"rudest" poems
When I saw my bones
Protrude
From the knots of my back
Like the ridges of a dinosaur
Sapped of food, singed with
Stress
A childish distress
Fear darkness
Blankness
Terrifying emptiness
When I saw my back protrude like the
Ridges of a dinosaur
I saw my body dressed as the
Skeleton I will one day become
I saw a vessel controlling a brain
I felt like a bottle of tequila drained
Such fun until it's empty
Used to the tip of uselessness
When I saw my back protrude like dinosaur ridges, a skeleton
****
The most terrifying thing I felt when I saw my back protrude, like the dinosaurs I coveted when I was small,
The rudest thing I felt was
Satisfaction
With it all
I felt more beautiful than I ever had
Maybe
Ever will
Felt satisfied at the neatened carelessness I
Had almost used to **** myself
Satisfaction
That my body curved in
Only bones, no fat or muscle to
Hide the struts within
Revelled in the hunger in the pit of
Stomach because no one
Could control that but
Me
You can't fail at starvation
I loved it
For once I couldn't fail
When I saw my back protrude like a dinosaur
I knew I could never go there again
Because the living dead feel only
Hunger
Chest pains
And fatigue
And dinosaurs ate whenever the **** they wanted to
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
Long I followed happy guides,—
I could never reach their sides.
Their step is forth, and, ere the day,
Breaks up their leaguer, and away.
Keen my sense, my heart was young,
Right goodwill my sinews strung,
But no speed of mine avails
To hunt upon their shining trails.
On and away, their hasting feet
Make the morning proud and sweet.
Flowers they strew, I catch the scent,
Or tone of silver instrument
Leaves on the wind melodious trace,
Yet I could never see their face.
On eastern hills I see their smokes
Mixed with mist by distant lochs.
I meet many travellers
Who the road had surely kept,—
They saw not my fine revellers,—
These had crossed them while they slept.
Some had heard their fair report
In the country or the court.
Fleetest couriers alive
Never yet could once arrive,
As they went or they returned,
At the house where these sojourned.
Sometimes their strong speed they slacken,
Though they are not overtaken:
In sleep, their jubilant troop is near,
I tuneful voices overhear,
It may be in wood or waste,—
At unawares 'tis come and passed.
Their near camp my spirit knows
By signs gracious as rainbows.
I thenceforward and long after
Listen for their harplike laughter,
And carry in my heart for days
Peace that hallows rudest ways.—
2.2k
Sometimes the rudest can be the ones closest to you.
Because you did not see it coming.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
the pompous one
with her comments
as she slithers by
with
the rudest
of dogs
the confident family;
confident
to a fault
sitting too close
and talking
too loud
the hypocrite
complaining
of the mess
and leaving behind
a scavenger's
detritus
the insecure sage
a font of knowledge
based on
hearsay
and opinion
with only
a pinch
of fact
the innocently gormless
with no thought
for sense
or logic
common or otherwise
but only
for the now
and
the immediate
these are
the passengers
on the
carousel
of frustrations
for today;
replayed
rephrased
resurrected
over
and over
i think
so little
of them
yet
i'm unable
to stop myself
thinking
about them
Apr 22, 2022
Apr 22, 2022 at 8:54 AM UTC
Tempests escort trust
Right out the door
In rudest manner.
Blustery, with an icy chill
That breathes nausea into my soul,
Fear has ******* trust for far too long.
This is not The Way.
This is not what He designed,
Nor paid so dearly for.
He could not be more clear:
“You will have trouble-
But take heart,
I have overcome the world,
I am with you always,”
Cast your cares on me,
Consider the lilies of the field,
I’ve numbered the hairs on your head.”
It’s time I get ruthless,
Toss fear and worry out,
And bar the door with trust.
Start a fire of gratitude in the hearth,
And cook a celebratory feast.
When darkness descends
And trouble comes in waves,
When I see things gone wrong,
With no redeeming bent,
I will wait.
I will clutch His hand and wait.
I will look around in this moment,
And ask, “Father, what would you have?”
I lack understanding,
And there is nothing good in me,
But I belong to One who
Loves extravagantly,
Strengthens repeatedly,
Forgives freely,
Rules in humility,
And is jealous for my trust.
I’m beginning to think
It is an all or nothing proposition.
Clarity may not come,
Not in this shady realm.
But confident expectation surely can.
Do I or don’t I?
Will I or won’t I?
Trepidation and trust
Just a heartbeat apart, these two.
It’s time for ruthless trust.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:49 PM UTC
I'm a proud father.
I give birth to poems through unearthly thinking and being inside and looking out
A space for consciousness ,pen and paper to collide and conceive baby poems. and sometimes going out and learning clears you mind , through trees , air and the sky : godly art
I connect divinity to heart , sometimes poems are like **** , conceived in the most rudest way and has a strangest feeling.
I give birth through seeing that I live routines and an uncaring society that only cares about responsibility and gives zero time to reality . But in the midst of foreign thoughts I find peace.
Poems are deceased flowers that can reach high as skyscrapers and touch water vapor and capture what's below its nature
And I still remain in the middle of gunshots writing poems.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
I AM RUDE .
I'm the rudest ******* you'll ever see.
The sailors and bus drivers, in all their glory,
aren't as half as rude as me.
I AM SARCASTIC,
I am not being sarcastic at all,
I mean you're doing sooo great figuring me out,
It's not painful to watch at all.
I AM INSANE,
The maddest horse in the senate,
Or was it the Caesar I cant remember,
I'm crazy **** it!
I AM SHALLOW,
If I had to spit or swallow,
I'd do both and say I had *** twice.
Just to feel nice.
I AM NOT A GOOD PERSON,
I am not a person at all,
I am a mirror of bad parenting
Lustful, petty and banal.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 10:37 PM UTC
Oh my estranged lover,
What is my mistake?
To care about you,
And to suggest?
That too,
For your own good?
I never wanted any control.
Oh my sweetest lover,
What is my crime?
To selflessly love you,
And to support?
That as well,
For yourself?
I only wanted a lifelong friend.
Perhaps, a friend has an end,
But I wanted you as my lover,
And a lover is for forever?
I started to suggest,
At your own request,
Have you forgotten?
I just wanted to care about you.
Then you say that you have parents,
And they care for you as well,
You are their first born.
And you have two siblings,
Then why do you put up strange demands,
Have you forgotten Manya & Atharv too?
I tell you the rudest words because these are the crudest truth.
Do you know when your father will take a loan,
Supposedly from one of the private banks,
What he will have to pledge against it?
Maybe his car or more,
Perhaps his business office,
Or maybe the home?
I will suggest you against going overseas to study.
Do not you know India has the best education,
Ranked number one since ages long ago,
Where you transpire to go leaving it?
Trust me you do not,
I know that,
But what about your family?
Will you surely repay your loan by yourself?
Baby, you are immature and a control freak,
Controlling me was almost acceptable then,
But why do you control your father?
I love you like anything,
Your father loves you too,
But do you love anyone but yourself?
Wake up from your fantasies and face the reality.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
He set himself free out of the confines
he was in, after much misery and suffering.
To free his mind out of jail's jagged logic
was, an exorcism of many kinds, for long.
But the rudest shock came when he found out
that the so called jail didn't have any lock at all!
Who then was the renegade, in the first place
that made him believe, he was a prisoner of life?
A pointer on " how to look" for all of us who deviate,
hallucinate and take it as truth,without any question!
How many still are locked up,in the dark confine of minds,
thinking there is no way out and the key is lost for ever.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 2:06 PM UTC
The rudest awakening,
Alarm clock beckons.
From bliss to reality,
in two nasty seconds.
Early winter mornings,
an unnatural time.
So dark and depressing
is this great British clime.
The air is freezing.
The heating is broken.
It's to this Baltic ********
that I am awoken.
Skin's hypersensitive
and lights are too bright.
Noises too noisy,
Take me back to the night.
Forced out of bed,
and all just for money.
But as everyone knows,
no money, no honey.
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 1:11 AM UTC
want to become an artist? get ready for poverty, and get ready to feel uncomfortable writing personae, where no form of narration will give you a good night's sleep, esp. "first person" narration; get ready for many contradictory revelations, and the rudest form of mockery: ridicule. get ready for the lynch mobs of the digital age of frustrated writers who, frustrated, antagonise; get ready to realise that poetry, compared to other mediums of writing is only the bare minimum, the sheer nakedness of it, the bare minimum.
i find it most peculiar that a once
mighty and budding colonial nation,
nay, nation expanded into
a colonial empire, should suddenly
implode and craft a mini-commonwealth
inside its boarders, and become
so blind with self-righteousness
as a means to erase the past, and see
itself as a champion of all kinds of freedoms,
of all kinds of necessary obligations
to provide the epitomes of human dignity,
as to not offend / provoke, all stiff-upper-lip
hush hush, to see the monochromatic
audiences at large stadium concerts no
later than mid-nineties: but what the hell
do i know, i'm just a plumber, a plumber
to the mammoth economic class of england
like in the olden days of marx and engels.
i'd change the anthem though:
poland a cinder after the raging flames of
prussia austria and russia - dictated our
extinction - a cinderella of europe -
and for its once proud ally - now a game
of blame when unified for the mini-commonwealth;
or as the irish say so well established in this
land, and esp. after the good friday treaty:
integrate little cinderella boy, integrate,
learn the language, and customs too, but afterwards
return to your people, and live in our
great multi-cultural society, under our
former masters' brow, in a segregated multi-cultural
society of the many death circle pockets,
live by all means, but do not be relevant with
us or our masters on a friendship base.
come the days when neighbour is no longer a neighbour,
should a neighbour be the least of a borrowed
cup of sugar, or anything of such -
the tinniest categorisation of aid.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
Neither for this land,
Nor for that sky,
Your identity exists,
But only for this saga.
What good is watching
That old garden of love
As the flower of faith
Has withered away
And your home nest too.
Don't look for faith
In this rudest world
It was not created for
This netherworld
And your identity exists
But only for this saga.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 11:02 PM UTC
To make a mistake online
Is to be corrected
The only way to be corrected is to be put on blast-
Called an idiot-
Called a ******
A *******
A son of a *****
And to be publicly ridiculed while you cry yourself to sleep because
You actually spoke out for once
Only for someone to confirm what you already believe inside.
To see a mistake
Is for you to instantly correct it in the rudest way possible
Call them a *****
A *******
Tell them no one will love them-
To **** themselves-
Because you simply don't know
You don't know that his uncle just died-
And that he never got to tell em goodbye.
You don't know that they had to take care of a grieving aunt-
The uncle's sister-
All day because she has lost all but one of her brothers.
You don't know that he constantly cries himself to sleep-
Because he is so full of anxiety he can't even post a comment on a website without being judged-
And you just proved him right
You don't know.
Repeat it after me-
You
Don't
Know
So be rude
Call them names-
Question the intelligence of strangers because of a spelling mistake-
I'm sure he will be fine
That he will be alive tomorrow
After all
Ignorance is bliss
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
I hated to pass the talking tree,
It made me feel all undone,
Raveling on in its revery
Like a racquet, coming unstrung,
What made it worse was the silken voice
Not matching a stringybark’s,
If I’d been offered a simple choice
I’d rather the voice was harsh.
It tried to attract my attention there
Each time I ventured to pass,
‘What are you going to do, just stare?’
It said, ‘Well, kiss my ***
It always tried to embarrass me
By being uncouth, and loose,
I said, ‘You’re surely the rudest tree,
We haven’t been introduced.’
It quoted Coleridge by the ream
Whenever I wore my hat,
‘A painted ship on a painted sea,
Now what do you think of that?’
‘I don’t know where you borrowed that line
I said, I have no notion, it’s
“As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean!”’
It used to sulk when it got it wrong
To wave its trunk with a clatter,
‘Who’d believe,’ it would say to me,
‘That getting it right would matter?’
‘I think He would, old S.T.C.
Would listen, hear, and note it,
Nor be impressed that a talking tree
Would get it wrong, and quote it.’
I turned up there with a saw one day
And the talking tree had cried,
‘I say, I’m not going to cut you down,’
I said, but it knew I lied.
For ‘April is the cruellest month,’
I said, and I wasn’t kidding,
I saw through its Eliot, silence its Pound
And cut off its Little Gidding.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
Don't you hate it when you simply say "hi." and get the rudest reply
Or when you say hi to a friend and they act like they didn't hear you
How about when you say hi to a random person and either get
hi back or a "Who the hell are you?!"
Hey, I just wanted to say hi
Why be rude
Why be a ****
hi
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 2:16 PM UTC
I’m a dreamer not the space cadet type of dreamer but the other kind.
The one who believes that the world can be changed by dreams.
I believe in kindness and brotherly love and living peaceable with my neighbor.
You don’t need to believe as I do to be my friend or counted as family. I will openly share what and why I believe what I believe. Please feel free to do the same but understand I stand firm in my beliefs.
Just as I expect you will in yours,
you will still have my respect and love even though we my disagree.
I will hear you I will listen I will be respectful of you and your beliefs.
These small attitudes could change the world.
But for some reason the world at large feels that might makes right.
That the biggest gun makes the biggest impact
The loudest rudest voice sets the tone for the conversation.
And so,
the dreamers and those who believe in kindness and brother love
take leave of the conversation.
But the world needs dreamers and kindness and brotherly love.
We have more hate more injustice then we know what to do with.
Its up to the Dreamers Believers
and Kindhearted to step up and step out.
Speak your truth dream your dreams love your fellow humans show them that
Peace is more than a Dream.
Calling all Dreamers step up, step out make your presents known.
We will change the world.
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 1:22 AM UTC