"appalls" poems
It seems like whenever you struggle to look yourself in the mirror.
Whenever your skin irritates and appalls you,
You find someone who could spend a day in front of the mirror
Someone who treats their skin like a temple
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
I wander thro’ each charter’d street.
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow
A mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man.
In every Infants cry of fear.
In every voice; in every ban.
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear
How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackening Church appalls.
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls
But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
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I ordered this, clean wood box
Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.
I would say it was the coffin of a ******
Or a square baby
Were there not such a din in it.
The box is locked, it is dangerous.
I have to live with it overnight
And I can't keep away from it.
There are no windows, so I can't see what is in there.
There is only a little grid, no exit.
I put my eye to the grid.
It is dark, dark,
With the swarmy feeling of African hands
Minute and shrunk for export,
Black on black, angrily clambering.
How can I let them out?
It is the noise that appalls me most of all,
The unintelligible syllables.
It is like a Roman mob,
Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!
I lay my ear to furious Latin.
I am not a Caesar.
I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.
I wonder how hungry they are.
I wonder if they would forget me
If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.
There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades,
And the petticoats of the cherry.
They might ignore me immediately
In my moon suit and funeral veil.
I am no source of honey
So why should they turn on me?
Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.
The box is only temporary.
3.8k
1516
No Autumn’s intercepting Chill
Appalls this Tropic Breast—
But African Exuberance
And Asiatic rest.
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When we devote our heart to what
phases and appalls us,
we leave no room in our hearts and
sit alone waiting on the people of our
dreams.
So many times we take morality and
mold it into our sculpture of opinion.
We take the image of the natural beauty
our friends arrive to take us and photoshop
beauty queens, anorexic girls, naked men,
and clear skinned bashful humans.
We look the way we do,
but we’re not done yet.
Split ends are the representation of a
woman who works hard to earn her
dream and live her destiny one day.
A teenager with blemishes enters the
school doors and cracks quirky jokes
and makes an eight grade girl laugh;
she who is fourteen and feels no inferiority
despite her flat chest and gap tooth.
He is not the fat boy who everybody loves,
he is a human being and is here for the same
reason any model,
rockstar,
dancer,
athlete,
actor,
and Olympian is here
today.
Can we look the way we do and feel as if
we need no photoshop on what is really on
us?
It’s all about
what is
in us.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
Pinnocchio and the Queen!
Puppet image, sorrowful,
Rouge dusted sparkles bless his cheeks,
Such childlike image, as cheery angel,
Gay, misled by teen fantasy,
Hair coiffured not a whisper out of place,
In faded denim hot pants,
Appears out of place,
Parading as a shop mannequin,
Like a tiny harlequin,
Lust for some emotion,
Advertising wares for sale, in aim of a promotion,
A sad commodity,
Full of ****** satisfaction,
Young men, old men , suited men and booted men,
Seeking cutie prey,
Maybe,Streets paved in gold,
Fools gold in the truth was found,
Impure truth was the only thing he ever bought!
Prince Albert,although not his **** in truth,
Instead pond life **** took on the role, with cruel control,
Lives in land where tragic lies, and sorrow becomes magnified,
The shards of all, is ****** fantasies.
As an immigrant to land of city lights,
I see through windows fogged by city smoke!
Visualising through caring eyes,
What I see appalls me deep within,
Tears my soul to tears!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
673
The Love a Life can show Below
Is but a filament, I know,
Of that diviner thing
That faints upon the face of Noon—
And smites the Tinder in the Sun—
And hinders Gabriel’s Wing—
’Tis this—in Music—hints and sways—
And far abroad on Summer days—
Distils uncertain pain—
’Tis this enamors in the East—
And tints the Transit in the West
With harrowing Iodine—
’Tis this—invites—appalls—endows—
Flits—glimmers—proves—dissolves—
Returns—suggests—convicts—enchants—
Then—flings in Paradise—
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Misty little corner
In a blue Room
Calls out to the mourner
Immersed in doom.
Grey furniture makes
Greyer memories
Faults, taunts and insipid
Fallacies.
Blue is the colour of the eye
It's inside is filled with a neon so fly.
The pink tree of life ******
Venus flytrap dissolves in juices.
The eye looks, the eye appalls.
The eye resigns, the eye dissolves.
The pink trap reopens again.
Lust curls into the corner in vain.
The misty blue corner like a white canvas,
Fills with all its colours again.
Pink is the monster,
Blue is the perpetrator,
Green is the debilitator.
And I, the wild colourless mind,
Sits by the wall and conjures this mishap.
All dreams are flies,
And I, the Venus flytrap.
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 4:04 AM UTC
NEWTOWN (TRIBUTE)
from Tucson,AZ
E.J.Anderegg
In a haven of knowledge, structured for sharing,
an intruder descends with all absence of caring.
Unleashing his crucible’s conscienceless yield,
student’s bastion transformed to a killing field.
Grim reaper bedeviled with hell-bent depravation.
Safe haven for children suffers love’s reparation,
It’s not really surprising that death toll keeps rising,
While the lost moral compass despised compromising.
NRA’s pompous position truly appalls;
Corporate greed clenching sacs that once contained *****
Though psycho’s name fades, he’ll bequest mental anguish.
In Newtown hearts, where young memories languish.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
The Dead, Dying... Death
The visitor that appalls
Even when foreseen
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
To atone is to tune,
your soul's acoustic hole.
It's to loose it and be a loon
until, intoning spawns a hole.
A spartan room is an ****
for one whose toes
never follow chronology
and never miss the woes.
Eating the fruit of knowledge
bought accolades at my foot,
I have heavens to acknowledge
but I'm aging in rummage.
I smolder in pain,
as gratefulness grate.
I repulse my thoughts
as they stab me in vain.
A suave lily appalls
dirt on it's debris;
like a reclusive lady
who hates ghoulish paparazzi.
I cipher in poetry
outlets hard to decipher;
Like pottery,
it calls for practice not paltry.
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
tall is the tree and strong deep is its root
at end of day even the staunchest bawls
honest men speak against all that appalls
their work is constant though most rare its fruit
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
for just one instant fools delay their brawls
and bow their heads honour may touch the brute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls
at loss of friend we make our little calls
shed our few tears and learn it's absolute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
whether in calmness of the lecture-halls
or broadcasting to folk on their commute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls
knowing the silence that finally hauls
his voice away we cannot refute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
at end of day even the staunchest bawls
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 5:28 AM UTC
My moods drain me down
To some immoderate sluice-gate,
They run down the grainy windows,
Clog the sand in the top of the hour-glass
Like bat's tears, like misplaced rainstorms
Looking for a cloud to hang out under.
All my temperaments are accidental,
Wrongly placed; too early or too late
Miscarriages of intention,
Predicaments of inattention.
All the inconsequential moments I inhabit,
I'm wearing thin, from changing my mind too often-
Why is there no groove for thinking,
No energy-saving secret gear?
Sometimes I sit absolutely still
In an uncomfortable position,
Hoping the powers that be will notice me;
Will see that I'm going nowhere, so slowly
And they will send some tempest to help move me along.
I'm also afraid they will send change;
The paralytic not only can't move,
He knows he can never move,
And his biggest fear
Is being thought capable of movement.
In that rapid swirling down the drain,
He wants someone to snag him on a branch,
Save and reclaim his manhood;
Not sit in a tree and watch him spiraling,
While repeating over and over,
Why don't you save yourself?
He knows it's too late for words;
The tears only add to the swelling river.
And if once I thought there was a savior on every corner,
I guess I just got tired of waiting-
Because the ones in the mirror only close their eyes now.
Normalcy both appalls and comforts me-
Why does it all appear so average,
As you go sprawling head first over the falls:
You know nobody elses life will change one iota,
And you know you're just paying some bill
You never even saw.
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 4:32 PM UTC
Puppet image, sorrowful,
Rouge dusted sparkles bless his cheeks,
Such childlike image, as cheery angel,
Gay, misled by teen fantasy,
Hair coiffured not a whisper out of place,
In faded denim hot pants,
Appears out of place,
Parading as a shop mannequin,
Like a tiny harlequin,
Lust for some emotion,
Advertising wares for sale, in aim of a promotion,
A sad commodity,
Full of ****** satisfaction,
Young men, old men , suited men and booted men,
Seeking cutie prey,
Maybe,Streets paved in gold,
Fools gold in the truth was found,
Impure truth was the only thing he ever bought!
Prince Albert,although not his **** in truth,
Instead pond life **** took on the role, with cruel control,
Lives in land where tragic lies, and sorrow becomes magnified,
The shards of all, is ****** fantasies.
As an immigrant to land of city lights,
I see through windows fogged by city smoke!
Visualising through caring eyes,
What I see appalls me deep within,
Tears my soul to tears!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
Like rivers, it falls
from my cheeks the tears
this farewell, it appalls
I'm perplexed by these fears
And yet, your embrace
it brings comfort and joy
your love I cannot replace
such sweetness shall never cloy
But it is that I will miss
such lovely sways
to my heart, what bliss
but now we must go our separate ways
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 12:18 AM UTC
NEWTOWN (TRIBUTE)
from Tucson,AZ
E.J.Anderegg
In a haven of knowledge, structured for sharing,
an intruder descends with all absence of caring.
Unleashing his crucible’s conscienceless yield,
student’s bastion transformed to a killing field.
Grim reaper bedeviled with hell-bent depravation.
Safe haven for children suffers love’s reparation,
It’s not really surprising that death toll keeps rising,
While the lost moral compass despised compromising.
NRA’s pompous position truly appalls;
Corporate greed clenching sacs that once contained *****
Though psycho’s name fades, he’ll bequest mental anguish.
In Newtown hearts, where young memories languish.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
NEWTOWN (TRIBUTE)
from Tucson,AZ
E.J.Anderegg
In a haven of knowledge, structured for sharing,
an intruder descends with all absence of caring.
Unleashing his crucible’s conscienceless yield,
student’s bastion transformed to a killing field.
Grim reaper bedeviled with hell-bent depravation.
Safe haven for children suffers love’s reparation,
It’s not really surprising that death toll keeps rising,
While the lost moral compass despised compromising.
NRA’s pompous position truly appalls;
Corporate greed clenching sacs that once contained *****
Though psycho’s name fades, he’ll bequest mental anguish.
In Newtown hearts, where young memories languish.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
The casualness with which you act,
While destroying this family,
Angers and appalls
Me to a heightened degree.
Your frame of mind,
What is it, I ask?
Do you think it's okay,
Is it alright, this task?
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
Beauty has been murdered by my hand.
Every feature disgusts and appalls me.
I have strung my own noose,
Stepped through the loop.
I stand ready
For you
To kick
My stool
The fake world speeds communication
Yet quickly sends sin and the devil too.
I stand a ****
And a harlot
Unworthy
Of your sweet perfection.
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 2:58 AM UTC
Calculus believes in God:
That's how each problem is solved
Chemistry believes in Karma-
So each equation is balanced: what happens on one side happens on both
Physics believes in ******* the good over;
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction
Yet, Earth spins because of the rules of physics.
What does that say about out lives?
And literature believes in everything you do
Or nothing you do
Or it tears you apart because half of the work aligns with your beliefs while the other half appalls you
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
Ring around the chamber,
who will go inside?
I'm starving and *****
so why would I hide?
I feel my ribs, but my stomach even more.
Many girls have been violated again and again like penny ******
I don't know what to feel
because for the first time
I don't think God is real.
A shower will do me good, I say.
They wouldn't want us to stink, if we did stay.
I pull off my stripes.
The nakedness appalls me.
As far as I could see
I found human skeletons
staring back at me.
The door shut, but water there was none.
Every person bled into one
massive grave.
For every life, a soul gave.
Ring around the rosey
pocket full of posey
ashes,
ashes,
they all
fall
down.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
Whimsy plays too big of a part
In what we call normal life today.
All the Gods the snobs invent
Have these expensive feet of clay.
You can put a monkey in a cannon
But that don’t make it incendiary.
Anyone can smoke a camel, but
That doesn’t make it a dromedary.
We need to have a nursery rhyme
That warns us about politicians.
Specifically how to disarm them
And turn them into electricians.
You can’t roll a joint properly
While surfing on your Sea Doo.
You have to ask the questions
But the answers might mislead you.
Unlike an elephant who remembers
Who knows what the thing recalls?
Voters forget every fourth November,
The outcome far too often appalls.
Bringing popcorn to a media circus?
Plays too much like a bunch of selfies.
The humor there is out of service.
Leave that movie on the shelf, please.
You can sing a song of sixpence
But it doesn’t buy a flipping thing.
It’s hard to find an honest man
When artful liars get everything.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
Daughters of Albion, thy beauty and intelligence is bespoke
But your spirits are encumbered by cynical agendas, by oppressions' yoke
I await the awakening of the revolutionary heroines within
Who cast off the stigma and shame of the doctrine of sin
Against the rubric that sullies and enervates thy strength
I verse and converse at tedious length
Inciting thee to free love, to the wayward path of libertines
I'd love to see thee dwell freely in beautiful, transcendent scenes
Thou art the flux of sultry stunning supernovas
Only faintly seen and understood by men
Peering like voyeurs down elaborate telescopes
Which, for having filtered you, diminishes thy beauty by factor of ten
Your divinely wrought stars beget a radiance
That offers guidance to the straggling soul
I'd love to be enamoured of you in dalliance
The bars between us the mind appalls
Arise ye makers of rebellion and revolution
Commit thy self to the creation of freedom
And live in eternal celebration
Admitted in to passion's kingdom
Together the daughters of Albion shall waltz
Out the spirit's cage
Going traversing through the wilds again
With inspiration for them I rage
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 1:18 AM UTC
It takes
Snowflakes
To fall
In all
Landscapes
Reshapes
White sheets
Such treats
All day
Kids play
Some sled
The spread
Some ski
With glee
Some skate
The slate
Snowballs
Appalls
Snowballs
Catch alls
Such fun
Is spun
My youth
Had tooth
Long ago
I glow
Logan Robertson
2/1/21
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 4:43 AM UTC