"abhorred" poems
What's it take
These days
To write a poem
That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest
Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?
Is it perhaps...
the "creativity"
of varied spacing
or... could it be..... the lack
of capitalization
the loathsome little letters
screaming out
hey, look at us!
... or maybe it's
the punctuation marks,
littered, haphazardly
through the text
(whether used correctly)
or, theyre not?!
despite worrds mispeled
and a grammar might is broken
can these gimmicks increase interest
though miswritten or misspoken?
Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
(or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
Praise for which we
Privately, desperately
Pray
Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism
Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes
Well, maybe not...
those gems are often ignored
cast-aside, unread, even abhorred
Why?
Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
of "the right way"
to write
to speak
to act
to live
to (fill in the blank)
No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!
And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way
Line
After line
Of synonyms
over
and
over
and
over
again
-----
What's it take
These days
To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?
But more importantly:
What's it take
To make my poem go viral?
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
*Prologue (goddess)
When the war of the beasts
Brings about the world's end
The goddess descends from the sky
Wings of light and dark spread afar
She guides us to bliss
Her gift everlasting
Act 1 (the wanderer)
Infinite in mystery
Is the gift of the goddess
We seek it thus
And take it to the sky
Ripples form on the water's surface
The wandering soul
Knows no rest
Act 2 (the hero)
There is no hate only joy
For you are beloved
By the goddess
Hero of the dawn
Healer of worlds
Dreams of morrow
Hath the shattered soul
Pride is lost
Wings stripped away
The end is nigh
Act 3 (the abhorred)
My friend, do you fly away now
To the world that abhors you and I
All that awaits you
Is a somber morrow
No matter where the winds may blow
My friend your desire is the bringer of life
The gift of the goddess
Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
Act 4 (the avenger)
My friend, the fates are cruel
There are no dreams
No honour remains
The arrow has left
The bow of the goddess
My soul corrupted by vengeance
Hath endured torment
To find the end of the journey
In my own salvation
And your eternal slumber
Legends shall speak
Of sacrifice at world's end
The winds sail over the waters surface
Quietly but surely
Act 5 (the sacrifiser)
Even if the morrow
Is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew
That clenches the land
To spare the sands
The seas and the sky
I offer thee this silent sacrifice*
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
The blood in my ****** runs on the pure waters of the river
The blood in my ****** smells rotten like the person who ***** her
The blood of my life runs on the white of the cloud ...
The blood in my ****** smells like the baby I abhorred
The blood in my ****** smells like the curse of being a woman in the world without equality
The blood in my ****** smells like the mouths of women stifling rights
The blood in my ****** smells like ***** girls
The one of my life smells bad like the men who force their daughters to marry
The blood in my ****** smells like *** of ****** exploitation
The blood in my ****** smells bad like pedophiles.
The blood in my ****** smells the future. The blood in my ****** is female liberation.
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 11:50 AM UTC
1718
Drowning is not so pitiful
As the attempt to rise
Three times, ’tis said, a sinking man
Comes up to face the skies,
And then declines forever
To that abhorred abode,
Where hope and he part company—
For he is grasped of God.
The Maker’s cordial visage,
However good to see,
Is shunned, we must admit it,
Like an adversity.
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Happenstance to the melancholic gives leave the sin of pride.
Inbound reconnaissance tells not the bearer of influence.
Squeamish at first: a foreshadowing of calamitous bonding.
A space between the mark of corporeal and the ethereal; a stringent hiatus
That which rattles the concrete foundation of morality is scarcely a malleable recourse.
Regret stains the unfounded soul: an enigma of ephemeral perforations.
A separation of the unmitigated humanities; misandry topples the writhing snake.
Impact; a cleansing of the maker's flaws integrated solemnly.
Complacency arrests the administration of the abhorred; unbridled is the autonomy of a guru.
Ambivalent giftedness burdens the reliant and haughty.
A flick of the tongue brings forth the cinema mortem.
Castaway: alone to wade in the sea of obscenities.
A temporal causality allows no mourning to abscond.
Negligence is not the enemy, but indulgent wrath.
Hesitant: a stroke of qualia begets the end of a maiden.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
Twisting tendrils of realization
Run through my evermoving mind
Up unto the age of eighteen
I abhorred alliteration
The seemingly simple
Style showed, I thought
An easy way of writing
Whatever
Just finding fitting words
With meanings matching.
Untill I read The Raven
Poe penned what is
I think, the epitome
Of epic poems
All while writing, in a weirdly
Woven way
A story of love lost
Of wishing gone awry
So since then I sometimes
Try to match "my" master
And in writing wishes
With no reasonable rhyme
I uncover my understanding
Of my own simplistic stupidity
But beside that also, always,
Of how beautiful a language loved
Can be.
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 5:29 AM UTC
We had a color you and I.
You were a tantalizing white, vibrant yet subtle. You had the power to magnify everything because of that silent manifestation you comprise when a drop of any other shade was splattered on you, making it incredibly vivid. You were what poets used as muse for there was nothing purer than the flawless white of that glorious spirit yet you were neither dumbfounded nor disappointed by it.
I was a disaster-prone black, ill-fated yet beautiful. I made the light seem brighter, more picturesque; a comparison for better accomplishment. I came out at night to walk the terrors of the hours of darkness, untouched because of this gloomy soul. I was what the holly book prohibits to touch, to indulge all sensations because to drink from me was to imbibe a gallon of sin.
Sadly, beauty and unpleasant have a curious way of finding each other. I don’t remember which of us found the other first; if it was I who saw you shine from miles away or if it was you who found me huddled in a corner.
We were gods you and I. we created a love that transversed worlds. We shamed Orpheus and Eurydice. We disgraced Torin and Keelycael. There was nothing more powerful than the passion we twisted and at the same time nothing was more potent. We came from different places, you from the havens and I from the shallow depths of hell; and everything we made became a freak of nature.
We created the color gray.
We created the color gray from our undefeated essences. We made an unremarkable and unloved color from our insurmountable selves for the reason that we were too prideful to give up each other and at the same time ourselves. We made an abhorred thing because we were never meant for each other.
I realized when I saw you walk away, that last dreadful night, the white in you was somewhat fazed and I looked in the mirror that same night to see the darkness in me leaking. There was a little bit of gray in both of us. That was when I realized we stole pieces of each other.
Yes, my love, we made a color gray.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
Mnimalists uproot everything,
Aiding natural entropy.
Poets can do likewise.
Omit redundancy;
Scorn verbosity,
Make words work
Hard.
Articles shunned,
Prepositions abhorred;
Conjunctions - need none.
Edit,
For our sake.
Snip,
Fit words together.
Make words work
Harder.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
I am water,
the good
and the evil,
defended by foes;
abhorred by friends.
In the nightfall,
I am but water
with harrowing tears.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
The one created for sabotage
Adored by few
Abhorred by numerous numbers
He treads an eternal sorrow
Which tortures his blighted soul
Scheming against ingenious blueprints
His destiny's been read
By gypsy cherubs
He's learned the path
Trodden by none
His predestination
Answering to this heavy burden
His Father has brought a rebellious notion
No other celestial entity has knowledge
Except for him and his apostles
Agreeing to God's earthly will
To be forever cast into a shadow
Agreeing through pure love
For his Father
And sent to tortuous furnace
Unbeknowst to mortals of seraphic Lucifer's
startling sacrifice
God's grievous banishment of his son
For he only aspired
To become like his Father
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
Being ignored by someone you adored is a lot like hell
Being implored by someone you abhorred sounds swell
Jun 28, 2023
Jun 28, 2023 at 10:24 PM UTC
Hatred and vengence--my eternal portion
Scarce can endure delay of execution--
Wait with impatient readiness to seize my
Soul in a moment.
****** below Judas; more abhorred than he was,
Who for a few pence sold his holy Master!
Twice betrayed, Jesus me, the last delinquent,
Deems the profanest.
Man disavows, and Deity disowns me:
Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;
Therefore Hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all
Bolted against me.
Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers;
Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors,
I'm called, if vanquished, to receive a sentence
Worse than Abiram's.
Him the vindictive rod of angry Justice
Sent quick and howling to the centre headlong;
I, fed with judgment, in a fleshy tomb am
Buried above ground.
2.5k
a dusky walk
through the middle
of the park
clear of
the shadows
of branch
and leaf
at its edges
the only light
stretched out
but struggling
from distant
lamp posts
or the
yet more distant
halo of moon
breaching cloud
it is enough
to plot
a route by
but not
with confidence
a leather flapping
overhead
tells tale
of bats
in their erratic
yet assured flight
abhorred
by many
perhaps for
that very reason;
unpredictable
unflinching
not flying
the expected path
Sep 12, 2022
Sep 12, 2022 at 6:05 AM UTC
There was an egg who dreamed a dream,
Of life in light,
A life of flight,
Some world of sight,
The egg did shiver in delight,
And lo,
Behold,
A crack was formed,
And through the rend,
The sunlight stormed,
SCRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE
The egg abhorred the feel,
Of air flow through the shattered seal,
It bucked and jumped,
It smashed and pumped,
Till it was no more an egg.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
doubt bow
seduces
now
soul enchanted
weave thou
dream made
fold
fade
whisper evokes
heart bough
Inside lives
ancient stream
rushes quietly
fills the bridge
often ignored
often abhorred
fragile bloom
sterile pond.
Feel notion
dream catcher
motion
threshold pass
today tomorrow
illusion !
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
Tired and gentle waves of the mighty ocean
receding to the horizon like the slowly setting sun
But even when it's dark, they will come back
and the waves will bring you back home
And when the sun rises again the next day
slowly pushing the eternal darkness away
diminishing it to just the shadows
the dawn will bring you back home
the refreshing smell of the summer breeze
the mild sunlight filtered from the trees
may just make the world a little bigger
the wilderness will bring you back home
the younger self, abandoned and ignored
will replace the ghosts secretly abhorred
and when it smiles in all sincerity
you will see that you were always home
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
Hatred and vengeance, my eternal portion,
Scarce can endure delay of execution,
Wait, with impatient readiness, to seize my
Soul in a moment.
****** below Judas:more abhorred than he was,
Who for a few pence sold his holy Master.
Twice betrayed Jesus me, this last delinquent,
Deems the profanest.
Man disavows, and Deity disowns me:
Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;
Therefore hell keeps her ever hungry mouths all
Bolted against me.
Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers;
Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors;
I'm called, if vanquished, to receive a sentence
Worse than Abiram's.
Him the vindictive rod of angry justice
Sent quick and howling to the center headlong;
I, fed with judgment, in a fleshly tomb, am
Buried above ground.
2k
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge ***** rise the burnished arms;
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.
Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the death-angel touches those swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal Miserere
Will mingle with their awful symphonies!
I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,
The cries of agony, the endless groan,
Which, through the ages that have gone before us,
In long reverberations reach our own.
On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer,
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman’s song,
And loud, amid the universal clamor,
O’er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.
I hear the Florentine, who from his palace
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din,
And Aztec priests upon their teocallis
Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent’s skin;
The tumult of each sacked and burning village;
The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns;
The soldiers’ revels in the midst of pillage;
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns;
The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder
The diapason of the cannonade.
Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,
With such accursed instruments as these,
Thou drownest Nature’s sweet and kindly voices,
And jarrest the celestial harmonies?
Were half the power, that fills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
Given to redeem the human mind from error,
There were no need of arsenals or forts:
The warrior’s name would be a name abhorred!
And every nation, that should lift again
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead
Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain!
Down the dark future, through long generations,
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease;
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,
I hear once more the voice of Christ say, “Peace!”
Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of War’s great ***** shakes the skies!
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise.
1.9k
Let's all have a pity party
I'll share with you all my laments
Then you can croon your condolences
So that the healing can commence
Let's all share some sympathy
And mewl and condescend
Let's all feel better about ourselves
At someone else's expense
We'll be nice
And give advice
Convinced that we are ever so kind
Our victim will be flattered by our attention
By the fact that we took out the time
Let's guilt them into forsaking their self worth
And bend their will to suit our own
We'll reduce them to the status of a begging dog
And then we'll throw them a bone
Individuality is to be abhorred
As are the flaws in their body and face
We have to all get together on this
Someone's got to put them in their place
Then we'll hang a sign around their neck
Which reads "Don't Be Anything Like Me"
This is turning out to be a great success
What a grand ol' Pity Party!
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
You loved me so,
to numb my pain,
You served them more.
To end my miseries,
My happiness you abhorred.
You loved me so,
To cure my ailment,
You poisoned my soul.
To vent out my heart,
You closed all doors.
You loved me so,
To quench my thirst,
You offered me sulfur.
A desire to experience heaven,
Hell was raised above.
You loved me so,
Answers when granted,
Were forms of silence.
Breath when needed ,
Vacuum you granted.
You loved me so,
Of wine I dreamt,
Found blood and gore.
Expected images of life,
Death images you swore.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
Desensitized by the sands of time
I'm abhorred you're a cultural cog
Bobbing on the surface
you find eating gulls disgusting
but don't bat an eye at nauseous oil slicks
I wish I could set it all ablaze
so we'd pick our destinies more carefully
Or more care freely
You see me as a motley mesh
Flesh covered by cloths from mismatched fads
Yet, you're a pretentious simian that's forgot our past
Just a gussied up grazer, disavowing discomfort
scoffing at any endeavor that isn't grass flavored
The chimers on the lawn are all robed outcasts
bellowing to the fodder eating fodder
the posh set the stalks to be mowed over
But for the justice of all the inside out bulls
leaving their wallets on the ground
the entrail fashion never catches on
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
I am a shameless paradox
But a shameful being
Content with myself internally
Abhorred with myself externally
A conversation with my mind
A funeral for my aesthetic
A coffin to peace
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
I remember so much and yet so little of that day,
I remember the woods near our home where I would used to play.
The den I made, smothered by oak and fern,
The dragonflies sailing zephyrs and their power that I yearned.
I remember clearer the presence of my father,
Struggling through gaps he was far to large for,
His smile strangely absent that day.
I remember words he whispered
"come child, today we are away."
Those words mean little now
So much more than they did back then,
When my mind idled with dragonflies
Locked in that wooden den.
I remember seeing the earth
Looking still, if not serene.
Defiant in it's rotation.
As countless ships,
Starward monoliths
Depart with naive expectation.
Some decided to stay,
As some always do.
The rest sail for space in search of silent refuge.
Once more we forgot ourselves
Embracing our own foolish divinity.
Forgetting the folly of our past
As it echoes unto infinity.
I remember once, now gazing at alien constellations,
The lines we drew in shale and sand to mark our different nations.
The pettiness we adored and the diplomacy we abhorred,
We burnt the earth behind us
And fled unto the stars.
The last thing I remember,
That day in late September,
The last solar systems' ember
Was the rusting glow of Mars.
I forgot how much I missed that home
Over the twelve cold years in space alone.
This place is not so bad,
But the trees weep strange,
Leaves drooped and sad.
From my window I see my grandson run
Chasing the shadows of new earth's twinned suns.
Fresh from the forrest
A new found den.
A second chance
Don't
Fail again.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC
"O happy happy land!
Angels like rushes stand
About the wells of light."--
"Alas, I have not eyes for this fair sight:
Hold fast my hand."--
"As in a soft wind, they
Bend all one blessed way,
Each bowed in his own glory, star with star."--
"I cannot see so far,
Here shadows are."--
"White-winged the cherubim,
Yet whiter seraphim,
Glow white with intense fire of love."--
"Mine eyes are dim:
I look in vain above,
And miss their hymn."--
"Angels, Archangels cry
One to other ceaselessly
(I hear them sing)
One 'Holy, Holy, Holy,' to their King."--
"I do not hear them, I."--
"Joy to thee, Paradise,--
Garden and goal and nest!
Made green for wearied eyes;
Much softer than the breast
Of mother-dove clad in a rainbow's dyes.
"All precious souls are there
Most safe, elect by grace,
All tears are wiped forever from their face:
Untired in prayer
They wait and praise,
Hidden for a little space.
"Boughs of the Living Vine,
They spread in summer shine
Green leaf with leaf:
Sap of the Royal Vine, it stirs like wine
In all both less and chief.
"Sing to the Lord,
All spirits of all flesh, sing;
For He hath not abhorred
Our low estate nor scorned our offering:
Shout to our King."--
"But Zion said:
My Lord forgetteth me.
Lo, she hath made her bed
In dust; forsaken weepeth she
Where alien rivers swell the sea.
"She laid her body as the ground,
Her tender body as the ground to those
Who passed; her harpstrings cannot sound
In a strange land; discrowned
She sits, and drunk with woes."--
"O drunken not with wine,
Whose sins and sorrows have fulfilled the sum,--
Be not afraid, arise, be no more dumb;
Arise, shine,
For thy light is come."--
"Can these bones live?"--
"God knows:
The prophet saw such clothed with flesh and skin
A wind blew on them and life entered in;
They shook and rose.
Hasten the time, O Lord, blot out their sin,
Let life begin."
1.6k
He was sent to Aldershot for training
He would learn how to **** or be killed
The training was all done with broomsticks
When he thought back it made his blood chill.
His unit was sent down to Portsmouth
To board a ship and go over there
It was packed to the gunwales with weapons
And the rations left no room to spare.
He practiced with his rifle on the journey
Like others who’d not held one before
He’d no sense of the horror he’d be facing
Nor the violence he’d always abhorred.
It was such a small piece of shrapnel
Caught both eyes as a shell case shattered
He never saw his two boys as they grew into men
Missing out on so much that had mattered.
His wife who he loved always helped him
And a life with new interests grew
He learnt how to read the braille papers
It pleased him he’d still know the news.
But the trauma from the experience scarred him
And ire with politics grew by the day
So he took to his new odd braille keyboard
And wrote articles and letters to complain.
He could sense the new way that the wind blew
In the corridors of power in the House
There was money to be made in new weapons
And politicians ignore those who grouse.
Then again two decades later it started
Another war that would mean more dead men
The obscenity rose like a bile in his throat
So once again he took to his ‘pen’.
©JRW2014
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC