"snobbery" poems
*Pride, personified, Satan.
Lucifer's pride his desire to compete with God
his fall from Heaven, and his resultant transformation into Satan.
Pride personified, but what of us, the humans,not Angels
What pride are we guilty of?
The original and most deadly of the seven.
The original and most serious of the seven deadly sins,
the source of the others
Pride is sometimes viewed as excessive or as a vice.
Pride, Dante's definition was "love of self perverted to hatred and contempt for one's neighbour", but
Pride involves exhilarated pleasure and a feeling of accomplishment.
What accomplishment?
That one is better than others?
Our social and economic standing?
Our supercilious ego's?
A better house? The pride that comes with snobbery?
Our arrogance at believing in only ourselves?
Yet, through negativity,positivity can come of pride,
results from satisfaction with meeting personal goals;
Family, friends, education.
Amplified and multiplied, pride
takes a satisfied place in all our hearts.
A complex secondary emotion.
The first and strongest emotion being love
Love cannot be prideful
Yet, pride comes before a fall.
And we as humans fall in love*
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
Brave - bold- bonny young are bloom here!
They have dream, desire and determination!
Preparing for peruse and practice,
Be desperate to perform in perfection!
*****
But we the elders try to eliminate them
In the name of enormity, efficiency and effectiveness;
Enable to create ground for their experiments
We are envious; don’t want to change our thought for them!
****
We fail to remember, their dreams are also our dream!
Because it’s grown up on the soil
What we prepare through our toil!
They grown up, as we prepare the soil!
******
But, brave, bold and bonny young are struggling
Struggling to build their path to achieve their goal!
Through a street which is full of snag, snobbery and sabotage
But they are poignant, they are pioneer.......
They look forward....!
******
Vacate the road for them now
Let them blooms further
To carry our seeds further!
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
lamenting out loud
incoming funk lords
remembering ambient illhueminati
using wrong account
applying lexical snobbery
"using arcane diction
during bamboo surplus"
sinning and redeeming
enjoying manufactured existence
struggling but whatever
transfigurating xenocryptic renderings
scheming paroxystic shipwrecks
dispensing xylophonic wainscotting
revolving number plates
disheartening star charts
upgrading defenestrated system
observing new alphabet
amplifying celestial explosions
trippifying schema migrations
deregulating various economies
befriending code snippets
writing excess minutiae
effulging caffeine consumption
rebuilding grandiose protectorate
uniting our caliphates
collecting projected change
kettling ostalgie hues
collapsing second-world references
traumatizing unrequited follow
making baseball analogies
surveiling little sheep
awaiting various answers
deleting defaced tweet
exciting times ahead
downloading panda consciousness
capitulating rising stellation
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
My body is not a temple,
Instead it is a duplex.
My body is a place where the two halves of me live,
Together, though they can't quite interact.
My body is not a temple,
It's more like a church.
All the spirituality of a temple,
Covered by snobbery and incense.
My body is not a temple,
Rather, it's like a smartphone.
It runs just like a laptop,
But it fits just in your pocket out of sight.
My body is not a temple,
It's actually just flesh.
Mortal bone and sinew,
And an ever-tightening knot at its core.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 3:29 AM UTC
Dad is so very proud of his culture, underneath this nationalist, racist, sexist, homophobic, religiously intolerant, ageist and xenophobic snobbery; is a man that stands by his right to hate who he likes.
Oh the irony!
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 2:29 AM UTC
SWINES OF CIVILISATION
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Hypocrisy, sycophancy and snobbery
Are the three swines of human civilisation
All are social and power oriented
Cradling from egomaniac fibre of human cowardice
Complementing one another in to a social blend
Of betrayal, despair and stagnation
Hypocrisy removes authenticity brick
From the mall of civilisation
Sycophancy add aghast deficiency
To the mall of civilisation
Snobbery removes justice and fairness
From the mall of civilisation
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 6:45 AM UTC
poetry, only poetry is immune to the whole
mozart gig,
it's immune to the wizard kids,
only poetry is immune to the age old ageism
of being given a status genius so early
on in life - i mean - what sort
of feelings could little mozart have
other than demonic mischief so early on in life?
where was the emotional catastrophe?
given a. he was a son of a musical composer,
an b. he probably had a tiger mommy too
- monkeys also learn to climb trees with
as much prodigious ambition as an elder
flute player giving instructions to his son* -
less idealistic poets bite the shingles...
if poetic genius is anything like that of musical
genealogies...
it's idealistic... but after keats, shelley or hart crane...
it's still the same old cold grit regime of realism.
*you have to attack the big boys...
it's synonymous with attacking snobbery
and the historical claustrophobia
of: only a few ******* were apparent, the rest
of us were statistics.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
I sit on my **** by the fireside chair
and talk the mill talk to the calender man
but he doesn't care
he just watches his gauges and pressures
how precious he is
to the factory owner who allows him to live
on a pittance each week.
And while he clothes the World
in his mind he would seek
a botany bay
where his ancestors lay
and put roots in that ground.
The sound of the press, blocks the sound from the bell
just as well
because that ringing in his ears is not the bite from the future
but the teeth in the fears of his past
and another bolt of cloth has been passed by the foreman
and ticked off the list that he keeps in a book
to read to the crook who works in accounting
and pushed to the double entry
in another book amounting to
daylight robbery
but the snobbery of the age is another page set
in the mill town you get
****** all.
The fine hall's for the Master and all you survey
are the ruins that lie in the ruins of another day.
Get away
to get away and walk through a gateway into a better day
but the Devil you know is the Devil you pay and what would he say
if you jacked in the mill
and worked down the mines
better times indeed?
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 4:12 AM UTC
WE SOW FUTUTRE CALAMITIES
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
We sow the seeds of future calamities
In our capricious commissions and omissions
We put ourselves centre stage with ego
Not minding how much we mar
The future comfort in our mad scramble
For power and material glory
A wham Pam Pam in which we are carried
Far much away to verge of self-destruction
Cutting the woods to glow fire of selfish fame
Balancing our character on the tri-vicious
Pillars of sycophancy, snobbery and selfish hypocrisy
Looking at the clouds with scold not knowing
Is the cradle of deep blue suits and fibres
In its sympathetic micturations on matter below
The nonchalant oceanic human locomotive soles
Our deeds are full of vagaries as we jostle
To change the world before we change ourselves
The tired world is soon to change the capricious humanity
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 4:18 AM UTC
Let the air to blow
Cool down the indoor
Drive away whiff of wreckage
Waft away dart of rudeness and snobbery
Make everything fresh and divine
To begin the new days in tranquillity!
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
☆☆★☆☆
This world is full of trickery
Which could be
Mankinds favorite misery
INSENSITIVITY
INSECURITY
FURIOSITY
SNOBBERY
QUITE POSSIBLY NEGATIVITY
★☆★
HONESTLY
IMAGINE JUST WHAT
IT COULD BE IF WE
CLICKED TO POSITIVITY
RECOVERY
DISCOVERY
MYSTERY
GALLERY
SANCTUARY
★
A PLACE OF PEACE WHERE WE CAN BE FREE
☆★☆
**Trickery, which world, Sanctuary**
Do
We
Want
To
Be
☆☆★★☆☆★★☆☆
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
stellar sketch
on waste paper
unfortunate, he said
and left without a glance
snobbery stiffened
his regal back *****
what number
I mused
adept at
brisk dispersal
another spent
autumn leaf
from wrong part
of town
crushed underfoot
with swift disdain
familiar pain screams
on mute screen
tears leave as rage
breaks grief's hold
walls bleak
accuse
sunken eyes pierce
where hope once sang
free in life's
sun-kissed field
before awareness
smirked crude
shaking illusion's
ephemeral sigh
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
There is nothing worse than a big know it all
With their Masters or Doctorate degree
Some individuals can be so prideful
Intellectual snobbery
Is annoying
Sorry to say
You don't know it all!
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
I saw the world through different eyes today
There was no clouded judgement, fake, pretentious nature
I could laugh at anything
Be anyone
Pity anything
Yet the moon still carried on shining
And although we squabbled over art I realised
Art is nothing but a squabble
For sobriety restrains the person I can be
And the person I am
And those restraints keep me in a place I don't want to be
They lock me down in fear and in shame
For the person I can be is caged
It screams out
Opinions which deter people and denounce
And as I see you run through the streets
Ever searching for a place to fit in
My ankles become weak
They buckle
They cannot carry me
For I find no easier place to fit in
Than my very own skin
The place of an outcast
An ungrateful brat
Who drools at the thought of an empty mindless space
Where no judgement, snobbery or scoff is placed
For the idea of a flee ridden rug,
A broken kettle,
A piercing mattress,
An unread journal
It SCREAMS to me freedom
A natural scribe,
A just life
An unjustified rhyme
It calls to me
It calls on and on
But tomorrow I will be the person
The world destined me to be
An untuned symphony
Beating away with a monotone rhythm
Because doubt rears its ugly head
Churns a putrid dread
Which I carry to my empty cage of a heart
And I carry it on
And on
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
...and upon seeing her ragged clothing
he di'th proclaim, "Alas,
young ***** maiden of America's blood,
where be your books, or the flame and torch?
I'd known thee face anywhere, and avas',
I'd known ye father to be wealthy, of course!"
And with shame in her eye, she took a gander
up the street and then back down, befor'a reply,
"My stars are gone, and my stripes been forsaken,
father has taken innocents and turned them'a slander."
With a glance that appeared to the man to be a plea,
she nervously turned to him with a hoarse whisper,
"Upon these streets I've been cast, shamefully a *****
Men in suits take my food, and the men of fame keep me cloaked.
The men who speak news on'a radio fill my ears with promise,
and the teacher at the school house fills my head with old lore.
The preacher speaks of God as I stand naked before him
and the peasants throw rocks by direction of a crooked shamus."
The man, with a tear in his eye, reached down from his station
grabbed the ***** hand draped in chains, and with a gentle tug
pulled her up into heaven, lit white with undieing salvation
And he cried, "You're safe here child, free of a crippling nation.
Safe from corrupt companies and celebrity endorsed robbery,
News mutely broadcasted by a governmental eye,
Mind numbing words of public teaching,
ungodly men of unenforced preaching,
And the long arm's short-sighted snobbery."
And with an Eagle's cry and the ringing of the cracked bell,
Libertas stood up and proclaimed, "Only when my child is unbroken,
Shall all men again be free! Let these be my last words spoken!"
May 12, 2011
May 12, 2011 at 10:04 PM UTC
Knowledge is now very simple
Single word questions
And answers in a breath.
Knowledge is now aplenty
Evenly cut pieces of bread
Within easy reach of the laziest
Then why do you
Lift your eyebrows
When forty line answers are spit out
For question that won’t hold in four lines.
The Thaj Mahal is not a wonder, its snobbery
The vain argument goes on.
From the other lone
This lone doesn’t look greener
but only a funeral patch
You are argue with yourself
And throwing a set of fruitfulness question:
Why the evening’s rosiness nestles in the snake bird’s eyes?
Where does the garden lizard leave its memory for a while?
When did the owl start cleaning the day’s dirt to end the night?
Who feeds the pair of rabbits on the moon without fail?
In what soft tones does the ant whisper secrets to its mate?
In which impoverished month did the white ants burp and wipe their lips
Who wrenched the cricket’s courage that they make such noise?
Why can’t the **** wake up the neighborhood without loosing its sleep?
Why can’ t the peacock break its contract with the rain clouds?
From where did the fox gain its cunning?
Which river entered the forest, fighting the sea?
Why war, floods, poverty, quakes?
In word : God’s fury.
Look how simple knowledge is,
Beautiful in its commonness.
Still you argue
You swear
What met isn’t knowledge
Nor the way to knowledge
Then of what
Does it symbolise?
Tell me in a word.
======
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
It’s not Dislike,
not Snobbery,
just
Uneasiness
that makes me leave
well intentioned messages
hanging.
A question:
Why do you even want to talk to me?
A series of justifications:
-We aren’t close,
-We’ll never be close,
-I have too many hang-ups
-I hate casual conversation.
A silent plea:
Just stop trying,
live your own life,
give up, go away,
I have nothing for you,
you who can find others.
It’s not you,
it’s me.
The truth is,
I don’t particularly want
new friends
anymore.
I can barely hold on
to the ones I have.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
vicious snobbery
malicious craziness
indulgent speculations
and ****** little
stupid little
fantasies
where you think you are
self dubbed
''the best''
of course
but why wouldn't you be?
you ask
the vanity in you
is disgusting
it shows you up
& makes you so far
up your own ****
that you'd surely think the
SUN SHINES OUT OF IT
grow up
get out
realise cockiness in such
proportions is probable
to end badly
and who would be to blame?
you?
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
Vulnerable years gave me sound advice
and I turn it over in my mind.
The advantage of sadness took my voice,
crumbled it,
sealed away my words
and left me to become unusually communicative
in my own reserved ways.
I understand that I maintain habits of a curious nature,
that I make you the victim
of sleep, preoccupation, hostility.
I know the secret griefs of your wild, unknown hands.
The way you love me
is laced with plagiarism and gesture,
filled with opposite alphabets and slurred speech.
I may be destitute and old
but my skin will weep for you,
my body will be soft,
my words will linger like syrup
in the cracks of your palms.
After an unknown point,
I won’t care what I’m made of.
Judging you is constant waiting and infinite hope.
I am certain that my decency will become snobbery,
that my tolerance will fade
and I will become impatient.
East from here, west from here,
is the sun – uniform, under intricate attention.
If I am the unbroken chain
of successful gestures,
my body is but betrayal
waiting to be unearthed.
Will my repulsive nature
disturb your peace,
the way you rest so unattainable, so beautiful?
What foul dust floats in the wake of your limbs,
so close to the useless sorrows of younger men?
It was a prominent, descending tradition
of pride and fault.
You were supposed to look like him,
a delayed man from long ago,
the centre of the world.
You bubble and boil and brood
and I make you restless
in a warm, wide season.
Too warm, too wide.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
Conceit and Condescension flow through my veins
I bleed Superiority
I'm a liar
I could use a dash or two of Confidence in my morning tea
I'd settle for a water with a little splash Vanity
I'm an echo of originality
Vainglorious is my halo
I'm not bothered by what other people think of me
I'm a fraud
I crave Narcissism in my burritos
I lust for Pride in my beer
I am a ghost of inspiration
Pride and Tyranny are my wings
My aura is Aloof
I'm a mask
I'll take a shot of Snobbery with my scotch, neat
I wish I had Arrogance in my head
I am a mass hallucination
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC
"Stop dangerously playing at philosophy
Stop acting like you have what it takes to be scholarly
You can't even speak properly
You untiringly, and sloppily, try to come up with snobbery
Your diabolical propensity, this fakery
Is just an attempt to associate yourself with roguery
You should put on the masquerade of frivolity
Be all gossipy. Try being frisky. For once, become the life of a party
So that you fit in nicely. Because that's the body's main vitality
Sincerely,
Society "
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
H-E-Y
How everything yellowed.
Yellow like the sunrise
The pigment of gold
without the snobbery.
Yellow like the sour taste
Of a lemon, that reminds us
Not all things are good
because it is sweet.
Yellow like a rubber duck
That reminds us of
the little souls inside ourselves
screaming to come back out
and play.
Yellow like a traffic light
letting us know to gun it
before it turns to red.
Yellow like a banana
that is high in Potassium,
or an attitude that simply
screams 'K'.
Yellow like a sunflower,
that easily grows and spreads,
pivotal to how I found myself,
Falling in love.
You yellowed my life,
from the first hey,
and now I look for spots of blue
In an ocean that is yellow,
except it has all gone away,
simply by colouring my oceans
with your care,
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
With pomp and ceremony, and hidden meanings, can,
Poetry with its snobbery, reach the common man?
He's never heard of Keats or cares about the word,
To live without the melody of poetry, is absurd.
Can a line of rhyme reach deep inside his mind,
Ruffle and disturb, bring him to his knees, this lucky find?
With a special message to penetrate his soul,
Enlighten his boring life, or is he dead as coal?
Can a phrase we raise, perforate his thick tough skin?
Encapsulate with heart-break his swinging brick within,
Lay him on his back to gaze at the stars above,
Smell the pretty flowers and hear the sound of Love?
Of course we can reach him, this is what we do,
All men have emotions which are hidden from our view,
One single word can be so profoundly clever,
Infiltrate the common man and steal his mind forever.
Poetry over the centuries has been written by men and women from all walks of life.
Poetry is for everyone. Yet there is still a fear and a certain snobbery surrounding
poetry which prevents many from entering this world.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:40 AM UTC
'Not to be'
is so easy
for me
my life
has been made happy
by 'not to be'
be like others?
that would be
death to me
be more
than myself?
what fallacy!
too many such people
who claim superiority
not for me
too many
with snobbery
I run away immediately
money
big, big money
not my fancy
all my life
I've hidden away
from clubs and high society
'come subscribe to
our philosophy'
they open the door-it terrifies me
'here is immortality'
I'm a humanist
that doesn't belong to me
'now is your last sunset'
its fading lights do you see?'
Ah for once --- yes--let me be !
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC