"berates" poems
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
drenched
feathers-
my
inner
raven
berates
monsoon;
avoiding
cloud’s
melancholy
gaze
awaiting
sun’s
embrace
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
30.10.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 6:37 AM UTC
*My voice is in the falling rain
A crashing rolling weeping realm
My song of storms proudly proclaims
These clouded skies are falling down
Back to the earth from whence they came
A moist collection careening down
To crash into the waterways
And sing my song clear and aloud
Into your ears I whisper rain
And share my secrets so profound
As droplets cleanse the concrete stains
They sweep away the sorrow sounds
So here I sits by window panes
To smell the sky and taste the clouds
Though thunder rolls and storms berates
My song remains like falling sounds*
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 10:46 PM UTC
Orange clouds of crystal and
halos of gossamer dust,
regal and iridescent
in all of their shine encrust.
The crown of dominion
a minister of the skies,
surfaces integrity
in winds it's vaporised.
Striking down in lightening
his electric charge berates,
a celestial karma
sacred justice gravitates.
Casting shadows of chaos
with red blemishes of rage.
His sceptre in thunder bolts,
universal he's a sage.
©Jacqui Slade
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
...it's like a separate entity
One that doesn't like me
In fact, it tells me it hates me
As it berates me then blames me
I'm at a loss and lost
Can't even tally the cost
It's burned every bridge I've crossed
And left a heart encased in a permafrost
©2024
Apr 9, 2024
Apr 9, 2024 at 3:43 PM UTC
Please and thank you,
so curtsy often
to the brown and gold
array arras errat error
and enter
politely,
for a new age-
is much less a new page
turned,
than old pages burned.
To think and dream is not the age we are,
but blatant blatancy
berates the timid temperance of tolerance
in such a brutal light
that tiptoes are required footwear
for all 6 companies that run
the treadmill of deeliteful light.
and it delights in light
and fruitless
useless
brooding
foolishness.
iamtalking of course
about the horse,
the dog,
the cat,
the viral virus of vermin
-
to break up our monotony,
all that is necessary is
to be willing
to shed the opinions of the mass
-ive ignorance
and think,
but more than most,
to breathe in compassion
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
Shortly after the school systems began defecating on the dreams of my generation,
We found different outlets
Through which we could bring our loathing to a head.
My generation now writes poetry and
Finds solace in video games we can beat
In lives we can't seem to live the right way.
It's funny to me that The Legend of Zelda,
When completed,
Tells you that "You are great!"
While your teacher berates you for being sub-par
Though you tried your damnedest
To please them through drafts and drafts
And drafts of work
Spat out at 4am because
There are more important things to deal with
In regular waking hours,
In regular waking life.
They tell us that we have failed
Because we ****** up in one class,
A single credit,
A single number on a sheet of paper
That tries to measure us
When we can't even attempt to do the same.
They tell us we have failed
Because we do not look good on file
And apparently we do not look good
Walking down the street
With ****** eyes and baggy sweaters,
The only clean clothes we own
Because the system has ****** us clean of time
To do much else than
Study, study, STUDY our **** lives away.
This is atrocious.
When a young boy feels more accomplished
Beating Pokemon
Than he does when he writes a stellar paper,
The best he can pen
Only to be told he has a lot more work to do
And that the paper
"Is good...
But it needs work."
The culture of my generation does not discriminate.
It does not tell us that we have more work to do.
Instead, it tells us that "we are great" and
It gives us a restart screen when we **** up beyond repair.
It does not tell us we have failed,
Instead offers us a kind
"Try again?"
It is sad
When the voice over of a video game
Offers more kindness
Than our instructors and parents
Combined.
School should not send us home, wanting to **** ourselves.
The system should not make a pen cap,
A pair of underpants, a simple metal bookmark
A weapon
In the hands of the human entity of depression.
We will not be marked suicide risks.
As long as we keep getting our restart screens and
Compliments from bits,
We will triumph.
We will be the heroes of our generation
As long as we keep getting the chance.
One day, when all the suffering is over
And we have escaped this war-torn soul of "The Caring Community,"
Maybe those words will extend from an NES and find their way
Into the mouth of a boyfriend, girlfriend,
Wife, husband, friend, professor...
Someday, we will hear the words and we will truly believe them.
"You are great!"
Maybe not today...
But someday.
Soon.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
The sun and moon eliminates
The draining darkness life creates
But my past constantly berates
As my future wiggles free and escapes
©2023
May 29, 2024
May 29, 2024 at 4:52 PM UTC
*Ours is like a strand of yarn
Stretched across a narrow gap
Though the wind berates
And the rain pours out in the summer storm
It will not break, it will endure
But perhaps in time will sag and fray
As if we let it so to go
Or even chose to cut it down
Because you have your own phone lines now
Made of woven steel and unbroken arms
As we were just a childhood yarn
Or a single strand between two hearts*
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 1:39 AM UTC
I have this voice inside of me which drives me to despair;
Even after every effort made — it still berates beyond repair.
I have this voice inside of me, it screams, it kicks, it yells;
Even as I lay in perfect silence, it commands from tortured hells.
I have this voice inside of me, it has multiplied beyond belief;
I see it lies in all I’ve met — proceeds in everyone — without relief.
I have this voice inside of me, one which came from you;
All the lies you ever told me — they grew, they grew, they grew...
I have a mind inside of me, it haunts me through and through;
If I should ever die by my own hand, it spoke to me, through you.
...
I know of parts inside of me, at first I couldn’t distinguish the two;
One from me and one from you, one was false and another, true.
...
Another part inside of me, seeks to end your reign;
Perhaps by then, I will be governed by silence, perhaps by then, it won’t have to be feigned.
Another part inside of me, pleads for a higher path,
It pleads for me to surface, all in the wake of your aftermath.
...
I feel a beating within me, which yearns to live and grow,
Even in the screams and contractions, a substance beneath me flows.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
A play unfolds in my mind each night
As two opposing forces fight for control
The nefarious darkness assembles its army of thoughts to lay siege upon the throne of light.
Reason fires down from the compassionate wall
As the guilt slithers its way to the top.
The loathing berates the beautiful moat until the trenches give way to a cleansing flood.
As dawn emerges the enemies call a cease fire...to replenish their armies for the twilight to come.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 8:19 AM UTC
let there be no bitterness in my heart
no regrets, no judgement that berates
let me walk on my path,
let there be birds that shall sing
let there be joy in my heart
and may that be shared by those that I
might meet on my way
let me not value, nor pass sentence
let me not frown, or smirk
let me have my path that is radiant
with no system, nor ownership
free of labels
and may I walk that way, my own
let there be the sun, the moon and space
all things that exist, in their nature
and let those Mighty Here and Above
know I will not follow nor will be followed
and if it need be, may others be pleased
when they shall see me pass by
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
the hands of the clock are spinning
still
12
with broken bars on the playground
skipping stones
when things started to get a little heavy
we paused our breathing for an aftermath of sorts
but never saw it happen
14
the chiming gets louder
the bad kids come out to play
stringing words through fences
hardly a crooked smile
or stare
we're not going anywhere
16
it's daylight
we snooze our dreams because
they might never take flight
we sit on the bleachers
we live vicariously
we tear jealousy from magazine covers
because that's how we live
we step on broken mirrors but they do not hurt
18
these times in twos we're forced to live
the heavy gets heavier
the heart gets harder to breathe
we begin to look for fingers to grab
fingers of grief
kisses through teeth
we make bad decisions that spin
on some nights we kneel
but Sunday morning is not for another 12 hours
we return to wallow
in a certain hollowness still unfilled
the cycle repeats; we're waiting for night to come
around like a boomerang
were these years formative?
or maybe just an excuse for destruction
regrets fizzle
but never make it pass the sheet of ice
20
and a little wiser
just a little
the handlebars come off
once upon a time this was a vision
and now the hurdles are broken
until new ones come along
once upon a time this was a scream in the night
now there are bells
and lights
and buzzing
the chiming gets louder
the albatross is passed
around like a boomerang
an encumbrance
it berates me
we're looking for reasons to swallow
all this guilt and all their shadow
21
I scramble to my feet
to put this banner together brick
by boring brick
it feels all too valorous
to exclaim that I have broken the wheel
in time to come I shall fall back
into clutches
and fingers and teeth
and bad kissing
a half-open grey goose on the mantelpiece
half-opened desires
and some squabbling in my chest
more chandeliers
and more yet to come
as I fizzle into some chasm unbeknown
surely there is more falling to come
but for now
lucidity
the hands of the clock are
still
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 6:54 AM UTC
I can't remember the last time
I dreamed
And that makes me sad
Almost nostalgic
For those days when my brain was too full
To not dream
Those days that marked me
Colored me full
Colored me pretty
And interesting
Like the pages of a printed
Special movie edition book
Now I'm more like
An old leatherbound cookbook
Beaten and worn from past usage
Torn pages
Yellowed corners
Used
But might as well be empty because I am used no more
Full of beautiful recipes and possibilities
But too weak and fallen apart
To be reconsidered
I can't remember the last time I laughed
With someone who understands me
With someone who couldn't say
"Oh that's so funny"
When I tell a joke that's not
And instead berates me
For being so lame
But in a loving way
But this does not make me nostalgic
Because you always find someone better
People come and go
So do dreams I suppose...
Somehow it's different
Somehow it's not the same
I need to have dreams to know I'm still alive inside
And people can only prove I've got a physical body
That's all
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
Wind berates the window panes in angry exclamations
And the walls groan with the intermittent vibrations of my father’s steady blows-
With every other heavy step the leaden strokes of his fury, a loaded roque mallet meets the wall, meant for me.
And deep in my body, white terror (boiler heat)
climbs the stairs in syncopated heart beats.
Daddy, can you hear me in there?
But I think he’s gone,
and I’m running.
Long hallways, deep black, and the crack of his weapon send shrill fear in (fire hose) snakes down my back.
“COME ON OUT, WORTHLESS PUP, AND TAKE YOUR MEDICINE,
BAD LITTLE BOYS HAVE TO TAKE THEIR CORRECTION,”
I think daddy is gone,
This inhuman place took him.
In the back of my mind,
(You’ve got to keep your love alive),
In the back of my mind,
(I know that you tried.)
There always comes the end of the line, and as I beat daddy to the attic by a step, I know I’ve reached mine.
There is nowhere to go.
There is nowhere to hide.
“If my daddy is in there, he knows that you lied!
You’re just a false face, just a big hungry void,
and you swallow men like him to survive.
If my daddy is in there– ”
And all at once, his countenance changed.
A man hollowed by agonized sorrow, he bled,
(Monsters are real)
“Doc, run away quick-”
(And ghosts are too)
“But remember this-”
(They live inside of us)
“Remember I love you.”
(And sometimes they win.)
And I believe him.
I kiss his blood stained fingers,
And vignettes of sweet memories pass between us, fading with the hue of humanity in his eyes-
And I cannot say goodbye.
The mallet ascends to end him-
A coup de grace, a bleak salvation,
So that I can look upon the mangled maw of the awful stronghold that held him.
“Masks off, then,”
It says.
And I grin.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 12:32 AM UTC
Sordid stepping from the left arise
For to the right she’d seldom think to see
Lashes just like spider webs o’er eyes
Which sweep the mist and catch me as I sleep.
The new Sprit with the eyes in wich he’d trapped
The strings of many precedented fates
Grazes on the threshold of the lapse
Of recognition; there the left berates.
The Sprit of spirits potent in her kind
Her all-assuming manifested craze
Ejecting me from woeful holds I find
Rejectamenta clothed in urbane gaze.
The Sprit of desperate threaded fingers jousts
The Sprit of spirits: sovereign of doubt.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
I live with a perpetual companion
An unremitting voice in my head
An amensalistic association
This parasite and I are wed
Not by choice are we inseparable
God knows I've tried to break free
It's constant conditionings of the past
That binds this enemy to me
A chameleon that drains my color
Armed with a tongue spitting and sharp
She dominates my conversations
From morning till noon till dark
Upon the urge to be true to myself
To break free from this mimicking mime
She ridicules, rants and berates me
Until I loose all sense of time
If I grant the power she incessantly seeks
And obey her exacerbating needs
A suicide of sorts slowly takes place
Leaving an empty reflection of me
If I choose to not give her authority
(Which only infuriates her more)
And I start to rewire the pathway she's on
No longer will she bang at my door!
But the question that's left remaining
Will I be okay left on my own?
a companion like she, omitted from me,
Will undoubtedly prove I'm alone.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
My body is a canvass
Tinted are griefs
Of reminiscent past
My body is a wall--
A mural of every break, every fall
My body is a plate
Etched of anguish my mind berates
I am a paint--
Deep, dark burgundy--
The shade of my soul's ignominy
I am a brush--
Strokes of hate in the evening's hush
I am a clay--
Molded in disappointment and dismay
I am a charcoal--
Smudged by idiocy
And ideas that are shoal
My body is a sculpture--
Crafted with unsightliness and disgust
I am an edifice--
A construction of mars,
Founded by scars
I am the thread of my clothes--
I wear to cover my bones--
I hide in the closet--
I deeply loathe
I am a masterpiece--
Of repugnance and self-grudge;
Of vexation, of lies--
Of hate! Of hate! Of hate!
I am an art--
A sophisticated tragedy,
An intricate catastrophe
Perfection in all grotesquerie
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
Some people just don't understand
That I can read a face like the back of my hand
With an Inner Critic at the back if my mind
It judges and examines everyone I find
Along with every action I take
Are you sure that's not a mistake
With every person I meet
Lair, Lie! Flaw! Flaw! Don't even greet
But I'm the victim here
No one likes you, you're weird. Don't go near
But I can't always be alone
Just use your phone
It doesn't stop, it's forever speaking
Ruthlessly reminding me of my flaws
Into my hollow core it's forever peaking
It scratches the inside skull with claws
It belittles and berates
It remembers all the dates
That were your most bleak
When you try you can't speak
You unwillingly see the worst in friends
Your relationship bends
Then you are the one to blame
As continues the game
The Inner Critic, oh the mastermind
Quick as ever, one of a kind
You can't turn and run
Help, it's no longer fun
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
- The irate Englishman berates his pupils for losing track of gods.
- Children of the Corn was originally written by James Frazier.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 3:50 PM UTC
He stands tall
proud
open
vertebrae linear
shining like the moon
sugar skin wrapped around
delicate bones
and hardworking hands
He exudes comfort
like a warm summer night lying beneath billions of
constellations
they shine brighter with him
like crystals
Flowers grow from him
His heart is so much more caring than the sun
who berates delicate green tendrils with unforgiving heat
mysterious clouds can't shield his
effervescent energy
nor can smoke
He shoots electricity from his
fingertips
sparking life
igniting
He lifts massive weights
of time
of pressure
from the world's shoulders
He is now and infinite.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
I can write out the sounds,
prepositions and nouns
that would help us to better relate,
but I can't stand to keep
all these things in the deep,
so allow me to pontificate.
I have wrings on my hands,
broken bones in my tongue.
I have methods of making me sane.
But this madness escapes
when my feeling berates
sensibilities trapped in my brain.
I feel stupid and foolish,
unsightly and ghoulish,
like I'm breaking my back as I walk.
I have whispers and sighs
just in back of my eyes
cause I can't stand to hear myself talk.
There are reasons and doubts
that I can't live without,
and my mind's a marina of stone
where excuses abound,
and you won't hear a sound
cause in here, you're completely alone.
I have struggled and sought
to direct where I walk
so my steps stray away from this place.
But with each passing day,
I examine the way
that I'm losing the whole human race.
I'll escape with my pride,
and my veins open wide -
even then, only once in a while -
just to trip down the street,
keeping quick on my feet,
holding fast to my Cheshire smile.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
She finishes writing the test
Thankful her anxious brain can rest
But the test isn't actually done,
As students discuss the answers to number one.
They compare solutions,
go over the questions they found tough,
The girl wishes she could plug her ears,
But the students haven't had enough.
As they talk they realize they got some wrong,
But take it lightly in stride,
They do not know that if the girl joined in,
it'd crush her soul and pride.
Because it starts the criticism rolling,
Bashes her left and right,
"How could you get such an easy question wrong?
You're anything but bright"
"Try harder next time,
come on, I'm sure you can do better.
You need to do well, idiot,
A is the golden letter"
Others wonder why she doesn't join in
On the post-test debates,
If only they knew the anxiety and sadness it brought her,
Her mind, how it self-berates.
The girl is working to quiet the noise,
To silence the negative notions,
But until then don't discuss too much in her presence,
Step by step, she's setting positivity in motion.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC