"lowliness" poems
a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night
when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness,noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream
down eager avenues of lifelessness
consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought
is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man,whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—
on such a night the sea through her blind miles
of crumbling silence seriously smiles
76.1k
The Earth was ours.
We filled its fertile fields full of
Plants of our own choosing: our own design.
To provide for ourselves we drained the Earth
Because the Earth was ours.
We populated the islands that
The Earth had built for us from its own skin.
Like parasites we kept it alive for our needs
Because the Earth was ours.
Then one day the Earth spoke:
You who crawl over my face,
Unthinking for the blemishes you build.
You till my skin and plough my bones, you drink
My tears and feast on my flesh. Slowly, my fiery
Vengeance has brewed, bubbled upwards
And wrath shall be known.
It will begin as a rumbling.
You will think I tremble with terror at your might
But the movement of your monuments is more my
Laughter at your lowliness. The hallways of your houses
Will be hewn by themselves as my body convulses to be rid of the
Sickness of you. You will sound your two-tone Armageddon sirens
In vain as my thunderous thoughts tumble your towers
Fragment your foundations. Break your brick walls.
Stone on stone will spark, igniting infrastructure
And your cities will burn.
But it is just the beginning.
I will bury you.
I will bury you in the fire of my fury.
I will bury you in the ashes of my anger.
You will solidify, screaming, into silent stone.
You will choke, child-like, on my smoke.
You will die by my hand: your home.
And I will bury you.
And this to me is easy.
I am greater than all you build from
My body. So I use my body to wreak ruin:
Reduce your greatness to rubble and dust
Because the Earth was always mine.
I was always my own.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
to more than I can be...
a sad isolated man,
throes of an agonizing,
stretched by her for painful
revengeful gain,
kissed with pointless avarice, divorce.
children deeming
him alienating, his faulty
insensitive sensitivities,
to easy blame
little do they know of the
piercing lowliness, the looniness of
nights he listened to sad-eyed singers,
and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts,
where he
off loaded the agonies of a midlife
disaster, not entirely of his-own
sown making,
but still his to bear and bare alone...
some accidents happens for unintentional,
unintended intentional new seasons appear,
stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto
this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen
to his explanations, expiations, excoriations
of his all too common tragedy, and said:
this broken human, he's got his reasons,
read his overly long treatises, his entreaties,
to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner
of the silence of the internet, where only the
trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive,
and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering,
embracing comforting, those who actually admitted
his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer
himself, was
deserving
of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness,
a pat
on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking,
and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the
for and the fore in a new baby born, named -
new forever
came into existence
the very same
e
that begins those conjoined words
***e~ternally grateful
"and now I sleep in peace when the day is done"
but the night time
is still the
write time
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
'Those ******* are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.'
'Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,' I cried.
'My friends are gone, but that's a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in ****** lowliness
And in the heart's pride.
'A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.'
3.7k
The job's rotten, still.
So many days past writing on pages like these.
Hoping for the best,
full of angst towards schooling and lowly positions.
Now school's over, and I left old jobs,
but the lowliness takes new form.
I left so many of yous there,
but don't look at me all forlorn.
I finished my share of the toil toll;
I went to school, I went into debt,
without even buying a home,
and most important of all,
I only climbed a rung.
I wish I could walk into that retail barn with unfake flair.
Show everyone I'm doing something I loved
and always talked about;
museum work, teaching, or traveling.
Even those "choices" are too general.
Getting over 12 bucks an hour's half the battle.
I'm only almost there, again.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
And Mary' said,
**My soul magnifies the Lord ,
and my spirit rejoices in
God my Savior,
for he has looked with favor
on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all
generation will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done
great things for me,
and holy is his name .
His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud
in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly,
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty,
He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
according to the promise he
made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to his
descendants forever."**
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC
a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night
when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness,noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream
down eager avenues of lifelessness
consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought
is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man,whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—
on such a night the sea through her blind miles
of crumbling silence seriously smiles
E.E. Cummings
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 4:07 AM UTC
I meant the
Well, what did I mean?
I wanna say
climbing, hanging from the harness
But was that really all that scary?
No.
That, that was.
Without a rope
or companion.
But even that, I hesitate to dub "the scarriest moment"
What was, then?
So many times come to mind.
But they weren't frightening because of my height
the expanse of air between me and the flat ground
But the depth
The lowliness of it all.
That's when I truly scared myself
Scared her too
And him, the old friend who TELLS ME TO WRITE.
But not him.
No, he was on a mission.
A mission to be numb.
Numb from true feeling.
But then there were those times when
I know he felt
knew he felt
that sky-opening
light-flooding
sparkle-sprinkling
"Ah"
awe
love
I cannot think otherwise
I cannot doubt it
That would send me into a frenzy
Why?
Because I'm still her
I am that same girl
A string of memories, L asked?
More than that, I insisted.
Then what, B inquired?
Something that lasts
The soul
Soul? ... L, again.
Yeah!
So the solution to the problem is another problem.
I can't deny those moments
That would mean denying myself
My soul
Wilde teaches.
And so I don't
But maybe I travel too far
in the other direction
Maybe I'm not quite as 'same' as I purport myself to be
But I can't let that drive nonetheless
work to impede
the work I must accomplish
stifling it,
that is what I ought to do
in this case.
because otherwise
I find myself
lingering on those thoughts
and clinging to the sheets
It's not even about that infantile comfort anymore.
Well, maybe a little
But no, the thoughts are too prevalent now
They weren't back then
I mean they weren't
They be'd not
So my adhesion to
these same old sabanas
Is sourced in
different stuff now
Before it was more mist
but now it's true fluff
thicker than that though
like real cotton more than the candy kind
So the battle's tougher now
'sall
Not one I must cease to fight
But rather I must struggle
That much more
That much harder
Because the knowledge won't stop flowing in
Incessant, unstoppable
Unless I decide to end it all.
But even then, maybe it'd keep
striking me in the face
And if not,
who would want to lose it anyway?
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
Between self-deprecation
and ideas of lowliness,
who am I to believe, that…
I’m completely unlovable?
When can I love… what God
sees in me? Is my Creator,
wrong in thinking that I…
have value? Does this flesh
prevent me from being fully…
submerged in righteousness?
I’m of the humble opinion,
that His wisdom is greater
and far more knowledgeable
than my own; His judgment
remains unquestionable; He
reigns with sovereignty;
after all, He’s still God
and His perfect perception…
transcends the comprehension
that I could hope to muster.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
I see your words
but they swim past my eyes
and dart past meaning,
a fleeting fish from the abyss
of a mind.
A mind that has alway been kind,
That has always been softly spoken,
a mind awoken from a slumber of slurs,
and artificial words,
that created artificial worlds.
Yet even when our worlds collapse,
You insist on the playful insult,
and the teasing tone we take,
it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
But we don’t care,
You scream out a name unknown to me
as I whisper out a prayer ,
“This isn't fair.”
And we hear your silence like the echo of a drum
with its constant ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum
of emptiness, and loneliness and lowliness
along with every bad emotion that has ever been felt
by a teenager going through her faze of
hatred and self inflicted torture of the mind.
But through the dark of universes,
I hear your speech,
with words that shoot past my ears like stars
leaving a trail of chalky stardust
and dusty letters
to be unremembered by.
Galaxies glide by in this suspended time
and I realize that the words on your lips are not ours,
But mine.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
lowliness and loneliness.
yet still not lonely enough.
abiding myself in tranquility,
In harmonious loud silence.
the warmth of the sun embraces me and rests upon my shoulder
as we watch lost souls and the wind pass by, making trees caper to the tunes, the sweet sounds of birds singing to us in comfort
the blue sky listens and rests his back upon moving clouds, swaying side by side.
we’re never lonely.
Your spectrum of aura brings a lot to life and opens your third eye.
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 10:07 AM UTC
Do you hear it?
the male cricket sings
the swallow sings
the bees sing
we sing
even if it's in the hollow of our hearts
we dance even if it's in the hollow of our bodies
we Desire even if we keep it hidden under our skirts
and you can't contain it
girls and boys, don't you lie
Food,
Power,
Money,
***
Chaos
and yet im sitting here like really?
I am so low!
How can i revel in such lowliness??
Oh, do i revel in my desire.
Do you want to know why i am like this?
because I am human.
*Desire
Desire
Desire*
We were given this
All in an attempt
to bring us ever closer
to His heart.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
Sometimes I see the look of love
And wonder at the site
As warm as sunlight from above
Concealed like rain at night
Eyes that reveal a brightness quick
And shyly turn away
Just like the candle’s burning wick
Turns night into the day
The look of love is loneliness
When special ones are gone
The spirit hits a lowliness
Like words without a song
The look of love is bashful laughter
When two souls blend as one
The gentle glow and moments after
The look of having fun
The look of love is like the wind
That blows from clouds above
It lifts the lonely heart and mends...
I love the look of love
Aug 20, 2023
Aug 20, 2023 at 8:29 PM UTC
My pen is mourning the agonies and the sufferings
Of my people, who are drowning in the sea of misery.
My keyboard' strokes are shadowing the slow rhythms
Of the wandering beggar, who's lost in the sanctuary.
My voice denounces the filthy cholera and the injustices,
Which are punishing the weakest souls of the valley.
A tiny oligarchy is meagerly being rewarded;
What a shame for a man-made world corrupted with vices!
My daring pen defaces the inequality and the imbalance,
Which fool the image of a so called free world.
My laser beams burn the iris of the blind peasants,
Who can now see clearly the mini-sketch of my people.
I am the brother-in law of the cowardly executed poet
And the great-grandson of the poorest assassinated emperor.
I abhor the vanity and the lowliness of mankind in horror,
Oh! Lord, I'm going to read aloud twelve psalms, from my seat.
My pen is mourning my beloved people,
Who are innocently digesting the giant toxic apple.
My voice is seduced by the wind of liberty,
Which echoes the piercing screams of the hungry babies of Haiti.
P.S. Translation of 'Ma Plume Pleure Du Sang' by Hebert Logerie.
Copyright© November 2010, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of four books of poems:
May 17, 2025
May 17, 2025 at 11:34 PM UTC
Is this emptiness
This hollowness
This unappealing lowliness
I want to crawl beneath my bed
And cry myself to sleep
But the tears won't come
I can't explain this feeling
It fills me up and it's unyielding
But I still feel empty when
I think about myself and
What to do
I'm scared
I'm scared of crying
Scared of trying
Scared of it all
They're not scared
I don't know why
They seem so strong
The more I talk
The more I'm wrong
The more it seems like something
Gone
Or missing
Maybe something added
Either way
It feels so bad
And I don't want to blink
I'm scared that wink will
Send me out there screaming
Throwing me over the edge
Are they weeping?
Will I be wept for
If I leave?
Or am I just something
People will leave?
Is this a matter of worth
Or money?
Am I a product?
And my saleswomans
Not sunny?
I want to be purchased
I want to be owned
I want to used
I want to be broken
And fixed like a clock
That refuses to tick
I want something else
Something more than this
I seek you with intentions
Of quite little worth
And it hurts but
I know that you'll make
Me quite sure
That I'm righteous and
Funny and happy and true
Enough that quite possibly
I'll be good to you
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
Is it possible, to be walking worthily,
before our God, in a world that’s dying?
While we have some defined understanding
of the constraints that are placed on us,
are we making the effort or even trying?
Are we operating with humbled mindsets
of lowliness, meekness and long-suffering?
Have we grasped the full purpose and plans,
for our vocation within His eternal Kingdom?
Do our actions show that we’re endeavoring
to move beyond personal crusades and desires
to impress anyone, whose lives intersect ours?
Is there a unity of The Spirit, whereby we
can have serenity with everyone around us?
Are we being productive or just wasting hours?
Does our Christian lifestyle reflect the idea
of us having one Lord, one Faith and one Baptism?
Are those, within the Church or outside of it,
being edified by the way we conduct ourselves?
Or are we acting out… in spiritual vigilantism?
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Eph 4:1-16
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
a voice said all low
and soft like a seed
not b e f o r e buried
but found take
c o m f o r t in your
lowliness and when
i left the spirit of God
stirred in the street
and moved amongst
the cottonwoods so
much like the brittle
trees that guard my
heart and shook the
leaves from my
branches--not at all
overdue
not at all
overdue.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
The finest clothes turn into rags
And she's cautious all day long
Any leak in the boat
Can be plugged with her tattered silk
Peril sneaking in
Be alert and prepare for crisis
Beautiful clothes becoming worn out
Beautiful clothes becoming rags
She is on guard all the day
-- she is in doubt about something.
symbolizing Water and Peril
--she will be cautious and prepare for evil
This silken gown is tattered and torn
The girl is wearing rags
There is a hole in the boat
The water seeping in
Peril sneaking in
What was thought to be secure
The semblance of brilliant attire
The lowliness of ripped apart rags
She is on guard all the day
-- she is in doubt about something.
symbolizing Water and Peril
--she will be cautious and prepare for evil
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
They say,
what goes up must come down,
They don't,
what goes down must come up.
Is the potential limitless then,
of the depth of lowliness
of your obscurity?
Until at last they forget,
you Were once
on the planes of the masses.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC
From the proudest lion to the lowest worm
Lies a common truth the lowliness of life
All things under heaven are but stray dogs
The prettiest of visages reduces to bleached bones
The wisest of men is but an ant
All things are equal in heaven's cold eyes
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 4:17 AM UTC
HOSTILE IS THAT WORLD
Adebayo Samuel Ogunleye- The GreatQuill🖋️
Hostile is that world,
Where the haves possess even more,
While the have-nots are left with less.
Hostile is that world,
Where the rich groan for abundance,
While the poor groan for mere survival.
Hostile is that world,
Where the bourgeoisie climb ever higher,
Using the proletariat as their stepping stones.
Hostile is that world,
Where a fortunate few are born
Not only with silver spoons,
But with spoons of gold,
While countless others arrive
With hands empty and undefined.
Hostile is that world,
Where humility remains with the lowly,
While pride and arrogance dwell among the exalted.
Hostile is that world,
Where I struggle through a rickety ground of learning,
Only to be reminded that
“All fingers are not equal”
When opportunity comes knocking.
Hostile is that world,
Where some are honoured as royal blood,
And others are branded as descendants of slaves,
Though blood remains blood.
Hostile is that world,
Where asegbe—injustice—
Finds refuge among the upper class,
Yet every offence of the poor
Meets swift punishment.
Hostile is that world,
Where those in power thirst for evil,
And their subjects dare not question
The deeds they commit.
Hostile is that world—
The very world you and I know,
The world in which we both dwell.
And so it seems,
Only God can contend with such a world
For you and for me.
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
stellar misquote cyborg
i'm really a
******* tool.
i get embarrassed when i see you
at the telescopes.
like ******* myself
whatever, though ———
nobody thinks i'm a loser. the
yellow smell of skunk is rabid
outside & i
am wrapped up in
the stranger's uniform of lowliness.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
When souls which have forgot frivolity
Traveling the expanse of purple panoramas
In lowliness, noting the fatal flights
Lost in the cities;
Lost in the skies
Hither, thither, and masterless
Sanctioned souls condemned and heartless
Lost in the cities;
United by poetry
Like cascading ribbons of thundering waterfalls
That splash alluring forests with leaves in ochre red
Moving as the moon tides, near and near
It's the calibre of the moments that mattered;
Of the two becoming one'
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC