"disgracing" poems
Rip the saintly halo
From above your hallowed brow
To see how it obscured
A deep satanic vow
As through your skull are sprouted
Two twisted bony horns:
A rose no more disgracing
A beautiful stem of thorns
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 1:19 PM UTC
I...
think...
I...
like...
crazily chasing concocted crushes
however hasty high hopes
earnestly entangled erstwhile enthusiasm
left languishing limp lethargic
suddenly soundless stupidly selfish
every emotion enviously expectant
an abject apology absent
purposeful pleasure purportedly posed
unearthed unhealthy ungainly uncertainties
devouring devotion disgracing dogma
an accident awaiting arrival
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
Looking up, at the man on the wall,
waiting for the day he finally falls.
Standing proudly, standing tall,
waiting for the day he finally falls.
A trial of nature verses man,
the destruction is getting out of hand.
Over reliance of the Amazon,
if we don't stop, it will soon be gone.
Continuous polluting of the atmosphere,
causing the world to live in fear.
This is what has become of all mankind,
we're turning into muted minds.
Looking up, at the man on the wall,
waiting for the day he finally falls.
Standing proudly, standing tall,
waiting for the day he finally falls.
International egos, out of control,
we need to look at the world as a whole.
The government has gained to much power,
it's time to take back what's ours.
Technology advancing far too fast,
becoming societies cast.
We're disgracing all of mankind,
preferring machine over mind.
Looking up, at the man on the wall,
waiting for the day he finally falls.
Standing proudly, standing tall,
waiting for the day he finally falls.
We are the man on the wall,
waiting for ourselves to fall.
Standing proudly, standing tall,
we will be the creators of our downfall.
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 9:48 AM UTC
In a beautiful land,
Where there is meant to be verdant plains,
Anointed with blossoming bird cherries and daisies,
Remarkably fertile and lush,
Tainted with venom stains,
Leaving her soil sterile and depleted.
Beyond the plethora of satin valleys,
Below the large mound,
Lies a lithe serpent,
Supinely resting above two boulders,
Plaguing what should be a tenderly elegant land.
Legends speak of a panacea,
In the form of a magical elixir,
Created by a majestic fairy,
Powerful enough to make the rocky terrain,
Morph into a gentle and fecund prairie.
Prayers to the Goddesses are chanted,
Yet no answers are given,
No growth has been noticed,
From the hundreds of seeds that have been planted.
The inhabitants of the land,
Grow jaded,
As the beauty of the area has faded,
So the potion of a witch is implemented,
As the words are muttered of ancient spells,
To save the land where the serpent dwells.
The rough and jagged edges begin,
To transform into softness and beautiful curves,
And it seems the land has been stripped of its sin,
Yet the Spell could not vanquish the serpent,
The acrid taste of venom lingers,
Disgracing the sacred valley.
The land's beauty returns,
Exuding an alluring aroma,
Enticing the humans to once again reside,
Within her realm,
As eye-opening conviction blazingly burns,
But no potion is artful enough,
To purge the prairie of the serpent's presence,
Nor its pride!
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
Not death
Breathe slow
Past coil
Jealous?
We don't know
Sad as plain sight
Fake intents
Misdirection and dense
Regrets for tomorrow
Until the demon runs
Mind will be blank
Conscious without reprimand
Disgracing self
And projected shadows
Into millenium of words
That trick only inside
Gross and perfect
Figured somewhat insect
Fear of movement
Ready to read
Never to explore
A monster that is a bore
No true faces
Just stolen ink
Anger in three ports
Without the eyes to close
Ever so unsubtle
Render one cold
With love as slow as shell
Until they grow the verdure fungus
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
A hard hit
Dank ****
Flickering emotion
As a cigarette
Any other ***** any other *****
All the same
Own it.
Mucus infused spit
Struggled release of welcomed grip
**** THIS ****
**** EVERYBODY, **** EVERY BODY.
All the lies you ever told me
Every dream you ever sold me
You own me
The Devil in you stole my soul from me.
I am surrounded by lonely
Has my heart disowned me?
Or am I as phony as cheap bologna?
Hyping myself up for what is already unfolding
Disgracing my face
For meaningless embrace
Reaching out for my one and only.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
A touch,
it only takes one,
my mind comes undone.
I want only what I see,
set me free,
you hear my plea.
Your hands wander,
no time to ponder.
Essential satisfaction,
enact a chain reaction
in this disgracing interaction.
I'm buried beneath.
Thoughts break.
Body ache.
I shake.
Cessation.
Sensation.
Fixation.
No one gets to see this side of you,
the only one that's tried and true.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 2:08 PM UTC
Eris
The press of
some boy’s
Levi rivets
on my hips
and liking it.
School girl poppets,
******* scraps
thrown in our faces.
A policeman
asking Eris
the colour of the
wanking man’s pants.
Fleshy pink she laughs.
Mysteries at 14.
Eris knows men
with fast cars.
Fast hands.
We fast forward
to forget most bits.
Never question
why we are taken,
we never
speak of it.
Why bother,
my mother’s drunk
with the man
whose daughter
Eris is.
Mysteries at 14.
I’m told
no alcohol.
There’s nothing
worse
than teenage girls
disgracing themselves.
Stay nice.
My father’s charcoal
drawing
on our wall
of the woman
with the
pointy *******
She is Eris’s mother.
Double standard
mysteries at 14.
Eris is taller than me,
blocks my way
with her back
as I try to leave.
Stay she says.
Scent of lemon
on her blonde hair,
caught up in a ponytail.
I flinch
as she flicks
it to one side,
like a stamping palomino.
Strands caught
by the butterflies
pinning
the gold studs
to her ears.
Blonde in my mouth,
lemon on my tongue,
best friend,
girlfriend crush.
She turns,
dissolute and desolate.
Eris says we’re enjoying it,
all the mysteries at 14
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 5:49 AM UTC
Why can't the rain be seen as beautiful
Like it asked to be the symbol of depression
Why does the world see it as being the dark Lord of the night
As if its dropping are toxic waste ready to burn us all away
Why must the rain be viewed as pure ugliness
As if what it has done for us mean absolutely nothing
Doesn't it mean something
It has watered the crops that feed us
Gave us hope when none existed
But instead of being praised like it should be...
It is viewed as the god of destruction just like its counterpart fire
Another understood element
Rain...they sing songs about it
Wishing it to go away
Disgracing its name
Again calling it,"destruction"
But the way I see it...
Us being humans have no right to be calling anyone destructive
We have caused more destruction than rain could ever imagine
So in my eyes...natures eyes
Rain is beautiful and it is we who are the uglies
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Shame! What it is.
Unlike guilt, makes your soul wilt,
unlike guilt, shame focuses on blame!
Your experience?
Pain!
No repentance,
no contrition,
no sincere abolition,
all about condemnation!
You ask yourself,
Would you leave if you knew me,
Would you scold me?,
or Would you hold me while I shake uncontrollably?!
Shame!
A cycle of pain,
ruptures and fissures,
Grace?
There’s no space!
Instead a race to hide,
not to confide.
Keeping secrets,
keeping pain,
Being broken,
being shamed.
Disgracing your nation,
Facing temptation,
Experiencing alienation.
Cultures clashing,
teeth gnashing,
self-bashing,
Shame,
what it is!
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 12:18 PM UTC
Why can't the rain be seen as beautiful
Like it asked to be the symbol of depression
Why does the world see it as being the dark Lord of the night
As if its dropping are toxic waste ready to burn us all away
Why must the rain be viewed as pure ugliness
As if what it has done for us mean absolutely nothing
Doesn't it mean something
It has watered the crops that feed us
Gave us hope when none existed
But instead of being praised like it should be...
It is viewed as the god of destruction just like its counterpart fire
Another understood element
Rain...they sing songs about it
Wishing it to go away
Disgracing its name
Again calling it,"destruction"
But the way I see it...
Us being humans have no right to be calling anyone destructive
We have caused more destruction than rain could ever imagine
So in my eyes...natures eyes
Rain is beautiful and it is we who are the uglies
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
I've been conversing with people that don't know me
Contemplating about people that have no desire to know me
And fixating on people that will never be mine
Yet I keep praying,
Disgracing and degrading
Humiliating and abusing
My own soul, for people that never take the time to give me any loving, any caring.
People that are never caught appreciating but keep using what they keep breaking.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
You ponder alone in darkness,
Disgracing your personal image is an uncontrollable pleasure,
Don't hurt,
Don't feel,
Cleanse your inner complection clear of unhappiness,
I'm here for you,
Lift your chin.
Let me kiss those seeping tears,
You cry when you feel happy,
A feeling new to your emotions,
Let it bleed through and stain,
Lift your chin.
Let me love you, forever,
I'll protect you from these unidentified flying emotions,
I can be your self-control,
Only letting love, happiness, and joy into our house,
Lift your chin.
I love you,
Nothing else matters,
I can be your only friend if it makes you warm on winter days,
Don't be lonely,
You have my heart, forever,
I can sing your song on rainy days,
I can tickle the tear duct for you,
Shaking loose the last few droplets for this puddle of sadness,
Lift your chin.
I'm here love,
Don't stress,
Don't tremble,
Do you hear that?
My heart pounds for your love,
A drum with a never ending metronome,
Each beat running on infinite happiness,
Lift your chin.
I'm grasping your nervous palms,
They are moist with worry,
But you're comfortable in my eyes,
You're lovely,
No one stretches this smile wider than you do,
Do you see my tears?
They contain no sorrow,
They leak for you,
Tears that speak of your beauty with every drop,
A warm sensation that disguises your goosebumps,
Somewhere you're reading my words, aren't you?
They make your head spin like a basketball on one finger,
Left your chin.
Let me in, forever,
Keep your head high, forever,
When you cry, I will be there with a kiss,
Mopping your sorrows away,
Until my dying day,
Lift that chin.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
Like an angel forsaken and dipped in hellfire,
*she was a girl of many things and many talents when the school ******
don't really expire,
she was a good liar,
she was something more electric like a live wire,
Did so many things that she wasn't proud of that a real teen wouldn't do,
girls all over school disgracing her name , like just be glad it wasn't you,
been at it since 8th grade and still ain't change in the actual,
But a nice home , good man ,two kids and a dog would be virtual,
Almost like a simulation because she thinks it won't ever happen,
remembering her last boyfriend , her was eyes were blackened,
was never a role model , she'd tell them to join the wagon,
i'll meet you at the bus stop,
As beautiful as heaven and destructive like her dad,
lived at nana's house to go to school , she was the only one she had,
and she was always sad,
because her grand daughter that she loved dearly was simply
going mad,
Had her first child with a guy that'll never leave her side,
that'll never black her eyes , that'll never make her cry,
but instead in the midst of situations he would dry her eyes,
took her to rehab and showed how to be a strong person,
He Saved her life before her life could even worsen,
I see your happy at the bus stop.
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
It must seem startling
Almost petrifying
Knowing the one man
Willing to sacrifice it all for you
Is two inches of his **** deep
In some pretty little town *****
Mocking the vows he made you
As he wears his sins
Like a badge of honor
****** sashes
Instagram post of them all
Blocking you from facebook
Changing passwords and hiding behind closed doors
Running from himself
More than shying away from you
Disgracing you with all 26 women
And you know them by name
Their your best friends
Colleagues and co-workers
Your 27 and still only one question lingers
For all the times he ****** you
He made love to another woman too
So how much does he love you
When I bleed when you can't cry?
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC
It is a great honour to serve Fatherland,
To die for Motherland is honour greater,
So that all say: “It’s necessary to live in that
Manner!”So that roths’ hundred came to funeral feast later!
But, it stands to reason, is in dreams all this,
In practice, this is so fierce reality,
Often die at their posts soldiers,
Not in war’s day—this is terrible banality.
A commander cynical, satisfied
Will send a letter to a soldier’s mother
That Ivanov “disgracing his uniform died,
Setting explosives to blow himself up and
It’s not the military unit’s fault farther…”
And the grief-stricken mother washing down with
Corvalol her terrible heart attack,
Will begin to die quietly at home time this,
By the letter as by a judgement struck.
And the local policeman’ll come to her
Once to question her neighbours in time.
Her neighbours’ll say: “Perhaps, she’s not living more,
We have not heard her walk for a long time.”
The local policeman will open her
Door, the soldier’s mother seeing one day,
He’ll describe her body. Believe it or not any more
“The military unit’s right”, they say.
{21.02.2020}
БОЛЬШАЯ ЧЕСТЬ ОТЕЧЕСТВУ СЛУЖИТЬ
Большая честь Отечеству служить,
Честь бо́льшая – погибнуть за Отчизну,
Чтоб говорили все: «ТАК надо жить!»,
Чтоб сотня рот пришла на эту тризну!
Но это всё, естественно, в мечтах –
На практике – суровая реальность:
Солдаты умирают на постах!
Не в дни войны! Ужасная банальность!
Довольный и циничный командир
Пришлёт письмо для матери солдата:
Что «Иванов, позоря свой мундир…
Самоподрыв… но часть не виновата…»
И горем ошарашенная мать,
Запив сердечный приступ корвалолом,
Начнёт тихонько дома умирать,
Сражённая письмом, как приговором.
И как-то участковый к ней придёт
Для сектора жилого отработки.
Соседи скажут: «Видно не живёт –
Давно её не слышали походки!»
И участковый вскроет сразу дверь.
Увидев тело матери солдата,
Опишет труп. И верь или не верь,
Но говорят, что «часть не виновата»…
{21.02.2020}
Translator - I. Toporov
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 3:32 PM UTC
My cute
Adorable
Naive Saint
I love you
I really do
But I'm a
Crude
Nasty Demon
I could never bring myself
Or let you
Get involved with me
I'm *****
You're pure
I have the vocabulary of a sailor
You speak oh so modestly
I think badly of people easy
You thing everyone's good no matter what
While I vent, ***** and moan
You blame yourself and think you need the change
As quick I am to condem
You are forgiving
You are everything I once was
Always kind
Forever forgiving
Naively sweet
Adorably innocent
Things I never be again
Not after all I have seen
And done
I fear that if I were to touch you
You would slowly become stained
Like me
I can't do that to you
You're too special
I can't
I won't
I know that if you knew how I think
You'd take pity on me
You'd let me take advantage of your kindness
And not think anything of it
It's not fair of me
But I love you
It's not right
But I crave you
Your laugh
Your voice
Your sweet words
Your kind heart
Just you
I haven't fallen this hard for someone in so long
Not since the one who made me this demon
I had all but forgotten what it felt like to love
To feel giddy at the mention of a name
To feel nervous at the sight of a face
To feel giggly at the sound of a voice
You saved me
Saved me from an unfeeling numbness
I thank you for giving me those feelings back
My thanks will be not acting on them
I feel that if I were to act on them
Then I would be a disgracing them
And you
I can't
I won't
***** you
I couldn't do that
Not to you
My naive Saint
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
Living in this world, that is filled with doubts,
Others are silent, but I had to shout,
Release all my thoughts that I think of you, whether their lies, or maybe true,
Walking on the street feeling so ashamed, people are talking,
Disgracing my name, don't feel to eat, or even drink,
All I can do, is sit, cry and think,
This is just a bad phase of life I know, evil people in my face they show, don't want to give up everything I need, although; the talking’s on my mind it feeds,
Feeling very sad, self esteem so low, why am I always sad, no one knows
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
This will be the only poem here that I do not first write in my notebook.
Because it is not meant for me, it is meant for you,
this community.
A community where writers dare to write,
and judgement is not cast, no.
Where everyone knows and understands that the words are just that --
our own, and just words,
and that disagreeing, shamefully disgracing, and harming another
would only harm the community.
A community with hearts of gold and understanding in the darkest
of all of our times.
We know that when we are feeling worst, or better,
our best,
we can spill ourselves onto paper, and then this screen,
or skip the paper (but I will only this once!),
and we will be welcomed with open arms
to those that understand
on the fundamental level what it is to love and to lose,
and to those that will not cast their own bias toward us.
And although I only post infrequently,
and love and share others' poetry even less infrequently
(I always and will always feel guilty about my lack
of contribution to this beautiful place),
I know that this is the place that has literally,
yes, literally,
the best people around.
Even though I haven't been around much,
I've never been met with a word that was less than kind,
and I think that the world should strive to be like you,
each and every one of you,
this community.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC
My heart literally tears in two when someone tells me "Writing is boring, i wish it didn't exist, it doesn't benefit a person in any way." It's like a part of me passes away at the sound of those words and all I can think is "how can someone think so negatively about something so beautiful?" I am so in love with writing the thought of anyone disgracing it is enough to make me cry.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
Lay me six feet under
Don't cover my scars
'I'm sorry' carved into my skin
A bullet wound disgracing my skin
A hole in my heart
Literally
Tell my mistakes
My imperfections
My good memories
The bad ones too
Let everyone know what made me
Publish my book
Set me free.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
You were a bright star
In the darkest sky
You were the red tulip
Among the garden's flowers
Every society or circle
Was proud to have you
It was not a surprise
Many were envious of you
They told lies and gossips
In every chance they had
They finally could succeed
In disgracing you anyway
All those liars and gossips
They were in my favour
I could prove myself as
The only honest lover
All other lovers of you
Judged by ears and eyes
I, in contrast to them
Used just my heart's eye
Ears and eyes on the head
Could sometimes be deceived
But who can see and hear
By heart, never gets lost
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 12:44 AM UTC
Dear Diary,
Today I remember I exist.
Isn’t it funny that I usually forget until I am about to go to sleep.
I made myself a cup of tea, and witnessed the holy wisps of ephemerality returning to the world of ambiguity.
Does it always do that?
You probably think I’m going to express my inner thoughts about how beautiful life is, or better yet, lament the incessant and persistent struggle of pain, but nevertheless find solace in some transcendent nothingness.
Maybe.
I mean, how many poets and philosophers does it take to repeat the sacred mantra –
I am That.
Not me, I am no poet. No philosopher.
No lover of the unloved.
No embracer of the unwanted.
Right now I have no plans.
I am slowly sipping green tea, transitioning between talking to you,
a niggun beckoning me to go out on a search for lost goats on Judean Hills,
and finding childish joy from vanishing smoke.
This may be my greatest poem yet. A true ode to the ineffable.
The interesting thing about remembering is that you totally forget what you were doing before you started remembering.
I wonder what I forgot this time.
I dreamt last night that my Zeidy shouted at me for disgracing the family.
Pain. Unreal. Irrelevant.
If this how Job felt when he remembered he existed?
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 12:34 PM UTC