"denounces" poems - Hello Poetry

**Profanity is a ******* Tool.** Profanity is Subjective. Profanity doesn't necessarily show intellectual or moral paucity. Profanity is a form of emphasis; a form of ******* catharsis, an aspect of humour. ******* humour: A goldmine rooted in Shadow, excavated by Logic and which seems, for the most part, wasted on the irrefutably illogical, or at least bi-polar (if not higher-multi-polar) masses. *"Anyone who relies on any one given tool is a fool, as anyone who denounces a given tool for how it has been used by others is outright stupid."* A carpenter who can only use a hammer is quite restricted, A musician who can only play alone is no good in a band, A poet who only writes can't show the world how it's meant to be read (if at all), A comedian who only swears has little else to offer, A person who only speaks but doesn't act on it is a liar. A carpenter who won't use a hammer is self-sabotaging. A musician who can only play with others has no personal skill. A poet who refuses to write starves oneself of potential. A comedian who won't swear better have a good point. A person who only acts but reuses to speak had better be a monk or mime! *(The last two were perhaps failed, even vein attempts at humour.. I shall leave that up to you to decide!)* Profanity is a Tool: I believe that no matter the profanity, a message can still be well received by those who care enough to receive it. Better still are those who can interpret the profanity as humourous accentuation, emphasis, catharsis and not necessarily as overly-abrasive and immature. That said, some people are just totally ******* immature about it. If you can't stand the profanity, get the **** off the internet. 4srs. Better yet, shut yourself away from the world lest you ever deal with that which you find unsettling. *So ist das Leben. Telle est la vie. Así es la vida. Such is life.*

0

Feb 2, 2013

Feb 2, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

Profanity is a Tool

**Profanity is a ******* Tool.** Profanity is Subjective. Profanity doesn't necessarily show intellectual or moral paucity. Profanity is a form of emphasis; a form of ******* catharsis, an aspect of humour. ******* humour: A goldmine rooted in Shadow, excavated by Logic and which seems, for the most part, wasted on the irrefutably illogical, or at least bi-polar (if not higher-multi-polar) masses. *"Anyone who relies on any one given tool is a fool, as anyone who denounces a given tool for how it has been used by others is outright stupid."* A carpenter who can only use a hammer is quite restricted, A musician who can only play alone is no good in a band, A poet who only writes can't show the world how it's meant to be read (if at all), A comedian who only swears has little else to offer, A person who only speaks but doesn't act on it is a liar. A carpenter who won't use a hammer is self-sabotaging. A musician who can only play with others has no personal skill. A poet who refuses to write starves oneself of potential. A comedian who won't swear better have a good point. A person who only acts but reuses to speak had better be a monk or mime! *(The last two were perhaps failed, even vein attempts at humour.. I shall leave that up to you to decide!)* Profanity is a Tool: I believe that no matter the profanity, a message can still be well received by those who care enough to receive it. Better still are those who can interpret the profanity as humourous accentuation, emphasis, catharsis and not necessarily as overly-abrasive and immature. That said, some people are just totally ******* immature about it. If you can't stand the profanity, get the **** off the internet. 4srs. Better yet, shut yourself away from the world lest you ever deal with that which you find unsettling. *So ist das Leben. Telle est la vie. Así es la vida. Such is life.*

41

Dear Rosie I wonder, what kind of black woman are you? Because as we discussed various -isms, you refuted your womanism, you refuted racism, you refuted sexism. You are "Rosie" Dear Rosie I want to know where you come from. Who taught you to tear down women that look like you, that came from a black woman's womb just as you did. Where did you learn to silence us in that confused mind of yours where you said our opinions irritate you and are worthless to your education? Dearest Rosie Tell me how the oppressed became the oppressor. Because as I look at your dark chocolate skin I am curious what you see when you look in the mirror. A reflection of privileged whiteness? You say oppression does not matter. You asks for facts. Well, statistics show us that people that look like you are dying whether you acknowledge your blackness or not. Women like you are being silenced and underrepresented in the public sphere regardless if you take it for face value. Women like us have lost sons to officers, husbands to cells, brothers to jails. Dear Rosie Wake the **** up. Each time you slice our tongues from the black reality that black women may not matter as much as they do in this safe space, each time you preach of your humanist kumbaya resolution that separates us from race gender and sexuality, each time you say our opinions do not matter, they win. The system wins. Because they'll use some token like you to represent our mass majority and say "She agrees with us so all black people do too." I refuse to be represented by a peer that denounces my womanism, my feminism, my black nationalism because it's not white enough for her (black) skin. Not inclusive enough to a white population that has excluded people like me for centuries. It is not my duty to make some ************ feel comfortable with my blackness ,to relieve them of guilt when they've perpetuated guilt on me because of my blackness. Dear Rosie. Don't let them win.

0

Oct 24, 2014

Oct 24, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC

alexandria-rae-mason

Dear Rosie

Dear Rosie I wonder, what kind of black woman are you? Because as we discussed various -isms, you refuted your womanism, you refuted racism, you refuted sexism. You are "Rosie" Dear Rosie I want to know where you come from. Who taught you to tear down women that look like you, that came from a black woman's womb just as you did. Where did you learn to silence us in that confused mind of yours where you said our opinions irritate you and are worthless to your education? Dearest Rosie Tell me how the oppressed became the oppressor. Because as I look at your dark chocolate skin I am curious what you see when you look in the mirror. A reflection of privileged whiteness? You say oppression does not matter. You asks for facts. Well, statistics show us that people that look like you are dying whether you acknowledge your blackness or not. Women like you are being silenced and underrepresented in the public sphere regardless if you take it for face value. Women like us have lost sons to officers, husbands to cells, brothers to jails. Dear Rosie Wake the **** up. Each time you slice our tongues from the black reality that black women may not matter as much as they do in this safe space, each time you preach of your humanist kumbaya resolution that separates us from race gender and sexuality, each time you say our opinions do not matter, they win. The system wins. Because they'll use some token like you to represent our mass majority and say "She agrees with us so all black people do too." I refuse to be represented by a peer that denounces my womanism, my feminism, my black nationalism because it's not white enough for her (black) skin. Not inclusive enough to a white population that has excluded people like me for centuries. It is not my duty to make some ************ feel comfortable with my blackness ,to relieve them of guilt when they've perpetuated guilt on me because of my blackness. Dear Rosie. Don't let them win.

12

Her laughter suspenseful, a shivering tale of discomfort turmoil and bleeding mascara. She denounces her faults and erases our friendship; I retract my statement of trustworthy companionship. Her developed state of maturity- lack thereof existing, she exploited my love, my patience; and victimized my dedication. I really believed she could handle my passion, when all I wanted was an everlasting love. A heart stopping contraction.

0

Sep 11, 2014

Sep 11, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC

christopher-rossi

The Set-Up

Her laughter suspenseful, a shivering tale of discomfort turmoil and bleeding mascara. She denounces her faults and erases our friendship; I retract my statement of trustworthy companionship. Her developed state of maturity- lack thereof existing, she exploited my love, my patience; and victimized my dedication. I really believed she could handle my passion, when all I wanted was an everlasting love. A heart stopping contraction.

19

the men in their shiny arsed suits gather close to the door inhale the incense, the mothball aroma of their neighbour’s Sunday best endure the droning of the priest, who denounces the idleness of men the sinfulness of women they feel ferocious thirsts building their minds have wandered to the pub where the publican is pulling pints of porter letting them stand, almost full, on the bar foaming, settling, forming voluptuous heads waiting for the appreciative lips, mouths, tongues of the restless church bound men. one breaks ranks, sidles out the door the others look sheepishly at each other and sidle, dribble across the road to slake their thirsts knowing that they have, barely, done their duty for the week they can, with an almost clear conscience drown their sins in the landlord’s best beer.

0

Nov 23, 2011

Nov 23, 2011 at 5:07 AM UTC

mike-hopkins

Mass in the West of Ireland

the men in their shiny arsed suits gather close to the door inhale the incense, the mothball aroma of their neighbour’s Sunday best endure the droning of the priest, who denounces the idleness of men the sinfulness of women they feel ferocious thirsts building their minds have wandered to the pub where the publican is pulling pints of porter letting them stand, almost full, on the bar foaming, settling, forming voluptuous heads waiting for the appreciative lips, mouths, tongues of the restless church bound men. one breaks ranks, sidles out the door the others look sheepishly at each other and sidle, dribble across the road to slake their thirsts knowing that they have, barely, done their duty for the week they can, with an almost clear conscience drown their sins in the landlord’s best beer.

18

But how do I communicate a word that lacks an English translation? A feeling so essential to my well-being? One that this culture denounces, dejects, despises so easily, Without changing what I look like in your eyes? Hesitation of true affection Amae, I want to share with you. A home, not a house. The mother's loving concern. The safety of knowing that it is okay. You'll be there and I presume you will. And this gives me shivers to imagine; indulgence of security. But that's codependent Check the DSM-V. I think the APA is wrong. I challenge over 137,000 who seem to agree that my need for people is disorder, disease, debilitation. Because I can see through a window in my heart, that shows me a world coexisting; once realized we need each other because we are human. We want to live harmoniously, in unison. I want to care of my fellow man. I am celebrated for aspirations of massaging the soul, fixing the whole, dedicated to them all. Why is it so wrong that some days, I'd like to be on that side of the spectrum? Amae, Amae, Amae

0

Oct 7, 2014

Oct 7, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC

omar-kawash

Anatomy Of Dependence

But how do I communicate a word that lacks an English translation? A feeling so essential to my well-being? One that this culture denounces, dejects, despises so easily, Without changing what I look like in your eyes? Hesitation of true affection Amae, I want to share with you. A home, not a house. The mother's loving concern. The safety of knowing that it is okay. You'll be there and I presume you will. And this gives me shivers to imagine; indulgence of security. But that's codependent Check the DSM-V. I think the APA is wrong. I challenge over 137,000 who seem to agree that my need for people is disorder, disease, debilitation. Because I can see through a window in my heart, that shows me a world coexisting; once realized we need each other because we are human. We want to live harmoniously, in unison. I want to care of my fellow man. I am celebrated for aspirations of massaging the soul, fixing the whole, dedicated to them all. Why is it so wrong that some days, I'd like to be on that side of the spectrum? Amae, Amae, Amae

41

the uncertainties of unendurable disturbances that announce themselves with the plausible coordinates of illusion location an identity to elusive to justify human possession leaves only the confusion of such insoluble difficulties where the finding of this strange image is at once touching and grotesque poses the question what is the self? what are the guarantees of identity? who possesses such and by what right? how is individuality secured? or are we left to the larcenous wiles of ones own deployment an illusion that hovers over one like an appalling malady exquisitely positioned on the mind where it basques in the language of so called neutral expression of thought where one alone denounces the self albeit under compulsion of poignant lament that evaporates among shrouds and gaping graves we are all but the coordinates of illusion

0

May 20, 2014

May 20, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC

edgar-whitman-wilde

we are all but the coordinates of illusion

the uncertainties of unendurable disturbances that announce themselves with the plausible coordinates of illusion location an identity to elusive to justify human possession leaves only the confusion of such insoluble difficulties where the finding of this strange image is at once touching and grotesque poses the question what is the self? what are the guarantees of identity? who possesses such and by what right? how is individuality secured? or are we left to the larcenous wiles of ones own deployment an illusion that hovers over one like an appalling malady exquisitely positioned on the mind where it basques in the language of so called neutral expression of thought where one alone denounces the self albeit under compulsion of poignant lament that evaporates among shrouds and gaping graves we are all but the coordinates of illusion

28

My pen is mourning the agonies and the sufferings Of my people, who are drowning in the sea of misery. My keyboard' strokes are shadowing the slow rhythms Of the wandering beggar, who's lost in the sanctuary. My voice denounces the filthy cholera and the injustices, Which are punishing the weakest souls of the valley. A tiny oligarchy is meagerly being rewarded; What a shame for a man-made world corrupted with vices! My daring pen defaces the inequality and the imbalance, Which fool the image of a so called free world. My laser beams burn the iris of the blind peasants, Who can now see clearly the mini-sketch of my people. I am the brother-in law of the cowardly executed poet And the great-grandson of the poorest assassinated emperor. I abhor the vanity and the lowliness of mankind in horror, Oh! Lord, I'm going to read aloud twelve psalms, from my seat. My pen is mourning my beloved people, Who are innocently digesting the giant toxic apple. My voice is seduced by the wind of liberty, Which echoes the piercing screams of the hungry babies of Haiti. P.S. Translation of 'Ma Plume Pleure Du Sang' by Hebert Logerie. Copyright© November 2010, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved Hébert Logerie is the author of four books of poems:

0

May 17, 2025

May 17, 2025 at 11:34 PM UTC

60Etncelles60

My Pen Is Weeping Blood

My pen is mourning the agonies and the sufferings Of my people, who are drowning in the sea of misery. My keyboard' strokes are shadowing the slow rhythms Of the wandering beggar, who's lost in the sanctuary. My voice denounces the filthy cholera and the injustices, Which are punishing the weakest souls of the valley. A tiny oligarchy is meagerly being rewarded; What a shame for a man-made world corrupted with vices! My daring pen defaces the inequality and the imbalance, Which fool the image of a so called free world. My laser beams burn the iris of the blind peasants, Who can now see clearly the mini-sketch of my people. I am the brother-in law of the cowardly executed poet And the great-grandson of the poorest assassinated emperor. I abhor the vanity and the lowliness of mankind in horror, Oh! Lord, I'm going to read aloud twelve psalms, from my seat. My pen is mourning my beloved people, Who are innocently digesting the giant toxic apple. My voice is seduced by the wind of liberty, Which echoes the piercing screams of the hungry babies of Haiti. P.S. Translation of 'Ma Plume Pleure Du Sang' by Hebert Logerie. Copyright© November 2010, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved Hébert Logerie is the author of four books of poems:

23

Alls my life I has to hop, brother! Alls my life I... Hard times like, “Yah!”. Mad tricks like, “Yah!”. Fatalist, I’m all lost Homie, you are all lost But if God got us, then we gon’ be alright We gon’ be alright! We gon’ be alright! Brother, we gon’ be alright What we need is a way to lose the radar Of the creatures of gluttony that resembles a bar. So, I hop in hope that I’m still afar From the clenches of them ****** piranhas Chasin’ me like a cop car. Call this eternal for no solace is there And this frog won’t ever give in to that Joker’s flair. Twisted it is that a kiss pronounces exit from this lair? Yeah, sure do adhere. I’d rather die and state my mind clear. This circus denounces hell, I fear. Joker’s the devil and piranha’s sin, my dear. It’s clear what they intend to do here. Mere resistance is futile and it tears Lingering hope and steers My fate. My life. My ideas. But I take a leap of faith Cause If God got us, then we gon’ be alright. Brother, we gon’ be alright. -Asher Graves

0

Aug 31, 2025

Aug 31, 2025 at 12:13 PM UTC

the_little_bystander

Dare To Leap

Alls my life I has to hop, brother! Alls my life I... Hard times like, “Yah!”. Mad tricks like, “Yah!”. Fatalist, I’m all lost Homie, you are all lost But if God got us, then we gon’ be alright We gon’ be alright! We gon’ be alright! Brother, we gon’ be alright What we need is a way to lose the radar Of the creatures of gluttony that resembles a bar. So, I hop in hope that I’m still afar From the clenches of them ****** piranhas Chasin’ me like a cop car. Call this eternal for no solace is there And this frog won’t ever give in to that Joker’s flair. Twisted it is that a kiss pronounces exit from this lair? Yeah, sure do adhere. I’d rather die and state my mind clear. This circus denounces hell, I fear. Joker’s the devil and piranha’s sin, my dear. It’s clear what they intend to do here. Mere resistance is futile and it tears Lingering hope and steers My fate. My life. My ideas. But I take a leap of faith Cause If God got us, then we gon’ be alright. Brother, we gon’ be alright. -Asher Graves

33

You got a good church. If it denounces racism. If it stays quiet than how you preach about our Lord God? You got a good church. If out of kindness. It doesn't brag. No call to the news about the good things you've done. It shows. It's spoken about. Your minister doesn't seek a shout out. You got a good church. If there's no pretense. Members are just real about the spirit they feel. You got a good church. If you honestly forgive when any of us fall. Quote, not single scripture, if you not abiding by them. We ALL fall short of the glory of God. You got a good church. If you stand firm on your faith and walk. Place nothing upon sight. For you might rather be blind.

0

Aug 8, 2018

Aug 8, 2018 at 12:20 PM UTC

jeffrey-conyers

You Got A Good Church

You got a good church. If it denounces racism. If it stays quiet than how you preach about our Lord God? You got a good church. If out of kindness. It doesn't brag. No call to the news about the good things you've done. It shows. It's spoken about. Your minister doesn't seek a shout out. You got a good church. If there's no pretense. Members are just real about the spirit they feel. You got a good church. If you honestly forgive when any of us fall. Quote, not single scripture, if you not abiding by them. We ALL fall short of the glory of God. You got a good church. If you stand firm on your faith and walk. Place nothing upon sight. For you might rather be blind.

21

Touch the spoils of me Such few feel left kids in africa have a worse life then you so quit CRYING The verbal knives she throws into me Seemed to have bore all the fun away Why don't you LOVE me anymore she asks me in such a tone sending guilt through the hair on my toes meanwhile she denounces me at every corner this is NOT good enough it never was good enough not even the straight As the hours I spent trying to make her happy again were never good enough you are so LAZY just like your father those words have stinged my teeth and wrapped braces of anger around its not my fault I was born like him Chris what is WRONG with you I cannot figure this out mom as to why im so different maybe i was born wrong god had chose me to live beyond understanding stop playing the VICTIM oh poor chris his life is terrible i grew up the victim of your disgrace and tears the victim is the only thing I know I am stop crying and be a MAN only existing knowing words of my failures none of my successes how else is a 15 year old supposed respond you don't have any FRIENDS mom i had reinvented myself for you and yet you cannot even think of me I am just a terrible MOTHER no mom you are not terrible its all my fault

0

Apr 28, 2014

Apr 28, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC

chris-7

born wrong

Touch the spoils of me Such few feel left kids in africa have a worse life then you so quit CRYING The verbal knives she throws into me Seemed to have bore all the fun away Why don't you LOVE me anymore she asks me in such a tone sending guilt through the hair on my toes meanwhile she denounces me at every corner this is NOT good enough it never was good enough not even the straight As the hours I spent trying to make her happy again were never good enough you are so LAZY just like your father those words have stinged my teeth and wrapped braces of anger around its not my fault I was born like him Chris what is WRONG with you I cannot figure this out mom as to why im so different maybe i was born wrong god had chose me to live beyond understanding stop playing the VICTIM oh poor chris his life is terrible i grew up the victim of your disgrace and tears the victim is the only thing I know I am stop crying and be a MAN only existing knowing words of my failures none of my successes how else is a 15 year old supposed respond you don't have any FRIENDS mom i had reinvented myself for you and yet you cannot even think of me I am just a terrible MOTHER no mom you are not terrible its all my fault

29

Torment, what bliss I did to owe this primrose path that transgression thee commit and rejoice in my spathe. Yon through the frigid lake thee come cold and earnest thy end no prey shall see thee bring the brawny mist. Thy tales did tribes tell of vagrants in mausoleum held who call to see the cherubim sing those men till end in delirium dwell. Voices of myriad bards I heard who oracled my ruin in thee that if I breathe thy arid wind death shall soon coax me. So colorable their denounces seem for once methought, they had me charmed shall I abstain me to thee or naught. But when thee to me clearly come and to me wed thy three beauty lass my mind cleared as cloudless sky then, gay, I walked through dark crevasse. There in the wilderness I found me home I learned in life the need of pain that to heal thee art the perfect partner in thee is life exquisite attained.

0

Jan 12, 2019

Jan 12, 2019 at 11:19 PM UTC

motleyash

Pain is Exquisite

Torment, what bliss I did to owe this primrose path that transgression thee commit and rejoice in my spathe. Yon through the frigid lake thee come cold and earnest thy end no prey shall see thee bring the brawny mist. Thy tales did tribes tell of vagrants in mausoleum held who call to see the cherubim sing those men till end in delirium dwell. Voices of myriad bards I heard who oracled my ruin in thee that if I breathe thy arid wind death shall soon coax me. So colorable their denounces seem for once methought, they had me charmed shall I abstain me to thee or naught. But when thee to me clearly come and to me wed thy three beauty lass my mind cleared as cloudless sky then, gay, I walked through dark crevasse. There in the wilderness I found me home I learned in life the need of pain that to heal thee art the perfect partner in thee is life exquisite attained.

28

*Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter.* Two lovers caught in time. John Keats screams my name and withers my bones with age. "She cannot fade" They never age, they never transgress. The art captures time and in life, the clock hands never cease. My fingers melt the candle wax as the leaves cover her hair. And my forehead burns, as you glance over at my soul. Maybe there's happiness in Spring. Are the frozen depictions on the tomb a prison? As Keats denounces "Ye know on earth and all ye need to know." Thus, do not try to understand the pain. The Earth will keep moving anyway. Let what be to be. You will never receive the answers you need. So live your life and try to succeed. "Beauty is truth and truth, beauty." Go and trash that seltzer bottle, there is no background meaning this time. You ****** up and that's that. Move the **** on, as you like to tell me. Dwelling in the past like Tennyson will only **** you in Camelot. Just travel back to your home town, and cry yourself to death. Why did he paint that Mona Lisa? It is an enigma while I get higher on blue and gold grass. Reason and Logic is not always the way to understand the Universe. You must be content to know the mysteries and relax. But I can't accept it, let's go find out. Make your universe smaller and eat up the dark matter. While String Theory launches me into an ether world. Know this, it is better to appreciate rather than to uncover the secrets lying within.

0

Apr 14, 2015

Apr 14, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC

abellakai

We're Reading Keats Again

*Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter.* Two lovers caught in time. John Keats screams my name and withers my bones with age. "She cannot fade" They never age, they never transgress. The art captures time and in life, the clock hands never cease. My fingers melt the candle wax as the leaves cover her hair. And my forehead burns, as you glance over at my soul. Maybe there's happiness in Spring. Are the frozen depictions on the tomb a prison? As Keats denounces "Ye know on earth and all ye need to know." Thus, do not try to understand the pain. The Earth will keep moving anyway. Let what be to be. You will never receive the answers you need. So live your life and try to succeed. "Beauty is truth and truth, beauty." Go and trash that seltzer bottle, there is no background meaning this time. You ****** up and that's that. Move the **** on, as you like to tell me. Dwelling in the past like Tennyson will only **** you in Camelot. Just travel back to your home town, and cry yourself to death. Why did he paint that Mona Lisa? It is an enigma while I get higher on blue and gold grass. Reason and Logic is not always the way to understand the Universe. You must be content to know the mysteries and relax. But I can't accept it, let's go find out. Make your universe smaller and eat up the dark matter. While String Theory launches me into an ether world. Know this, it is better to appreciate rather than to uncover the secrets lying within.

50