"chided" poems
They have now thronged brimful, all the barazas
In their elderly gear, in a move to cut off my thing,
The Maasai chiefs and elders have their fangs now,
More glowing in the crudeness of despotic culture,
Their foul circumcisers’ tools sharply menacing,
All focused on my ****** ******** the only joy of my nature,
They want to maliciously cut it off in their selfish solace
Minus mine consent the right of a young girl,
Chided by evils done in the name of culture,
Kwani? a maasai and culture who creates the other?
Can’t we create culture that is so darlingly to rights of girl?
Other than receding back to crookedness of un-gendered past
Denying I your posterity the rights to self worthiness,
Kindly I beg that you don’t cut of my ********
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
I was sent to work at the old Repat.
It was forty years since the war,
Those ancient diggers would sit and swear
At the pain of the limbs they wore,
The wounds would open as years went by,
They’d come for another slice,
That war was never over for them,
And morphine was paradise.
I saw one veteran struggle and curse
As he ripped at the buckles and straps,
The new prosthesis had rubbed him raw
As his knee began to relapse.
He tore the leg from his wounded stump
Sat on his bed, and roared,
Then swung the article over his head
And flung it across the ward.
The others had ducked as the leg took off
And bounced off the opposite wall,
‘I’ll have to report you,’ the nurse exclaimed,
‘It’s a good leg, after all!’
‘You wear it then,’ was the man’s response,
‘For it’s driving me insane,
What would you know of Flanders Fields?
You wouldn’t deal with the pain!’
My job was to settle and calm him down
So I asked him about his leg,
‘When and where did you lose it, Dig?’
The veteran tossed his head.
‘You’ve heard of a place called Flanders Fields
Where the bullets came in like hail?
Well, I was there with the Anzac’s, son,
At a place called Passchendaele.’
‘Our Generals were trying to ****** us,
I swear, on my mother’s head,
They kept on sending us over the top
Until half of the men were dead.
The German gunners would enfilade
As we struggled against the mud,
I’ll never forget the battlefield,
It was spattered with bones and blood.
They’d send artillery shells across
At the height of a soldier’s knee,
We’d watch them come as they parted the grass,
They were Grasscutters, you see!
Well, I was running with bayonet fixed
And praying for God’s good grace,
When suddenly I was lying there,
I’d tumbled, flat on my face.’
‘It’s strange that I never felt a thing,
When the Grasscutter got me,
It took a while ‘til I saw my leg
Was gone, from under the knee.
But that was the end of the war for me,
The end of the life I’d known,
I spent some time back in Blighty, then
I came on a ship, back home.’
I never chided those men in there
Though they’d curse and swear, and roar,
For every man was a hero where
They'd trudged in mud through the war.
That Repat. job was a fill-in job
And I left, still young and hale,
But I never forgot the Grasscutter
Or the man from Passchendaele.
David Lewis Paget
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
There he sat
All dark unsaddled
Brains quite addled
From the blow
Brigands laughing
All about him
There to clout him
Should he run
From his good eye
Squinting sneaky
Peeking out
From swollen brow
Primrose Pete
Considered options
Acquiesce
Or fight or flee
Counting up
The five marauders
Such close quarters
Peter smiled
In a wink
The first two fell
Hellbound from
Pete's shining blade
One was cut
From prow-to-keel
Didn't feel
The lightening slash
Two was dead but
Still a-stagger
From Pete's dagger
Through the throat
Pete then turned
His one good eye
Upon the three
Left standing there
"Knock ME from
My gentle ride!"
He chided them
And took a step
In a flash
The third man died
His manhood hung
From Peter's blade
Number four
Jumped up in-close
They danced a rosy
Final step
"One last waltz"
Said Primrose Pete
And short and sweet
The blood ran hot
Last of all
The Highwaymen
The fifth of five
The last alive
A tall man
Taller quite than most
With ghostly eyes
And hammer hands
A man who felt
That pain was fun
This one-on-one
Was just a tryst
So they stood there
Eying up
While trying not
To give a tell
Of their planned
Last brave attack
While Pete held back
To catch a breath
All at once
The fight was on
That bloodied lawn
Would find no peace
Both men fought
With all their might
From Noon til Night
On into dark
No Moon sang
The stars shone mute
A suit of cloud
Hung o'er the fray
Blood and dark
With ought a sound
Save the pounding
Steel on steel
Come the Sun
There on that field
Without yield
For Honor's sake
Cut for cut
Both men held true
And on into
A second night
A third then
Into a fourth
A fifth of course
They battled on
It's said that
Both men died that day
T'was slay for slay
Though neither fell
He fights on
Old Primrose Pete
His ghosted feet
Still dancing true
With his blade
Of shadow pure
Against a worried
******* dark
And it's said
On summer nights
When the wind
Is right and odd
One can hear
Old Pete's mare
Out there braying
On the moor
And beneath
The old hag's whinny
If you skinny
Up your ear
You can catch
Old Primrose Pete
Sweetly dancing
With his sword.
Jun 9, 2011
Jun 9, 2011 at 12:30 PM UTC
Dashing hither, dashing thither,
Dashing in the winter weather,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a hat upon his head
Not some lace cap fit for ladies,
Nor a bonnet stitched for babies,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a top hat there instead!
Never had a hat so fine,
So tall and silken, so refined,
Regaled upon the daily grind
Of prince or pauper in the Strand
Ladies stalled to see it's lustre,
Swooned and swayed before it's bluster,
Fell and fainted in a fluster,
Startled by a hat so grand!
Children screamed in dreadful fright
And yelping dogs began to bite
As crowds began to brawl and fight
And riots claimed the London street
In the chaos thus ensuing,
Folks began to run, pursuing
John the dashing haberdasher
Chasing him from Strand to Fleet!
John was taken to the prison,
Chided by the crowds derision,
There to wait the Mayor's decision
On his wanton heinous crime
Charged with breaching lawful peace,
He paid a fine for his release
And ordered to desist and cease,
He left his top hat well behind
Thus is told the tale of John
Who dared to bravely dash and don
A silken top hat high upon
His noble head in London town
Heed his tale and take this warning,
When you wake one winter morning
With desire to be less boring,
Careful how you dress that crown!
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
Noon had barely finished his circuit
when I engaged the Sun in conversation,
wondering if her healing rays were a golden ode to pain?
Abruptly interrupted;
shirts' silk thread dripping displeasure,
at the sudden moistness of its condition.
In return and in much the same verbal position,
I chided this thread,
intoxicated with sticky saline libation,
much less for the distraction
as opposed to the - parley intrusion,
citing;
“My dear shirt it’s impolite to gravitate beyond one's social inclusion”
Instinctively,
back and fingers joined this spoken foray
distancing themselves in unison
from the sozzled garments' argument.
Arching and pulling away,
his company no longer entreated,
whatever beauty he had,
now lost,
in his present
dis - position.
In agreement and sunshine unabating,
I attempted to continue our once lovely conversation.
But she;
her glow unwaning,
had moved on,
no longer finding such small talk entertaining.
© Qwey.ku
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
the heirloom runcible spoon lies buried in sand,
the tarzana kid has been accused of carelessness,
by such means
his holiday is horribly trampled,
this chided summer youth
now walks the plank,
its all pirates on the dorset coast.
Parents out of order
more bucaneer than relish
and Aunties only now kinder
by learned rote.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
Caught in a web made of thread spun from criticism and regret,
arachnids leisurely devouring skin from exposed bone,
a life made from those who have chided every step,
no escaping the entanglement,
no shelter from the ones who are meant to render love,
instead only malice is displayed over actions they refuse to forget.
Searching hopelessly for love on abandoned webs,
finding only others broken who were lost in translation,
the foul scent of decaying bodies ripped apart,
giving their lives to those who broke them down,
rotting skeletons of memories shattered on cobwebs undusted,
coming alive and putting faith in others broken who can be trusted.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
Farewell! Farewell!
The rest can go to hell.
And perhaps I should be chided
For being so small-mindedly pegged,
If it were left to me,
I would not care to see
Another Easter Egg.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
I got up early one morning and
rushed right into the day,
I had so much to accomplish that
I didn't have time to pray
Problems just tumbled about me,
and the heavier came each task,
"Why doesn't God help me?" I wondered,
He answered, "You didn't ask."
I wanted to see joy and beauty,
but the day toiled on, gray and bleak,
I wondered why God didn't show me.
He said, "But you didn't seek."
I tried to come into God's presence
Used all my keys at the lock,
God gently and lovingly chided,
"My child, you didn't knock."
I woke up early this morning
and paused before entering the day,
I had so much to accomplish
that I had to take time to pray.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
We played with words
and peddled euphemisms,
as we hid behind veils.
We had reality
twisted and bent.
We chided and spat
into the winds
of coercing gales.
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 9:12 AM UTC
You chided and misguided--
Sighed and chided snidely--
While I stood there and deified:
Your opinion was once so sanctified
That it petrified and putrefied
'Til I was drawn to suicide.
And I won't lie,
I doubt that you'd have even cried.
Now this patricide's not emblemized;
Not glorified nor a source of pride.
It's just that I've been rectified;
I'm satisfied and verified.
You see, old man, your claims have been denied.
I stride beside a stronger pride,
We're unified, not terrified,
And, were you here, I'd just...
Laugh.
Sure,
We simplify and vilify,
All that we fear, but I--
I can't bring myself to cry;
I'll no longer will myself to die--
Because, in the end I'm just too high
To even look you in the eye.
I've modified and purified.
And, while you're compelled
to sit and hide,
I'm glorified--self deified--
And your podium's is now occupied
By the one who you once toxified.
And NONE of it's been for you.
No, old man, it's not for you!
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC
So there's a pocket in my purse
Its unopened or maybe its cursed
Am I just indifferent or maybe I'm afraid
(I'll let you in a little secret)
It's where I keep my favorite blade
It's been in my company for quite some time
In the moments I chided, in the moments I chimed
I have always kept it close like a love another
(I don't even know how to say this)
Sometimes even closer than my very own mother
But I like how it feels on my soft skin
I carve through my teary eyes, a ****** grin
But sure I hope that I don't die
(I don't do it to **** myself)
It just gives me hope that the bad times will pass by
Its been a while since I have cried
I feel like a psychopath with no feelings to define
So I reach out for my blade in the purse to feel something
(I won't throw it away so soon)
It gives me joy to know that i can sense, even if its hurting.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 12:24 PM UTC
i have always loved You in black
anxiously tapping your foot on the floor
the one evening I was grateful for the bubbling alcohol in my brain
as You watched me and I watched you back.
the way you pulled against my hands as I tried to make you dance ("please dance with me baby") Your nerves making my heart
ache
we all know i cannot dance.
the car was warm on the way home and you (angrily) chided me
again and again for being irresponsible as I caressed your skin
again and again. sighing.
i kissed You hard --two weeks left baby-- before running, dress flying behind me,
into my dark house. the grass was wet and my heart racing. i told you to
drive safely (promised that I was safe) (promising to be smart)
you fell asleep calmed down and I fell asleep breathless, imagining you dancing. the way You move, moves me more than adrenaline
ever will
I remember my fan whirring loudly with the occasional CLICk.... CLICK...cliCk ... like the random beating of my heart
...............
the way you take my hands now, "let's dance baby", I am breathless at the way you have grown
black socks and soft hands
You kiss me hard --two days left baby--
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
I got up early one morning,
and rushed into the day.
I had so much to accomplish,
that I didn't have time to pray.
Problems just tumbled about me,
and heavier came each task.
"Why doesn't God help me?" I wondered.
He answered, "You didn't ask."
I wanted to see joy and beauty,
but the day toiled on, gray and bleak.
I wondered why God didn't show me,
He said, "But you didn't seek."
I tried to come into God's presence,
I used all my keys at the lock.
God gently and lovingly chided,
"My child, you didn't knock."
I woke up early this morning,
and paused before entering the day.
I had so much to accomplish
that I had to take some time to pray.
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 4:13 PM UTC
When I went to bed I was 17 –
plumes of raven hair and cigarette smoke
wreathed my head and I coughed,
tamping the embered end before kissing
him goodnight -
soldier’s cap a tilt to one side
muscled chin blemished by lipstick
as the screen door flags between us, and
summer makes its last sweet
serenade to the dancing aspens
while momma chided my lackadaisical
entrance and
fairy flight to bed.
At ten o clock I wake now
the aspens stand still, bare, black.
I look down to see
withered fingers writhing in tubes,
ugly blue veins, a strange
woman sponging my lady parts,
calling me “sweetie” like I was a child.
I scream for momma,
I look for him -
my love, my soldier -
starved for familiar faces, as
panic ropes its tendoned grip
through my ribcage, around my trapped
spasming-butterfly heart.
What have you done to me?
Strangers, monsters, ********
I groan...no words come out, but
squeals and shrieks like a strangling
rabbit, my neck caught in a wire.
What’s wrong with me?
Where are you, my soldier?
Where are you, momma?
Why are they keeping me from you?
You see…when I went to bed I was 17.
When I woke,
I was on my deathbed.
It’s not fair, momma.
If I could do it over, I...
I never would have left him
on the porch, I
never would have passed you
in the kitchen, I
never would have slept
not one hour
not one **** minute
would I have willingly succumbed to
slumber with the faint hush of
summer’s overtures
fading
to the blank slate of
a white,
white
winter.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 8:19 PM UTC
Madeline had visions of you falling down the stairs this afternoon. She was sipping her coffee and reading a scrap of paper that had materialized on her table from some article about a meteor somewhere and it hit her like a ton of feathers or a ton of bricks.
Doesn't really matter which.
She gasped back into the present and fell out of her chair spilling the tar-black grog she had been pawing at to the oaken hardwood and sat staring at her hands there for a minute or more.
They were pink against the tan-ish floor.
Pushing against it she regained her footing and reached for the home phone her friends chided her for owning and called me crying you won't believe what I just saw I can't believe what I just saw I think we need to call her do you think she's alright?
I had just gotten off my flight.
I don't know I said I don't know who you mean where are you are you alright I just got back into town I was going to grab my bags and catch a taxi do you need me to pick you up
She finally noticed the fallen cup.
Catching her breath he slowed her pace and started to stammer how she didn't know it didn't matter never mind I need to go and make a call I'll let you know when I get out.
I still had no idea what she was talking about.
She hung up the phone and placed another call after a half hour no six hours no six weeks of ringing someone picked up the line she had dialed and she wept and laughed and asked if everything was okay and if she needed to go and if so how far she was a primed cartridge in a loaded gun
Everything was silent and the room spun
A voice replied something inaudible and Madeline laughed and cried not cried and laughed and wondered how she could have been so rash to believe a daydream like this
She rose and gathered all her bits
And together they walked her down the hall from her sun room to the kitchen down the stairwell-
And she fell.
And for two point five one two three seconds everything stood still but her and the world stopped turning she couldn't hear her own gasp or whether she screamed or laughed or cried she just hung in the balance she hung from gods fingers she hung above a pool of sharks and a pit of lava and everything she had never done she fell far and fast and hit the ground
An no one knows whether that made a sound.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
PRUDENCE
I paused and took a step back
I looked around and was unsure
' You're a coward ' my critics chided
I replied: ' For folly there's no cure'.
Prudence has taught me
Life's prizes and trophies are never easy to secure
I've seen so many mighty giants fall by the roadside-
They were too arrogant and too cocksure.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
I almost faint
I had forgotten to eat-
Hypoglycaemic ?
He's sweet.
Bi-polar
You should see him yell
Not at me yet
I won't stick around to tell.
So sweet I said,
But he leaves me smelling like cigarettes
THC,
***
He looks at me pityingly
When I refuse to eat.
He smiled at me
over the plate of food
He told me how he liked
Pain
Blood
Power
Mixed with the ***
I am one of over a hundred
He's slept with.
I am different.
Quiet
Shy.
I tear him apart
with my nails.
He told me he liked knives
I crisscrossed a pattern on his back
My fingernails slicing his hips
I left so many bruises
So many more cuts
He asked for it
I bit him
Over and over
On the neck
His lip ring became my toy
The pant of his breath my music
Without touching him
Softly
Gently
Lovingly
He groans.
He wants me.
He lets the monster out of me.
He forced me to eat.
He worried about my faint
I chided him-
Both get our own problems.
I left him while he was asleep.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 7:54 PM UTC
The French peasant monk
scythed the tall grass
by the drive to the abbey
he spat
on his creased palms
before work,
Dio è lontano
ma vicino
the Italian monk said
after Mass
clearing the items away
and I aiding him,
deep bell tolling
from the tall bell tower
echoing across
the surrounding area
down
to the seashore,
sans nous Dieu
ne nous sauvera
pas sans Dieu
nous ne pouvons pas
the French monk said
quoting someone religious
from some book,
incense
in the air
mixing
with baked bread
and cold stones aged,
I gazed at the cloister
felt along
the waist high
orange brick wall
musing on the flower bed
where a monk
on his knees
weeded,
la confiance en Dieu
et non votre
propre faiblesse
the French monk
chided me
as I peeled potatoes
for lunch,
silence after Compline
deeper than an ocean's depth
more profound
than Plato's musing,
pale moon
casting shadows
in the cloister's hold,
I hugging myself
during Vespers
against the harsh cold.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 1:41 PM UTC
There once was a lady in waiting
Who still enjoyed all the male baiting
When one was too daring
She slapped him with a herring
and chided him for not abating
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
For some reason,
I walk softly on this ground
Expecting perhaps to be chided
if I make an unwelcome sound
Among stone sentinels in scattered rows
beside a clear stream that perpetually flows
are markers with names both common and bold
for mourners and the curious all to behold
Some come to release dammed up tears
others to tease their deepest fears
Some like I tread so lightly they leave no tracks
but others come bearing burdens like heavy sacks
I read the dates and do the simple math
and create my own tales of each soul’s path
Some lived eighty, some lived less
and others carved numbers seemed to confess
that the trail they walked was likely brief
and with each breath they exhaled cold hard grief
But my stories are surely not real
and my reveries can hardly conceal
what I conjure up among these standing stones
and the crumbling and hidden sacred bones
are tales that mask the shivering thought
that soon I will rest in a similar plot
For some reason,
I walk softy on this holy soil
and in some coming season
I will finish my toil
And lie near this same clear stream
and begin my own blank eternal dream
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 5:26 PM UTC
Pet sitter from Saturn
Notices the pattern
Of floating rocks
Round kitty socks
And counts them as they go-
In twilight’s hush the sitter comes
With gentle hands, she greets the hum
Of furry hearts, once bright and bold,
Now singing softly stories told.
Interstellar, deep, where memories cling,
She feels the pulse of everything.
A wagging tail, a purring sigh,
The warmth of love as moments fly.
But time, that thief, it creeps and steals.
Now all that’s left are tender feels.
The blankets kneaded and graveyard heeded
And the sitter is left defeated
In the ash of the life she now chided.
Oct 11, 2024
Oct 11, 2024 at 4:53 PM UTC
How am I surrounded
When all I feel is void
I know I'm in a crowd
Because I hear the noise
I hear the children laugh
I hear their mothers sing
I hear their fathers chide
And the wedding bells ring
But they never laugh with me
And I've never had a song
No one ever chided me
And the sound of bells is gone
In a world full of people
And a place that's full of love
It's strange how I am lonely
And it's strange I never laugh
I used to have a smile
The old folk called me sweet
I was their own dear child
Grandma would pinch my cheek
Now I am an outcast
The runoff from the road
No one ever sees me
You see I am alone
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
you said you could see into my mind
as you stared into my deadened eyes
you said I would die alone and cold
but now I can see these were all lies
you chided the child I truly was
molded me into your little prize
broke me until I hid from the world
but now I do know these were all lies
you split me from my sister as you
put her down as though she were a vice
made me base my self worth on her pain
but now I can feel these were all lies
you told me my body was your own
as you grabbed my *** amidst my cries
that I was crazy for saying stop
but now I am sure these were all lies
you said you were the most honest one
within your words no mistruth could hide
your recall of my life was perfect
even then I thought these were all lies
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 11:31 PM UTC