Best Denial Poems
Sing ye poets of stunning birds and butterflies wings.
Kiss ye, your own,Muse pen, on divine parchment, scribblings!
Ride in gentle winds upon your colorful, faux unicorn
Your hair flies in the wind, soft as the new dawn.
Speaking of love, oh, tis so divine,
But the slaughter of the unborn…is fine?
Madness runs poetry, our lost souls shrink.in literary brine.
Heralding to all, that all the world is fine??
Ye run like sheep when a poem addresses a human evils and wrong!
Instead, you prefer jokes and applause from the gigglimg throng !
Is this all we are, in a world so vile?
I have read many poems here,far too many smiles?
A head from a body chopped off in Nice?
I find no poem about it, just gleeful pages
poetic fleece.
To Olympus should be our chosen.grand banter.
Why do we prefer trophies and empty chatter!
To reality, we keep the door fiirnly shut.
As if we can hide from evil, alas. tut-tut!
5/30/2023
I wrote this three years ago. And I do not recall the beheading story
of the woman in Nice. I do know the world is in a catastrophic space
right now. More so that three years ago! Not only the Uktaine
The glass chatters, clanks, and shatters
As it hits the ground
But makes no sound
The only thing heard is the
Screams of pain
As I get hit into the glass
Blood everywhere
Pain unbearable
The ripping of flesh
Cracking of bones
Screams of pain
Yet no one hears the screams
No one to save me
From this nightmare
From that thing
Evil and putrid
Bragging of his virtue
But he’s hurting me
Ripping my skin
Breaking my bones
No one can hear my screams of pain
Why can’t they hear me?
Does virtue truly block others from seeing the torment before them?
Does it make its followers so blind they cant see the bruises?
Does it make its followers so deaf they can’t hear me begging for mercy?
Dazed as the phone wire strangled my neck
End of my youth faded with you
Noise of my tears echoes neighbouring walls
Innocent dreams dimmed in stardust so prematurely
And still every day I ask the sky why you are a star
Lost in the solar system without a glittering goodbye.
Drenched to the skin,
Propelled by the urge
Of eager anticipation
He rushes to greet her
Undeterred by freezing rain
And slashing, bitter wind…
Same day
Same train station platform
Same urgent desire
He refuses to accept
Her untimely demise.
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40 words maximum ~ Picture A
Short Verse Picture Prompt Contest
Sponsored by Lisa YY
Placed 1st
© 25th July, 2022
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Some people deny how they feel.
They say falling in love
is not real.
Their days come and go with the wandering wind.
They vehemently say it’s not so
and pretend.
Their reality is a sad lie.
Rather than tell nothing but the truth
they’ll die.
They live in a grey cloud
where truth
isn’t spoken out loud.
Yes, it’s a case of denial
and love is on a kangaroo trial.
By: Carole O’Terry Duet
Copyright: 3/15/2019
“All rights reserved”
Mortal worlds are no place for spirits like me to dwell; I am not meant for them; I have always been…a different soul. The womb begets many beings; I am not all that different from you, but, I recognize my sisters and brothers. Despite fur, feathers and fins; all come from the same soul and womb; God did not create Earth to give birth to idiots! But, man insists on acting like one by denying his own siblings, because of fur, feathers and fins.
Sentience is not a right to destroy other lives, but, most, seem to believe that it is. In less than two centuries; man has destroyed most of the Earth and her children; yet Man has the audacity to call his siblings…”dumb animals”! Fur, feathers and fins never did so much damage to their Mother’s body; as mankind has done. I have to ask…who really are the “dumb animals” on the planet?
I am not like the others; I have always known that all animals have souls.
Mortal worlds are a place of persecution for me as, I watch my siblings’ abuse and slaughter one another; to those in denial, it’s time you awoke!
For entry in poetry contest: "Denial"
It cowers in the corner,
newly born.
I turn my spite-soaked back,
riddled with resentment
and pull the thin veil
to sink beneath its cover.
I will not watch it crawl,
but it breathes,
a shadow
at the edge of my own
threatening to merge.
It waits, as I do
for nothing
while I ignore its cries
and mine.
And I turn to stone
silently refusing
the darkness at my feet.
~
It screams
a piercing shrill
that grips my core.
It pokes and presses
every bruise,
clawing at my skin
with high-pitched scratches.
Enraged, I seize it.
A thunderous wrath
echoes within,
bubbling from the chambers
of my worn-out heart.
Relentless waves
crash with intent
to swallow
as a storm
unleashes its fury.
~
Fear consumes,
as the burning truth
nears the brink.
Boiling rage simmers
to a helpless desperation.
I plead for a reprieve,
a momentary pause
in overwhelming anguish.
My offers fly free;
promises,
compromises…
myself.
Left waiting,
tossing pennies
into an overflowing well,
only to watch
my wishes spill.
~
Rain cascades
from hollow black eyes,
as its touch
pierces my chest.
And,
the dam
breaks…
flooding the space
with the pent-up poison
that's been swelling within.
I swap my veil
for a heavy blanket
of fog
as hope is smothered.
Color dulls to gray,
and I surrender
to the haze.
~
It holds me
in its growing arms,
and strokes my dampened hair,
whispering comfort
as if to apologize
for its very existence.
It is mine,
born of a final breath
to dwell in my shadow,
and thrive inside a void.
I tend to it
as it tends to me,
embracing what remains,
just a fragment
of that final breath
to hold inside my lungs.
And I succumb
to its rise
from the isolated corner
as it walks beside me,
fully grown.
We deny
Yet we cannot comply
We try to lie
But we cannot deny
Something is wrong with our daily lives.
Every hour someone cries.
Every minute someone dies.
Me,
Myself
And
I;
We decide to hide,
And
Also
We deny.
That life could be such a treacherous ride...
DENIAL
2001-
Re-written and submitted on 7/27/16, for PoetrySoup Poetry Contest:
DENIAL
Being in denial is like sitting in an empty house,
with a moonlit forest behind it.
Coming out of denial is the new bird,
that comes and stays a while, with that little
empty house, but when winter comes,
he is off on a journey from the heavens above.
air -you cannot see
breathing, so you know it's there
yet, you deny Him
~*~
Is there any who will challenge circumstance?
On this place of 40,000 writers, how many care?
Maybe many arn't active? Did they get tired?
Some have died..This I know.' Good talented men
Women, I wonder?? I am not much for waiting.?
Not these days, people are starved of knowledge
Denied vision, there has been subtle and overt
Bullying since1920 till now..Now its getting more
Agressive, louder more volume less quality.'
Accountabilty.? That only describes numbers now
Thats all the Media nephalim are inrerested in.'
Period.' How low can they push? all who challenge
The death of the nations? as low as they allow it to
Go.' Thats it..' we can live for better or allow worse
And die in ignomy.' What gain is that? If we allow
Ourselves to be pushovers, it still hurts when the hit
Comes..Are your eyes closed? And is that because
They are swollen from some earlier punches? Or is
It just that you welcome the firing battalion.. Not a
Squad.' Today this epoch..Is one of utter wastefulness
So the ideaology equals current endings, save no reality.'
Did I say I cried -
Let me explain the water on my face -
The summer rains has began
And they can be sort of sudden; haste
Is useless, I am castled sand.
Red eyes testified
Not what life still means
Only the way the sunset makes me feel
That nothing here can last
If I cannot call one human feelings real
if the future is still the past
And love in our genes.
We deny ourselves the truth when we believe others false words
Denial will get you no-where, a dead end road
A false belief, hanging on untied string
It keeps you from uplifting and living fully
It prevents genuine care, not the fire burning
It restricts truth and contiuously badgers your soul
When it all caves in, there is no use complaining
- Denial built the bridge that fell -
Heidi Sands
4/12/26
(C)opyright
Johnathan, Innsley, Marie, and Paul ---
Tom, Trish, Bea, and Jack: all of them.
Black, white, asian; Jew, gentile, zen...
Sex, art, love, mores revolved,
entering ever-shallower circles of discovery.
Clear ice cubes clanked on glass;
religion, sex, quality imported Scotch
and Cuba made the rounds.
Conversation calmed, each with his own idea:
the ultimate word.
Fake furs, donned, drifted into oblivion.
Feeling alone, J. C. cleaned up.
From the dulled Johnson's Wax luster
on a genuine Duncan Phyfe table,
his distorted rumpled reflection
stared up at itself.
J. C. looked away, noticed four new white rings,
picked up a soiled Canon towel,
and wiped away three beads of water,
a few ashes, and himself.