"defying" poems
*Her soul was clenched in the hands of distress
The feeble screams were reverberating in the dungeon
Not even the faintest light were allowed to entertain her
Till her soul regained the power to scream
Only her soulmate in distant land could hear it
As everyone was oblivious of her agony and suffering
Defying all odds, the soulmate reclaimed his Love*
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
At times I heard the songs of the giants
who opted to sing for a glass of wine!
Like Omar Khayyam would sing to the grove of vine,
while singing their lullabies they wouldn’t mind,
defying the bloomer stars in the moonlights
gladly treading on the black alleys of the night.
Didn't they budge, didn't they bend to pick up
a potion of the sea, billowing in the dark?
But they opted out, just for a glass of wine!
To paint a glimpse of that gorgeous Saqi
till now they shun, lending the sun a paintbrush,
‘cause "if only it was colourful enough,” yet the sun
paints the enduring shades of the blue yonder.
But they turned around—just for a glass of wine!
The moon hanging low over the ocean took a pause.
The earth weighed down so deep is brimful!
Every sunrise paints new, loves to shine on once more
That delved-deep earth vintage taste, cooled in age-old,
now close by the hands breathe in, full of warm south.
Yet they opted out—just for a glass of wine!
Even the time is speechless, ask me not but why.
Still keeps an ear bent on the wall of the leaning sky.
Nor those who pop out with an inside scoop are ever drunk.
Nor they leak out, it’s a sea off the sea or Abe-Hayath.
It ain’t that small, it is the deathless spring of elixir!
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
Could this man be my soulmate?
He made me laugh,
without trying.
He let me talk
without defying.
Could I find attraction in him?
The way we fell in step
and the way it was so simple.
We may begin to ebb
or we could grow, begin to kindle.
Could he be my soulmate?
Maybe he's the stepping stone
leading me to my match.
For now I won't be alone
waiting for the flame to catch.
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 1:03 AM UTC
Back in the days of old
when knights were bold
who with a sword or lance
in armour sought romance.
It was the age of chivalry
long ago in man’s history
when to fight for a righteous cause
one did gain considerable applause.
It was mainly for show, love and glory
they deemed themselves being worthy
to capture the heart of some fair maiden
which was the most desired prize laden.
Oh, they would strike heavy blows
on all of their opponents and foes
in a one to one combat defying death
as crowds watched with abated breath.
Yes, it was far back in those days of yore
that courage and strength came to the fore
where there was this life and death struggle;
such issues at hand the knights would juggle.
And in fighting for their country, faith and king
noble impressions on people’s minds would ring
that even through the ages are held in high esteem
those knights in shinning armour do now all seem.
There are many legends based on their heroic exploits
a legacy of tales which have been told with much adroit
highlighting aspects of human wisdom related to virtue and vice
and the lessons to be learnt are those of goodness and sacrifice.
History usually repeats itself time and again
as it often happens a situation comes when
we’re asked to do something for a just cause
and acting with chivalry we shouldn’t pause.
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 10:20 AM UTC
Everybody wants to be,
loved somewhere, somehow internally.
Everyone's trying with heart ,
To be so the same, or be so apart.
looking for love, in all the wrong places.
gliding through applications;
rejecting, accepting, based just on their faces.
Denying love ,
Defying love,
and simply not trying love.
but its tough to be loved in the this day and age;
because we judge people on how they look on a page.
Alas..
Everybody wants to be,
loved somewhere, somehow internally.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight
Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants
Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due
Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind
Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry
What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?
Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth
Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels
Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by
Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
What is my motherland?
Is it the dust that ravages my lungs
Or the bones of my ancestors
Humming softly the old and forgotten
What is my motherland?
Is it where I was born?
A piece of land, a group of people?
Or is it the place where
It's mothers are graded
In layers
Where some wombs only give birth
To sub humans
Where some wombs are scarred
Born from the ashes of a thousand dreams burnt down
I'm a survivor
Of all they could throw at you
Of all their insults
The predicament
My mother's womb that withstood all it could
And some more
They tell me this is my land
That it is my mother
The birth giver and sustainer of life
I spit on their faces
My motherland never was this piece of land
Or the people who **** on its soul
Each and every day
My people lived in a different world
On this piece of land where we were worse than animals to you
Where is my motherland?
I have none
Robbed of it since my birth
Where is my motherland?
But in the hearts of all who are like me
Set in stone
Yet defying gravity
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
Excuses, excuses - they'll come in a flood,
When you realize your actions have pushed me away.
Imagine! That I once considered you blood!
But I've had quite enough of the games that you play.
The switch came in stages, a gradual thing,
I first didn't notice; it wasn't too clear.
My perspective grew sharper with distance between,
Felt your backhanded words as they pin-pricked my ears.
You thought I wouldn't notice, would let it slip by,
Never gave me much credit, and that was your fault.
Wrapped your insults in jokes, like arsenic on rye,
And you thought all this time that you wouldn't be caught.
I don't know where you get it - this self-righteous act,
It's not as endearing as you think it to be.
You might take what you want, and then leave it at that,
But I'm telling you now: you'll get no more from me.
I don't know what has prompted you picking this fight.
They're pathetic, yet hurtful, these things that you say.
And I don't know where you think you've gotten the right
To take it out on me when you don't get your way.
For years, it's been happening - don't know how I missed
All the ways you controlled me; I answered to you.
Always did what you wanted, I'm realizing this;
The extent of the selfishness you put me through.
But it changed not too long ago, didn't it, dear?
Oh yes, I grew a spine, and things started to change.
And, oh, you didn't like what you started to hear.
My defying your wants nearly made you deranged.
People grow and they change; it's especially true
For me ever since I was finally free.
So how sad to discover it's not true for you,
You're the same as you were, and as you'll always be.
That's the person you are, who you've been since we met
And it never caused issues until days of late.
The things that you've said are things you will regret,
Because I have no room for your envy-fueled hate.
You've become quite the mean one - I'm sorry, it's true.
You're no longer the person to whom I could turn.
It's a shame (it's a **** shame), but yes, we are through.
And it will not be me who is nursing the burn.
Maybe one day you'll change, and we might reunite.
I'm not getting my hopes up - there's danger in that.
Until then, I hope you learn to treat people right,
Because no one desires to stand by a brat.
Maybe I am the first to address how you are,
But I won't be the last, and this, I can assure.
Your poignant self-righteousness won't get you far,
And I'm sorry - for your case, there isn't a cure.
So remember me now; you'll remember me then,
When you lose all those who used to stand at your side.
You'll remember the disrespect you showed your friend,
For alas, she won't be there, holding you as you cry.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
Having defied gravity
(not me personally
but by proxy
namely through
a dog, monkey and Soyuz
and fruit flies and bullfrogs
and lately through NASA)
I defy humility
I brave it, I challenge it
for there’s too much hypocrisy
in humility
For humility is such
that it never speaks its name
For when it speaks of Humility
it is Sans Humility
Take me
for example -
you hardly hear me
mention myself as Saint Humility, do you?
But that’s what I am, my other name: Humility
But people keep insisting on calling me Saint Humility
But I defy Humility
POSTSCRIPT
I also defy repetition
and over-emphasis
and contradiction, paradox
But, it must not be left unsaid -
in defying humility,
I think I’ve also
quite inadvertently
defined humility: Saint Me
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 7:42 AM UTC
she is
a very naughty girl
she never follows
policy to the letter
she always
does the wrong thing
she needs some discipline
she's proficient
at defying the law
she knows not how
to get the message
she doesn't
listen intently enough
she fills many charge sheets
with her misconduct
she is a girl
with a streak of wickedness
she has all the hallmarks
of someone who is naughty
I speak of Ursula
in the above list of bad deeds
and there is a hope
that her bad deeds
can be quickly remedied
the hand of an authority figure
will bring her back into line
as she has too often
strayed from that line
whence appropriate corrections
are implemented
all her behavioral problems
shall be circumvented
then and only then
a change will eventuate
and she'll no longer
be showing her bad traits
really naughty girls
such as Ursula
can become more like
a pleasant seaside peninsula
watching her radical transformation
shall be a sight to see
so we'll keep our eyes focused
on what Ursula shall soon be
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
With the start of the first inning
as the wind whistled through the tree's
Our short stop had his shoulder broke
and the fates blew in on the breeze
This team was a thorn in the side
of the Harding Presidents Club
It was on this night my son Tate
was scheduled to play as a sub
The kid pitching for North Union
hurled a cooking heater down field
You could hear that freight train coming
as it's hide was 'bout to be peeled
Their coach then rallied his talent
pressing their shoulders to the wheel
like natives dancing 'round a fire
driving devils who'd struck a deal
A death defying mid-air, catch
the bounding, ball tossed on the run
The Devil was in town this night
riding in on the setting sun
They dove and slid then nearly flew
as if the angels rode their backs
While running bases half possessed
plowing the field with cleated tracks
No one remembered the last time
that our team had beaten this bunch
That night they took the field in style
serving them all up for their lunch
,
The dice kept coming up seven
and oh prophetically so
When the sun had finally set
the score was seven to zero
Come ye father's follow your child
through the tough times every one
For the oft chance will someday come
when they will have finally won
Tate
© 2012 Tate Morgan
Written
April 12, 2014
Americans love the underdogs.
original
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/1342622/
Original video poem of the same
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/1354978/
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
inspired by
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5120189/love-cannot-be-controlled-or-confined/
<>
Love is Meant……
and there, I stop…
<>
nnnnyup; continuing on,
this phrase
a self~sufficiency, is it not?
no conditional clause, dangling particle,
no conjunction peg upon to hang your wintered hat,
no adjacent adjective for summer's ending sadness,
no preposition to lead us to sunny places, where we search more
for nouns and pronouns, or to project/protect, in adjectives to clothe our irrationality in logic-e,
logic to define, logic to confine,
illogically
love permits one to say to another human, you mine, hu-mine,
[an aside: "you mine,' (really?)]
a preposterous prepositional insanity notion, that needs no explication,
love is meant, love is meant, love is mean, dream & yet, meant!
stadium sized. concert hall big, mini pup tent,
love is clean+dirty s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
don't you see the self~sufficiency in that?
yet you still seek definition, reasoning, seasoning,
love is meant to-be bent irregular straightaway,
love is meant, to be/not, cold 'n bot, silly hot,
lover is inert, hurt, ert,(1)
love is every point of,
of a sword's length
hilt & blade,
yet ironic,
the tip alone
is a self sufficient *****
to be full~on damaging enough to ****
to fully comprehend,
that love is meant
needs no further modifying defying
pointless phrasal modification of explanation…
s u n d a y
(if the week did not commence with a sunday,
hu-mans would have needed to create one,
to understand,
love is meant)
4:39am
Sun Aug 10
Twenty Twenty Fidelio (5)
in a new york city frame of mine
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 8:06 AM UTC
Day by day I fritter away
Observing decorum as best I may
Meet me as you meet — reserved somebody
Leave me as you leave — dull nobody
Dreary, weary, listless, spiritless
A resting spirit clamours to emerge
Unguided, wild, free and seeking
Boldly defying reserved somebody
But how, just how do I unleash this defiant spirit
For it is to cross all conceivable limits
Oh but a mask, of course a mask!
The perfect accessory for this task!
Careless of propriety
Boastful of daring
Acting against my will
Or in tandem with it?
This mask — just now I can't discern
Ponder I do with great concern
Does it shield my identity
Or render truth to it?
So now just what fun in masks
One may ponderously ask
Masks, bring to life fantasy
Fantasy, a realm of our reality
Reality, wherein lies multiplicity
Multiplicity, within each individuality
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 11:04 AM UTC
This weight on my chest
This feeling of 100 punches to my gut
The pounding of hammers in my head
The feeling of a blade slip through my fingers
The smell of iron in the air as the thick red water drips and flows
All these pains and yet the worst feeling I've felt was the crushing blows of your words echoing in my ears.
Your words weighing heavily on my heart like an Anvil defying physics.
I feel the pressure and it's caving in...
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
There's history in my hair please don't touch, handle with care.
It's the same as this perfect pigment,
this melanin I wear
Richly rooted in my blood
Whether dark or fair
Sun kissed and kinked in bliss
More love for my 'rough n tough Afro puff'
She shines like the Sahara sun
She smells like the salt of the Gold coast sea.
Theres a hint of the bittersweet seed of the cocoa tree.
Feels like the pillow that holds all your dreams with the dry Harmattan wind brushing against your cheek
She'll whisper secrets of the motherland.... If you get close enough
She holds like Mina
Curls with pride
Falls with grace and integrity.
Stubborn like the struggle of the ones before me.
Gravity defying masterpiece that's just a single piece of me, a reminder of my ancestry.
It's my glory, my covering
Don't take it lightly, don't misunderstand, I'm a work of art so please peep but just don't touch.
© Raphaela Israel Öbeñg
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 10:36 AM UTC
is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery
room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue,
the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's
scrubs as they usher in unity, with no imp-unity, the risks,
while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in
peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary
brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the
palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's
palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued
original of what has been painted an uncountable times before,
and before…
tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful,
he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early
island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill
foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities
of this summered simmering, human warming and baking
and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better
accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences
of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our
collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers,
un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish-
ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer
it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover
to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark,
the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm,
the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful
rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to
ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one
feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks,
nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized
emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture
of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated,
goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of
old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place…
7:00am
Silver Beach
Shelter Island
Aug 19 2025
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 8:00 AM UTC
To smile at the carnation,
So gallantly growing,
At peace with this world.
In silence...
I tune in a short conversation
Between minds and bodies -
Incredibly cold.
My heart has surrendered
To nightingale's song.
I dream of Rhode Island...
I'm leaving! So long!
The winds of Sonora,
My nannies and friends.
My love for Evora -
My tears know no end.
The shadows of Mordor,
With sunrise they fade.
Grace, Kindness and Splendour:
Three Buddhas in jade.
I feed roastede pidgeone
To poor ryebread crumbs.
Avoiding curmudgeons,
I'm playing professional dumb.
Caressing the grass-blades,
I live in a drop.
Arcadian arcade:
There, God has no job.
In hurting the Nature
We drain our souls.
Let’s all at once cease
Being ignorant ghouls.
...To stroke the carnation,
To gently kiss buds.
To eat simple meals
Like lentils and spuds.
To carry some water,
To chop down some trees.
To stop feeling rotten.
My soul is at peace.
The time is forever,
The purpose is now.
No “when” and no “where”,
No “why” and no “how”.
The light effervescent,
The sound circumaural,
The hearts ever-pleasant,
The dreams polynomial.
...Collapsing eternity,
Upheaving humanity,
Rock-bottom fraternity,
Defying the gravity.
Creative destruction
Is staunchly forbidding.
The wisdom of ancients
Is widely-misleading.
Depleting our anger
Is key to survival.
Harnessing the hunger,
Improptu revival.
Combustion of senses,
Precarious laughter.
Incurable sepsis,
Delirious canter.
Regrets are forgotten,
Bright days are all-cherished.
Let’s live unbegotten
Until we all perish.
13.06.2012
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
Spines curve as sweetly as drops from a honeysuckle
Notes in a melody fill the void spaces
Gentle rushes stir like the swish of rustling leaves
Flushed as red as the cherry who’s stem is knotted
Time stolen from the hands of a frozen clock-
Still like snow fallen from a winter shower
Senses fully awaken to chase alluring aromas
Repetitive jolts of candied sin trickle throughout the body
Electric flow in the veins sparks an extended invitation
Contagious appetite will mirror aches of desire
Surges of shock in the body join the mind and soul
Accelerating spikes in heart rate kiss private secrets
Boundless longing branded to one another
Yearning indulged by limitless exchanges of energy-
Transfers immune from harm
Pressure from oneness loosens the tremble in pleading breaths
Hands close around each hip to clench their hollows
Credible fingers drenched in admiration coat mingled skin
One is composed by the gravitation of two
Defying moonlight to surrender at an immeasurable ******
Reaching for the highest point to let go
Sharing traces of untamed wind with soaring wings
Collecting innocence altered by ecstasy
Choosing vulnerability to expose what cannot be said
Fantasies traded through the rhythm of touch
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
Mysterious, mist-kissed hills dismiss my dismal disdain
For Life’s strivings in the ivy wired mire.
Budding blossoms embrace my burgeoning bliss-filled *****
As my soul soars into the seething skies.
My wings are beating with breathless wonder,
My imagination sends me to a destination
Beyond discrimination, defying appellation,
But not exclamation, at this elevation.
Smooth pools of cool blue hue contrast with cliffs
That overhang the huddled houses
Of the hillside village
On the way to who knows where.
The mists are shifting, ever drifting
Hiding everything
Except the mountain tops.
A new dimension might await us
Always moving as
Our journey never stops.
Paul Butters
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
They all can see
They stare at us with eyes squinted
Prying mischievous eyes
Our every move noted
At the corner of my eye
I can see them exchange glances.
Whispers roam and coat my senses
Let them know
Let them see
This love is different
Why can't it be?
All we want is to be happy
To love who we want
Body and soul freely.
They don't understand
We don't have to make them understand
We just need to hope that maybe
Our happiness can be their happiness.
Barricades of questioning and disgust
Their opinion doesn't define us
Stand proud for you are strong
Defying the boundaries of love itself.
Are there even boundaries?
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
I am literate in daydreams
and letting my imagination rule my head
I am literate in music
where rationale can be abandoned.
I am literate in procrastination,
pushing away my mind-defying.
I am literate in heartbreak
which has been already over-endured.
I am literate in lazy weekends
spent with my sister and a remote.
I am literate in creating;
not masterpieces, but heart and soul pieces.
I am literate in ramen noodle and green tea afternoons
in sweatpants and sneakers with no makeup on.
I am literate in moment-capturing
and finding the right words to explain.
I am literate in thunderstorms
and dancing in between water droplets.
I am literate in heart confessions
over acoustic guitars and games of solitaire.
I am literate in wanting
and taking away from what I already have.
I am literate in wanderlust
and a wholehearted need to escape.
I am literate in color-coordination and clothing arranging
and bringing out all my best.
I am literate in kissing with desperation
and wanting to have it be effortless.
I am literate in wasting my time
in my head, in my heart, and in the clouds.
I am literate in everything mentioned
and so much that I can’t even say.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
What can you say about Pennsylvania
in regard to New England except that
it is slightly less cold, and less rocky,
or rather that the rocks are different?
Redder, and gritty, and piled up here and there,
whether as glacial moraine or collapsed springhouse
is not easy to tell, so quickly
are human efforts bundled back into nature.
In fall, the trees turn yellower-
hard maple, hickory, and oak
give way to tulip poplar, black walnut,
and locust. The woods are overgrown
with wild-grape vines, and with greenbrier
spreading its low net of anxious small claws.
In warm November, the mulching forest floor
smells like a rotting animal.
A genial pulpiness, in short: the sky
is soft with haze and paper-gray
even as the sun shines, and the rain
falls soft on the shoulders of farmers
while the children keep on playing,
their heads of hair beaded like spider webs.
A deep-dyed blur softens the bleak cities
whose people palaver in prolonged vowels.
There is a secret here, some death-defying joke
the eyes, the knuckles, the bellies imply-
a suet of consolation fetched straight
from the slaughterhouse and hung out
for chickadees to peck in the lee of the spruce,
where the husks of sunflower seeds
and the peace-signs of bird feet crowd
the snow that barely masks the still-green grass.
I knew that secret once, and have forgotten.
The death-defying secret-it rises
toward me like a dog's gaze, loving
but bewildered. When winter sits cold and black
slumped between its two polluted rivers,
warmth's shadow leans close to the wall
and gets the cement to deliver a kiss.
5.4k
Hey you up there!
Flying around in your underwear
I know you’re busy
Saving the world and stuff
but I gotta tell ya
It ain’t enough.
Yes, you can jump buildings
In a single bound
But we really need you
Here on the ground.
Just look around, man.
I don’t understand
How you came to be
But defying gravity
Is not something most folks can do
And unlike you
We can’t stop a bullet
With a mullet and a Mountain Dew.
So you might as well come on down
And help us move some **** around
Cause we got a lot of work to do
And we could use a guy like you.
Or two.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC