"disregards" poems
Poet, be not afraid.
There are far worse things than
Bad poetry.
Keep writing; like a child keeps
Drawing with the purest of
Disregards to likeness.
The more stones you turn, the more
Gems you produce.
The more ink you rain,
The more gracious your written
Children grow.
All flexing builds muscle.
Rough bricks form castles.
Even Dalì carved canvases to shreds
And started anew
Not caring too much.
Not caring
Too much
To keep painting.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
One is seemingly more impressed
by the less endowed or blessed
when somewhat incapacitated
and borderline inebriated;
the monstrous unconscious
disregards the likelihood
of fathomless undergarments
in other dubious departments.
Disregard the random blotches
or the involuntary discharges
instead revel in model tonsils
and almond shaped parcels
the comets of multi-notches
like a strange attraction
for disheveled carpets.
The blossoms of toxins
a libation ensemble
almost near horizontal
each movement a bent nozzle
like a prehistoric Narwhal
dancing like a jackhammer
with the elegance of a cement mixer
a broken leaking fissure
seeping vapid glamour
and indecipherable grammar.
The paraphrased clichés
and communiques of praise
like lost prophets put on display
caught in the ricochet of overplay
making an exit with the grace
of a stumbling ballet
down a poorly-lit
nightclub passageway.
Ultimately this can only lead to
the face-plant moment-of-tomorrow
the flooded memory of the-night-before
feeling utterly spent
hungover and hollow
with ill conceived consent.
The: Oh. My. God!
The: ***** is still here,
what do I say?
Hoping inexorably
they would just get up
and silently fade away.
Beer Goggles:
remember to drink sensibly,
or run the risk of
nasty STD's
or unwanted pregnancy
or breathless infidelity
or reckless insincerity
or if you're really lucky,
just another
session in therapy.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
A man he wrote the book
A book for all and none
About a life spent leaning
Leaning towards the sun
In search of all a greatness
His life a distant run
A battle for a giant
He reaches for the sun
On a field of giants
Merely flesh and blood
He disregards the mismatch
And stretches for the sun
Life the fiercest battle
A war that’s never won
Commits his life to reaching
Reaching for the sun
He asks the aged pastor
Disillusioned as the nun
Confides in self and marches on
Onward towards the sun
Saw life and fortune a lady
Took a chance with love
Traded breast and beauty
Traded it for the sun
His only life a sacrifice
A gamble for a goal
With faith and strength he pushes on
He strains his empty soul
Tried to be a good man
Emulates Christ the son
Grounded broken wings he *****
Tragically towards the sun
To advance the course of history
Alexander, Caesar, the ***
A martyr for the western world
He reaches for the sun
To hold the mighty leviathan
With gear to catch a cod
Born with a head of a *******
He aspires to be a god
And oh his quest does beckon
Failure certain done
What else can he do
He reaches for the sun
To god he clings his anchor
Sworn service to God and Son
Hopelessly he leans
Leaning towards the son
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
What is love?
Murasaki would say it was an obligation,
a sort of duty
where the rules
say to bury one’s emotions
and succumb to the overpowering ***
Mian Mian embraces the sexuality
of her culture. Arguing that love
is the force behind drugs and emotion.
It is not the government’s obligation
to dictate the author’s form of rules
on writing a novel that serves its own duty.
How does Black Jade feel about her duty?
Despite her lover’s sexuality
and his matriarch’s ruling
of marrying well even if he does love
her, the family cares more of their obligation
then of their prized sons emotions.
Coco lived by her emotions.
The sickness of Tian not her duty
as it would have been in the old days. Lui’s obligation
to turn in Shiba overruled by rough ***
and her quest for painful love
in a time that disregards all form of rule.
Peony was one who broke the rules
but was rewarded for it. Unless it’s Peony #2 because her emotions
got the best of her when she fell in love
at the wrong time. It was not her duty
to see the play nor feel anything ******
in the Three Wives Commentary; this, her obligation.
Was it Abe Sada’s obligation
to castrate her lover and make her own rules?
Madame Mao too knew all about ***
and succumbed to her emotions
when her duty
was no longer to love.
From emotional red chambers with rules
on obligatory *** the cycle of East Asian
love patterns has yet to fulfill its duty.
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 5:16 AM UTC
Arachne’s Shadow
Silver spindles manifest, each one
unique; artistry
at the tip of eight long
fingers--crafted carefully to
catch curious creatures;
trapped by the allure of Circe’s
web of lies. Glistening
and bright from distances, yet
dead upon impact; sticky, dull.
A corner, so decorated with
cobwebs and dust; Arachne
spins her loom in the dark, a room,
that is used seldom, with the exception
of the dinner show; always
on time, 8 o’clock sharp. Witness
the cunning I lack, benevolence
she disregards; a fly—simple in intelligence,
but chaotic when trapped
in a small room; nuisances
that need dealing with.
Once caught, the struggling ignorant
victim chokes on
mistakes of days past, cheating on
a test, beating the ******* boy; observed
errors of judgment, punishable by death.
Every victim is different, but each is caught
screaming, praying, gasping
for life, only to be
muffled, hushed, stifled; No remorse
during mealtime.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 9:32 PM UTC
What is it that kills creativity?
Some say pain and oppression,
others say that it's the false constructs,
forced upon us by society.
But it is much simpler than that,
for creativity thrives under pain,
it paints its pain into words or pictures.
When happy,
creativity blossoms with inspiration,
and hope to share through pen and brush.
What kills creativity,
is the lack of emotion.
Numbness that suspends time,
disregards all wonder and presences,
for there is nothing to create when there is no dream.
So creativity floats in a sea
of numbness until new feeling is discovered.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
Dear Random Strangers,
Your sideways glances and whispered remarks have been noticed.
What you think has no effect actually means the world.
I would like to ask you...
No...Beg you...
To please stop judging me because of the marks on my wrist,
Allow me the chance to tell you my story,
Before you put the damaged book in the trash.
I know my corners are dog-ear,
Yes some pages are ripped,
And my cover is torn and scratched.
But looks can be deceiving.
Random Stranger, I know we haven't met
But every time one person disregards me,
It becomes more easy to believe I am trash,
And it makes me want to throw myself away...
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
Society tells me my size 22 hips
Are disgusting
That the hole in my lip
Is atrocious
My pointed nails, my blue hair, my black clothes
Are products of the devil
I am given freedom of religion yet, I am condemned because my Goddess is not
your God
I am poked and prodded at because my sexuality goes beyond laying with a man
In my state, I cannot marry a women because society is so entrapped in their perfect religion
How is this a fair world if I cannot be me?
As a woman, I am expected to keep my opinion to myself, bear children, and serve a husband
Yet, I am independent and creative
I thrive to make my own path
To be successful in myself and those closest to me
To be unique and to question everything I will not conform to a society in which I cannot think for myself
I believe in what cannot be seen
Therefore, I am crazy
I work better alone; think better on my own
I keep my words in my brain because they aren't the same as everyone's
So, I am depressed
My body composition is curvaceous and *****
So I starve myself to get the body society has entitled as perfection
But, what of my body?
Do I live how I see fit?
Hiding from mirrors and cameras, covered up by the baggy clothes boys wear on a day to day basis
Or do I entomb myself in a decaying corpse to live a short life of perfection
No.
I will walk with my head held high and my skirt blowing in the wind
Because I will not conform to society's definition of perfection
I crave affection in the physical form
Therefore, I am a ****
But you don't know my back story
You do not know how my entire life I was deprived of the emotions I so desperately craved
I don't know how to feel when a feeling is all that is offered to me
So, I remain alone
Because I am not beauty in society's eye
Therefore, I am not your first choice
Even though everyone says 'do not judge a book by it's cover'
I am cast away before you get to know me
Before you know my talents, my hobbies, my aspirations in life, my goals, my struggles, the reasons behind my words
Because society has been taught to love with the eyes and not the heart
What about the pigmentation of my skin complexion?
Society automatically disregards me as a troubled teen
That I will just become another statistic of the African-American populace
But I say I won't
Because my ancestors fought and died for their freedom, therefore I should fight for my say in my life
I will not be fat-shamed
I will not be slut-shamed
I will not be black-shamed
Because I cannot and will not conform to a society in which I cannot be me
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
You think you're special
Special, you are, my dear
Look in the mirror,
You're one in a million
You have two eyes, a nose
Oh, and a mouth too
That spits venomous fire
Onto every soul that disregards
The beauty of your mind
The logic they cannot find
In your thoughts and your speech
But, oh, how you mind
Everything that makes sense to you, is beautiful
And all that fails to, non-sensical
Of course, you're one in a million
A copy-paste of a different kind
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 11:42 AM UTC
Little boy smiling at me
Innocent and sweet
At the time he was a pain I hated to meet
My blonde bouncy curls he liked to pull
Teasing me had done it's toll
I'd chase him around
Doing circles on the playground
Just two young kids teasing eachother till no end
He was a stubborn boy, refusing to bend
Years passed as the boy grew into a strong willed man
I grew into a lanky woman without any goals or life plan
We drifted apart for awhile
Became separated by miles
You know when you meet someone again that you haven't seen for awhile?
It's hard not to remember them as they were when they were but a child
Meeting him again something had changed
Something that made my heart ache in way that was strange
Wanted to be close to him
Yet his once innocent eyes warned of sin
I could tell that the man had been through pain
I feared that this spark wouldn't remain
The boy was was still haunting my mind
The man was a reminder I was running out of time
Once so ornery and carefree
Now he could barely smile at me
I could tell he wanted this just as much
Seemed to fight the urge to lean in whenever we touched
So different they were. The boy and the man that he had become
The boy was there for me. The man just disregards my love
The man is forever fighting against the pull of fate
By the time he realizes what he needs it'll be too late
The one who use to chase me
Now tries to flee
Funny how the roles reversed
After so long I searched
Waited for him to come back here
Now all his pain screams not to come near
Strong man hiding from me
Broken and free
Long ago he was an innocent boy that taunted
Now he is the man that has left my heart haunted
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
My wife wears the sandals.
I never could. Must wear socks.
She says, No socks with sandals.
It's just not done! Sorry, don't
see myself with scented candles,
wispy beard smoking ***
No disregards, it's just not my lot.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
the whole team is here now
**** it
we started from the bottom
now we are here
what is the bottom
but the bottom
of an ****
a ******
a ******* ******
pouring out a baby
that's the bottom
everything
is grown
like a seed
to a flower
started
from the seed
to the flower
that's all he's talking aobut
upper class
middle class
no class
you don't get it
human achievement
disregards
money
trumps it
like a full house over three pair
there's a gap
no matter where u come from
talent
is talent
and u get
pushed
to the top
from the bottom
even if it was already at the top
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
The idolization of an individual
Is a form of dehumanization
It places an insurmountable pressure
To live up to an expectation
And disregards the downfalls and limitations
That make us all human
So anything but perfection is not permitted
The static perception of an individual
In itself
Is a form of dehumanization
As time moves along and changes
So do humans
We evolve and grow
But to place the identity
Of who someone was
Ten years ago
One year ago
Six months ago
Onto the current version of who you see
Is a form of dehumanization
To not acknowledge the change
And to stay static in your perception
Is a disservice
Not only to the other
But to yourself as well
Because your perception of others
Is a mirror for one’s inner judgement
Of the self
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 11:35 PM UTC
feminism fails
when it disregards
those of color
for we know that every dollar
a woman makes
a man makes more
we seem to disregard the bit
where a women of color
make even less
than their white counterparts
feminism needs to stop
excluding
disregarding
those impacted most
it's a hazard to progress
pull up a chair
scoot down the bench
it's time we serve up
intersectional feminism
for the table can hold more
there's plenty of progress to go around
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
the woman disregards
what's best for me,
( See http://hellopoetry.com/poem/bus-poems-victuals-victim/ )
gives me with kind regard,
what's best for me,
for this is the kindness
that hallmarks
the long lasting kind
bring before your childlike tap tap attention wains,
a treatise on leftover chicken wings
and other such nonsensical
finger food additions,
purposed
to inspire, to find innovation,
in expressing, reclaiming and newly exclaiming
that miscreant four letter word
that appears in the other 99% of les ecrivants
(See the notes)
in some poem writ recent,
pontificated that the
most overused three words,
yes, those abused three,
degraded by overuse,
losing their poetic juice
thru constant repetition,
being nearly
boringly indecent,
even when
boldly italicized,
the impact upon the reader
is in the realm of
"oh yeah, that's nice for you"
Better to be best in show,
deduce how,
to demonstrate
rather than insistently remonstrate,
new ways every day
to say
chicken wings means..
you know what...
Some get tea and oranges,
others get cherished
when our repast is twice recast,
when she feeds me leftover
chicken wings,
both kinds,
spiced and honey just like
l....e should be
do you know why
Silly
has two L's?
Correct.
for the run lies therein,
kissing knuckles when unexpected,
********** the exhausted, tucking them in,
going out for ice cream in the midst of a
polar vortex,
recording the game to watch later,
so her downtown abbey guys,
she can be watching at the
proper English
place and time,
and celebrating life the next day
with leftover chicken wings
and other heartfelt,
but unheart healthy food additions
that folks, is how you writ a poem in deed,
that will be returned to you sevenfold in reads,
when you want to explain how,
you can, truly, sigh,
you know, love another...
with sinful, leftover chicken wings
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
Wired within us by nature or nurture we feel this thing
The one that stops the clock, mind and rewrites decision codes
The strong get weak at it and sometimes it uplifts the weak
Even when you say no, build defense walls, and inject yourself with a universal immunity drug, it disregards all.
Is it unstoppable or we're just yet to find the solution.
The antidote to it has been more of a placebo
Do we even need a solution at all for something that all who don't have want to have?
Maybe yes, cos the ones who land in the wrong jails of it cry out for freedom
Nobody seems to have the help
When it knocks and you ignore, it keeps knocking with persistence unimaginable
It gets frustrating and exciting sometimes to know it is love knocking again
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
Don’t get arrested if you’re poor!
There’s no way they’ll let you go!
Privilege just means private law
To those ***** in the know
And if you ever wondered why it seems
The system disregards your self
It’s because you are on separate teams
"The law"’s an anagram of "wealth"
But do not worry, not all’s lost,
You poor demented yob
You can have freedom at a cost
-The freedom of the mob
Oh sure, The mob won’t listen
And doubtless will not care,
But it’s guaranteed admission
To most likely anywhere
But where will the people rally to?
Well, you may think this is funny –
It’s the same place that they always do-
The mob follows the money.
And the people rule the country
The same way as did the few,
But now you cannot blame them
Because "the people" includes you.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
the cold, my love
is something so close to us
it finds us in our dreams.
it haunts not only you,
but me.
the cold, my love
has something I want.
it has the warmth that is meant
to be for us.
but it so blatantly disregards
our every being.
the cold, my love
will soon find its way
in and between.
soaking into our bones
to keep us from loving.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
It may be the simplistic idea of remembering something you wish to forever forget
Or realizing the well known unimaginable as a futuristic reality
Perhaps the sad final solution to your seemingly endless suffering
Could it be the fact that what once was there is everything less than dust?
I am unable to fathom what it truly feels like
Due to registering only my own emotions and mental infatuations
So, let me describe a stilled serene place in time
Where through overwhelming tension and all that disregards any sparks of hope and happiness
A smile is enough to hold a thousand defined words
Words that tell stories of anything that could and could not be
The deranged evil and the vicarious good
Which smile you wear is that of your choosing
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
Another
****** up morning
Gray light transforming
The walls
Arcing displays
Of my never ending failures
Souls connected
And ripped apart like bailing twine
Remains burned
Put out with sacrilegious wine
Trampled and ground into misery
I eat the misery
My daily bread
Needs, wants, fated jaunts
Blatant disregards
Constant circling carrion birds
Salivating over my stumbles
I mumble, and cite
The glorious night
But I have failed yet again.
A Joker laughs
A Riddler giggles
I stumble and fall into the pit
At least there is no bottom.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 8:02 AM UTC
**** you for making me
Open my eyes to the
Outterness.
And for making me smile in my
Sleep.
Hell, I don't even know if I
Could ever fall for someone as
Perfect as your first-to-fifth
Digital
Impressions have made you
Out to be.
I zen my shoulders back down
And breathe, embracing the
Adventure of having even so much
As whispered to your
Shadow. Tomorrow
Or a decade's time away
Or a swift aeon's,
You'll be gone from my life.
I'll still be grateful.
No flower disregards
Even a second of petal-stroking
Sunlight.
In a world as dumb
As this one, your very being
Is a drop of supernova in a very
Silent *** of cosmic wordlessness.
I hope you're not
Scared of
Poets.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
He examines the when
He examines the how
The what, the who, the huh? The seriously?
Then came to a conclusion that it could not be concluded
His love for her was a contradiction
The most beautiful thing wrapped up in the ugly of this world
His love for her was hypocritical
Hates how things folds and mold to the body of mere humans
But loves the same things on his Goddess
She was his Goddess
He could never understand how something so wrong could be so fulfilling to praise
In ways that would be considered a sin
She was his sin
He loved the ways her eyes would not twinkle in the sun nor moon light
How she could be so ordinary
How she completely disregards everything that is his disability
How never had he heard
The letters O,C or D placed together in the constellation of words
That spills from her mouth into the Milky Way
It scared him how fast words could escape the cage of her mouth
Without a second thought
He envied the confidence she had in her words
He loved the way she loves the beach
He was afraid of how careless he was with life
For he would follow her anywhere she went
Even if it was as scary as the beach
He feels himself as Icarus
Deliberately flying closer to the sun
So that he could be swallowed into the liquefied breaths of his Goddess
This is how he sees his love
This is how he feels his love. This is how he loves her
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
a lonely teen throws his dinner out in fury
because he desires company more than to fill his tummy.
a brother is busy telling his two younger brothers a bedtime story,
to distract them from repining about the lack of food in their tummy.
the lonely teen blankets himself, weeping silently,
how everyone disregards him even his own family.
meanwhile, the brother found a piece of steak in the alley,
happy, he was glad that they could live for another three days, at least.
and while the lonely teen in his warm blanket crying,
the three siblings in their cardboard blankets, smiling.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
Simplicity will make its rounds
As it always does when I'm missing you.
I can tell you're missing me in the way you glance
Quickly out of the corner of your eye
As I'm fiddling with my ink and paper.
We make rounds with one another
Alternating shifts between affection
And you watch me almost instinctively
Perched upon your over-sized sofa cover
Disguising all of my dresses you imagined as "the one"
Floral, striped, simple brown like parchment paper.
But you are stowing away patterns that remind you of summer past.
Only now it's spring and summer's not yet arrived
A fact that until today remained unknown to me.
But of course you'll be leaving soon
And I'll be wanting you
Even if so it was not enough, even more
In the nostalgia of unwritten details in the past.
They pattern themselves as soldiers awaiting deploy
Into some unknown battle with a sparkling eye
For they know not what love is;
They have only tasted it in envelope adhesive
And flittering longings of long-lashed exchanges
Of forward observations brought to attention
By none other than the golden-haired stable boy;
So they battle with a passion of longing instead.
They have traveled this road many times
And knowing what to expect, they
Delve forward despite disregards of the illumination
Of the embellishing light of Lady Moon
Upon the night to beckon their lustful eyes and bodies
To become one with their defenseless souls
Beneath the silvery threshold of her flowing *****
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC