"incivility" poems - Hello Poetry

629 I watched the Moon around the House Until upon a Pane— She stopped—a Traveller’s privilege—for Rest— And there upon I gazed—as at a stranger— The Lady in the Town Doth think no incivility To lift her Glass—upon— But never Stranger justified The Curiosity Like Mine—for not a Foot—nor Hand— Nor Formula—had she— But like a Head—a Guillotine Slid carelessly away— Did independent, Amber— Sustain her in the sky— Or like a Stemless Flower— Upheld in rolling Air By finer Gravitations— Than bind Philosopher— No Hunger—had she—nor an Inn— Her Toilette—to suffice— Nor Avocation—nor Concern For little Mysteries As harass us—like Life—and Death— And Afterwards—or Nay— But seemed engrossed to Absolute— With shining—and the Sky— The privilege to scrutinize Was scarce upon my Eyes When, with a Silver practise— She vaulted out of Gaze— And next—I met her on a Cloud— Myself too far below To follow her superior Road— Or its advantage—Blue—

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25.7k

Emily Dickinson

I watched the Moon around the House

629 I watched the Moon around the House Until upon a Pane— She stopped—a Traveller’s privilege—for Rest— And there upon I gazed—as at a stranger— The Lady in the Town Doth think no incivility To lift her Glass—upon— But never Stranger justified The Curiosity Like Mine—for not a Foot—nor Hand— Nor Formula—had she— But like a Head—a Guillotine Slid carelessly away— Did independent, Amber— Sustain her in the sky— Or like a Stemless Flower— Upheld in rolling Air By finer Gravitations— Than bind Philosopher— No Hunger—had she—nor an Inn— Her Toilette—to suffice— Nor Avocation—nor Concern For little Mysteries As harass us—like Life—and Death— And Afterwards—or Nay— But seemed engrossed to Absolute— With shining—and the Sky— The privilege to scrutinize Was scarce upon my Eyes When, with a Silver practise— She vaulted out of Gaze— And next—I met her on a Cloud— Myself too far below To follow her superior Road— Or its advantage—Blue—

37

Do you ask why the angel has fallen? What is it the mermaids and sirens sing their song for? Are jewels and princesses all the dragon keeps? Who banished the troll beneath the bridge? Do you demand an answer of your lord; Why preach forgiveness in written word even while your children give voice to harsh judgements and incivility? Where have all the faeries gone? Who tends to their forests now? Did the angels cry out as they were caste from heaven? Do their wounded wings bleed? Again, Do you ask why the angel has fallen? Or do you just follow the path your shepherd cut content with the fable he wrote, with your certain knowledge that all is right with the world.

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Jul 5, 2014

Jul 5, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC

Mooretosay

Do You Ask Why The Angel Has Fallen?

Do you ask why the angel has fallen? What is it the mermaids and sirens sing their song for? Are jewels and princesses all the dragon keeps? Who banished the troll beneath the bridge? Do you demand an answer of your lord; Why preach forgiveness in written word even while your children give voice to harsh judgements and incivility? Where have all the faeries gone? Who tends to their forests now? Did the angels cry out as they were caste from heaven? Do their wounded wings bleed? Again, Do you ask why the angel has fallen? Or do you just follow the path your shepherd cut content with the fable he wrote, with your certain knowledge that all is right with the world.

13

1. Your cornflower blue eyes crinkled and laughing, sometimes flashing like the storms you love to chase 2. Your strawberry blond mop that smelled nothing like fruit but instead of sweat and grime, clinging to your brow when you removed that Pepsi baseball cap 3. Easter egg hunts on your birthday, like plastic flowers in melted snow and you up trees and on the roof of grandma's garage 4. Rare compromises that built tree forts or wound up the tire swing until it bounced and whirled its passenger like a spinning top 5. When everything you did, I wanted to do too--whether it was rescuing the princess or flying an X-wing 6. Diddy and Dixie Kong headlocked and tangled in armpits, wrestling for the Super Nintendo controller or for the remote for the VCR until Donkey had enough and made them both watch Barney 7. The laughter of you and your friends from the basement or slipping around the corner, back when I said “Me too” and meant “include me” 8. Games of war crouched behind the couches when the only war you dreamt about was the one in Narnia 9. The cliff in Hawaii over the smoking volcanic ocean water and Mom screaming for you to come down 10. When you push me, like the dominoes you used to line up and watch devotedly as they toppled over, one after the other because sometimes general incivility is the very essence of love.

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Apr 4, 2019

Apr 4, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC

lslaathaug

Ten Things That I Thought of on Your Birthday

1. Your cornflower blue eyes crinkled and laughing, sometimes flashing like the storms you love to chase 2. Your strawberry blond mop that smelled nothing like fruit but instead of sweat and grime, clinging to your brow when you removed that Pepsi baseball cap 3. Easter egg hunts on your birthday, like plastic flowers in melted snow and you up trees and on the roof of grandma's garage 4. Rare compromises that built tree forts or wound up the tire swing until it bounced and whirled its passenger like a spinning top 5. When everything you did, I wanted to do too--whether it was rescuing the princess or flying an X-wing 6. Diddy and Dixie Kong headlocked and tangled in armpits, wrestling for the Super Nintendo controller or for the remote for the VCR until Donkey had enough and made them both watch Barney 7. The laughter of you and your friends from the basement or slipping around the corner, back when I said “Me too” and meant “include me” 8. Games of war crouched behind the couches when the only war you dreamt about was the one in Narnia 9. The cliff in Hawaii over the smoking volcanic ocean water and Mom screaming for you to come down 10. When you push me, like the dominoes you used to line up and watch devotedly as they toppled over, one after the other because sometimes general incivility is the very essence of love.

10

Poets make lousy friends because eventually they’ll skewer you with their poison pen; their insulting writ of relentless invective and opprobrious apoplectic venom. The naked foist of un-allayed aggression as art-form whereby the vitriol of familiarity slices like a knife and digs in like a dagger. The very nature of chumminess turns adversarial. Like acid in the eyes the sneering contemptible retch could cobble out words with a disgustingly exquisite though execrable precision. A quirk, an idiosyncrasy, a malevolent adherence so committed to unmitigated truth that it is as a fist to the face, a shocking starkness of incivility justified by a requisite expedience hastened by the anxious need to blow one off forthwith. He was a veritable torrent of abject invectives.

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Oct 12, 2013

Oct 12, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC

sobroquet

The Cruel Poet

Poets make lousy friends because eventually they’ll skewer you with their poison pen; their insulting writ of relentless invective and opprobrious apoplectic venom. The naked foist of un-allayed aggression as art-form whereby the vitriol of familiarity slices like a knife and digs in like a dagger. The very nature of chumminess turns adversarial. Like acid in the eyes the sneering contemptible retch could cobble out words with a disgustingly exquisite though execrable precision. A quirk, an idiosyncrasy, a malevolent adherence so committed to unmitigated truth that it is as a fist to the face, a shocking starkness of incivility justified by a requisite expedience hastened by the anxious need to blow one off forthwith. He was a veritable torrent of abject invectives.

1

a teeny tiny whited-out blank space, the tenuous boundary that separates, higher man from untamed beast, so powerful when respected, the crowning hallmark of human acclamation we all do wear by right of birth and breathe you see it right? that invisible peaceful white spatial, tiny yet palatial dot that separates us from rack and ruin, the mighty differential pause between in civility and incivility come not to preach or harangue, my counsel kept within the between beats of a mournful drum, respectfully and slowly banged each silent separation a prayerful plea, the inserted peacekeepers of our spoken words, employ well those powerful pauses that refresh the speaker and the listener so well leave behind your self-righteous disbelief in others' beliefs, that morphs into no toleration, an arrogant surety, that surely the anal-ytical results of your thoughtful processes, inevitability correct and brook no resistance the shrill strumpets of either side confidently worship at no church but to the false gods of their own mirrored reflection, who smiles back approvingly at those who scream the loudest... outlaw the outrage of your rage, come to my white clothed table, put aside the wrath of overbearing, represent your disparate conclusions with harmonious, breathable pauses to reflect and respect our distinctive and distinguished differences no one ever lost a reasoned argument that began with a considered, well tempered good morning *what has this to do with only love poetry?* ***well, everything...for you must love thy neighbor as you love yourself***

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Feb 18, 2017

Feb 18, 2017 at 9:38 AM UTC

onlylovepoetry

in civility/incivility

a teeny tiny whited-out blank space, the tenuous boundary that separates, higher man from untamed beast, so powerful when respected, the crowning hallmark of human acclamation we all do wear by right of birth and breathe you see it right? that invisible peaceful white spatial, tiny yet palatial dot that separates us from rack and ruin, the mighty differential pause between in civility and incivility come not to preach or harangue, my counsel kept within the between beats of a mournful drum, respectfully and slowly banged each silent separation a prayerful plea, the inserted peacekeepers of our spoken words, employ well those powerful pauses that refresh the speaker and the listener so well leave behind your self-righteous disbelief in others' beliefs, that morphs into no toleration, an arrogant surety, that surely the anal-ytical results of your thoughtful processes, inevitability correct and brook no resistance the shrill strumpets of either side confidently worship at no church but to the false gods of their own mirrored reflection, who smiles back approvingly at those who scream the loudest... outlaw the outrage of your rage, come to my white clothed table, put aside the wrath of overbearing, represent your disparate conclusions with harmonious, breathable pauses to reflect and respect our distinctive and distinguished differences no one ever lost a reasoned argument that began with a considered, well tempered good morning *what has this to do with only love poetry?* ***well, everything...for you must love thy neighbor as you love yourself***

49

~~ / ( • ) ( • ) \ / \ ++++++ cool breeze Carries images of lovers & Visions of true love We met on the hill It was summer It was good to be there •• Babies ! We grow strong ! ( we prepare for the war ) )()( BLACK LIVES MATTER )()( Amid the flagrant incivility •• Black ******* White ******* On the colorful possible poems ! // On the cool breeze drifting Every kid deserves a home x

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Sep 29, 2016

Sep 29, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC

jeffrey-robinta

//^^^ • •^^^ \\

~~ / ( • ) ( • ) \ / \ ++++++ cool breeze Carries images of lovers & Visions of true love We met on the hill It was summer It was good to be there •• Babies ! We grow strong ! ( we prepare for the war ) )()( BLACK LIVES MATTER )()( Amid the flagrant incivility •• Black ******* White ******* On the colorful possible poems ! // On the cool breeze drifting Every kid deserves a home x

27

Can't you see me? Can't you see? How its supposed to be You had to teach me A burdensome chore You chose to ignore So you left me alone Wondering why I did so on my own Now I know nothing I'm always running Under the pressure I'm crumbling The unformed person Hiding behind the curtain Ashamed of being the burden Now you can't see- but when you think of me I'm gone and you're still Hating me How I'm ought to be It isn't clear to me And I'm sure you'd happily agree I am lost at sea You were so headstrong About knowing all along I was unworthy and ugly, loud and wrong Now I suffer Nowhere to belong You can no longer tell me to go This is my home Piece by piece, blood and bone I built it on my own You know of my unbearable pain Trying to live life your way And you know I couldn't stay When you were the one sending me away I don't want to grow old With my life feeling cold All thrown away Feeling myself decay Its not my responsibility Your incivility Never a child to you, But a void of hostility Your high horse far away from me And I know, that even though I can't see you looking down It is a certainty Creative were your reasons To deny the diseases That plagued our house of stalled seasons So look away, so you don't need to believe in The winter that we lived in Deny, deny, deny The distance between you and I Came from you, and your willingness to Misidentify "This child is not mine, It Chooses to defy, There is Rot inside." And I can never be satisfied With your answers when I ask why "You, you, you- You chose to do- Everything bad that happened to you." How could I When I was the child in knots And you were the tie If I am a Bad Egg- and I am Rotten - Then you were the Broken, Beaten Down fridge that I was in

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Apr 15, 2025

Apr 15, 2025 at 2:53 PM UTC

learningfromlosing

Bad Egg

Can't you see me? Can't you see? How its supposed to be You had to teach me A burdensome chore You chose to ignore So you left me alone Wondering why I did so on my own Now I know nothing I'm always running Under the pressure I'm crumbling The unformed person Hiding behind the curtain Ashamed of being the burden Now you can't see- but when you think of me I'm gone and you're still Hating me How I'm ought to be It isn't clear to me And I'm sure you'd happily agree I am lost at sea You were so headstrong About knowing all along I was unworthy and ugly, loud and wrong Now I suffer Nowhere to belong You can no longer tell me to go This is my home Piece by piece, blood and bone I built it on my own You know of my unbearable pain Trying to live life your way And you know I couldn't stay When you were the one sending me away I don't want to grow old With my life feeling cold All thrown away Feeling myself decay Its not my responsibility Your incivility Never a child to you, But a void of hostility Your high horse far away from me And I know, that even though I can't see you looking down It is a certainty Creative were your reasons To deny the diseases That plagued our house of stalled seasons So look away, so you don't need to believe in The winter that we lived in Deny, deny, deny The distance between you and I Came from you, and your willingness to Misidentify "This child is not mine, It Chooses to defy, There is Rot inside." And I can never be satisfied With your answers when I ask why "You, you, you- You chose to do- Everything bad that happened to you." How could I When I was the child in knots And you were the tie If I am a Bad Egg- and I am Rotten - Then you were the Broken, Beaten Down fridge that I was in

73

In my room, there sits a massive book, whose only job, for now is to collect dust. But one day when we finally meet, you and I will take turns writing our story on its crumbling pages. When we fight and my tears drip on the page as I recount each incivility and purposeful insult, the ink will smear before you can dab it away; forever leaving proof of the raw imperfection in our story. When we decide to go on spontaneous road trips, we will bring the book and buckle it up in the back seat; stopping only to rest as write lyrics to the songs we sing and reminisce about the places we’ve been. When you and I sit down and make a night of writing in it, and we spill our wine all over the floor, we won’t be afraid to mop it up with the pages because that’s a memory just the same. Every little moment, the good, the bad, the ugly, will be recorded and remembered. And when our story reaches its end, you and I will press our lips to the last page and share one last kiss that will forever be held and remembered, like our love, in a massive book, never touched, that just collects dust.

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May 8, 2013

May 8, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC

bailey-1

written february 1; 10:22 pm

In my room, there sits a massive book, whose only job, for now is to collect dust. But one day when we finally meet, you and I will take turns writing our story on its crumbling pages. When we fight and my tears drip on the page as I recount each incivility and purposeful insult, the ink will smear before you can dab it away; forever leaving proof of the raw imperfection in our story. When we decide to go on spontaneous road trips, we will bring the book and buckle it up in the back seat; stopping only to rest as write lyrics to the songs we sing and reminisce about the places we’ve been. When you and I sit down and make a night of writing in it, and we spill our wine all over the floor, we won’t be afraid to mop it up with the pages because that’s a memory just the same. Every little moment, the good, the bad, the ugly, will be recorded and remembered. And when our story reaches its end, you and I will press our lips to the last page and share one last kiss that will forever be held and remembered, like our love, in a massive book, never touched, that just collects dust.

10

US first greed impede mislead misdeeds supersede need to lead people bleed so much gall install a wall no protocol we'll all fall ~futility~ stupidity incivility hostility ignobility scurrility instability vulnerability insensibility destructibility thumping chest virility winning, an impossibility pathetically inevitability ~~~war~~~

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Jun 13, 2018

Jun 13, 2018 at 10:09 AM UTC

WingedPoet

Ours Are Biggest

US first greed impede mislead misdeeds supersede need to lead people bleed so much gall install a wall no protocol we'll all fall ~futility~ stupidity incivility hostility ignobility scurrility instability vulnerability insensibility destructibility thumping chest virility winning, an impossibility pathetically inevitability ~~~war~~~

27

A paucity of creativity Brings on a lack of productivity Which causes incivility That leads me to mendacity. ljm

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Dec 23, 2021

Dec 23, 2021 at 8:36 AM UTC

LoriJonesMcCaffery

CH #61 - PAUCITY

A paucity of creativity Brings on a lack of productivity Which causes incivility That leads me to mendacity. ljm

5

It's like I never learned about humility Like I didn't know tranquility. or like my mindset is to spawn hostility. Maybe because I was never taught responsibility. I have less appeal to you than a book that lacks readability. and you refuse to acknowledge our lack of compatibility. We're trying to build on the epitome of instability and we wonder why we have the inability to make something with any sort of durability. It'd be easier if I wasn't such a liability, or if there was any probability that I could understand accountability. I'm sorry for the times I lacked the sensibility to become a better person, or improve my suitability. I'm sorry for my actions and my incivility There were times you couldn't count on me for dependability and for that I'd like to say if there is any plausibility or some kind of magic ability that would allow me the chance to see you again I'd beg and crawl to the ends of space and time on only the basis of possibility.

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Mar 2, 2017

Mar 2, 2017 at 5:10 AM UTC

tristan-andrew-jennings

Humility

It's like I never learned about humility Like I didn't know tranquility. or like my mindset is to spawn hostility. Maybe because I was never taught responsibility. I have less appeal to you than a book that lacks readability. and you refuse to acknowledge our lack of compatibility. We're trying to build on the epitome of instability and we wonder why we have the inability to make something with any sort of durability. It'd be easier if I wasn't such a liability, or if there was any probability that I could understand accountability. I'm sorry for the times I lacked the sensibility to become a better person, or improve my suitability. I'm sorry for my actions and my incivility There were times you couldn't count on me for dependability and for that I'd like to say if there is any plausibility or some kind of magic ability that would allow me the chance to see you again I'd beg and crawl to the ends of space and time on only the basis of possibility.

19

Why did we quit after MLK had a dream? X said a new world order was in the making. Why did we stop fighting for our rightful place in it? 57 years ago, we won the Rights That allowed me to marry my wife- Why are we still seeing immoral incivility Through the lens of thousand-dollar cell phone cameras? 57 years ago, we couldn’t have captured injustice- No lens, no proof, no hope of justice. But 57 years ago, we fought for civility and won. But we quit. We thought we were done. We became complacent in our victory. It was just a battle. The war is yet to be won. I sit and watch my children laugh and smile, Blessed with much more than I ever dreamed to have. Then I look at the news- And I cry inside. I look at my wife, The love of my life, And I want to ask her- Why are you so different from them? Why can you see the good in me? And not just the color of my skin? She would say, “Did God see color, or did He see His children calling to Him?” God did not quit when His children cried. Then why did we-after one battle, one prize?

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Feb 15, 2025

Feb 15, 2025 at 10:15 PM UTC

tyr-johns

Did We Quit?

Why did we quit after MLK had a dream? X said a new world order was in the making. Why did we stop fighting for our rightful place in it? 57 years ago, we won the Rights That allowed me to marry my wife- Why are we still seeing immoral incivility Through the lens of thousand-dollar cell phone cameras? 57 years ago, we couldn’t have captured injustice- No lens, no proof, no hope of justice. But 57 years ago, we fought for civility and won. But we quit. We thought we were done. We became complacent in our victory. It was just a battle. The war is yet to be won. I sit and watch my children laugh and smile, Blessed with much more than I ever dreamed to have. Then I look at the news- And I cry inside. I look at my wife, The love of my life, And I want to ask her- Why are you so different from them? Why can you see the good in me? And not just the color of my skin? She would say, “Did God see color, or did He see His children calling to Him?” God did not quit when His children cried. Then why did we-after one battle, one prize?

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