Best Dignity Poems
Dignity: The epitome of noble actions taking by the self in defending the divine within!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
01 September 2018
I can see us now Luv,
pettin ponies, musing in warm moon light,
free versin in satin style, a smile born from genuine form,
Two hearts too stubborn for apologies or effigies of maybies,
sunburned by stardom, kingdom of monsters fathomed,
forlorned by the "Cloak and Dagger" of fox hunt horn,
withholdin my love from you feels like a wasted martyrdom,
The riverbanks of apocolypse may swell over my joy
but I will not drown Luv, I will not crumple,
winds of hysterical 'what could be' scratch my face
still I do not frown, I collapse not to the ground,
I am not a runaway from your palace of peeps & pain,
nor am I a tresspasser in your orchard of ecstacy,
I can no longer accept lovin you in the third person,
these masks of merrigold manipulation have become dreadful,
Much of my life has been spent defendin
against manipulators, abusers, haters, and mockers,
I needed to hear you say
that my affection for you was not taken for granted,
Thanks for being my Eve on those evenings of earnest thirst,
my Viper Rose, that it was I you chose, as God knows,
my love is not runnin, its stayin,
not prayin or playin
just gainin from the sayin,
love once levied is forever bevied,
gotta keep certain that my spine is mine Luv -
J.A.B.
across rooms gust strong winds
emptiness without formed cracks
shook narrow confines
from the darkness within
indeff,rent,rent songs
nostalalqiques dreams
attentive inhumane screams
desire to belong
to accept dignity
speak sweet
accept defeat and
smile throu tormented peace.
Imprisoned by shackles of being born in a lower caste, his roads are blocked.
Rejected by society, he's sidelined to garbage ridden streets, where he sleeps.
Providence left him abandoned as destiny became the harbinger of mortality
Ravaging his saddened life in grief as if his existence is damned in punishment.
His hardened mind hosts no feelings, having lost all hope, dredging in survival
Saluting any glimpse of generosity with humility--the only expression he knows.
As misery and suffering take turns to torment him with pain he can't endure,
The only dignity he ponders : will his newborn manage to escape the same fate.
June 27, 2018
Placed 3rd:Eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late contest by Silent One
End of June 2018 standard contest by Brian Strand
Giraffe at the watering hole
She splays her forelegs one at a time
levering, leaving dignity
behind, easing down to a
half sideways split; then bends
to drink, hoping no
lion arrives
blood-blushing
head rush
up
They make me wonder---
What fingers wove the tapestry of their being!
The splash of violet here, mauve there, white with red stripes—
They stand tall and do not bend till the wind forces them to.
Though soft, they manifest dignity.
When stress and depression shoot their thorns,
A glimpse of these beauties spell discipline.
‘We are of the earth and we belong to her.
She has given us beige, yellow, red and has waited
For us to grow, in effort and ecstasy.
When butterflies, birds and bees hum around
We greet them with glee. We fear not.
We bear the heat, the dust and the cold--
Even in pain, in disdain, we find the sun.’
In their company, I find freedom. And
In their being, my soul.
She's thirty-three, single,
her Mom babysits her
five year old son.
She reassures herself it's
just two more hours,
then it's the blessed weekend.
Which means delicious sleep.
She has no nest egg,
she's just getting by.
There is one kind aging matron
who makes her lunch when she
cleans her large stately home.
Yet, other well-to-do homeowners
cast their false superiority heavy
in the air as she imagines wiping
off their smug faces with Pledge.
She hums to a catchy pop tune
while scrubbing toilets and
spraying down whirlpool bathtubs
as her muscles ache,
wishing she could soak in one.
Maid for the ungrateful,
she smiles remembering her
First Holy Communion,
her snow-white lacy veil,
with her rosary of pearlescent
ivory beads.
Then, a memory of
teenage politics of high school
with random daydreams like
impromptu snapshots.
Her lips and throat dry from
those wretched aerosol sprays,
always forgetting her face mask.
A few sips of tepid Gatorade,
as she softly prays her son will
excel in school.
Her learning disabilities held
her back despite her gift of
intelligence.
This day's cleaning was at the
home of a lawyer's snooty wife,
who was lunching with friends
after klutzy attempts at tennis
at the country club.
Maid for the ungrateful,
can hardly wait to get home
to soak her worn feet with
warm water and Epsom salt
in a porcelain basin. ~
O classroom once alive with gentle voices,
Where morning greetings bloomed so bright and clear,
I leave you now—stripped of certain choices,
Unheard, unseen, dismissed through quiet fear.
The silence came—a shadow down the hall,
Erasing names without a single word.
No answer rose to break the rising wall,
No hand reached out, no empathy was stirred.
The leader’s crown slipped heavy from her brow,
Her heart shut tight, her words grew sharp and thin.
She silenced me—no reason, no end vow—
As though I never truly had been in.
The seats were shifted, voices reassigned,
My name erased like chalk at end of day.
Yet still I held the children in my mind—
Their laughter lighting up my fading way.
No grace was shown in hardship or in strain,
No hand extended in my time of need.
Just quiet exile and unspoken pain,
A glowing ember starved of light to feed.
And still within this grief, a truth I find:
Though bruised, my dignity does not depart.
Though shadows press, they cannot touch the mind
Or dim the quiet flame that burns in heart.
Farewell, sweet classroom—may your walls now hear
The echoes of respect, the sound of care.
And may those who still lead one day draw near
To build with love—a space just, kind, and fair.
We did not notice at first—
the small rebellions of memory:
a forgotten kettle on the stove,
the absurd claim that Tuesday had vanished,
names reshuffled as if in a deck too often played.
The mind does not fall—it recedes,
a shoreline eroded not by storms
but by silent, persistent tides.
Each day an abrasive grain,
each night a hush over once-luminous thought.
She remained seated by the window,
watching nothing
as the garden bloomed out of season,
declaring spring to be a tired lie.
Doctors spoke in dulcet certainties:
"progressive,"
"degenerative,"
"inevitable,"
their syllables clothed in clinical precision.
And so began the vigil—
of sons who now became strangers,
of a husband revisiting courtship rituals
to jog the stubborn past loose,
of caregivers who measured each hour
by the frequency of wandering and repetition.
Her body persisted beyond her
as if mocking the soul’s departure;
and we, too faithful to abandon,
held up dignity like a paper shield
in the long war with forgetting.
The disease was punctual—
as if following an invisible itinerary—
it reached the final station
where even pain seemed exhausted,
and death,
when it arrived,
was not unwelcome—
but late.
Sweeping through what once was mine
Gazing at this ravaged shrine
Composing the vitals in thoughts divine
Cut my losses and bleed through time
Here I'll stand along these lines
Chimerical dreams in the hands of Morpheus
Acidic tears that corrode the capricious
Inscrutable plans that defy the obvious
Vanishing ties that remove the analogous
A grudge in perfection, deception, insidious
Volatile remarks that hold me in check
If I may be so bold, my tongue is direct
A propensity for temper, yet I am select
Now I'll take my leave, sabbatical, reflect
What is not right, is left and a wreck
Developing memories of my past
Implausible interjections that speak to the last
Feral remarks that hold tight and hold fast
I bow to you, grief, for I've been outclassed
A terse line of humor that leaves them aghast
Clandestine demons that dwell in my brain
Delusion of wonder, they're one and the same
Enclose the clairvoyant, set free the deranged
What I have lost is now mine in shame
Forthwith I give you my word, I'll be back again
The Dignity Of It All
Don’t look me in the eye
Don’t look at me and sigh
Or shake your head and wonder why
As I walk along the street
Ensuring our eyes never meet
I frown, and look down at my feet
A mere and simple cleaner
Don’t laugh at my demeanour
Don’t be sad, for there are no keener
No barrister am I
No educated guy
Don’t look me in the eye!
That dirty, menial task
Which for nobody would ask
(Nor do I behind this subtle mask)
I pick your rubbish of the floor
While you hurry through the door
Who am I to ask for more?
But if you gave another look
You’d surely bring yourself to book
For my “lack of pride” you’ve sure mistook
I may clean up all your dregs
But I’m not one who begs
Not while I can stand on my own two legs
Don’t think that it’s a pity
As you travel through the city
Don’t dare question my dignity!
For you see I’m very proud
Of that I’d shout aloud
Above the heads of any crowd
Because, in my mind, I guess
Somebody must clean up your mess
Though it’s me I am no less
An honest person - just like you
Who takes pride in what they do
(Is there a moral in here too?)
Don’t look me in the eye
We just can’t see eye to eye
As I pick up your junk and sigh.
Giraffe
Tall, Spotty-Brown
Chewing Leafy Trees
Animal Dignity In Motion
African-Beauty
With the stench of rhum and a play of control, he growls
amid the dark of the darkest evening;
then reaches for his woman.. and in a dash
pushes her growing belly, unrestrained.
She with a child inside a twitched fetus
drowns in haze of murky kitchen light:
her rosy flesh scarred; wrists deformed again, again
praying to Mama Mary, “ Oh grant me relief,”
while his vile laughter spits, as if nothing happened.
Ten Lines Or Less Contest
Sponsor: rob carmack
Old Poem--8/31/2015
Something I wrote for a lady who lost her life to big Cancer last
I loathe the sound of modern life
Man made machine, electric knife
Chainsaw that rip through old oak bough
It seems so inhumane, somehow
Bring me peace, tranquillity
The robins chirp, the creek of tree
Buzz of bee, or croak of toad
Maybe I am getting old
Not for me the the whirl of drill
But breeze of wind and air of still
Or laugh of child at fun and play
Is all I ask upon this day
Not for me, leaf blowers blowing
Nor noisy trucks coming and going
More birds that sing in harmony
That's the type of sound for me
I say goodbye, I say farewell
A white cloud for my carousel
And on the wind away I sail
My quest to find my holy grail
Shed no tear, nor hold no breath
For I am not afraid of death
All I ask from you and he
Is peace and quiet and dignity
On this UBI's Day, May 1st, to observe the greatest socioeconomic concept ever conceived.
You can't have all you want
but not having all you need,
it's a pity, unworthy economic being,
don't expect a man plant
growing grains, fruits and juices,
rise to the heights
of your human nature's creator,
make them a gift,
and have as gift
life's gift, for piece of mind,
with our society's work.
Still hunger is a scare,
unconsciously makes you
rushing running hurrying pushing.
Why, ask your god and,
bring the answer down to earth.
Say it to the tall powers
to whom earth belongs to,
what's misery for,
while there is plenty.
Where is my piece of mind
and fulfillment.
Other species await in you,
without sorrow questions
so without negative fellings,
freer about its wellbeing.
Forces of petty power up there
must do what's needed,
powers abstract, unknown,
like the sky,
always as far as started going to it.
Who are they, that stop me,
can't really see them,
I'm changing them
and they remain the same.
A new human being may emerge,
to live life as was meant to be,
effortlessly, with society's work.only.