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Graff1980 Jan 2015
Doubt is the lonely father of fear
Not a clad caped hero
Waiting to swoop in
And save the day
But a two faced killer clown
Wearing ****** crocs
With electric joy buzzer shocks
Sending surges through your veins
Sending urges that drive you insane
It may be in reason
It may be in season
But the summer heat
Can burn your feet
Under the fire of fire
Place you in stasis
As you wait to find were your space is
Letting others tell you were your place is
While they race to chase
A better life
Doubt can be better than blind
Adherence
You just have to watch out
For the dangerous side of doubt
Turn detective to fix the defective
And Steer clear of the fear
That disparages hope and reason
Reece Nov 2014
Words meander alabaster wanderers no rhythm for the panderer
Poetic evangelists sliding on the bannister, siding with a barrister
Space flown canister or crushing apples after Alistair
Prose left with the carrier, roses left in the carriages
Verse burst from the hearse serenade the ears and it'll carry ya
The skies are full of lies from the savages and the miracles
of marriages
But this disparages the ties between the higher dyes of oranges
These tobacco stained nostalgia skies are going away someday
to read the words of de Vries, mystique of poetic compromise
The only poems worth reading are the ones behind her eyes
Gaby Lemin Aug 2014
I see no clouds
by my eyes,
no air be stills these
powder blue skies.
Smoke curls through
the sun scattered trees,
a whisper of bliss,
a touch of green.
A monumental grandness
disparages naivety
of a summer breeze.
I've been on holiday in Paris and during my stay I wrote a lot. This one was actually written with a friend so I can't take full credit.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i don't which part of me is more confused than
the other -
  you can sense something being "up"
when you spend a good's worth of a month
in your native land...
  having lived in england from the majority
of my life (20+ years) - i go back to these distant
pasts - these ferus terra of old -
these feral lands - and sit there for about a week,
and become obliterated by the dichotomy -
everyone's white! this homogeneity is bewildering,
it's like walking through a zombie apocalypse:
unharmed...
    as a first generation migrant i didn't have
to deal with ethnic disparages -
   given the school rhyme murzynek bambo
by the pole-jew poet by the name of
juliusz tuwim -
  it's nice, when a language is clearly syllabled,
like polish, unlike french or english,
and not so pedantic in treating every word
like a chemist might...
     by simply making pangrams,
   or thereabouts;
as there is rife diminutive suffix endearing
in the language, rather than plain
outright offensives - english doesn't really
have the endearing diminutive suffix,
last time i checked,
           mały malutki, maciupki would
be a feast for parasites had it fallen from
the nest...  true art-form,
        the microscopic point being made,
doubly endearing.
        beside the point? you've never landed
in a feral land, have you, esp. at night,
in a cold december night in warsaw?
   **** me, i'm the native here, and i feel
like i've just landed on the, ******* moon!
you know how white my town of birth is?
as white as: the memory of that mulatto girl,
back in the 90s...
               which only means one thing:
weird... i mean weird in a neutral sense,
   it seems weird to says this but:
every time i return to england...
   it's almost a relief seeing an asian,
      or an african (of stated descent) -
  i'm pretty **** sure people in western countries
couldn't stomach a return to ethno-homogenous
societies...
     i can't stomach it, and i'm the first generation
to make this observation,
   how the hell do you think i'd stomach
having my native tongue suffocated when
i'd like to speak it to my children?
         i'd probably have random outbursts
using it at night, drunk, with people thinking
i was schizophrenic...
   with the reply: i'm not schizoid!
no one speaks slavic to me! so i'll speak it to myself!
mind you, these lands are so feral,
so tightly knit that it will be hard for
an insurrection -
      and when i say it would be hard:
i know it would be hard...
   take for example the dialects -
modern day prussians? they're known as
kashubians...
          and the germans that didn't move
after the revision of borders? silesians.
  a bit like the scots and welsh on these isles;
how many africans can you spot
in warsaw? out of a 1000 people?
perhaps 1, and that's a generous perhaps.
      the whole atmosphere feeds the already
ingenious brainwashing i've experienced in
england: is everyone ****** or something?
that's what you get! and you cannot suddenly
rid yourself of the indoctrination you experienced
when succumbing to the educational system...
i watch my ethnic natives, and i can clearly
see: a great wall of china...
    they're swarming, like water, filling all
the crevices, all the gaps...
  and they seem so, so oh so ****** impregnatable,
i'm pretty sure that if any woman
steps out of line, like the french women with
the nazis: i've already seen castrating /
ostracizing looks by by fellow commuters on
a bus...
               you even know what mob rule looks
like when a muslim murders a stupid
kid that stole two bottles of soda from a kebab
shop? the kebab show isn't there anymore...
no... hello! i'm pretty sure the kebab shop
owner isn't around with us anymore, either!
hello! mob rule is mob rule...
           the last time i heard
   when this moroccan was taken into police
custody, and then marched into the prison:
he was found ******* & ******* himself...
hello!? i was born in these parts of the world:
these people have buckled up,
       it's not a land akin to a pit of serpents
(lying festering cannibalising - like england):
it's a valley of ravenous wolves.
Brittany Danzig Jan 2013
She
She sits inside a class and listens with respect;
She sprinkles in some new ideas only when requested,
Though I know her head is bursting with bright thoughts.

She has an average face but her smile lights you up;
She laughs contagiously and never disparages life,
She is the girl you cannot hate.
Sam Temple Sep 2015
transparent disparages
ensnare carefree societies
implying unreliable disguises
with a flair for pageantry
daring prayer, rare hares prepare
hairy Unitarians to marry
shareholders in gay Paris  (Pari’)
repairing the tear
offering free-range diversity
university perversions revert
extroverted exhibitionists
to airline reservationists
impatiently, first-world philanthropists
**** on lists twisting
the anthropologists mood into a balloon animal
this scandalous tryst helps
black-balled priests insisting
on peace to release persistent
victims’ names to mass media outlets
disabled vets regret investing
as corporate jets rest on golden runways
dark days on the horizon
implying these lies perpetrated
cause an uprising that surprises
those late to realize
the fly’s on the eyes of
poor black children
are all of our future –
M Sep 2015
(I can't help but marvel at the unfairness of it all, that when I am crazy for a girl and talk about it, it's too much information or gross, I don't need to hear that, Maddie, and when I express my emotions I'm being ****** or too loud or overdramatic, that when I wear the things I want to wear I look gross and no one will like me if I dress like that but if I were seen as who I am then they would be proud of me for all these things, that my skinny jeans and button down would be cute and fashion-forward instead of **** clothes, and the look in my eyes when I see a girl would be beautiful instead of a secret to be kept, and the tears in my eyes wouldn't be ridiculous but rather a sign of how caring I am. It's not fair that if my hips were just a bit narrower then everything would change- I would be a tall beautiful model and people couldn't help but respect me, I could pull off androgynous clothes without looking gross, I could love who I wanted and people would call it beautiful. It's not fair that having two inches extra width of a pelvic bone changes the way people look, think, and act around me. It's not fair that this rampant misogyny destroys and disparages women for their natural body types, and it's certainly not fair that it's so bad that I wish every day I had been born a boy, because if I were a boy then I could love a girl all I wanted and the more I loved her, the better, and people would say it's cute instead of try and tell me to keep it in my pants or watch myself around adults, and I could hold her hand in public without being afraid, and I could cry at sad movies and get congratulated for not being a ****** person, and I could play guitar and give to homeless people and let cars into my lane and be funny and care about social issues and do every single ******* thing I already do but if I were a boy it would mean I am beautiful, knowledgeable, and perfect but because I'm a girl no matter what I do I am flawed, I am not good enough, I am not good enough, I am not good enough for you and when I look in the mirror I try every day to become closer to who I really am but a girl at her best is still not as good as a boy at his worst and it's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair.)
Ayush Bajpai Jan 2019
When all the hopes prove to be meaningless then something happens such that it left everything and keeps aside the whole world for that particular happening.
Fragile, futile, fermenting morals keep coming in the way and make us asinine in front of ourselves.
They ask, whether, "You could do it?" in such a way where saying an 'ayes' shall **** us in that guilt.
Things look recalcitrant four or five years from the past that, under no circumstances, it is something not to be happening but the supremacy always proves us wrong and changes the things in a moment so what are years?
Love is not something that enhances or gets less but it's the trust and care which aggrandizes and misunderstandings which disparages.
Even from the most hopeless paths, we see many dunes in the upcoming [back and forth] time and see no light; but there might be another 'someone' whom we are searching for and that is sitting and waiting and thinking behind that dune, 'it is not gonna end, and for me it has ended up.' Just a few steps can give 'light' to you and that 'light' something real unending.
Not just time but that faith and confidence that resides in one that urges to go with a hopeless heart and that changes everything and cause the whole surrounding to also believe, that due to these deeds, "It Comes."
The poem depicts the phase that an individual passes when she/he feels hopeless but decides to work hard and then time changes the situations for her/him and she/he achieves everything that is needed...
James Leggett Nov 2016
they say it's when you're not looking
that you find
someone

they waltz into your life
in romanticized, Hollywood fashion
inspiration for the ages

but then there are those
who wait and then
continue to wait

they hold out their hands
for wondrous prospects
gleaming with safe confidence

they think about their friends
who just got married
and the couples moving in together

how one second there's an ocean of people
followed by a startling realization
they've all found what they're looking for

the necessity to mingle
and match on Bumble
carefully disparages personality

this clock which likes
to tick only in
the throes of danger

to settle on the assumption
you're missing something
or simply everything

to stand by as
this motion picture is supposed to begin
and quietly cry for pressure's release

it's inside these walls
of lifeless patience
where the skin around you
weeps to itself
the magic of internal allure
sleeps until it's summoned to life
relinquishing emotional fixation
toward material trappings:

gold and silver upholds true value
   capitalist money tree
thrown down upon the gaunt lit alter
   of  caterwauling treasure seekers
within briny current sea circulating currency

countless denominations cashiered
   their legal tender to grant
rich Midas, who straddles diamond
   compound billed as sacred kant

tickles with dollar signs motley crue
   scrambling towards drawbridge gate
pedestrians malingering hungry thirst
   for wealth of nations to satiate

inexorable appetite for wanton money to amass
fuels reverence for all that glitters even brass
whence madding crowd behaviour cruel and crass
deplorable if perceived from one way looking glass

fool hardiness to revere what beast called cash,
   lucre, green back
can buy - sweeping across world wide web
   scarring globe on fast track

toward accumulating high excess lavish life style
and parade with pomp and circumstances while

ninety nine percent of less wealthy live hand to mouth
envying those billeted behind sealed mansions
   east, west, north and south

except this dollar less chap, who could not give
   a rat’s ****
for hearing ka-ching melodic sound twenty four seven
   that does swoosh
in burlap sack clothes and bank accounts
   preferring to slog and push
along the boulevard of broken dreams
   that resembles nothing but mush

yet preference prevails to forego
   attachment to government sanctioned loot
freeing mind and body trying to cherish
   voluntary simplicity which does suit
this quest for knowledge seeking writer,
   who disparages against his horn to toot

nor imposing personal philosophy gives reason
   exuberantly to exhale
versus vacuity and purposelessness  sans
   blind faith soul asylum toward holy grail
goading most people to persevere millions
   of bucks over hill and dale

despite owning next to nothing, yet detaching
   psychological bond that doth choke
ability to experience unfettered psyche likened
   to an oxen with iron bound yoke!
Toward Material Trappings

Gold and silver upholds
     true value capitalist money tree
Thrown down upon gaunt
     lit alter of Midas,
     treasured as current sea

Countless denominations
     cashiered legal tender to grant
Rich Midas, who straddles
     diamond compound,
     billed as sacred Kant

Tickles with dollar signs
    motley foolish crue scrambling
    towards drawbridge gate
Pedestrians malingering
     hungry thirst
     for wealth of nations to satiate

Inexorable appetite
     for wanton money to amass
Fuels reverence
     all that glitters even brass

Whence madding crowd
     behaviour cruel and crass
Deplorable if perceived
     from one-way looking glass

Fool hardiness to revere
     what beast called money,
     lucre, and green back
Can buy - sweeping across
     World Wide Web
     scarring globe on fast track

Toward accumulating
     high excess lavish life harried style
parade with pomp
     and swiftly tailored circumstances while

Ninety nine percent
     of less wealthy live hand to mouth
Envying those billeted
     behind sealed mansions
     east, west, north and south

Except this dollar less chap,
     who could not give a rat’s ****
For ka-ching melodic sound
    twenty four seven that does swoosh

In burlap sack clothes
     and bank accounts preferring
     to slog and push
Along boulevard of broken dreams
     that resembles nothing but mush

Yet preference prevails
     foregoing attachment
     to government sanctioned loot
Freeing mind and body trying

     to cherish voluntary simplicity,
     which does suit
This quest for knowledge seeking writer,
     who disparages
     tooting his own horn

Nor imposing personal philosophy
     that gives reason exuberantly to exhale
Versus vacuity and purposelessness
     sans, blind faith toward Holy Grail
Goading most people to persevere
     for millions of bucks over hill and dale

Despite owning next to nothing,
     yet detaching psychological
     bond that doth choke
Ability to experience unfettered psyche
     likened to oxen iron bound yoke!
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
it's sometimes hard not to make these incisions into
the observably miniscule disparages -
how one complains of not enough,
and how the other complains of: all too much...
take my amusement of simon sebag montefiore's
article in the sunday times news review
about the unearthing of israel...
     all this talk of mongolian ***** hordes of
nostalgic historical reconquista always gets
me hot & bothered...
  the fact that israel was non-existent for so
long, seems to be due to the perfected
integration tact of the jews on foreign soils -
how they perfected the art...
      with such perfect integrational tactic:
you'd think they'd never leave these northern
lands, only upon the promise,
that one gentile might study kabbalah:
and actually get someone out of it, genuinely,
and not ****** the next sentence of:
inc. blood libel & christ killer, etc.
    i have concern for the natives here,
what sort of dog-food of history have they been
fed, it almost seems that the english have
a history, by populist demand,
as a "genesis" in the 1960s, and ending in
britpop!
         but as an exile, i can compensate the natives
in that: as an "exile", i can see an exiled population
when i see one,
and the english are exiles on their home turf...
as i am an exile, when i return back home,
to the child that left the land aged 8...
every time i go back, my grandparents are
getting older, while i'm growing more distant,
and even the only tentacle that attaches me
to the land is there, i rarely use it,
unless it rapes my psyche back into native
sprechen; as a slav that speaks better germanic
than slavic, i find myself like the atypical
conundrum of those of mixed-race:
mate, i'm a psyche-mongrel, go plead
for soppy violin music on another street-corner...
whatever it is that traps you on the
organic barricade of colonial piracy,
at least that's celebrated: bilingualism?
that's that's schizophrenia to these monochromatic
moguls...
       *******... next time you mention
napoleon mention what he said about:
a man of two tongues is worth two men,
a man of a single tongue,
   is worth half a man, and a single nation;
well, he didn't exactly say the last bit,
i just added the play on arithmetic.
         but i watch the english with a certain
bombastic sense of pity...
  there is a much bigger craving for pity
as the broker of power than the christian
"sense" of "forgiveness" - pity mocks,
forgiveness is a *****...
                but it always dawns upon me -
that mystical strip of land,
   the sudden disappearance of poland &
lithuania was / has / and never will be so
entrenched in a biblical mythology as israel,
which is why it ends up being a jack-in-a-box
surprise... the volatility of its re-emergence
always seems "odd"...
      but i am nonetheless a mongrel of the psyche,
even though i can claim biological pedigree,
with an extension into a czech sounding
surname (batuk instead of batóg) -
bohemian written all over it...
and we know that only the ugly vikings
made up the settlement of kiev...
    ugly men, beautiful women -
                      that's evolution for you...
ah, right, the beauties of the walrus harems of
kiev...
         what are they calling her?
edna, ophelia?
     i've never seen the sky as sepia tinged as i have
just now...
and sure, they once called jerusalem
the golden citadel, and london a marsh...
         but i still find the resurrection of poland
more spectacular than the resurrection
of israel, in that there is: so much less controversy!
i almost forget that, if i were born at
another time: i wouldn't be writing this...
      but then again, the point being:
the people who momentarily "disappeared"
were never of a nomadic stock...
          maybe that's why there's a controversy,
establishing a nation for nomads,
who, after being dole sheep marching into
the abyss, are not so keen to march back
into the israel they have dubbed a second auschwitz?
the nomadic distrust is behind the controversy
of establishing a nation-state, a fixed
geographic region,
that does not actually succeed in a tactic
of a nation-state model persuasion...
           i'd imagine less controversy regarding
this nation-state, had the nation-state actually
managed to persuade reuben, simeon, levi,
judah, dan, naphtali, gad, asher, issachar,
zebulun, joseph & benjamin...
what a pointless sets of plagiarisms -
the new testament is the anti-semitic statement of
the greeks, their superiority complex reaches
the high heavens and the depths of the most
sulphur stinking depths of lies...
   jacob's dozen vs. jesus' dozen...
           you have to be ******* kidding me!
not with the 1945 archeological unearthing!
    where was it? the dead sea?
no, some ******* egyptian farmer in an egyptian
desert, in a cave, and lo & behold
the nag hammadi script...
                  looks like doubting thomas can
longer be a mere poke at the wound in
caravaggio...
                          and was not the plagiarism rushed
in the years 37 through to 68 AD in the reign
of nero, given that the first book written
of the new testament, was the book of revelation?
taking the ******* **** out of
the concept of the tetragrammaton with
the four gospels...
     well, as names of letters go,
   the prefix list too...
                 hellenic and hebraì...
(l)adies first -
   a(lpha), b(eta) etc.
        θא‎φע‎θע‎φא -
      when T(et) met T(sadi) which met T(av) -
when H(e) met H(et) -
                        when S(amekh) met S(hin) -
     so when jerusalem was a beacon of gold -
and london was but a marsh,
the marsh peoples managed to make clear
prefix cut-offs, have names for their letters,
and only make the faux pas akin to the hebraì,
                   in greek to oωθφεη -
but never unto three...
   the trinity of the transcending aesthetics of
orthography - upon the crucifix:
       ט‎ (tet), צ‎ (tsadi) & ת‎ (tav) -
  with its hands out-stretched:
  from the east of ח‎ (het), to the west of ה (h'eh);
sigma in greek does not equate the transgression
of the hebraì T -
                   due to capital.
I comport myself with quiet pridefulness,
plus intellectual whimsy
aware that "FAKE" pretentiousness,
could be mistaken foreign egotistical vitae
furthering, feathering and figuratively
undermining jestingly,

poetically, and zealously
oozing, gushing, bubbling over
with faux snobbish suave re:
pulse sieve literary fatuous
haughtiness, and ludicrous narcissistic pre
ning all the while chuckling to me

self, and indifferent if
some anonymous browser
with Dutchman's breeches rolled up
upon cresting wave over Zyder Zee
disparages mine harmless
badinage, hence if ye

might qualify as such nitpicker,
who doth cavil - dee
crying wading thru
quagmire of verbiage,
a gentle reply to thee
might be more wise to turn energy

toward, how in many another country
the village people haint so free
spouting, sporting, and spoiling,
vis a vis intellectual sparring
(albeit innocent) black
barbs hatch chee

ving, and raising urgent
attention against he
(who **** squelching
constitutional rights) re:
pressing, rescinding, reviling,
et cetera access toward key

underpinnings within these fifty
constituent United States
of America beckon alacrity
for obliging citizens across
all points of the compass to alee

v8 his indiscriminate flee
sing, sans bedrock nation could tee
tear on the brink of calamity,
which political plug quite inadequate

to staunch hemorrhaging, viz upending
many a sacred liberty,
and foo to you reprimanding
against any agree
gee us objection to pen about polly lee
ticks and/or religion!
Yenson Jun 2022
Hear the sonorous whimpers of faded dragons
groaning the last breath gasps of fallen might
and from extinct inglorious days
hear now the bitter last hurrays' of the ******
in acrimony they wail like a coeliac new born
tis the dampened pained roars of wounded beasts
tis the infused grumblings of cantankerous old codgers
tis the frustrated drivels of angst ridden underachievers
tis the mad morbid utterances of daggle of caged psychopaths
tis the snivelling moronic backchats of a hackle of prized cowards
tis pent-up furies and irate emotional disparages of unsatisfied wives
tis the hot latent lamentations of morose taciturn misery-guts
tis the narcissistic forage of the despoiled academician
whose diseased beast within syringed narco-fixes
in the noises of  hallowed codswallops
tis the dumb mutterings of idiots
tis the inane jabbering runts
tis the anodyne venting
of ghouls and ghosts
the wailing noises
of cultists coerced
and chained in
rebellious
hope
Cedric McClester Mar 2019
By: Cedric McClester

How many times
Must he be accused
Before people start
Believing the news
If he’s innocent
Then we’re confused
Because they swear to us
They’ve been abused

How many times
Will he deny
That he’s a monster
If it’s just a lie
Were they underage
And if so why
Should we believe
His weak alibi

How many times
Will we come to know,
They’ve just uncovered
Yet another video?
Of him and a young girl
Putting on a show
Of a pornographic nature
Helo, hello,hello!

How many times
Will he beat the charges,
That one of his victim’s
Testimony enlarges?
Before another jury
Finally discharges
A not guilty verdict
That  clearly disparages












Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Yenson Jan 2019
In their town
the impoverished street hawkers
mill around hawking their wares
In ill fitting clothes, unwashed and forlorn
***** hands and mud splattered

they scream and call out their wares
extolling false merits or disparages
they seek attention, needing a sale
elementary PR agent with small lives
the pitiful deprives  

desperate to sell to those blessed
those that don't need to hawk
or share their slums
or their sufferings and pain
Those perfumed Raj from up there

The sad street hawkers
the town criers who cry for attention
muddy people with muddy ways
shouting dutifully, crying inwardly
hating their lives, hating everything

I want to buy some sooji *****
but Kanta said, how can you buy their wares
when you have a gourmet chef indoors
These ***** people only know and deal in dirt
Its their way of life, its all they know!
Prone to bloviation pure and simple
rides on figurative high horse,
which doubles up as my Plymouth Duster
analogous to General George Armstrong Custer
(blowing his i.e. mine little big horn)
anonymous readers I unwittingly fluster
poetic patina an artificial, superficial,
yet beneficial ego boosting luster
one mister re: man can muster.

I (no surprise) become
self absorbed with my own palaver drum
ming across the screen written from
me, (an average happy go lucky)
goose stepping honk
king Crimson and clover Caucasian man hum
bull despite being imagine
an infinite string of superlative adjectives jum

bull ling together to accentuate Lum
burr jack ambitions comfortably numb
when modest male
just another brick in the wall
scores of decades during plum
years of mein kampf
watching favorite television programs
in boyhood living ***
while bobbing like a sponge
(donned in square pants)
sprawled on my washboard tum.

No inflated cheekiness for logophile
renown throughout the webbed wide world
for his pro licks
regarding poetic shenanigans ad nauseum.

I comport myself with quiet pridefulness,
misinterpreted as snobbery
plus intellectual whimsy
aware that "FAKE" pretentiousness,
could be mistaken foreign egotistical vitae
furthering, feathering and figuratively
undermining jestingly,

poetically, and zealously
oozing, gushing, bubbling over
with faux snobbish suave re:
pulse sieve literary fatuous
haughtiness, and ludicrous narcissistic pre
ning all the while chuckling to me

self, and indifferent if
some anonymous browser
with Dutchman's breeches rolled up
upon cresting wave over Zyder Zee
disparages mine harmless
badinage, hence if ye

might qualify as such nitpicker,
who doth cavil - dee
crying wading thru
quagmire of verbiage,
a gentle reply to thee
might be more wise to turn energy

toward, how in many another country
the village people haint so free
spouting, sporting, and spoiling,
vis a vis intellectual sparring
(albeit innocent) black
barbs hatch chee

ving, and raising urgent
attention against he
(who **** squelching
constitutional rights) re:
pressing, rescinding, reviling,
et cetera access toward key

underpinnings within these fifty
constituent United States
of America beckon alacrity
for obliging citizens across
all points of the compass to alee
v8 his indiscriminate flee
sing, sans bedrock nation could tee
tear on the brink of calamity,
which political plug quite inadequate

to staunch hemorrhaging, viz upending
many a sacred liberty,
and foo to you reprimanding
against any agree
gee us objection to pen about polly lee
ticks and/or religion!
Yenson Nov 2021
Please let us ***** the narratives
that subjugates the fact
that we have been in the presence of greatness
for we found no inspiration
rather we are overwhelmed by our porous limitations
and captured prevailing inadequacies  
in taunts hisses heckles and jeers we find religious fulfilment
abating our frenzied seizures' of mediocrity
in bland vigour we invoke the doped surrealism of stunted minds
and drown our sorrows in heady flippancies
the comfort of disparages finds fitting refuge with pale heated malice
hatred and envy are our protected tenants
in our gross souls they adorn our derelict minds like fake trinkets
let us ***** our toxic narratives its the totality of us
for it represents and speaks ingloriously about us in us for us about us
Please let us ***** our narratives
Yenson Oct 2020
Overwhelmed by his brilliance
in reluctant admiration and acceptance
they spat out their distasteful putdowns and criticisms
it all overwhelms as they are overwhelmed again and again
by their glaring inferiority
they boil and redden alarmingly
tepidly searching their negative backward minds
looking for disparages and and asinine discontinuance
from their pantries of ******* nonsenses and festering bullshite
to drown out their limitations
for the differences are unassailable
the genuine might of the refined and erudite mind
to the narrow infected musings of uncouth semi-illiterates
the social inadequate muzhiks on the defensive resorts to type
and hauls manure in words
Overwhelmed by the man and his brilliance
its the only recourse of the crude defeated outshone clots
tellingly the more stringent the condemnation from dull paysans
the higher the admiration of the esteemed man that touched their raw
and sensitive bleeding nerves
Bekah Halle Oct 7
And it died.
I didn't realise trees
needed watering,
but they do.
It's silly to think,
how I didn't understand this,
I mean, the garden looked so green
from all the rainwater,
but there it is,
my dead tree,
at the top of my garden;
and we all pay homage to it,
now dead.
Is that the same with other losses?
Friendships and marriages?
Jobs, possessions, conflicts and disparages?
Yenson Oct 2020
Overwhelmed by his brilliance
in reluctant admiration and acceptance
they spat out their distasteful putdowns and criticisms
it all overwhelms as they are overwhelmed again and again
by their glaring inferiority
they boil and redden alarmingly
tepidly searching their negative backward minds
looking for disparages and and asinine discontinuance
from their pantries of ******* nonsenses and festering bullshite
to drown out their limitations
for the differences are unassailable
the genuine might of the refined and erudite mind
to the narrow infected musings of uncouth semi-illiterates
the social inadequate muzhiks on the defensive resorts to type
and hauls manure in words
Overwhelmed by the man and his brilliance
its the only recourse of the crude defeated outshone clots
tellingly the more stringent the condemnation from dull paysans
the higher the admiration of the esteemed man that touched their raw
and sensitive bleeding nerves
Yenson Jun 2021
and the fades scrawl in disparages
offended and wounded they lame along
plucking air to vilify inherent in falsehood clade
for strong distinct hue vividly contrasting insipid pallor
holds the sway in formidable stance glowing inspired prominence fades lives in faded visions always the pale imitation of the real deal

the less talented and weaker twin
over eons lustful in envy and born aggrieved
feds on blood and lives to lie maim cheats and steals
spawns of avaricious vampires whitened to **** from others
scouting everything on land sea and air to milk and **** in darkness
for the bloodless complexion of living ghosts schlep the curse of Cain

see thus their wailing and groaning
when the light of a true hued son of Abel shines forth
rages and jealousies of century descend as the shallows wade in
an adorned prince returns to haunt the weak and prodigal brothers
the fades in hateful and fearful possessions once again fade to black
the lights of Abel, Nehru, Mandela, Mohamed Ali and thousands others
haunts again in grace strong and proud in remembrance unfaded
Yenson Apr 2021
When the disparages from the dross
becomes muscle-memory
and sewages flow from savages in daily vomits
as ******* from trash and ***** from *****

the paragon of their fears
the pivot of their nightmares
and the light to their darkness
knows he has made an indelible impact

he has seized their minds and fired their imaginations
he has no equal
they know it
this is an ebony Legend
akin re omo oba kama kini dansaki
Yenson Sep 2021
Sniping quiver
hyperbole staggers
perfunctory disparages prowl
and the semi demi's cut loose
infinite creativities intricately excavated
deemed voids filling voids
lingua finesse is recycled heartbreak
according to John Doe's offspring's
intelligence is at a premium
intellectual property rights is impermissible
in scorched-earth principles
no life is as we should see it
copy rights to all and everything
belongs
to the Atlantic Traders and their children
and children's' children
to be toasted
in London Gin and Sour

— The End —