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Best Arrogance Poems | Poetry

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The Best Arrogance Poems

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Love's Reflection

Love neither gives or takes but from itself. Be not wiled by fantasies of arrogance. Take no more than is offered by yourself. Leave nothing trapped in tortured irrelevance. Seek not a barter for desires that sue your heart. Worthiness is the only tender that comes due. Suffer willingly the melody of pain it may impart. Bleed joyfully from the wounds that will ensue. As tree branches lift their hopes towards Heaven's door, hands together reaching higher than alone will seek heights that love's imagination most beautifully implores that from a poets words unending ecstasy must speak. Whatever you desire your life to be, may loves reflection be all you see

Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2017

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Never Enough

Why does the voiceless canary stare so bleakly? Why do the sullen grey clouds desert a sombre sky? As the ugly black smog blots out the valiant sun’s rays The honey less flowers kiss the dying bees’ goodbye Never Enough
Blinded are the eyes to threatened extinctions On deaf ears the warning of ‘Mankind Beware’ Lies and deceptive denial that our planet is dying Inhale lightly ~ there’s carbon dioxide in the air Never Enough No ‘free life’ for marine life stressed and bewildered Aghast with horror at garbage dotting our oceans Growth - Expansion - Development - Decimate the forests Strip and deprive us our oxygen with demonic notions Never Enough Oh Mankind Vanishing breeds because of your avaricious greed We hold our breath in Hopes for this planet to Hold Like a thief the stars you pluck from the night sky In illogical arrogance you build your towers of gold Never Enough Contaminating our soil with defective seeds of profit The clock of fate ticks ~ ‘Choke these weeds of greed’ New oceans we form with teardrops that we shed Over broken promises ~ that Man let fall ~ to succeed
No matter how dark the shadows A ray of Light will always penetrate
Footnote: Hong Kong - Dedicated to Kinzie a friend of mine originally from Canada who is devoted to the campaign to clean up Hong Kong, and is succeeding. ‘HK heartbeat’ which was born on 21 October 2001 as a simple text email from Kinzie in response to requests from friends Today, the HK heartbeat community is a dynamic network and home to thousands of individuals and organizations making a difference. They are making our world a better place today for future generations. Taiwan - The Buddist monks, recognising the need to protect the islands staple food of fish, for years collect the empty plastic bottles – recycle them, making them into recyclable bottles that you see gracing the department store and supermarket shelves. Japan - Have a strict recycling policy I’ve never seen anywhere else in my world travels. There are different bins for various categories of recyclable trash. Are WE all doing enough? Video Clip - Loren Allred - Never Enough (Live Performance) - From the Greatest Showman A very compelling song though not connected with this poem describes the sentiment perfectly. I trust you will enjoy it.

Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2018

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Remarks of a Prig

I'm hearing rumors that are easy to believe
but none of them give me reason to grieve
You've been telling people their poetry sucks
Words from your mouth flow in a fetid flux

What arrogance is revealed in your slander
You don't rile me enough to raise my dander
The absolute truth is that I just don't give a fig
Your remarks show you to be an arrogant prig

How dare you disparage so many other poets
People call you 'rude' in case you don't know it
I've laughed at your slurs and each bitter assault
If the truth hurts your feelings, it's all your fault

You've mocked and criticized lots of poetry
making you a monster with green-eyed jealousy
I've heard from many, and in their point of view
'they' say you're a nasty male version of a shrew

There's been quite an extensive survey taken
and the unanimous results should jolt and awaken
you to see that on you this request they bestow...
The message: "Open your big mouth and eat crow

Oh, but that is something you would never do
so there'll be no lamenting nor feelings of blue
No tears of sorrow on the smiing cheeks of many
of those you've insulted, and there's been plenty

Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2018

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An Eternity I

Stood upright, between two roads,
On a thin metal rail,
A solitary, brown coloured bottle 
Of beer,                                     
Sporting a red and whitle label,                      
Emptied and callously abandoned...
Just like the tin can of cider
Plonked down beside you on your 
Little polished mahogony table.                     
An unremarkable glass bottle,
As if a piece of submitted 
Street avant-garde left on display,                                             
Purposely discarded by some 
Unknown person or persons here;              
Whilst, with the whole passing 
Seated in driving ignorance before 
All existence dashing endlessly
When  frantically tumbling and 
Inside the madly spinning,           
Half-rounded Hemisphere.                    

Somewhere, after enduring a short 
Commercial break...
Every advert dryly commented upon -
Each being accorded an equally
Dismissive and condescending stare,              
One in particular informing it's 
Disinterested audience
Of the frightful perils 
On developing pancreatic cancer,                  
A warm couch, motionless, 
Suddenly stirs and starts upwards 
Like a cornered panther                           
Snarling before the hunters gun!                 
Your sullen visage momentarily
When briefly enraptured by dazzling
Of the shimmering Aegean:-
And you, swimming alone, in your
Perfectly constructed little rocky 
Where brightly coloured shoals of
Exotic fishes teem; 
Then that reinstated glare,                    
Fiercely conveyed with all the
Of a blazing Grecian sun,                              
That perpetually resides 
In all its burning arrogance there!            

For I envision a single angry tear,
Pertaining to a faint hint of dark
Hesitating against a brushed 
As if a last remaining,
Desperately-clinging, raindrop
Being pushed acrosss the oily 
Of my panoramic windscreen...                            
A tear that contains, perhaps,
The whole of the worlds filtered
The pitiless look in those wild, 
Turbulent eyes
Awash with the currents surging ebb;
Low utterances of broken trusts,
Unrequited love and misplaced 
All precursors to oft repeated vocal 
Spawned from some unjustified,
Obscure, nagging doubt;                                   
Recalling my own dismal resignation's 
When knowing better 
Than to try and hopelessly intervene!                    
Same old recriminations and wearisome           
Now being muttered, I should'nt wonder,
Barely audibly throughout...                                                                                            
Will herald the onset of newly 
Assembled confusion... 
As you struggle wretchedly 
In preparation for another troubling

Overhead, lunar dignitaries, arisen  
From behind confinement of their cells 
Celestial bars...                                            
But irrevocably anchored to the
Impossible deeps;                                                 
Here, patiently awaiting, in all their 
Accursed immortality, 
The defeated Titans and great usurped 
Cronus soundly sleep;                                                                                                       
And a gathering together when offering 
Obedient prayers:-                                                      
Cloistered abominations of awakened
Stars -                                                                       
Whose exultation's shine brightly in
Dutiful obeyance -                
In worshipful praise of his most 
Hallowed regime!                                      
They whomst unashamedly dare to 
Brazenly gaze 
Upon portrayal of flushed irreverence;
Now attempting, albeit she greivously 
Like a cast-out Angel,
To stagger up the step's defiant 
Which, in supportive awkwardness, 
Stoically resists the steadying 
Proffered from thickly carpeted 
But I have long since fled.
For soon I will join the thining lines 
Of departing cars 
That invade upon the unearthly realm
Of flittering Bat and barred Nightjars.        

Please read part two.                   

Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2017

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Emerald Forests

Emerald Forests

Emerald forest hiding from man's curse
if found, its never better , always worse.
Wretched destroyers we are in this abode
in our arrogance we are firmly sold.

Greed for taking everything in our path
we in our false pride deliver our wrath.
Astonished that some may in this rebel
when seeking their deaths, damn them all to hell.

If true, the meek inherit this sweet earth
then our dear souls must love for all their worth.
Where river and bend meet with shining sky
Nature teases us to ask how and why.

Shall we pray that emerald forests hide?
Take action on that we can not abide?

Robert J. Lindley, 11-29-2016

Syllables Per Line: 10 
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 	108

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

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Flying Over Vietnam, 1974

I flew,
a modern man in a steel bird,
with all the arrogance of
ancient Icarus, but my wings
did not melt nor I swoon.

I flew high, very, very high
over Asian lands and homes,
and below me, very, very far
down where the bombs fell
like the rains of hell...
I saw the face of the moon.

Copyright © L. J. Carber | Year Posted 2016

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First Love

As the monsoon rains fall heavily on the ground,
I sit by the window pane wishing you were around.

The thunder strikes and I run to hide away
In search of your loving arms, where I long to stay.

I go back to that place where we first met,
The quaint chapel by the meadows, our eyes set.
Our tender hearts: innocent, youthful and frail
Together on love’s current we set sail.

Against what they say we took our every chance
But stumbled upon our childish games and youthful arrogance.
Somewhere in the journey we both lost our way
And “I love you” were just meaningless words we say.

There were many beautiful things we learned together
As we basked in sunlight and battled stormy weather.
Now, all that is left to hold on to are memories of you.
The sound of your voice that faintly says your love is true.

The lightning flashes and slowly I open my eyes
It was all but a dream, from my bed I rise.

I sit by the window pane wishing you were around,
As the monsoon rains fall heavily on the ground.

Copyright © Bianca Reyes | Year Posted 2009

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Strangers part 3

9 A soul is but a slave that serves the heart and flails in presence of true loveliness. The heart commands, therefore I must impart this ceaseless craving, yearning for caress. I did foretell this destined rendezvous though not foretelling why she came this way. To answers why or how, I’ll not pursue, for what I’d sought was “when” would come this day. She walked inside to shelter from the rain then raised her eyes to browse the languid room. She looked at me, then glanced away again, oh, to see such elegance in bloom. To be fulfilled leaves nothing to explore but restless souls, they simply wish to soar. 10 But restless souls, they simply wish to soar and so she swanned the room without delay. I watched her as she prowled the parlor floor then brush my booth, pause and look my way. She pursed her lips and asked me for the time, then stood in hush, awaiting my reply. But as I tried to speak, as though a mime, my voice fell mute and words just passed me by. I caught my breath then looked around the room, such trepidation left me little choice. My mind was shrouded with impending doom, for I was not the master of my voice. Before those fears could tear my dreams apart, they found a way to tenderly depart. 11 They found a way to tenderly depart though I could not respond to her request. I held my breath and waited for my heart to once again start beating in my chest. And as I coaxed my senses to comply I found the words that I had planned to say. But when I went to offer my reply she turned her head and simply walked away. I closed my eyes and rummaged for a scheme to tame the mood and thwart her nonchalance. But words were lost, for it was all a dream, and once again, I floundered in response. My tacit tongue had chosen to explore those winding paths that bind forevermore. 12 Those winding paths that bind forevermore are bare essentials to the paradigm that "love shall only grow if each therefore, evolves in life, together, over time." I look upon our love with this design. It strengthens my resolve to win the day. And soon, our hearts and souls shall intertwine, for nothing now is standing in my way. But as I sat and squandered morning’s light, inside the door, a gentleman appeared. She turned to him, and in a passing flight, the essence of her light had disappeared. Her radiance had faded to obscure. Some hearts align; one never can be sure. 13 Some hearts align, one never can be sure. and so her love is but a memory. My jaded dreams, now muddled and obscure, in consequence, were never meant to be. I’ll search no more for splendor in the morn and yield my days to solitude’s retreat. I’ll not profess disparagement nor scorn and thus negate the anguish of defeat. No unrequited love will I let taunt the tendrils of imaginary whim. For I’ll recall the memories that daunt, reminding me when morning’s light fell dim. For such a fool as I, there is no cure, no sovereign love is destined to endure. 14 No sovereign love is destined to endure. As recompense, I’ll let my pain atone. These vain endeavors shall not reoccur for I will spend my empty days alone. I’ve found a place to charm the painter’s eye; this sidewalk berth along the corridor. For now, it’s on my canvas I'll supply impressions of the subjects I adore. But wait, I sense an essence o’er this place and feel her shadow break the morning sun. And once again, with arrogance and grace, she passed me by, but still... she is the one! Once more the morning sun has left me blind as scented air aroused the misty mind. ~~~ 15 As scented air aroused the misty mind illusions twisted aimlessly in vain. Within this haze appears a light divine though in my world of dreams it seems insane. One timely gaze, though fates still yield to chance, a heart surrenders love too willfully. In truth, a soul prefers a tryst romance, a feeble heart seeks vain fidelity. A soul is but a slave that serves the heart, but restless souls…they simply wish to soar. They’ve found a way to tenderly depart those winding paths that bind forevermore. Some hearts align, one never can be sure; no sovereign love is destined to endure. The End

Copyright © Mark Massey | Year Posted 2018

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Behind the mask

Behind the mask there is a frail and fragile me
Enigmas clothed in conundrums; that the naked I can’t see

'Behind the mask is concealed, my authenticity
Examine my history to unravel my perplexing mysteries

Behind the mask it is unseen paralyzing, piercing pain
With arrogance and self-assurance camouflaging the shame

Behind the mask is hidden my true Identity.
Seek and survey the signs of my obscurity

Behind the mask is veiled a heart that’s been broken
Held together by unexpressed resentment and animosity unspoken 

Behind the mask is where my insecurity hides,
Like realism wrapped in riddles, you must read between the lines

Behind the mask is where I cover my falling tears
Dig just below the surface and you’ll unearth my crippling fears

Behind the mask there are cloaked secrets unexplained and untold
Decipher the symbols to crack my encrypted codes

Behind the mask you’ll uncover my True expressions 
Remove and reveal parodies, and expose the false impressions

Behind the mask, it is hidden, my Individuality.
Not acting out some script of who I’m thought to be

Behind the mask is obscured my, vulnerability
 Suppressing the mounting manifestation of the inner me

Behind the mask it is disguised, my true reflection
Underneath open wounds inflected by rejection 

Behind the mask rest crushed and shattered dream
Where fear muzzles roaring whispers and screeching silent screams

Behind the mask is buried, my stolen youth
Deception, and cover-ups, masquerading as facts and truth

Behind the mask is where I screen the confusion
Look close and you’ll find, trickery and deception, draped in fantasy and optical 

Behind the mask it’s stifling; it is hard for me to breathe,
The walls of deceit  that i have built ,are quickly  closing in on me. 

I am trapped behind facades of smirks and phony smiles.
So may I please remove this mask just for a little while?

Chiquita Baity

Copyright © ChiquitaChiamaka Baity | Year Posted 2011

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Obsolete Words

He verbalized 
He verbalized emotions

Poets are boring
In circle
They speak of pictures in words raining emotions
Crafting arrogance in words shaping negative smiles
They worry not of the uneducated
Poets are boring
They speak bombastic thoughts with no
explanations in sentences married to multiple dots
Sentences and numerous dots

Skies raining thorns aimed at sinful skeletons
Storytelling tales in wordy storyboards

He verbalized 
He verbalized emotions
He spoke reactions

Where i come from
Dogs don’t eat dogs
Dogs bark in favour of crops
I’m from the city that never sleeps with no pity
I’m from the ghetto that speaks of famous beggars

He voiced 
Until poets spoke
Until spears got shaken and poked

Shine not from negativity
See those who speak with your ears
Poets are far from boring
They live in places of the living dead

They walk solutions before difficulties wearing a stranger’s shoes
They speak tears before drowning regrets
Old age poems don’t need social workers
They live fresh fragrances for decades
Eyes and ears resurrect their messages

Let those words be out of date
Poets are disciples of your queries
The energy plugged into your feet
Spitting answers before prank stars question your remedy 

Look into the eyes of lies
See emotionless reality attract visions
Look into the eyes of lies
Look into the eyes of lies

(c) Ray

Copyright © Young King sa | Year Posted 2014

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Wind Rider

An old man sits peacefully in deep thought
Missing teeth, milky eyes . . .  leathery skin
Wind Rider his name  – a shaman 

The young man seethes in anger
Strong, excitable . . . limbs in constant motion 
Standing Bear his name  – dangerous and violent 

Smoke curls lightly into the sky
A sacred moment upon the plain
Old to the young – a story

The soft voice rises . . .  catches the wind 
There is a battle that rages within each of us
. . .  two wolfs circle each other

One is evil . . .  it’s spirit is angry filled with
jealousy, sorrow, greed, arrogance, guilt
resentment, inferiority, lies . . .  ego

The other wolf is good --- it’s spirit is filled with
joy, peace love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy
generosity, truth, compassion . . .  faith

Each wolf is strong and howls into the night wind 
Yellow-red eyes flair, deep throated-growls, bared fangs
Breathing hard they attack

Wind Rider lifts his heavy head
Feels the sun . . .     waits

Standing Bear thinking  . . .  finally asks
Who will win?

Wind Rider smiles 
The one you feed

       \ /
       / \

David Meade
Live Generously

Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2014

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It was him, and immediately I felt the very moment he too, saw me as I entered the room. I averted my eyes, seemingly not magnetized, yet his form continued to caress the corner of my eyes. My entire body was so attuned to his every movement, I sighed. Suffused with such warmth was I, knowing he was looking at me…alone. I tried to turn away, but felt the searing heat where his eyes touched my skin. I realized I was hypnotized, mesmerized by the power of intense attraction. Minutes passed by, I would catch again his eyes, staring, brooding. Overwhelmed by his presence, I felt such effervescence. Senses wired to all that was him, I was exulted to know that his eyes were as glued to me as mine were to him. Nobody, no one else. Him and only him. He moved, the second I floated to him. I stopped, time to catch my breath. Him whose strides came quickly to my side. Such panther’s grace, eyes holding my stare, he smiled. The wineglass in my hand trembled, serene not I, far from calm. Suffused with much warmth was I, knowing he was looking at me…alone. I turned away, and felt the searing heat where his eyes just touched my skin. Hand on my elbow, he silently led me to where the crowds were, to dance . Such arrogance, I thought I’ve had enough as a child, of dominance. Yet I, surprised, felt the rush of liquid fire through my veins with his large hand, warm and steady on my bare back. Alive were all nerve ending, as we went dancing through the night, I heard the loud sound of the wild beating of my heart. Suddenly…I was jarred, and from a dream, woke up I.
Kim Patrice Nunez DREAMS CONTEST - 10 th Place SPONSOR: ROB CARMACK 23 April 2015

Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

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After the Abortion

Another would-be life slips down a hospital sluice -
a mangled tangle of tissue, a broken bouquet of limb buds.
Carmine carnage reduced to simplistic statistic.
But these hospitals are blanched mausoleum-white,
operating slabs are sarcophagi, stirruped legs are strung high

and a crimson slurry seeps from between splayed thighs.
Death-pimp doctors are gloved and gowned, loom imperious,
assume arrogance and surgical masks of indifference.
Feminine thought frisks to freedom now:
the biannual foreign holiday, career climbing and the company car.

Birth is an inconvenient blip on the social calendar.
Huddled horror-mute before my Philips flat screen last night,
peering through the fretwork of my fingers,
a sickening sea engulfed me; vertiginous waves
breaking on my body's shore, faintness flooding my head.

Today, I cannot elude my abhorrence;
it overshadows me, obliterates former complacency.
Tonight, people will be on the pull in club-clotted towns
and bedsprings will squeak a soulless sound
as more life is made to be taken.


Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2017

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Existential Reprise

Before I scarred the page
Raging what your letters cannot invent
Let me invite you to other books
I wrote before you owed me wage
For all maladjustment and discontent
Tettering on tentacles on hooks
Invite you to an open age
Of change and discourse transfigurment.

In a quiet moment read again
Shards of clay and artefacts beyond
A material functional disdain.
Look at the words like old bones
Bringing chromosomal tablets to rinse
The eyes of prejudices and conceit
You may wince
At what your arrogance did delete.

I have winced for years in broken jars
Unleashing rivulets of tears
For I gave you humanity as a gift, stars
Gave you dust and vessel for it
Time etched your abuse against this spirit
As you idolized barren observations
As if them alone could tell truths
Without the presence of experience.

Strange how you so prone to the material
Destroyed so much of its substance 
In us. Yet it is inescapbale in the footprints of dust
The chromosomal bridges in our bodies
Linking us, reaffirming the gift again
Documents on my body like a stain
Irreducible by Mercator's illusions
There is no survival without the spiritual.

After protests, marches, firehoses and ropes
Still hanging from leftover branches of fear
I have earned the right to forgive you
The inherent gift make me your brother, here.
So now let us turn the map upside down
And draw again the latitudes unbending
In a straight line to your old thoughts,
Can we agree about the silence of the moon
Is a prohibiting noise in our head, a blind despair.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

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Inherent Swimming

Stepping past the crater towards your door,
     I am reminded of warm days
surrendered in flowery abandon while
     brushing against cool veins of
leafy promise, requiring only the slightest
     compassion for the flow of life.

The scope of our crusade sings bitter,
     like absinthe in a Fanta bottle;
tangs of anise and wormwood persist
     within ether's truthful vision
resisting factory flavors in a curtain,
     velvet reminders of flesh.

Lap your moistened shape. You dissolve,
     my expectant sugar cube, no longer
made jagged by expectation or campaign
     but fragile again, doughy in
blissful rapture upon my snacking,
     curling up in a fetal calm

until we flow once more with the surge
     propelling us entangled yet
unencumbered, finally breathing our
     amniotic potential within this
spiritual umbilical making my stomach
     spin within these tugs of finality,

despite my carpenter's heart yearning to
     mend or create. Do arrogance and
industry compel mankind's devastation? Such
     a question drifts unanswered as I
kiss your wrist before strapping on my boots
     to hurl my blood into the fray.

Copyright © John Weber | Year Posted 2009

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- The Glory Of Love -

    It is not true 
    that love makes you blind 
    First of all 
    love is a feeling 
    I feel some small butterflies 
    flutter in my stomach just by thinking 
    I like to envision to myself 
    that the positive resonance acts as a mirror 
    A coherent energy 
    that flows back and forth in your eyes 
    Eye contact is the key 
    which opens up the emotions 
    It is after all love 
    that breathes life between two people 
    Seductive words to each other 
    performed with a twinkle in the eye 
    and light kisses at the neck 
    Love does not violate, not envy, 
    does not boast, it is not arrogance 
    While two hearts pounding so tactfully 
    they carry the glory of love

    A-L Andresen :)
   Copyright © All Rights Reserved 

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014

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STAND WITH A FACE OF HUMILITY Thou curse a great angel to fall from the heavens of glory and power, though let man build towers for himself alone letting him gaze on earth down. Daggers are unknown but they are directed to oneself piercing six-inches deep in the heart though made unreachacble stars of ruthless dreams, there bete noire, implacable enemies abounds , occurring impossibilities cause bitter torments art a fortress a defense for nothing, nothing?! A sneering wall for a human being the lowly thou had trodden down callused feet has stepped upon. The anon ignorant void of wisdom infuse a poison drops dripping from temptuous cup of sweet assurance, of self-ambition and arrogance. A pedestal thou arts amidst life's superficial ways a courage to lift up a haughty face the narrow rocky roads thou dwell is full of blooms but will the ends refrain from drowning doom? Poor man thou hast enslaved in thy ruthless breaking embrace secured within thoughts of highness knowing not where he will stay. Above, may he think and look unto the ground, a place of fifth to step upon for alas he has partaken from thy cup, so now he's done. Thou made a distance so near yet to very far, unreachable. A human never a god harsh and vicious are the gigantic trials knocking him down Imposing.Intimidating.Haunting. Freezing but must they be? Must they be or should he rather open his eyes and flee to the flying flicks of times? Crepuscular are the cascading days but always they pass epiphanies. A heart of stone melts but from it births the human heart who is able to choose paths which lead them to face the world not with pride but with humility... __________________________________________ Sponsor Name: Broken Wings Contest Name: Any poem trashed in a recent contest ~~6th Place~~ Olive Eloisa Guillermo 12:38 pm. August 01, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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The Truth Room

Come with me my Brother,
to a secret place where Light and Shadow line the face with fear and grace,
leave sophmoric style, wry smile and sly bile on the road of your forgotten mile,
sick sarcasm is the symptom of envy, a pet to your heart destroyer,
such artifice and malice have no language in this room of roasted dreams,

Enter through the damaged door, touch the destruction of vandals,
you have never been here before, where gold blood cuts the floor,
do you see how the walls move like squalls at our approach,
feel how they tell stories with the sensations of defeat, anxiety, impropriety,
in here we witness a collection of seperate yet synthesized segments of Self,
childhood torment, shallow manhood, virility limp as stolen victory,
underachievement, the underbelly of your arrogance, flacid like placid passion,

We journey further into this gallery of emotional gallows
smelt by the hurt of innumerable adavances
repelled by the demands of Quality,
you will writhe wildly
from the harrowing healing leeching into your concepts of self control,
graceful in absorbtion of Truth's attrition,
fruitless ambition shall now cling as cleaving contrition,
your face Brother, look long into the shimmer of sorrow become the old,
tattooed you are like a snake's skin checkered and beautiful
with scaled episodes of submission and aggression, dying to be Divine,
I want you to know that there is no exit of ease from this place Brother,
we trek within your very Soul,
this is the home and harbor of everything you've decided to be,
there are other rooms here, some of joy and some of strife,
but you leave not the Truth Room of your anger
until the Light finds no fault in your intention -


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014

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MOCKINGBIRD - crown of sonnets

#1 "It is a sin to kill a Mockingbird. When playing games with rocks or guns, defray, them, please, ...shoot old tin cans!" "Whispered words of Mockingbirds, only heal wounds of the day" Virtues are cultivated, children are weeds, exploring a small southern town. Seeds, so rare, spread moral ivy, filling knotholes, threading trees, lining streets, during mad-dog summers. Scout, one sprout with solid roots, sifts wrong from right in spite of bull-headed pride. Stirring up dust, where resistance incites, although, brother, Jem, gently, grows more reserved. Scout, Jem, bud, "Dill", are bronzed by summer's sky Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns #2 Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns yet challenged, the precocious child making assumptions. Folks would confound her! Some people were an oddity and quite beguiling Summer would sigh with ceiling fans, softly purring, people napping, long afternoons. Wilted yawns of a lethargic town, might seem undisturbed, with complacency, behind pruned shrubs, tall grass, mowed. Yet stilted air, would suffocate, with racial slurs and secret hate. Some hid by day, and spending their nights in masquerade, while crosses burned. We'd see a face, pretentious smile, falsely blend Integrity, at bitter cost, split wide the seams in 1930. Civil rights were just a dream #3 In 1930, civil rights were just a dream, and motherless children were coming of age. Bare feet were swift. Bandaged knees and hands unclean, would slam old screen doors, to seek lemonade. A ghost, they feared, in the raw sided house, watched close. A tree in his yard, hid treasures he stashed. The three Musketeers, upon discovering, shout! Armed by bravado, they are ready to dash. Putting yourself into another man's shoes, is a lesson, soon learned by Scout and Jem. They've faced their fear, and will make a friend. "Boo", the 'phantom', a new best friend left trinkets and gems. Kindness learned, role model intact, was Atticus Finch. A measure of integrity, inch by inch. #4 A measure of integrity, inch by inch, advocate for those who won't stand a chance. Folks down on their luck, where dollars won't stretch in a depression full blown. Money is scant. Fighting for the underdog, who have no paycheck. What's right is right. What's wrong, is wrong. Someone must stand at the end of the day, where flies fill a courtroom and tempers grow stronger. Regardless of skin, be it black, be it white Unfit, by standards of talcum shaved chins, if injustice is war, he'll give his lot. The falsely accused, he'll defend, to the end Those who wallow in mud, eventually sling lies when honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle #5 When honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle, false accusations can simmer, slowly inciting bigoted people, into mobs, spewing cries of hate. Screaming "rape" into the night. Ignorance and prejudice, are all of one stuff with corn-likker sauce and gravy mentality, amphibian worms, as if from a trough, gorging on mania. They covet brutality. Led by Bob Ewell, with arrogance oozing. Clan- fed, tantrums squirming out of control. Small minded men, choosing squalor, alluding the truth. Some would sell their mother's soul. They have lied on the stand, where justice treaded thin. Where white man's word, over a black, always wins. #6 Where a white man's word, over black, always wins, was a rule of the thumb, during those years... The innocent man, Tom, shackled, condemned, taken away and waits to die, and endure With Indian summer, waxing and waning, Atticus chooses the simplest words. His children need, wisdom, and calm understanding, in trying to explain, that most men are good. He tells them, gently, how someone so crude, even Bob Ewell, no matter how evil perhaps in his life, was misunderstood. The hellish of summers begins to unravel. But another ill wind, would brew up a storm, to bring more than a flurry, into their home. #7 To bring more than a flurry into their home, burnt embers of color, drift down, red and yellow. Carved pumpkins, and a grieving autumn, looms in the night. Roaches encroach, deep in the shadows As Scout rushes homeward, behind her on the trail, a whiskey-breath nightmare, with evil intentions Then, someone appears! Halts this devil,...,Ewell is not immortal! we come to conclusion. A guardian presence, waiting to rally has kept a vigil, guarding children who run, swiftly through thickets. Lonely Boo Radley, appeared like an angel, a bird seeking the sun So pure of heart, and a thing so rare It is a sin to kill a mockingbird
__________________________ Re-submitted for Skat's Premiere Contest: #4

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

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In the fifties leaders told
an innocent trusting
to duck and cover.

Years later they felt
so foolish
for the easy way
they let their fears
be strummed.

It had worked so well
that with ignorance
and forgetfulness that goes 
with time,
and the arrogance that goes
with power,
and a populace drained
of will,
and hyped by televised fears,
many rushed out to buy
duct tape.

Now in a land
birthed in religious freedom
we argued over mosques
while desperate matters
are left unresolved.

Somewhere in this land
a jackass is braying.

Copyright © ahellas Alixopulos | Year Posted 2010

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That's so gay

That’s so gay.

You say,

As I’m brushing off the slang you defend.
My cheeks burn red trying to comprehend,
But I wont.

I wont grasp this trend.
I wont hear the monster.
I wont permit your condemn.
I wont drink the water.

Thirst. I crave acceptance.
I need the peace.
Allow transcendence,
Compel the hurt to cease.

That’s so gay

Unaware of the violence you assimilate.
Unaware of the arrogance you demonstrate.
Unaware of the intolerance you pontificate.
Unaware of the ignorance you perpetuate.

They’re just words.
You say with a clenched fist
They’re just words.
Whispered to the blade at her wrist.

That’s so gay.


Copyright © Brooke Goodwin | Year Posted 2015

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A Lion Looms Listless

A cold lion roams, doctrinaire and sterile,
The expanse of Africa offers him no sanctuary, the Saringehti no salvation,
He can only smell the scent of his pride now, his cubs shun him,
Repelled by needless roars, the revolting rants,
Tail tattered, biten by jackels at will,
His nose bit and beaten from battles better avoided,
Soul tethered to a label, only a title, "King of the Jungle" ,
Fleas and insects of all sorts find haven in his muddy mane
once so puffed and wide like a thunderhead trampling over Tanzania,
I hear him in the twilight, lonely, unsated and undesired,
Paranoid about a life that does not seem to love him,
His heart became a desserted Athens, a broken, rigid column slumped on the earth,
He wanders near the Nile, nearsighted and nervous
As an Egyptian boy of ancient lineage stalks him sensitively
Putting the speartip to his temple saying,
I see your ribs, your broken paws, your futility,
I will now deliver your soul unto the cool night,
The spear is launched with a certain bloodlust
piercing behind the shoulder blade, his heart hollers
with the cry of scarred suprise, the lion stumbles and pants
vanity no allowing blame for lack of vigilance,
the boy trots to the spot, kneels in token reverence
telling him, sip the black puddle of your error, as eyes fold ever shallow,
let me feed you these apples of arrogance
so to quiet your grievence, to sooth your ego before final sight,
there is no shame in being slain by a Pharoah King, old lion,
I shall wear your teeth as a timeless trophy of tragedy,
Emblematical of Pride gone on too long,
may the spirit of Herodetous teach this lesson to a new breed -


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014

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Private Conversation

Father it’s me again. It’s been too long between talks
Days, years: restless lost wasted years
Choices made based on greed, pride, arrogance and misbegotten dreams
It’s difficult at best to understand how You can still love me
The blessings continued throughout it all
I had Kristofferson on the stereo asking Why Me Lord
Now I know I just want to come home
One more shot at doing it right, conscience not materialistic ideals
Finding peace within myself, empathy for those who cannot.
The journey was a bit different than I imagined
Detours, lost highways, dead ends. Many roads. Wrong ones
More light at the end of the dirt roads
Than the ones paved in gold
Harder to reach your destination 
But the accommodations were better in the end
One more thing I meant to say and never did
Thank You Father for the hard times
Thank You for the trials that helped strengthen me
At the time, I didn’t understand
Now I see. Tears can cleanse the soul 
Only when they are real.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2009

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Call Me What You Want: Rap

Call me stupid
I don’t really care
I’ve been there before
Call me reckless
It doesn’t bother me 
It makes me feel free
So, Why don’t you pull out a dictionary
Look up all the words you’d use to describe me
I bet they aren’t pretty
I bet they’re pretty cold
But so are you baby...

You’re inconsiderate
Practically illiterate 
You’re obsessed with your looks 
Because of your arrogance
You’re uncreative 
So overrated
It’s like every damn thing I do
You always disapprove
Call that controlling 
Baby I’m trolling
You think you your so attractive
With your lack of compassion?
What happened to chivalry?
You think your so sexy?
You’re full of desire
But you set love on fire

Copyright © Paige Posadziejewski | Year Posted 2017

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Cloud Weavers

Little child
Your tiny hands hold a little flower
Delicately, you start weaving a story about peace
In your gentleness, you understand how happiness works
It is the sanctuary of warm softness in the heart
Free of all clouds and stormy weather
Little feet
You walk on soft white sand
Eagerly, you pull yourself up after each fall
In your curiosity, you discover what makes you happy
It is the freedom of making your own choices
Unconstrained by necessity or fate
Little heart
You embrace everyone without judging
Innocently, you follow the impulse of your instinct
In your imagination, you build the foundation of harmony
It is the pillar of mutual acceptance
Co-existing with different beliefs
Now, a grown young man
Your hands are no longer soft and delicate
In your journey, you learn how betrayal works
Painfully, you slip and fall each time
It is the feeling of deep hurt in the heart
That pushes you forward
Now, a capable man
You walk on a long winding path
In your trial and error, you finally grasp the true nature of humans
Disappointedly, you sigh at the people who create war
And those who instill hatred in today's youth
It is the sense of rightness that moves you
Now, a man of experience
You let your thoughts flow upon paper
Dipped in the ink of blood, words continue to flourish
Seamlessly, you integrate your enchanting imagery
With the blessings of God's living water
You paint a ladder of inspirations reaching the horizons
Seeds of the new generation
They are dreaming of a better future
Far from the opening chambers of blind heartaches
Those who drowned in the darkness of their moonshine spirits
Burning sinners and hypocrites
Drunken smartass slurring in a poetic oxymoron slang
Evil minds
Your eyes grin when you take away lives
It is the cold heartless stare that you exude
Until your victims' breaths leave their bodies
The demons in you rejoice in your attachment to them
Your souls are no longer your own
Unfilled vessels
The windows of your souls are sealed off
You have fenced yourself in to keep out the goodness
Spitting in Love's face, you bow to your Demon God
It is the hatred that you cling onto
When you weave long threads of recorded bad memories
Unforgiving gale
It approaches with a full force
Floors tremble and vibrate
When the houses break, it will be swift and inevitable
It is an unstoppable vortex of good and evil
A battle of hurling vile obscenities
Demon possessed
You will curse everything holy swearing lies
Sweet talking arrogance with no bounds
Under a thousand points of light
So blind becomes the beggars vision of a predator
Rattling through the cages of time
Death holds a beating pulse
Harsher than physical wounds exposed
Pain burns the poker scorching hot inside empty skulls
They curl their tongues in mockery of life
Cultivating a culture of takers and pranksters
Givers are now doomed and deemed foolish
Where do we go from here?
Stuck in past mindsets, the old must find a way
To break the mold and make peace
The young and new blood should never give up
On peaceful tolerance and forgiving love
Let bygones be bygones, start now with peace

a co write by liam mc daid and Angeline Lim

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2017