"chastise" poems
I’m alone, with smoke and bottles.
With an itch around my neck,
my feet kicks off the bench.
Surrounded by darkness,
a figure has come to jest.
“Did you do your best?”
Feeling hypoxic,
I try to shake my head “No.”
I look at him whilst my feet kick, longing for the ground.
Lighter by the second,
darkening complexion,
I silently scream, “No. No. No.”
With knowing eyes,
the angel sighed,
raised his scythe, ready to chastise.
Although red, my eyes see the light.
But wait, this doesn’t feel right.
Mr. Reaper had nothing to do with me tonight.
My back felt the cold of the floor.
I’m dying no more.
The ancient one cut my rope.
“Don’t.” he says to me.
“Promise me, try to live.”
But I see him nightly.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 4:08 AM UTC
A bubbly baby
A tiny toddler
A cute child
An intolerable teen
An angry adult
The grumpy elderly
To people around the world, no matter your age, have you ever stopped to think about how much you can learn from each different generation?
You might not get a wise piece of advice, but you can see life through a new lens tinted with the color hope, and you can gain experience without even experiencing.
Think about that next time you go to badmouth a parent, disrespect an elder, or even chastise you child.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 1:52 PM UTC
I can no longer disguise
Contempt in my eyes
The lows and the highs
It is you I despise
Heart no longer complies
While your heart denies
It’s me you chastise
Deceitful demise
There’s no compromise
I agonize
While you apologize
But my love I surmise
It’s fossilized
And I've normalized
What you’ve minimized
Gone are my cries
I’m numb from your lies
Like this I will die
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 9:35 PM UTC
Waltz me into the circle of your thought
chocolate dip me into the raspberry mint of your voice
chastise me into the grip of your giving arms
so that I may forever melon your picnic.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:21 AM UTC
I had death on my mind before
but this was different
Depression wanted more
My demons belligerent
My mind on this endeavour
Mixed logic in and its making more sense than ever
There is absolutely nothing after death
A thousand thoughts but one last breath.
On life I no longer wish to cling
But death ends everything
Thought or feeling
Or the process of healing
You don't hear or speak lies
You don't feel the pain behind cries
You don't see it in their eyes
You don't feel how time flies
You don't know if towards your wellbeing or demise
You don't have a mood
You don't feel good
You don't mind opinions skewed
You don't care how you're viewed
You don't feel bad
You don't feel sad
You don't feel the loss for what you had
You don't feel love from your mom and dad
You don't get to care for what you hold dear
You don't get to be brave or cower in fear
You don't get to wipe a happy or sad tear
You don't get to chastise or cheer
You don't get to choose, you just disappear
You don't get a choice in the matter
You don't get to worry about the after
You don't get the need for a break, a breather
You don't get regret for dying either...
Nov 14, 2022
Nov 14, 2022 at 9:25 AM UTC
1204
Whatever it is—she has tried it—
Awful Father of Love—
Is not Ours the chastising—
Do not chastise the Dove—
Not for Ourselves, petition—
Nothing is left to pray—
When a subject is finished—
Words are handed away—
Only lest she be lonely
In thy beautiful House
Give her for her Transgression
License to think of us—
3.4k
Some do call me stupid
some do call me a guy wise
some think I'm a mental case
some just chastise
If they knew the tender light in my eyes
if they only once met me face to face
they would see I am goodly and kind
and not what they think in their shallow minds
I'm just a storm in a teacup
a diminutive feller
just a shot in the dark
but I am getting better
I smile long and hard
for they don't know my stars
let's see what comes
from the dumbest of the dumb
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
When I hear a concealed clock ticking,
I think it's some shouldered past jello grenade
ready to chastise my fletched thumbs.
Like the last time Sandman drew supper with his knees,
and decided to fling cherry cobbler at my nose,
I realized this homeless perfume actually belonged to Mother.
Her pearls redeem her complexion,
milk marrow of silk against her nose--
three strikes dawdling their tongues
from underneath tin necks.
Steady, rinse, exfoliate:
but those are difficult to do
when your rib cage cracks
like the last octave
of a reddening audience.
Brother thinks the tree skirt is soft,
coddling his pats and rabbits
below a ranch full o' pine scented apples.
Sister wonders if she should bring new girl home,
(met at 1:33 AM on 23rd Street.
Apartment documented to smell like baby powder)
but friends are friends are friends are friends,
just friends as furrowed Daddy repeats to himself.
Even "Hallowed be thy name..." confuses the CCD out of him.
"Cancel Alabama's trip this year;
the bees will be humming in their own candle wax.
Besides, who wants to hug Nana
when her breath doubles over in grilled salmon?"
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 8:22 PM UTC
The cheerleader,
Hearts goes to the highest bidder,
An encapsulation of beauty,
She has the license of beauty,
She elucidated my vague and indistinct dreams,
Her voice is mellifluous in my dreams.
Cheerleader is unaccustomed to mundane.
Her admiration full of gains,
Bloomleader is unprofane damsel,
She is immaculate even in tunnels.
Cheerleader is like an epiphany,
Enternity with her? Not still many,
The charm in her face us very potent,
My reasons are arrantly cogent,
Her presence chastise dolor,
Laughter with charismatic colour,
And as the emotion creeps on me,
Making me a sycophants to her knee,
The Cheerleader,
Her love is not a treacherous swine,
Her lips is exquisite than any wine,
Though is infatuation sound very lame,
My heart adores her with fame,
A pragmatic way to study her frangipani face,
I want to be the first in this race,
The cheerleader,
She with crystal teeth
And blue eye *****
I see her climbing on walls,
Auspicious love without any wit,
I realize I was only in a dream.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
When Charlie was a young'un with a crayon and some paper
He would scribble til the paper ripped and the crayon turned to vapour
His mother would console him and she'd offer her advice
But just to drive the message home, she'd loudly sing it twice
Follow the lines, my boy, just follow the bleedin' lines
Just pick a side and stay there, always follow the lines
If you're not a fool then fake it
If you show your spine they'll break it
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
So when Charlie went to high school, how he tried to walk in stride
But the boredom of geometry provoked his naughty side
His professor would chastise him with a ruler and a cane
And, as an aid to memory, he sang him twice again
Follow the lines, young Charlie, you follow the blasted lines
Give it a try, you'll soon see, never cross over the lines
Don't be smart or play the joker
Aim for mainly mediocre
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
When assembling a wardrobe with his Allen key and spanner
He threw himself into his task in an overzealous manner
So when he called his father to report a broken bone
His old man tutted ruefully and sang right down the phone
Follow the lines now Charlie, just follow the ******* lines
Don't improvise or gamble, why didn't you follow the lines
Dodge unnecessary ructions
And adhere to the instructions
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
So in time, he raised a family, the lines etched in his head
One day he heard a buzzing from his aging garden shed
As he listened at the planking, how his face was drawn and long
For between the buzz and rustle, squeaked a tiny little song
Follow the lines, buzz-buzz, just follow the buzz-ing lines
Follow the bee before you, just buzz and follow the lines
Find the flowers when it's sunny
Fetch the nectar, make the honey
Follow the lines, follow the lines, follow the lines
Buzz buzz
**
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
Subjugated by the
Not-so-loyal subjects:
Mind | Body | Spirit
Incongruencies
None knowing their place
Poor leadership
I'll bet I can mind my way to a better place
Better try
Plutocracy
So I grant citizenship
To my cunning and intellect
It works but
After a time vibrancy
Fades
So I call in Spirit
In the spirit of Theocracy
Spiritual matters prevail
But I've forgotten to eat
For two days
So I give Body
A seat at the table
Now we have a democracy
Or do we?
Remnants of the Plutocracy
Gave cunning a vote
So we reorganize
Into a meritocracy
< - - 3 pools - - >
Mind ~ Body ~ Spirit
3 votes
Something still isn't working
So I ruminate
Think
Pray
Chastise
And turn things upside
Down
A king should be subjugated
The best leadership
Is invisible
A
True leader
Follows
Their own path
I (the person) am ground
I am the intersect
I am the crossroads for
Mind ~ Body ~ Spirit
I am the King
And
I
Follow
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
my sunny days were spent
cooking plastic spaghetti noodles over
a wrinkled sticker depicting an oven eye
while kate shuffled through invisible mail
and tended to our adopted stuffed animals
imitating her mother’s affection.
my sunny days were spent
building lego castles on the cool screen-in porch
while the radio played mellow weezer
that was suddenly replaced by sparks
and foul smoke because of billy’s antics
with the hissing water hose.
my sunny days were spent
drawing tattered pirate maps on jelly-smudged
napkins that guided us—the brave hardened
rapscallions—to the attic to horde stores of
gold and to battle foes in the dusty shadows
with our swords made of cardboard.
my sunny days were spent
hiding and seeking until mom’s heels
clicked up the hot asphalt driveway where
she would chastise me for the mess i had made
of myself in cuts scrapes and grass stains
worn by me as medals of honor.
Feb 6, 2010
Feb 6, 2010 at 2:59 PM UTC
I once was soft,
Round faced,
And pleasant.
Now I’m all elbows
And knees.
A stone statue;
Made by novice hands that,
In their haste to perfect,
Crafted only hard sides.
In my need to belong,
I sought to become
Nothing but angles
and sharp corners.
Yet,
now I’m half the size,
I fear I might be half the person,
and my bones leave bruises
to remind me I’m gone.
I wish I could be soft again
But each meal shows,
And critical eyes seek to
Chastise each part
That dares to be anything but
bone.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
You see a kaleidoscopic spongesque speck pushed into a blur over your vision,
Sitting on air & feathers.
You sit on air rather than feathers,
Incased in drywall,
Surrounded by your worldly possessions,
Drowning in sweat,
Suffocating from air,
The hum of coupled fans waltzes’ into your skull,
A metallic mind prints mass media
Via a melodramatic faux-vintage situation into your skull,
There’s the pitter-patter of post-traumatic pondering in your skull,
A Mexican Coca-Cola clutched in your left hand,
Phillip-Morris owns the pocket on your breast so that they sit closest to your heart,
Pabst Blue Ribbon has carved rights to your liver,
You have an over analytic sense of humor and well-being.
Now you decode your day.
Now you chastise your intuition for lustful engagements with shadow people.
Though you have no qualms with this,
You enjoy yourself from time to time.
But cannot you imagine a more climatic proposition,
In a less disposable universe?
Where corners are cut,
Shoving dignity & quality out the door
Is where impractical risks are made.
However,
All you ponder now is the blur pushed into the edge of your eye.
Perhaps it is a microorganism rendezvousing with another microorganism.
Though they would have no concept of predetermination.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
It begins innocently, just a twitching
Behind the tip of my nose
I absently rub it away
Still present in our conversation.
The sensation grows into a relentless itching
Unleashed upon the roof of my mouth.
I chastise the insolent itch with my tongue
And return to our earlier discussion.
A sudden complete blank, I can only anticipate in futility
Waiting at the edge of my breath, i wonder
'Is this it?', as I wait for it to take over
But it subsides just as quick, leaving me gasping for air.
Tears come to my eyes, I feel it return again
And the unholy violence held in that second
Makes me heave and convulse momentarily
As my body betrays me to a more primal instinct.
Its over, I look up to see
A grimace and my sneeze plastered across your face
"Excuse me", I mumble shamefully
"Bless you", you mutter behind your tissue.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
Often, we masquerade behind words without weight
Words that coldly costume our minds, but rob our warmth
I know you’ve euphemized, for me, speech forged in hate
Just as my mouth belies each loving thought I form
When burdened, your mask slips to lay bare hidden eyes
Eyes flatly calm, though agleam with muted malice
While I’m a hypocrite to disclose webs and lies
Still, our beloved ones should not act at loving us
My rarest friend, please, know that to my heart you’re near
And the sword you have carried is a pointless one
For I fall on my own, year after wounded year
I chastise on behalf of all when day is done
So, if the veil grows too heavy, then let it fall
Your shrewdly made disguise does not relieve my pain
The truth can never cut like secrets, after all
There are furtive daggers in the smiles you have feigned
We are all alone, and I, in suit, am alone
And I’m still not sure where life’s path will lead, my friend
Maybe to a lover or child with to atone
Someone real whose hand I’ll hold in my story’s end
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
You had to
Shoot me down
As I was a bird
Flying to soar
And you did not want
Others learning how
To fly away anymore.
Just like the barn owl
Ever the ethereal nun
Kneeling in the branches
Closer to the warmth of the sun
Spreading butterflies
Far away from your aim
With heavy huntress chastise
Away from your cold plain.
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 12:14 AM UTC
Many have walked the path of life only to be cut down violently. I can hear the voices of the dead whispering their last words. A trace of their souls forever stationary in time. Can you walk past a graveyard of white crosses protecting those who fought for freedom. When you do do your eyes remain level and thank whoever it is that you pray to that such men lived. We should not be thankful that such men died for freedom but rather we should be grateful that such men lived. Or when you walk past that graveyard do your eyes blur as if you see right past the lost selfishly thinking better them than yourself. I say let the voices of the dead ring into the stillness of the night and awaken every living person. Let the voices chastise and haunt the living. Let the living know that we are still here and we must act. We can no longer sit back as if the world does not concern us. As if the spread of disease and death across the African continent is someone else's problem. As if the slaughter in Cambodia and Vietnam are but the problems of tribal people. Or the slave trade which runs rampant in South America along with the disease of man into madness of drugs. Or the constant gang warfare which spreads in our own nation. Are these gangs any different then the very terrorist which we fight in the middle east. They **** and terrorise in the hopes of personal glory and living a lustful selfish life. Let us put an end to the ******** and apathy which reside in the so called European Union. Which cares nothing of the problems of the world, which vetos every vote to make the world a little safer. Or the starvation of the North Koreans under the madness of the tyrannt. The oppression of so many people in the middle east by by the hands of their masters. Treating their women as mear slaves to which to repopulate the country, tools of breeding. Using their children as instruments of warfare. Is that what we fight for. Is that what the dead whisper, or rather are the dead tired of the living **** Listen closely and you will hear the dead speaking into the realm of time and history.
Nov 25, 2010
Nov 25, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC
Seek refuge in the soul
When ousted from all shelters
Life spilled out in the open
For all to make a mockery
The one’s who have enough problems
Laziness to mind one’s own fort
Gathered here to tear down
All the little sanctity you have left
Talking about morals
Spreading the pathetic immorality
Trying to **** you to the nadir
Carrying wide chasms themselves
Standing far apart from heart and soul
Never to meet in this lifetime
They take a plunge into the unknown
To chastise the outer world
Souls are on fire, heart’s chambers locked
Suffocating within
With all the billowing smoke
Creating a haze around the behavior
Anger fuels the raging inferno
Urging everyone around to burn you
Surrounded by an unkind world
Seek refuge in your soul
Safe haven from the raging insensitivities
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
Lips crack and split like the petals of dead roses.
Dark
Twisted
Lifeless
Flowers come and flowers go and you were the most graceful of them all. You were a black rose, beautiful to behold but your stems were sharp and callous.
Why do you allow your thorns to chastise me?
I sit silently, reminiscent, remembering how I fell deeply in love with you and how you cut deeply into me.
Love was never supposed to be like that but it was love nonetheless.
I plucked at your petals as you made my fingers bleed and we traded our secrets. You absorbed my strength, I harbored your weaknesses and from that day, I was never the same.
You are gone, wiltered and your essence blows in the wind. My lips sense your presence and crack once more in the hope that you will return in bloom...
For though dead roses wield no sweet aroma, their thorns still puncture the strongest of skins.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
It's Sunday again for you cloistered patricians
aloof from the madness, the magic and myth;
who trust in your wisdom, investments, physicians
unready to answer forthwith:
"Why bother with worship—in church or the zoo—
why weaken the links with a dull set of tools ?"
you ask yourself over your high-end Tarrazu,
bemused at the fables of fools.
You've bartered salvation for New York Times articles,
sipping on bitterness (shade-grown organic).
You settle for molecules, atoms and particles
unfairly-traded, satanic—
while you celebrate emptiness, general futility
musing on nothingness, sure of specifics
ensconced in your kitchen of pampered gentility
flirting with atheist physics.
Those simple plebeians: you'd love to enlighten them
help them, like you, to become a free-thinker
but you remain tasteful, for boldness might frighten them
reeling in fairy tales: hook, line and sinker.
Yet somebody, somewhere has uttered your sentence
(though you abhor judgement, let's read it again).
Sheba and Nineveh, versed in repentance
await you—not whether but when.
The darkness is brewing unholy filtration;
the wine of the harlot approaches the rim;
your guilt is augmenting in slow percolation;
you shrug it all off on a whim.
The souls of Assyria rise from your paper
they watch in amazement, prepare your abyss.
Your coffee now brims a more sulfurous vapor;
oh sinner—there's something amiss:
The crypts of Marib and the tombs of the Axumites
shudder and groan while you're reading the Times...
(immune to the words that some Christarded poet writes
mixing psychosis with rhymes.)
Royal Sheba will chastise your erudite unbelief,
smug self-importance and cynical squawk.
Then she'll sigh with immense Ethiopian grief
and her Highness Queen Bilqis will talk.
It is Sunday in Babylon. What if your sunlight ends...
why are there mobs in the streets of the nation?
Shall you have breakfast—or calculate dividends...
what would you pay for salvation?
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
My falling is not my failing
It's my learning to fly
And the only reason I sit with tears in my eyes
Is because of the knowing I can do what other merely dream of
Flying like an angel high up above
And the freedom, like doves, I feel is heavenly
Love is reality and the ground is a memory
And I find the harmony in the tip of my toes
As they bid farewell to the dirt and my feet, oh they rose
Only to fall again and kiss the concrete
And though I may be fallen, I am not beat
I will go with the wind in a running start
Waiting for the day I find the way to depart
And say goodbye to the drab and questions of why
Finding answers littered in the clouds as I race into the sky
So I fall now, but not for long, so no need to chastise
My fallacies and failures make me oh so wise
'Till the day that wisdom will be action and action will be strong
So I fall for now, but I won't be down for long
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 4:30 PM UTC
I take photos so often
that
people often chastise me for it.
click
But who am I to blame,
when the sunset is
way more colorful
than my darkest nights?
Who are you to chastise me
for wanting a bit
of this beautiful moment,
selfishly, for my own?
click
I need more film.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC