"disdained" poems
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Then I'm your man,
your very own
Northern star,
one leg up of a
3 legged stool,
upon which all,
we, enthroned poets,
the world-over,
do rule
the honor you
bequeath me
to be,
a first follower,
your very own
first responder,
it, cannot be
disdained
nor
diminished
this instance,
this birth,
a novice revival,
heart transplant,
makes it
the sweetest blessing
to be the first—
let us be
the quencher
of a desert thirst so long
in the parching,
the throat burning,
by a desert sojourning,
of a now ending
forty times
four hundred years
so come to me!
message me a message,
find me a find,
your poem fine,
so now we vow,
our embrace will
ne’er be broken
give me this
honorific!
let us together
be terrific,
raise our glasses,
with arms entwined
toasting you and
all that mind and
breasted chest of yours,
full bursting from
its future~contains,
of which,
its full release,
brings a fuller life
for us both
I am a father.
I am a grandfather.
I am a First Follower.
and a First Responder,
for all who needs a leg up,
so step upon my heart,
it be but a first step upon a
ladder with no top, no end ensighted
my legs are as old as time, but,
measure me not by the rings and
the metered scales of gray hair aging,
shock of white, a cain mark, wizard-wizened
but
by the muscles
of my deep affection,
the solemnity of this,
my irrevocable promise
this,
the blessing
we both make and earn,
when you write,
and while we wait,
in quiet attendance -
for all of your good works,
your kept promises
Blessed
are You Lord our God,
Ruler of the Universe
who has given us life,
sustained us until now,
***allowing, allying, and
alloying***
the treader of treacherous waters,
reader, writer, swimmer,
to reach, meet, embrace
and greet this day,
this new born poem,
with hallelujahs
whispering and shoutings
together,
as one
in one, of one,
one
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
Far back in the ages,
The plough with wreaths was crowned;
The hands of kings and sages
Entwined the chaplet round;
Till men of spoil disdained the toil
By which the world was nourished,
And dews of blood enriched the soil
Where green their laurels flourished:
--Now the world her fault repairs--
The guilt that stains her story;
And weeps her crimes amid the cares
That formed her earliest glory.
The proud throne shall crumble,
The diadem shall wane,
The tribes of earth shall humble
The pride of those who reign;
And War shall lay his pomp away;--
The fame that heroes cherish,
The glory earned in deadly fray
Shall fade, decay, and perish.
Honour waits, o'er all the Earth,
Through endless generations,
The art that calls her harvests forth,
And feeds the expectant nations.
8.6k
Selene.
By the sea, I have been staring,
at your bright colours change.
Erythematous, murderous intentions of
a disease disseminating
on your surface.
The slow, penetrating anguish
tearing the guts,
a one-sided, disdained,
newborn sadness,
I am welcoming in my arms.
On the operating theatre of life
white and now dead moths,
stillborn butterflies
inside the flesh removed,
drowned themselves in a pool of blood.
They, an absurd joy
that never stood a chance
inside this cyanide prison.
Portals of loaned,
disillusioned happiness closed.
The liquid that raced turbulently
through my vessels, drained on a half-filled
with tears palette.
With menacing, impasto knife-like strokes
on the body
Morpheus painted the shadow-covered moon
with memories that refuse to be forgotten
from purulent, open wounds.
'Those worlds you will (never) see.
The people you will (never) meet' he said.
Soul chemicals eroding
the behemoth sky,
as the paint dries out.
Ashes of my Dreams (Not) Achieved,
astral remains;
everything I silently kept inside.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
“I want!”
Begged my heart,
As it strained against its chain,
My brain screamed
“You shunt!
“I won’t let you hurt again.”
My heart cried,
“Why not?”
And “Where is your pride?”
My brain mocked.
“You’re built to bleed, and not to think.”
My brain convicted,
“Like you where built to lead, but not to link.”
My heart contradicted.
“Love is for fools and fools alone.”
My brain predicted.
“Well then a fool I am for love of fond I’ve grown.”
My heart conflicted.
“You are nothing without me.”
My brain told,
“I beat without you, as you can see.”
My heart said growing bold,
There was a silence,
Between the muscle and the head,
My heart needed guidance,
And without my heart my brain would be dead.
“You know I wish to protect you.”
My brain whispered now,
“But I must reject what you do.”
My brains authority my heart could not allow,
“I am not so callous that I do not care at all.”
My brain explained,
“I understand that on my decisions it’s your function to implore.”
My heart disdained.
“So you can see now why I hold you back?”
My brain feebly asked,
“You are the reason freedom to love I lack!”
My heart finally did at the notion grasp.
Contemplative silence filled the air,
Until my brain did declare,
“If that’s what you want, then go now and don’t dare cry,
But don’t come back bleeding and broken,
And say I did not try”
And so my Brain had spoken.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 6:07 AM UTC
354
From Cocoon forth a Butterfly
As Lady from her Door
Emerged—a Summer Afternoon—
Repairing Everywhere—
Without Design—that I could trace
Except to stray abroad
On Miscellaneous Enterprise
The Clovers—understood—
Her pretty Parasol be seen
Contracting in a Field
Where Men made Hay—
Then struggling hard
With an opposing Cloud—
Where Parties—Phantom as Herself—
To Nowhere—seemed to go
In purposeless Circumference—
As ’twere a Tropic Show—
And notwithstanding Bee—that worked—
And Flower—that zealous blew—
This Audience of Idleness
Disdained them, from the Sky—
Till Sundown crept—a steady Tide—
And Men that made the Hay—
And Afternoon—and Butterfly—
Extinguished—in the Sea—
5.1k
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle—
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea—
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?
4.7k
Pull up your shirt,
Put them away.
Though it’s the same shirt some girl wore yesterday,
It’s different cause her frame is dainty and chaste,
It’s just your biology causes disgrace.
Leered at by Men,
Jeered at by girls,
Disdained by Authority , making them hurl
Told to be thankful by those less endowed
While men get their wanksfull from staring in crowds .
Cause showing a shoulder
that means I deserved it,
Cause showing my body means I don’t deserve ****
Pull up your shirt,
Put them away.
There’s nothing to do, nothing to say.
You’ll never look pretty but Hey it’s okay!
You’ll look **** or manly or just plain perverse
I’m tryna explain all my feelings in verse,
So why can’t I just say it?
Stop staring at my *****
thanks.
Jul 16, 2022
Jul 16, 2022 at 3:07 PM UTC
GHETTO GOSPLE.
You aren't born to please anyone, neither accepted by everybody.
But your purpose is to make sure you live good making better thangs, making thangs better.
Spreading love across to each and every one wisely. You're born to rule not ruled. Everyone is meant to live fee free. But it takes bravery to make a living, on the field of struggle, busting and jostling, in search for fortune, get yours, I'd get mine. living in dreams,
getting goals accomplished unyielding. Thinking of living again tomorrow,
when we hadn't none reaped ou'ta momentum. Is there future promised to us at all.?
When we had spent perhaps even the half of our lifetime , achieving nothang.
Stagnated, disdained, and denounced crazy sage, labeled mad. Does it not mean we were plagued? God forbid! Sango in the altar.
History's mystery new testament era. Jesus is Lord a slain Saint sent from above.
Make a melody 🎶 sing to the world, lengthening fasting season.
Faithful journey along with Supreme omniscient ghost. Awe! - C9fm
Mar 15, 2023
Mar 15, 2023 at 7:40 PM UTC
1629
Arrows enamored of his Heart—
Forgot to rankle there
And Venoms he mistook for Balms
disdained to rankle there—
2.5k
One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it;
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother;
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.
I can give not what men call love;
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the heavens reject not,—
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?
2.2k
Tu mera dil (you are my heart),
Tu meri jaan (you are my life),
Jaan-e-jaan (the life of life)…
Here I am, awaiting rain
Awaiting a band of colours
To shimmer upon these eyes in pain
To clink into these ears disdained
To delight this mind of fears, memoirs and shame
There you are, it is you
You embody all the colours
Within the rainbow of my imagination
Within the verses of this ovation
Within the message carried in my creation
The power of doubt
Corners me, I wander about
I look at the sky for answers
When the sky’s dropped you down to sing them out
Emcompassing sheer valour
Giftwrapped by your voice so tantric
I’ve come to terms;
There is only one colour –
– The colour of music.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
those of us in the middle muddle,
do not know from sides, boundary lines,
drawn by others, right-sided, left-leaning,
mean nothing to us, who seek something solid
upon to rest, when the clarity others profess,
more than evades us, even escapes us, and
the muddles of life seem to require simplest,
middling answers that are unacceptably refused
by grail seekers whose cause for cause, means
cause to cost others regardless, for regard for
the middle is disdained, by two-sided posts,
the know nothings, and the know betters
irony of irony, the rigidity of imposition makes
me more adrift, more aimless, and the task of
meandering through seems almost holy, for the
obstacles of society, requirements of modern life,
are so damning, wild expectations superimposed,
truths not just hard to find, almost indiscernible,
so I lay my pen down hard, awaiting for the
whatever-while, for to return, to go walking with
only the simplest grids to guide, meanderings in
general directions, ahead, always ahead, keep moving,
keep touching and when optimism returns,
I shall be relieved
once more,
I shall be released
once again,
good words will be caught,
released, returned back
into the atmosphere so
they will grow in size by
the very act of sharing
undated
————————————————-
*Everyone must leave something behind
when he dies, my grandfather said.
A child or a book or a painting or a house or
a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there.
It doesn't matter what you do, he said,* so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime. ~Ray Bradbury
(Book: Fahrenheit 451)
Jul 17, 2023
Jul 17, 2023 at 6:14 AM UTC
~
(written in response to one by Beryl Dov)
constellationally speaking
a trophied man is one
whose weaknesses
he has overcome,
those the stars
foretold, ordained;
flaws and blemishes
the gods disdained,
who flies
with herculean
brawn and breadth;
who plies
the star ways
to their dizzying heights
and stairways
to their dismal depths.
he is…
like no other,
he is…
the lonesome
overcomer!
~
*post script.
for Beryl Dov, poet laureate, extraordinaire;
in response to his “The Lonely Astronomer”.
how anyone sees his as anything
negative is beyond me…
i see nothing but
an overcomer’s metaphor.
well done, friend!!
(and yes, by "man"
i do mean mankind)
The Lonely Astronomer:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1182761/the-lonely-astronomer/*
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 8:32 PM UTC
the tangibility of fallibility
is met between the coincidence
and insatiability of adversity,
the blissfulness of satisfaction
is met between the constant refraction
and abstraction of our instability,
distancing perceptions bound by
our misinterpreted misconceptions ,
take the contradictions of our minds
and use them as receipted expectations,
blinded by darkness for illumination
idyllically thriving on the absence of starvation
but the the realism of disdained relation put us
in a position of contempt fixation,
placement of a pedestal beneath my feet
misdirected direction towards a forked defeat,
a way to pain and a way to pleasure,
the destination of each concluded at cloudy weather,
atmospheric conditions leave injunctions towards
the ****** functions to deviate and meditate
the conflicted constant of mind and heart
and diverge from its obliged obligation from the start,
a denouncement expected right from inception
brought afloat a constant instance of introspection,
intrinsic emotions distorted at a love’s devotion
sparks a metaphysical claim towards a complex notion
of companionship and intensified intimacy;
an expectant of reciprocated sympathy
but when in reality, the thought of apathy
lies not within the partner,
but within me
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
My vessels
My veins
My vessels
My fiend
My pen I never strayed
My lungs I do disdained
My legs not rightly placed
My hands, beyond tangled
This is just some words about
The ethereal wandering spine:
Made of hard candled wood
To be laid cold on the lane
The ghost of it, I dare say, wandered around
Spoken of shame and of the nomads
And in silence, it sew the raging sea
Into yarns of distraught constellation
All in this ill world, not above
The spine was of rage and of distress
Wished forever to stop standing still
And forever more, laid to rest
As broken bones, as thousand glasses
To be unnoticed and blend as well
Fifteen years of shame
Haven’t eaten
Fifteen years of shame
Haven’t beaten
But bathe in dirt
To blend means to fade away
And to fade means to accept
Annihilation and memories that may
Dangle from the tip of your bones
Why would you
Or the spine
Take it for granted,
wish it to be true?
Truth be told;
a spine helps you to stand still
Aside from your legs and your partial heart
Imagine;
if it wander aimlessly
Where would you belong,
and where would you stand?
But still the spine wanders around
To reign upright on its own
Then decorate beauty of its own
Oh, and perhaps, again
Blend in as well as to fade away
Away
Away
Away
From you
From:
Fifteen years of shame
Haven’t eaten
Fifteen years of shame
Haven’t beaten
But bathe in dirt—
And could not stay
Look at your spine
Which you can’t see,
why are you so sure
That it is there?
Look at the spines
On your surrounding:
Lampposts
Broomsticks
Electric poles
Candles
Pillars
Look at the spines
That stand on their own
Just a single stick
And nothing more.
Believed to be incapable
Wished to be broken shards
Ended up standing still
For eternity, for darkness beyond
And what are you
Without them?
Just a lump of flesh
A fabricated skin
An empty will
And nothing more
Living in
Fifteen years of shame
Haven’t eaten,
haven’t beaten
But bathe in dirt.
And what are we,
without them?
Just dark vessels
And distraught veins.
My vessels
My veins
My vessels
My fiend.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
Oh, here I am confined to the walls of my sadness!
I am lean and weary,
my heart thin and dreary.
Oh, how I've longt to wander yon mountainous hills again,
this time with thee,
descending the steeps, our bare foots brushing against the heath beneath
blending into the hilly surroundings
under the laughter of the joyful heavens -
o how riveting the bank underneath shall be!
O how delicacy shall reign my frame abruptly -
bequeathing its foreign spirit gladly,
so that I am showered with its frantic idyll
with adversity whose love can never forget!
O how this joy shall conquer any rivers of indignation,
drive their disdained yoke away
along with those conceited tears
of sullenness, hatred, and amorous gluttony!
But unreachable art thou!
O Kozarev, my prince, sole prince in these silent wintry dreams,
how thou appeareth like a gleaming apparition,
soothing my reposes, making whose armours complete,
with smiles can bear all my gloominess away,
whose lovely jests are warmth to my soul, my yearning and choking soul,
in the deathlike bursts of this misty day!
O Kozarev, in today's laborious air I shall think of thee,
thy stately figure, thy youth of ardour!
Thy grin the star to the fading sun;
thy words that calmeth sorrow; and sendth thrills through my bones!
O mumbling lips, o trembling horns!
My little treasure, if only thou could hear my earnest longing
my very earnest desire; sincere yet tempestuous
that I shalt lift my hands around thee
Just how those rocks stand firm on the glaring sea
Cheers in its coldness; praises its bland waviness
Like a small boat unyielding to the melodious storm
when the last harmony is no longer sounding!
O, how I long to share this fondness with thee!
Kozarev, my demure pleasure, my belated fate!
My firing snow, my blazing sun,
the handsomest flower of my being!
My lithe little heart might be of nothing to thee
I am unworthy, yet I yearn for thee so willingly!
Kozarev, amidst the rolls of my dreams I devour thee,
wherein dwells the upmost of our affection
and sits our sheepish little village!
And adjacent to the gentle fireside
upon our wooden squeaking chair
brimmed with love, smeared with laughs
I should rock by thee
sew thee into my very own loveliness
and ****** thy grace
to the faint redness of my lips.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 5:55 AM UTC
You took my heart right out of my chest
Like a knee to the stomach I often received
But will never forget.
You stomped on it and crushed it
Until all that was left was blood and shrapnel,
All because you lied and couldn't commit.
And then you came along and forced your way in,
It was easy and thoughtless and ******
And according to all your friends, I had it coming.
Gas lighting and manipulating
Pushing me over the edge over and over and over
Throwing hissy fits when you left me and I started dating.
You use people like they're toys
And treat them like they're trash.
All I can remember is the low of your voice,
It's my most disdained noise.
It's hard to bring myself out of it,
Out of the screaming matches
And the cruelty and my lips being split.
But I know he'll never hurt me
Like either of you did.
Because he's not so beastly,
And I'm, for some reason, worthy
Of kindness and being treated gently.
And his love is setting me free
Of the shackles you both have placed on me.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
☼
As all the fury of the sun was put inside the moon
The sky was lit, a starry sight, a petrified maroon
And now the dark is like the light, the earth is spinning still
The people go in circles too, their sleepy heads to fill
And all the voices gather up as language is explained
The mystery that once had been is openly disdained
Familiar now and understood, the bitten tongue will bleed
The zealous cell in every drop is coming out of me
I put it back inside my mouth and fight to keep it closed
But there is no assailant here, I'm already exposed
The sun is night, the moon is day, confusion - rationale
And be there blood among the two, it spilleth all around
☽
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
“I’ve become lost in the cross hairs of love and lust.”
His line of thought became stagnant with no one to watch,
spellbound by her snare looking for someone to care,
her words would trimmer proving to much to bare—
“it’s just not the same, in the way that i love you,
something doesn’t remain.”
A sword breeched his heart that day,
vessel went off course filling with black waters of spite,
lines became blurred, compass askew,
naive conceptions of a roadmap wouldn’t do.
“Rain washed away our chalk, it’s not all lost”
this thought’s become seared,
simmering in his mind until the time would come.
I can’t talk of the grilling in our prince’s kingdom,
except that the tyrannical king, made hell his home.
Acidity was palpable, yet still he continued,
never ceasing words kept him through—
“but I do love you” until the fat lady’s tune,
sulking in the nostalgia of her swoons.
He continued to praise her more than the moon
thanks the sun, for illuminating it’s room,
in the sky, and the stars scream out cries,
for the mangled prince lays waiting only for her shine;
however the lyrics must stop, at some point,
the fat ladies pitch will drop,
until the nightingales love song stops.
Scared to be hurt once again,
a vow has been made that no more friends will be lost,
or bring pain, but this came at a cost.
Drowned by sorrow he knew only one way to manage,
cut everyone out because they can do damage.
Reclusive, seclusive, he shut out all,
friends’ unaware, the ball couldn’t have dropped further;
ashamed, self-disdained the thought feels like ******
What of the piper that doesn’t pipe?—As grim as tales come,
stuck between a gloc and a hard bane.
“Baring may be impossible” he said to cold steel,
heavier than expected, ice-like to his lips,
sitting against the wall, with a cumbersome grip.
Last text sent “Take care of everyone for me, you’re now the guardian.”
Panic set in friends, but it was all to late to heed.
Until the end comes, he looks into the cosmos of his mind,
and lastly to her shrine; final thoughts unknown,
except to the wall and rug bellow
but here I’ve presumed— “I will love you forever”
trigger pulled, death concludes.
RIP- Clay
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
Desolate beings full of,
Awkward exchanges,
Empty glares,
Frigid collisions,
Struggling stares.
Disdained lovers with,
Vanishing memories,
Vain affections,
Impetuous attempts,
Impotent connections.
Familiar Strangers
We are
A promising future
No more.
©Tina Thompson
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 10:26 PM UTC
His mouth was a nuclear leak
(he fried his brain when he was 17)
And I can’t get the burning toxins off my skin
(and that is as far as he ever grew up)
Some of them have seeped in deeper, I can
(he’s amused by stick figure animation)
Hear them rupture the seams of my insides
(and the shuffling photos of his obsessions;)
My brain thankfully, is still intact
(his car, his clothes, his kids…and me)
Fighting this fight heroically
(my god, to be one of his children)
Anxiously looking over my shoulder
(he can’t keep a nanny for very long)
Refuting his demeaning accusations
(no one stays in his life who is not on payroll)
********* Narcissist
(but even they all quit eventually)
Still forgiving myself for letting it happen
(oblivious that his entourage disrespects him)
This antithesis-of-me-toxic-bath
(he is incapable of giving or deserving trust)
Disdained my beliefs and philosophies
(he still wishes he had his mullet of 1986)
Demanded my selflessness without return
(and the older woman he ****** in high school)
Reduced me to dismissible arm candy;
(immature alcoholic tantrums lie just)
The missing feature of his pride
(below the surface of every conversation)
And I can’t shake this feeling
(which speak exclusively of himself and his many impulses)
That I have truly met evil face to face
(or the stupidity of humanity who serve his whims)
Afraid to realize how narrowly I escaped
(his highest dream is to own a personal servant)
Except for the residue
(explains his demands clearly and concisely)
Adhering like burned on soap ****
(believes money and a big **** make him a man)
I feel like he will never, ever really be gone
(his reptilian brain controls every move)
That he will still try to own me or make me
(“I don’t want to be an ******* I’m just really good at it”)
Pay for refusing to surrender my soul
(funny, those words almost make me feel sorry for him)
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
i try to wring my veins of all starlight
to sweeten your tea with, but there’s simply
not enough andromeda. i am unchained of rock
whittled slightly but never disdained by crashing wave
vous voulez un petit fleur, no es como yo
i am not to be picked and toyed with. i lay cards on
mats but they are not for the future, only for a self
fulfilling prophecy of broken bones and soot
i’m sorry you don’t have perfection with an apron tied round it.
sorry enough to lay salt on your grave so no green grass
ever grows, and dance on it to punish the crystals
deeper so you can feel it where you are
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
I am bored to death
Of this desire to play with
The heart of human child
For it has never given me
Much amusement.
I am bored to death
And my soul, empty;
My soil vessel broken
When I wished to mend the splits
Lingering, lingering in your heart
Yet you stood up
Without my embrace.
I am bored to death
In this small town owned
By Mother Solitude where
Only angels speak to me,
Where I am hurt by my fault
My fear
My grace I have disdained;
I am bored to death
Of death; for the question repeated
For the blames I have done
For regrets, come at last
Redemption, sinned like ballad
I am bored to death
Of death
Whether it be hell;
Or heaven of days—
One I shall go
by the end of the day.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
I was sure I didn't love you--
I was sure I never could,
'cause you're not the kind of woman
that I thought I ever would.
So when you called me "sweetie"
as you left for Rome that day,
I wanted to say, "I'm not,
don't talk to me that way."
"I'm nothing more than just a friend,
that's all I want to be.
Of course I care about you, but
not in the way you mean."
"So don't go getting ideas
in your little weasel head.
I never want to spend the night
in your little weasel bed."
I thought that with you gone away
I'd think of you not at all,
so I was quite surprised one day
when I wondered if you'd call.
And when I started checking the mail
for a post card sent from you,
I really started wondering
what the hell I was going through.
I found that I was missing you
more than I cared to admit,
I found that I was wanting you, too,
more than a little bit.
Tonight you let your black hair down,
push finally came to shove,
and the weasel girl I once disdained
became the woman I love.
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 2:45 PM UTC