"censured" poems
a gift for Aladdin Aures H
from his 3rd follower...
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the inescapable need,
unformed firmament
inquiring; am I capable?
the impulse palpable,
the urge to urgent,
to gorge and disgorge?
instead of morning prayers,
precomposed and ordered,
morning poem plucked from
morning fog, gusted breezes,
early-on, newborn sun rays,
progeny of disheveled skies
words fused, in irregular sizes,
senses censured by drowsy eyes,
but the chest beating arrhythmia
means bursts of free verses
superimposed on reluctant eyelids,
jigsaw puzzlement be re-conformed
and the first poem of the day,
emerges from the intersection
of mind, pale dreams, and the
first is special till the neu morrow,
when fresh bursts explode inward
to windward, and the first is just
yesterday's mesh of hash,
once formidable, now last,
pinned, yellowing, purely a
**descendant of the recent,
but always, ancient past*^
Jun 19, 2025
Jun 19, 2025 at 3:13 PM UTC
Its easy to forgive the faults and failings of our friends
For love makes it so simple -if some word or deed offends
We try to understand them- for we know the inside out
And if we love them very much we cannot blame or doubt ...
Its just a little harder to forgive an enemy ,or someone who has censured us or done an injury
Its hard to overlook it and be loving,sweet and kind,although we know we've got to,to preserve our peace of mind.....
But to forgive yourself!
why,that's the hardest thing of all
We all do things that we regret,the strongest sometimes fall
We call ourselves all sorts of names ,how angry we can get with self-reproach and worrying and useless,vain regret....
Yet when we whip ourselves like this ,we break our forces down,it robs us of our self-respect,turns smiles into a frown .....
If God forgives us surely there is nothing we can do
We've seen our fault and paid the price and learnt the lesson too....
So banish it this very day and cast it from your heart
Forgive yourself,forgive yourself and make another start.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC
*I was inspired by the many cynical minds
from yesterday and behind,
by countless events of outrage
that poisoned and amazed
the universe that once censured my kind.
But I am not backing down
for in the years to come, you'll see me rise
not away from everyone's judgmental eyes
but with fiery flash, I'll have to burn your pride
and jest the world with my old despicable style.*
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
Grown my beard long enough,
time, now, to
announce to the world,
the demands of the new Caliph:
First a rider on raiment -
of black be your fashion.
Then, in the name of the Lord
the most merciful,
We demand razors!
Yeah we need more of them -
for shaving our underarms
and other sacred duties outlined below.
We demand brides!
We can knock at your censured
doors at night:
for faithful brides and
infidel ****** for pleasure.
In the name of the Lord, most merciful,
Madam, may I ask,
is your modesty circumcised?
In the name of the Lord, most merciful,
Can we have more watches please?
But mannequins, they must be covered.
And when we huddle the infidels
in trenches or behead your sons
please, we do so in but peace!
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
My name is Chris
I avoid obvious rhymes
and give you just the rancid;
'We feel you have not been communicating
effectively as an employee'
poet.
So to you I said 'I'm ill'
'Care to spill?' she hisses.
'Yes' I said
My names the one burning brightly up there in the corner of the room,
'Prince and King Godber'
bearing wooden sign carved by the passion of a Norse god,
a bearded dwarf on a throne.
She responds;
simple, ****** surreal metaphors notwithstanding I ain't slept...
Small **** Na **** but let's not go into it tonight,
naked.
In her dreams he's laid with a woman, wept weeping eyes, distant stare, destroyer of hope, Eastern European,a broken painter cheating,
but he didn't know till it was too late.
The Sun became black
The full moon became blood
the great mountain ran with fire
Pain. Passion, Nighttime.
'Do what thou Wilt' says the bald man and shrugs, setting a bomb off in the 20th century.
I did, I do, I do - boom boom. no one laughs.
She shouts angrily Fool, Coward, Prince
Why don't you just come dance outside
stroke away those cobwebs in your hair
so I did, ripped the cobwebs out
screamed outside, bashed my head
on concrete, tried to **** myself
once, maybe twice,
contemplated more.
Like Virginia my hidden idol. My sister in censured pain.
Knees bashed, half-cut in dead of night screaming **** this
provincial slaughterhouse, this cherryhouse
of the half dead / half ******
merry go round and round, like Kereouc,
but twice as merry, and that's saying something.
Come and bathe yourself in my immortal **** she bleats
'look it up in your encyclopedia of shames'
you'll just find a picture of a woman.
It's intoned meaning
It's poems,
lips tell tales,
tell them then. I dare yer to tell em.
Scream them from rooftops.
screaming eyes aglow, burning Blake fire
poet looks down with lizard eyes
you remind me of me Mum naked.
Puke. Puke, ***** on the doormat.
Violence in words,
this language is obscene
and that is why
he said she said
is gonna **** us.
Already has.
**** it, fancy overdosing yourself on abilify tonight poet?
Not a plan. Not a plan. Don't go out drowning
yourself in alcohol or life, not tonight, not tonight.
Just never.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
and love of winter,
found absent though
i do not lament it –
i lament the loss of my ****
lament as the sun rises.
and acts of valor,
acts of ********** or –suasion,
trail’d off as words
spew forth in riptide.
forth to recreate, to wipe clean.
and censured nods exchange,
we met not eyes, you were
only in my vision’s drift. in my
field of autonomous response.
and in repose at end of day,
all my colors in restful
form. harmonious form.
substantiated form.
and discernable of madness,
reparable non-sense to draw
some drifting vision.
to draw upon jaded gaze
cloak’d defensive.
and i wander the thoughts,
i wander the right
emptiness in your eyes.
and i wander on.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 3:26 AM UTC
Everyone says that i get all the girl's hearts
I'm shocked that people think so
I guess i'm doing pretty good
I'm just going to keep doing me
The people who give me attitude and bring me down just woke up on the wrong side of the bed
Or just got too bitter within the revolting dread
All these kids want to be rappers
But how many will actually make it?
All these kids want to be the best sports athletes
But many don't get very far
Why does this happen?
Is it from a lack of trying?
Am i asking very censured questions?
Cause if i am, i'll stop.
My heart is too big and my mind is too curious, that might be what pulls everyone in
But i ain't perfect
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
To Be Governed
“To be GOVERNED is to be watched, inspected, spied upon, directed, law-driven, numbered, regulated, enrolled, indoctrinated, preached at, controlled, checked, estimated, valued, censured, commanded, by creatures who have neither the right nor the wisdom nor the virtue to do so. To be GOVERNED is to be at every operation, at every transaction noted, registered, counted, taxed, stamped, measured, numbered, assessed, licensed, authorized, admonished, prevented, forbidden, reformed, corrected, punished. It is, under pretext of public utility, and in the name of the general interest, to be placed under contribution, drilled, fleeced, exploited, monopolized, extorted from, squeezed, hoaxed, robbed; then, at the slightest resistance, the first word of complaint, to be repressed, fined, vilified, harassed, hunted down, abused, clubbed, disarmed, bound, choked, imprisoned, judged, condemned, shot, deported, sacrificed, sold, betrayed; and to crown all, mocked, ridiculed, derided, outraged, dishonored. That is government; that is its justice; that is its morality."
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Two halves of me are warring.
One with logic and good intent.
The other with feeling and a heart.
One bends all reality
in an attempt to prevent
heartache and hurt.
The other speaks from
the tip of the tongue
nothing censured
and without care for possible pain.
One wages battle
against all that I know of you.
The other will never give up
or back down
or cease to care
for you.
One waves a ****** banner
claiming death unto the enemy.
**** thine own heart"
They shout.
The other waves a banner of peace
Doves upon a white sheet.
"Love thyself and he"
They call out.
The ****** battle rages on
Each side claiming to be right.
Slowly one half begins to wane.
Its prowess cannot match
The other's beating heart.
One strikes the fatal blow
One side dies a mangled mess.
If the heart beats the logic,
logic might be spared.
But if logic doth prevail,
the heart shall be no more.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
Soon the sun will set in this valley
Where I've roamed for many a year,
So many questions left unanswered!
So many answers remain unclear!
And others will ask what has been asked before,
But this much I know: I'll ask no more
I cannot say that I'll miss this Earth
That censured me at every turn;
Too often were tearful lessons laid
On a heart that was too slow to learn,
And many more tears will flood misery's shore,
But this much I know: I'll cry no more
And as for love that hid from my view -
Come, emerge from your hiding place!
I'll no longer seek your charity,
Supplication was my heart's disgrace;
Surely, more lonely hearts will plead at your door,
But this much I know: I'll beg no more
This frame will dissolve into the soil
To nourish the worms and green things,
And flowers and birds will take delight,
Uncomprehending the gifts death brings;
And life will continue the same as before,
But this much I know: I'll be no more
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC
. . . /\ . . .
_______________________
Every ticking of the clock
there occurs some bad or good acts
they could be organized, or unkempt,
yet, nothing, or no one could pre-empt
our thoughts.....there's not a hint of rage
just questions on being there on a big stage,
called life, like a puppet...or pulling your own
strings...fighting abuse when that moment is born,
the fear to err...in making a vital decision
to reel, when marked as a failed person,
who wants to be censured......or judged,
be disheartened by an ugly smudge?
it's almost unwelcome, to hear scrutiny
wary of doors shutting on you, with finality
it's hard not to hear people's words
when they hit the ears
and the chest.............like swords,
a hostile wind.....a strange silence...are felt,
loud in their echoes,
........no human heart is ever made of pelt.
faith and hope
........embolden the spirit to persist,
to rise from all storms in life
...............to still exist...
when the winds blow nonstop,
............................is, i believe,
God's way of fanning the fires,
........................of our will, to live,
we go on breathing
...................we survive......
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 26, 2019
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 4:29 PM UTC
I don't need friends
Jeoulosy invites envy
And weight can be so much to bare
Without carrying you on my coat tails
Bombs for the bombastic
I'm dropping all I can
Because my hands
Don't want to hold on
The only peaceful end to war
Is when everyone is dead
And I'm still standing
I have been censored
Censured
Left to let this rotten fruit destroy the garden
afraid to speak my truth for some delicate sensibilities
Bullets without guns
I've loaded up on ammo
And taken names
Wars will rage with or without me
But how does the war end?
The only peaceful end to war
Is when nations are destroyed
And I'm still standing
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
It's true that in my brevity of life, I was censured for trouble. Constantly considered the desponding mind of a normal boy, and why or how did I become what I am. My answer to them has always been the same, since I was just a child, your deplorable young blood has been ripped up. Thrown to the side for the gibbet by all the wrong scrupulous attitudes, and I'm running out of deference to give. The prodigious lies brought me here, and I'm glutted throughout the mind, soon to be forever blind.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
My Songs are off Spotify
I’m going to take my songs off Spotify
Not that I know what Spotify might be
Or that I have any songs to take away
Only that it seems to be a thing these days
I want to be censured by Republicans
Not that Republicans know what they might be
Or that they ever notice me at all
Only that it seems to be a thing these days
I want to think today and pray for you -
Now those are exactly the things to do!
Feb 5, 2022
Feb 5, 2022 at 11:54 AM UTC
To my followers ( though the numbers be few) I weep crocodile tears for you (dry as they may be) that you unfortunately didn't get to read my latest poem, "My Wife is a Sheep". It was barred. Censored. Monitored. Deleted. Not posted.
Oh the humanity!
Again I crossed some line. So I'll begrudgingly
acknowledge it, in a gun to my back sort of way, and apologize to the Hello poetry monitors. Why apologize?
I don't want the sensors, monitors - **** overlords, here at Hello Poetry to be angry and on a warpath out to get me. So I'm sending them each a box of happy chocolates telepathically to mentally stupify their minds and sooth them in their misunderstanding and assure them that my writings inflict no harm to them or to Hello Poetry. I'm a good buddy. I'm a friend... Love you!
Give us a little freedom of speech for heaven sake. After all, freedom of speech is an amendment guaranteed by law. Your not against laws, freedom, the Constitution, America are you?
I'm one of the world's last remaining shock poets and even I'm becoming extinct. You wouldn't want that to happen would you?
I'm an endangered species!
How can I reach full realization as a writer if I'm censured. How can I blossom and flower as a poet, and let my stamen dangle in the wind for the bees to land on and take away my gooey nectar (uh oh, could be a ****** reference -- Let's barr it, censor it, delete it, not post it).
Ultimately, how can I be the "go to guy" shock poet if I can't be shocking? When a reader wakes up and feels like a dose of shock poetry to start his day, and I'm not around, what will they do?
My advice to you Hello Poetry monitors is to go out and do something shocking! Feel it's rush. Roll around in its essence. Revel in its pump. Then you'll see. you'll be like me. Liberated. So free....now relax and repeat after me. I love shock poetry...shock poetry......shock poetry....
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
she’s beige, belonging to the tailor-made census censured for centuries.
you know, those clones clinging to a clue and cozying up to epicurean corpses.
bellisima encore, her with the eclipsing ego like some ill-conceived freudian offspring.
woman of gospel – preaching gore, gossip, guile – isle of iconic illusion.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 12:43 PM UTC