"castigated" poems
With our passion all spent they would have us repent our consent
with blind zealotry they refuse to relent opposing our mergence
so when curing prurience leave one percent of passion unspent.
As we share these moments and begin our physical ascent
be aware that they will not capitulate in calling for our penance
with our passion all spent they would have us repent our consent.
Remember this simple covenant in order to circumvent
the condemnation of our actions as unforgivable flagrance
so when curing prurience leave one percent of passion unspent.
In these sheets we have long forgotten the virgin's lament
because the silent weeping is drowned out by our cadence
with our passion all spent they would have us repent our consent.
By our mutual pleasure we have earned their unrelenting resent
and we are endlessly castigated for our lack of temperance
so when curing prurience leave one percent of passion unspent.
The cries of fanatics prove their opposition to be hellbent
they would prefer that we endure the torment of abstinence
with our passion all spent they would have us repent our consent
so when curing prurience leave one percent of passion unspent.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
The eagle searches, circling, senses strum like spider silk.
Sorrow’s scent slides up on a sea breeze.
A solitary slave spits sullenly into the spray.
Silently, suddenly, the sentinel streaks down.
Beak breaks skin, breaches bone, crimson blots the ocean’s foam.
Defenceless, relentless, the bird blurs in a barrage of blood.
Banished, betrayed, the ravaged titan sways -
between the rocks that form his cage.
His foe retreats; a closing caw as crooked claws cleave meat.
Head bowed in defeat, our hero strains as chains bind
hands and feet.
Enduring bonds cut deep and bleed him bittersweet.
Cast against the crags,
this castaway’s castigated cries call out
to no-one.
Chastised, he squints with hollow eyes
towards a lifetime of the bird’s reprise.
Furious. Fists flex,
thrashing against his fortress.
Face furrowed into a frown he flings forward
and for once finds his foot…
unfettered.
Bindings broken, his bonds bite terra firma,
as first a foot and then a hand finds favour.
Boundless, he bellows at the sky
as the flotsam of his freedom floats on by.
Reprieved. Aggrieved. He is restless in release.
An errant righteous line repeats.
Relentless in its beat, it rings out like raw steel on teeth.
A ricochet that disturbs his sleep
“Is this victory, or defeat?”
Racked by reminiscence,
his reality and responsibility remain.
Warped roots rammed down
with rock-filled boots.
Resistance seems obtuse against such reoccuring fruit.
Reluctant, resigned, he rattles out a sigh -
the last gasp of this transitory high.
Reaching for the rope and tack he re-binds the knots
that hold him back.
With one last glance towards the past
he hoists his soul upon the mast.
Ceaselessly.
Senselessly.
The
sentinel
streaks
down.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
The Fool
The grass bows in respect as he passes,
A fool so very unruly,
Spits vengeful passion,
Sets the bowing grass on fire,
Destroying nature with his smile,
Raucous,
Lashing feelings,
Eyelashes flutter in mortified shame,
Curling of their own accord,
In harmony of discord!
Disputed by speech in truth!
Love songs live ,
Castigated fool,
This lyricist,
Chastised for lack of care,
Beaten down,
Darkened magic mind,
Riling by inspiring,
Cauldron bubbles,
Images evaporate,
Eternal gossamer magic,
This fool's a clever fool!
He is such unruly fool,
Will never admit it,
Uncool fool,
Will stand in attendance,
To whims and things,
Main retorts in nonchalance!
Founded in chalice,
Full,
This fool,
Well,
He's no village idiot!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
Spoilt wind driven veronica , castigated in blistering Summer swelter . Blue lace in harried July repose , a thundershowers grace upon a parched , grateful basin .
Streams collect on the valley floor , seeking their terminus ..
The clap of thunder addresses the meadow , seemingly forever into the darkened landscape ...
Tree frogs proclaim their appreciation , field crickets and cicadas sing familiar ballads ..
A shy Moon reoccupies its rightful purview , wood ducks return to their evening quarters .. Sleep well Mourning Dove , rest in peace Appalachian hillside ..
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
you showed me an honest dark element inside of you
but i act peppy and dismissive
i laughed you off as human
your darkness ? a triviality shared amongst us all
shaved off of our common bark
common as simple saliva
you showed me... nature mother of **** and gyration
the play of things
the playthings of the mischievous godlings
and a dark patch was made woman for me also
i was quiet now and unresistant
this new dark inside an unscriptured thing
i'd been castigated and forgiven
in loving unrestrained puncture
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 9:42 AM UTC
It was a wild alto-wielding sax man, screeching with halted notes and dissonant disregard for the folks and their fortune that awoke the birds, and the unyielding flock would mask the sky as two lovers kiss on a bench with flaking paint. The shores are prevailing, the yoking eggs would seep through cracks in the counter while children squeal and leave stains on the walls. Walking through forsaken habitats and dingy rats are bastardising the progression of time and in turn, they confuse a poet as he composes the castigated texts of his forlorn memories.
It was here that piano keys shook the core of the Earth with trembling recompense, and furthermore would eventually seek to unify the tribes of long suffering lands into the rambling herd that stampede through river basins, with alphabets falling from their back pockets. Ah black sky, with your inherent displeasure and disquiet, why are you crying on me tonight? The stars are as despairing as I.
I take your hand and lead you through green-light flickering corridors, as the rats are congregating and confusing us once more. Water drops overhead and we fall into chasms of disparity, holding onto piping that scolds our waning fingers, leaving us foreboding and dumb. Numb to the illicit sirens and the implications of urban living. And your body is sullen, as the Antelope are liberated, but with woe I could feel the icy chill that radiates from you and your once heated body.
Tire tracks, hurried, and the rats find no suspect, so with wringing hands I step into the sunlight and feel the blue sky ramifications and remember your name.
Gravel track buried, the flocks would return to nest in romantic trees, and I find myself alone as the sun rescinds its gaze, placing me in darkness once more.
And the alto-man continues to sing through tubular declaration, as the steadily raging war provides rhythm to the desolate streets and I feel disconnected.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
I have a dream
A dream where we’re not vilified or crucified
For what we see in another eyes
Or whose eyes we see,
Where we’re not castigated
Nor berated
For being fated a little differently
Why can’t they see
That she and she
Are no worse than You and me
Or he and he
I have a dream
That the persecution ends
That society comes to its senses
That the relentless
Withering glares
And indignant stares
Erode to a bigoted few
There’s no reason why you and you
Can’t love each other
Why a man can’t love another
I have a dream
Where a mom’s lips curl
Into a smile while she talks about
Her daughter and that nice Jewish girl
With those pretty lips
Whisper nothings to each other
While fingertips dance across fingertips
When a father can beam with pride
Even though his son will never take a bride
I have a dream
Like a modern day Doctor King
Even though I’m not gay
I have a dream and the dream starts today
I have a dream that congregations won’t pray
Coming to their senses
Homosexuality isn’t a sin
What’s wrong with her with her
And him with him?
I have a dream that rainbow banners
And prideful marches won’t even matter
I have a dream that things will be
As they should be
That love is boundless
That love is enough
I have a dream
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
Step by step. O Woman, the Guardian Angel of my heart
I would follow you to the road of happiness
I would make enormous sacrifices to join your path
I implore you to have absolutely no doubt
I’ll find you because I love you so much, I love you
I won't care about all varieties of problems
Remember the beautiful song by Alain Barrière
I will cross borders and break down barriers
To exhume you, cherish you and love you more
As was done throughout the ages
Until you come back to me, until you ultimately come back
You and I will never, never have peace
Step by step, bit by bit, little or big step
You and I will be together under a new roof.
Despite the tides, winds and hurricanes: I love you
And I shall neither scream and nor shout that I love you.
Woman, woman of my heart, if you did not come back
Step by step, I would search the encyclopedias of secrets
To find the door to your heart and the key to your soul
I will bravely cross all borders. O Woman!
Woman of my being, I am ready to be criticized
Castigated, censored, cannonaded, even crucified and nailed
As was done throughout the ages
To resurrect love and love you more
I exhort you to nourish no, no doubt
Since you will be alone on my path, on my road.
Until you come back to me, until you ultimately come back
You and I will never, never have peace
Step by step, bit by bit, small or giant step
You and I shall carry the same cross together.
Despite rain, wind and thunder: I love you
And I shall chuckle, laugh, and smile because I love you.
P.S. Tribute to Alain Bellec (Barrière), a great singer and poet.
Translation of my poem‘ Si tu ne me revenais’.
Copyright © December 2004, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Dec 22, 2024
Dec 22, 2024 at 8:46 PM UTC
Balanced at this point of time,
Fractious as the case may be
Cautioned as to why we men
Most unctiously, cross women flee.
Brought to heel by subtle stare
Insinuation lingering there,
Caught out short by razored phrase
Abruptly severing…outrage,
Castigated without word
Rendering rebuff absurd.
Yet born to kiss and stroke the brow
But ultimately lost, somehow,
That give and take,(with **** smile)
Demolished slow in time’s worn guile,
Angelic then, in evening light
Extinguished now with tension tight.
Standoff in the cold of dawn
Sees all affection now withdrawn.
Balanced at this point in time
An utter need to kick the dog
Retreat to haven’s dark tool shed
To mutter hurt and swallow grog.
M.
Composed, (with tongue in cheek), for a poor weak ****** who quickly saw his Heaven on Earth become Hell.
23 February 2017
HAMILTON NZ
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
From the croaks of our throats
upturned winter wonderland
whistles incessant Good King Wenceslas,
whose crown is the most deserving here?
but knowest all roads led to ruination,
a frail rain has already
castigated any twinkle dust
and the only braves
are the iridescent petrol streams glimmering down
the forsaken motorway for January's finale.
.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 7:32 AM UTC
The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality
The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class
A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence
But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies
Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity
Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled
Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it
Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of
The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity
Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things
So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic
I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding
I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses
But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice
Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
A mother's shrine of a body
chastised for immortal capacities
no man himself could ever bare.
A breast of sustenance and stupefaction
castigated to a parcel of mundane flesh.
I am these atrocities for which your lack of appreciation
have wrongly deemed.
A victim of what the blind overlooked.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 7:53 PM UTC
A hail to the moments, which were left in a haste;
unpraised, unspoken.........
A look into those moments, whose memories have become;
an immemorial token.........
Half sunk in those sands,
Half buried in those memories;
Lie those moments somewhere,
Which once had been our cherished trophies.........
With some lies, spoken for some truths,
and some truths, spoken for some lies;
Confined to be castigated for once,
But, finally lost in those million tries.........
This universe is a strange place,
A voice then slowly whispered.........
There is more sadness, to be coated,
As compared to the happiness, to be filtered.........
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
When I was but a child
I was hewn upon the cross
Paying penance in hammered nail
To keep from wandering, lost
For if my feet, they couldn’t stray,
Would commit no more to sin-
Except for that Original,
And the blot that lay within
Blinking, blood-blind eyes
Burned by brightest Son-
Would fail to meet the gaze
Under weight of crimes
I’ve only yet to’ve done
But soon became apparent
Being culled to feed the Wood-
Castigated;
Plumb, yet prostrate,
Would do me none for good
So,
Being not a martyr,
Or slave to other’s whims,
I set about to descend, and
Form and fashion, wood to bridge
Over the ocean of my sins
To free phalange from o’er spike
And leave a shining line-
To tread an unknown passage,
And seek what kismet mine-
Unburdened by the weight
Others sought upon to brand-
Reaching out, toward the Sun
Cupping it, softly
In my red right hand
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 3:05 AM UTC
My feet may only move forward
I am a savage in the gardens of Babylon
Teaching love to all unbelievers
And castigated as a lunatic soul
I preach of dreams in living nightmare
Introduce color in a world that's only black and white
I eat your pain
As I paint rainbows on your soul
And if I save you
I save the world
And when you touch me
You touch my soul
Maybe its the only thing I've ever felt
You touch me
As I touch you
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 2:23 AM UTC
Joe, our grade school bully,
Never bullied me.
Flying under the radar,
I got off scot-free.
Though I felt relieved,
I should have been incensed,
For seldom were his victims
Ever recompensed.
I wish I'd had the chutzpah
To walk up to him and intone,
"Hey, brainless buttface,
Leave that kid alone!"
What I would have done next,
I haven't the slightest clue.
I was a geeky kid
Who'd jump if you said "Boo!"
I should at least have tried
An approach more diplomatic
And NOT have selected
An expression so…emphatic.
Nonetheless, I never
Castigated Joe.
I was a helpless kid;
What the heck did I know?
We adults see bullying,
And we don't make a fuss.
Are we just delighted
That no one's bullying us?
We all know what happens
When people are afraid
To speak out against injustice:
Humanity is betrayed.
- by Bob B
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
Black
Is it a crime to be black? Should i be castigated for my skin color?
Am I less of a human? Or is the fear that I am more? I’ll leave that for later.
They say black lives matter but does it really? They say their neighbours are black, that their barber down the road is black. They try to relate to everything black except what it actually means to be black.
The white eye don’t see what the black eye sees. The white life don’t don’t feel what the black life feels.
How can you play down a fear that you don’t feel? A fear that you instilled.
Tomorrow isn’t promised but that doesn’t give you the right to take away my tomorrow today.
I tell my kids they are the leaders of tomorrow but that is if that they can get through today.
The victims could have me or you. Sadly could still be. Think of the ones that have been brushed aside, with no camera or evidence to prove a thing. Think of the pain caused over the years. The worst part is? This is not a one-off, painfully It is just a matter of time before this happens again.
So do not tell me how to feel. I don’t tell you how to **** But it does seem like you do pick and choose who to **** Would you still be you if you could pick? That is for you to answer. The blood that you’ve spilled, it’s time for you to answer.
If we are picking and choosing I would pick repeatedly to be
Black
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 6:02 PM UTC
The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality
The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class
A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence
But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies
Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity
Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled
Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it
Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of
The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity
Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things
So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic
I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding
I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses
But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice
Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
I only take a swing
At the ball that's worth hitting
I'm not going to go for each one, who am I kidding?
It's like a phychlogical bidding
It may not work out in the end
It may not suffice at all
Hence why I stay reticent and stall
But I push myself a little more now
I get castigated for taking a shot
It gets lonely at the top
So what if I flop
I have a million dollar shine
No more staring at the vines
Just pure courage
It may not happen
But I don't care
I could end up winning for life
By taking that chance
I want my words to make her dance
And to see verification in my stance
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 5:41 AM UTC
Abandoned at labour by my folks
The only thing inquired by my mind
WHY ME?
Abandoned facing the blackboard
The only thing comes to my mind
It will be fine
Abandoned in an academy
The only thing replays in my mind
I am strong and shall take it all
Abandoned at my post
The only thing echoes in my mind
Its a phase I will defeat
But conditions switched in a flash
The feeling is unfamiliar and precise
Finally, I am being accepted
Finally, my opinion is countered
Finally, I have an ally by to glare at the midnight sky
Finally, my frozen yogurt is opted to taste
Finally, I have someone to quarrel along
Finally, my munchies is divided amid a screenplay
Just when I dreamt for the puzzle to be complete
I felt a nudge while asleep, awaken to sight you part the course
Abandoned by my accomplice
The only thing reruns my mind
I will gradually march as experienced in the past
Abandoned by the creator himself
The only thing whispered by my mind
WHY ME?
I am drained of being castigated for a felony that's not my very own
I don't deserve this as I followed your decorum
I command a reason for the warmth received
Till what stretch will abandon accompany me
Abandoned ... for eternity
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
President Trump's first day
In office wouldn't allay your fears
If you've been worried about what we'll
Be seeing for the next four years.
Press Secretary Spicer,
Who's called upon to do Trump's bidding,
Had one major concern:
Crowd size! I'm not kidding!
Spicer castigated the media,
Saying that they had underreported
The size of Inauguration Day crowds.
The figures, he said, were greatly distorted.
Spicer insisted that Donald Trump's
Inauguration crowds had been
The largest that had ever witnessed
Such an event.^ Once again
Trump's insecurities
And hurt ego take front stage.
The media merely report the facts
And he flies into a rage.
Facts are facts: President Obama's
Numbers were greater. But NO big deal.
Instead of putting out a tweet,
Trump had Spicer deliver his spiel.
The numbers are not that important.
What's important is whether Trump can
Set aside his petty gripes.
Is that beyond the scope of the man?
- by Bob B (1-22-17)
^Spicer had said the following: "This was the largest audience ever to witness an inauguration, period, both in person and around the globe." Just awkwardly worded, or intentionally vague?
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
"Be a good girl"
"Don't play around with boys, and don't be played around by them"
"Learn how to cook and clean"
"Study every minute of your life so you can get a well paying job"
Listen here,
I am not happy!
I have broken down more than you can imagine.
I have been suffering with depression for 4 years!
4 years!
Imagine the constant pain and agony I have been enduring from not being able to share my burdens with you
I have been used and abused so many times.
I have hated myself as a sister, a daughter, a friend, and most importantly a woman.
I have attempted suicide and the only person who cared enough was my 2 year old sister.
You remind me everyday how I cannot confide in you,
How I cannot need you for emotional support as my parents
How I cannot cry on your shoulders
Because I will be brutally castigated for being as broken as I am.
in my darkest times, although I didn't turn to boys, alcohol or drugs,
I found comfort in depression,
I found comfort in drowning
Because I could not find comfort in you.
If you had taken the time to talk to me about anything either than my grades.
If you had taken the time to thoroughly look at me.
Look at me as your baby girl.
Your baby girl that you held for the first time and vowed to protect and aid 'till your dying day.
I choose to take a break from being in the house for a few days
Because I need a break from people who do not take note of the unhappiness that overwhelms me.
For once, I just want to break down in your arms without being in fear that I will be the enemy in the house.
It has been hard to feel like I'm enough for even myself because
I have never, and will never feel like I am enough for you guys.
And Everyday I'm reminded of how I have failed you as a daughter.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC