Best Demeaned Poems
from owned to dethroned
you led me
from queen to unseen
you hid me
once crowned to now bound
you kept me
absorbed to derobed
you left me
a spectacle to be gawked at
you jeered me
from diamond to dust
you threw me
once devoid of lust
you spurned me
and yet, here I am
naked
bleeding
dishonored
unwanted
here I stand
here I smile
biding my time a while
knowing as I do
the inner splendor shines through
I bathe my naked body
perfume every curve
comb out my raven hair
for I dare
This is swear:
None can usurp my throne
It's mine and mine alone
I climb the stairs
and they all stare
yes, they stare
so aware
the Queen has returned
your history’s been burned
I'm here
more beautiful than before
radiance galore
I see you
with flames of desire
once more in your eyes
you...watch me.....R^I^S^E
my glory emanates through
every idol set up by you
adoration's MY due
It is true:
discarded to lauded
I taunt you
demeaned to re-queened
I rule you
I reign, I disdain
don't be vain
your plea to return
I will burn
spurn
I'll watch you yearn
you can't take me back
I know what you lack
a heart and a soul
I won’t make you whole
Knighted to blighted
I see you
And so….
adored to abhorred
I leave you
Eileen Manassian Ghali
...They proclaimed that we ‘oppressed women,’
it’s the refrain of loud femenists,
forgetting that before birth control
nature gave us little choice in this.
That before we had technology,
when life meant brutal, physical work,
that there just weren’t all that many jobs
physically weaker women could work.
They forget that the woman’s franchise
arose on America’s frontier,
that we blazed the path for suffrage,
their equality started right here.
Now why would a nation do all that
if they cared so little for females?
If we sought to be patriarchal
then I dare say the strategy failed.
And yet the left keeps raging about
rights which women have been long endowed,
Why should we buy all their self-hatred
when there’s so much for which to be proud?
And worst of all these fools like to claim,
that we’ve learned nothing, it’s all the same,
which I think is a sure sign that they
have something dreadful wrong in their brains.
We look at our mistakes all the time,
we brood endless on our sins and scars,
America lacks no self-reflection,
if anything we take it too far!
We get so obsessed with all our wrongs
that we think they drown out all the right,
we selfishly think it’s all our fault,
then of the truth we sadly lose sight.
Many cultures can’t ask such questions,
ask the Turks about past genocides,
or see if Communist China will
own up to all the Uighurs that died.
You don’t see many Japanese kids
who know about the rape of Nanking,
yet every American does know
that Wounded Knee was a horrible thing.
Why should we regret a culture that
tries to learn rather than disavow?
Our growing should not bring self-hatred,
to be honest, it should make us proud.
In the end, these issues are smokescreens,
thrown up to keep good people off track,
the left wants us all to hate ourselves
because self-hating folk rarely fight back.
There’s no logic behind what they hate,
hell, it changes hour-to-hour,
what unifies all these self-hatreds
is whether it will bring them power.
That’s really what’s behind all of this,
like some grand Machiavellian scheme,
to make free people into peasants
they first must be cut down and demeaned.
In truth, they don’t like Americans,
they don’t like people who stand unbowed,
so reject their vile self-hatred,
embrace all the things that make us proud.
the splendor of an essence, delicate yet
firm is called
woman…
awed by her mystery through years,
thirst of rivers and shorelines never knew
her meaning,
her perfume and poison
mixed with elixir cloaked in legends
which trace her tears, taste all maiden songs
and still cannot touch her, own her
absence, presence--
many men crush this feminine generosity,
trampled, demeaned like a wilting flower
but she is an eternal prayer, rising from
violence and domesticity-
this is woman…
bequeath your shrines primitive or medieval
you are timeless,
give those who have one bare minute
a last glance of your soul’s courage
above, under and beyond
Mary's firm panels of heaven,
for despite any human cruelty, she prevails.
This poem may get into trouble,
The world wants identity double.
Attempting to culture commonality,
The world champions individuality.
Theft of language has become all too common,
Yesterday’s use today identifies one a strawman.
Definitions change, words take on other meaning,
Often toward groups one way leaning.
At our language different groups continually hack.
In the case of *****, African American, now Black.
Or European, White, then Caucasian,
Korean American, Indian, rather than Asian.
Why is it that unmentionable words,
You know them, our dialect’s turds.
The use of people demeaned still proliferates,
While outsiders use carry’s different weights?
Color, religion, disability, sex, and age,
All lines in the sand drawn to disparage.
We should agree that race be set aside,
Bound together in one Human pride?
Our world needs new words and labels,
Not old words containing past fables.
Words that create, unite, and rejoin,
Not words that change on the flip of a coin.
Straight should mean unbent?
Snowflake should be heaven sent.
Gay should be a happy feeling.
Black’s big “B” should begin peeling.
I applaud the generation of Ze.
The neutral meaning of he or she.
A word with definition created anew.
A word defining both me and you.
8/31/2017
A MOTH, A PORCH LIGHT, ALONE IN AN OPEN WINDOW---
Owning up to his shortfalls may be his most difficult task.
Tomorrow mirrors that reflection.
In thought, he begins his introspection.
Standing looking out the open window, a moth distracted his attention.
He turned on the porch light thinking about how he was always alone.
He did not know why he kept the window open all night.
His analysis found he feared the unknown.
“May I concentrate in a philosophical mode?
Winter is coming fast and I do not want to be out in the rigid cold.
Sometimes I wonder why my mind has grown old.”
Larry had been a recluse for the last ten (10) years or so.
He was a nature walker and he wrote poems.
He was an electrician by trade and skilled in masonry.
He had designed beautiful architect.
His hands provided him an inventor’s intelligence.
However, Larry was always down.
He did not see the open window he looked out.
He felt that the doors had closed.
That he had lost his stance in the world.
Therefore, he caught moths in a jar and watched them wanting freedom to fly.
As he stood on the porch alone, a spirit appeared standing in his open window.
The moths were attracted to the light.
He fanned a moth away from his eyes.
Therein, he felt his eyes were deceiving him; therefore, he looks toward the open window once again.
A noise he hears.
He wakes up wet.
His night fever was on.
He was a pallor of fits.
His sleeping had embraced his condition and the clatter had awaken him within.
His demented state of being demeaned.
He reminisced.
He ruminated the moth while standing under his porch light alone but in his open window stood a pack of coyotes.
|_________________________________________________________________|
Penned on November 01, 2014!
I was contacted months ago by a person named Lauren Godly. She's a media student, and she asked me if she could turn my poem, Adored to Abhorred into a video. It's finally been completed. It's such a wonderful feeling when you know that your poetry can help make a difference.
Adored to Abhorred
from owned to dethroned
you led me
from queen to unseen
you hid me
once crowned to now bound
you kept me
absorbed to derobed
you left me
a spectacle to be gawked at
you jeered me
from diamond to dust
you threw me
once devoid of lust
you spurned me
and yet, here I am
naked
bleeding
dishonored
unwanted
here I stand
here I smile
biding my time a while
knowing as I do
the inner splendor shines through
I bathe my naked body
perfume every curve
comb out my raven hair
for I dare
This is swear:
None can usurp my throne
It's mine and mine alone
I climb the stairs
and they all stare
yes, they stare
so aware
the Queen has returned
your history’s been burned
I'm here
more beautiful than before
radiance galore
I see you
with flames of desire
once more in your eyes
you...watch me.....R^I^S^E
my glory emanates through
every idol set up by you
adoration's MY due
It is true:
discarded to lauded
I taunt you
demeaned to re-queened
I rule you
I reign, I disdain
don't be vain
your plea to return
I will burn
spurn
I'll watch you yearn
you can't take me back
I know what you lack
a heart and a soul
I won’t make you whole
Knighted to blighted
I see you
And so….
adored to abhorred
I leave you
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Banished and disgraced in 1798—
Stripped of her temporal power,
And before the end of time,
She’ll receive her prophetic hour.
The entire world will pay her homage—
All peoples, multitudes and nations.
Spiritual suicide committed by most,
Adhering to her indoctrinations.
It only takes one generation
For history’s lessons to be lost;
Lives Christ willingly died for
Fail to listen to His Holy Ghost.
Man’s own glory to be given honor
And Christ’s sacrifice demeaned;
Men sit as judge and jury,
The conscience to be weaned.
She sits as queen upon the beast,
Dressed in scarlet and purple that's royal.
Decked with costly jewels of pride—
Astrology her deep, dark soil.
Whatever the Persians and Grecians loved,
She took to heart as well.
Called them her own mysteries—
Claimed Mithra's keys to heaven and hell.
She’s become the habitation of devils
And all will soon drink of her wine.
The traders are made rich by her commerce—
The “Mother of Harlots” claimed divine.
Sitting on her throne of spiritual darkness,
Chosen alienation from God in accord,
She claims she’ll be queen forever,
But her end will come from the Lord.
Copyright © 2011 Maureen LeFanue
www.godsgreetings.org
Their Everlasting Night
The pain of night returns
carrying with it the horror
of the lost lives of the still living.
The shadows of the headlights,
the sounds of the boots,
the flowered names on the doors
pushed open, the eyes pried open,
the legs forced open by these soldiers
seeking “comfort”.
These Japanese Military Sex Slaves, “comfort women”,
coerced, bribed, abducted and transported
to battle zones to provide “comfort” to
the Japanese soldiers. Children
stripped of childhood, young women
degraded, demeaned, disgraced
at the hands of still unrepentant rapists.
Who will comfort these women now,
in the pain of their everlasting night.
As of this time about 40 still live,
still dread the pain of sunset’s pall
the scent of the darkness.
They are but a few - yet wish to ensure
that the story of the many does not
fade into history’s silent acquiescence.
There is a shame that should be felt,
not by these women, but by all of
humankind, an ache that pierces the
soul of all, a question that must be asked
knowing that we will find no comfort
in the answer.
John G. Lawless
3/4/2015
submitted to – The Pain of Night – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Tammy Reams
Celeb
No sooner does a Celeb opens his closed lips
Than eager pens poise to ooze ink from tips!
Such is the woe and pain for my brother Caleb
Who’s a reviled, demeaned and stalked Celeb!!
Whatever he utters is perceived as controversy
While ruthless stalking gives Caleb no privacy?!
With garrulous chaps, when reviled or railed,
Noblese oblige is a cross on which he’s nailed.
They pounce for taking breather showing face
Moving off, Camera Men begin a Chevy Chase-
Has he any peace? Will he not in public do sex-
Denied liberty by every keen eye’s sharp reflex?
His dress they scrutinise, and call it funky style
His taste they sample and give it a cold smile:
Vile ink daubs all publications with acerbic scorn;
Either: “archaic dress” or “contagious ****!”
Dress! The worst that meets a Celeb with vile
Wretch in rugs joins despicable rank and file
At pelting and at condemnation of our Lady Gaga
Who with either style of dress is labelled gaga!!
So they give a relentless chase of the racy tail
Dailies and some other loud and sneaky Mail
While Fashion flows as tresses of an eager Clown
Dancing a scary plague out of a diseased town!!
All that they do or what they take into account
Is always a deplorable and a deficient account:
A Celeb is a sweet Orange treated like a lemon
Or, Saint condemned like a wandering demon!
JM
05th December 2013
Desparage,more so, less impressive
I've demeaned my opinion of my self esteem,
As a pitbull I too, am bemeaned
On the contrary I am my very own abuser, the ultimate credited bruiser, I am the controlled life time looser
All by choice
in response I begin to question me
Internal & subjectively
Why haven't I advanced yet to a positive conclusion,
My mind frame's allusion is base set on frustration & confusion
At times I don't feel as if I can escape my faith
Im set in my ways, the caotic factors my life portrays
Over the years I've depraised and degraded my uniqueness
I've exchanged my assertiveness for shameless tactlessness
Never minded what was precieved of me
For all I can be is Me right?
Enterprising Henry IV declares suzerainty over state
Xenophobic princes seek the royal prerogative to abate
Cautious king uses diplomacy, threats his minions to subjugate
Old rivals in Saxony Henry's consolidation with tyranny equate
Morose princes in the hinterland seek to avoid a similar fate
Manic King Henry sends his forces the opposition to eradicate
Unifying his kingdom, Henry dispatches puppets, builds forts his
subjects to ingratiate
Nouveau Pope, Gregory VII, seeks his spiritual fiefdom to
accentuate
Invoking ban on German King's power to bishops nominate
Calculating King refuses to cooperate with this diabolical dictate
Arrogant Pope responds to Henry's disobedience with a writ to
excommunicate
Terrified, Henry performs penance to wipe clean the slate
Ecclesiastical mantra restored; Pope Gregory VII absolves the
humbled magnate
Demeaned but not demised, Henry continued to temporal, spiritual
power appropriate
Mister Everett Wheeler Cartwright came from Burlington Vermont
All the way to Massachusetts---quite a healthy jaunt
Didn't really understand the cause the Union fought so hard for
Freedom from King George of England---far beyond his ken, and
Dying from an errant bullet, no one said to Everett Wheeler
Cartwright, "Happy Holiday!"---at his untimely end.
********
Eldridge Porter Hampton hailed from Cotton Valley Louisiana
Had no money, had no slaves, but loved his hoe and banjo
Never heard of Douglas, never heard of Lincoln; couldn't read or
write much, nothin' but his name. Yet Eldridge Porter came a runnin'
East to serve: For Johnny Rebel's legend gave him courage, gave him nerve to
face the soldier'd took his life---No 'Happy Holiday' for his wife.
********
Now the deaths are all forgotten; now the mem'ries fade away
Solders fighting wars today: mocked, reviled, e'en betrayed
"Happy Holiday" to one and all: "Memorial Weekend Super Sales"
Picnics, outings, lakeshore (or) beachside---Beer and Wine and Ale
Far removed from battles, far removed from war's numb pain
One more US Holiday---demeaned o'er tear-stained plains.
A poem in trochaic hexameter and octameter
Christmas edition of PS News is out, and here's the scoop
Poets are climbing the rungs of ladders on Poetry Soup
It's not an easy feat; one to be applauded and praised
instead of opposed, demeaned, or by jealous ones, razed
Why bother looking at lists if you find them to be galling?
Frankly, I find one with such an attitude to be appalling.
Remember that Santa makes lists. Two of them, in fact
and you'll be on top of his naughty list if you overreact
Stop being so gosh darn negative about petty trivialities
We are not alike. We have many different personalities
So stop whining about poets who like to write for contests
You will surely find a lump of coal in your stocking, unless...
Dragged through the dirt; your defender
You once deemed me a dependent, now demeaned and discarded despite I delivered
Disposed of; drowning in your ditch detaining the debris of much deeper dilemmas
Distracted for days
Your destined departure, a deceptive directive to disband with no decency to declare your decision
Dispelling all divinity, destroying your dignity
Desperately decoding each direction; detach the doubts from the definite or demand a dream till I deteriorate
Daring to dive into my desolate dome and disengage the demons daunting me
My defense is devotion against the dark and devouring depression
Deadlocks defused and the damage dissipates, drifting till duality finds design or divides
When the police came with clubs, dogs, and fire hoses, the non-violent protesters did not blame the American flag. When protesters were beaten, jailed, and some killed, they did not blame the American flag. When many were sent off to fight for the rights of others but not their own, they did not blame the American flag. When in uniform, they were treated as second-class citizens far from home, they did not blame the American flag. When their own country discriminated and demeaned them on foreign soil, they did not blame the American flag.
When on bended knees, believing in country, church, and God, against what seemed to be impossible odds, they fought for justice through the courts and the halls of Congress and won many incredible battles.
From the segregated schools and the cotton fields of the deep south, I saw the non-violent protesters and freedom riders. They took the blows and stood tall; from the dogs, they withstood the mauls and realized that hatred and racism were the cause. Yes, this baby boomer observed it all, but I do not recall that they blamed the American flag.
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