"dishonestly" poems
An absence reversed
Beheld
Belonging
Fuming lush greenery seemingly
Between the frothing
Soup and lather twinkling
Speaking
"Tradition may act dishonestly"
All and sundry
Trails along merrily
For traditionally
All is how it should be
Belonging to one and only.
Binding
A trade between the thin lines
A baking sheet made sprayed messy
Artists in threes
Shakers of mountains for invisible ease
The truth is simply
Things done traditionally
All-in consuming historically.
Flesh
Released
Is fresh
Relief
Hidden in the fabric's sleeve
A gaping passage of air and breeze
Racing electricity
Breathtaking silk from worms
And worms eaten by birds
Tradition
Sewing the dresses of Empress the third.
Halt
Her plea worth salt and sugar
Still
Like the skater's
Minted odour
Hope
Distances the valleys low dipped to the everlasted rivers
Where a time arrives for eternal celebration.
The embellishments of
Unwavered tradition.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
You hold the hair dryer in your hand
Blowing hot air right at your man
Looks so nice right after the cut
Talking about *** gives them enough
Your stories keep them on the edge
What you do behind his back
How your needs aren’t met
Glad you use contraception
Underneath the veil of deception
What happened to make you this way
Thinking that cheating is ok
Betraying all your lovers trust
All your love turns to rust
Flip em over, do it again
Theres always something
That’s wrong with the men
So shallow to look inside
Find out where your fear hides
You don’t need a good reputation
Underneath the veil of deception
Someday soon you will see
That things don’t work dishonestly
Try to see from the other side
If you were deceived could you abide?
Karma isn’t a new ideal
See you one day when you are real
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
I'm perfectly imperfect
That's what they always say
I'm crookedly straight
But I'm far from gay
I forever speak my mind
Always and all day
My heart is on my sleeve
But guarded all the same
I'm devilishly innocent
My mind is not so tame
I'm dishonestly truthful
But never take the blame
I'm completely backwards
We can never be the same
To me upwards is downwards
The sky's my only ground
Your life I can still ruin
It is with in my bounds
I'm depressingly happy
There is no middle ground
My version of earth is flat...
Why should it be round?
My earth is a work of art
With colours everywhere
Your world I broke and ripped apart
Just to prove I don't fit there
I tore it up in little bits
I left the pieces without a care
I'm completely backwards
I'm such a major scare
I'm nationally local
You can see me all the time
I can disappear into thin air
Leaving you without a rhyme
For I'm melodically harmonious
No brighter than the dullest shine
I'm incomprehensibly real
And yet so hard to find
Pure white to me is simple black
Race is gone and can't come back
I can prove all that I am
A thing to which you surely lack
I'm disrespectfully respectful
My words are always fact
I'm completely backwards
I'll drive you past insane
Then I'll never bring you back
I'm illegally legal
Like a drug that you can't sell
I'm contrastingly bendable
In this world of my own hell
I'm resistingly irresistible
My secrets you will never tell
I'm obscenely lovable
In this world in which I fell
I landed in this twisted place
A world of expectations
This world I created on my own
For I'm an undertone of exaggeration
Here I've found my only home
In a backwards world of my creation
And all in all I'm here to say
"I'm completely backwards
In every single way"
Sep 10, 2009
Sep 10, 2009 at 12:49 PM UTC
I made this curse many lifetimes ago,
while in my cave in the high Himalayas,
when watching humanity, like ants scurrying around in the dust,
I saw clearly the insane and evil mess
that all religions and all political systems
would drag humanity into eventually.
It could only be done with the unquestioning
cooperation of the masses.
The curse is working its way to fulfilment
as I write--nation fighting nation-- priests of all "religions"
blessing their countries paid murderers,
urging ,indeed,ordering men and women
to go out and wage war in their "gods" or "goddesses" name..
Insane evil people hating strangers, tellers of lies
are pouring their depraved energies into attempting to ****
as many people as they can.
And liberal poetical democrats who are usually
either monarchist right wing oligarchy slaves or
dictatorial left wing socialist oligarchy slaves are
wallowing in generational hatred by supporting
this filth on the sole of humanities shoe.
reiterating lies as truth and calling for people to slaughter while
"liberal"politicians speak dishonestly about freedom and justice for the
supporters of this religious and political hatred.
United Nations?.
Gimme a break!.
The people must lie down and offer their throats to these liberal scumbags knives.
While human shields are used to **** innocents live on TV
for the ongoing campaign of lies and deceit.
Tahiyaa.
A curse on all your houses.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
One question is almost always answered dishonestly. And most times with the dishonest answer, “I’m just tired.” But we aren’t. Not in the way we want it to sound to the person asking us if we’re okay, and we even lie with that a little to ourselves because it could be true- we are tired- but not from lack of sleep, rather and more truly from lack of belonging. A lack of enthusiasm for people, a lack of togetherness, a lack of luster for the world that we find ourselves in. We are stuck in a paradox of our own making, sometimes we feel so empty and disconnected from the world that when we feel that way we lie- furthering our own disconnect. Perhaps, if by some great grunt of force we were able to lift the weight of fear that is is our perceived weakness off of our backs maybe our voices would be less strained and more apt to answer honestly about the disconnect we feel rather than perpetuate its existence in a lie. We are the hands that feed our own loneliness and we bite ourselves time and time again because we can’t admit there is a problem. We can't be seen as weak. We condition ourselves to believe loneliness is a disease and it can be spread with a single sneeze that could lead to the death of our strong egos. So we use lies like tissues and cover up the fact that we feel alone forever fearful that someone else will catch it and reflect to us our own emptiness. Why condemn weakness and the feeling of emptiness to the fate of a negative connotation? Cry in public. See how many strangers comfort you. See how human this feeling is. Embrace it. Answer that person honestly. Hug someone who is sick from loneliness and catch their illness and let that be a bond that in itself cures the disease.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
There is a boy i know,
inside the body of a man.
A Great Man.
A Man that has know the follies and endearment of love, dishonestly, mistrust and pain.
And this Man is a Knight.
He is not in shining armour.
He has been beaten many times in his quest, for love.
This man is my past, my present and my future.
He is the twin i never had.
We are so identical that our quests are forged from the same steel.
Alike in both identity, valour and honour,
we feel, every instrument against our chest.
And beneath the very skin of our shirts,
beats the same rhythm, the same beat to the same drum;
we are love, and love we do become.
He is my saviour, my leige, my mission and my lifes work.
He is without any shadow of a doubt my conscious worry, and my passionate war;
You, who i write this for, are my akin to my baby, my constant, my blood.
You are, by far, the best man i have ever met,
not a day goes by, that i wish i had done something more,
to help you,
in your growing up,
and your strife in love, your life and future thoughts.
You are a man, now, my boy.
You are always here, in between my ribcage, underneath my armour,
beneath my beat.
You make me proud to even be by your side,
and nothing with change that,
nothing,
no job, no woman, not decision or choice,
nothing.
Do not forget, you are not alone in these battles,
we are together, as one,
and i will stand my ground for you til the days end,
and the sun rises again.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
I hide everything away
"Everything is ok" is my motto, my go to phrase
******* everything is ok
Ok
I am alright
Everything is A-ok
No, really, it is
Well, maybe some things are ok
Somewhere
Maybe someone's ok
Ok?
But honestly
I'm not ok
Dishonestly I'm ok
And I'm tired of pretending to be ok
Because everything is not ok
Nothing is ok
Do you understand that?
Do you see it?
Or do you think I'm actually ok?
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 4:06 AM UTC
Somebody sleeps in my bed alone.
I watch his lungs rise and fall as he rests.
I can hear his heartbeat tighten as he dreams terrible dreams.
I can see his hands clasp tightly when he thinks of his situation.
His legs move constantly, restless, because his thoughts are the same.
He wakes up every morning and hates.
He opens his eyes to terrible noises, and stares.
Why can't I sleep forever, thinking out loud. I can hear him.
Why can't I awake to her eyes and smile and hips like we dreamed?
He gets up. He touches his clock. It dies. He was statically charged. Again.
The water doesn't help. Or the soap.
His pity attempt to clean his long, tangled hair.
His half-awake thoughts while staring at the white walls.
He's thinking of women. And sleeping. And sleeping with them.
Or rather, he's thinking of her. Sometimes it's his "lover," sometimes it's his regret.
More sleep. Clothes.
A suit today, he wanted compliments.
A briefcase. **** I look snazzy.* He smiles in the mirror.
Your perfect smile is fading. He interjects as if only to sting before leaving.
I watch him trudge out the door only to start freezing. But he's already frozen.
Thoughtlessly driving. No seat-belt.
At least I'll die in my funeral outfit if I do.
He arrives, throwing on a fake smile for the eyes around him.
Music. Mind numbing practice with his golden instrument's sound.
I watch him sit there, stretching his legs, listening with awakened ears.
"Why are you dressed up."
"Because." "Because why?" "Because I am."
Most people would quit there, but there must be a reason.
They keep pressing him. He gets annoyed, but not yet frustrated.
He smiles and answers their questions dishonestly. He always does.
A fake smile for everyone.
*It would be so much easier to live this life,
If I could stop thinking of her. But I can't. And won't.
We spoke. We made new words, but no new promises.
Promises always hurt. Even when they're followed through.*
He opens his phone.
Browsing for that photo of her.
New, in a sense, though it is still old her.
So young. So bold. So sad. So beautiful. Wanted.
Why won't she talk to me. She said we wouldn't do this!
"The oak and the cypress,
Do not grow in each-others' shade."
I know, old man, but when my tree thrives in darkness,
Why can it not find a properly emitting source, especially from her.
She was so close. She was my waking spark. And now she won't even...
The oak and the cypress.
Staring into different corners of the forest.
Still only feet apart.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
I slipped under her skin to live a short life before living
I wanted to give myself one last try
One last attempt to understand
A last chance before deciding
If I was wrong or right to leave you all to your own devices
Our ideas are spoken dishonestly
Our words are thought truthfully
sympathy is ignored
empathy is rejected
I cut the connection shared through thought and spirit
Because you claimed yourselves being held captive
I severed the bonds that in truth united us
Because you accused them of being chains about your neck
I played along and set you free
Free to do or say as you please
But in freedom you gave way to hypocrisy
And lovelessly enslaved your humanity
Freedom to imprison themselves ironically once more
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
A mouths fixed curvature is
dishonestly deceiving,
The truth eyed in retinas
beaming a darker side.
Worn in charades to conceal
authentic feeling a mask,
contorted pleasure in its
fraudulent extortion.
Smile in artificial laugh
eyes are mocking with disdain.
Malice in stiff mouths facades.
a cardboard mask is worn
Irises in verity
cannot conceal a nature,
smirking in honest contempt,
a grin harbouring a soul.
©Jacqui Slade
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 6:33 AM UTC
Who would have thought
she would ever do;
when they conspired and told
the secrets an artifice holds.
show me what's the sense
to gratify a wish
or catching a fish
in speaking of good things
and genuine thoughts
making them, lifting them up
but when you stumble you'll see
the negation of a being.
for every place you see your feet
on the same slippers & jeans
and with every person you speak,
you think again and again
if it's worth it or rather be grim.
with one step forward you stutter
but with a stratagem in mind
you'd do it all again and take the trophy.
you shush them up and then you go home;
you hear whispers, but tries to numb more;
with one pivot of words aback
you won't say a thing or two
with one spark of a little
you either bleed or chipper.
it's not insensitivity. it's not glitter.
the insolence of a child and dishonestly of fate.
but the wind is still rocking the chair
so where does it go, when all else fails?
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Painting my mask with colours
Reds, greens and blues
Tainting my shell with patterns
Stripes, dots and hues
Wearing my mask I leave
Strutting down the streets
Inside, my soul miserably grieves
Once I return to my sheets
The mask I decorated so strikingly
The mask I wear so elegantly
The mask I hold so sincerely
Is the mask I fashioned with dishonestly
Painting my mask with cries
Blacks, whites and greys
Tainting my shell with lies
Tears streaming as I pray
My confidence long astray
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
Those hands that would wrap around my neck and make me think I could break in half
The same hands that would ball up and knock me to the ground
The same hands that you would apologize with late at night in our bed
Those beautiful hands that I fell in love with on our first date because they held me like I had never felt before
The same hands that absorbed so many of my salty tears
Those creative hands that drew me such amazing images that inspired my many writings
Those lying hands that would dishonestly touch another woman and never leave a trace
Your hands, they ripped this fragile heart of mine into pieces and you told them to do it all
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
I hope this does clarify beyond doubt--
the lim-erick was not invented by our Lim family
(with an illustrious history)--- the reference is to a place in Ireland-
but the first was written by St. Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century.
I should be ashamed
ever to claim--dishonestly
that my family had changed
the world of Western poetry
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
I hope this does clarify beyond doubt--
the lim-erick was not invented by our Lim family
(with an illustrious history)--- the reference is to a place in Ireland-
but the first was written by St. Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century.
Then this guy came along
in the 19th century
who perfected it so to say-
Edward Lear--he left behind a great legacy.
He wrote 212 in total
prolific he was--verily-
could Nigel Finn beat this record
as he did cause quite a stir in Hello Poetry?
I should be ashamed
ever to claim--dishonestly
that my Lim family had changed
the world of Western poetry.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
the penters brutal militia
now marches
scopic
through a portal truncated
pass...
In unailing sleep
i taunt the spheres
and demand the negatives
scream out elements
strike runted ire
at the worlds great forgeries
dream #1
an ancient cottage is clouted to the ground
paff !
borned
a charred magician trick
rapid sporing
inflating to a build
then pressure cooked
packed with smoke
compounded by fire
in a quenched **** of energy
a construction
beams and rocks
a hearth is hearted
a mantle mounted
feasted together
and clenched in a furious shrine
i emaciate in the quiet storm of collected electric
i must test this unruin
i put an assertive foot over the threshold and...
i am pulled to the lovers
an attention away from here
downed on the bedroom floor
ridiculous pillow strapped to my ridiculous head
i stand
stammer frustrations
and running on an internal gut of turbulence
i slam home back through bed
dream #2
my burnt match form
all fours on a beach
my spiny digits plugged under the baking sand
straining the salt and murky charity
darkening the sand with impurities
and forgiving the sea
a pure revealing clarity
the formal sun
now casts without interruption
(just a little refractive kink)
water cleared
blinding the blind of the ocean floor
all Eves and Adams startled by
their **** branded world
shamed traffic
of disorientated prehistoric sealife
batting about in the garish aftermath
i resolve to the lovers
face down
******* huffs against the mattress
i flip over and zip back in
hands clamped
dream #3
simple streets and the bedside knife
i greet and greet
the first is a nop
the second a lancing wound
the wound takes a lacing
a bled string
and they are gratefully hauled
with grace to the sky
as though plucked by weather balloon
i am busy
in distribution of the lovers
dishonestly forecast to a haven in grave
i'll wake
work satifified
but both revved and worn
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 12:40 AM UTC
It was a rainy day outside, I was in sixth grade and going to this cafe every morning had become a routine since I moved in with you. It didn't last very long, but I cherished those moments with you in that cafe. It wasn't a surprise, I had kept any moments such as this close to my heart. Thats the truth, dishonestly I lied and said I didn't care about your absence in my life. I missed you but, I'd never say it out loud. I wanted to tell you my secrets. I wanted to tell you every play, running meet, job and phase you've missed since I'd last seen you. How many haircuts do you think I've had since we'd last been face to face? Did you get my prom pictures? Did you hear about the trip we're supposed to take up there? You know my hair is curly like yours right? Often times family members tell me I look like you and I do this thing where I rub my tummy and tia sally told me I got that from you. Sometimes when I've had a long day I go home and read your letters in hope that I find some clarity. It only ever makes me feel nostalgic and reminisce times when I still had my grandmother in my life. The sun shining down on my face while I'm sitting on a blanket outside playing with my toys. It reminds me of my mom spending every last penny of her savings on the funeral. Transitioning from my childhood and entering adulthood at a much too young age. Witnessing the changed from people who were seemingly what I thought were average turn into irrational and odd humans. Everything was altering so quickly and rapidly. We do the best we can. I'm not angry anymore, I dont hate you. I'm glad you're still alive so we can revisit Rosie's.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC
There have always been
dead smiles between
my teeth
Dishonestly
I resent them
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 3:13 AM UTC