finally free
from self-abasement ensnaring me
is to drown it, not in words,
but in an ocean of blood.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
why do i identify with addiction and addicts when my only addiction is to sadness
an unwritten paper attracted to matches like iron to a magnet there is comfort in madness but comfort i cant manage
so i rip a page from the good book and ingest it hoping to live out gods commandments like doing good for the sake of good while i burn the world behind me
the straight and narrow is an uphill climb so i check my elevation only to find rock bottom has a basement
god is with the lowly and contrite so i guess self abuse is my form of abasement
but i can never hurt myself enough so i hurt the ones i love so i can gain pain by the process of osmosis
'cept god works his law in measure for measure so this living hell is just a double portion
wisdom chased me so i broke her legs because im scared love truly is the answer
Dec 4, 2023
Dec 4, 2023 at 12:39 AM UTC