"supercilious" 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
373
I’m saying every day
“If I should be a Queen, tomorrow”—
I’d do this way—
And so I deck, a little,
If it be, I wake a Bourbon,
None on me, bend supercilious—
With “This was she—
Begged in the Market place—
Yesterday.”
Court is a stately place—
I’ve heard men say—
So I loop my apron, against the Majesty
With bright Pins of Buttercup—
That not too plain—
Rank—overtake me—
And perch my Tongue
On Twigs of singing—rather high—
But this, might be my brief Term
To qualify—
Put from my simple speech all plain word—
Take other accents, as such I heard
Though but for the Cricket—just,
And but for the Bee—
Not in all the Meadow—
One accost me—
Better to be ready—
Than did next morn
Meet me in Aragon—
My old Gown—on—
And the surprised Air
Rustics—wear—
Summoned—unexpectedly—
To Exeter—
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950
The Sunset stopped on Cottages
Where Sunset hence must be
For treason not of His, but Life’s,
Gone Westerly, Today—
The Sunset stopped on Cottages
Where Morning just begun—
What difference, after all, Thou mak’st
Thou supercilious Sun?
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An easy lazy length of limb,
Dark eyes and features from the south,
A short-legged meditative pipe
Set in a supercilious mouth:
Ink and a pen and papers laid
Down on a table for the night,
Beside a semi-dozing man
Who wakes to go to bed by light.
A pair of brothers brotherly,
Unlike and yet how much the same
In heart and high-toned intellect,
In face and bearing, hope and aim:
Friends of the selfsame treasured friends
And of one home the dear delight,
Beloved of many a loving heart
And cherished both in mine, good night.
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From your straight hair to
the outfits you wear,
that black leather shoe pair,
even the "no makeup" makeup flair.
Everything about you seems perfect, I swear!
Your sweet fine face and my feelings resurrect,
supercilious smile with power that anyone may deflect
even the cute pimple on your face that eject,
moreover the positive vibes you reflect.
**** everything about you seems perfect.
The way you smile,
eyes almost closed, hiding teeth quarter mile,
my heart skips beats for a while,
the way you tie up your hair in that quirky style,
your eccentric figure and that side profile,
orotund low voice gonna put me on trial.
Upbeat personality and attitude you project,
Girl everything about you seems just Perfect!
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
585
I like to see it lap the Miles—
And lick the Valleys up—
And stop to feed itself at Tanks—
And then—prodigious step
Around a Pile of Mountains—
And supercilious peer
In Shanties—by the sides of Roads—
And then a Quarry pare
To fit its Ribs
And crawl between
Complaining all the while
In horrid—hooting stanza—
Then chase itself down Hill—
And neigh like Boanerges—
Then—punctual as a Star
Stop—docile and omnipotent
At its own stable door—
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"Although
many of us consider black to be a color, black is actually
defined as the absence of color, hence, Darkness is a place which is the
absence of the FATHER's Light." - Peter R Farley - Where Were You
Before The Tree Of Life - The True History of The Darkness and The Light
It is close to being headless, to be without a father
and how and where do we investigate who or what the responsible force
is?...
It is simply a recurring method, divide and rule
Here in the matrix you have black, brown, white and yellow races
in some places not made famous you have orange and red and blue races
So what is colour? The texture of light perhaps
So then, what is black?
Nothing, void. So then how does one refer to a whole race as nothing?
it's really simple, where there is nothing there has to be something
so the something is revered and valued as significant
and what about the nothing? Well the nothing will be made to serve the
something
But was is not from the void that worlds were created? From thought, now
thought an important factor for the nothing would be denigrated to such
an extent as to not be able to think
so from this comes an inferior race and a supercilious race
Not to blame the supercilious race for it too was manipulated into
having high esteem -
so where are the parents?
You find a black and a white wrestling unconcious of the fact that they
could consciously be cousins
In simple terms, if we are all Light then we stem from the same tree
however with polarization or dualty find we lower degree
and this state imprisons us to hate one another for one reason or the
other
And it is within memory that black and white races have been fighting
for millenia
With this, both races would boast a pride and a willingness to defend
one's culture at all costs
But then as children when do we grow and gather the gods in one room to
hear their views and differences?
When will we rise above demographics to save the human race?
and beyond other races being exploited throughout the galaxies
What would we learn if these members of Councils and Houses were
gathered in one room?
Would we learn that this universe is not perfect?
But then what is perfection?
Hyperthetically, an idea of supremacy and completeness which sets the
standards that all things and people should conform to... That is, as
far as the powers define
It is a responsibility to search within our hearts for what is true and eternal
It is a choice we make to be continually affected by the sicknesses of society
It is a voluntary action to uplift the houses that govern however sincere and well-meaning they may appear
however promises are never kept and human beings taken for granted
It is a soul's obligation to yearn for its liberty such that we too, as Ascended Masters, can graduate and become Renaissance Man.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
solicitous,
the dark squeaks through,
sinks in the holes
in the lungs—the worms
found her too.
appendages of the hands
become mushrooms
grown from the soil of old hysterias
to sate the browning mind,
the eyes no longer do.
in the caricature of her boots,
the prints left in frenzied twos
are auxiliary to the compounds
of blues
that do not do
anymore than the supercilious
breath she left above ground
when she was twenty-two—
latent now in a grave
where the light can’t produce,
but the heart still beats.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
they all turn up as friends at first
our friendly and warm-hug super powers
with their supercilious smiles and handouts
they come with nice words and packages
and promise of development and infrastructure
and bearing gifts and loans
and remarking on affinities
and history and culture
and they throw in aid and money
and promise of riches and wealth
but they all turn bad guys
all these friendly super powers
they want a presence first
and then
you are theirs, time present and future
they turn up with new-year fireworks and promises
and then they want to invade your country
and they want to make you theirs
they all turn up bad guys
don't they
these friendly super powers -
and their warm hugs turn into bear hugs
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 6:15 AM UTC
Stop that looking down on me
What the hell makes you think your better than me?
We aren't even in the same class
It's apples and oranges-
There's no way to compare
We both walk different paths
And nothing makes yours better
But you walk upon yours as if it's made of gold.
Who cares if you're a size zero and have the voice of an angel
And have boys falling for you left and right
And I'm a high school drop out without a job
And my body is definitely not a size zero and covered with scars
You haven't been through half the things I've been through
You don't have to deal with the pain I continually feel.
And if you want a competition
You got it.
You go around acting all perfect and like a grade A *****
While I even through I struggle through it all I do so with grace
Which is something you lack yet I have in spades.
And now that I've realized that
You can no longer bring me down
I'm proud of who I am
So you can drop your supercilious attitude
And keep your cruel words to yourself
Because they won't affect me anymore
I'll just continue down my path
with the grace you lack
Happy enough just to be me.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
Everyday, A New Person
Stop! Lest you think,
This is some poem, of a nature serious
I warn you with supercilious contempt
This is a mischance, a contretemps,
This is a dumb poem, like Suntan Lotion^
Inspired by that silliness's Broadway success,
About how everyday, I awake,
A New Person,
With a new designer hair styling
O Yeah, I gotta grip the sink counter,
When I see how my pillow friends^^
Have revenged themselves the night prior,
Upon awakening, I contemplate suicide by pills
But more labor saving for the undertaker I usually choose
Setting One's Hair On Fire
It be awful, it be ridiculous
That my hair defies gravity
Standing straight up,
After a night of lying down,
This is the product of rocking out to the
Hardest of hard rock n' roll.
Now I am a man,
Re hair and grooming I ain't usually
Prioritizing and swooning,
But get this,
It takes a tube daily,
Of alcoholic gel,
To get my pop,
To do the 'lie flat down flop'
When my woman strokes my hair,
She doesn't think I notice,
How she subtle slides her hand down my shirted arm,
To dispose of the newly acquired kitchen grease,
I sometimes, on really bad hair days,
Need to employ to encapture my Grayed Fleece
No faking joke, my mind out strokes
When I look at what handiwork
Has worked me over,
Multi-directional, punk sensational,
I swear it also has changed colors!
No unrequited love, just requited hate
For my torqued, drugged, twisted hairy fate,
Two minutes to write this idiotic ditty,
Ten minutes to nerve to open my eyes to look twice
At what the hairie fairies mischievously hath wrought,
Is unbalanced, demand a recount, a fair fight sought
Soon it will be clear, if you think this poem amusing,
Be in readiness for an Ode to the Haircut upcoming,
Be in readiness for an opera, entitled naturally,
Get Thee To The Barber of First Avenue
As soon as I get the nerve to leave the bedroom.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
You are excess of my goodness when am done with my badness
I love you Africa in excess for your excess of problems;
Poverty, wars, warlords, diseases, hunger, famine
And cataclysms evilest eating away your terra firma
Like a desperate Tiger on a capsized boat,
Your riches in history of slavery and heritage of colonialism,
In the excess of your global bleeding that makes me love you more,
Your excessive black ugly humanity in the explosive population
of useless human beings; barely illiterate and blunt in knowledge
Buried deeply in the starkness of crude and vulpine culture,
These bestow to me the synergy to love you O! My dear tarzanic Africa,
Your excessive cult of dictatorships that glitter in aura of democracy,
Sending your sons and daughters to miserable powerlessness,
Devoid of governance in abundance of power and money corruption,
Financing and cementing torture chambers for the voices of reason,
Building my pedestal on which I stand to execute
My cornucopia of love for you dear Africa, an avatar of Satan,
As you are prone and spread eagled in a defenseless stretch
Against all the ****** condemning your self to ideological turmoil,
I still do love you in supercilious superfluity my dear Africa.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
Sometimes I like to sit in the shade
On a park bench, watch the ducks on parade,
In a long line, smoothly swimming somewhere,
Causing hardly a ripple as they move here and there,
And gliding so gracefully, supercilious swans,
Plucking at grass from newly mown lawns,
See the flowers in bloom in yellows and reds,
Artfully arranged in bright flower beds,
The bees buzzing busily as they do their day’s work,
Hear the pigeon wings flap and the little birds chirp,
With trees in the background, every size, every shape,
Their reflections outlined in the shimmering lake,
The leaves multi-coloured in orange, brown and green,
Creating a sublimely harmonious scene,
All this, and the sun’s rays caressing the ground,
Tell me it’s heaven on earth that I’ve found.
From Entertaining Verse Poems
©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)
http://www.macdonrod.com/EntertainingVersePoems.htm
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 12:08 AM UTC
My mouth opens but nothing comes out....
I am not sure why but I am unable to speak now.
Instead the willful arrogant one shows you her face ~ the one you call 'petulant'. You do not understand how much pain there is inside of this body, how could you, when the parts who hold the pain are no longer allowed to speak to you. Instead the ill-tempered one talks; you find her to be 'annoying' and peevish, in fact, it seems as though she feels the need to be on defense all the time. She is contemptuous in her behavior shielding any feelings of vulnerability from you with her supercilious speech.
She stands behind the wall that has been rebuilt between you and her and the wall is made of brick, the mortar solid and unforgiving. If you could see behind the icy blue of her eyes as they tell you confidently that she is doing well…if you could see behind her, you would be able to see that all is not okay. You would be able to see that she is not a petulant child, but rather a frightened girl, teenager, woman. You would be able to see that the arrogance and cockiness of her speech and stance, her willfulness…is a defense tactic. If you could see behind the brick wall you would see that she feels like she has tumbled backwards and she has lost her voice.
BEHIND THE WALL:
*She is not defensive...she is scared.
She is not petulant...she is guarded.
She is not confident...she is uncertain.*
If you could see behind the wall, you could see that she waited years for someone to come into her life and tell her that it was okay to tear down that wall. Behind the wall she chokes back tears of sadness and shakes in fear. Behind the wall she hides in dark corner...afraid she has now become one more casualty in this ****** war as she struggles to once again find her voice.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC
(with apologies to Elizabeth Barret Browning)
Arrogant
Book Soldier
Conceited
Con Artist
Covetous
Cunning
Deceitful
Disingenuous
Egoist
Egregious
Envious
Entitled
Evil
Haughty
Hypocritical
Ignominious
Immoral
Jealous
Jumped Up
Machiavellian
Martinet
Mendacious
Nit Picky
Obsessed
Peck Sniff
Perfidious
Persnickety
Pompous
Popinjay
Predatory
****
Rapacious
Regimental
Sanctimonious
Self Important
Shylock
Smarmy
Sophist
Supercilious
Unctuous
Unethical
Vile
Vicious
Zealot
ljm
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 1:52 PM UTC
Open the door into an avenue
Where words are formed
And fall onto the page
Black is the ink
That scars the writing
Facile is the thought
That is sent to offer
Stalled is the sentence
All is not first in thought
Supercilious is the adjective
That threatens the poems simplicity
I write in the dark
I write in the light
A search for a synthetic twilight
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 3:26 AM UTC
I can by my treason,
Masquerade as as an imperial friend.
My soul can be a supercilious peer,
Perceived like an exchequer.
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 9:07 AM UTC
When Light craved your soul to see in kissing colors
as the evening envisioned to die in the dawn of depth,
when Soul lustered for learning, as blood bespoke to her bones
for building the star of flesh, when Time needed the resentment
of its ubiquity to be understood. The moment texture lured touch to
tease with a thousand sensations, when the labor of love sought a language
to express the extremes of its lips, as romance raged through the ravishing of
hardened hearts, when sorrow’s seduction made heroes of loving men and women.
When Justice is seduced to her innocent words,
as bravery battled the basic questions of conquest,
war demands a metaphor in the terror of its destruction,
as Faith finds resolutions to her problems in seconds,
Death wallows for relief and Life’s supercilious meaning upon its skyline.
When God wanted imagination to invent immaculate existence…
Poetry began, born as an eternal being,
because, the only vow of a Poet, is Passion!
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 7:41 PM UTC
Place knives to throats and slit
We all will bleed red blood..
I can't take off this Humanity
You see me as an infection
Killing us off, openly without question
I'll reincarnate Black again, But Panther...
Shall I stand for this injustice
Even superhumans can be shot dead..
Ask the symbols MLK, and X
How do we unify our people
The people will never look colorless
Dying from the silent growing masses...
Outrageous oppositions ostracizing organized optimist outreach.
Taking time to think that's trail
Hearing hurtful harm, Hard heading home
Everyone experiences earth's eerie evil effects
Reaching ramifications revolving round recent Revolts
Some Stay Silent, Some Shout Supercilious
Teach us How to Sit In
Stamp me with a Bobby Seale
Certify me to be a Leader
Protect me with Urban Newton's Laws
Let my fist again mean Power!!
May my tongue Gather the masses!!
Will you wait until its you..
Locked down behind their Military's Blockades
They already see you as animal..
Show your fangs Bare your Pride..
They need no reason, Give one!!
Make them fear beyond their thoughts...
I am the soul of America
We are the Backbone of Liberty
The land that grows your fruits
Our Blood runs through every root
We taught you how to survive
Without Color you are only European....
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
“a great tragedy has befallen
the young people of
this generation”
“they are so trite,
so supercilious,
so full of greed,
and now, now,
now”
“I miss the old days”
he said,
stressing each
syllable as if a thief
might steal them
away if he did not weigh
them down
enough
“when you were expected
to be something. have some
merit.”
“everybody had to earn
their living.”
“but now all we’ve got shiny,
plastic crap and chrome finished
phones that do everything for
you”
“what ever happened to wood
and steel and agonizing work?”
“I don’t I say”
with a shrug
“of course you don’t”
he said, like the millions
of other xenophobes so
afraid of the future they
aren't even aware of it
“you’re just one of
them”
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
Let us burn a lamp of knowledge
for those who are egoist and small,
Small neither in age nor in wage,
But potted & brittle clays those,
who are miles away from the God.
The God who is omnipresent & omniscient,
but, innocent like a nascent child,
In the divinely stretched and limitless sky,
Like an aloof but flying & singing kite.
We are most often fools,
But he is always wise,
He lives close to us
But, unseen and unrealized.
Away from the God, I mean those
who are confined to self & supercilious in this zoo.
The zoo not only of birds and animals
But which comprises all i.e.he, she, me & you.
Let us,
Share our cognizance with them also,
if not the whole then, just a little mole,
As it may facilitate them in achieving MOKSHA( salvation from physical existence)
a long cherised life- goal.
Methinks, then,
It would be the beginning of a new era,
All around people blissful & stout,
The whole world whirling in mirth,
and nothing to be worried about.
Mukesh Kataria
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC
I don't know what sprouted this mischief, the first 2 lines teased.
(sonnet #MCMLXVIII)
I'll have me fun in solitude as where
No supercilious frown may cast a pall
Upon my gaity, if't must be. You all,
Who sniff at silliness, can with an air
Of sensible hauteur drink your despair
In prim tea cups, but as for me, grey's shawl
Cast off as t'were, for brief fun, why sip gall
If laughter tickles sans grim reason's glare?
Its in my blood, I think they said, that sense
Of jolly merriment a thread which'd run
From old to young 'mongst relatives, though whence
It came I can't quite guess. And when 'tis done
I'll sit with you and be too glum, pretense
Of better ways a front. Don't you have fun??
10Feb13d
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 10:41 PM UTC
I want you to stop
abasing my demons
which do nothing, but
wear a supercilious attire
to meet you at
Greenwich of dreams,
where lands produce timbres
and soul tries to linger!
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:41 PM UTC
Supercilious satirists sipping scotch with seriousness
while discussing super silly stories
in a state of semi-deliriousness.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
Derelict recondite
alone and Hemorrhaging.
nocturnal ebullience,
sporadic . Effulgent ,
Paltry
surreptitiously vacuous and limpid
to deliquesce upon perspicuity at its core
abhorrent , perhaps surreptitious assuredly altogether banal.
Marginal, salacious nominal not liminal.
decrepit cerebral palimpsest.
Sesquipedalian abstrusity .
Obumbrated syllogism stochastically innervated.
Berated lugubriously .
Masticated openly opaquely supercilious
mellifluous synergy extirpated redundantly.
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 2:52 AM UTC