Best Confrontational Poems
Be strong in your beliefs and opinions
Give and receive them respectfully
Discuss , debate, disagree ,
Devoid of anger and intimidation
Be polite and behave graciously
Don’t try and change opinions
Or what others believe
With intimidation and insults
Just amicably disagree
Why the desire to be hurtful
Trying to out-speak and outdo
Using sarcasm just to be heard
Desperate for control and that final word
Stop being childish and hateful
Bullying is not a game
Spewing ugly vindictive words
Is not the way to make positive change
Insecurities play a part with bullies
Due to lack of self worth and self esteem
Feeling stronger in who they are
When humiliating and simply being mean
Strive for a better way
Strive for a more positive you
There are no wrongs or rights
Just different points of view
Try kindness and compassion
Seek qualities in your fellow mankind
Don’t engage in belittling interactions
Igniting troubled minds
Life is not a competition
A constant game of tit for tat
Being confrontational and critical
Is not the way decent humans act
You have created your own personal battle field
Fuelled by antagonism and controversy
It must be so emotionally draining
Being consumed with malice and negativity
Life is like an island
Surrounded by people
Just as water surrounds the land
Sometimes still or confrontational
Making life controversial
Though you feel thoroughly pleased
When all is quiet and non participle
This is written in the friendship creed
.
Friends carry you through life
With you good times or when you decide
you need their help, throughout the strife
Quietly waiting by your side,
with advice, you can take or leave aside.
A smile , a hug, always there when you need
Sharing your joys and grief, cry when you cried
This is written in the friendship creed
People we meet along life's path
Make an impression on how we live
Taking care of the future of Mother Earth
leaving a history for the next generation to revive
With futuristic dreams of which planet to live
the wonders of how the future will succeed
Life no longer an island, with friends you survive
This is written in the friendship creed
Linked together makes life flow
Love, life and friendship is what we need
The future is rosy because we know
This is written in the friendship creed
Changed the rhyme on each stanza
Linked life, friends, future together.
Penned 18 April 2015
He stands against the old barn door
relaxed not a confrontational bone,
thin as a pitchfork's tine.
Farmhand, hunter, true-shooter,
the lens flatters him.
A ring of white T-shirt gives a reverse
halo to his lantern-jaw.
Loose fitting pants rumple
just right atop his kick ass boots.
He stands against an old barn door
who held up who the real question—
a bit of James Dean in pocket pressed hands,
Paul Newman in his eyes.
Flannel hugs him. (When the woman aren’t.)
Capped by a bent brimmed hat,
he's rolled to perfection.
I’m sure the name tag on his shirt
didn’t do him justice—
I drink...
Alone, all the time, always thinking,
About past times that should have been.
I should have done this, I should have done that,
I never get the chance to do anything,
Because nothing ever goes my way,
As I'm too busy anyhow,
My bravery is diminished just for now
And life's dreams will be fulfilled another day...
And confrontational pressure will soon go away.
My life is a struggle, and
Like dead weight, I plop back down,
A tiring sigh befits my frown,
Viscous is my life's blood,
Laziness is my likelihood,
I am a self-trapped man.
Self-esteem, non-existent,
Life is sucked out, numbed is my soul,
Nothing here, no spirit left,
Nothing but skin and bones.
Imminent is my digress,
Divest of intellectual progress.
I go over the events in my mind,
The portrayal of my life, and I shine,
It's so exciting, yet so elusive,
My drunkenness has gotten me stupid,
Once again.
For I relished the vivid, savor the imagined
Wallowing in what could have happened
And afraid to take the real first step.
I'm swirling, swirling, swirling,
Filled with sameness and frustration,
Face red and swollen
With the day's libation,
Eyes are glazed, mind on vacation,
My true reality, always distant,
The ice cracks and pops to the marriage of spirits and
I drink...
Be ware
Putting you words
And poetry out for the public could
be Perilous due to the great numbers that march
against free think ing today. On your artis tic journey
beware of Grammar Nazis. marching day
and night. you are wrong they are
right.write you poems out of si-
ght.seeing every issue in black
and white. They
see art, but not
quite. Drafting more for
their fight.dese ntion is their
greatest gift from the dead
they paste and lift tongues are sharp,
their attacks are swift.. Confrontational
critiques meant to do harm. Twisted
Philosophies do alarm. Gram mar Nazis
March tonight
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
The fireplace kindle in the moonlight.
I am along deciphering the mind’s eye.
God is here with me tonight.
The popping flame was a yellow reddish fire.
The wood burned and the smell was a delight.
My thoughts were ablaze to set the Devil afire.
Of course, I will let Lucifer exist.
He is confrontational to my holiness.
In that God is the omnipotent, Satan is the Devil defeated.
Insofar as the world is perilous, many (as I) must conquer their demons by
rostrum of our crusade as a battle won.
In India, primitive to the philosophy of religion, the reality is profound.
Deities are of one and of all.
There is such a thing as the Christian Satan.
They are enemies to Brahmans, god-giants.
Demons are devils crackling vigor.
This campaign is of war not of battle.
The action plan is to deploy Christian powers.
Revelation statuses such.
The plague of our time is trinity.
Spheral by one Godhead organizes the consecrated force.
The mercenaries are on the battlefield of and for the Lord.
With giants and demons how the monkey king detonates causing the wrath of
God.
Demons are decapitated and bodies are slanged from here to yonder.
God bellowed, “We must behead the monkey king.
He is the demon of all entities.”
The lashes influence the giants lambastes.
The Monkey King’s demons had formed their attacks.
God’s giants’ impact condemns.
They beheaded the Monkey King.
______________________________________________
Penned January 17, 2015!
They say confessional poetry is repressed sexuality, I believe it don’t you?
I’m a man who puts sanctions on his mind, and chains around my soul, wall's surrounding my own heart.
It has been so long since my bare skin has felt the bare skin of a girl, so long, that I do not want to even begin to imagine when,
Was the last time I locked lips with a girl, held her hand, or stroked her willing hair with my eager hands,
Oh how long it has been.
I’m an idealistic guy who chooses to shut myself into this sanctuary, my own isolation.
A man who tortures his own heart, with a soul that screams and a mind that is close to falling apart.
Infected by rumination.
Imagination suffocated by expectation.
Lofty goals and desperate attempts to achieve some jaded sense of moral fulfillment.
Any meager milestone that will put this ambition to rest, motivated by stress, obligations, and promises best left repressed.
So hopeful a dreamer who, like a young child I reach to the sky, stand tall for a little while then take an all too familiar slide into depression,
A self-created, self-directed, self-manufactured tragedy.
But self-determined to feed this wild ambition, this reservoir of fire.
An energy so shockingly, so alarmingly evident in everything I do, so competitive, so confrontational, so controversial, all I want is to be conversational.
I don’t blame the world for my troubles, we all have burdens to bear, crosses to carry, thoughts that vary.
We choose to be positive or cynical, an optimist, a motivator or a pessimist, to be inspired, to be admired, to receive respect, to let go of regrets.
To love, and to be loved, to be touched and not resist, to give in but not up our inhibitions, to just be freely in this moment, if only for a moment, to let our bodies dance.
To not be critical of romance, to have peace with this world, if only for a day, then today is the day,
That I need a Girl.
THE PASSION OF CHRIST
A Confrontational Poem by Atsu Adaletey
The Passion
Of Christ
Is a Mission
With Thirst
The Passion
Of Christ
Is a Vision
With a firm Decision
The passion of Christ
Is faith in Action
Not a Risk
For Experimentation
Is not to take pride in church mansion with air condition
It is to step out, reach out to those poor souls in a hopeless condition
It is not to take pride in your smartphones during church service
It is to fear the Lord for his greatness and to revere Him with some level of discipline
It is not for church sitters
But for church workers
It is not for crowd-driven souls
But for kingdom-driven souls
The passion for Christ
Now replaced with the passion for lust
That which ignores the essence of the Trinity
The passion for Christ is not for high hills who are reluctant to jump in His praise
The passion for Christ is for flat feet that humble their reputation and position for His praise
The passion for Christ is not for make-ups that fake His praise
The passion for Christ is not for make-ups that denies
the soul from true worship
It is for souls who truly understand what it means to worship Him in truth and in spirit
It is for those whose skin deserves some whip
It is for those whose palms receives some nailing, embracing the pain of sacrifice in worship
The passion for Christ is for “wanna dos”
Not for “wanna sees”
Show me your phone and let Jehovah show me how much time He spends watching over you
Show me your expenses and let the creator who gives you life showcase your offerings and tithes
Tell me how old you are
And let Him tell you how many “minutes” you are left with
Tell me how busy you are
And let Him tell you how free He is
The Passion
Of Christ
Is a Mission
With Thirst
The Passion
Of Christ
Is a Vision
With a firm Decision
The passion of Christ
Is faith in Action
Not a Risk
For Experimentation
It is not for church sitters
But for church workers
It is not for crowd-driven souls
But for kingdom-driven souls
Where is your passion?
In Christianity
or Vanity
?
Substance or alcohol abuse,
Number one.
Joins a gang and carries a
Gun.
Makes bad decisions,
Impulsive.
Appears nervous,
Often disruptive.
Irresponsible with life
And finances.
Takes a lot of risky
Chances.
High emotions, no emotions,
No in-between.
Always in trouble,
Can't get clean.
Inability to process the highs
And lows.
Running against the way the
Wind blows.
Completely shut down,
Overreacting.
Filled with doubt and
Self-loathing.
Inconsistent with no
Motivation.
Often ruins the family
Vacation.
Full blown mania,
Deep dark depression.
Super funny then
Full of aggression.
Takes everything and makes
It personal.
Always combative and
Confrontational.
Have problems paying
Attention.
Shows resistance to
Intervention.
CHILDHOOD TRAUMA SIGNS
Turbo 1904 ?
If I would be known as an advocate
Let it be for what’s just and fair,
As I see it, telling it right and straight
The truth is not in a lot of hot air!
In any case, I would much rather
Hear the story from original sources,
Unembellished with a lot of blather
So, let me rely on my own resources.
Opinion is opinion; news is news!
Tell me in plain terms what happened
Don’t give me any secondhand views,
Or try to persuade with a chart, and
Insult me with other “expert” points
I’m not interested in the sensational,
Your network’s biased viewpoints,
News should not be confrontational.
Tell me who, what, when, and where
Work your way from major to minor
Tell me the facts and leave it there,
For me, the evening news will be finer.
Written August 14, 2022
National Anthem
Familiar motherland music;
Stop to ponder SG50**
~~~~~~~~~
Hidden agenda
Crafty demeanour;
Unspoken moves
~~~~~~~~~
Confrontational
Words unnecessary;
Choice in no voice
~~~~~~~~~
Two sparrows chat
On air-con ledge;
Morning sunrise
~~~~~~~~~
Plumeria flowers
Sparkling colours;
Morning salutation
~~~~~~~~~
Spring cleaning days
Christmas is coming;
So little time
~~~~~~~~~
Torrential rains
Day after day soaking;
November redecorates
~~~~~~~~~
Here we are my dear
Forty-three years strolling;
Seems like yesterday
~~~~~~~~~
Mood and movement
Sun dancing up high;
Busy schedule
~~~~~~~~~
Yes we make plans
Do this and that;
Time intervenes
~~~~~~~~~
Cold winds blow dry
Dehydrates skin;
Chill in the spine
~~~~~~~~~
Happy sea of faces
Children frolic here;
Playtime at the park
~~~~~~~~~
Solitary old Kung-fu master
Resting on stone bench;
Smiles at people
~~~~~~~~~
Old lady with bags
Supermarket haul;
Weak knees hazarding
~~~~~~~~~
Meal pack takeaway
I venture homewards;
Lunch with darling
~~~~~~~~~
Joy styles peace
Fashion new venture;
Awareness comes
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
25 November 2014
Singapore
(Note: SG50** is the official tagline for the
the plans to celebrate Singapore's 50 years
of independence as a city-state since 1965.)
I was working out on the elliptical machine in the gym, feeling good and watching
the "Calories Burnt" number climb higher and higher.
Then, I noticed a rather shapely and attractive woman step off of the machine two
rows in front of me. As she turns and faces me, I cannot help but notice that the
nipples on her rather large breasts are erect and pressing against her sweat
soaked, tight t-shirt.
When working out, and at other times as well, I suppose, I sometimes drift off and
just stare into space not really cognizant of what I am looking at while lost in
thought.
I must have been doing this as this young woman started walking towards me on
her way to the drinking fountain.
She stops abruptly in front of me and says, rather curtly, "Why don't you take a
picture?"
Snapping out of my temporary coma, I respond, "I'm sorry - what?"
"You seem to be staring at my breasts," she rudely insinuates.
Now, at times like this, in a confrontational moment, I like to try to immediately get
on the attack and, sometimes, in my panic to do so, I can say the stupidest things.
In this case, I come back with, "Are your nipples pointing at me!?"
"What!?"
"Your nipples. They seem to be pointing at me!"
"I assure you, I cannot control what my nipples do."
"And I," I smugly reply, "Cannot control what my eyes do."
"You could look away," she challenges.
"And you could wear a thicker sports bra or sweatshirt", I respond.
At this she just glares at me with hate in her eyes and steam emitting from her ears.
I stare back with my smug grin, alternating my look between her eyes and her
breast.
So, of course, you know, we made wild passionate love in the equipment room at
the back of the gym.
And, just before we climaxed in a frenzied, naked and sweaty embrace, ...
... I woke up from my nap on the couch.
This is when I got up, changed into my sweatpants and went to the gym for a
workout.
It's all smoke and mirrors,
Cocooned in magenta mascara and lavender lace,
The ever-elusive ivory stag now backed into a corner,
Delighting in an artificial solitude's icy embrace,
Brandishing a jaw of pearls to sheathe the dagger up her sleeve,
A being without mortal anchors but free as the cosmos,
An orphaned star adopted by the destitute and bereaved,
Bound to the earth by a single poisonous dose,
Of a senseless rebellion rooted in a confrontational domestic convenience,
Concocted from the distorted allure of abandonment and the lust of love,
Ravenously craving the ecstasy of disobedience,
All to avoid her association with the palm branch toting dove,
Ordained by the heavens as a herald of peace,
Galvanized by the wind carrying her carelessly adrift as innocent as can be,
Yet somewhere along the way she lost her head in the clouds,
A life of complacency chafing away at her growing curiosity to the beings scuttling on the ground,
Gazing longingly at these minuscule being's feeble feet,
Apendages reluctantly dragging their comatose bodies through daily rituals too tedious to consciously repeat,
Why oh why young angel do you let your wings wilt with envy,
Why do your eyes brim with tears over remorse rather than from a strong gale's sting,
Remember your home atop cumulus hills and streets of cirrus,
Rise from your oaken bed not with medicated anguish,
But with the fire in your eyes coupled with a confident strut,
That made me fall in love with you,
My shrinking violet.
I want to write to be inspirational.
I want to write so others won’t fear to be confrontational.
I want you to read my works and say “Damn that was motivational!”
I want to be the one you seek after for guidance and truth.
I want you to grow confidence that is through the roof.
I want my words to brighten someone’s day,
I want my thoughts to drive one in a powerful way.
Is that bad of me to say?
Is it wrong I want to change a life?
Is it a crime I want to pull one away from strife?
Why can’t I pine after such a mission?
Because you and everyone else settle hurt and change by submission?
I want to change rather than conform.
How shall I accomplish this?
What works for you may not work for me.
I’ll just speak on what the world needs to see.
Men crying,
Girls objectifying,
Teens denying the need to conform,
Women waiting for marriage til a baby is born.
Men using fists rather than guns so mothers don’t have to mourn.
Young love, not young and drugged.
Respect for ourselves as women.
Men don’t just disrespect with their hands, but as well with their eyes.
And yet you want pants tight around your thighs.
If you put as much effort into school as you do looking cute, you would thrive.
Use your mind to maximize.
You wanted to be treated as an equal but you’re too busy finding ways to complain.
If you continue to let your success be compromised,
There’s no room to optimize.
I may not know you, but I know what you can do.
I know there’s nothing you can’t construe,
Nothing except for you.
You can be bigger than Ghandi, Oprah, or Muhammad Ali,
But what I find touching is up to me.
So I suppose I fail to influence and move,
Then again,
Isn’t that up to you?
Bravery with no constraints
On show of the minds might and power
Irrespective of competition or opposition
Done deals finally achieved and executed
Necessitated by a confrontational desire to
Eclipse any difficulty on passion’s road
Since this is from within, it’ll
Show no signs of fear or defeat