"dishonoured" poems - Hello Poetry

Three weeks gone and the combatants gone returning over the nightmare ground we found the place again, and found the soldier sprawling in the sun. The frowning barrel of his gun overshadowing. As we came on that day, he hit my tank with one like the entry of a demon. Look. Here in the gunpit spoil the dishonoured picture of his girl who has put: Steffi. Vergissmeinnicht. in a copybook gothic script. We see him almost with content, abased, and seeming to have paid and mocked at by his own equipment that's hard and good when he's decayed. But she would weep to see today how on his skin the swart flies move; the dust upon the paper eye and the burst stomach like a cave. For here the lover and killer are mingled who had one body and one heart. And death who had the soldier singled has done the lover mortal hurt.

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7.6k

Keith Douglas

Vergissmeinnicht

Three weeks gone and the combatants gone returning over the nightmare ground we found the place again, and found the soldier sprawling in the sun. The frowning barrel of his gun overshadowing. As we came on that day, he hit my tank with one like the entry of a demon. Look. Here in the gunpit spoil the dishonoured picture of his girl who has put: Steffi. Vergissmeinnicht. in a copybook gothic script. We see him almost with content, abased, and seeming to have paid and mocked at by his own equipment that's hard and good when he's decayed. But she would weep to see today how on his skin the swart flies move; the dust upon the paper eye and the burst stomach like a cave. For here the lover and killer are mingled who had one body and one heart. And death who had the soldier singled has done the lover mortal hurt.

24

A desolate shore, The sinister seduction of the Moon, The menace of the irreclaimable Sea. Flaunting, ****** and grim, From cloud to cloud along her beat, Leering her battered and inveterate leer, She signals where he prowls in the dark alone, Her horrible old man, Mumbling old oaths and warming His villainous old bones with villainous talk-- The secrets of their grisly housekeeping Since they went out upon the pad In the first twilight of self-conscious Time: Growling, hideous and hoarse, Tales of unnumbered Ships, Goodly and strong, Companions of the Advance, In some vile alley of the night Waylaid and bludgeoned-- Dead. Deep cellared in primeval ooze, Ruined, dishonoured, spoiled, They lie where the lean water-worm Crawls free of their secrets, and their broken sides Bulge with the slime of life. Thus they abide, Thus fouled and desecrate, The summons of the Trumpet, and the while These Twain, their murderers, Unravined, imperturbable, unsubdued, Hang at the heels of their children--She aloft As in the shining streets, He as in ambush at some accomplice door. The stalwart Ships, The beautiful and bold adventurers! Stationed out yonder in the isle, The tall Policeman, Flashing his bull's-eye, as he peers About him in the ancient vacancy, Tells them this way is safety--this way home.

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4.2k

William Ernest Henley

A Desolate Shore

A desolate shore, The sinister seduction of the Moon, The menace of the irreclaimable Sea. Flaunting, ****** and grim, From cloud to cloud along her beat, Leering her battered and inveterate leer, She signals where he prowls in the dark alone, Her horrible old man, Mumbling old oaths and warming His villainous old bones with villainous talk-- The secrets of their grisly housekeeping Since they went out upon the pad In the first twilight of self-conscious Time: Growling, hideous and hoarse, Tales of unnumbered Ships, Goodly and strong, Companions of the Advance, In some vile alley of the night Waylaid and bludgeoned-- Dead. Deep cellared in primeval ooze, Ruined, dishonoured, spoiled, They lie where the lean water-worm Crawls free of their secrets, and their broken sides Bulge with the slime of life. Thus they abide, Thus fouled and desecrate, The summons of the Trumpet, and the while These Twain, their murderers, Unravined, imperturbable, unsubdued, Hang at the heels of their children--She aloft As in the shining streets, He as in ambush at some accomplice door. The stalwart Ships, The beautiful and bold adventurers! Stationed out yonder in the isle, The tall Policeman, Flashing his bull's-eye, as he peers About him in the ancient vacancy, Tells them this way is safety--this way home.

38

Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe. The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate, Death and the Raven drift above And Sweeney guards the hornèd gate. Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; The person in the Spanish cape Tries to sit on Sweeney’s knees Slips and pulls the table cloth Overturns a coffee-cup, Reorganised upon the floor She yawns and draws a stocking up; The silent man in mocha brown Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes; The waiter brings in oranges Bananas figs and hothouse grapes; The silent vertebrate in brown Contracts and concentrates, withdraws; Rachel née Rabinovitch Tears at the grapes with murderous paws; She and the lady in the cape Are suspect, thought to be in league; Therefore the man with heavy eyes Declines the gambit, shows fatigue, Leaves the room and reappears Outside the window, leaning in, Branches of wistaria Circumscribe a golden grin; The host with someone indistinct Converses at the door apart, The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the ****** wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid siftings fall To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud.

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3k

T. S. Eliot

Sweeney Among The Nightingales

Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe. The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate, Death and the Raven drift above And Sweeney guards the hornèd gate. Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; The person in the Spanish cape Tries to sit on Sweeney’s knees Slips and pulls the table cloth Overturns a coffee-cup, Reorganised upon the floor She yawns and draws a stocking up; The silent man in mocha brown Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes; The waiter brings in oranges Bananas figs and hothouse grapes; The silent vertebrate in brown Contracts and concentrates, withdraws; Rachel née Rabinovitch Tears at the grapes with murderous paws; She and the lady in the cape Are suspect, thought to be in league; Therefore the man with heavy eyes Declines the gambit, shows fatigue, Leaves the room and reappears Outside the window, leaning in, Branches of wistaria Circumscribe a golden grin; The host with someone indistinct Converses at the door apart, The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the ****** wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid siftings fall To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud.

40

Eagle of Austerlitz! where were thy wings When far away upon a barbarous strand, In fight unequal, by an obscure hand, Fell the last scion of thy brood of Kings! Poor boy! thou shalt not flaunt thy cloak of red, Or ride in state through Paris in the van Of thy returning legions, but instead Thy mother France, free and republican, Shall on thy dead and crownless forehead place The better laurels of a soldier’s crown, That not dishonoured should thy soul go down To tell the mighty Sire of thy race That France hath kissed the mouth of Liberty, And found it sweeter than his honied bees, And that the giant wave Democracy Breaks on the shores where Kings lay couched at ease.

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2.8k

Oscar Wilde

Louis Napoleon

Eagle of Austerlitz! where were thy wings When far away upon a barbarous strand, In fight unequal, by an obscure hand, Fell the last scion of thy brood of Kings! Poor boy! thou shalt not flaunt thy cloak of red, Or ride in state through Paris in the van Of thy returning legions, but instead Thy mother France, free and republican, Shall on thy dead and crownless forehead place The better laurels of a soldier’s crown, That not dishonoured should thy soul go down To tell the mighty Sire of thy race That France hath kissed the mouth of Liberty, And found it sweeter than his honied bees, And that the giant wave Democracy Breaks on the shores where Kings lay couched at ease.

16

She plunges into the hot water and begins to scrub. Brush and soap on skin. She wants him off and out of her. Undo him from her. Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches. She breathes in. She reeks, stinks of him. He seems to have penetrated every orifice on her body. She pushes herself under the water, holds herself there, opens her eyes even the sting brings no purification. She sits up and holds the sides of the bath. Calm down she tells her shaking hands and legs but they disobey and carry on like disobedient children in play. She tries to think of other things. Think of somewhere nice, some time once enjoyed, some pleasure once had, sipping of the best wine, greedy eating of caviar or grape. But no. Everything is focused on him and the **** She rubs and scrubs until she’s red and raw. Stop stop her inner voice screams. Nothing is what it seems. He pushes his way even into her every thought now. He seeps into every pore. The water fails to clean. She sits there naked, undone, brush in hand, hair in a mess. This is not real she says, but knows it is, she in the bath, wet, raw, sore and sullied. Yes that’s a word mother would have used: sullied. Tainted, tarnished, degraded or as Mother would have said: dishonoured. She focuses on each aspect of her flesh as if seen for the first time. What you focus on is your reality. Who said that? Does it matter now? Dostoevsky? The Idiot, that book. Who cares who said what. The water is no longer hot. He is still on skin and in orifice in spite of the rubs and scrubs and tears and curses. No longer the innocent, no more the sipping of wine or eating of grape. Just him and memory of the ****

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Jul 6, 2012

Jul 6, 2012 at 1:52 AM UTC

terry-collett

SULLIED.

She plunges into the hot water and begins to scrub. Brush and soap on skin. She wants him off and out of her. Undo him from her. Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches. She breathes in. She reeks, stinks of him. He seems to have penetrated every orifice on her body. She pushes herself under the water, holds herself there, opens her eyes even the sting brings no purification. She sits up and holds the sides of the bath. Calm down she tells her shaking hands and legs but they disobey and carry on like disobedient children in play. She tries to think of other things. Think of somewhere nice, some time once enjoyed, some pleasure once had, sipping of the best wine, greedy eating of caviar or grape. But no. Everything is focused on him and the **** She rubs and scrubs until she’s red and raw. Stop stop her inner voice screams. Nothing is what it seems. He pushes his way even into her every thought now. He seeps into every pore. The water fails to clean. She sits there naked, undone, brush in hand, hair in a mess. This is not real she says, but knows it is, she in the bath, wet, raw, sore and sullied. Yes that’s a word mother would have used: sullied. Tainted, tarnished, degraded or as Mother would have said: dishonoured. She focuses on each aspect of her flesh as if seen for the first time. What you focus on is your reality. Who said that? Does it matter now? Dostoevsky? The Idiot, that book. Who cares who said what. The water is no longer hot. He is still on skin and in orifice in spite of the rubs and scrubs and tears and curses. No longer the innocent, no more the sipping of wine or eating of grape. Just him and memory of the ****

46

by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965) PENECK Sweeney spreads his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe. The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate, Death and the Raven drift above And Sweeney guards the horned gate. Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; The person in the Spanish cape Tries to sit on Sweeney's knees Slips and pulls the table cloth Overturns a coffee-cup, Reorganized upon the floor She yawns and draws a stocking up; The silent man in mocha brown Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes; The waiter brings in oranges Bananas figs and hothouse grapes; The silent vertebrate in brown Contracts and concentrates, withdraws; Rachel née Rabinovitch Tears at the grapes with murderous paws; She and the lady in the cape Are suspect, thought to be in league; Therefore the man with heavy eyes Declines the gambit, shows fatigue, Leaves the room and reappears Outside the window, leaning in, Branches of wistaria Circumscribe a golden grin; The host with someone indistinct Converses at the door apart, The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the ****** wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid droppings fall To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud

0

Jul 18, 2013

Jul 18, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC

angelbella

SWEENEY AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES

by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965) PENECK Sweeney spreads his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe. The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate, Death and the Raven drift above And Sweeney guards the horned gate. Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; The person in the Spanish cape Tries to sit on Sweeney's knees Slips and pulls the table cloth Overturns a coffee-cup, Reorganized upon the floor She yawns and draws a stocking up; The silent man in mocha brown Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes; The waiter brings in oranges Bananas figs and hothouse grapes; The silent vertebrate in brown Contracts and concentrates, withdraws; Rachel née Rabinovitch Tears at the grapes with murderous paws; She and the lady in the cape Are suspect, thought to be in league; Therefore the man with heavy eyes Declines the gambit, shows fatigue, Leaves the room and reappears Outside the window, leaning in, Branches of wistaria Circumscribe a golden grin; The host with someone indistinct Converses at the door apart, The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the ****** wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid droppings fall To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud

41

existing only in the memory, in the mirror sublime image, a dotted line wanting, crashing, writhing fatally imaginary conversations, air drawings no friend to call mine, intimacy denied crunchy brain turning to foam classes blurring, ears ringing banging the floor till wrists are bruised profanity, cruelty, pretty girls hating feeling unwanted by boys (and the girls) invisible or dissolved? dishonoured, disgruntled, disillusioned, disenchanted how right I was all alone my subconscious mind sending tremors disconnection with my own spirit "I am" I constantly whisper to myself in the little gaps of time I'm not dissociated fully aware of my material, not a vaporised form that I assumed from the treatment of others vapours solidify, vaporise, dissolve and vanish

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Mar 30, 2025

Mar 30, 2025 at 2:30 PM UTC

aster-1

Vapours

existing only in the memory, in the mirror sublime image, a dotted line wanting, crashing, writhing fatally imaginary conversations, air drawings no friend to call mine, intimacy denied crunchy brain turning to foam classes blurring, ears ringing banging the floor till wrists are bruised profanity, cruelty, pretty girls hating feeling unwanted by boys (and the girls) invisible or dissolved? dishonoured, disgruntled, disillusioned, disenchanted how right I was all alone my subconscious mind sending tremors disconnection with my own spirit "I am" I constantly whisper to myself in the little gaps of time I'm not dissociated fully aware of my material, not a vaporised form that I assumed from the treatment of others vapours solidify, vaporise, dissolve and vanish

21

by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965) PENECK Sweeney spreads his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe. The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate, Death and the Raven drift above And Sweeney guards the horned gate. Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; The person in the Spanish cape Tries to sit on Sweeney's knees Slips and pulls the table cloth Overturns a coffee-cup, Reorganized upon the floor She yawns and draws a stocking up; The silent man in mocha brown Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes; The waiter brings in oranges Bananas figs and hothouse grapes; The silent vertebrate in brown Contracts and concentrates, withdraws; Rachel née Rabinovitch Tears at the grapes with murderous paws; She and the lady in the cape Are suspect, thought to be in league; Therefore the man with heavy eyes Declines the gambit, shows fatigue, Leaves the room and reappears Outside the window, leaning in, Branches of wistaria Circumscribe a golden grin; The host with someone indistinct Converses at the door apart, The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the ****** wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid droppings fall To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud

0

Jul 18, 2013

Jul 18, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC

angelbella

SWEENEY AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES

by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965) PENECK Sweeney spreads his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe. The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate, Death and the Raven drift above And Sweeney guards the horned gate. Gloomy Orion and the Dog Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas; The person in the Spanish cape Tries to sit on Sweeney's knees Slips and pulls the table cloth Overturns a coffee-cup, Reorganized upon the floor She yawns and draws a stocking up; The silent man in mocha brown Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes; The waiter brings in oranges Bananas figs and hothouse grapes; The silent vertebrate in brown Contracts and concentrates, withdraws; Rachel née Rabinovitch Tears at the grapes with murderous paws; She and the lady in the cape Are suspect, thought to be in league; Therefore the man with heavy eyes Declines the gambit, shows fatigue, Leaves the room and reappears Outside the window, leaning in, Branches of wistaria Circumscribe a golden grin; The host with someone indistinct Converses at the door apart, The nightingales are singing near The Convent of the Sacred Heart, And sang within the ****** wood When Agamemnon cried aloud, And let their liquid droppings fall To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud

41

Each long lost dream of conquest in the ashes of history is buried. With it lie the cracking bones of sacrificial pawns forever to oblivion consigned. Celebrated as nothing more than the unknown soldier, who for the ambitious and self-centered imperialist, gave his own dear life. A soldier unknown who gives his own blood, to elevate his general to history's indelible annals, decomposes to oblivion with neither a name nor an identity. He spills his own blood for a glorious title on his chiefs to be conferred. His valiance, bravery and courage are all to his commanding general credited, who in unmerited triumph, robs him of his military ingenuity. Dishonoured in death, his unidentified remains are crammed with the bones of others like him, in catacombs of mass graves. Whilst his imperialist general, to whom he gives a name in history, gets interred in splendour, in a stately and Palatial mausoleum.

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Feb 29, 2024

Feb 29, 2024 at 4:22 PM UTC

Ojiogbo41

The Unknown Soldier

Each long lost dream of conquest in the ashes of history is buried. With it lie the cracking bones of sacrificial pawns forever to oblivion consigned. Celebrated as nothing more than the unknown soldier, who for the ambitious and self-centered imperialist, gave his own dear life. A soldier unknown who gives his own blood, to elevate his general to history's indelible annals, decomposes to oblivion with neither a name nor an identity. He spills his own blood for a glorious title on his chiefs to be conferred. His valiance, bravery and courage are all to his commanding general credited, who in unmerited triumph, robs him of his military ingenuity. Dishonoured in death, his unidentified remains are crammed with the bones of others like him, in catacombs of mass graves. Whilst his imperialist general, to whom he gives a name in history, gets interred in splendour, in a stately and Palatial mausoleum.

42

It is in this moment of shame that I am most dishonoured I can physically hear the folds of my clothing rumple as I collapse into the sidewalk of my mind-- skull fragments reverberating off the backs of my teeth and echoing dully in the absence of mind. Silently and absently, I will expire -- My final call Again and Again I will die here... Even if only just in a dream

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Jul 28, 2017

Jul 28, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC

andrew-kerklaan

Wasted

It is in this moment of shame that I am most dishonoured I can physically hear the folds of my clothing rumple as I collapse into the sidewalk of my mind-- skull fragments reverberating off the backs of my teeth and echoing dully in the absence of mind. Silently and absently, I will expire -- My final call Again and Again I will die here... Even if only just in a dream

8

Which language does God speak in? Does he speak in tongues of madness which incite stampedes? granting infinite miseries to the souls of atheists? Is hell where blood traitors And dishonoured daughters go? The wretched, the cowardly, in his name unwilling to **** Those ungrateful and offensive Who returned their breaths back to him? The blasphemous, the questioners, The ones who refused to Unsee? I'm asking so that when I'm gone you'll know where to find me.

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Jul 11, 2020

Jul 11, 2020 at 6:52 PM UTC

fyrgebraec

Which language does god speak in

Which language does God speak in? Does he speak in tongues of madness which incite stampedes? granting infinite miseries to the souls of atheists? Is hell where blood traitors And dishonoured daughters go? The wretched, the cowardly, in his name unwilling to **** Those ungrateful and offensive Who returned their breaths back to him? The blasphemous, the questioners, The ones who refused to Unsee? I'm asking so that when I'm gone you'll know where to find me.

18