"contemptible" poems
Build me a slow boat to Timbuktu via China
Heave down a fleecy cloud and let me float to Nirvana
Hunt me a unicorn and let me ride to the Enchanted Forest
Find me a giant eagle and let it lift me to Outer Mongolia East
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
Show me a Church and I'll show you a hall full of Sinners
Point out a wife and I'll reveal a liar and a fake and none dimer
Call a Doctor and its a Monster who betrayed the Hippocratics
That Government Boss is a cruel heinous snake without ethics
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
See that Preacher and see a spineless hypocrite back-stabber
That lover was nothing but a sick deranged false **** twister
My dear acquaintance a heartless corrupted shyster unhinged
A Newsagent full of pitiless, gloomy, vile, psychotic joy-suckers
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
That friend of years a bloodsucking Judas who betrayed and stole
Uncles who rained terror with sadistic pleasures in parts unwhole
Show me nieces and find two-faced ******* with poisons in veins
Neighborhoods full of silent killers and Rapists of truthful genes
'please don't me leave here amongst demons with human faces'
A vicars' daughter wielding angst axes better than a viking
The pathetic Moors zombies tearing flesh on masters beholding
The dead-eyed Arabs salivating madly or at daggers drawn
Contemptible Men-kids with pin ****** used as King's pawns
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
Build me a cottage in rolling green fields with blue skies
Find me a fair maiden with a true heart and warming smiles
Show me a place that holds fairness and justice real and dear
A world with humanity we're all sisters and brothers for care
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
[email protected] August2018
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
waste matter discharged from the mother's bowels; feces,
excreta, stools, droppings; waste matter,
ordure, dung; **** poo, dirt, turds, ****
"cleaning up ferret excrement":
mid 16th century: from French excrément
or Latin excrementum, from excernere ‘to sift out’ feces;
act of defecating;
a contemptible or worthless person;
something worthless; garbage; nonsense;
"this book is **** unpleasant experiences
or treatment; "I went through a lot of **** last year"
things or stuff, especially personal belongings;
"he left all his **** in my apartment"
events or circumstances;
_"some crazy **** went down last night"_
any psychoactive drug, especially marijuana [the good ****
good **** verb: **** 3rd person present: *****
past tense: ******* past participle: *******
past tense: **** past participle: **** past tense: shat;
past participle: shat; gerund or present participle: ********
expel feces from the body,
soiling one's clothes as a result;
expelling feces accidentally; very frightened.
tease or try to deceive someone or thing.
"I **** you not" exclamation
exclamation: ****
[exclamation of disgust, anger, or annoyance]
Old English scitte ‘diarrhea,’ of Germanic origin;
related to Dutch schijten, German scheissen [verb];
_The term was originally neutral and used without ****** connotation_;
*********** from Greek κόπρος,
kópros—excrement & φιλία, philía—
liking, fondness, also called scatophilia
or **** [Greek: σκατά, skatá-feces],
is the paraphilia involving
****** arousal & pleasure
from specific feces;
meanly, his mother said, _u can drink my ***
but don't eat my **** then she ****
& *** & the boy drank but when
he put the warm **** to his mouth,
she slapped it out of his hand &
yelled, I told u not to eat my ****
& the boy began to cry & feeling
bad his mother turned to let him lick
the bowl & rim the moist wet hole between
her pudgy cheeks & then gave him more
of her tangy *** to drink like lemonade
& chocolate chips, sometimes it was
more like sweet sherbet; but she never
hit him again & he's been eating her ****
ever since; now, his wife lets him drink
her *** & he eats from the baby's *****
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC
My decisions are fallacious
My thoughts are surreptitious
My heartbeat arrhythmic
And my soul tormented
I help none
Speak not
And seek no intimacy
I am contemptible
Hated
Degenerate
Low
Lousy
And
I am nugatory
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
I'm looking for a Neurotic Girl
someone who will break down before I do
someone who's not afraid to cry,as the tea kettle boils,
after telling me about her problems.
Someone I can worry about,and do unselfish things for, and offer some comfort to,
someone who depends on me for a change.
I'm looking for a girl
who isn't too confident in herself,even though she's wonderful,
at least in my eyes.
Someone who hasn't got her entire life sorted out, just yet.
Someone who'll realise that I can be a nice person, behind the facade.
Because these days I'm wandering
from party to party
from pointless
city centre venues
and all-too-familiar and contemptible
small town social haunts
and all I see and hear
are the attention-seeking, the unreachably friendly, the distant
and the involved
All swimming in mediocrity
If you'll pardon the fake sophistication of that last metaphor
And all I'm left to do
is wonder what it would be like
to find someone
who I could be Introspective,
Debauched and Nihilistic with
A nice Neurotic Girl.
But I suppose that would invariably lead
to some sort of responsibility
in my otherwise self-absorbed existence
I would have to pretend that I am a proper kind of person
for the sake of my fragile lover's much needed feeling of security
I would take it upon myself
to go out into the world
to keep a sort of balance for the both of us
spending headache-inducing hours
with people whom I cant stand
while she sits at home
and smokes
in bed.
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
two little ugly creatures
astride me shhhh-oulders
residers and deniers,
opinion~haters,
into each ear, they whisper~creep,
do don't do don't you'll be sorry,*
***never~good~enough~
and~you~know~it***
*never in uni~sons,
now look how sorry~sad you are...
dear old dad
when done with the outside torturing,
slip right in and down the ear canal,
up to the brain, thought~mongers,
(what's a monger anyway?)
the voices of my depression,
you can't, you couldn't, you lose,
yo yo you lost you are o v e r,
my body snatched, my past erasing,
turn me into mongrel,
half~man, half~dead
a monger-el,
a contemptible god,
contempted, contemptible
that's the word refrain
of the men in my head*
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
the curly haired boy had a darker side
well ingrained and perversely it did preside
in hindsight the family's collective eyes got to see
what an odious person he turned out to be
at a gathering of our clan on Christmas day
Lionel did have his despicable way
into Nan's lounge room he took my sister
on the pretext that they'd listen to his transistor
thence he proceeded to violate
the innocence of a thirteen year old girl
he touched her in an inappropriate manner
which was for my sister unpleasant of whirl
strange how past incidents come to light
the family have seen cousin Lionel in a new light
for several years he'd been acting well out of line
touching the females in the family as a filthy swine
the other side of his door
had a contemptible slur
we've gained privy to a person
little better than a cur
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
She drove from one coast to the other
with her contemptible co-Captain, Kenny.
One time in Colorado,
she saw Bambi looking for
berries in the dark
on a concrete highway-
stupid thing-
and all of a sudden
she felt a bump in the road
and kept ******* driving!
Kenny was passed out drunk on ***
in the cab of the ship
like the piece of slimy ****
he is,
and he didn't want to stop until
he could find some more heroine
by God.
A few days later at some half-star hotel
they smelled something rotten under
the front of their tag-teamed semi
and there was Bambi
with two x's for eyes
and his tongue sticking out
like the joke he became
to two pirates looking for
treasure, or pills and tequila
in this case.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
I was sitting on the black stool,
next to her bed
she was elevated into a sitting position:
waiting to be fed,
I seriously thought by now,
She would have been dead:
Her fragile body, the determination,
Of the outcome of her life span:
makes her seems untouchable:
first born,, walk in
with a grin on his face,
his thoughts was similar to mines
She should have been dead by now
Small conversation, mostly about politics
His fruitless marriage and memories;
Of her teaching him how to tie his shoes lace,
a contemptible, socially inept person. In a suit
I should have dress her in her black dress
to match his suit, it would have been effortless
with the struggle of getting her into it…
I remember his break the silence moment:
Did you voted for Trump?
Why would he not.. asked how is my mother doing?
Did politics seem to matters most to him,
Or her wellbeing: In such a vegetable state?
I took a few steps down the corridor.
on my way back his visit was over:
tops five minutes
To him she is worth only five minutes of his time:
a contemptible, socially inept person. In a suit
she sang at his wedding, she taught him
how to ties his shoe lace,
she lay upon the bed with a tube up her nose
Waiting: for them to rain on her grave
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 11:24 AM UTC
the island’s delineating shape is not its realized limitations,
nor a redoubtable defense
against the elements or invaders of the mind
the skin of the land welcomes tides and waves
as gentil lickings,
a seductress’s first caressing volley enticing, firing
but calming
even when the crashing contemptible violent contretemps come,
the winter’s stormy wrath or hurricane tongue lashings of the fall,
partially forgiven for its forced renewal,
but only,
but only so much
the island - my home,
is not a prison but a happy imposition,
its restrictions make inward looking, mirroring, front facing,
a truthfulness demanding,
our self-exploratory word surgeries are precious, precision treks,
required to survive, then revive, declaim,
then exclaim
we are island folk and though our island's firmament defined,
it's poetry
is ever unlimited
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
Pain has left my house
because she was nothing
but a louse
and a parasitic insect
and a very contemptible
person to live with because all
she ever wanted to do
was to inflict her pain
while stealing my soul.
Along with her she took Lies and Hurt
who were really a couple of jerks
always looking for someone or something
to infect and now the two
will just lay low until
they find somewhere else to put
on their show.
Hurt and Lies know that they
will always be needed again for control
and will always have a job to do
somewhere so they just stand by
on call and patiently wait
for another wall to climb over
and another heart
to devour.
Since Lies , Pain and Hurt work so well
together they all had to leave at once
because they know that they are not welcome
in my house anyway
so thay will just go somewhere
where they can be somebody
else's dunce.
Sorrow and Despair coudn't stay either
because they felt so rejected
and they wanted to stay
with Hurt and Pain
because they were getting tired
of being locked away and having
no place to play and nothing
left to gain.
Joy and Love finally came back home
where they belonged after
being gone for so long
and I really missed them and this time
they promised that would
never leave and apoligized
for having been so deceived
and promised to stay
and be my friends till
the end. Jon York 2012
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 7:31 PM UTC
Poets make lousy friends because eventually they’ll skewer you with their poison pen; their insulting writ of relentless invective and opprobrious apoplectic venom. The naked foist of un-allayed aggression as art-form whereby the vitriol of familiarity slices like a knife and digs in like a dagger. The very nature of chumminess turns adversarial. Like acid in the eyes the sneering contemptible retch could cobble out words with a disgustingly exquisite though execrable precision. A quirk, an idiosyncrasy, a malevolent adherence so committed to unmitigated truth that it is as a fist to the face, a shocking starkness of incivility justified by a requisite expedience hastened by the anxious need to blow one off forthwith. He was a veritable torrent of abject invectives.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
As a child I did not know whether it was the act itself or the knowledge that I was the receptacle for malevolence and cruelty that made me so vulnerable. At first I thought it was God's punishment for something I had done. I took an inventory, desperately seeking the deed that triggered the retribution. But I could not identify a single act. Even my accumulated errors, transgressions and unkindness’s did not exact the cost. Then I understood: if I could not isolate a deed, or pattern of deeds, commanding the punishment, it must be me. It is not what I did. It is who I was...a fundamentally, intrinsically and irredeemably bad little girl. I negotiated my adolescence and early adulthood with the mathematical symbol for "less than" (<) attached.
I would like to be able to write that I am no longer negotiating my adulthood with the same mathematical symbol attached. But that would be a lie. It is pervasive. It is formidable. And if I do not keep it contained, I am so afraid it will be debilitating….I've been down that road a time or two. At times it has enveloped me, penetrating my pores and drowning everything essential and vital inside.
Undisturbed, it is docile, sated. But aroused by even the slightest hint of beauty or strength or grace it is a painful reminder that I am...somehow...contemptible...that I am still fundamentally, intrinsically and incorrigibly...what? Flawed, imperfect & bad? You may say, "But we are all flawed and imperfect. And our flaws and imperfections make us more interesting...more truly beautiful...more human." And perhaps you are right, but this inexorable deprivation makes me somehow subhuman... less than human...permanently broken. I am a receptacle for malice.
I skillfully deflect praise directed my way, an effort to soothe the inescapable conflict inside. Moderate praise induces a subtle twinge of embarrassment; more effusive praise incites the consuming and agonizing feeling that I am irreparably damaged, hopelessly broken. It has contaminated, compromised and diminished every accomplishment, soiled every success. People sometimes tell me that I am humble and that it is an admirable trait. But the modesty and humility they identify helps me to mask the mortification stirring inside. I have gotten so good at hiding it from others that I have nearly learned to conceal it even from myself.
At least that is what it feels like...right now.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
Words hissing through links of spine
Shake his skull’s base
Plunge into a pool of melancholy
So vacuous and contemptible
That’s been
Flooded by nihilism and avarice
Her dead notion gestating
Open case indefinitely
You chose this,
Sinking
In my shallow waters
Displacing fondness
Evaporating on the banks
In serotonin’s stolid drought
Crinkled blueprints for what might have been
Were trembling lips adverse to apathy
And chances had been taken
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 7:04 PM UTC
Tell me I'm not the only one who's a goner,
with controversial thoughts of the presence of
pure goodness within the most contemptible.
Tell me it doesn't seem so preposterous
that the greatest revolters could,
in some way, feel remorse.
Tell me that there at least might be
a glint of goodness in people
if you attempted to flounder them back and forth in your mind,
until everything repugnant, artless, and coarse fell away.
Tell me that maybe then a constellation may form
at the buttom of the pit,
a rare element ambushed in exposed bedrock,
that will be washed out and elevated by a fiery storm upstream.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
it is no hidden truth:
writing about those teeth
and twisting schemes of
sadness in my dreams is somehow my dependent everything,
but patterned lists of the same words
in permutation
becomes tedium in waiting;
there's that illustrious want for novelty, no matter how safe the same may be,
and I still just write
about that exact ******* love
and ******** everybody else wants: so, am I this predictable? am I this formulaic?
probably.
so, how does one take some respite?
how does one choke back their routine penstrokes and fabricate
experiences they haven't yet or ever will gather,
when all they've held was in the ritual letting of ladders down ductile tunnel foundations,
the vestigial fathoms that remain floating around in
your eyes, your eyes! your eyes I
tear open and crawl in and curl up inside,
the feigned lust I set out to fake and then finally, silently, made
and now it's all the mistake of concrete stained with
letters heart letters on a date that lasts forever,
but your letters are tiny lies
and mine are misery
held in contemptible disguise and
how I slip just that **** easily into this lackluster story about
I, you,
people I never knew and
never know anybody.
and
*how the grass would have grown and grown if the lawn hadn't been cut down, and the patch of death in concentric center where outside, under the stars, I lay curled, foetal, and drained of bile; for now, in ascension of sterility I am feral once more, I am, at last, just a tremulous, pathetic and miniscule animal waiting to pass through the dirt. That moment hit me, like all stones in august. So I stood. So I ******* stood, threw off my dripping eyes, screaming at the moon 'til I spat blood and cursed life and I swore, I swore down to the skin of my teeth, I would conquer it until it conquered me, for, as far as the wild was concerned, my casualty was a drop of rain in an ocean. So I become the ocean. So I dig my palm into the earth and let dust ground the stray electricity. I no longer lie, I no longer bide time until it's too late.*
But I lied
and I do lie.
I waste abhorrent amounts of time.
I still just hang my head and leave things up to fate. It's always too late.
It's always too late.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 4:31 AM UTC
a body is full of miracles
a soul even more so
yet life to divulge the possibility
that love of the living
is to be shared with the contemptible
this is how the living is maligned
the terrorist has the right to ****
and the religious will honor the verdict
I stride away to the top of the world
let ignorance die in mass
I view the waste land of creation
as a sewer
blocking out the memories
of the divine
humanity is lost
killed by the uneducated
as if high school had a brain
the cigarettes the alcohol the drugs
the TV the gasoline collecting all
the pervayers of dead meat
on the table of death to the righteous...
I dream
seeing out the eyes of all Earth creatures
a long time coming
the extermination of humans
a pile of severed heads stacked to the sky
heads taller then the dead buffalo herds
taller then the Muslim pyramids
what a dream
the naturalist and the Jew
set free to rule the Earth realm
with education divine consciousness
and the will to rule ETERNITY
stop eating the Earth to extinction
become a veggie tarian
breath fresh oxygen
your gas and oil has made you insane
stop making weapons
your end is at hand farewell to the losers
humanity has one
hand gjmars10/4/15
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
Having said the last word
on the fate of the world,
when the prophet walked back
from the seat of gods,
in dust at eventide,
a contemptible piece of rope,
that lay in his path,
triggered him back to his beginnings.
'Snake!', hissed the very seed of man in him,
Only moments ago, fearless and firm,
he had uttered the word that had within it
the beginning, the middle and the end
of everything he knew,
and everything he didn't,
and now he stood
frozen with terror.
He stood frozen with terror,
until his feet, knowing better,
led him back to the doorstep,
where mate and child waited,
in dust
at eventide.
Farman Yusufzai
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
Worthless
They scream,
when it starts,
so it seems
Insignificant
Ignominy,
though you trust,
in your dream
Contemptible
How they cry,
how you act,
don't know why
Abhorrent
You believe,
what they yell,
lets you die
Detestable
****** by brave,
****** by all,
Watch them watch,
watch you fall.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
Having said the last word
on the fate of the world,
when the prophet walked back
from the seat of gods,
in dust at eventide,
a contemptible piece of rope,
that lay in his path,
triggered him back to his beginnings.
'Snake!', hissed the very seed of man in him,
Only moments ago, fearless and firm,
he had uttered the word that had within it
the beginning, the middle and the end
of everything he knew,
and everything he didn't,
and now he stood
frozen with terror.
He stood frozen with terror,
until his feet, knowing better,
led him back to the doorstep,
where mate and child waited,
in dust
at eventide.
Farman Yusufzai
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
i've been the other woman
before
i've listened to those words
like daggers to my heart
hollow empty promises of
impossible futures that you
never actually see transpiring but you
whisper in my ears like
sweet nothings because
by the time i realize that you're
full of ****
you'll be long gone and i'll be
the one bleeding
the one left to pick up
the shards of myself i'll never
piece together into a
coherent self
again
but you aren't married
anymore
you don't go home to another woman
your first choice
and hold her in your arms
reach for her when you
wake in the bathing light of the moon
you aren't with a wife
who has your heart and love
yet she still hold your heart
captive
you aren't legally connected to her
but i still pay the toll
stopped on the freeway of my life
because you see her in my eyes
and will i forever be forced to
pay for her transgressions
will you always see me as
the same
as the woman who shattered your world
erased your ability to trust
the ***** who seeks
to be ******
the hurricane that destroys indiscriminately
though how could you ever
think that me
the one who loves
the one who tells you i love you
would ever do that
if anything it's you whose
motives
and intentions
should be questioned
i'm tired of being the other woman
to my boyfriend
who isn't legally married
but is still irrevocably tied to
the pain she tore into him
pain for which i must pay the ultimate price
how could such a horrible
vile woman
ever be loved by him
and what does that make me
the one who can't be
doesn't that make me
even more contemptible
than her
doesn't that mean that i'm
a ***** piece of trash
i wish i'd never met you
i wish i could disappear
or go to sleep and wake up
to a brand new world
without you
because at least if i'm alone
i don't have to constantly feel
rejected by the person i love most
i hate you
but that's a lie
i wish i could hate you
but i'd rather tear myself apart
slice myself to ribbons
***** my insides until
all my vital organs have been expunged
i'd rather die
than live a day
without loving you
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 6:38 PM UTC
Now I Paul myself beseech you by the meekness and gentleness of Christ, who in presence am base among you, but being absent am bold toward you:
2 But I beseech you, that I may not be bold when I am present with that confidence, wherewith I think to be bold against some, which think of us as if we walked according to the flesh.
3 For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war after the flesh:
4 (For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds;)
5 Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ;
6 And having in a readiness to revenge all disobedience, when your obedience is fulfilled.
7 Do ye look on things after the outward appearance? if any man trust to himself that he is Christ's, let him of himself think this again, that, as he is Christ's, even so are we Christ's.
8 For though I should boast somewhat more of our authority, which the Lord hath given us for edification, and not for your destruction, I should not be ashamed:
9 That I may not seem as if I would terrify you by letters.
10 For his letters, say they, are weighty and powerful; but his ****** presence is weak, and his speech contemptible.
11 Let such an one think this, that, such as we are in word by letters when we are absent, such will we be also in deed when we are present.
12 For we dare not make ourselves of the number, or compare ourselves with some that commend themselves: but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise.
13 But we will not boast of things without our measure, but according to the measure of the rule which God hath distributed to us, a measure to reach even unto you.
14 For we stretch not ourselves beyond our measure, as though we reached not unto you: for we are come as far as to you also in preaching the gospel of Christ:
15 Not boasting of things without our measure, that is, of other men's labours; but having hope, when your faith is increased, that we shall be enlarged by you according to our rule abundantly,
16 To preach the gospel in the regions beyond you, and not to boast in another man's line of things made ready to our hand.
17 But he that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.
18 For not he that commendeth himself is approved, but whom the Lord commendeth.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:15 AM UTC
once upon a time
a creature was created
whose primary skill
was to hide from view
evolution agreed that it was fine
until one day
unfathomable questions inflated
however, not all were of goodwill
these questions
slowly began to accrue
and build up
so that the creature would finally hear
their clamorous voices
with very little choice
of contemptible judgement
why is the creature so lonely?
stuck in its miserable, sad recluse
why is it so awkward?
stuck in its home of alone
why does it feign its exterior?
stuck in its dejected form
and why
do we not know
that this creature exists?
but no one knew any answers
except
the creature itself
and as the creature was set loose
into reality
and the outside world
that it coveted to refuse
it felt torture
but the creature's inward
firmly remained unknown
shadowed
by a beatific smile
and this is all we know
about this "insignificant" creature
because no one ever tried
to discern
and realise
that this creature felt so alone
and that this creature was
just a human
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
boys are magnifying glasses
they amplify emotions until they're unfamiliar and frightening
I'VE NEVER FELT SO WRETCHED
OR SO PRECIOUS
or so contemptible
or so desirable
or so powerless
or so beautiful
or so constricted
or so empty
as he made me feel.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
*Your untouchable promises
chill'd in my veins
my fragile posies were left
out in the frosted reign
swept me up in your darkly
abstruse sweetness
etch'd love songs
on my skin's tremblings
prayers that were answer'd
with sad weakness
lullabies dull'd my sensibilities
and dying fortitude
fell on my knees upon
my own strangled heart
rescuing me from myself,
you brush'd ***** tendrils aside
in contemptible silent sighs,
from the depths of apathy
i need your emptiness to
fill my void'd briny spirit
frosted over my convictions,
i lie frozen in icy drifts of regret*
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC