"ignominious" poems
Plagiarism of worthless ideals,
that you so ignorantly hold high.
Shaking in amazement,
how can you call your self alive?
Totalitarian, lethargic lifestyle.
Ignominious displays of disaffection.
Constant contradictions;
out of your mind.
Caught up in the clouds,
cognition of mania and level debauched.
Up to high to realize, you're an “open mind” with locked doors.
Maslow, Skinner, and Darwin alike, turn in their graves,
over your lack of evolution.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
On my way to work,
Whenever I pass through
The Holy Trinity church,
After a brief prayer,
The tombstone of a martyr
My eyes never fail to search
As his eulogies sensitive cords
Are sure to touch!
I admire
The tombstone’s design
A flickering torch,
Whose tongue
Is the martyr ’s statue,
That talks loud his virtue!
“Holy Trinity
Till I crossed the river of death
Allegedly, striped of my health,
Poisoned by evil doers,
Who hanker
By unfair means
To amass wealth,
I had been
A public servant
Adherent to my faith! ”
“Holy Trinity
To abide by
Your commandment-
Don’t steal-
Was my desire
Also to pull out millions
From poverty’s quagmire.
Across the board development
Working better than one's best
Efficient resource utilization
Also drew my attention! "
“Holy Trinity
A generation
To corruption averse
Is all-out
The bad scenario
In my country
To reverse.
A generation for
A developmental ******
That has lust.
I have come to understand
The coming up of
Many a lass and lad,
Whose rights that demand
I need no more reward,
When in front of you
This way I stand
Justice to demand! ”
Children of Oromia,
Ethiopia’s elephantine branch,
You have to detach
Your state, your country
From the impudent
And the corrupt
That still exercise
The outmoded
Colonizers’
Divide and rule
As a fool .
A corruption fighter
Development’s workforce
Is also a hero
Like Ethiopia’s
Valorous and dear sons
Balcha Abanefso
Geresu Duke,Abdisa Aga
And Jagama Kelo.
Children of Oromia
Giving to divisive guys
A deaf ear,
You should hold your
Country Ethiopia,
A cradle of mankind
And civilization, dear
Do not forget
Adding up
Is the current road map
Evil doers
Killing a hero
Could not bring
The change drive
To zero.
As a poet what I can say
“Evil doers
Stop to opt for
Devilish way!
But if you
Keeping going astray
You will go
To the grave in
Ignominious way!”//
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:09 AM UTC
Practicality is the reality
of ignominious totality
the devices of all sizes
and the grammatical mentality
of systematic duality.
Punctuation is the **********
the *********** of every generation
the permutation and saturation
of wordsmith temptation for re-calibration
the aberration and consternation
that leads to misinformation
and condemnation and annihilation
of the constellation colloquial conversation
the abomination of language urbanization
the fermentation and ionization
of linguistic complications
the desolation of commas and semi-colons
the affirmation of their vs they're
the augmentation of amalgamation
is just the lyrical ************
of a hooded basketball top nation
the culmination of devastation
the gestation and interpolation
that leads to appreciation isolation
and justification acceleration
the modification and assimilation
of poorly-worded implementation
and the contamination of myriad exploration
alienation in illumination
punctuation is the salvation of documentation
against the tides of violation
and the extermination of regurgitation
the classification of discrimination
and last but not least
the liberation of misrepresentation.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Incongruous by nature
wrapped in ignominious twine
I eat sushi and a 12 dollar slice of cheese cake
Chug two old english and spend the night at the porcelain throne both ends screaming
staring into eyes rapt with fear
all eyes are rapt with fear
Of what then? Death? Shame?
in the rubber belts and fulcrum arms and cogs of the melting ***
all perspectives have value
and the decadence signified in a haircut or a cadillac is nothing more
than the words on the bathroom walls
or little brown note books
Clarity is for saps
Flourish dans l'entropy
Ou mourir dans la peur
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Gertrude
Caught in my *** and in my gender,
Out a king and husband,
Without time to seek a lover;
A son to preserve
His chance at the Line....
What could I do but marry?
He has left me now,
Shaking in my chamber.
A blood streaked line
follows Polonius'
Ignominious retreat
From behind the tapestry
In Hamlet's tow.
What could I do but marry?
I look anew at the two portraits
Chained side by side,
Husbands One and Two;
Re-live young Hamlet's scorning words
And wondering, shudder.
What could I do but marry?
Comes Claudius roaring
To my rooms, his eyes ablaze
My answers tremble, filled with doubt
Of Hamlet's sanity.
New- eyed, I see
The hatred in the King
And fear.
What could I do but marry?
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
Seeing such said-to-be veracity
made spurious by truer voracity
left me in a downward maudlin spiral
caught in the gravity of pejorative thoughts.
(They were right about you)
Shown to be mendacious and meretricious
with such audacious and ignominious cupidity
that is, apparently, insatiable
by external stimulation.
These words are for thee.
(They were right about you)
A
Mistress of Verisimilitude
Sorceress of Perdition
Goddess of Rapacity
Nugatory Luddite
Fatuous Epigone
Specious and unctuous Girl
of gratuitous turpitude
These puerile and rather flavorful words
fueled by seemingly insuperable motifs
arranged in a terse, inimical verse
for a rather insipid person
who will likely never even know of them,
and yet;
such sweet felicity.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
I'll write a poem a day,
and maybe that way everything will be
okay.
I'll look up at that oil covered sky,
that peculiar black stained shade of grey,
those wisps of condensation tilled out,
like fields of wheat and
creased tightly through golden streaks,
of setting suns' last gleams,
and I'll sit lack jawed, if just for a second,
and wonder if truly my existence is worth it.
So much doubt running,
so very deep.
Yes, I'll write a poem a day,
as if...
nothing,
really.
Aye,
Eureka, I know my meaning,
Yes I will express that frustration,
of an infinite empty feeling.
That little almost insignificant voice that says to you,
It doesn't matter, none of this is real,
Well for each and every one of you I'll feel,
quite intensely in fact,
that ignominious void,
the elephant in the room,
and with tact and poise,
I'll illuminate it for you,
so you can live, and I can dream,
Sweet fruitful dreams of nothing.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
My day died an abrupt death. Ignominious.
At the hands (and lips) of my own mother.
Yet another broken thread, burning bridge,
lost key to a door shut in your face without a parting kiss.
Ce la ma vie.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
How standard and usual
A pathetic attraction
Oblivious of two
Ignominious lovers
I crave diligence
While ignorant to the thoughts
and intensions of his mind
Save me, Lord, from destruction
just this once,
For his heart can match perfectly with mine
How typical and useless
rejecting our relations
despite wanting his effort
to love me, dearly
I crave remembrance
ignorant to the thoughts
and intentions of his mind
Save me, Jesus, from repulsion
just this once,
For my feelings I can no longer hide
How standard and usual
A pathetic attraction
oblivious of two
Ignominious lovers;
blind in the love shared
for each other
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
Mysterious orbs, enthralling eyes
Lovely hands feared by demise
With a touch that turns tumult to ease
Each gentle caress calms infuriated seas
Raven locks soft against fingertips
Fetching curves on a pair of rosy lips
A voice mellifluous like an angel's, divine
A smile more radiant than a ray of sunshine
Every movement manifests innate grace
The light at the end of a tenebrous maze
The embodiment of one's romantic dreams,
But my hands are about to rip your elation's seams
You are perfect - perfectly flawed
An act the audience would barely applaud
Tongue soaked in a well of profanities
A lacerated soul plotting atrocities
Tousled hair, pernicious hands
Your sanity gallops on feeble strands
Frivolous antics deem you ignominious
But how you handle agony is stupendous
Perhaps it is why he is utterly enamored
Hymns of love in his mind sauntered
Your presence drives away his blues
You fit impeccably as his muse
From a distance, a scenic perfection
I spew no confession but unadulterated admiration
Lucky is he who holds your heart
I am but a spectator awaiting the story's subsequent part
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
death, apparent,
or...
apparently so...
was never a concern to
concern oneself
with the debate
between a man,
and a god....
i,e.?
funny...
the little **** sleeps
like a baby...
little ****
a maine **** cat,
male,
extracted testicles...
falls asleep
listening to
the dead can dance...
only album favorite....
my cat favored
to fall asleep in half the time
it took to listen to the track...
you can state your
Apocalypse Now! counter
in half the time...
beginning with....
now!
i'm done begging,
i'm imploring you...
added minutes?!
michele campanella...
WAGNER's
walhall
from, das rheingold...
such esteemed people!
such awaiting people!
such... nuanced...
of what could be claimed as...
people...
what wonder!
what ignominious
ingenuity of retraction!
to, have, fathomed!
the last of what ia esteemed
to be deemed,
the, *least"...
finest upon the finest,
and, supposedly,
no more,
that a utility of a hammer,
for whatever came the observation,
to make comprehension
of... the noun: nail,
and the adverb...
nailing it...
with the verb and noun
of final utility of: hammer...
dear... prospect...
of whatever was inclined
by your stressed ingenuity of fault...
how have you....
my... oh my...
your creation wss
supposed to be more stupid
than the people you already deemed
stupider,
and already demanded
yourself to, despise?
and your intelligent
"creation"...
wasn't supposed to notice this,
discrepancy?
now ensure you retell this narrative...
'mother...'
'yes, David...'
'play me... the raconteurs'
old enough.'
mother knows, best.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 9:36 PM UTC
I do poetry
not for the sake of creating confusions,
or miserable interjections, or an uphill struggle
to unravel such an ignominious mystery,
bound to recollect the scattered pieces of my soul
as it ends a series of endless wailing,
of countless days of badly breaking,
of numerous attempts to keep me from falling,
at the deepest fissures I am left with.
But, man,
Thank you.
I thank you all for that,
for as long as I have an ocean of emotions to feel,
for as long as this life gives me false guarantees,
as long as my heart continues to blindly receive,
as long as the universe gives us a reason to still dream,
as long as you have your eyes to read what I really feel,
I will not mark an end to my desire to fill
an empty surface, so as to truly reveal
that I may refuse to let the world in
but I know I can give it another try
in another time, when I get my old self back
and find her ready to feel again,
fresh and free from fancy frustrations.
Loud and sound, I will someday astound
the souls that tried to bring the worst out of me
and will divulge the best of me.
I'll say, at last, I am finally free,
and thanks for making me see
that even without you, I can always be.
Thanks for the memories.
Thanks for the tears.
Thanks for all.
It was truly a bliss
to let go of what it's not worth it.
Let's think it was worth it.
My crazy, little, once-upon-a-time-dream,
you saw how I ebbed out of my soul.
Now, you will be seeing
how I will flow back to the shore,
with a stronger heart and a bolder soul,
through this bland and lonely poem.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
Firstly Hand me over to the pouring rain
Let me be soaked in that flooring pain
Be sure to let me me enjoy my goring gain
For I surely believe not in my plastic fame,but
Let me enjoy this acidic game I designed , Cos
I know not the rules of this drastic shame
Lastly Let me enjoy my intoxicating
Oxytocin that preserves my metamorphosis
To an ignominious state that will prevail
Through my youthful altercations.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
This brick.
This bulging pocket of blue jean.
This song player, noise maker, memory saver.
Eternal space.
Secret keeper.
It's my life, this brick.
You think you can touch it? have it? hold it?
Let my secrets run along your nerves and scurry in between your brain cells?
No.
I would rather die an ignominious death and
rot a thousand years in the sea than
watch your eyes scan my life.
Search the deep caverns of my soul.
Watch your heart scream and hear the echoes of blood curdling madness.
Your fingers would burn as
you caress the suggestive sentences.
back and forth and
it comes naturally.
Sad truths.
Depressing facts.
You'd rather pour acid on your
eyes
and have them turn to
dust
than read the conversations,
I swear.
The ability to chirp
and make it appear as if it came from my own mouth?
Ridiculous.
I do not believe in ventriloquism.
Weak images
your eyes cannot behold.
I would feel exposed.
Like "The Woman" bathed
in wool and cloth and silk.
And under memos?
The secret to how my brain works.
Why would I desire you to know the short cut
to my vulnerability?
The grey box to my wiring and the scalpel to my heart.
It's the way my soul thinks.
And you can't know that.
This brick, bulge, memory saver,
it's my secret keeper.
The fidelius charm cast over my own self.
The secret is kept within
the very soul of my secret keeper.
Giving the password up is worthy of death.
You will never hold its life on your hands.
You will never see my
soul.
You will never know my
heart.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
We cowardly witnessed the genocide of many human beings
Live, live, live in real time
That was an odious, callous and vicious crime
We said nothing, absolutely nothing about the sad and awful events
Many of us were either silent or complacent about everything
Even God was absent and quiet. He did nothing, nothing
Evil doers are not humane; they are ******** criminals
We witnessed the bombings of babies, buildings and animals
We saw the massacres and the aftermaths. We could smell the blood
And could hear the cries coming out of the television screens
We saw the live and dead bodies, the hearts, the livers and the spleens
Rotting and spoiling in the filthy streets. The color of the mud
Is grim and abnormal, because of too much sufferings and tears
Too much pain and misery, too much disgust and shame
Too much atrocities and killings. We all know whom to blame
We know who are responsible for so much evilness and wrongdoings
Humanity got thrown out of the window in this part of the universe
We wonder if these two legged machines have a heart and a soul
We wonder if they ever look in a mirror, in a clear pool
We wonder how it would be if everything were to happen in reverse
Where is God? Why this ignominious silence?
Live, live, live in real time
That’s an odious, egregious and beastly crime
How can anybody sleep at night? That makes no sense
These days, everything is live, eerie, vivid and instantaneous
Grotesque things are never acceptable, admissible and hilarious
We want peace and we dream of peace
But the guilty ones must pay from west to east
And from north to south. We want peace and justice.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to Love, Peace, Equality and Justice.
Copyright © June 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Jun 1, 2025
Jun 1, 2025 at 11:37 PM UTC
a distinct feature
in my appearance
would be
the bags under my eyes;
i remember staying up
until my bones quiver
under the bewitching spells
of the moon’s forgotten raving sonatas,
enticing enough to cradle
an iota of dejected sentiments
from centuries and centuries ago.
i remember looking up
at the night sky
until my eyes flicker from dust to ashes,
burning the crevices of every wall i built,
graveyards broken down
to match the unmatched
bleakness of the ignominious sorrow
peeking out of the corner of your soles.
i remember laying down,
not once had silence became overbearing
that i could hear the faintest brush
of a weightless feather falling
from a tainted nest,
aching to meet its pernicious lover.
i remember closing my eyes,
shifting everything elsewhere;
still, i dread the feeling of compunction
emerging deep from
the landmines of mistakes
that i had claimed as my home
and my shelter.
but this, i could never forget:
i remember
being envious of you;
how you do not
lay awake at night,
wondering if things
could have been better.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
(with apologies to Elizabeth Barret Browning)
Arrogant
Book Soldier
Conceited
Con Artist
Covetous
Cunning
Deceitful
Disingenuous
Egoist
Egregious
Envious
Entitled
Evil
Haughty
Hypocritical
Ignominious
Immoral
Jealous
Jumped Up
Machiavellian
Martinet
Mendacious
Nit Picky
Obsessed
Peck Sniff
Perfidious
Persnickety
Pompous
Popinjay
Predatory
****
Rapacious
Regimental
Sanctimonious
Self Important
Shylock
Smarmy
Sophist
Supercilious
Unctuous
Unethical
Vile
Vicious
Zealot
ljm
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 1:52 PM UTC
Forty yards from Haribo Heaven,
They took flight,
Mocking the clouds of traffic:
Faster and faster,
Faster and looser,
Faster and freer.
But then the Saxon ground
Came out in revolt,
Saying
Their covenant with gravity had been violated.
All sound was muted.
Heads struck at thirty-three yards;
Backs cracked the soil at thirty.
In his heart,
It was her finger that he felt,
Arching over the G string of her violin,
Like the neck of a flamingo.
He mused:
After the sound came back,
Would she play a gigue or a dirge
To accompany
This ignominious moment?
When her sullied, muddied, mossy eyes looked away from him,
To her, had he become a lesser man?
Faster and faster
Faster and looser.
Had she now glimpsed a father’s struggle
To piece together what he thought he knew?
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 3:29 PM UTC
Seated in a half circle,
Around their recycled leader
Men and women of ignominious calibre,
Ruminating over matters of state;
Out of touch minds,
Ancient recluse,
Trapped in stone age idiosyncrasies,
Blind to present shifting paradigm;
Six decades of backwardness,
Circular movement without advancement,
Left behind by peers,
Now poverty capital of the world.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 6:57 AM UTC
My questionee is the first born of Europe,
Mr. England the royal son of Europe
Who chewed and still chews
Fortunes from the colonies
With the mighty of hyena mandibles
When its canine teeth penetrate
Rotten pork in the helm of day’s starvation.
My questions come to you England and your brothers;
The European immigrants who left their home
To usurp land in the African territory of Australia,
Then with all imperial mighty you decimated
The human race of Africans, which you called a dog’s name;
The fitlhy, uncouth, loatish, oafish, and worthless aboriginals,
Which you deemed humanity so useless that deserve not to own any country
As God was so idiosyncratic to give such heavyweight buffoons
Like the African natives of Australia such a fertile land,
Why did you **** my brothers in Australia?
And you replace them with your sons and daughters,
To shamelessly occupy land which is not their ancestral home?
You ravenous Europeans who will heal you from the bug of colonial syndrome?
Before you answer, wisdom of time commands European settlers to quit Australia,
To bring to an end ignominious civilization of colonialism.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
I know you
All of you
You the spores
The tendrils
The green shoots of a mighty tree
I know you
The perpetually in-the-back-ground
Those wallflowers
Silent spectators
Standing as character foils to the revolution
The anti-rebels
The sedentary
I know you
The viciously unchanging
I have seen you
I have felt your inert presence
Your supreme lack of influence
Your defining apathy
Your ignominious existence
And your abhorrent sanctimony
Yes, I have been one of you
But I have grown from you
And I hope to, by my mere existence
Prove
That you are not permanent
That something can become of you
Because, as I have said
I was you
But now
I am not.
Jun 9, 2011
Jun 9, 2011 at 6:46 PM UTC
we seem to have made a lot of theoretical weekends
i'm terrified that they won't happen
because it is so nice to exist alongside your rendition of poise
and effusive words
that i am afraid it isnt real
she left you ignominious like he did to me
our roles are reversed but i feel like you understand
and i hope i am coming close to understanding the part of you
you left behind with her.
when i am with you i don't feel like a series of failed lacerations
and i look at you and see pride
i feel safe laying beside you, spend the night.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
I flung my screams over the gunwhale
Into the unhearing sea
And lowered my anchor, weighted
with an ignominious plea:
Just as a single dark wave
Costs the vessel its course,
So did my evanescent joy
cost me you;
Even the riverbank is changed
minutely by its waters,
and so my life alters
with you
The storm stirs wildly,
but sobers, from thence
coming ashore
and so does my spirit for
you
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
My secret
Is richer than a winning ticket;
Buried,
Like waiting treasure;
Fresher than rain;
Secure,
As my PIN;
Complex,
As a combination lock;
Password protected;
And deeper
Than thought.
My secret
Is Confessional sealed;
Private,
As a boil;
Personal,
As a shave;
Ignominious
As the front page.
The bartender doesn't know.
If you listen
You'd discover
It's for your eyes only.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
Oh! Enigmatic mother,
Capturing the unsuspecting we,
Trapped in thy surreal embrace,
Wondrous charms possess thee.
Ensnaring senses,
Thy promiscuous beauty,
Yet, the fools flee,
Beholding thy ******
Earthy and bare,
Rustic and rare,
Thy charms lay unparalleled,
Polluted, slight, by repulse,
The ignominious souls,
From doors not crafted by thee,
Leave them ajar and welcome,
The mighty spirits of darkness,
Where evil makes thy heart numb,
And weaves it's sickly web,
Conjuring abominations and spells,
That the good man shall hope,
Never to hear, and terrible sights,
Never to see.
Cold azure skies transition,
To that which befits,
Our prosaic existence,
Shying away from thy brilliance,
Concealed within deep-seated layers,
Of well-practised pretence.
Thy pertilance, remains commendable,
Thou, the mother of all,
Now, perfunctorily cast aside,
Yet, it is thou, who shall mourn our fall.
Oh! Exuberant mother,
Let not the ship, be destined to doom,
Let the fresh buds bask, in eternal bloom,
And if the glorious fire of the sun,
Is ever to cease,
Let it be, for only, a new dawn,
For we, thy blood and thy flesh,
In all our greed and petulance,
Lay down and pay obeisance to thee,
And thee, alone.
Our fate awaits thy perusal,
Oh forgiving mother! Let humanity prevail.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 3:47 AM UTC