"dishonour" poems
Be not sad because all men
Prefer a lying clamour before you:
Sweetheart, be at peace again -- -
Can they dishonour you?
They are sadder than all tears;
Their lives ascend as a continual sigh.
Proudly answer to their tears:
As they deny, deny.
4.1k
Lament who will, in fruitless tears,
The speed with which our moments fly;
I sigh not over vanished years,
But watch the years that hasten by.
Look, how they come,--a mingled crowd
Of bright and dark, but rapid days;
Beneath them, like a summer cloud,
The wide world changes as I gaze.
What! grieve that time has brought so soon
The sober age of manhood on!
As idly might I weep, at noon,
To see the blush of morning gone.
Could I give up the hopes that glow
In prospect like Elysian isles;
And let the cheerful future go,
With all her promises and smiles?
The future!--cruel were the power
Whose doom would tear thee from my heart.
Thou sweetener of the present hour!
We cannot--no--we will not part.
Oh, leave me, still, the rapid flight
That makes the changing seasons gay,
The grateful speed that brings the night,
The swift and glad return of day;
The months that touch, with added grace,
This little prattler at my knee,
In whose arch eye and speaking face
New meaning every hour I see;
The years, that o'er each sister land
Shall lift the country of my birth,
And nurse her strength, till she shall stand
The pride and pattern of the earth:
Till younger commonwealths, for aid,
Shall cling about her ample robe,
And from her frown shall shrink afraid
The crowned oppressors of the globe.
True--time will seam and blanch my brow--
Well--I shall sit with aged men,
And my good glass will tell me how
A grizzly beard becomes me then.
And then should no dishonour lie
Upon my head, when I am gray,
Love yet shall watch my fading eye,
And smooth the path of my decay.
Then haste thee, Time--'tis kindness all
That speeds thy winged feet so fast:
Thy pleasures stay not till they pall,
And all thy pains are quickly past.
Thou fliest and bear'st away our woes,
And as thy shadowy train depart,
The memory of sorrow grows
A lighter burden on the heart.
2.2k
What happened to her was disgusting
But she should have better not been out in the night alone
So what it was her job, she's not a man,a girl isn't safe on these roads
And what happened to her was indeed dastardly
But why did she have to go to that area
Being in that situation was partly her fault
The boys were indeed monsters
But did see what that teen wore
Her miniskirt might have turned them on
(Oh she was in a saree,never mind,moving along)
Of course it's all the boy's fault
But does good girl drink alcohol
What was she doing partying at 11'o clock
Maybe she was friendly and her no sounded like a yes,
You know,boys will be boys afterall
What they did,they should rot in hell
But why the hell did she take a strangers' help
I guess thats what being too friendly entails
And she has my full support
But, but,she was not a very 'nice' girl ,if you know what I mean
The jobs she did,the places she went
I heard she had many boyfriends
And don't take it in the wrong way
But she sort of caused it upon her
And that's why kids
Keep company of only 'good' people
And follow our orders
If you wish not such dishonour
Always be prim and proper
I can't imagine the pain she must be in
Now who will marry a bride with lost honour
All the reputation of the family is lost,better keep this a secret,don't tell the police
It's none of her fault of course
But western values did spoil the gal
And the boys did a grievous wrong
But she could have tried not being so free
It's not a West European city
Well you know what I mean
She could have, well, tried not existing
Jul 7, 2022
Jul 7, 2022 at 9:15 AM UTC
#*Freedom is being free in spirit body and mind
Born in a free country
I have my freedom to express my thoughts
Freedom to persue my dreams
Freedom to visit the places I desire
Freedom to do whatever I like
And be a law abiding citizen
My Independence has come for a price
Paid by the many freedom fighters of my country
Who fought till their last breath
I cannot fathom their struggle
It only brings me tears
When I listen to the patriotic songs
Watch movies
Read the story
The truth , the history of the struggles
We had many rulers
We allowed
But today
I enjoy my freedom
With deep gratitude and respect
I salute
To the many freedom fighters
To The Armed forces of my country
For protecting and safeguarding me
When I enjoy my freedom , my life
I salute them all
And Recite , The Pledge
And promise that I will never bring dishonour to my country .
Happy Independence Day to my Country*
Love Peace and Harmony to the World !#
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC
We have seen your greasy lips
Of supple warmth nibble our geographical space with relish
With your cerebral repertoire of Machiavellian tactics
A savage sage gleaning with resounding skill
And crafty navigational sail
Your masterstrokes through climes and tongues reverberated
With your sparkling craft of vile crypt
Across regions, tribes and locales
Of your fangs that foiled good governance
But this time…
Your gladiatorial glide on this political turf
Shall experience a firestorm of rejection
Your emissaries across territorial divides
Shall be hounded to delusion
For the masses shall maul your mushy mantle of self grandeur
To the abyss of dishonour
For your subsequent arrival shall be booed to your doom
Your waning clout shall swing you to judgement
Of abysmal invasion
We are watching your fragile trot through this fearsome terrain
Of your permutation in levitation
For Damocles’ fiery sword shall haunt your ambition
Your raging mist on this cloudy night
Shall encounter a violent tussle
Prepare for war!
The scarlet venom from your cruel camp
Shall cease with instant visitation
From the warhorses of this fearless infantry
Armed with the right tools to disarm your fortified fortress
As you dispatch your foot soldiers
Of monsters and Leviathans
To play a callous hoax like the cunning fox
Their morbid mien shall encounter an eternal fall!
Let the music begin…
Onuchi Mark © 2010
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 6:32 AM UTC
With all the cards against us we gotta make it manage i swear to God i wish i cld mke yu harm proof what they dont understand its a bigger pic tht i cnt b taken out of ill nvr play yu like lebron vs jordan they say time is money but its not im broke so time all we got n yu cnt mke tht back so give me all yu got treat me like theirs no tomorrow....death over dishonour angel eyes short hair stay the same let the seasons change im willing to build noahs art known it cld b torn apart i aint got a image to uphold i keep the truth i been the truth im a young simba in his youth. im wondering wat comes with being a better man put Tyson Ali Mayweather in a ring & they still cldnt knock my love 4 yu
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
Aug. 14. 1653.
Upon The Words Of Chush The Benjamite Against Him.
Lord my God to thee I flie
Save me and secure me under
Thy protection while I crie
Least as a Lion (and no wonder)
He hast to tear my Soul asunder
Tearing and no rescue nigh.
Lord my God if I have thought
Or done this, if wickedness
Be in my hands, if I have wrought
Ill to him that meant me peace,
Or to him have render’d less,
And fre’d my foe for naught;
Let th’enemy pursue my soul
And overtake it, let him tread
My life down to the earth and roul
In the dust my glory dead,
In the dust and there out spread
Lodge it with dishonour foul.
Rise Jehovah in thine ire
Rouze thy self amidst the rage
Of my foes that urge like fire;
And wake for me, their furi’ asswage;
Judgment here thou didst ingage
And command which I desire.
So th’ assemblies of each Nation
Will surround thee, seeking right,
Thence to thy glorious habitation
Return on high and in their sight.
Jehovah judgeth most upright
All people from the worlds foundation.
Judge me Lord, be judge in this
According to my righteousness
And the innocence which is
Upon me: cause at length to cease
Of evil men the wickedness
And their power that do amiss.
But the just establish fast,
Since thou art the just God that tries
Hearts and reins. On God is cast
My defence, and in him lies
In him who both just and wise
Saves th’ upright of Heart at last.
God is a just Judge and severe,
And God is every day offended;
If th’ unjust will not forbear,
His Sword he whets, his Bow hath bended
Already, and for him intended
The tools of death, that waits him near.
(His arrows purposely made he
For them that persecute.) Behold
He travels big with vanitie,
Trouble he hath conceav’d of old
As in a womb, and from that mould
Hath at length brought forth a Lie.
He dig’d a pit, and delv’d it deep,
And fell into the pit he made,
His mischief that due course doth keep,
Turns on his head, and his ill trade
Of violence will undelay’d
Fall on his crown with ruine steep.
Then will I Jehovah’s praise
According to his justice raise
And sing the Name and Deitie
Of Jehovah the most high.
1.6k
Cracked in several different pieces lies
a mask bound by the school of flesh
A clever tool used to blur the lines
Between a saint and filthy wretch
Archaic would be the best word to describe
The spring snow I ought to see
And yet there's still something beautiful about suicide
I think Mishima would agree
But these metaphors are every bit as absurd
As the films you made me watch
Silent whispers never heard
And yet again I ruin the plot
In the mood for love
Yes, that's all you've ever been
Like the sudden slap of a glove
A life once hidden now is seen
Somewhere there is a man I used to know
Better yet revere
Blood stains red springs gentle snow
Giving way to flowery years
There is death before dishonour
If not of the body then of the mind
As summer winds blow warmer
So do memories fade in time
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Can we please have a moment of silence? shhh! That is for shame
The consciousness of impropriety and dishonour, a soul eating emotion, an inner burning flame.
Disembarked and render anaemic by a queen dark and evil, for with her, shame is non-existence
Blame her not, her wicked soul is the caprice of affinity with being an outcast and unlove
For before her heart became embroiled with dark powers and all the ingenious gore that accompany an unrepentant soul,
She had the lassitude of the perfect woman, a languid ease, the obeisance, lovable heart and knew nothing foul
But deep inside her aching heart, all that she suffered silently, she could enlighten no one, from her devastated childhood,
the sheer indescribable horror of neglect, unreturned love, the treachery, the villainy, melancholy motherhood
And castigation made her seek power even into the maelstrom of the blackest tempest of the darkest part of hell.
Her hunger for power and macabre mode of it acquisition, renders the thought of her been shameful, lilliputian
As she journeyed towards the castle, her conscience wasn't pricked by volatile outbursts of her sins from the angry crowd
she knew what she wanted, she sold her soul for this, she knew this was what she has to go through to get it.
A rite of passage stolen by lucifer from the Saviour of the world
Let them strip, beat, and mock you.Let them make you walk through there crowd disgraced,
but be rest assured that when all is done, you'll be the ruler of all
For too many a time, the story has been told,
be you good or evil, fortune only favours the bold.
The castle was her own Golgotha, the throne was her own cross
beyond that castle wall lies all that she needs to rule and have dominion
for there in that castle live the old man and others waiting to make her there queen
I was swift to condemn her for all, but after a retrospective thinking, my judgement became ambivalent.
wasn't it judgements and condemnations that made her felt sequestered, separated, segregated and all other equivalent?
To be continued......
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
She's down and all on board are lost
in a country full of hate.
Unnamed bodies lie and rot,
victims of collateral shame.
Like blackbirds pulling worms from lawns,
they pick possessions over,
voiding evidence, spoiling, looting,
while dead voices scream dishonour.
The freedom to fight for your side
or just to fight another tribe.
Fingers pointing, picking fault,
while expert pickers are deterred.
Newsmen gather every word.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 9:46 AM UTC
fierce and benevolent
these eyes of gold
warm and shattering against the light
of sunkissed skin on marble floors
he's sweet as figs
and sharp as a sword
and his heels pink and unmarred
by the heat of the sun
when our bodies touch for the first time
two souls intertwine
sewn together by threads of fate
i feel nothing other than him
and his gentle gaze and soft hair
but dawn comes around
during the pouring of blood from our cupped hands
onto tainted sheets
of dishonour and rage
and when i breathe my last breath
he roars, like a lion
loud enough for the gods to hear
and does not stop until his face hits the earth
with a smile.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 9:52 AM UTC
-Oh Hello there
-How are you?
-Would you kindly like to dance this fine evening?
-I am not to be missed
-I can really two step
-I must confess
-but what you say?
-No not that
-It could not be?
-but yes you could be right, I suppose
-Do you then suppose?
-Perhaps a carnal repose is all that must be exposed
-For this here to be transposed
-Well yes I imagine that could be considered a vulgarity
-but I only long for our solidarity of insularity for clarity
-Well ok if you should decide
-I will abide and subside to further yonder
No now why must you release that powder
-a discharge is not required
-I meant no dishonour
-Well yes you are correct
-Mais c'est vraiment difficile
-you must understand
-you must know
You will give me a start Won't you?
-I should say, that is most gracious of you!
-That will do then
-I submit to you now
For your pleasu...
BANG
Be still the night it is almost light tonight.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
when women speak of eternity, my masculine immortality says: do i have to?! why? because my masculine mortality didn’t.
that a prophet’s nation is not without honour, but among the nation’s
ownership of itself in what’s being compared as nation-defining,
and thus dishonour with a nation’s history claiming more than
the nation’s honour in terms of taught examples lost
in emotion guaranteed by pride and jealousy,
so telling the history of poland
via the polish-lithuanian commonwealth
as defining poles...
nest well in a foreign tongue in order to keep your mother’s,
should your father’s execution of foreign tounging disgrace your mother...
but no talk of honour... should a nation’s honour be
defaced to localise individualism...
thus localise individualism and deface to entrust such a nation
with the concept of globalisation that f. d. r. could have oppossed
in the riddle of isolationalism that ended the great depression
and the phobia of the last years of misguided capitalism
carving the futurism of domestication of anything but the sexually adequate:
consciously-careful animalism of grunt and snorkle and bitten snouts
of the animalism correcting the 90 angle into 3.2 children multiplier
as perfected village people: 4kg of potato, 3 children, 2 pints of milk...
34 sundays kneeling in a church in aid of worship to dogmatise the pyramidal prism
as an aversion to staircases nonetheless climbed
to echo arthritis oiled for the perfected propaganda caste.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Extinguished beneath the pressure of stifling darkness;
the blackness a behemoth caressing me with oil slick fingers.
Bound with shackles of my own forging,
chained to the dank confinement of shame with iron bracelets made up of every hurt I felt, each sting I’d inflicted.
Comforted by the weight of my own disease, dragging me down deeper into the depths of myself;
swarmed by demons cutting slices of me for their devouring.
Blistered fingers claw at the dirt, broken nails taking insignificant strongholds in the battle.
New shackles being forced into place where old ones were severed, cutting new wounds where old ones were healed.
Then, a searing light burns through the airless tomb where I lay,
my sweat still glistening in the after hours of my latest debasement.
Eyes burning, unaccustomed to the phosphorescent glow after years of stapling them shut to the vision of horror I became.
A new tsunami of dishonour throws me back, twisting my shackles tighter around bound limbs.
Now I am free and live to feel the sun on my skin, no longer translucent and sallow.
Each sound and sensation sending ripples of pleasure through my soul, but still
I limp, and my wrists are scarred.
Aug 13, 2021
Aug 13, 2021 at 4:50 PM UTC
To the lover I've never met
I can't imagine
how beautiful you are
Because to put you
within the limits of my mind
would be to dishonour you
Yet I imagine you
as glorious as the sun
as graceful as the skies by day
as precious as the air I breathe
as peaceful as streams of living water
Dear darling
If only you knew
How I yearn to behold your light
to see the warmth of your countenance
to see the only curve I'd ever need
which is your smile
To look upon you
and say
Darling
You are beautiful
Just the way you are
Yet I can't imagine
How beautiful you really are;
I can only dream so much
and I, not wanting to do you disservice.
For the lover I've never met:
when we do meet
we shall share in the warmth
of an embrace
And I shall realise
such a beauty I have yet
to behold.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
Street by street we will fight
death before dishonour
how many will the Reds take
while my Berlin falls
How many rapes make justice
you sad sick *****
you Russian subhuman ****
**** the third and **** me
You ******* rapists
you Stalinist ****
I still hate you today
as I was young, with a gun
You ******** were no better
both you're nations were ****
and I will hate for ever now
till one day all of you have gone
This country is not your country
why do you fight your war here
our town has almost gone to ruin
and both my mother and father have died
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris;
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
There is no surrender.
Only death.
He stands in front of the soldier's eyes.
Brave men and women dignified.
Stand strong as mighty force.
With support of world.
No dishonour in death.
Death is a callous foe.
Rips the hearts from all he knows.
Encounters many.
Far too many.
Screaming wind blasts.
Swearing in altered tongues.
Guns fire rampant volleys.
Caught another soul.
The final curtain call.
Parting heavens gate.
A pure soul enters.
Removed from life in one fleeting moment.
A tragedy of honest youth.
As his comrades play the last salute.
A volley in his honour.
This young mans.
Last Post!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
with apologies to WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
(from Henry V, spoken by King Henry)
Once more to the table, dear friends, once more;
Or close up our hungry mouths with supermarket staples.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of hunger blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Cut fine the sinews, simmer up the blood,
Disguise cheaper meats with hard-favour'd sage;
Then lend the stirring spoon a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the foccacia bread
Like the brass cannon; let the garlic o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled onion
O'erhang and jutty his confounded tomato base,
Swill'd with a wild and wasteful Cabernet Savignon.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose ragu is fet from Nonna's fail proof recipe!
Nonna's that, like so many Stephanie Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even, baked
And brewed their sauces and stews, for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest...
That those whom you call'd mothers did feed you well
Be copy now to men of larger appetites
And teach them how to eat.
And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your belt; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so hungry,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
Enshrined vessel corporeal ,
the numberless strands
of infinite time ,
kaleidoscope persona of
Nature , Temperance and Psyche .
☆
With serene countenance ,
in sweet golden light ,
the codes of the Goddess ,
Queen of Cups
and Queen of Swords .
☆
With transforming Geometry
of Justice and
Compassion ,
the unseen ancient force
of her terrible power ,
far beyond base contemplation ,
☆
Rains down the verdict
on dishonour and strife ,
elevating the
transcended ,
while relegating all else
to Beelzebub , earthbound
and gehenna .
Nov 2, 2024
Nov 2, 2024 at 9:22 AM UTC
The local Kirks will acknowledge that prominent and pagan song on the twenty-fifth day of this first month of monstrosity, whilst witches consult around dark artistry, as we sing this song of yesterday and remembrance.
I have ensured that the roof of our cottage is thatched with straw, whilst the howling winds from the West coast echo her disapproval against the face of solidarity.
We must keep the demons out.
Oh, brother of olden Scottish folklore, I beseech you to give credence to the culinary order, where degrees of freedom announce seniority in this customary ritual of contemporary history.
I will hold my knife in a ritualistic manner and ensure that the guests are satisfied with culinary festivities and drams of Scottish prowess.
Oh Thomas, if you dishonour your wife on the Ayrshire coast, the volume will increase and the flickering light of the candle will ***** out.
I love your look, therefore you can cross my bridge of sensual clothing, as it conforms to the ancient proclamation:
Weel done, cutty sark.
Are you committed to this order?
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
My name is my submission to male dominance
I am somebody's daughter,
somebody's wife.
I willingly call myself so
It's because I love my father
I love my husband
And I am honoured to be called
In his name
Usually
But sometimes
When a ray of anger rushes into my heart
By the feminine idea of self-respect
I wonder
if my father loves me, why is his love trumping of my mother who bore me inside her body for months of restless ease?
if my husband loves me, why has he never consider calling himself Mr. Mine, where he my husband and I his wife?
But I tuck these thoughts away
They are too balancing of power, too simply different.
I mustn't let the patriarchy hear, or I will dishonour my worth
As a woman.
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
Anarchy disturbs the freaks
Who am I to wear these clothes and tell you of dishonour
A man whose fought so many fights that night and day can wait until tomorrow
Colours seep inside my head and make pictures of Autumn when muddy fields run water
To take a mans maiden fair of hair is a brother who makes a martyr
To run with wolves instead is part of manhood but watch here comes the farmer
Two barrells I look down now but always stay one step ahead and keep it safe to barter
The casualties of war are all around with bars upon and society has rats to catch yah
I live a life that's had it's deaths and friends along the way boy and so I say to you wear your colours to your chest and tomorrow is ever after.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 12:24 AM UTC
You do not expect your nation to prosecute an illegal war
that dishonour is reserved for other countries
after all you are taught that you are the good guys
and everyone else on the planet is going to hell,
"God is on our side" they all shouted, and God buried his face in his hands.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
Small boy huddled in a corner
He will never question why
He did not dishonour his father
But that did not stop the black eye
Little baby all battered and beaten
Can not hide away being bruised
Mother can not stop her drinking
But the baby should not be abused
Young girl is daddys' pride and joy
She worships him, no one can know
Makes her protect his little secret
Does not listen when she says no
I look down, crying tears in the dust
In that dust my tears glisten
Knowing that children do not deserve this
Hoping, out there, people will listen
Oct 21, 2009
Oct 21, 2009 at 11:24 PM UTC