"slanderous" poems
Are you struck with her figure and face?
How lucky you happened to meet
With none of the gossiping race,
Who dwell in this horrible street!
They of slanderous hints never tire;
I love to approve and commend,
And the lady you so much admire,
Is my very particular friend!
How charming she looks — her dark curls
Really float with a natural air;
And the beads might be taken for pearls,
That arc twined in that beautiful hair:
Then what tints her fair features o'erspread -
That she uses white paint some pretend;
But, believe me, she only wears red
She's my very particular friend!
Then her voice, how divine it appears
While carolling: "Rise gentle moon;"
Lord Crotchet lastnight stopped his ears,
And declared that she sung out of tune;
For my part, I think that her lay
Might to Malibran's sweetness pretend;
But people won't mind what I say —
I'm her very particular friend!
Then her writings — her exquisite rhyme
To posterity surely must reach;
(I wonder she finds so much time
With four little sisters to teach!)
A critic in Blackwood, indeed.
Abused the last poem she penned;
The article made my heart bleed —
She's my very particular friend!
Her brother dispatched with a sword,
His friend in a duel, last June;
And her cousin eloped from her lord,
With a handsome and whiskered dragoon:
Her father with duns is beset,
Yet continues to dash and to spend —
She's too good for so worthless a set —
She's my very particular friend!
All her chance of a portion is lost,
And I fear she'll be single for life;
Wise people will count up the cost
Of a gay and extravagant wife:
But tis odious to marry for pelf,
(Though the times are not likely to mend,)
She's a fortune besides in herself —
She's my very particular friend!
That she's somewhat sarcastic and pert,
It were useless and vain to deny;
She's a little too much of a flirt,
And a slattern when no one is by:
From her servants she constantly parts,
Before they have reached the year's end;
But her heart is the kindest of hearts —
She's my very particular friend!
Oh! never have pencil or pen,
A creature more exquisite traced;
That her style does not take with the men,
Proves a sad want of judgment and taste;
And if to the sketch I give now,
Some flattering touches I lend;
Do for partial affection allow —
She's my very particular friend!
15.3k
Roses, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue;
Maiden pinks, of odour faint,
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;
Primrose, firstborn child of Ver;
Merry springtime’s harbinger,
With her bells dim;
Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Larks’-heels trim;
All dear Nature’s children sweet
Lie ‘fore bride and bridegroom’s feet,
Blessing their sense!
Not an angel of the air,
Bird melodious or bird fair,
Be absent hence!
The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough ****
Nor chattering pye,
May on our bride-house perch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,
But from it fly!
6.4k
OUT-WORN heart, in a time out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;
Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight,
Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.
Your mother Eire is aways young,
Dew ever shining and twilight grey;
Though hope fall from you and love decay,
Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.
Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill:
For there the mystical brotherhood
Of sun and moon and hollow and wood
And river and stream work out their will;
And God stands winding His lonely horn,
And time and the world are ever in flight;
And love is less kind than the grey twilight,
And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn.
4.6k
ROSES, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue;
Maiden pinks, of odour faint,
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;
Primrose, firstborn child of Ver;
Merry springtime's harbinger,
With her bells dim;
Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Larks'-heels trim;
All dear Nature's children sweet
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,
Blessing their sense!
Not an angel of the air,
Bird melodious or bird fair,
Be absent hence!
The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough ****
Nor chattering pye,
May on our bride-house perch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,
But from it fly!
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC
NAY! swear no more, thou woman whom I called
Star, Empress, Wife! Were Dian's self to lean
From her white altar and with goddess lip
Swear thee as pure as her pale breast divine,
I could not deem thee purer than I know
Thou art indeed.
Once, when my triumphs rolled
Along old Rome and blood of roses washed
The battle-stains from off my chariot-wheels,
And triumph's thunders round my legions roared,
And kings in kingly ******* golden bound
Shook at my charger's foot, past the hot din
Of Victory-whose heart of golden pride in wound
Most subtly through with fire of subtlest pain-
My soul on prouder pinion rose above
The Roman shouting, to an air more clear
Than that Jove darks with hurtling thunderbolts,
Or stains with Jovian revels-that separate sphere,
Unshared of gods or man, where thy white feet
Caught their sole staining from my ruddy heart,
Blazing beneath them; where, when Rome looked up,
'Twas with the eyes close shaded with the hand,
As at some glory terrible and pure,-
For no man being pure, a terror dwells
Holy and awful in a sinless thing-
And Caesar's wife, the Empress-Matron, sat
Above a doubt-as high above a stain.
Nay! how know I what hell first belched abroad
Tall flames and slanderous vomitings of smoke,
Blown by infernal breathings, till they scaled
Thy throne of whiteness, and the very slaves
Who crouched in Roman kennels wagged the tongue
Against the wife of Caesar: 'Ha! we need not now
And opal-shaded stone wherewith to view
A stainless glory.' In that day my neck
Was bound and yoked with my twin-Caesar's yoke-
Man's master, Sorrow.
I know thee pure-
But Caesar's wife must throne herself so high
Upon the hills that touch their snowy crests
So close on Heaven that no slanderous Hell
Can dash its lava up their swelling sides.
I love thee, woman, know thee pure, but thou
No more art wife of Caesar. Get thee hence!
My heart is hardened as a lonely crag,
Grey granite lifted to a greyer sky,
And where against its solitary crown
Eternal thunders bellow.
3.7k
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!—a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river.
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?—weep now or never more!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!—
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young—
A dirge for her, the doubly dead in that she died so young.
“Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her—that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read?—the requiem how be sung
By you—by yours, the evil eye,—by yours, the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?”
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!
The sweet Lenore hath “gone before,” with Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride—
For her, the fair and debonnaire, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes—
The life still there, upon her hair—the death upon her eyes.
“Avaunt! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a paean of old days!
Let no bell toll!—lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the ****** Earth.
To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven—
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven—
From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven.”
3.1k
There she stood
with wobbly knees,
arms limp as a dying flower,
shoulders set to kiss the earth,
hiding within her heart
this nerve-racking,
conspicuously slanderous self-awareness
of being unloved.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
They'll find me hanging upside-down.
Ankles bruised by the ropes
From which you strung me up for field dressing.
Lacerations where you’d cut my throat,
Bled me dry, spilt my guts,
And broke past my ribs, to uproot my heart.
Can they carbon date the remains of my reputation?
Trace the ****** back to your mouth?
Will they know the cause of death to be the
Malignant rumors you couldn’t help but spew?
Your false words: the final nail in my coffin.
Do you regret ever letting them past your lips?
Slowly, my reputation crippled by the aggressive
Cancer that was your embellished utterance.
And it didn’t bother you in the slightest.
You marveled at the sight of my struggle.
And amazing how these things seem to spread.
One caustic, contagious, breath from you was all it took.
Though the slanderous virus wouldn't make it 'til morning;
Addicts to their fix; gossips, crave your empty words.
Like ******* the rush is intense but brief.
Interest fleeting, they move on.
Off to the next peddler.
For all these inconveniences, I thank you.
Thank you for lifting the masks that curtained your distorted self.
How blind I must have been not to see it outright.
Another leech, feeding on slighted words.
And to think; all it costed you to buy in
Was me...
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
Like two scorpions in a bottle,
The two wolves continue to fight.
One holds never-ending dominance
Relentlessly mocking and scolding.
The slanderous one, better known as the chief
The master, better known as my back bone.
The other wolf; the sufferer,
Facing the horror of the fire.
Like luscious, vibrant air filled with beauty and self-worth
With the intensity and beauty of a glowing golden sun,
Glittering as it beams among the surface of the waters.
The lustrous one, better known as my daydreams
The lovely one, better known as my pure naked self.
Like two scorpions in a bottle,
There was a fight between evil and good.
The winner; the one the operator chooses to feed,
The winner; a display of my blindness.
Blindness, lacking the sense of sight; sightless.
Blind to the naked beauty and worth of the lovely wolf,
The starving wolf.
Like two scorpions in a bottle,
The two wolves continued to fight inside of me.
The delightful became liquified into dark raw evil,
Leaving me drowning, gasping
Gasping the slightest bit of that air of self-worth.
(C) Emily Mckusker 2016
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 6:30 AM UTC
Well of course, Your Honour, I can explain,
why I urinated on the train.
You see the first toilet appeared to be locked,
and the other one of course was blocked.
Is it wrong? You could dispute,
Do you expect ‘Moi’ to ruin an Armani suit?
Clearly men of our position,
can appreciate my pleas of contrition?
What’s that you say? Inebriated?
A glass or two, it should be stated -
for the record, which should also note,
the tear in the sleeve of my cashmere coat,
caused by the vandals that restrained,
as I was wrongly cuffed and detained.
As a chap of substance before the court,
perhaps my innocence could be bought?
No, no, not a bribe of course,
more a donation of remorse.
It’s not as if the jury gives a ****
they obviously don’t realise who I am.
It is clearly just the wrong decision,
to send a man of breeding to a prison.
A witness says that I was ******
And that I tried to stand up but missed?
What slanderous lies of lesser classes,
perhaps I’d had three or four healthy glasses.
And reports of singing and standing on my seat,
are fabricated, nonsense and incomplete.
Cameras saw me strike the face -
of a man, with my leather briefcase?
Perhaps at this stage I should refrain,
and allow you to address this stain -
on my character which I’m sure you agree,
is beneath the contempt of someone like me.
Surely you can’t have confirmed my guilt?
What about the reputation I’ve built?
Before they take me, please pray tell,
will there be a servant in my cell?
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 9:32 AM UTC
~
Collective eyes on the shoreline
Ripples meander unaware of who they touch
Glimmering surface reflects a doubtless moon
and fireflies abandon all hope of neon goals
Stone and sand meet in driftwood destinies
Autumn grips the night with postcard tendrils
Feet beneath water paddle slowly,
hiding in plain sight in the center of this liquid target
Alone on the wrinkles of waterlogged bed sheets
Silence finds no home here
while voices cackle and point slanderous fingers
and buoyancy is in question
Words fly like arrows in cultivated sentences on thin air
When what was once sacred sinks
into the stagnant reaches of heartless ink
and I wait…a sitting duck
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC
Requisite deliverance delights impatient souls
So inquisitive in their unmindful natures
Compulsion extracts the accumulation of indulgence
Characteristic in all of their features
Marked persuasion gratifies their inflexible needs
So amusing on every occasion
Never diminishing their vigorous attempts to hold
To everything without any patience
To assume any position of charitable defense
Would be slanderous to your own name
So you laugh hysterically at the clever simplicity
Of beating them at their own game
Indignant responses from these impatient souls
Are incredibly few and far between
As they are, too busy making new impatient demands
For their minds to understand what they have seen
Patience may hinder the quick granting of your heart’s desires
However, impatience can make one look brainless
So unless you would rather be the brunt of a joke
Be patient, it will be painless
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 6:23 PM UTC
do writhe and hue the absolute walls of thy slanderous landscape
burping turgidly a draft of flexing notation
and i cup thy lyrics in their burning varnish
)a sea scalloped with drunk wondering breath
)inexorable limber teeth chomp gloriously the pale bit
of dapper sunlight
peaking bravely
afore his bashful explosion
on the hard water
patiently housed by your ungilt frame
my crumb most luscious a fair fairy of murdered perfection
thou art all the excellence. herein contained this pathetic
welt of humanity. i am ever only
,
so far a star in your onyx vestige
and more
and more
and
more
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 10:19 AM UTC
In my dreams,
I see a Prince,
His eyes gently glint.
Has his Holiness come?
I cry to him not all is well.
In my loneliness,
passion for life has languish.
Spirit tainted by sinful spell,
I’ve drank the cup of anguish?
Will the heart heal?
His calm silhouette-
caress me with warm zeal.
Heaven and Earth embrace as one.
In pain, I can survive.
Like the radiance of the Sun,
I feel my spirit revive.
With the wind,
the Prince disappears
like pollinated petals.
I implore him to reappear.
I’m a vulnerable child;
afraid to be back in the wild.
His voice whispers
that it is time to awake.
He will not forsake me.
One day when I’ve blossom,
I’m destine to meet him again.
With his holy army,
slanderous shadows will flee.
With the Prince of Peace,
Life’s lamenting will one day cease!
(c) Jo Swan
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 5:36 AM UTC
We stand by those we trust,
All the while they transgress against us.
Friend or foe to behold?
For only they will surely know.
Trust someone in this day and age
Is nothing more than a noble cliché.
Slanderous words of dishonesty,
Destroying your character with their brutality.
The world believes them as they lie,
Who can one trust in this earthly enterprise?
Longing for the days of old
When men were men, as good as gold.
I long for days where a handshake meant
Your word a bond, and honor felt.
Agreements made without paper convention;
Handshakes were the business transaction.
Honor flowed throughout the lands,
Everyone gave a helping hand.
A favor wasn’t done for return,
As a friend indeed was someone earned.
Days of past will not return
As immoral acts are loved and learned.
Handshakes, a thing of the past,
Your word, a thing that no longer lasts.
Sep 16, 2022
Sep 16, 2022 at 12:07 AM UTC
Your slanderous comments,
burned in my brain,
carved on my wrists,
tattooed on my forehead.
The laughter, always forgotten
The tears, always on hand
Unable to execute perfection
Trying to beam,
You thieve my light
Etching away my soul,
My rock, no,
But the shovel, you are
Deeper and deeper I go
Daunting, the route my mind treks,
A menacing sight to see
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 10:38 PM UTC
I created a black hole in my mind
It was a receptacle for all of the negative energy
The outside world pushing in.
It was where I kept the slanderous words about my sanity
Where I kept
the I hate you(s)
the you'll never(s)
the you cannot(s)
and the you will fail(s)
all told by my outside world
I begged all,
please don't tell me what I can do
and please don't tell me what to think
PLEASE
DON'T
TELL
ME
HOW
TO
BE
ME
...
don't assume where I am going
or where I need to be.
Shall I push all of this into one ultimate singularity?
To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
On the other end I created a white hole
It is a safe haven for positive energy
It is my inner feelings pushing out
It is where I keep my freedom and peace of mind
Where I keep
the I love you's
the forevermore(s)
the you are capable(s)
and the you will succeed(s)
all created by my inner-self
I freed myself
I listen to myself
I think my own thoughts.
I
DECIDE
HOW
TO
BE
ME
...
I don't know where I am going
or where I need to be
But one thing is for certain....
I AM FREE
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
I'm delighted to see
That my generation
is different.
They're devotion to the arts
Astounds me,
And directs me to joy.
They do not dilute or water down
The words that leave them.
They know what I did not.
I was once devilish.
My words were slanderous,
With intent to destroy.
Now I direct my knowledge
To downsize the dismay
Of my friends and family.
The distraught way
Of thinking
That once devoured
My life and,
Set me on a path
of destruction
Has vanished,
And I have found
Tranquility.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
Happiness and perhaps even the joy we thought was certain can only blink in isolation, because nowadays everything is superficial, manipulative, can increasingly deceive, can intentionally deceive and even deceive, a plastic, unpredictable tachycardia infarction can trigger alarm signals. Nowadays, almost everything is heralding the little kingdoms of ambitious people: everyone would like to seize treasures, deals, or even unstable, fleeting reputations for themselves.
Perhaps it would be better to palliate the compromised, sufficiently stubborn counterargument, unbaked slanderous sermons, unfortunately, it is increasingly easier to plant them in souls, where there are already enough weeds growing, because everyone only dares to scratch the truer, more secret depths of existence, because they do not dare to go against the truth, honesty at all.
A few well-sounding awards, false-lying congratulations, merits would flatter the inner self - if only they could -, but a handful of the pure chemical accumulates in the human being, to cleanse the burdens of petty sins like the waters of Lethe. Halfway between the daridos of blind slanders and half-truths, rust eats away at the counterarguments that are not lazy to think; the little worm from Alamus keeps gnawing away not only inside, but also in the outside world; because the wild crowd of jerks and jerks is deliberately going around blindly and like a gang of brainwashed idiots, following a false idol leader.
Because sometimes it is better if one switches to the hard-working mole-like mode and chews oneself out of the annual rings of infected promises and meaningless false words. Because the problem is still that every worm believes itself to be a winner at the same time, when it realizes that it has already pitifully swallowed everything. Behind the scenes - even so - it often happens that there may even be time to hunt each other!
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 12:37 AM UTC
It’s not that I’m too proud to be gay;
It’s how I justify to myself that I’m not afraid.
It’s not that I shove my lifestyle in anyone’s face,
I want to show everyone that they can have their own voice;
One that can show the world we are not going to back down from smite and shame.
We continue to subject our society to judgmental and slanderous words, words that are taught to us from books, magazines and our elders.
Not once do we think about the consequences or effects when one speaks with an open mouth.
Before we go out trying to profess the “truth,” we should take a walk down that judged road.
It is a road filled with pain, agony and shame.
Before we act,
Imagine the life of someone who identifies as something other than heterosexual.
If we can learn how to understand people other than just labeling them, Take away the judgmental and complex lifestyle we’re trapped in and try to create a society more accepting and civil.
If we believe that everyone is unique in their own way,
Why should we label them in a category in which we’re afraid.
As a whole, we are scared of change,
The change of lifestyle that’s getting more support every day.
It take us back to where we first started,
“Let us be free. Let’s have a nation different from all the others. One that can make a change to not only itself, but to open the eyes of the rest of the world.”
I’m not gay because I chose this passage;
I’m gay because I was born to have voice.
A voice that can speak for the silenced.
A voice that can change words on a paper, and even thoughts for nations.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
Sorry, I made you feel the way you feel. Sorry I caused your heart to
palpitate. Sorry I caused so much pain to you and all around you.
Sorry that I didn't believe. Sorry that I didn't let go of the past when I
should have. Sorry for turning my own back on myself. Sorry I was not
there, for your slanderous torment. Sorry I gave up when I should
have continued. Sorry I failed you but I will try harder in the next
moments to come. Sorry my tears roll down my cheek. Sorry that I
have pushed all away because I thought it would have been easier.
Sorry that I am not there to hold your hand in your darkest hour.
Sorry I closed my ears, opened my mouth. Sorry I walked away to
never turn back. Sorry I will never see another horizon through the
right perspective. Just plain old SORRY I EXIST...I need to go from
your wayside, let you be...become...believe in yourself. Taking one
step at a time, where every second counts, where every turn will be for
the better. Trust that you will make the right choice, if not try it again
this time around, achieve it better then the time before. Grab a hold of
yourself and pull yourself away from this inferno, enter the light. Let
yourself be great, stand tall. Stop slapping your own face around, look
into the mirror with smile filling cheeks. Fall down a lot, to get up and
do it all over again. Find your safe place; hold it dearly in your heart.
First and foremost believe in yourself, and never believe in the past
only the future is as wide open as you make it appear. So continue
punching holes in walls that get in your way, hurdle them obstacles.
So goodbye old friend, as I step aside to allow positivity to move in
where I've painted the walls with grayscale painstakingly nightmares.
It’s about time to open the lid on positive fortitude. Let old dogs lie,
while negative energy dissipates from my soul. Remember to trust the
trueness of positivity has to offer. God bless you, believe in you, and understand you!
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 10:51 PM UTC
I wont survive the winter
in your English garden of love;
where rosebuds melt to thorns,
and benches turn to bound splinter.
Nothing left except to part
with hollow sentiments exchanged,
silly words rearranged.
No substance in them, no heart.
You aren't even there anymore
with empty concrete bird baths,
choked by brown vineyards.
No paths left to explore.
No real goodbye, just a note
explaining why in so few words,
empty even when bursting seemless.
I wonder why you ever wrote.
The darkest shadow of last November
unwinds around too calloused hearts;
until black crows flee chilled.
No summer heat left to remember.
No moon or stars beneath the cloud.
No slanderous words thrown at our feet.
No simple hymn to hum defeat.
No one even to wrap the shroud.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 4:20 PM UTC
slanderous silk sac
shaved and crushed
work of olden theways
when metacarpal tightens
look for mandible to snap
strawdawg sippin’ smoothie
********** hithemark
when love is all yousee
war is what youneed
to even keel, your crook’d beam
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC