"disfavor" 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
Spectrous aberrations of youth
Surround him, embrace him
Leaving him disoriented, dismayed
Amidst sultry belongings
He’s tethered to that pole of vicissitude
Draped by disfavor
Postmarked Valhalla
Addressed to Folkvangr
Teased by irreverent lovers
In pursuit of contentment
His chronicles restart
In an unpublished testament
Bound by leather, cows unfettered
One lifeless body stationary
Crimson streams part chalk-dry lips
As love’s guillotined victim drips
His future’s fortune forsaken
Willingness to triumph in battle
Leaks from this dimension
With each fluxing discharge
Of her stream’s outgoing apathy
And his fluid permeates alluvium
In streambeds near life’s summit
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 11:12 PM UTC
Our world has become a mistaken image
Our bones buried in common rage
We pray to God our souls to keep
And judge ourselves by our favorite page
But what sin has retained our disfavor?
You are of this land, in which you take stock
You know its pain but give it to another man
Because he was born a flower and not a rock
¿Por qué se le tiene miedo a su corazón?
¿Por que hombre?
¿Por que?
Did God give you a sword
Or send a dove?
Was his strength for oppression
Or compassion?
Was every soul made for hate
Or for love?
Is vengeance yours alone
Or nailed to the cross of passion?
¿Por qué intentas daño a tu corazón?
¿Por que hombre?
¿Por que?
Do you wish to rise holding their chains
Or to give them wings
Do you wish to be buried with armor
Or with good deeds?
Do you wish to close the gates behind you
Or bring them all?
Do you wish that God would set fire upon us
Or tear down the wall?
¿Por qué están tratando de matar a tu corazón?
¿Por que hombre?
¿Por que?
We must exist together
Though we may not understand
We were taught to love one another
And to never raise our hand
We must use rocks to line the garden
And not destroy what grows within
For what another man may desire
Only God can comprehend
¿Por que hombre?
¿Por que?
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
I remember sitting
On the tiny porch
Of my dad’s home
Offended by the sun
That continued to sink and set
Without pausing to acknowledge
My dad’s passing.
Offended by the cars
That continued on the highway;
Callous indifference, it seemed to me.
Even the birds at their feeder
Greedily fed and failed to look up
To mark the loss of their benefactor.
I found myself
Silently demanding condolences
In every encounter.
Not for the sympathy,
Or worse, pity,
But for the acknowledgement
That he was here
And now he’s gone,
And something,
However infinitesimally small
In the scopeless universe,
Has changed.
I have two cousins.
The first called my dad
Every month.
His regular call came
During the last days.
The decline surprised him.
He took a deep breath
And asked for speakerphone
Near my dad.
He told my dad
How much my dad had
Influenced his life;
How as a child,
he anticipated a visit from my dad
Like kids stay up to see Santa;
How my dad made my cousin feel
Like he was the most important kid
In the wide world;
How my dad gave my cousin
The otherwise unavailable
Sustenance of heart
Young boys need;
How my cousin had strived to be
Like my dad
And how he hoped
His own children see in him
What he saw in my dad.
That was acknowledgement,
Profound acknowledgement.
My second cousin called
Shortly after the first.
He had heard
That my dad was dying.
He did not ask
To speak with my dad.
He wanted to tell me
To call him
As soon as memorial
Arrangements were made
So that he could purchase
Discounted airline tickets,
To include a subsequent visit
To his son who lives
In the southern part of the state.
My dad was still living.
That, too, acknowledged something,
And served to impel my pending decision.
So I opted for
A less conventional
Memorial ritual
That required neither
Plane tickets nor attendance
Nor a frozen smile reception.
I would not suffer
Insincere acknowledgement.
I am sure I scandalized
Many acquaintances of my dad
Who enjoyed the social conventions of
The anticipated gathering
If only to point out the deficiencies
Of the event and the host.
I am sure I offended
And frustrated
And embittered
One of my cousins.
The other cousin thought
My dad would have preferred
Sincerity
Over a pantomime.
I would suffer
The disfavor and distaste
Of the discontented
With no difficulty.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
~~
Cloud seems sky height tall
Still limitless,
To remove from the bean
Need to stand up once again
Sometimes might be disfavor
A little away, a purple garden
Rather you hold a dream poem
For the New Sunshine
Somewhere Someone preparing
your birthday cake in the oven
Off course to bring a new day
yet there, a night of moonless May
~~
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC
Snow cone twists
Far ivory countryside
Season’s change exists
A stern mother nature’s pride
Foothills that resemble cream pies
Coating pointy flakes a mile high
Birds take cover
To find a feathery mother
Try to resist nature’s feverish fight
And hide from the silvery night
Moon beams its pearly opals
Thru rainbow colored window chapels
In the nest
Little birds try their best
Huddled up
Till daybreak
They might delight
In the white sparkle sunlight
Snowy course
A bitter adventure for the strong farmhorse
Powder puff
It kicks it up like dust
Spring a strong sense
With snow that is no longer dense
Temperatures waver
An ice storm disfavor
Crystal drops
From frozen tree tops
The chirps begin
With a little more earthly spin
Melting snow
Begins to flow
Moving water a strong force
Becomes quite the
Snowy watercourse
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 8:20 PM UTC
'what do you
want to be when
you grow up?'
'what do you plan
to do with your life?'
'you can't make money
doing
that....'
this age old question
acts as
the intersection
between dreams
and reality
people ask this question
and i am rendered speechless
a voice lost in the
howling wind of promise
their piercing,
expectant gaze
like paparazzi
cameras
i put on a mask
my own shadows
loom in the night
'oh maybe,
i'll be a nurse
or a pharmacist'
i am safe
as warm approving
nods beckon
'oh i want to be
a writer'
nods turn
to disfavor
like a star
falling out of the sky
when has
authentic happiness
become a servant
to dishonest disinterest?
(b.d.s.)
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
An aesthetic storm settled in the
wee hours of creation.
What of it strikes favor or disfavor?
Beauty's immediacy comes with
fatalistic sweep--demanding
principle, demanding ground.
Unveiled beyond time constraint
all over our world--in praise, in
revulsion, eyes score the gamut.
As if image begs love, to be so...
or unrequited.
What's plain of light exposes all
flaw or beauty in a single sitting.
The sitters vary the material world,
with eyes creation asks us to paint
what we see.
The eyes paint the sitter if the sitter
be deemed beautiful, instantaneously
sight's canvas may be left cold...
burdened.
Beauty aspires to affirmation of being,
to have it echoed.
Beauty's lain raw, holds what's held it--
as such...desolation is easy.
Eyes bespeak their volumes...beautiful
or ugly?
A sightly, unsightly moment given to the perpetual.
Epidemic pageantry--ordered by creation
make due...irregardless.
If beauty--eyes are for you--if ugly...eyes
are not.
Thus...of being, of affirmation, of visible,
of invisible--you...beauty are.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
If I said that I loved my life that wouldn't be the truth,
but if I said that I hated it, I'd still be lying,
it's not what I wanted for myself when I was a youth,
**** it, I don't care, I'm gonna keep on trying,
to get with this dream in which the means stay unseen,
to do what I want and and still fulfill what I need,
to get to the top and still remain humble,
to catch my happy ending no matter much I've fumbled,
I'll go through the trials, I'll pay all my dues,
and I won't just be another of the million fuckin' yous.
I'll stay strong even though I have substantial weakness,
I'll keep positive when it seems like naught but bleakness,
I can have my cake and eat it if I pick a different flavor,
One step at a time, walk the line, out of my own disfavor.
My life is my own, no matter what you have told, just need to find a new perception,
Though it's drastically altered, the life of the father does not end at conception.
When his mom left, I lost my son in my mind,
in dark times, I went out in public to hide,
the drink was my best friend, my lover,
I couldn't tell one day apart from another,
when I went to bed every night, my thoughts were the same,
what's the best place in my house to tie a rope to hang,
Then I wanted to just leave, go Californi-way,
but my sanity resurfaced, begging me to stay,
told me I need to stop thinking just of what I want now,
get this veil in front of my eyes to lift somehow,
I need to fight for what's really important,
and I can't do it all, I'm not omnipotent,
but the worst fear that I've ever ******* had,
is my son to not know me, not recognize his dad,
so no matter what, that's objective number one,
and for once in my life, I won't hide, I won't run.
Rap's not my career, I’d like it to be,
but the eight ball says, “Outlook is bleak”,
So I went back to school, to get a degree,
cause sometimes you gotta tie yourself down to be free.
Not what I dreamed as a kid, but I'm not a kid anymore,
I'm getting with the idea of being a capitalist *****
The great thing about dreams is that there's malleable,
I don't have to give up if one goes unfulfilled,
A fork in the road is not a dead end,
and my soul's not yet so broken that I can not mend.
So I'll walk this path, doing what I'd rather not,
so that in the end I'll have what I really want,
the respect of my son, and life free of poverty,
a home on the water, whatever body it may be,
and when I close my eyes for my final rest,
to review my life with minimal regrets.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 6:36 PM UTC
He is a shattered mirror,
with no purpose.
His jagged edges let the world know
that he is trouble,
and trouble shows no mercy.
He lies to me,
but he doesn't care.
His only purpose is to mock,
making me doubt the things I have.
His reflected surface forces me
to disfavor myself,
wishing that I were someone different.
His cracked images twist me,
deforming who I truly am.
I attempt to look beyond his flaws,
but I am engrossed in his disturbed memories,
studying every reasoned blemish,
trying to distinguish the cause.
After learning his history,
I know his distressed faults.
Every scratch an untold story.
Every crack an unread book.
When you look closely,
you start to see the unintended beauty.
When the light shines on him,
his brilliance illuminates.
Every flaw is now radiant,
bursting with flourished creations.
His dark side is masked behind allurement,
astonishing me.
But the light soon fades,
leaving behind the same him I've always known.
His beauty is gone,
leaving him shattered like before.
He attempts to change me again,
but I walk away.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
You look at me with that look
Of disfavor of my deviate thoughts
Thinking that I'm just an open book
You’re pulling out all your shots
You’re making all your sly comments
Thinking it goes over my head
Without the knowledge of the contents
When I say what you don't want to hear
Who’s the first person to knock it down?
Strike out the fear
So I'll sit back and try not to care
For the lack thereof creativity is all that you fear.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 8:22 PM UTC
Lonely on a summer eve'
I reckon I've but my pet peeve
Friends calling up here and there
Staring into my window flair
Waking up to see me smile
Yet I cannot seem to dial
As I cannot recall the numbers
And my fingers struggle like cucumbers
Hardly bearing the cold of night
To just for once disfavor a sensational flight..
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
Grim caress of isolation, a heavenly cry demanding redemption. Craven endowment my falsehood of truth- breathless despair and vast prudence. Walk with me into the maw of our oblique future... We find ourselves at the shores of revision, to trust in avertable needs. I am immolation, you are a privilege. Shameful ways and harmful words, for a thousands suns could not lumminate these woods. You are without a face, divine and out of reach, a partisan of faith, with a lifetime to be. The enigma of the lost forever in disfavor. Unfamiliar with the now ohh the burden of desire.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
***These denizens of creation
fall short in our bifurcated minds..
We render ourselves
as the conscious ones
find disfavor on those below..
Yet now with a quantum question
we ask who is conscious
and consulting our experience
which is always at ready
an answer returns:
not dogs, not cats, not plants or rocks
and amazingly not our divided selves..
The quantum question receives its answer:
only consciousness is conscious..
This fearful response
settles into freedom
for all those dogs and cats and all...***
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 11:51 PM UTC
my heart is a violin, you played with my heart strings
I was hungry for love, but now for happiness I'm starving
darling, my mind is a movie theater and it's our memories I'm watching
scarring my mind, you're still a part of me
but now I can give up trying to be what you want to see
honestly, the memories are good but I want an eraser
because when I say goodbye, I'll just see you in my mind later
you colored my life with marker, but now I'm starting to see grayer
I disfavor everything that we turned to
you lit my paper heart and I'm sorry that it burned you
I turned to the worst, I got out of hand
spilling dramatic feelings like an emotional soda can
but I had the right to be angry and people are different when they're mad
although you knew you had the knife, and you even took a stab
so is it my fault? it's what I wonder in the ending
because everything was so flawless from that perfect beginning
but I guess we're mismatched puzzle pieces, we can no longer connect
so I'm left with your frog bag of memories, trying to dissect
electing for the memories to go and pass me like a car
but I can only throw my baseball of a heart so far,
and so far it really ***** but I guess it's for the better
and you'll always be a part of me, but no longer warm me like a sweater
and so far it really ***** but I guess it's for the better
things would be different if it was later that I met her
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Pull your blanket above your head at night
and you might feel comfort in the dark.
-
I behold the abyss and am calmed.
-
The darkness ironically scares you,
you cannot help but think of the creatures.
-
I have walked with the Devil and was not alarmed.
-
Blood rushes to your head, you fear
what may come next and panic.
-
I see black only because I close my eyes
and welcome death.
-
You wonder why you get nothing you’ve asked for.
-
I wake up and wonder why I didn’t pass in the night,
allowing someone more suitable to be here.
-
You regard me with disfavor and hatred.
-
I barely glance at you to save what pity I have left.
-
You gaze into the darkness,
-
I Return The Stare.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
knowing our luminous self
renders all else as commentary..
story is then recognized as story
and the facts in the morning paper
whatever their favor or disfavor
become simply a part of the story..
this recognition of our luminosity
is a gateway to freedom..
a gateway for which we have
searched..perhaps until this morning..
a gateway in plain sight..hidden only
by our immersion in story...
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 2:45 PM UTC
oh ache,
let me praise thee
let my voice rise
and in turn upraise thee
oh ache,
love in disfavor,
flung to the walls
of the heart's many chambers
you possess vision
like a dark pool that speaks
through the mouth of the vessel
in lifetimes or weeks
oh ache,
lost underwater,
wait a little longer
to breathe again.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC