"detest" poems
there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day
and the best at ****** are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace
those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love
beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average
but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to **** you
to **** anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect
like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock
their finest art
180k
Brother.
You are a vampire.
Why do you lust for blood?
Brother.
They have found out now.
Your death is certain.
Detest that agony.
Writhe with rage.
You will be lynched,
And burned in the sun.
Brother.
You are a Vampire.
Royalty runs in your veins.
You lust for blood.
Like a peasant for coins.
Die now.
In royal vain.
You ended your world.
When you ****** the life,
Out of the child.
That boy.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
Tongue in cheek I detest you
Hand over foot
Make a peep *****
And I promise I'll ****** you
Bad tact I'm a cesspool
Festering in the nestle of your daughter's
well developing *******
Everyday I follow her home from school
This unnerving pervert unearthing fervor
making ya catatonic &
giving your heart murmurs
Nurture the thought
It's just the tip
(Of the iceberg)
Gotta stir the paint before you make a mural
Ma'am, I'll purloin your ham purse until my burial
Don't be a sourpuss
It's final
I'm vile
And I swear I'm not a *********
Want some candy?
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
so, with israel being re-established...
why do we, us,hit
europeans... even need to bother
establishing authority,
utilißing the new testament?
i quiete like the old testament
logic of:
oculus per oculus
(eye for an eye)...
because the saxon concept of
justice: i rather see...
the implosion of
blackstone's formulation...
the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10
ratio of...
a shawshank redemption...
there is... redemption...
since! there's no justice within
the post scriptum of
the hillsborough disaster...
watching people walk, the lunatic walk,
20 years later?
disorientated by the court
of justice?
re-dem-ption...
the whole aspect of: innocent until proven
guilty is horrid!
this... saxon vernacular of
that branch of philosophy that's
bogus...
namely... within origins
of the forbidden fruit...
i.e. and you know?!
really?!
no... but i'll **** to make
a standing pivot of a pawn
on a chess-board.
savvy?
who, among the europeans...
actually needs such artifacts
as new testament texts, credo,
orthodoxy, sign of the cross
greek exports?
the state of israel has
been re-established...
i don't want anything to do
with this judeo-grecian banality...
you can have you little affair over
n
e w
s...
don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm
watching... people tell a lie...
yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum...
am i, or are there any arizona
inbreds?
who, the hell, needs, the news testament,
within the confines of history,
dispossessing europe of it,
of an established jewish state?
one book among many...
hence the scent of a yawn...
when entering a library...
i'll do one gesture, and one gesture
alone... inclined to a replica...
ecce libra!
i wash my hands from
having any investment in it.
**** the greeks can have it...
they can keep it, cherish it,
but they better not spaghetti the old testament
with their... "ingenious" plot...
not when the nag hammadi library
emerged...
no... not now... not ever...
i detest this greek book of overt
symbolism...
their pristine alphabet,
their diacritical application,
with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf...
or blind... whichever it is...
sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch...
of inflated... soft... flesh?
i'll rip your heart out
and feed it to my neighbour's dog,
beside a bowl of water.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
Spring comes little, a little. All April it rains.
The new leaves stick in their fists; new ferns still fiddleheads.
But one day the swifts are back. Face to the sun like a child
You shout, 'The swifts are back!'
Sure enough, bolt nocks bow to carry one sky-scyther
Two hundred miles an hour across fullblown windfields.
Swereee swereee. Another. And another.
It's the cut air falling in shrieks on our chimneys and roofs.
The next day, a fleet of high crosses cruises in ether.
These are the air pilgrims, pilots of air rivers.
But a shift of wing, and they're earth-skimmers, daggers
Skilful in guiding the throw of themselves away from themselves.
Quick flutter, a scimitar upsweep, out of danger of touch, for
Earth is forbidden to them, water's forbidden to them,
All air and fire, little owlish ascetics, they outfly storms,
They rush to the pillars of altitude, the thermal fountains.
Here is a legend of swifts, a parable —
When the Great Raven bent over earth to create the birds,
The swifts were ungrateful. They were small muddy things
Like shoes, with long legs and short wings,
So they took themselves off to the mountains to sulk.
And they stayed there. 'Well,' said the Raven, after years of this,
'I will give you the sky. You can have the whole sky
On condition that you give up rest.'
'Yes, yes,' screamed the swifts, 'We abhor rest.
We detest the filth of growth, the sweat of sleep,
Soft nests in the wet fields, slimehold of worms.
Let us be free, be air!'
So the Raven took their legs and bound them into their bodies.
He bent their wings like boomerangs, honed them like knives.
He streamlined their feathers and stripped them of velvet.
Then he released them, Never to Return
Inscribed on their feet and wings. And so
We have swifts, though in reality, not parables but
Bolts in the world's need: swift
Swifts, not in punishment, not in ecstasy, simply
Sleepers over oceans in the mill of the world's breathing.
The grace to say they live in another firmament.
A way to say the miracle will not occur,
And watch the miracle.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
i was wrenched from a bed
that was not my own to begin with.
into the sunlight, they dragged me,
hands yanking at my long hair.
i clutched my body.
jaw set, i silently vowed not to cry, to take it
like a woman should – to look them in the eye,
to stand unashamedly in front of my neighbors,
my mother, and my sisters. to stand in front of the town,
and face the inevitable.
the Pharisees threw me to the ground, gave a swift kick
to my side – gentle, compared with what would come.
the women, eyes glossed with icy detest, spat in my face.
*so the ***** has been caught*, they hissed.
But i refused to give them the satisfaction.
i wouldn’t close my eyes during it.
couldn’t.
Jesus, they barked, *we caught her sleeping
with a man she doesn’t belong to*.
you know what to do.
the little children and the rabbi and the mothers
and the sons, they felt the ground
for smooth, heavy rocks.
i bowed my head slightly, as fingers trembled over
new, prune-colored bruises
on my ribs, my stomach.
i unlocked my knees and lifted my chin,
met his eyes.
he paused for a moment, nodded his head slowly.
If you are without sin, please, cast the first stone.
i bit my lip, waited and watched,
squinting in the sunrise.
the Pharisees grumbled, the townspeople eyed me, but said
nothing, until they left, one
by one.
that Jesus, they mumbled,
He’s always finding loopholes.
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
I was the Crown Prince,
Prince Khurram was my name,
Of Emperor Jahangir I was the son,
Shāhjahān was the royal title I took,
Shihāb al-Din Muḥammad Khurram
Was my formal name.
It was I who got the Taj Mahal built.
You criticize it as wastage,
As an old man's obsession,
An egotistical marble effigy,
A mark of wasted resources,
And a psycho's rare ambition,
You may detest it's purpose...
But I built it out of sheer love...
Love for power,
Love for wealth,
Love for health,
Love for ruling,
Love for display,
Love for strategy,
Love for history.
I want to be remembered.
Just as I want my poetry in marble,
Pure white poetry to withstand,
In the tests of time to prove me true.
Forever, you'll remember me.
And my crazy love for my Mumtaz.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 6:59 AM UTC
A husk, a shadow,
a memory now weak.
A place to avoid,
a number to delete.
A face to forget,
a life given up.
A name to erase,
etched into your skull.
A myriad of hopes
to remember as dreams.
A time spent alone
to weaken the seams.
A reason to drink.
A reason to cry.
A reason to laugh.
A reason to lie.
A past to detest,
a loss to accept.
A reason to bruise
to soften the truth.
An excuse to abuse;
a home to lose.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
I look up at the starless sky
Without the stars who should be there
Sharing this moment with me
This moment that hold no significance
While I look, I miss the sky
I miss the stars
I miss the light they provide
All that’s left is the moon
All alone that poor moon is
Glowing in the dark
When it should be glowing in the light
Just like me, alone when we should have others
I feel the moon’s sorrow
For I feel the same
The empty sky is no place
No place for either of us
I wonder what happened
Those poor little flecks of light
One day here
The next day gone
Not a single word was said
About their disappearance
All forget about them
Except for the moon and I
Every night I would look
Waiting for the stars to come back
To see the moon no longer alone
To see the sky back alight
Every night I would look
And ever y time I would despair
For the stars are still gone
And show no sign of returning
I hear the moon weep
The man on the moon weeps
The tears silent
But the sorrow is deafening
After eons passed
The stars did not return
I waited, and so did the moon
Finding comfort in each other’s presence
There are some nights
When the moon is gone
And the sky is dark
Missing the moon
I detest those nights
Fearing the worst
That the moon had gone
And joined the stars
My fears never came to pass
For the moon would always return
At first a sliver
Then it would all be back
Even in the darkness of space
The moon kept it bright
A single candle in the darkness
Burning ever bright
I went out one night to see the moon
That was my reason now
For I knew the stars were gone
But the moon was still there
And on that one special night
I realized with keep insight
That not all the stars were gone
That one was still left
For the moon was not a candle
But a mirror
It reflected the light off another
The light of the Sun
I told the moon what I figured
And the moon was joyous
For not all the stars had left
The Sun was still there
And armed with that fact
That one star was still there
A glimmer of hope rekindled
And I knew what I had to do
I said farewell to the moon
It knew what I was doing
I left for the sky
To bring back the stars
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 8:00 PM UTC
Embracing His Solace!
In solace mountains scaled.
Solidarity stands strong.
Between two upstanding.
Love matters minimally.
Grace relaxed in cultured elegance.
Company not desired much.
Cries alone.
Dies alone.
Does he moan.
No deals granted.
Pours another escapist drink.
Needed to **** or release the lurking tears.
Forced to descend thy tender cheeks.
Solace found also in my place.
Want no-one to invade my space.
Love freedom to be mine.
Detest freedom myself at times.
Then I to cry.
Flood rivers rarely.
Too selfish to co-exist.
Although your heart and soul I've missed.
No deals wanted.
Love never denied!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
You reasonless hate me in manner devoid of vogue,
Coz you are threatened by my skin color,
Utterly refusing to appreciate my melanin humanity
Your faith lulls you that I am a Tarzan,
Dwindling away from humanity,
My poetry to you is only bombshell
Of dangerously vulpine civilization,
You solace yourself in your miss-audience to me,
Wistful in your hearty that your detest for me
Will become a force enough to counter my being,
You are very wrong my brother,
Goofing in full measure of your idiosyncrasy
In its present grammar of dance banquet,
I only pity you as none will ever be able to heal you
To free you from your silly bug of desperate racism.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
This isn’t the first Saturday night ,
When your muse will gently kiss a faded parchment ,
And give birth to verses
That will keep me awake all night.
This isn’t the first Saturday night ,
When I will spill more ink than a wounded soldier ,
Writing his last letter back home ,
From the treacherous trenches
Of scarlet love.
But then the trenches I sought refuge in,
Are more treacherous than the rusted bayonet ,
With which he will script ,
The final chapters of his life .
And yet like him ,
If there’s one thing I have come to believe in ,
Then it’s this :
There is more comfort ,
In believing ,
In an unshakable absolute ,
Than there is in hiding ,
Beneath the mills of woolen warmth.
And
There is more naked grief ,
In letting your dreams ,
Be hinged to uncertainties,
Than there is in daring ,
To brave the winter without your warmth.
And yet you wonder?
Why I detest absolutes,
Which need a blanket of uncertainties ,
To survive the chill of a Saturday night ,
A night which as it drags on,
Like a frozen Nicholas sleigh ,
Seems to mock every fiber of hope in my being ,
Fibers that I unravelled to adorn
The dwelling of My absolute.
This isn’t the first Saturday Night when the tale will remain incomplete
Without that innocent question I crave to answer
For you are my absolute ,
Uncertainty.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
She fabricates variance in the same picturesque sky
Mauling two birds with one stone-cold, self-sustaining lie
If happiness blots itself upon perspective,
then I was merely one musing of a momentarily hung canvas
dangling dull under the noose of your
cautiously composed independence
-
"Independence"
she doth protest
While in dependence,
she doth ingest
She flees towards East evermore, infatuated under the intoxication of dissimilar skies, ceasing to remember that all worlds eventually become spherical.
We, abreast, left the nest;
I, digress, detest the West.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
I stole your smile.
It used to sit right between your lips, remember?
It tasted like home.
It used to fill my dark mornings, remember?
It looked like love.
It used to tell me why it loved me.
It used to crack your face in two.
It used to show up when I did.
But nowadays, I only ever see it go.
Of all the crimes that I've committed,
there is one I detest the most.
Because where once it sparked a fire
within me, now it's just another ghost.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
People making jokes about my birthday.
Banging teeth when kissing.
Eggplant.
Walking to school in the cold without a sweatshirt.
Being too cold and losing feeling in any body parts.
Kissing someone with ****** hair. It hurts.
Saggy knees.
Stretch lines.
Homophobia in any way, shape, or form whatsoever.
Boys whose hallway swag gets in the way of my getting to class on time.
Having to wait until he and I can be together.
Period cramps.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
The friend zone; A place I truly detest.
I've never been here before, it’s hard.
I laugh at your jokes until tears fall from my eyes!
I want to know,
do you share my feelings?
I graze your arm and my heartbeat quickens;
The electricity takes me so high!
I look into your eyes and feel the ground shift,
I want to know,
do you share my feelings?
You make me feel like you do,
and then you change the way you act!
But the very next day we are back at the start,
tell me!
Do you share my feelings!?
An endless circle we weave,
I just can’t catch my breath.
Please,
do you share my feelings?
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 5:50 PM UTC
I am afraid of giving you my heart.
If there is one thing I will detest myself for being, it is vulnerable.
I can't stand giving someone the power to destroy me. I will avoid that at all costs, which is maybe why I can't love you.
I don't trust you. I love you, but I can't trust you with something as fragile and dangerous as my heart.
And the sad thing is, I don't think I ever will. Your heart is wild and open and is home to many people.
Mine is just for you.
And if one day you leave, then it will be a big hole of nothingness.
Empty.
And I can't let that happen to myself.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
and as this the new day
reveals it's perfectly pure and clean
new face
politically pristine
oil spill-less and
corporately blessed
with financially bought off
presidents
congressmen
and supreme court judges
who confess
that all negros
they detest
and imprison or ****
so willfully
willingly
as they do all poor folks
who,in their need
seek justice
which in this the new day with it's new face
isn't here anymore
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 11:09 AM UTC
I think I've procured myself again
The word 'filth' comes to mind
(For lack of a better word)
Yeah, I'm a *****
Unmetalled in the interface
It took yet another 'kind' word
Or should that be 'false' word
To realize what they think of me
To think
With their mangled good looks
Ubiquitous in psyche
Like they ever gave a chocolate-flavoured ****
Soon they'll all have had a go with me
And i'll become
How do you say? Sui generis?
Numb betwixt the thighs
I 'detest' myself
(For lack of a better word)
And I stare at the periwinkle
To find relief
And that's still no relief
Because I'm jealous of periwinkle
The capita thinks it's 'beautiful'
And of course 'I am no periwinkle'
(For lack of a better understatement)
For lack of a better me.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:06 PM UTC
There is a bus stop I stand by everyday
Around me is every person who has ever hurt me or let me down
They stand here with me day by day
When the bus comes I'm the last to get on every single time
I stand awkwardly as all of the seats fill
As usual there are no empty seats left for me
I must pick the lesser of my evil's and choose one each day
The heaviness of the fear and panic sink into my core
As I place myself beside one of them once more
Today however as I stood with the others as I stand everyday
I felt their hollow eyes burn into my back
As the bus arrived I saw it load with all these people that detest me
With all the memories that they carry
All the memories that weigh like dumbbells on my being
And for once I just stand there
I do not get on
And I watch as the bus full of all these things I hate
Drives away as another appears
It stops before me and the door opens as the driver beckons me to get in
It isn't my bus, but I still drag my feet forward
As if pulled by an invisible force like a magnet I can't pull myself away
When I enter I see other passengers
Not all of the seats are full, in fact many are empty
But it still feels full, yet not stuffy
I feel welcome as I stand in the aisle of the bus
I'm dragged down by a brown eyed beauty
And I feel like for once I've found my place
Within this bus filling with the things I love, with people I trust
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
Big old jade earring hung from that haunted necklace, swinging from this and that and the other way where and if that sky upstairs let go of the thing I wanted you to be but a break in the system, no a malfunction in that suction of a love that you tried to forget about but feel those typing keys on the fingers that break knees and the heels up and up with the ***** a lingerin' and thats sounding like a new pounding, the one upstairs with the translucent roof ghostly and guess i got a new boot thats fixing itself to elate another prisoner upstate where the worries are always about the women.
Yeah, that women with the diamond ring with her children by her side thinking about the monastery she never visited a big time act act act in a dress that helped her enough and forgot about the rest. But we all move on quick to detest times test with the burritos that she never ate because of the figure she imposed that she got from her transistor radio and the yearly subscriptions of the ghostly ghost that haunted her in the moat around the castle of stairs up ripunzel with dragons a aflame listening to the same wishy washer story of old uncle Maury and the twenty ten twelve salute to the mastery of the fiction of listening, another riddle in the twiddle beneath the sheets that were once painted gold but her husband done left her and she's moving to seattle to start up some new cattle spreading the seed of 1910 where time stands still with his drink in his hand because the guy has got to get around to something with all that talent, with all that anger with all that impulse that proves itself time and time again it will never be enough for a salvation sanitation with the twisty fro's of yearly ye and ye bouts of fights she twisted in that shout that she knew, she knew she swears, what it was all about.
May 6, 2011
May 6, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
I reach my hand out to strike him
For all his hurtful words,
I detest him
For his misleading words,
He made me believe that I was
Weird, not simply different
Made me feel like a stranger
In my own body
(those touches from a long
time ago from That Boy who
used to be a friend )
They come back to me and
-And I feel *****
When he calls me something
I practically know I'm not
I feel even more dirtier
For one moment,
I hated him the way only
Siblings can hate each other
Everyone else foreign to
This strangeness
So I deal him a blow
That didn't sting half as much
As his words did
I withdraw my hand
And it stings
I look at its underside
A thin, red line of blood
Stretching out
The scar doesn't leave for
Three whole days
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 4:11 AM UTC
You lived next to a mushroom field
The smell was pungent and distinct
It reaked of sewage and sulfur
I never understood how anyone could
"Just get used to it."
I hate mushrooms now
Moreso that I ever did before.
I mull over the things you did to me
And made me do to you.
All I can remember is
The smell creeping up my nasal passage
Strangling me
Choking me.
Since that day,
My life has resembled that place.
So much junk to deal with
Such a despicable scent
People wonder how I deal with it.
I don't even know how I stand the stench.
But I find it funny, oh the irony
In how I have come to simulate
The place I detest the most.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
Talk less
Do more
I'm obsessed
To the core
I detest
The skin I'm in
Then love
Didn't begin
?
May 16, 2020
May 16, 2020 at 2:18 PM UTC