"contemptuously" poems
Always walking that line
Always tempting fate
All these temptations calling me
I attempt to numb pain
Got the temperature rising
Know I can be temperamental
My temper’s ‘bout to unleash
Doing something regretful
A temporary escape
From two to ten on the dial
The temper-tantrum and screams
Like a tempestuous child
Perhaps a temporal shift
Like Anty Em’ on the farm
The tempest carries away
Ship wrecked alone I am gone
My template shows me the way
Temptress I can not escape
Contemptuously I have temperance
Finding tempo ‘til break
A temple shrine I pay tribute
Silently contemplate
Lord please grant me forgiveness
For my wrongs and mistakes
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 7:12 PM UTC
Words spill like an avalanche down a mountain,
Swamping out the message in a flurry of exposition.
The plateau crumbles, dropping great sheets
Of icy statements down like old guillotine blades,
To shatter against the cold rock in tears,
Too frozen, too brittle to pierce.
Such noise, such ineffectual destruction,
Laying snow on snow on piles of snow;
But the mountain stays still beneath the weight,
Its stony face unmoved for yet another day,
Knowing it will soon abate.
As the tide drifts to a halt,
The mountain slowly, contemptuously,
Turns away.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Love hides like a tiny insect,
Sometimes it flies analogously,
Then it finds a corner, just perfect,
For it to sit down and ponder,
Over all the people heartlessly rushing hither, thither, yonder.
Their hearts are fragile like glass,
So small, so brittle.
Hopes, both large and little
Reside amidst jungles of desires.
Everything is such a beautifully perplexing chaos,
That Life stares blankly, and admires.
The Beauty
The Beast
The unyielding Duty
Of Being, at least.
Look at me rant ceaselessly,
As my heart pounds harder than my chest can take.
You come here and leave immediately,
And the illusion dissolves; is all this just fake?
How wonderful I feel,
No matter what I write.
The world will never give me a seal,
Whether wrong, or contemptuously right.
Music rushes into my ears, flooding my canal.
Words and words, I think and think, but nothing seems final.
Appropriate is what they appreciate.
Everything else is just another reason to depreciate.
You have taught me all the ways in which I am not great.
Yet show me how to stop, and your temples will cringe with fret,
With regret.
Sing unto my untamable spirit, tales of clipping wings,
Or the melody of how a ruffled feather sings,
And I will break it down for you,
All the nuances,
Of our last rendezvous.
Dare to look into my eyes.
Even if you find nothing but empty sighs.
I am not made for your poetry.
I am drained now, reduced to nothing but grocery.
My earth derailed from its dreams,
Crashes against mirrors, stiflingly decorated with cuts molded against seams.
Fabrics, Feelings and Fragrances, all laced up.
Pour me some of that whiskey.
I have no glass, just a small, pointless cup.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 2:27 AM UTC
I never ate meat—
But children should.
So contemptuously
You served it up.
And I sat at the table
cold and shivering—
from a lack of warmth—
Staring at its cooked flesh
Wondering how to get out of this mess.
Until, salvation brushed my legs
With his happy, hungry tail...
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC
You tore my heart like a dagger’s ******
When before you it was laid
You, a parasite fuelled by lust
Like drunk demonic parade
You’ve tarred a mind that once was sound
To make it your bed and your domain
Degenerate to whom I'm bound
Like a convict to a chain
Like a gambling man to fortune’s wheel
Like the lush to a bottle of gin,
Like the maggots to their grisly meal,
**** you, you rot from within!
Give to me a swift, sharp death
For to set my weak soul free,
Give me poison to taint my breath
For to take my fear from me
Alas! both the poison and the blade
Contemptuously said to me:
"You will not be freed or slayed
From your accursed slavery
You fool! — if from that deadly trance
Of which your release you desire
Your kisses would necromance
The cadaver of your vampire!"
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 2:57 PM UTC
The undetectable delectable soul
Contemptuously consumed
By the indelibly doomed
The spirit a commestible
Ingested in full
By the restless evil
eager for prey
Every morsel digested
In a remorseless way
gluttonous beast desires the taste
The lecherous feast goes not to waste
scrumptious for toothsome consumption
Vicious parasitic imbuing of
Delicious sacrament of ruin
Does not satisfy the appetite of wicked delight
The monster hungers for just one more bite
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
The world is now a medley
Contradictions, paradoxes, and catch-22s
Values and morals broken
by Tolerance
And this is incidentally overly-permissive
her secret is...
The very infrastructure
The basis of normalcy is
not just broken down
But warped altogether
Shabby Spackle cracks reveal CHANGE
Ephemeral periods to lick wounds
That are, indeed, a fallacy
And the dogs howl for convalescence
Imagine the point of no return,
where light can only remain an idea
for the overwhelming pitch black veil enveloping you
Faces distant blur as shadows creep contemptuously
Through a place only light should know
The gateway to the soul has been breached!
Defaced, sold.
With a guaranteed price tag!
Because...?
Silence
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
What it'd be
to be the same cup of tea
and poured so thoroughly
for all the world to see
What it'd be
to be sought and enjoyed
rather than looked
through tainted and destroyed
colored glasses,
decidedly annoyed
people fix me irritated glances
I'm not a crowd pleaser
and alone viewed as bitter
I'm sorry I'm not your cup of tea
if you see a quiter
then a bitter quiter has to be me
What it'd be
to not even be me
maybe instead
from a mint brewery
then my demeanor
would appear brighter,
cleaner
but not to you
achu achu
appearances never
faze to blue
until that brew adieus
What it'd be
for my recipe
to have been escriben
so graciously
near my name
Instead drank ostensibly
spit contemptuously
and given tired out pleasantries
failed to taste great piquancy
no red, yellow, or blue cup's
compatible dripping amenity
And oh what it'd be
for you to see
that with the alliance with a honey bee
everyone's cup of tea
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
A green carpet spread beneath my feet,
and a sepulchral dome of blue above…
I stood pondering over our equation with nature
and everything that fills her treasure trove.
The benevolent mother of greedy billions…
The silent surveyor of each and every sin.
Pain and agony fill her every single breath,
as she is mercilessly exploited by her kin.
Her omniscience is as impeccable as ever,
she knows the consequences we are destined to face.
She pities our nonchalance and ignorance,
as we foolishly tamper with her dignity and grace.
With a sobbing heart, she ceaselessly grieves,
as her veins are poisoned by what our factories spit.
As daily, humanity mocks and molests her,
and behaves with her as it deems fit.
Our ruthless attacks have left their scars,
in the crown of ozone that adorns her head.
And though she seals her lips with vast tolerance,
we mindlessly spray her face with mercury and lead.
She knows she is foolish to harbour such fiends,
but she cannot bear to see them languish.
And so she suffers so that we may prosper,
and never ever voices her wails of anguish.
But when we meddle in matters not meant for us
and treat His greatest creation with little care…
It’s impossible to escape the noose of justice,
and future will strip these sins of past bare.
She knows it now, as she knew it then –
and being a mother has warned us as well.
Each tsunami, earthquake or a lava eruption,
is a mere snapshot of what lies in store in hell.
Yet we contemptuously dismiss these warnings,
to continue our imperious march to global havoc.
Extinction will soon be staring at our faces,
as death and destruction are bound to run amok.
This ailing planet is on critical life support,
and our insipid response has left it aghast.
It is begging us to take the green turn soon,
Lest the obdurate wheels of time run past.
Nature’s coffers are slowly but surely drying,
from our reckless use over all these years.
And a mother groans in stifled despair, searching
amongst her children for sympathetic ears.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
I don't know who I am.
And I know I never have.
For some reason its hitting me harder than before,
or at least from what I remember.
I remember it being bad when my mom was a wreck
and I, a strictly A student, received my first F.
I remember it being bad when my first step dad left,
and the weird assurances he made that he wouldn't abandon me.
I never thought he would, until he tried to reassure me.
But the earliest memory I have of not knowing myself, of it being bad,
was when I was little, in court, because my dad wanted to adopt me,
and a man I'd never met wouldn't let him.
I was young, and I realized I didn't know who I was.
I was 12 and I didn't know who I was.
I was 16 and I didn't know who I was.
Now I'm 20 and I don't know who I am.
My mom was 36, and didn't know who she was.
I'm writing this as documentation.
A thought taken down, so as not to be forgotten.
All sorts of people talk about forgetting who they are,
and finding themselves again.
I want my future self to know, that as of yet,
I've never known who I was.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 5:05 AM UTC
I
Do
Not
Hope
Silly
People,
Frantic
Paranoid
Trembling
Shamefully
Deceitfully
Precariously
Adversatively
Contemptuously
Unaesthetically
Unreasonableness
Melodramatisation
Interchangeability
Pseudophilosophical
Overpresumptuousness
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC
Ah, she is false!
Her moniker in all after years
does sadly me repulse,
for she hath gone crook
beneath a screen of smoke,
shrewd, contemptuously bold
and tempestuous
in oath, unquiet,
disengaged in underlying
faculty for faith,
in influence unhappy,
intolerant to disgrace,
a soul marked by fire,
which moving
into a new condition
could ultimately
result in
a
giving in
to attrition,
perhaps then
she will be delighted
in again.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
I clung contemptuously
to summerborne auburn misgivings
I sung a tempt to you thusly
but truth overshadowed forgivings
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 2:02 PM UTC
Frames manage
a lot in the house
They decide about sofas
and cupboards, which
models may enter
Tables, beds, pianos
cradles and baths
Roller coasters
they refuse contemptuously
Frames choose
for everyone
what everyone should choose
because people aim for standards
frameworks for their lives
ISO, ASA, AND BS
We are all equal
and doors are two meters
34 by 93 (Building regulations 2012)
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 3:07 AM UTC