"malign" poems
I speak in praise of the ******** yes,
and as a male, I decline to be clandestine about this.
The reason I so admire the ******** is that it's the female's key
to being multiply ******** and frankly, I'm in awe of this.
You see, the male ***** can't compare
because, of course, it has a dual purpose.
It wasn't put there just for bliss,
which is the only purpose of the ********
Males must just resign
themselves to their dangling ganglia, the ****
which is so easy to malign compared to the delicate paradigm
of the **** and its remarkable economy of design.
Now I realize that females may be suspicious
of my focus on their ********
but actually, I think it’s ingenious.
My own discovery of this was serendipitous and propitious.
You see? Really, I’m envious of the ********
because it's indefatigable and delectable,
(I think she likes a little nibble),
and anyway, there’s not much point in trying to distinguish
between *********** and the ********
So there's my poem to the little ****
with admiration and respect.
I speak in praise of the ********
Truly. A gift for all of us.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
What smouldering senses in death’s sick delay
Or seizure of malign vicissitude
Can rob this body of honour, or denude
This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day?
For lo! even now my lady’s lips did play
With these my lips such consonant interlude
As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed
The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay.
I was a child beneath her touch,—a man
When breast to breast we clung, even I and she,—
A spirit when her spirit looked through me,—
A god when all our life-breath met to fan
Our life-blood, till love’s emulous ardours ran,
Fire within fire, desire in deity.
9.2k
From my rented attic with no earth
To call my own except the air-motes,
I malign the leaden perspective
Of identical gray brick houses,
Orange roof-tiles, orange chimney pots,
And see that first house, as if between
Mirrors, engendering a spectral
Corridor of inane replicas,
Flimsily peopled.
But landowners
Own thier cabbage roots, a space of stars,
Indigenous peace. Such substance makes
My eyeful of reflections a ghost's
Eyeful, which, envious,would define
Death as striking root on one land-tract;
Life, its own vaporous wayfarings.
2.9k
you’ve broken me
you wrapped your hands around my throat
and whispered your words of malign, pulling my hair
cutting my tongue
there’s no escaping you, old friend of mine
but I lost you in the tremors of my mind
used to be filled with beauty, kindness and grace
but I don’t even recognise your face
I look at you with disgust
and you look back at me with revulsion
I clench my fist, you clench yours
now, shards of glass are on the floor
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
Never behaved in the school porcine;
Had wise words for everyone to opine;
Full of wise thoughts and memories refine;
Rachana Sharma is ready without any supine.
An eyesore progress she achieved school in
Even the trustees could no longer decline;
Her help for others whenever did she design
Was a feast – a great help and fun to dine.
For 8 years was she my dear mentor fine
From whom I learnt how to continuously grin
In adverse situations and start from begin
So that new fight and efforts lead you to win.
Earlier she was looking like a pumpkin
But now she managed her past confine:
Looking beautiful, smart, nifty and divine
Is ready ever any problem to define.
She is my inspiration, she is my Kline,
She is the best lady as a helpful friend in.
With her I developed Monorhyme fine;
And defeated many enemies malign.
A good mentor and nice for nation mine
Is none than Rachana - a brave feline.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 6:51 AM UTC
As I sauntered on banks of Yamuna at night.
I saw a man old, bent, with stick in dhoti white.
Tardily, step by step as he came nearer to me.
With joy I smiled as our own beloved Bapu was he.
With tears in my eyes I asked, ' Bapu you are still alive! ,
those three bullets holed your chest, how did you survive?
What happened to you? Where were you all these days?
What you ate? How you lived? Now where do you stay?
Condition of your beloved land is deteriorating day by day.
Countrymen have left your path, they have gone astray.
Your image, your killers are trying to malign and degrade.
Berating your ways, encouraging means which you forbade.
Hitler's advocates on chariots are traversing Nation's length.
Day by day Fascism is gaining ground , gaining strength.
Disguised as followers of Sri Ram, deeds of Ravan they do.
Riots and killings are frequent, women and minors are targeted too.
Terrorism nourishing on terrorism, cruelty at its worst.
Targeting anyone, anywhere, time and again bombs burst.
Once a land of peace, land of sufism, land of saints,
now ****** Innocent souls being killed without restraint.
Regionalism is being encouraged and taking roots.
Unity of the Nation selfish politicians reduce and dilute.
Corruption is increasing everywhere and in all spheres
Even highest office of respect could not keep itself clear '
Passing his hand over my head he smiled and said '
I am just a spirit, long ago my weak body was dead.
Daily with expectation I rise and daily with despair I die
Daily my hope is shattered and daily with grief I sigh
They may have killed me but now I live in numerous hearts
They may write me down in history yet my message will dart.
See this flag, colour saffron is dear to me, colour green I love.
between them is colour white, colour of peace, colour of dove.
Nation divided in three hurts me more than bullets three
From casteism and regionlism country should be free.
Communalism should not be allowed to raise its ugly head.
With sword of constitution Fascism we need to behead '
Three sound disturbed the calm, beloved Bapu fell on the ground
I went to help but Bapu vanished with words 'Hey Ram' echoing around
Determined that this time his innocent blood will not go waste.
I collected his non-violent blood in my pen like ink with haste.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
The elixir that I take in,
To indulge all of my deadly sins.
Eighty proof of malign madness,
Trapped in a bottle of rancid bases.
**** my insecurity,
And drown me in my reverie.
Where all the worst become the best,
Where fear and shame cannot arrest.
Each trickle burns my frozen core,
A second turns to forevermore.
The holy water from the river Styx,
That forces every mime to speak.
Stay with me 'til I succumb,
To this empty heart that's gone benumbed.
When this head's befuddled with every lie,
Until they look true before these jaded eyes.
My most loyal companion,
Don't wake me while I'm woebegone.
I'll intoxicate this bleeding heart,
And let this hell just fall apart.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
Freewill
Rush
There are those who think that life
Has nothing left to chance
A host of holy horrors
To direct our aimless dance
A planet of playthings
We dance on the strings
Of powers we cannot perceive
The stars aren't aligned
Or the gods are malign
Blame is better to give than receive
You can choose a ready guide
In some celestial voice
If you choose not to decide
You still have made a choice
You can choose from phantom fears
And kindness that can ****
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose free will
There are those who think that
They've been dealt a losing hand
The cards were stacked against them
They weren't born in Lotus-Land
All preordained
A prisoner in chains
A victim of venomous fate
Kicked in the face
You can't pray for a place
In heaven's unearthly estate
You can choose a ready guide
In some celestial voice
If you choose not to decide
You still have made a choice
You can choose from phantom fears
And kindness that can ****
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose free will
Each of us
A cell of awareness
Imperfect and incomplete
Genetic blends
With uncertain ends
On a fortune hunt
That's far too fleet
You can choose a ready guide
In some celestial voice
If you choose not to decide
You still have made a choice
You can choose from phantom fears
And kindness that can ****
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose free will
Songwriters: GEDDY LEE, ALEX LIFESON, NEIL PEART
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
Love's misunderstood
By the heart
That’s unable to feel
We give the meanings
So many tags
Yet, love’s above all
We trivialize
And jeopardize
Expectations galore
None that Love wants
Above all our
Laid down rules
It’s akin to freedom
We seem to burden
It with materialistic
Paraphernalia
Love is rustic
Most simple of feelings
Complicated over the ages
Converted to a drama
Scripted by falsity
It’s above those words
Revealing the soul
To a pristine feeling
Thrown into murkiness
Sinister deals
Much effort to malign
Beautiful Love
Let Love be
Away from
Convoluted thoughts
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
The autumn winds ***** her mercilessly,
as idle hands lunge for delicate petticoats.
Their ugly, pockmarked howls pinch her deeply
with each new limb they expose,
until her tears drop like leaves, unheard
and become soiled.
By the winter, she’s left leaning awkwardly
like a slapper against a lamp post.
Her body but scattered, bent baguettes,
freeze-set with the frigid, nightly chills,
which preserve her stark immodesty
and her malign revenge.
Yet spring adorns her with tentative protruding buds,
glazed like freshly shellacked fingernails,
as her body itches with the swellings of youth
and foliage fastens frills around her chest,
summoning the dewy-peach lustre of virginity.
Now she basks in our wanton, forgiving glares.
As the summer teases, she writhes Lolita-like
in a raincoat that clings to her, just so.
Her barely concealed fruits spilling out,
as the sun caresses her skin hotly, until she ****
with that cacophony of lilac bells gawping, grape-like,
ringing out the sweet moans of her petite-mort.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 10:53 AM UTC
*I could compare envy to jealousy
quite easily
but that would be a disservice
to envy
Not to mention a disservice to jealousy.
Jealousy and envy are two
distinct emotions
And two distinct sins but
Envy is both malign and benign.
Envy that most unhappy of the sins.
And, unhappy I was watching you with her.
Envious of her, because she got to touch you
Kiss you, need you, love you.
I wished misfortune on you every time
I saw your joy in each other.
I coveted you.
I scarcely thought of anyone else.
My unhappiness, envy, made me send ill will
your way. Intensely petty thoughts of ill.
So much it made me unhappy, and yet mattered nil.
I'd rendered and reduced you to a possession
MINE.
Why her? Was I not merry and pretty enough?
I desired you above all
yet I was the one to fall from grace.
I turned inward, into a covetous envious hag.
I wanted to deprive you of her
for you to see only me, irony.
In Dante's Purgatory, the punishment for the envious
is to have their eyes sewn shut with wire
because they have gained sinful pleasure from seeing others brought low.
The only one brought low was me.
I gained no pleasure*
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Stark dark black limbs
Breast eyes beak wings
Abysmal feathered
Garments; a messenger.
Mal to prefix, as well,
Remnants from the abyss.
Not malicious, for delicious
Is a delight dragged
Out of any carrion.
Not carried because
They carry enough
Is too much for
These observers of us.
Screeching their squawks.
Perched on boughs for talks.
Of malign imminence.
To coalesce friendly fragments.
Found at any crossing's discourse.
Gusting about an eerie force.
Beacons upon who to bereave.
Portent displacing fallen leaves.
So we re-member
Our piece by piece plummet
Into that omnipotent
Stark dark descent.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
One day in Pickwick
Soon to be acquainted
You must be sainted
It simply said click
You caught my eye
It was an oddity
You didn’t out me
as a complicated guy
It’s not a perhaps
I need you everyday
You oughtn’t go away
Without you I'll collapse
It might seem Lemony
this idea of mine
It’s opposite of malign
I simply want hegemony
I hope you know
you’re under my control
I own your whole
Following the written escrow
You’re my morning salvation
The highpoint of Monday
the sun in Sunday
You’re my liberating vacation
Darling baby you see
You’re my delicious Tea
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
Planets align
Don't malign
Elliptical simplicity
With rhetorical duplicity
Minds engage
While hearts do rage
Beyond the sources
Of controllable forces
Span the continuum
In search of equilibrium.
The Lost are found
Yet questions abound
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
You made me promises,
And I wrapped myself in them like melodies on a hazy Sunday morning,
I savored them, twisted them and made them into fibers that I wove into my existence.
And then,
Then you broke me.
And I let you.
I let you because I didn’t know better.
Beyond time and tide you were a brilliance, a light, that warmed and coddled me into this desperate oblivion.
A ***** oblivion.
Polluted.
Shards of glass beneath my feet. Clothes made of extreme anxiety.
And in this moment, I blame you.
But, no longer.
I accept that I allowed your entrance into my life.
I allowed you to be more for me than I ever trusted anyone else to be.
It isn’t my fault that you disappointed me.
I suspect that I am not the first of your disillusionments.
Look at you.
Your physicality is breathtaking.
Every muscle, every nuance of your outward being is a tantalizing treat of enticement and temptation.
I know it isn’t where you end, though.
You had it in you to devise your plan of promises and expectations.
Did you catch what I said there?
Devised.
A negativity.
Not something endearing or stunning.
Maybe I am wrong.
It has been years into this.
And I was wounded well before you.
In consideration of that deep disdain, I must not always believe you to be a fraud.
Surely, not every fraction of your being has set out to malign my heart.
Yet, you have.
Maligned me.
Cast me out into a void that stinks of rot and old.
And so, I float. I linger. I coast along.
Slow-motion.
My own private Hell.
Wondering every time you go out if you will return with the stench of infidelity wafting through the air.
So, I float.
Oil and water, flesh and bone, separate and together.
Endless.
Or, is it?
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 10:11 AM UTC
Conceited
Masochistic
Everything in between
My blood boils
My eyes swell
The taunting is obscene
My fists will clench
and my heart will wrench
as the words keep me up at night
They're haunting my dreams
and ripping the seams in my head, like a frayed kite
What nests in my mind
are thoughts so malign
and most of the time, I'm caught in their bind
How did I create you?
Too weak to sedate you
Impossible to break you
Improbable to change you
it might be self pity
or could be self rage
but I call it acceptance for the choices I've made
I will never be perfect
I've accepted this now
but it's hard to resurface, with you bringing me down.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
Betting on plays
And whether teams could pull it through;
Factoring rates given to the risks
Versus stats, records, and rankings,
Of losses, successes, et cetera.
Whether physical or digital,
These playful monetary mediums
Like domestic feline & bengal tiger.
Like dog as like cat,
It's a different reaction to them
And connection with them
Having grown up around them.
These paper jaguars & plush lions,
So much for the fear of adversity
When you're trying to crunch everything.
If you're always in the middle
Of working through or thinking about something,
Punching an equation,
Then how can anyone hope
To knock you off kilter?
It's just another component-
Another addition & subtraction,
Division & multiplication,
To calculate & sum.
You've gotta be in it to win it,
And you're always just one bet away
From winning it big.
Making it good
Sometimes takes all it can take,
And even then you might not
Break even.
I sense disturbance,
See some malign figure,
In your line of reason.
Yet, through our conversations,
No appeal can be made to logic.
The calculations offer a grime visage.
Play with your heart, play with your gut,
As your head will steer you wrong.
If you're thinking about it,
You're thinking too much.
Just lay it on the line,
Bet it all,
But don't bet too much.
Listen, it'll be fine.
Tomorrow we can
Recoup your loss.
The contradictions are lost,
The irony was over
And you took the under.
The spread accomplished
Chose the given
And you were taking.
If something flew
You were beneath it.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 1:04 PM UTC
When the sweat is dry on my brow
I will get up.
I'll be able to focus then better, I think.
The sweat is linked to a general malaise,
where objects drift in double shapes...
Not unpleasantly.
But smarter, I think, to stay. At least,
Let the pupils dilate, and left eye
Recalibrate it's aim.
The salt and sweat malign the eyes,
which either slip too fast past the the target,
or arrive a bit delayed.
You said:
Maybe we'd be happier if we moved on with our lives.
You're seeing something in Iowa that was likely there all along.
And the more I feel like you could slip away
I become more paranoid and afraid.
Wondering now who you're with,
Whether this path ultimately leads to my replace.
Though maybe we both agree, then, with what you said.
I can't hang on to something that long got on a plane and left.
Or try and **** through wires the delusion of a scent,
that dissipates, reductively, with every breath.
Though I will rephrase, in my own way,
the sentiment I think remains:
It would be more prudent to
Let the nose and lungs to rest.
Let us be ungreedy with breath.
If you move on I will let you pass.
I cannot hold you within me,
And these cavities have not the space.
But I will taste your color again, perhaps,
In the wind, a laugh,
The wet heat of a lovers face.
I will taste your color again,
In the wind, a laugh,
The wet heat of a lovers face.
If you move on I will let you not just pass but
dissipate.
And rebuild a more modest faith:
Just once, to inhale again something like what went.
(And still remember what it meant.)
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
There is an elusive group of creatures
Seldom spoken of by sensitive souls
Lining railway tracks as far as they stretch
Hiding in hedges, dashing down holes
All it takes is patience
An ounce of imagination
From Taunton up to Stoke-on-Trent
One can be spotted between every station
The Hedgetracker is spotted
Silver eyes glow in the green
Though most keep sightings to themselves
As to be believed they must be seen
Hedgetrackers should not be feared
They're neither vicious nor malign
They just want to keep their peaceful lives
Of watching trains fly down the line
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
It couldn't get any worst.
Use to be a shadow in the corner,
a few steps behind me,
never close yet always in my line of sight.
Its darkness mimicking the
movements of my body.
Day or night,
the thing that never sleeps
it weeps in laughter as it creeps
each time closer, closer
slithering its way up my bed
as I clutch the blanket and tightly
shut my eyes in vain.
Tonight it sits by the edge of my bed
staring
staring
waiting in the darkness for me.
My heart is in my ears
a scream between my teeth,
I try to pray but remember I've forgotten,
I've got no more faith.
It's ragged raspy breath echoes in the void
of my alien room
and it just sits there
as my frustration and fright grows
a bit madder and wild each ticking second.
Morning comes
the sun raises from the crust of the earth
I've not slept a wink.
Yet, I've got to follow my day pretending
not to see the beast getting each time closer.
Remember I said it couldn't get worst?
Sorry, I lied.
Its bony,clammy hand has grasp my ankle.
Tonight will be longer,
the frigidness of its ebony, wispy hand seeps slowly
through my skin.
And once more as dawn breaks through my window
I am not relieved because its putrid hand has left
a dark imprint on my skin.
This routine continues,
I am becoming the shadow of its figure.
Its madness is dyeing me of darkness.
Scrubbing beneath the steam of the water won't make
its mark wane.
I understand now.
It is possessing me,
slowly,
bit by bit,
adhering to my body
until all I see is ebony in the mirror
and I know I've got to bleed this beast
out.
So, I take a blade and begin the process
trying to rid and purify my body
of this malign creature.
But they don't understand me!
They won't let me carve out this
madness!
I try and try but they come and stop me.
My mother, the men in white robes,
everyone is against me
letting the beast reclaim my sanity!
I'm confined within these walls,
together with this creature
but they feed me little pills
and I forget why this all began.
Sometimes, I hear my mother and a man
whisper of silly things,
they say the depression gave away to schizophrenia
but they don't really understand
because they have not looked behind
to the shadows lurking on their backs.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
Introvert, extrovert, people of every kind
The toughest battles we face take place within the mind
So take what you need to try and unwind
You're not the only one who's feeling behind
We all suffer the same so remember to be kind
You never know what other troubles people find
Without the needless actions and speaking of others with malign
If you've ever done this leave those habits behind
So that we can all focus on alleviating our own internal grind
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
I thought,
I was impervious, armor
in place, attached to detachment
my pesky synapses
melted away in
a gray soup
protected,
pain exempt...
but **** you
come to me
in dreams
in Morpheus grip
you slip in, those menacing faces
I managed to block, return
to mock me
the jeers to which
I made myself deaf, are now soprano, alto, bass
in my nocturnal symphony
those who malign me
are free to walk on my grave:
to them and all others I am
but slumbering slave
I can not choose
when to wake, to end your reign
but if I could, you would then skulk
a bit in my skull's dark den
waiting for my weary eyes
to close again
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
Memories exhumed like creeping camisados
are out here stalking once more. A cacophonous attack
of unsuccessful repression, screaming
of the foregone,
of the degredations you spat from profane pulpit,
and of my tongue, jarred, a malign antiquity.
And of what you left, burning from inside, that was
to emerge, in time, from what you liked best about me.
A fruit blossom blooming; a rose potted in ****
I put that out after thirty-nine moons.
Tip toeing towards tremendous plains,
a few times tripped, but never tumbled.
The cacophony’s eurythmic now, now
that I recall where the screaming first stopped.
A blossom, a rose (or something greater)
given to me to put things right.
My black turning blue, improved and renewed,
a parturition extinguished through love.
And now I bloom, faintly, in the shade of you.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC