"affronted" poems
1413
Sweet Skepticism of the Heart—
That knows—and does not know—
And tosses like a Fleet of Balm—
Affronted by the snow—
Invites and then retards the Truth
Lest Certainty be sere
Compared with the delicious throe
Of transport thrilled with Fear—
6.3k
1237
My Heart ran so to thee
It would not wait for me
And I affronted grew
And drew away
For whatsoe’er my pace
He first achieve they Face
How general a Grace
Allotted two—
Not in malignity
Mentioned I this to thee—
Had he obliquity
Soonest to share
But for the Greed of him—
Boasting my Premium—
Basking in Bethleem
Ere I be there—
2.1k
"Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
-Ozymandias
I.
O wait for us, Colossus
as we wait - and throw you
to earth: from heaven’s gates judge you
unworthy - to hades’ lands assign,
where your iron limbs make mincemeat out
of anguished homes - by tyrants
you were thrown but floated aimless past
the drifting realms where once lay hell,
and fired you your rocket boosters - apollo’s gift
blinding still your eyes -
II.
next, awake: the visage of the Child
in your face - languishing, affronted:
two vast and trunkless legs of iron glare, only to grow
rigid still - slumping at His feet: with heart-engine smoking,
eyes hollowed-black,
lying in slumber with giant's knees bent,
in grasslands rest and where hearkens the plain - He cries out:
’tis you!
though dwarf, He is - he kneads your iron
by grass, and your wounded legs the earth
now christens, snd blesses still your sleep.
III.
He moves forth with grass blades and twigs,
crown you a nest; and bear stones unrolled to where
your feet first kisses ground.
-2.17.16
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
Those unchained melodies are heard-
slayed and naked, like a lost soul-
wand'ring along a village; a dejected village!
And hark, hark to how they plead!
O, how they beg to be alive, to be free
from the deadness of these winds.
But no-one greets them, with a handful
of care!-how ill, and thievery is,
such inattentiveness! What a smug
egotism!-For these areth living
creatures, not lurking shadows as they'th seemed!
Blackened willows, stiffened dust;
trembling trees, affronted branches-
bending in their nakedness, a scene of vulgarity
with no ******* and sensations-
to capture attention, o, am'rous
attention! How poor these humans are! Brutes
are they to natureth-dappled with disgrace,
insincerely prayin' for more and more to feed their
ungrateful innuendoes-which prey on their
mortality-to fascinate their tongue,
and ***** And elements with no such marks
are out of them, no thinking is set on them;
no moreth! Peek, peek now, at how those
bountiful thorns blureth, and dieth!-at the scorn
and rivalry amongst humans-and still no-one bothers
kindethly-to eventh peek at 'em, yon miserable,
pitiful creatures! But 'ose humans, whose spitefulness
is awayth from b'ing praiseworthy, are aboundth with
death; cannot they defy it, inescapable as it's always
been-for death is not destined to dieth-never!
Thus thy sins, humans, wilt swing thy joys into swamps
of guilt, denial, and suffrage-be unafraid of which,
straighten thy chins-for these are all what thou'th
deserved, all along! Thou'th betrayed nature, and now
thy souls wilt be thy subtlest enemy-thy veiled threat!-
beware of 'tis, but still perchance, it is futile to
exhort thee-now and again! Thou art stained with
remorse, and prefereth doth thou-to follow thy own
course, rather than nature's bliss's vows.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
She wore a Golden Salamander (brooch)
That's quite a lizard you got there, I said
"Lizard!" she replied quite affronted, "that's no lizard, that's my Golden, my Golden Salamander",
So what does it stand for then this, this Golden Salamander, I asked
" What does it stand for, my Golden Salamander!!! ", she almost shrieked, " it stands for Strength, Courage and Fortitude, qualities you've probably never even heard of! "
O! I replied, I thought it might have meant you were just one slippery customer,
"Well, what creature would you have to encapsulate your qualities I wonder", she said, "I bet you have none".
O! But I do, I said surprising her, and then...then I whipped it out, hidden behind my shirt, a necklace, I showed it to her.
" It's...it's a Scorpion ", she said,
No! I corrected her, it's...it's a Black Scorpion
She gave a little gasp, and then she started to stammer
" You... you're... you're not Him, are you, you're not the... the real...the real Black Scorpion "
Guilty as charged I answered with a little bow, at your service Mom,
Well suddenly her glass, it fell to the floor as her hands they rushed to cradle her face
And then she let out this fearful roar
"It's!... It's the Black Scorpion!!!"
Suddenly the whole room it went quiet, all the music and chatter coming to an abrupt halt as every head turned in our direction
Then the next moment... Sheer Pandemonium had broken out
As glasses were tossed aside, tables and chairs overturned as a hundred frenzied guests scrambled toward the door to get out
But...but it was too late, Me! I'd already...farted
You see I wasn't really The Black Scorpion at all, I'd only been pretending, messing about
Secretly all the time, all along I'd really been just...yea!
I'd just been The Blue Skunk, The Blue Skunk in disguise.
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 4:56 PM UTC
In my little town
dogs sleep on the street
and act affronted
when you drive on the bed.
My little town allocates resources
in proportion to priorities.
We have one school
two churches
and three bars.
The teenage boys in my little town
gather by the pond after dark
with big engines and little cans of beer.
They steal the Stop sign, stone the streetlight,
moon a passing car.
But at least
we know where they are.
In my little town some girls keep horses
in their back yards. Above the dogs and surly boys,
they cruise on saddles astride a big beast,
dropping opinions as they meet.
On the Fourth of July
the whole little town
has a big picnic.
The ducks on the pond in my little town
waddle across the road each afternoon
a milling, quackling crowd
round the door of the yellow house
where the lady gives them grain.
When it rains,
they swim on the road
or sleep there, like dogs.
On a cold morning
the woodsmoke of stoves
lingers like fog
in my little town.
We hold village meetings
where a hundred-odd cranks and dreamers
***** for a grudging consensus.
We cling to the side of our mountain
building homes, making babies
beneath trees of awesome height.
We work too hard, play too rough,
and sense daily something sweet about living
in our little town.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 6:32 PM UTC
I have been peeled
the ripest of my juices trickle
between cracks within the fold.
held up by the hands of affronted lust
and weighed beneath twin peaks
not crafted by I
but molded for the other;
a single mirage
reflects itself onto many surfaces,
in which they have been ****** upon
Mar 8, 2023
Mar 8, 2023 at 6:13 PM UTC
Cliffs of dying coral affronted me as I slipped to the depth,
my heart wept for the inspiring sight it once was.
What it has become is a paragon to man's destruction.
I look for something beautiful.
A painter sat cross-legged on the white sandy bed,
his canvas weighted down, the weights accompanied by two mischievous ***** as he cast his oil paint to the page using his hands.
A masterpiece, to paint the ocean's belly from the inside.
'That's true beauty,' I mouth, watching the silver bubbles escape from me with my dwindling oxygen.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
If Christmas were given
the same gaze as Yom Kippur,
there would be riotous, careful,
false-faced diligence in the streets
of every Capital; silent prayers of
meditation mediation senseless acts
of kindness from a root of sterile fear
as if to offend Christianity would bring
about a Talibani death-wrath if-and-when
affronted-- but Christmas and Christ have
been so transparent as to become tested
combinations on the invisible lock of human
desire everyone eventually frustrated at the failure
of probable-consistent guess as to turn to Freudian
psychology for answer in lieu of Christ's final revelation
numerical in nature-- numerical strangeness Da Vinci Code
impossible-- as all other religions keep their yaps shut whilst
all Christianity has left is the little grey Luoyang City safe--
we've all given up and assumed it's empty-- empty like the
universe, maybe.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
Angry distasteful stare
Eyes squinted, affronted glare
Dismissive
In all her care, uncaring
Unwanting of any responsibility
Associated with falsehood
'You're unreasonable'
Emanates without being spoken
How can you begin to even think for yourself
Think of the validity of your perspective
When you're caught overwhelmed and mocked
Belittled in what you think is fair
And I'm stuck with that stare
And you without a care
Dec 2, 2023
Dec 2, 2023 at 8:06 AM UTC
**Please don't be offended
for I dare not be too prone
to read anothers written word
that may supplant my own.
Please don't think me selfish
should I not reply,
the words I read may influence
the style that I apply.
Please don't feel affronted
I do not mean you wrong
for just like you when writing
my verse, is my own song.
... ... ...**
May 2, 2011
May 2, 2011 at 3:31 AM UTC
awesome apothecary addressed as Agamemnon
alleviates anxiety, and alimentary aggravation
anodyne appeasement arrests ailment
amphetamines acquaintanceship assuages
agonizing aches also advocates amorousness
assiduously activating admiration
aggressive attacks assault air afoul
affable affinity affects adumbration
anatomical accidental addiction attested as academic,
although afterward abnegation absolutely arduous,
affianced attired apparently as an anomaly
Ares and Abyssinian Astarte admixture
acquiescence affliction affected adroitly,
and abruptly abends accessible
altruistic alms axed
albeit admonishing, alluding,
and attributing authored
autonomous anonymous adroit arriviste agents
accompanying as accomplished accomplices
accredited ace advertisers
applaud ascendent assaults amidst agonizing appeals
acting all acrimoniously apropos
avowedly ardently, and antagonistically, agitating
appositely advocating ancillary assistance
addict adrift afloat anchors away
assails along, among, and an alias archenemy -
adorned abominable assassin alters ambition
adroitly, aggressively, absolutely
addict announces asseveration
against avid admonishment
alarmingly annulling authentic affiliation
anew anonymous ability acclaims alignment
aegis actually adversarial abetting attrition appetite
acceleration ascendent after aplenty anesthetization
additionally activating arced analogous arrow
advancing added abdominal and arterial agony
abject ambivalence arrests accomplishments attainable
any artistic avocation absconded
asper auditorial approbation, animadversion
artificial aggrandizement abrogates astuteness
appropriate adjudication affronted
alternative afforded amnesty about acing audioslave
as aerosmith ambition assumes arriviste affectation
already appalling alacrity awakens amendment
although Awol administration adamant
acrimonious affront agonizingly attributable
announces another afterworld
apparent ailing apparition
ardent allegiance asking anyone appreciable affix
apathy abounds attending apriorism allotment.
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
Standing there, unshed tears, sadness stroking my heart
Numb to the world, thoughts a strewn, confusion blight and bleary
Watching the woman, in the casket, shaking as we part
What could I do, to overcome this, when all I feel is weary
Dead and gone, a victim of the night, affronted to the day
All that's left of her is memories, as I turned and walked away
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
When I smiled and
looked into his face
my heart raced;
then I awakened,
realized his was
laced with a false grace;
whereas, his eyes
could never erase the
sadness written all
over his face.
My insides screamed,
hurting for what
seemed like a lifetime
of dreams, fore,
he made our life an
affronted scheme;
feeding me sweet nothings,
making my heart dip;
kissing me with champagne
sips, loving me until I could
only think of the way he made
my mind take an around
the world trip.
I knew we'd no longer
stay together; living a life of
unfulfilled dreams, as those
sips of champagne spills
down life's drain, the look
in his eyes remain the same;
even though I'm left with the
pain, I can still walk away
knowing he didn't take away
my happiness & love for myself,
his loss; my gain...freedom
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
Declarations
Are supported
By nothing
But the vocal patterns
Of solidarity's
Sole believers.
I'm in love and
I know I am
Because I smile
Every time I shower.
Perceptions are similar
To that of the gnat:
Buzzing;
Incessant;
And somewhat believable.
Love asked me the time,
And I told them -
What's it matter?
We see one another's
Eyes
Yet,
When we glance or
Flick
A stare toward ourselves,
We are faced
Affronted
Cornered into facing
Not just our physical
But our everything.
I worry about dinner,
Then dessert.
Yogurt instead of ice cream?
*I'm a hunter gatherer
Hoarding anxiety, self-loathing, and shame*
Then I remember all of the Earth's
Continents will be under water
2040.
I buy Rocky Road - extra rock, extra road.
A reflection is not worth
A thousand words,
But an infinite mirror
Of accomplishments,
Regrets,
Successes, and
Failures.
The mirror is a mirror
As well as a beginning
Of facing
Whatever the hell you are now
And whatever the hell
You maybe want to be, if better.
I like to make sure
She's breathing.
I put my open palm on her navel,
Or her lower back; feel the breath.
Sometimes I wonder, I fear,
What I would do, would be, turn into,
If there was no rise or
Fall.
Deconstruction
Is a means
To rebirth.
Tactics of repression.
Maneuvers
Of
Being human
In
An inhumane world.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 5:50 AM UTC
It's a fresh start
When all things shine
The way
You thought they'd
Be
But most
Everything
Isn't
The way
You thought
They'd
Be
Make do
Adapt
Life is
As it is
From the bad
And the
Good choices
You've made.
Throw passion in there
And see
What kind of maelstrom
You
Create.
I've attended no
Meetings,
No press junkets,
No glamour parties,
No welcome farewell's,
Yet I've seen the faces of victors and
Loser's and they all
Seem
To say the same thing:
It's not enough.
What isn't?
This life.
This life
Isn't enough.
The crowd
Goes
Silent.
The mob
Grows
Tranquil.
The masses
Shift in shape into a
Congenial blob.
What do you mean
This life
Isn't the best
That
IT
Can be?
If the land were to give an answer it would say:
It is forever eroding to something better.
If the sea were to give a response it would whisper:
It's tide is forever cycling for something better.
If the wind were forced say something it would shrug:
When I will, I will and you will of course feel it.
If this life
Were not enough
There would be
No
Hope
For something better -
For you - for I - for her - for him - for everyone.
It is a strange fact
That we forget ourselves subconsciously
Thinking of all selves
Consciously.
Advancement.
Progression.
Betterment.
Though we see these things as personal gain, we must
Remember
That every small feat for human kind in our small time,
Dually affected by our travesties and faults in our small time,
Affect said future, either crippling their thoughts in hate or
Allowing their thoughts to flourish
In freedom.
Every cloud in the sky
Appears
From nothing.
Yet it is there.
I've seen wind pass through the leaves of tree,
Like ghosts fingers through a child's hair.
I see it - the physical passing - and I admire the invisible
Touching and transcending the physical.
I am no closer to anything
Then the one
Sitting next to me but,
I know something is missing.
Something is amiss.
We are too connected to believe that the grass on the other side
Is greener.
So we are affronted with the fact that there is no great trail
That leads to ultimate happiness;
There is no great land that leads to salvation;
And as the great HST stated: the false belief that someone greater
Is attending the light at the end of the tunnel.
Let us be our own saviors.
Let us be our own light.
Let us be us with the trials and tribulations of the past but not affecting our said goals with injustice or prejudice or hate, but with unity.
Unity.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 2:42 AM UTC
As I am affronted
the response is
to the simple.
It burrows in corners
and hides in creases,
residing in the cutest of dimples.
Body derelict like a crumbling temple.
This thing is evil-
or I am for sure.
One thing is true
drop the others to the floor.
A black and white,
grey on holiday.
A swinging shape I'm
sure will manifest
into a sword one day.
And it's coming for me.
There's no other device.
No time for this guy to be
approachable, no time for
this guy to be nice.
I'm fighting for my life,
but I can reason with the knife.
It doesn't have to make sense,
I've just had it up to the temple tonight.
And I ask it how it came here,
what it wants to protect.
I thank it for its service but
I can't seem to connect.
This situation doesn't look
like a lion on my tail.
I stomp my feet and flail my
arms inside this inflated hell.
I name it and it laughs at me,
it's name is not a word.
It's known by screams
and pleas for mercy
like nothing you've ever heard.
Its job is to overwhelm
me with life and concepts long interred.
A fear that's hidden deep behind
an obvious thing like hate.
I approach ad infinitum,
to make this devil meditate.
A hundred and eight prayer beads.
A mantra to stand and fight.
A weapon of intent,
of magical will;
A word of power and light.
Just get me through this night-
Our feelings aren't based in logic.
We use tools on a budget.
Report the numbers and don't fudge it.
Be honest with the others,
Be honest with the self.
Jan 14, 2025
Jan 14, 2025 at 3:41 PM UTC
Take me to the skies Dad
I said silently
Hoping that today would be different
Affronted with something else
Rather than happiness
There's a biting edge to the words
I'm sorry I'm ten year's old
It's always been on me,
I'm not sorry that I failed you
I'm sorry that you expected miracles
From a human child
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
I had a dream, a while back.
You were there, standing tall and proud with face toward the sun
never affronted by my disturbing you of your peace.
I said I was sorry about, well, you know.
Not knowing.
You shrugged it off with that golden child shrug of yours,
that earth mama groove shrug that always rolled
like water off your back.
But I guess it didn’t roll like we thought it did, did it.
I was mad, too, in my dream.
I was so mad at you. I was as mad as I had not let myself be yet.
I don’t remember much after that,
other than you taking it in stride.
I think I remember us talking.
When I woke up, I was not mad anymore
and I was crying.
Someone posted on a photo of yours earlier.
It popped up on my newsfeed like a ghost;
for a second my heart stopped, I think.
You have a bunny on your head
that looks like some sort of renegade furry halo to me
for some reason.
There are lines under your eyes
but you look so serene.
Just staring up at this ******* bunny sitting on your head,
looking all the world like a Renaissance painting.
It’s not fair to know
the pain somewhere in those lines of shadow and light,
your shadow and light,
you’re shadow and light.
I think maybe tonight I’ll dream again,
and maybe you’ll be there. Or maybe not.
But that’s the only place I can find you,
the only place any one can find you.
There’s a curve to your mouth that’s making me cry.
It’s a little dark, you have to admit.
Dark, but healing, like some sort of witchy cave.
You might have liked that. But who can say?
Every once in a while someone will post on your wall
on your photos
and there you pop up again.
But we’ve all shifted, and you’re just a frozen face.
Frozen shadows. Frozen light. The princess in the box,
and the people gaze upon her, never touching.
It’s enough to inspire.
Art in different forms, telling different myths and legends.
You can’t be woken up with a kiss.
You are only in a box.
You are only in the dreams of the living now.
And in us you will live as long as the last of us.
A longer life than you might have had but never did,
definitely a longer life than most.
But really, who can say?
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
Its color sat somewhere on the spectrum between brown and gray
(Such things being dependent on vagaries of the light,
And the perspective of the beholder)
And it served as a testament
To the muted benefits of near adequacy,
Being too thin for the portentous winds of December,
And too warm for the capricious sunshine of May,
Its threadbare functionality emblematic of its owner,
Whose relationship with those around him
(Indeed mankind and his universe in general)
Vacillated between an affronted indifference
And an implacable if somewhat muted contempt,
His commerce with his fellow man,
Excepting that required to provide him
With the basics of sustenance and shelter,
Carried on in an epistolary fashion,
Through letters he wrote,
Sometimes to those he encountered on a daily basis,
More often to mankind and the unheeding cosmos in general,
Which were stuffed higgledy-piggledy into his coat pockets.
These missives were not humdrum laundry lists
Of those slights and injuries, be they petty or mortal,
But rather soaring and high-flown in nature and tone,
More kin of the sermon than the scolding,
Celebrations of life’s splendors great and small,
More often than not those he knew little or nothing of first-hand.
He’d no intention of sharing these dispatches
With the world at large or anyone in particular;
He’d simply empty his pockets once they were full enough
To present an inconvenience,
And he’d laundered any number of them
On more than one occasion,
And when he’d passed behind this earthly veil,
All but unnoticed and unmourned,
His landlady had simply emptied the contents of the coat's pockets
And consigned them to the trash,
Believing the garment barely fit for charitable purposes
Washed and given a goodly airing out,
Let alone burdened with the detritus of another man’s life.
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC
affronted
by words
crafted to
incite
a gale howls
in protest.
I temper.
response to
goad is
your lead.
I set leeward
in spite.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC