"disingenuous" poems
I gaze into the soul's windows
And what do I see
An abyss of muddy water
But if I look closer I can see
Specks of stolen sunlight
Streaks of the purest gold only
Prospectors can begin to imagine
By just looking I can tell what a
Gracious, warmhearted, good-natured
Person you are
That all the disingenuous individuals
Fathom
Just by looking
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
I am a chameleon
Black, white, red or blue I’ll be whoever you want me to.
In therapy I’m told it’s because I don’t know who I actually am, but the thing is there I am also a chameleon.
While sitting in that uncomfortable leather chair I’m a girl unsure- broken by the weight the world places on my shoulder but outside of that room I’m more sure of myself then I am sure of the laws of gravity.
I am a chameleon
Most days my name is Emma, other days its Emilia and on the rare occasion its Ellie. It may seem a little odd to you to have so many different names but I think it’s because I truly am different people.
See Emma is serious, but she has a fun side, while Emilia is fun with a serious side. Ellie is that broken girl from the uncomfortable chair while Emilia is always smiling never feeling an ounce of pain. Emma, well she’s broken too, but in a different way- that dosen’t matter much though because there is no way in hell she will let anyone see that.
I am a chameleon
But not in a disingenuous way. I’m not trying to lie or make you like me. Don’t get me wrong, I want you to like me, but I learned long ago that no matter how hard I try there will always be someone who doesn’t.
I am a chameleon
Because I love you so much it hurts, that’s why I want you to have a version of me you flel in love with. The person I truly am changes with the tide- she is far to disconcerting. So for you I will pretend that I find “Grey’s Anatomy” enjoyable or that I like eating eggs because you deserve some shred of consistency.
I am a chameleon
I hide from the world by blending into the background- it’s safer that way. Not just for me, but for you to. That way I can only show the parts of me that is safe for you to see. The heaviest pieces that have caused so many people to run will remain invisible.
You tell me you want to see. You tell me that you want to carry my burdens. The thing is, others have tried but, eventually, they are all crushed under the weight of my brokenness. So, I am not afraid that you will leave, I am afraid that you will stay.
I am a chameleon
Because I choose to be. See if I blend in then you can’t get too close to me. The farther away you are, the less it will hurt should I disappear and the last thing I want to do is hurt you.
So…
I am a chameleon
Because I haven’t truly decided if I am going to stay yet.
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
In school they always tell you to be nice
But as you get older that doesn't suffice
You’re forced to join the rat race
Get blood on your hands and dirt on your face
You’re compelled to live up to societies expectations
Make time for your disingenuous relations
While you’re spoon fed meaningless entertainment
Where did I sign up for this ****** arrangement?
Now as I’m writing this
I’m entering the abyss
Of my own personal doom
While those around me mindlessly consume
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
You wish for me to put in words
What I have to say
Like the answers that I've given
On their own
Could never relay
They come and go
Touch on fate
Dissipate and replicate
The disingenuous nature
That you frequently necessitate
Extend your olive branch
Then act like you feed me
When the branches are famished
Needy, condescending and deceiving Conceiving that I'm the villain
When I don't respond to how you react
Like you could perpetuate in me
The supposition for your tact
The fact that you lack any original clarity
Is the reason I'd never reach to you
Like I was Seraphim
The simple reason
That I'm writing all of this
Is simply just to prove to you
That I don't have to convince
I don't have to persist
Rehash, then reminisce
Like treading through faded memories with you
Will satiate my daily fix
I resist
Because I know exactly where I'm headed And you insist because that truth
Is what keeps us separate
Every second
You playcate on a pretense
When your intentions are crystal clear
And I can't provide that service
Or serve that purpose
While I'm standing here
To be perfectly honest
I never promised you anything
All I did was sigh and reply
To how your heart would so readily sing
Then you project your insecurities
Directly to my face
As if I was the one who gave them rise
Within the first place
Protecting your manipulations
While contemplating your motives
Are exactly the reasons we're done
Before we even started
I'm sick of being a punching bag
For someone acting devoted
And now it's been denoted
I've written you off, this story is done
This time you're in the subject line
Because you are truly NOT the one
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 12:45 AM UTC
Silly games we play
on the game board
of life…
under the pretense
of irritable hushes….
and the stubborn
disingenuous excuses.
The games we play
as if we were twelve
remain with us and
cost us precious time
that neither of us
have to waste…
We move like pieces
and buy hotels or
rent rooms for the night
and play the games
only to hurt from
the loneliness,
self pity and confusion.
The games we play
are not as fun
as they used to be
when we were young,
because there’s so little time
left to enjoy them.
The games we play
are not games at all
but rather
the lives we
choose to live.
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 11:43 AM UTC
“It's very difficult not to come across as a supremacist when there are so many black inferiorists around.”
― David Bullard
Look!..he's a leech, he's a parasite
That black man is draining the Taxpayers
He comes from a rich family, they say they are titled
Look at him, educated and refined, arrogant as black ****
Go get him, the ******* parasite cheating the working classes
Why not tell the ******* truth
That a white family of thieves broke into the flat of a black man
Something that they had done once already and caught but let off
Because they were neighbours and pitied, police were not involved
They did it again and were called thieving working class scums
Up comes hail and thunder and war
Their Militant leftist friends say it Anti-monarchy Revolution
Say's victim is a parasite and a leech, robbing the working classes
Go get him, his life destroy, cast him asunder, hound him to hell
Down with the rich, this is war, people's power, this is democracy
LIES, HOGWASH, DISINGENUOUS ******** RACIST CRAP
They can't bear to see a black man do well
They can't bear a respectable, decent, confident black man
To then stand up and call them out to their faces was the ultimate
They are supreme and all else must fall before them or put down
A black that is not a Black Inferiorist must be discredited at all cost
If the situation was reversed
And a black thief steals from an equivalent white with same status
( He comes from a rich family, they say they are titled )
Would the reactions be the same
(Say's victim is a parasite and a leech, robbing the working classes )
Honesty says NO, you know it and we all know it
(Supremacy has taught him that all people of color are threats irrespective of their behavior. Capitalism has taught him that, at all costs, his property can and must be protected. Patriarchy has taught him that his masculinity has to be proved by the willingness to conquer fear through aggression)
But the black man becomes a leech, a parasite a threat
For standing up to white criminals and daring to call them out
Devious political chicanery is unleashed and our Supremacists
All rally up, totting falsehood and misinformation to cover truths
Why don't see any Class war action in Kensington and Chelsea
What really bothers some of you is simple - and you corrupt others
Blacks must always be inferior and if they are not, you fight secretly and covertly!
Because only you have the God given right to live decently
Only you have the right to air your opinion or disagreement
Only you have the right to call it as you think you see it.
And you'll fight tooth and nail and with everything else to keep
it that way!
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 10:02 AM UTC
for pennies, an app
to do the heavy lifting,
rhymes, pentameter,
all the quatrains ya ever needed
strained fever, emotions rampant,
insufficient and unnecessary conditions
for poverty poetry evocation,
even autocorrects insipid
really bad tiresome love poems,
après endless generation (degeneration?)
who needs you
you think
no such animal
you be write
for the art of life
cannot be mechanized
wrote a poem,
a wistful sad lament
on mothers losing children,
a prayer, a yelling, a condemnation,
the app was,
on this subject
uncommunicative,
un étranger
of silence
in all languages
you can buy love
but you cannot buy pain
too costly and
3D printers
give you plastic, disingenuous
wholly unsatisfactory
for a lousy $1.99
I'll write you customized,
supply the situation,
a few descriptive phrases,
60 minutes later,
et voila!
am you app,
am your scrivener,
don't do roses or violets
but yes to
rhythm and blues
will take
PayPal
PenPal
but no credit cards
you may take my words
as you own,
take my credit,
but I won't take yours...
I am app human,
bring me your lush, winsome,
plain vanilla, tutti frutti,
all acceptable,
for where the real stuff
comes from
I have only mined
the surface,
the veins beneath
richness for the asking
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
Your use of words
of late, I have noticed,
seize the cold light of day
snowball the pack ice
send a shudder down the spine
hail the dawn of an audible ice age
lest if only
One would listen
that loquacious nature
left to stew in the freezer
the embodiment of toxic wine
your preferred after taste;
the sediment of choice
demands a selective palate
we have bulldozed
The Garden of Eden
now only the Snake remains
offering the bitter-sweet apple
to those who oblige
pave the way for emotions
to argue their objections
a subjective nature
in acerbic tones
fierce and unwavering;
the adulation of the Other
A raised eyebrow
denotes a self-centred assuredness
that anyone else
with a deft hand for art or language
is clearly a copy of the blueprint
your ingenious creation;
such is the intellect you abide by
that of your own reckoning
Your argument
is the passing of an iceberg
perhaps fleeting
the early evening;
the disingenuous melt
of your carbon-cloaked temper
My riposte
will be your undoing
defeat by the warmth
of the passing Sun;
embrace that which you chase
see what you dont see
agree to disagree
is the sympathy
for your antipathy
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 1:52 PM UTC
dolphin slaughter
in disingenuous and exquisite
Japanese inlets
hunger as an epidemic
in the shadowed corners of
the world
putrid and rotting flesh
rampant disease
gmo crops making us all
fat
these are things to
worry
about, to fret and rally over
yet here
I sit, wondering in
mild horror
why I write better poetry
with
two
shots
of whiskey
in my gullet
than when I am sober
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
I finally tracked him down: the person within me who could live without you
So I made him a cup of tea and he began to prattle
About the demonic conductor of my symphonic heartbeats,
And the chthonic tranquility you once deposited into my life stream.
He sniggered at how, even now, I still attempt to draw from that diluted reservoir
In an attempt to discover anything more glorious that a utopian delusion,
An unwarranted euphoria derived from what someone might call the “good times”-
If I gave you the benefit of the doubt and admitted there really was a time your love wasn’t fictitious.
But, I digress
Because I wish you the best
Even if the good times discarded are times I should regret
There was a time when you uncovered my covert capacity for unexpurgated bliss-
The likes of which I had dismissed
As myth or at the very least unrealistic to attain.
Even if all of the solace I find in our memories is disingenuous,
I still thank you for way you fooled me.
And that’s why I screamed at him.
After the nightcap, I chased him out of the house for even flirting with the idea of his own existence.
For I have not the fortitude to meet with him for more than just a few moments.
Right now, I choose to cherish our memories until I forget that I love you,
Until the day I’ll be ready to unite with my harbinger of recovery.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
my blue bones are wit
and it means less to keep things
and nothing is quiet.
we rely on knit springs and
disingenuous
copilots.
we're prone to the oath
of our fears
suckling the dent in our collective breast.
nursing the suffering
of our sharp pillows
and the terrors of our happiness, windswept.
we cherish the swamp-sweat
of outlines...
chalking the missing
body.
instead of dem crocodiles, we have golden calf-fish
slaughtered on the lawn
of our untarnished rush...
prospecting -
and jumping the claim
to our gummi
worm.
we tumble in tandem,
and massively mismanage our enchantments.
my bones are blue
wit
and it means less
to have at
it.
we jab Stats and lack Data, but clap atoms
to a mad hatter.
we raid the pantry of our miffed ladder
against the side of
a barn
gone.
leaning in the twilight of
our genuine
sun.
surly pixies in the black sugar, kinking the last nerve of our entropy.
dem crocodiles, grinning rigid menace
in the murk... instead of dem -
let us first disperse
where the hurt, hurts; and be first
to do less worse than
a farcry
or an up-close
word
a tad mean. lets collapse things
that expand, burning all this,
instead of dem
secrets...
un-ghouling the riddle of our dead wait
in the infinite room next to the room
with the last view
of a naked
girl.
where the world is this world. and we're on it.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
The second amendment might
As well be the sixty-ninth, for all
The life-long days it saves by
The transparent and glossy shields
Adorning blue-skied uniforms.
The strike zone is limited to the
Mobility-enhanced limbs, out of
Reach of the cardiac plateau, in
A line guarded by “I heart NYC”
Leftover campaign buttons.
Crowds question the timeless yet
Disintegrating rhetoric, and they
Sing along with misspelled threats
To sanguine attempts at love and
War, while grade schoolers watch.
What’s missing from this libretto
Is a slogan like “if they go low, we
Go high” and the money to borrow
It, or the right to use the copyright,
As long as it doesn’t get ******
“Now hear this,” bellows the man in
The crow’s nest, stepping in front
Of his stepson who brandishes a
BB gun proudly in his arms, “the
Curfew starts at midnight!”
Dona nobis pacem, a canon of
Faith, is hummed by the last ranks
Of veterans in camouflage, hoping
To initiate a temporary calm among
The bleak and ****** crew.
A clown-faced poet attempts to draw
A smile, as she calls for an absentee
Ballot, a circuitous frontage road
Away from destiny, some think,
And a short breath of recess.
“Take away their weapons,” hollers
A very pregnant woman, who goes
Into labor, blaming the guns for her
Untimely reward, and for a moment,
Just minutes, the midwifery begins.
All this while a small coterie of men
Gathers, silently taking in the show,
Unnoticed in their pretense, but
Sporting the heritage caps of the
NRA, stars and stripes in their lapels.
The disingenuous players in this sad
Drama are about to fold their tents,
To chicken out, to return to tacos
And beer, when stillness breaks,
So much so that crickets rule.
A small boy crosses the street, his
Smile contagious, his gait strong
As he approaches the men and
Says “I am you before now, be
Of peace and good cheer.
“My commandments have no
Amendments, no magic exceptions,
No golden calves, no wicked step-
Mothers, only a heart and soul,
I am the moral of your story.”
© Lewis Bosworth, 2016
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
*Deliver me from the folly of jealous men . From the mirth of mischievous demons that long to traduce and besmirch , remove all thought of appeasement toward the rancorous and ill intended serpents that crawl the Earth . Shelter me from the disingenuous , the naysayers of good intent and those that portend lies as benefaction , seeking my friendship through groundless merit and frivolous actions ..
Guide my feet across the perilous river of treachery toward my fellow man , directing my ears to the benefits of silence , gravitate my persona into the light of Dharma ..
Bind my arms from receiving poisonous bounty , render my tongue stillborn to boastful atrocity ..
Sharpen my eyes in the confusion of night , grace the helm of life's vehicle with the Angelic aura of pure white light* ..
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
Meryl Streep
'Twas was kind to me once Golden Globe
where her platitude slightly disingenuous
while her free spirit inside of me spoke
though she'd wander in spite of an Edsel
'twas driven in wake of free speech
and determined to die forthwith misery in chocolate.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC
Immaculate Breakfast
I should congratulate myself on choosing the Raisin stuffed and Lemon Drizzle Scones
Who else would?
Spill the milk gently into granola and berry cereal
And an Immaculate breakfast is laid out in front of me
Like a pastoral English farm valley disturbed by thunder in a Turner painting
Which makes you consider how the sunset depicted must have occurred on a Sunday and
you can almost hear the firebrand puritanical country church sermon that was lanced unto the congregation that morning.
But the sun's high and full of itself here-urban nature's reliable humblebrag.
Underwhelming Work Routine
The reason I doublebag tea -most apparent in its amber hue before the whisker of a milkdrop eases the cannonroll
Is that I need to be aware
Of my shortcomings-personal, financial, strategical, spinal, ****** lexical
While typing out this or the next sentence on a screen that could really do with some Mr Clean
-A line that sounded like it made far more sense in my head
A head that is probably in need of a good dose of Ms Benzedrine
A dilemma which lays the foundations of an oft shoddy, disingenuous, misappropriated, underwhelming work routine.
Oh, the work gets completed
just with far more of an effort and
far less of the breezy confidant
self-satisfaction than I originally intended.
And the tea needs to keep me awake
or else I would daydream restlessly, evoking
rats in cages who make political decisions and far away destinations where
I can at last make my life
completely redundant, or, whisper it, a success.
But that's the great kicker of working life, isn't it?
You make a meal out of the easy stuff
And wish the good bits didn't capture people's attention.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
I love you.
Three words no wider than four letters long
That carry the whole weight of the universe.
Words we utter to each other so often,
Bystanders would consider them disingenuous.
But, baby, I mean every syllable.
When I look into your eyes,
When I watch you watching me,
My breath catches
And my heart feels oversized.
I try so hard to personify my love for you
In kisses, hugs, tugs, and strokes,
But kisses and hugs are created by candy makers
And tugs and strokes are done by artists.
Both of which, I most certainly am not.
However, I strive to convey my feelings for you,
Because I am sure of few things but this:
I am madly,
Ferociously,
Unbelievably,
Relentlessly,
Incandescently,
Everlastingly
In love with you.
I love you with a love that has never been given
From any other woman to a man.
I love you with an immortal love
That is once-in-a-lifetime
And can never be repeated.
Our love is holy,
Unconditional.
I. LOVE. YOU.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
How long did it take her to be free?
How long did it take
For the wingless dragonfly to finally open her heart to the world
How long did it take for her to overcome Devil’s workshop
Slowly caressing her retinas
With silky daffodils and two-faced tulips
Where
Now
She dives into a glistening pool of complicated risk
Opening her atrium to the masses
Shedding incumbent teardrops
Just for that one standing ovation
That sets her free
It was then
Where pieces of plastic chains fell from demure stratosphere
Dented taps, similar to a shoeless dancer,
Setting off bass tones and low-key monotony
For she was
One cholesterol filled syllable short
To be genuine
One tearful, hyphenated lyric
Too blunt
To be embraced by their “god”
One dilapidated vowel shy
Of being honest
Her diary didn’t have enough pages torn
From emerald sanity
There were too many “Wows”,
Diluting into disingenuous shoulder pats
Her stanza pushed aside
A glorified ***** call with no call back number
Leaving messages towards empty dial tones
…
How long will it take her to be free?
Until she looks up
Knowing she already holds the key
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
I know what it is to be deceived.
I know what it is to say blindly and devotedly that which ought to be said.
I know what it is to deal with those who open their mouths and say all that is dishonest, disingenuous. Predictably so, leaving you wondering exactly why any of us bother with any of it at all. Leaving you wonder whether our persona is what are we are told to be, rather than who we are.
Surrounding me, enveloping me, suffocating me are the actors, trampling on this world they use, unashamedly, as their stage.
How lifeless they are. How robotically, disingenuous they are. Yet, how enthusiastic they are in the delivery of their well-learnt script! Those words that come pouring out, stolen from a script they've been given, those words light as air, float above us all, without weight. Meaningless
Yet, with such energy and enthusiasm they deliver these words.
They are either uncaring or unaware that they trample all that matters in the process. On all that makes life not a repetitious slog of playing a game. No. They do not understand the destructive activity they are partaking in with such fervor.
As, the ritual ends, and the curtains close, how hungrily they grovel for appraisal, every last drop of it. Lifeless, without a soul they are, yet artful in the game of deception, they have learnt to be. Able to appear filled with energy and glee, leaving it unbeknownst to anyone that when looked inside of mechanisms and cold metal is all that will be discovered.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
a cairn on every mountain
chronological tricksters stacked
by near naked natives, or frat brothers
who pointed the way there
with crushed Bud cans?
fossils were less disingenuous,
treasures from a Jurassic sea, staring
back at me--coprolites a fine find, evidence
our voiceless progenitors also
squatted and shat
after days of wilderness
wandering, I found a lonely menhir
tall as two men, wide as one, in no
particular vantage point
to the sun
who carved this monolith
I'd never know; how it was dragged here
would vex me even more
I sat beneath its shadow
until it stretched a desert mile
all the while watching, waiting
for someone to return
to claim it
when no one finally did,
I rubbed my hands on its weather worn flanks,
and bid goodnight to ancient strangers
who worshiped this silent stone
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
I know what it is to say blindly and devotedly that which ought to be said.
I know what it is to deal with those who open their mouths and say all that is dishonest, disingenuous. Predictably so, leaving you wondering exactly why any of us bother with any of it at all. Leaving you wonder whether our persona is what are we are told to be, rather than who we are.
Surrounding me, enveloping me, suffocating me are the actors, trampling on this world they use, unashamedly, as their stage.
How lifeless they are. How robotically, disingenuous they are. Yet, how enthusiastic they are in the delivery of their well-learnt script! Those words that come pouring out, stolen from a script they've been given, those words light as air, float above us all, without weight. Meaningless
Yet, with such energy and enthusiasm they deliver these words.
They are either uncaring or unaware that they trample all that matters in the process. On all that makes life not a repetitious slog of playing a game. No. They do not understand the destructive activity they are partaking in with such fervor.
As, the ritual ends, and the curtains close, how hungrily they grovel for appraisal, every last drop of it. Lifeless, without a soul they are, yet artful in the game of deception, they have learnt to be. Able to appear filled with energy and glee, leaving it unbeknownst to anyone that when looked inside of mechanisms and cold metal is all that will be discovered.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
a glowing tribute
was penned for the infamous plagiarist
apparently the scriber did little research
into the copier's grist
this master replicator
has visited many a poetry site
to steal what others
did with heart and soul write
brazen is this fellow
in his misappropriating conduct
passing off material
which isn't his original product
again he has reappeared
at the Hello Poetry forum
showing his usual
disingenuous decorum
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
a courtesy conditioned,
disingenuous inquisition
societal reflexes true and
queued because they don't
******* care
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC
Disingenuous
you're a
hip hop
***** mop
slap right in the face
a turn down
runaround
useless piece of space
a pretender like you really care
but I know you ain't going anywhere
so disingenuous
I'm a
cold fish
broken dish
ran away with a spoon
I look alive
with a high five
cow jumping over the moon
a pretender like I really care
but I know I ain't going anywhere
so disingenuous
we can dream
we can scheme
stay on the top of pretenders
we can cry
and wonder why
alone in a world of contenders
so disingenuous
Gomer LePoet ....
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
Cry,
her eyes succumbing to their selfish demand
which they so often did
her sobs old news,
but a more definite pastime
Than numbness.
Driving invalidated by a lack of destination
Stop signs blurring
In salt water, a stew of ****** Christian music
disingenuous howls louder than thoughts, and
Radio static filling spaces like confusion
, "I feel broken", she informed the rear-view mirror
For lack of better words
Her acidic tears dissolved the soft armor
Of her twins in the back seat.
Who added their mother's grief
to the bruises on their insides.
And mourned the cigarette smoke
She swore would never be there
So the sad little Saturn was weighty
and drove ruts in the pavement
with dysfunctional hurt
and she was subject to trite metaphors
Which she spewed at an alarming rate
For she never got rid if
The shit-tinted glasses
That were taped to her face.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
There is no simple sin, even within an ignorant whim.
You have an absence of forward thought,
I treat this as if- it is an abnormality.
Can you, for just a moment
imagine yourself as you are,
disingenuous and ordinary.
Can you, for just a moment
step outside your solidified
perception of the continuum.
You can, just for a moment
look at the beauty inherent
within the repetition of us.
There is no behavior irregular to Love.
Consume me in lust and anger,
in soft embraces and memory.
For in words is the only place I truly linger,
so sate your simplistic nature now.
There is no insult in simplicity,
the world is already complex enough.
You are swift in being decisively concise,
delightfully constrained and
unadorned.
There is nothing more then internally acquired happiness.
There is nothing but self imposed purpose.
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 10:02 AM UTC