"discolour" poems
Warning: Use dis list in context.
You decide on which side you fall.
disappear
disregard
disaster
displace
disqualify
disrepair
disturb
dissipate
disability
dispose
dismal
distribute
distrust
disturb
discriminate
discuss
disdain
disguise
dishearten
disinherit
disown
disparage
disagree
disgruntle
disclose
discolour
dispute
disarm
discover
disassemble
disadvantage
disallow
dispossess
discontent
discontinue
disrespect
disincline
discomfort
disrepute
dishonest
disillusion
dishonor
dismiss
disobey
disjoin
disappoint
discipline
discord
discern
discrete
disfigure
disconnect
disapprove
discharge
disbar
disease
discord
disfavor
disengage
disassociate
discipline
discount
disembody
displace
dissaray
disembowel
discombobulate
discredit
discourse
disentangle
disenfranchise
disembark
discard
disburse
disbelief
discover
disable
disagree
disintegrate
dismay
dispense
dislodge
disclaimer
disapprove
dissatisfy
disrupt
dispel
dislike
dismantle
disloyal
disbatch
disrobe
disperse
display
disaprove
disciple
disavow
disconcert
disinfect
disorder
dismal
dismember
displease
dissemble
disunity
dislocate
distort
distrust
distress
dissolute
disassociate
distill
discect (?)
distemper
distain
distasteful
distraught
dissolve
dissonant
dissuade
And dis isn't de end.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
the lakewater near the banks darken with the shadows of coniferous trees
not unlike the way my ***** darkened just the other evening with transgression
and i find myself waiting,arcing the ash from my cigarette in fiery transient streaks.
this is north west angle's public dock, a sunken relic of the anishinabe
appropriately too young to be old just like the ******* rest of us.
kee no wahh she spits with conviction,
her forked tongue a testament to the near science fiction
that keeps its ugly head low to the ground
in the backwater communities of
rural ontario and manitoba
and saskatchewan
and beyond.
purple and yellow and green galaxies span across the deep space of my neck
and that's good enough, they reckon, to land me in the passenger's seat.
now the sun's shallow beneath the canadian shield
leaving only a violent, open **** on the skyline
and the watered down blood of ritual sacrifice to
filter up through the cheesecloth of the underbrush
and effectively discolour the poplars in a pastel
identical to the lining of my ****
so ask me how many children have been
stranded on the pallid, uneven terrain of my thighs
and i'll stop making references to my ******
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 10:12 AM UTC
What are we seeking for in our whole life?
Leave our city and lover just for money and power?
Why can we just feel contentment with a flower?
Why we still seek it? Even though it causes us pain and strife
Maybe we seek it just because in our sick world, they are rife
The richest man will die, the golden city will discolour
When will we realize that money and gold are too easy to scour
When will we discover that under the gold’s beautiful surface hiding a knife
How dumb we are, we let them take our love and family away
Is money important? Or we just follow our old social norms?
Why are we not brave enough to break our form
Why we still blindly obey
How do you define winner?
I keep asking and wonder.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
Cast all aside burn it and ****
Dancing in the running reds of massacre.
Waiting for any semblance of humanity,
Burn it all rip it out and let nothing taint.
bring destruction like a demonic saint.
Feel the flow of senseless promise,
casting naivity into uncensored solace.
Bleed your prayers onto every altar.
Watch it discolour every drop of water.
Set your eyes on every ounce of pain,
bring it in and nestle it tightley,
then unleash it in fury divine,
to burn and destroy all that was once mine.
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 3:00 PM UTC
You were one of the first to teach me about value.
You helped me gain independence, little by little.
I shared my desires with you and you helped me to fulfill them.
Sometimes I needed just that little bit more and there you were,
Ready to pitch in and help out.
I remember a smile breaking onto my face with the very glimpse of you,
Your shining face gleaming at me from afar.
Sometimes those you thought were your friends would just toss you away,
But not me, not ever.
I cherish you for everything you are worth and then some.
You have always been unique, different than all the rest I would come across.
You have your own look.
Yes, you may look similar to others in one way,
But with a quick flip you are shining again like only you can.
Time may tarnish your gleam, but no matter how rugged you get you will always be of worth.
Special childhood moments come back to me now.
Holding you in my sweaty little palm, I would fill with excitement
Knowing you were about to deliver to me the sweetness of my dreams.
All I needed was you and maybe a few more of your friends.
And off we’d go to spend a Saturday afternoon in delightful company.
Seniors would push you away, unwanted, undervalued.
They would take one quick glance to see if they recognized you.
Then they would pass you on to a youngster,
As if they had far too much of you to care for more.
But not me, I would swoop you up and run off, delighted.
Now you are to be no more. No replacements.
You will be allowed to discolour and erode with age as so many of your ancestors have done.
But to me, you will always be the highly valued shining copper penny
Who taught me to count, to value goals and how to use money to attain some of them.
And most importantly, how to take the first steps towards my independence.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
I’m feeling terrified.
I’m feeling terrified and hollow.
I’m terrified of the decisions I’ve made,
And the ones to come.
I’m terrified of the dark,
That slowly eats me alive.
I’m terrified of the poisonous black ink,
Trying to discolour my heart,
That’s not sure pure anymore.
That’s not so whole anymore.
I’m terrified of no human being,
But me.
I’m terrified of my brain.
That made me experience insanity
In it’s purest form.
The overwhelming
Overthinking
Poison that’s fed
From the voices in my head,
To the demons in my heart.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
The mirror becomes interesting when
the face it's held toward is like a
reflection of the self. If it isn't, then
their image is defeated, dulled and grey,
subdued in that they are of little worth.
Thus, only with attention can you shine.
But what attracts also destroys, gives birth
to collision. The reason I can’t find time
to show you how your colour can burn bright
is because you're not willing to let me.
I know how the dark tones become highlights
and feel you should't fear uncertainty.
Instead, realise the potential that’s there
if you do not discolour what we share.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
Let’s write a poem
For the fun of it
Rhyme, combine, design
Thoughts, phrases, words
Stanzas absurd.
Let’s use alliteration
1st, 2nd, 3rd person narration
Let us not forget
Capital letters, commas and full stops
To crop,
Our faults.
Let’s write about love, loss and heartache,
Let’s make mistakes
Relationships, politics,
Let’s get lost, in this;
Wonderful world of ink and paper.
Let’s dangle emotions
Delicately of straight
Lines, text, worth
Thousands of pounds
To someone.
Let’s dribble prose across the page
Lead rhyme
Into an organised,
Coherent line
Hold hands with demands
Laced, not closed,
Of errors dispose.
Let’s write a poem
For the fun of it
Watch it age, as the pages, discolour.
But remain as beautiful, if not more so
Than it were, when first composed.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Politics of power politics of greed, politics we don't really need
Words with no meaning, words of war, words to exasperate all the wrongs of before
Men in bowler hats from higher degrees of education, Suffragettes in suits with their posh procrastinations
Radicalised preachers disguised as primary school teachers, morals and values that have no worth, morals and values to discolour our earth
Politicians with a fame fascination, politicians on their own inert instruction
Politics of verbal constipation, designed in a way you will never comprehend, politics of corruption and manipulation, politics to make your thoughts unlawfully twist and bend
Politics that so easily steal from a dying hand, politics that allows our old to die where they stand
The politicians expense account, this just helps the animosity amount, our money, our stability our very existence, put to one side and dealt with the utmost of contempt if you offer up any form of resistance
Politics of minorities who the majority doesn't want or need and should rightfully and respectfully be abolished, when you look at our world our people, and how they suffer, the responsibility lays firmly at their feet for with their megalomaniac ways , our world they have tarnished
I personally do not vote, how can I, when all they do is lie, I'm sure in-between, this cataclysmic scene, someone has the heart, the integrity and honour to want to serve the people of their nation, but I guess , like the rest , they'll accept their payout, sign on a dotted line, and never scream, never shout
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Glass that is shattered
Is not broken
And hope
Is anything but lost
Child you
Must learn the difference
Between the end of a chapter
And the extension of it
One that begets colourful depictions
Of the future that is yet to come
A future that you must not discolour
Simply because it is contrary to expectations
Throw yourself into the sea
And swim with daggers
Let yourself be surrounded by danger
In no other way shall your spirit be developed
In no other way shall you learn
You may shed tears
And that is permitted
For you are human
And sadness is inevitable
But cry only once for the future you envisioned
Gone up in flames
And cry twice
In joy
For the one that I have put in place of the old one
One that needs a twist or two in the road to get there
But who shall grumble about the road to paradise
When it is a worthwhile road like none another
Oh, the places you will go
Some may see this decree as torture
As an impediment on brighter days
But you shall not
For you have heard the news
And no time shall be wasted
On aimless rumination
The unknown is not to be feared
For it is unknown only by you
And the master of the blueprint
Has everything long set in stone
Shattered glass shall never hurt you
Though it comes in torrents
And pierces through skin like a mindless murderer
Protection is always around the corner
Waiting to dart at every necessary moment
Against your adversaries
So live on and live bravely
For danger shall not hurt you
Danger exists in many ways
And the devil is always at work
With morbid Machiavellian honour
Making sure that ships
Shall never sail to shore
Play the game well
And play your cards right
The king and queen yet conquered
And neither should your might
Hold fast to what you live for
And don't let love lose sight
New paths shall make their way to you
New doors open to tides
So live with highest glory
And never once begrudge
For you were born for reasons
Fire don't lose your light
And in the end these tangled knots shall find themselves untied
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
everyone seems to fall for roses
beautiful and scented
but they fail to remember
the sharp thorns that'll hurt
i'm astounded by how
you speak of "love" so easily
for it is too strong a word
to be said this early
little did you know that
i wasn't your red rose
because the longer you wait
the more it shows
my petals fall
and i get duller
even with your love and care
i discolour
don’t trust me too much
you don’t know enough
i could ***** you any time
give you a painful scuff
i'm sorry
but you should've been warned
that every rose
has its own thorn
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
We are only woven as strong
as the silk that binds us.
It may fray,
it may discolour,
but never will it break.
For it has a beauty that
will still hold beauty,
will be cleansed of any impurity.
We collect our weaves of silken humility,
for our humanity is soft and pliable.
It may fray, be discoloured,
but It will always be strong.
Humanity is beauty beneath the dirt.
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
You were the frame, and I the
picture that fits within just right.
Time may fade my pixels,
you may discolour from
former glories.
But when were together we
hang just right..
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 4:38 PM UTC
As I was walking along the bank of the Canal, fog covering the ground like a cloak
I thought I heard the jolly sound of a Frog croak
The Canal usually bright blue of colour
Was an unusually dark eerie, discolour.
I carried on walking towards St David’s Station, my destination
Whilst composing a Poem with my imagination
In front, I could not see more than 10feet ahead
But I swear a saw the wings of an albatross, overhead.
To the left as I walked, green open fields
I suddenly heard the sound of a Swan squeal
To my right, the Canal cast a dark and dreary backdrop
The banks of the Canal usually lined with Trees, you could barely see their tops.
Fifteen minutes in and I began to feel the warmth of the sun, hitting my heels
The path ahead lit by the warm soft glow of the sun, giving the start of the day an ethereal feel
Twenty minutes and now the fog begins to lift
My spirits are beginning to change, uplift.
Twenty-five minutes have now gone by and I have almost arrived, it usually takes me twenty-three
The fog has lifted and now I can see, exactly was happening around me
I could see people walking their dogs, walkers walking and runners jog
The Trees on the banks of the Canal have burst through the fog.
I could see People at the start of their day, some stop you and say, “good morning what a nice day”,
Some just smile as you pass them, on your way
Some pass you by, phones to their ears, never catching your eye
Some smile sweetly, a little shy.
When the fog lifts and the Sun cast its rays
You hope it’s going to be the start of a beautiful day
Hope grows therein
Hope for better, warm days, beautiful spring flower displays
The hope for warm sunny days begins.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 2:51 PM UTC
Having caused much pain
And upset to one I love
I looked long and hard
At me to find the root
Of my failing,
I cut deep and discarded
My ego my pride
And a host of other bad
Habits that accrued
Across the years,
And deep within me
I found an eight year old
Little boy with arms
About his knees,
Head down,
His tear streaked face
Framing a mouth that
Screamed silently in pain,
Heartbreak and
Loneliness,
So I looked within
That visceral version of me,
Cutting deeper than before,
And right at his heart
I found a budded rose,
At first glance
It was perfect,
But closer view showed
Dessication discolour
And paper thin petals,
But even as I watched
Your hand appeared,
Caressed the child
Then watered his
Withered heart,
And in an instant that bud Regained its lustre
And its carmine hue,
The petals spread to glorious flower,
The silent screaming paused
In wonder then delight,
I realise now there
Was no fault in me nor
My heart or view
I just needed watering
With love
From you
Dec 24, 2023
Dec 24, 2023 at 2:57 AM UTC
Dare any swain escape his youth intact,
Soon after the fringe of courage will discolour into fade,
Until one day the pause,
The morning mirror, the tics and taunts,
Who is this clumsy old man his story will complain.
His bruise of reputation echoes back as tease,
The slope and sag of masculine decline,
Is journaled in the bloom of brown blotch on his hands,
The tattered skin, the oaf and clownish frown,
The aberrant fur in ears and nose,
The quitter’s curve now cues to crooked spine,
There is no bath, no rub, nor miracle devine,
From here on in he culls and manages decline.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 7:56 AM UTC
'
*
Steely, piercing gaze
steady and calculated
scorn-etched lips, pout
scathed grains discolour
pearly teeth bared
proudly held chin, gloats
pencilled thoughts
permanently carve this soul
crafty words sliver
carefully orchestrated chaos
cornering all resolution
creased yesterdays wither*
____________✒
○●
°
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 5:47 AM UTC