"chastised" poems
Her pale flesh pinkens
and twitches so prettily
Happily chastised
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
dear me,
this is you.
me.
get up.
the ground is your reward
it will hold you when
you are done
hold you with all force
you
are not done
put a silencing finger
to the singing
of all fat ladies
this is not over
real in all finish lines
steal the sound of the
metal ringing hanging in the air and
put back in the bell
one more round we go.
get up.
there are sunsets that need
to be signed off on
snowfalls that need your approval.
starry nights like sad
lovers who's beauty
has gone unnoticed in the glare
of television sets
they are looking for
volunteers to notice them
raise your hand
step forward
you will not be chastised
for staring some beauty some beauty
wants to be seen
get up.
as if the simple act of
standing has brought you closer
to the cosmos as you
have ever previously been.
as if all the stars you've seen
busy looking back
taking notes and keeping track
of which wishes need granting
they heard you ask for
strength
show them you havent wasted it.
..
s.d.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
You deserve a better version of me,
I'm merely existing;
constantly drowning myself in Bourbon whiskey.
I've been baptized by my demons,
chastised with the heathens,
yet I'm blessed to have you on standby;
patiently waiting in the Garden of Eden.
May 23, 2021
May 23, 2021 at 6:29 PM UTC
I know the cliched answer;
good is more powerful than evil!
Yet, a newspaper filled with positive
will not sell a copy
standing next to an article
filled with drama and bloodshed.
Same in life -
try and toe the line,
good and sacrificial 99% of the time.
Yet, for that one small mistake
I'm crucified and left to the dogs
Chastised and unforgiven.
Why the hell do I even try?
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
dear western society,
no one cares for the peasant who provides
the pheasant for the royal table -
but when the pheasant isn't there -
the royal orchestra cries out:
where's the pheasant! where's the pheasant!
as if both pheasant and peasant were alike...
indeed, the peasant isn't there to
provide the pheasant for the feast-
and with such vitriol you proudly say:
once these roaming stars that go against
all reason in cosmology disappear, you'll
know that i was here - you'll know -
perhaps the pyramids were only overshadowed
by the Eiffel tower, but many more pyramids
were mentally tattooed into the minds of men -
and rose far greater and were more
harder to overcome that man took to
climbing Everest - stone by stone his legs
encountered a new form of laying brick-on-brick -
for if western society deems me mad
to purge the old hopes of colonial rule - then
i have already chastised my body to have no heart,
and let it be carried on course toward Iran
or Afghanistan - and there entombed -
i hope Western society loves its humour as much
as it loves it's panic and paranoia and picnics
of waiting for the far right to wake up -
and this liberal-leftist mush of kind words to
be shoved into Disneyland of other fantasia.
yours sincerely,
Vermin.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
The dead-bolts on the interior doors
Against the nephews most securely locked
(One is destructive; the other explores)
Ignored by their mother (usually crocked)
The brother-in-law babbles about his bowels
And surgeries over the festive spread
Ignoring his wife’s disapproving scowls
Detailing each grim therapy and med
The puppies are safely penned inside
Because of an incident with a crowbar
And a nephew who kicked and screamed and cried -
He wasn’t allowed to **** the dogs or bash the car
His mother comforted him in his tears
And glowered at me for telling him no
And comforted herself with a few more beers
Her special child is sensitive, you know
The brother-in-law’s colonoscopy
With lurid adjectives of graphic doom
Comes with the pie and more iced tea
His miseries circulate around the room
Then from the living room an expensive crash
“Not me!” “Not me!” More screams and denials and cries
An old family vase – it’s now just trash
“You shouldn’t have glass around,” their mother sighs
The brother-in-law offers to show his scars
He finds his shirt buttons, makes his move
We other men escape outside for cigars
Cigars!? The women uniformly disapprove
One nephew leaps upon a garden seat
And jumps and yells until it falls apart
Their mother says her boy is cute and sweet
“Are you all right, my dear little heart?”
The brother-in-law holds his tummy and groans
And tells us all about his flatulence
And just which foods lead to what moans
(Perhaps he should practice some abstinence)
The women come outside to cough and choke
With practiced puritan disapproval and sneers
About the satanic scent of tobacco smoke
The world’s best mother chugs a few more beers
The brother-in-law explains why he can’t drink
It’s about his digestion (be surprised)
And we shouldn’t smoke; if only we’d think
And we (got a match?) are properly chastised
Then at the end of this mandatory day
Of mandatory Hallmark merriment
All of them finally go the (space) away
And how did the mailbox get broken and bent?
But the brother-in-law pauses at the garden gate
“Say, did I tell you about my new pills…?”
And so dear solitude again must wait
While darkness slowly falls upon the hills
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
why is it that whenever we–
women–
show the slightest sign of anger or strength
we are presented with one of two masks:
the ***** or better yet,
the Joke.
why can’t we demand anything
without being called fickle or foolish
while a man can do the same and be called
Boss?
why can’t we choose to look like the calla
and not be chastised for pettiness,
for wanting to feel pretty?
after telling us that we’re duped and doped by media,
we’re labeled with a laugh
or the scales of a serpent when we want
to to bite back.
you chuckle when i bare my teeth,
you tell me that i’m cute when I’m angry.
I dare you to tell me why.
i am not a *****
i am far from a Joke.
i have skin and bones
hands to work with
eyes to see and most importantly
i have guts.
i am human.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She wooes the tardy Spring:
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground,
And lightly o’er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance
The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the skylark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstasy;
And, lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by:
Their raptures now that wildly flow
No yesterday nor morrow know;
’Tis Man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.
Smiles on past Misfortune’s brow
Soft Reflection’s hand can trace,
And o’er the cheek of Sorrow throw
A melancholy grace;
While Hope prolongs our happier hour,
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour
And blacken round our weary way,
Gilds with a gleam of distant day.
Still, where rosy Pleasure leads
See a kindred Grief pursue;
Behind the steps that Misery treads
Approaching Comfort view:
The hues of bliss more brightly glow
Chastised by sabler tints of woe,
And blended form, with artful strife,
The strength and harmony of life.
See the wretch that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe and walk again:
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening Paradise.
3.2k
I feel like a dog
Beaten for returning
Yelled for running off
Dragged along on a leash
Of promises never made
I feel like a child
Chastised for squealing
Laughter too loud
Running too fast
And not falling down
I feel like a book
Left face down
Pages wrinkled, spine flattening
Half way through what was once
Your favorite story
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
The pages dripped,
As so the time of the lover.
What seemed so pure,
Gone the distant time another.
From tears to blood,
Pleased and fitted the seeking lines.
This writing love,
Above all the pure soul he whines.
Somberly eased,
One seeks a fine place to rest on.
Of all chastised,
Left a soul requited and blessed.
Run forgiveness,
Placed heavenly upon his chest.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
I last rode this road in Summer
When the light was as now;
Long, flat and mellow
But by the hour not the season
The trees back then still wore clothes
Green, perhaps liver-spotted with yellow
Now I watch them tangle their naked arms
And the world turns its face away in shame,
Longing for its chastised summer
The wheat field is grey scrub
An old bristling beard
And my bike tyres trace its edge
Like fingers on the jaw of our grandfather
And the watercolour wind
Rinses my knuckle bones
And then bites them open
They don’t bother to bleed
They’ve been chewed too many times
As the clouds wash in,
Black with frostbite,
I bite my winter scarf
And sing to it of bluebirds
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
Mammy never owned a dryer,
She would always use the fire
To dry clean clothes for her eight kids,
Who played in pants as if on stilts,
Wore Goodwill shirts like cardboard fibre.
We'd no money for laundromats,
Immigrants don't waste like that;
We made the move from Ireland,
Turned our backs, washed our hands;
Chose Sarnia to make our home.
Yes, Mammy washed our clothes with stones;
She'd string lines from wall to wall,
And draped our patchwork overalls.
In autumn, winter and early spring,
Our house was strung with clothes line string;
Socks dropped on chairs near heating vents,
Every room had ***** like tents.
One day Daddy stretched a line
From our back porch
To the farthest pine.
Looped the wire on a tubeless rim,
Secured the ends with linchpins.
Mammy was so pleased with him.
We four saw what he'd done,
He'd made a ride for his sons.
We were gliding like clothes drying,
Riding down the yard.
Flapping, laughing, having fun,
Like human clothes under the sun;
We , however, were burdensome,
The line gave up, and we fell hard.
On blustery days when sheets are snapping,
I recall the clothes line cracking,
Our fall from grace had nothing lacking.
Oh, I remember he chastised,
But I also remember
Daddy's eyes,
And how they smiled
When he told his friends
He hung his sons
Out to dry.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
She tucked in my shirt
and patted my head,
“Always be yourself”
was the first thing she said.
She painted my lips
and powdered my nose,
called me a daisy,
but wanted a rose.
She looked at my shoes
and gave me her heels,
noticed my body,
restricted meals.
She ignored my work
chastised my art,
gathered my drawings,
ripped them apart.
She decided my plans,
outlined each day,
gave me one order -
“don’t disobey.”
She tucked in my shirt
and patted my head,
“You’re nothing without me”
was the last thing she said.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 2:57 AM UTC
We watch it ache and screech,
Tortured for some mercy in its misery,
We’re not allowed to wring its neck
All because the law can love a crow
Every time I mention its pain,
I get scolded. Chastised. Reminded.
This is farming country: and no one loves a crow
They eat the eyes of helpless, newborn lambs
All because farming country loves a lamb
Especially one they can eat themselves
The call on the phone goes nowhere,
Just like that now flightless, punished bird,
Concerns dismissed by automated machines,
No one bothers to come after the tone,
All because no one loves a crow.
Oct 30, 2022
Oct 30, 2022 at 2:17 AM UTC
Whilst we destroy what we are,
Another’s suffering does nothing,
Nothing at all to alleviate our pain.
That we in the west live in luxury,
Does nothing either: why should it?
We are spawned from choice,
Conceived via free will, and ******
Dropped into a cradle of filth,
Finally crawling, learning to hate,
Not knowing why, nobody knows why,
Well do they? Do they?
Emerging and ready to die, yes,
Already damaged and broken,
Bereft of the truth of life, sick,
Perishing lost and alone, uncaring,
We the ****** misunderstood,
Chastised, ‘we never had it so good?’
We who inherited the earth, yeah,
We have it good, no struggle, none!
And therein lies our issues, true,
We have no need to fight, have we?
So, we fight ourselves, cutting,
And we live to cause suffering,
Our own agony screamed wildly!
Go on, frown, older generation,
Go on, you know you want to.
Call us, shake your wise heads,
Whilst we destroy what we are.
©Paul M Chafer 2015
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
Box has me press-ganged.
‘Please read. I can help you:
recall nausea and fuck-buddy
depravity? Dee-press-shun.
‘Suffer the shirk? Cancerous
pressure talk taking its kind
time. Makes the clock scream
****** at twelve. Tick, tick,
tock—it’s time. Open, take and
swallow. Feel much better now?
‘Take another! Toss it down
the hatch. It’ll stun you alive
until dead. You’re chastised, kid.’
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 3:49 AM UTC
I honestly don’t think you deserve Heaven,
Neither do I…
As you fornicate with the seven,
I am chastised alone to cry…
Sobriety is a made up playground high,
God is some fun.
The Devil sees your love losing by,
For soon in time I will be done…
One by one the seven of lust will die too,
Leaving you dry…
What left of our lives tales told taboo,
No… we are not meant for the hellholes of so…
So lonely the soul never to you to know…
Feb 10, 2022
Feb 10, 2022 at 3:13 AM UTC
Your love,
Is sharper than the edge of the crescent moon
that was struck in my heart and i futilely mourn.
Glimpse of angelic dagger was your lies,
and you burried it deep within my eyes,
and now im blind.
Your love,
Is hypnotizing like the beauty of the moon above,
In the vague sight of my blindness you're a white dove.
Pain chastised me! tears drowned me! but i still love you,
For you're my heavenly poison that i can't resist through,
and now im weak.
I as your moon wanders beyond lim'tation
just to flicker my lil light even at your reflection.
Go run away from me as far as you desire, leave!
But when you're in need, it'll took only 1 glance above to give,
and you'll see me waiting for you.
Far above the grey sky i silently watch o'er you,
Tears frozed, blood drowned my crippled heart as i stare at you
With your new found happiness that's far brighter than me,
You have your sun now, so ill just force a painful glee,
and you'll see tears in me as i smile for you.
Far above the blue sky you look up and found me no more,
But you never care and thought I'm atlast gone for sure.
Your sun just blaze to its peak & covered me from your sight,
Now my love you're so blinded with her spurious light,
and you never see that i still light for you.
Far above the black sky and now that your world's down,
Now when your life's darker than the darkest night's lawn,
I'm your moon, gladly being a moon rather than your sun,
to give you light in your tragic night when your fake sun sets down,
and you'll see that I'd never will ever leave you.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 5:46 AM UTC
*the droplets of water are singing a trail down the bricks of the houses
through the alleys of the glassy-eyed broken people with soft hearts, a pre-disposition for death
weaving a tabooed trail across the sidewalks that when gazed upon reeks of obscurity
and leaving faint lines on the creased skin of all the sinewy fatalities
the mildewed rain peaks across the rusted windowsill that sighs with familiarity
it sloshes against the children’s playground and slaps at the pavement with a sudden clarity
it empties itself into the spiked maze of the tree branch hoping the leafs will cling onto to it dearly
it mellows into a pond that breaks apart with sharp staccatos when mushy feet run down the street
and it hurls itself into the bitterly sweet lips of two frost-bitten lovers who will soon meet
it daintily steps into the burning embers of the flame, only to be flushed out in shame
it turns to the shower as a last resort, but whines in dismay when it’s slurped down the drain
it embraces the eyelashes until it’s shaken in misery and then watches wearily as it’s blinked away in positivity
it lumbers down the path of the bruised ego, a shattering of phrases that leaves the person’s mouth
and before it has the chance to drop it is scooped up and chastised until it moves no more
the tears and the rain drops wander listlessly for all of eternity
only to be hastily thrown away or brushed into cotton for fear of a restless divinity
it is never to reach a destination and only doomed to be forgotten
and so it seems dear friends, that raindrops are simply you and me*
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
In school, ****** was as bad as *****
It had been raining, I had been heart broken
The night was cold, it was almost Fall
My birthday was in the Fall, soon I'd be seventeen
I'd be seventeen, and still a ******
I may have broke it off, but she's the one who ended it
I may have been dumb, but she was unfaithful
Thus I ran, and dove into her arms
I knew she was older, she knew I was younger
She was lonely, looking for fun
I was lost, looking for a new rush
My face was red, I had been drinking
Her lips were red, she had been hunting
I found a corner to hide, but she smelled blood
Her eyes drilled into mine, she licked her lips and breathed fire
My legs started to shake, my lips started to quiver
She came like a viper, she slithered toward me
Hypnotized by her hips, my mouth watered at her *******
She sat on my lap, and looked me up and down
"You looked lonely," she said, "I think you're cute."
Boy was I, lonely that is, she took my beer and took a sip
Her perfume smelled like fruit, her breath smelled like candy
The warmth from her legs met mine, and my cheeks turned the color of her lips
My heart was dancing, her eyes were twinkling
She took me prisoner, and dragged me upstairs
She slammed the door and sealed my fate
Her smile was devious, her smell so sweet
Her hands on my belt, her tongue on my teeth
She kidnapped me beneath the sheets, she made me her prisoner of war
And I waved the red flag, I was ready for war
I wanted war, I wanted you
I wanted her, I wanted it, I wanted the badge
She dug her nails in my skin, I dug my teeth into hers
Our clothes took themselves off, her thong was black lace
She devoured me, I penetrated her
We danced, we kissed, we wrestled and sang
... And then it was over
It was over in twenty minutes
This veil of innocence that we chastised
That we mock and rush to throw away
Is so easily thrown away
But those twenty minutes were amazing, although I probably wasn't
She knew it was my first time, she called me out
"You're a ****** she said, "Don't tell me you're not."
Embarrassed I countered, "I'm also not eighteen."
She gasped in horror, and stormed out of the room
In her speed to grab her clothes, she'd forgotten to tell me her name
And to this day, I still don't know it.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 8:13 PM UTC
I skip rope with mortality
We play hide and seek at least once a week
My favorite hiding spot is the bottom of a pill bottle
Or a carbon monoxide quartet played in b minor
Though She always finds me
I’m chastised for being weak
I always say She because She has me intrigued
But who is She to deny me the ease of eternal sleep
When in time I’ll see for myself that it’s a corrupted dream
In the sun I bloom in thralls of ecstasy
And a splendor unseen unless your eyes are on the childish setting
In this light I toil over a slowly rusting slinky
I marvel at its ebb and flow
Unbeknownst to its proper meaning
On the box reads “Life and Death” but to this it has no means to me
But the sun doesn’t shine forever
And soon its warmth will leave me to wither
Then that rusting slinky takes hold of me
Extreme with avarice so bitter
And no thoughts of ever leaving
To combat this I reach into my box of cigarette kisses
To extract a couple of sweetlings
A long draw of articulate death
While I listen to the tobacco weeping
Their cries against a moonlit sky
Marks the stay of a frivolous execution
Though I am not without disillusion
I can feel it in every breath
Just as a child believes they’ll always be free
I’ve acquiesced to a not so slow, slow death
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 5:55 AM UTC
The best thing about me is that I'm mute
I can say whatever I like and no one seems to hear me
I like being mute
I don't feel the guilt of my words
Because they go unnoticed
The best thing about being mute
Is that I can throw my voice around
And I can scream my words of pain eloquently crafted into the night
And I'm not deemed, "drama queen of the year,"
The best thing about being mute
Is that I can I sing "Hurt" at Joan Sutherland volume
And the only thing suspected
Is that I'm widening my range
Becoming well-rounded in my repertoire
The best thing about being mute
Is that when I'm approached by my comrade
Four years my junior
And am scolded for not taking care of what I was "supposed to"
And now HE must bear the burden of my carelessness and selfish tendencies
I can drop my vacuum and set down my washing
Beseech him to not use those words against me again
And am later chastised for usurping my lieutenant's role
Out of personal, hormonal hurt
No-one suspects
The fact that I am scolded in this way
Means that they don't hear
And that's when I start to wonder
When my throat is sore and my lungs ache
If I'm not really mute at all
And if they're just deaf
The best thing about being mute
Is that no one hears me at all
No fingers of shame and eyes of admonishment are cast
The best thing about being mute
Is that I can look in the mirror and tell myself,
"I'm strong"
"I'm smart"
"I'm generous"
"I can do it"
But the words mean nothing
If there is no fog of breath
Ghosted against the glass
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:13 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
They deal in hatred
-often well disguised.
Religion impregnated
the extremists.
Then the fingers
really started pointing.
No one is left
without being chastised.
Immigration knocked up
national pride.
Everyone is waiting;
glaring at each other.
We are all dogs
being cattle prodded
with hatred
until our leashes snap.
What a circus it will be,
even more so than now.
More so than ever.
I am both sad
and excited:
If it takes so much
-a moment of finality,
of bloodshed
and horror-
to make them realise
that they really ****** this up
with their superstition,
flags
and greed
then I will grin
through the whole
disgustingly fitting
affair.
Oct 10, 2009
Oct 10, 2009 at 7:11 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