"dishonourable" poems
Dream of good impressions,
A false advocate of a positive outlook,
Predicting attitude will get you locked up,
In a prism of dishonourable desire.
The deal is,
Five assorted personalities,
Assault every aspect of yours,
Run you dry,
Then have the audacity,
To question your lack of faith.
And on that note,
You disappear,
Your personality dissipates,
And your motion merges with that of the sour voices,
That you thought were constructive.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
Loving begins with a lover,
a dishonourable person cannot love.
Like hunting which cannot be done by just any hunter,
loving requires ability;
like fruit for the fruit seeker.
......loving begins with a lover.....
So give the lover another option to love.
Love requires intellect just like success requires intellect.
......love with passion and not illusion...
When you love, guide your heart with deligience so you be not heartbroken.
The hearts of many have been broken by love,
while the hearts of some have been made whole by love.
Love not to break the heart,
but love to build the heart.
When you love, don't only love;
but love with care.
Love with love and with faith;
that your love be not abased.
Love not for wealth,
for it fades away.
Love not for appearance,
for it's deceptive.
When you love,
love for love,
love for character;
love for charisma.
Love for personality,
not for mediocrity.
Love is a mystery
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
I have an unusual friend. A small man with charms of a gentle redneck. He holds court in his garage for his acquaintances, those free or at large. His demeanour is rustic, but his wisdom self-taught. His name is Byron ( I know, it's too good to be true), not lordly, but Byron likes the girls and light brew. Byron says, “I'll kick your *** every time we play golf. Not yet. His voice is chasmic and often influenced by distractions. And then on a cold, witch-tit, heathcliffe driving winter's day, with the wood stove well-fired, a rascally friend opens the door, and Byron yells, “Shut the door. Do you think wood grows on trees.” On leaving the same day he advises me, “Don't slip on the ice. It's frozen.” I didn't tell you Byron has one eye. Better yet, a patch on the other. He looks more like post Frodo ignoring the “Don't run with scissors" warning from Mother Baggins, than he does Lord B. I dropped my pipe once on his garage floor. A special pipe. It's my bowling pipe. I don't smoke tobacco. Byron thinks it clever to call me at work and tell my secretary he and I are bowling after school. Byron mixes metaphors. So, my pipe has dropped. Byron says, “ Let me help. Three eyes are better than two.” His cleverness can backfire. I tried to be sensitive, but there was neither an honourable or dishonourable way out. Byron hung an oak wood sign near his stove. He makes his own stain, and rubs it evenly in circles with his wife's old nylons. “It's great for the *********** he'll quip. The two ***** of the sign are joined with leather straps and stainless steel studded to the wood. The letters painted within the stencilled lines are a dark, rich mixture. The joke. “Lift flap in case of fire.” Normally one lifts the flap. “Not now stupit. In case of fire.” I discreetly pointed out the t.The sign quietly disappeared and was never mentioned again. He'll never kick my ***
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
Flourishing breezes pass through the air, and emanate throughout your asunder bristle stems.
Not leaving any trace; like it was never even there
Your brisk brown eyes could never compare
While the raging rapid wind hated its glide
It hid the shameful flowers which then commence to cry
Hearing the blissful silence of natures mind
I begin to realize that it is now my time
The dishonourable flowers that I know are now mine
They soon and surely begin to shine
The ageless roots forever intertwine
I know deep down in my heart that they will last a lifetime
When the trees come alive to a song sung by a bird
My ears prove to me that they'll always be heard
My subconscious takes over into an act of peace
And when their graceful songs begin to increase
I know the war inside me will now cease
So the dawn will break at last
And the moon and stars are put in the past
Along with the struggle, I tried to contain
It sill aches inside of my brain wondering if I'll ever be sane
So I breathe the fresh breeze through my heartfelt pain
Who knows if I'll ever be the same
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
Roll up! Roll up!
Examine the corrupt,
the nose, hair, the olive of skin.
Dishonourable, alloyed blood.
Rub, Rub
I can't get it off.
grate, burn, scour,
I can only cleanse, gloss, polish.
Look! Come and see
the fresh, clean impurity.
Lay on the table,
sparkling shimmering.
We cannot control these sinful things.
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 10:59 AM UTC
My mouth stands strong.
Ribbon of drool match those in reflection.
My accolade full circle, royal undertow.
Vellicating in dishonourable mysticism.
Moving here & there.
Moving water, wine & a wisdom separating love from the ore.
Learning where musical savants & initiates dim the lights.
Inspectors test restraints, narrowing memory. Now forgotten.
Wake up, remove hairs sprinkled in hidden testimonial.
Misgivings in this shellacked house of homes.
Intellection. Ascending, bending bones. Fissured left-behinds.
To purify all your thoughts.
Resisting universal locomote.
Heels in foreign grease. Bare soles departed.
Movings of brilliantly painted soil.
Telephones relate & relay the balmy decisions you are making.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
I wanted love - honest passionate.
You wanted me while useful.
I loved you despite, including and because of.
You found faults - plentiful.
I vowed in our fake love to honour you,
but your truth was dishonourable.
I get by - so do you,
but you swagger like Lord of Thrall.
You’re not all bad or you couldn’t be so good.
You just hunger for new meat.
Bon chance to the next one or two, or threes …
They’ll need it, and I'll get up off my knees.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
It was a dark and stormy night, or at least it was for our single-parent family. The rest of the neighbourhood was enjoying the kind of clear skies which meant a hard frost overnight and a slippery ride to school in the morning.
The barometer in our neat, wee house at the end of our short, ordinary street was falling rapidly, as it often did these days. My father, an Iraq War veteran - _’Honourably discharged for dishonourable reasons, and don’t you forget it. ****** fascists!’_ - was in charge of our weather. From blue skies with candy-cotton clouds in the morning to an eerie half-light of silent anticipation by late afternoon, we would end the day huddled around the kitchen table waiting for the maelstrom to hit.
We ate carefully trying not to scrape our plates with our knives and forks, and avoiding each other’s eyes. The cauliflower cheese was examined as closely as every other vegetable my aunt Kate - _‘I’ll not have my family eating slaughtered animals!’_ - served up to us. You’d think the food on our plates was the most interesting thing in our precarious little world. Peas were my favourite because you could count them over and over...until they were finished.
Wind and rain lashed our evenings regularly. Sometimes we were treated to the automatic-rifle fire of hail, but worst of all were the sandstorms which ****** all the air out of our home and stymied any hope of sleep. On those occasions we all huddled together in my sister’s bed - _’No, Alex! It’s Livvy’s turn to hold the torch. You can look after the phone in case we need to ring Dr Matt to help Auntie Kate.’_
We updated our worst-vegetarian-creation notebook and talked in close whispers about _the weather_. Mostly, we sat quietly and longed for blue skies and sunshine tomorrow, while the captain cowered in the cubby-hole beneath the stairs and screamed into my six-year-old brother’s plastic walkie-talkie. ‘Man down, man down, man down!’
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 8:18 PM UTC
Did she notice,
when she walked down into my eyes
that my sight stole my voice?
To return in stuttered, half compliments
of flitting words.
too flimsy to hold the heart.
Did she notice my staring gaze,
my eyes, casting timid glances
while I searched myself for eloquent words
to tell her my knees were weak,
and my heart was beating
with good dishonourable intentions.
Wrapped in midnight
and pink hued sunset horizons.
Hiding some and alluding to others,
the woman curved beneath the clothes.
Her hair up, in golden silk curls
to celebrate tonight
with full passioned lips
smacking of sultry invitations,
and drowning deep sea eyes.
Sporting a breathless smile
and black heels.
While I feel so ordinary and tedious,
dressed in my fine suit
and matching offsets.
She takes my hand
so everyone can see
that she is mine.
And now I am alive.
How beautifully she shines;
beyond the limit of the eyes
to the scope of the heart
and the extent of the soul,
that see in different dimensions
than sights' perception can go.
To unmask the splendor
behind the face.
For this is what pulls the strings
of my surrendering;
A man and clothes
may make each other,
but a woman
will make him feel it.
Sep 10, 2024
Sep 10, 2024 at 11:57 AM UTC
Is it possible for a land to dream
Of Harakiri.
Gouts of screams and tears abound
Self-destruction is such a sweet sound
Particularly when told from afar
By those so clearly in the know.
But is that the truth, what we are told?
Does this land dream of a death all of its own?
Or perhaps tales of its expiry are greatly exaggerated
For profit and shock.
Could this be true, that they are lying to you?
Or does Peckham wish to fall on its sword?
Perhaps once, in the span of three days
Did this land wish to see itself burn,
To see itself consumed in the fires of greed,
Of hatred,
Of ignorance.
Tell me, is that all that this land has to offer?
Will it willingly trudge to such a dishonourable demise?
Or will it rise
And show those in the know
That in truth Peckham dreams of a fate more honourable than Harakiri.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
Cover my face
to converse with the heavens
a fall from such grace
should deserve some attention
some way to replace
broken light I was given
as the words taking shape
paint dishonourable mention
hard taught ways
the fall is the lesson
just another case of
divine intervention
a pool of disgrace
it's my purest reflection
a shower of silence
is all I was left with
Cover my face
this rain's getting heavy
as the rising tide
slowly breaches the levee
I'm caught in a place
where the ground is unsteady
so out of place
a landfill teddy
I lost all my faith
round nineteen or twenty
well, what I had left
it was far from plenty
god never showed face
sent angels to end me
if he wants me erased
he could have just sent me
Cover my face
the angels have left me
gone are the days
of feeling bereft
see, all that remains
are shadows that tempt me
one of these days
the dark will come get me
why should I stay
for one who rejects me
fills me half way
just to leave me half empty
questions the stray
he'd know if he met me
he led me this way
down paths tread with fell feet
Cover my face
rip it up gently
every night when I prayed
he would listen intently
as I counted the ways
the good lord detests me
it was on those days
he saw fit to bless me
the one and only
who didn't forget me
showed many faces
but not one upset me
showed me the steps
gave me identity
dance the devil's way
cause we're the same entity
Uncover my face
to write on the wall
brush off the last trace
of dust from the fall
when push comes to shove
he's inside us all
and that one up above
just won't do at all
he handed me this pen
at the edge of a blade
gave me first cause
to put words on the page
the tempest calls
to lift me away
a siren's song
I'm going all the way
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 4:08 PM UTC
Untamed self control my own worst enemy I can be
I can not be the poison and the remedy
The voices I hear are not in my head
I hear the words as if they’ve been said.
Horrific thoughts I must endure
Collective voices worse than before
The madness escalates, reducing me to an unbalanced state
A break mentally so much others can not relate
Psychotic attack or psychotic illusion
Is it reality or is it a delusion?
Derogatory constant running commentary
Over thinking causing chaos; corrupting my mind
No escape nor shred of peace can I find
The voices I hear don’t stop they don’t give in,
Continuously ranting of dishonourable sin
I attempt to deter from mental confusions
Medically my thoughts are seen as delusions
At the time I'm not convinced I'm deluded
Convinced by distorted reality I've concluded
Distorted assumptions that I have concocted -now real
Escalated with time a darkness clouds how I feel
Negativity takes over positive thoughts
Hearing uttering of endless hurtful talk
Resulting in what I hear as being true
Suspicions conspire then conclusions are drew
Hateful words; closer louder unable to ignore
Detachment from any logical thought
From the derogatory talk I hear is believed
Its how I am seen its how I am perceived
Over thinking causing chaos corrupting my mind
Peace & positivity I can not find
Voices persecuting me to such an extent
Relentless and nasty horrid content….
Like on repeat although the night
I hear them talking but there out of sight
Surely they must tyre of slagging me off
Nasty unimaginative hateful lot
Voices of those that I know and those I am close too;
My mental state decreases concluding its true
Every emotion dark with dread and fear
Panic derived from all that I hear
I cant shut it out all of the time I take it all in
Persecuted of every action I do, I cant win
Unable to recall past psychotic occurrences
No deterrent from the cognitive disturbances
The voices never stop they don’t go away
With given time I’ll believe what they say
Whether it be a regrettable act or gossips fabricated lies
All of my self worth and confidence dies
Auditory hallucinations not willing to stop
All reasoning fact and logic forgot
Blinds my judgement and ability to see
harrowing Paranoia descends to reality
Hearing the conversations and ruthless content
Persecuting me to such an extent
Medically my thoughts are seen as delusions
I attempt to deter from mental confusions
Panic, detached irrational thought assumptions
Loss of control and distraught
When the worst of the worst is easing
Confusion remains
I question was it real or am I insane
I know now what I thought was deluded
I cant believe what I've previously concluded
At the time what I thought was real
Inability to control how I feel
Disbelief descends when delusions ease
relief then comes from what I previously perceived.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
Beady eyed devils,
The very spawns of hades,
They come in bloodthirsty shades,
Like troubling, annoying canker-weevils.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
Irrelevant force zeros cyclones, whirlwinds of smallnesses
Swirling pants from slimy orifices laden with smergma
Showers pristine leaving pollutants on mental polluters
Living lives fast callously, thoughtlessly and remorseless
Their mate cancer is waiting round the corner impatiently
Love me or hate me, my dishonourable purloiner s
both are in my favour. If you love me, lifterologists
I will always be in your hearts, and if you hate me,
I will be in your minds, regardless of their miniscule sizes
Hate is too great a burden to bear but bear it proudly I beg
The voice of truth and Light drowned out by the roar of fear.
It is ignored by the voice of desire, compensating emptiness
It is contradicted by the voice of shame and abject cowardice.
It is biased by hate and extinguished by terminal fizzing anger.
Proudly the wicked envy and hate; it is their way of admiring.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC