Best Denigration Poems
Retarded limbs in dark surrounds,
Embattled heart ‘n muffled sounds;
Dying hope of life abounds
I am winded to the gut.
Slowly sinking through the clay,
Sly emotions slip and sway,
Tomorrow is another day
and I am winded to the gut.
Pain takes charge of limb and head,
Feeling like I need a bed,
Read a book; pray instead
I’m so winded, to the gut?
*
Twitching throat and anxiety,
“Heart, practice piety”
Re-integrate ‘to society
and rise above this deadly rut
*
Once thought it’s gone and then
Alas, it intrudes without pardon,
Rudely again my heart to harden,
I’m kicked again, in my gut.
Cycle, cycle, this awful groove,
Shakes it’s hand in sick reprove,
Denigration with one swift move!
I’m so winded in my gut.
So what now, my hopeless host;
Can you prevail above this ghost?
Healing physician – lost your boast?
I’m still winded to the gut.
Is that a light in this dark cave or
just some glow fly at the grave?
What will me from this dark pit save?
I bow my head and hold my gut.
Time passes by relentlessly;
Who’s in control – you or me?
These questions mean I still can’t see!
Oh, such turmoil in my gut.
It's shadowed in darkness, growling like a hound
Creeping about, whispering as it slithers around
Begging for attention, for it desires to be found
Silence is loud when its echoes continually resound
Behold, it comes masked, disguised in these places
Preying on the gullible ones with innocent faces
Cajoling as a lover would to gain their good graces
Offering false humility with arms of frigid embraces
Silence cries out with a stench breath for adoration
Quietly seducing the naive with phrases of flirtation
Long ago, spawned to be the wielder of denigration
Contrived as a stealth mute, soused on pride's libation
Writes with ink splotches, dripped from a toxic tongue
Its poetry is deceiving, lyrics not meant to be sung
In darkness, it leaks toxins with the scent of dung
Disguised as a pacifist, but its bile words are flung
Silence, speak what you should be wanting to say
then fade back into the shadows where you often play
Your acrimony doesn't fool the many you did betray
Sheath your querulous pen, for it leads people astray
American Nero,
showering utter disdain —
Denigration downpour on pleb citizens
begging for pandemic crumbs
As the pestilent fire rages around
your virally tainted kingdom
Ghastly gladly,
you keep on fiddling
acid text madly
Dripping hateful words that burn
deep into the bipolar soul
of a divided nation
An enamel disrobed toga ethos
reveal naked desires
Sparking flames of cold pathos
American Nero,
a contemptible paper reign
is exit poll falling
Whilst the fire of pox chaos
contagiously spread
with spittle accelerant ease
This scorching hoax
raze any flagging, publican hope
Truth unmasked
do singe that gallows rumor rope
Fiery breath fiddler
kindling fear,
high up on that Ivory Tower roof
Tearfully playing the ill-fated fool madly,
as graven torch idolatry
lay fallow ‘neath ash liberty truth
It isn't where you come from,
Matters not where you've been.
It isn't what your parents did,
That makes your name among men.
Your ancestors may have a name.
But what they did or not,
Has naught at all to do with you,
It's long ago forgot.
It's what you do yourself that counts.
You make your reputation.
You can make your family proud,
Or cause them denigration.
It takes time to build a name.
It starts when you are young.
It's the habits that you form,
While the song of youth is sung.
It takes less time to wreck a name,
Than it does to build it.
What you pass down to progeny,
Pride or shame, you've willed it.
Try to be the kind of person,
God intended you to be.
Live each moment with the thought,
He's watching over me.
Live each moment knowing,
Your every move He'll see,
And every word you ever speak,
Will all be heard by He,
Who sees and hears and knows all things.
Before Him we all stand.
Try to live within His will,
According to His plan;
And you will live a happy life.
You'll come through every storm.
Be obedient and kind,
And try not to conform,
To the world and wicked ways.
Drink but from The Master's cup,
So each morning when you rise,
The devil's mad you're up;
For God knows what we're all about.
This life is no mere game.
The Shepherd knows each sheep He owns.
He calls each one by name.
anxiety insinuated pressure
denigration isolation,
spiritual deflation
all of today's ingreidents beyond
our needs,in abundance,
from (where?) does this all come.?
shadowed in darkness, sniffing as a hound
creeping about without releasing a sound
begging to be noticed, wanting to be found
silence is too loud when its echoes resound
behold, it comes creeping to known places
among those of us who wear innocent faces
cajoling in soft whispers to gain good graces
offering false humility and fridgid embraces
silence cries with stale breath for adoration
quietly seducing with phrases of flirtation
spawned to be the wielder of denigration
a stealth mute, soused on pride's libation
ink splotches fingered from hushed tongue
will never be songs aptly written to be sung
in silence it leaks acid and toxins are sprung
disguised as a friend but what lies it's flung
SPEAK the truth you have neglected to say
then return to shadows where you oft play
your silence has not fooled those you betray
sheath your vile dagger then be on your way
Strange sedition stealthy sets
cloaked in artificial greening phiz
some by prejudice inquiring,
“Where are you from”?
others in feigning frame avoiding,
finding paths away from you,
Though harmless your looks.
There be those secluding,
choosing space dodging.
deliberate speed the drama,
of Conceited Bias unspoken,
The loss of childhood innocence,
Deprivation infinite,
miscarriages of Justice,
preferential treatments innumerable,
spites and Obvious denigration,
strange glare on nature's kiln,
The sun made me shine little mind,
I don't envy You in this cold.
The spite, multitudinous,
The Jeers, unprovoked contumely,
At work,
The Bus,
the Malls,
The elevator,
the peevish looks,
uncertain repudiations,
Even in Church secluded,
The brief suspense at the “sacred” ground
Exclusivity,
We see it, watching in silence.
Some time too Obvious,
Unspoken Nepotism,
“We first”, You Last or voided.
The denigrating use of “Minority or Others”
As though the described are less human,
I am African, NOT "minority" or "others"
we know these sieving schemes.
In civility we ignore,
A better knowledge Leads
This dying carcass a mere container,
We are not inferior,
we are not a threat,
We are beautiful ,
We observe,
We lough at these ,
And when the manacles of Justice is snapped by the creator of colors
then shall you know,
We are all sojourners here.
I was told in the beginning
That a wish may not well be unicorn
With two winged thrust-thronged
To soar upon the cumulus,
And for those who are wishing
Wishes to fall on their laps
Were wholly rendered redundant,
Those who want to attain,
Tainted and tarnished past attainment
Forgetting forward fortune
And glory in goods temporary.
Now those who dole out mischief;
Sowing the seed of acrimony
Rotten in corruptible credo
Reshuffling reservoir of redundancy
To establish the roots of inertia,
Of Demo-CRAZY
Of masq-UERADES
Of lob-BEASTS
Of cons-titu-PATION
Of elders
Of fools
Of economy
Of pain
Of nemesis
Of crying jags
And hopelessness, deep furrows on wanton minds
Remembering the deceit of denigration
That brought doomed to deserving daddies
That it is always a surprise,
Unwilling stallion in the midst
Of same blind, semblance sahibs,
A remembrance of the past remembrance
Raising the boys to take the Salutary gauntlet
of the favour done
To pave the way
For stock taking and a quiet get out,
Of the unending, pass measure euphoria,
Then it fell on the laps
Of a fiery warrior; then
The dance of the macabre
And a sycophantic applause,
Mutatis mutandis, endless queues
Of rebounding stomachs
Roaming, rounder the ruins
Recounting remnant reservoir
Denouncing, declaring deceiving
All one enmeshed in the same pot
For the final stir of the arbiter.
In depth and breadth of shadows, it prowls around
always flowing, wafting on air, ne'er making a sound
It exists in dejection and rejection, and always found
in silence, too loud when its raucous echoes resound
No deafening roar of blaring thunder comes with fear
It's audible only in a mind, but muzzled to each ear
Manifested in visions, without guttural words to hear
The threat it poses in a reverie wears an implicit jeer
Solitude exhales a stale breath with eager anticipation
Quietly seducing our trust with mendacious flirtation
Spawned to be the covert wielder of our denigration
A stealth mute, besotted on doubt as a form of libation
"Take heed, people!" It screams at us without a tongue
In song the tune is hummed; the lyrics never to be sung
Anguish, leaking acid in which toxins are cleverly sprung
Disguised as a protagonist, paranoia's qualms are flung
It watches without eyes, trying to keep us in disarray
An ever lingering specter, hovering wherever we play
In reticent whispers, how deftly it schemes to betray
A taunting voice without curses, a message to convey
Let Englishmen Awake
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2016
St George’s day is coming
let Englishmen awake
the denigration of our name
is more than we will take
but we will rise above it
the Red Cross on the white
and once again we’ll show the world
the English still can fight
Though part of the United Kingdom
we are a people of our own
and through the march of time
our history has grown
With Scotland, Wales and Ireland
we’ve stood throughout the years
through war and through disaster
the heartache and the tears
Saints George, Andrew and David
Saints Patrick and Piran too
have been with us throughout the years
and we’ve helped each other through
But now there are some people,
try to stop our flag flying high
but they are wasting their own time
they may as well not try
So, the 23rd of April, on this Saint Georges Day
let flags fly high, and to God and St. George we’ll pray
raise your voices one and all, and give a mighty cheer,
and we will let the whole world know,
the English are still here
Why oh why have we become so woke
To the point of companies going near broke,
All for the sake of garnering support
From vocal fringes, then quietly rushing to abort.
Is the effort worth the prize
Pandering to an audience that must surely realize
Division is not the path to integration
Empowering voices that just believe in denigration.
Acceptance is rarely mandated or imposed,
It's a result of customs willingly transposed
To reflect a kinder more inclusive world
And in the process eliminating the absurd.
Activism can often be the kernel for steep
Change,
But in the wrong hands is alienating and deranged,
With effects that counter all that would be good
Demeaning the very essence for which they stood.
We the silent throngs just watch and wonder,
What's brought on this wave of mindless thunder,
Strife and upheaval causing nothing but confusion,
Resulting in a world of societal delusion.
Democracy is not another word for anarchy,
Where a vocal few usurp reality for fantasy,
But one of tolerance and communal understanding
To mold a world where actions are outstanding.
Where parent is not set against their child,
Or leaving differing opinions unreconciled,
Where sexuality does not become a sword,
Or Race the blade to cut across the board.
When will politicians and the media say enough,
Accepting that their narrative is huff and gruff,
Full of potholes and dead ends
Turning people into enemies not friends?
Why not allow good sense and wisdom take the stage,
Willing denigrators to turn another page,
Supporting causes that are simply just
Thereby forging a society sure to last.
Pervasive personal questions people ask,
shredding to shards what truly is me.
The pieces are of no use to them though,
the effort seems at times
to stem from veiled spite,
incisive curiosity or even subtle affront.
I forcefully flinch to introspect,
ask myself why I’m under their prying lens,
and don’t answer.
Caustic comments people often make
on the manner I behave,
that seems strange to them,
or on the way I do or don’t do things,
that seldom matches theirs.
I don’t try to explain,
these are innate traits I am born with,
discarding or changing which for their sake,
or walk on their footsteps would be
to dispense with a vital part of my persona,
to exist as a facsimile entity of no individuality.
So, I don’t react.
If at times some people are good to me,
I can’t express articulately enough
the feeling of hearty appreciation,
for that action may appear a manifestation overdone,
deceptively laden with pretentious display of gratitude,
which in essence screens the implicit expectation
that the good done is what is deserved and due.
When this trait is criticized as intended insensitivity,
a part of me, inherently obliged though,
is tortured to plaintive and painful despondency.
I can’t endure the undeserving denigration,
for it aims to maim part of my bruised psyche,
I can’t rejuvenate, for it does no longer respond
for me to demonstrate.
People brand me quirky.
Surely, I’m so
with my strong sense of self-identity.
Travelling on the divergent path I paved,
I tell nonconformist me, reassured,
Shikata Ga Nai.
Constant denigration
wears you down
you feel so small
as your efforts are
downgraded with cast-off scoffs.
Your pearls bedraggled,
lack lustre,
displayed dimmed and dulled,
squelched by doubt,
smeared in fear.
Duet performance discordant
sung in disharmony
with lead player out of tune,
tone-deaf.
Belittled, you be,
and bedraggled becomes you.
Where are you going to direct me if I'm not with you?
What I fear is the root of my most profound agony.
I'm scared as I'm always compelled to pursue.
I've run out of excuses to be emotional and scary.
And on the mantel, candles have been set to provide shade.
Overcast our movements with an unfathomable shade of darkness
Despite my distress and stiffness, I chose to stay with you, not fade.
I cherished the eternal depths of your being a lover and kindness.
The throb continues to pound me, and my heart continues to race.
When we're not together, I feel an emptiness in my heart.
My wish is that we should have parted way before we embrace.
It's been ages since I've felt this thoughtful zest.
The utter denigration of memories
To find an aspiration where none is apparent.
Several moral tales emerge from exploited reveries.
My merit is similar to that of a sacrificial victim pigeon, errant.
Any rose petals could have fallen to the floor in that corner.
Spread similar to a river, elaborate on flows.
Giggles are alive and well, bringing some much-needed light warner.
Rather than flowers, thorns sprouted from the rose.
My heart was tearing itself apart as I screamed in agony.
In my heart, there is no longer space for anything but suffering.
There is no way for you to return to your set point of insanity.
You'd been waiting in line for too long hovering.
My pet bird took off into the trees.
I'm sick of seeing me having to leave.
It's the only thing that's obvious; a vulnerability exposed by the breeze.
Although the pain is momentary, it takes years to evolve.
I crave the contentment and peace you are lacking.
Do you prefer what I imply? Nothing specific you aim to?"
I'm not sure I trust what you're saying.
Not much is left in my body except bones and your fluency too.
All that remains are these revolting, dirty, sickening tremors in my limbs.
I can't even evolve any closer because I'm trapped in the past.
Every day is a hollow one for me; you can only satisfy my whims.
It's impossible to ignore you because you're so lovely ever to last.
Allowing you to suffer has made my life grumpy.
Writing Prompt - Ache - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Written April 23, 2021
Depression takes on many forms,
including thoughts of suicide.
And it can leave you battling a multitude
of sad, self-demeaning emotions:
that fester away
in the back of your mind.
Somehow, your soul has temporarily lost its way:
and you wander, unquestioningly,
through a minefield of self-destructive thoughts.
But both impulsive and nonretractable,
suicide is never the answer to any problem.
An internal denigration of one's self-worth:
fuels feelings that manifest as acid tears,
dissolving dreams and unfulfilled wishes.
And you seek refuge
from the anxiety of life's compromises:
pondering peace, within eternal sleep.
But you'll die, without ever having truly lived.
And like Shylock, Death will claim its pound of flesh
from those who love you, and always will.
You feel trapped in a nightmare, with no way out:
but give yourself time; if nothing else,
Human beings are resilient:
and change is inevitable.