Best Deprecating Poems
My mental health is complicated
Now euphoric, next sedated
Nightmares daily duplicated
All my friends are alienated
Happy times? They're confiscated
Mental health is complicated
My mental health is temperamental
One day strong, the next I tremble
Demon thoughts in turn assemble
Scars you see? Not accidental!
Happy/sad so incidental
Mental health is temperamental
My mental health is so unstable
Able battles with Unable
Joy is nothing but a fable
Traumas each a different label
Hide then dance up on the table
Mental health is so unstable
My mental health is oscillating
Praising now, then deprecating
Morbid days turn scintillating
Love now, hate now: aggravating
Soothing words are non-placating
Mental health is oscillating
My mental health is so confusing
Flattering and then accusing
Comforting when not abusing
All my sanity consuming
"End it now" my life pursuing
Mental health is so confusing
Categories:
deprecating, anxiety, mental health,
Form:
Rhyme
My distant spirit is dying,
disheartened, disintegrating and self deprecating.
Defenceless, as hope disappears,
emotionally shipwrecked in deep waters,
yet to be discovered.
In the sadness of sentimental sighs,
silence is the sinister sister of separation.
Abandoned in an abode of unfairness,
my heart shimmers creating a crepuscular crescent,
emanating into an emotional eclipse -
in splitting darkness I've become invisible.
I've lost hope in being found
among faded stars and moonless nights.
I'm as transparent as an icicle,
melting in frozen fields of forgotten forever's.
In the deception of dreams,
gradually, the roots of grass begin to decay.
In misty meadows of manifestation,
sanctuary of my subdued supernova soul,
slumbers among rotting massacred moths,
motionless in a crumbling charcoal cocoon.
A slaughtered spirit spawns a suicide of sunshine,
as ebony eyes create Cimmerian shadows of smoke.
I've been taken hostage in a vault of torment,
hoping celestial spheres return soon -
but all I can hear is angels screaming.
I search for those susurration sounds
of homecoming birds of spring,
bringing the clarity of velvet sheen skies,
floating free like dandelions blowing in the wind,
unlocking shackles of sorrow,
easing stubborn tones of reasoning -
but no serenades can be heard.
The season of death is upon us,
so I remain disjointed in discomfort,
displaying dismay at being disowned -
leaving me feeling dizzy in dismal disorientation.
Categories:
deprecating, angst, death, depression, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
When fate pulls at my haiku of heartstrings,
I curse the syllables of my poetic musings.
If I do not express my sorrows,
how will petals blossom in my garden?
Upon the midst of bewilderment,
lost without a bosom for a sanctuary.
Life can cause confusion;
seem somewhat an illusion;
when the mind only sees disillusion.
Upon the depths of despair;
placed upon the ledge of melancholy -
legs dangle, eyes stare into random space.
Absent thoughts have no demand,
yet the soul is insistent,
but, all that is seen is darkness;
charcoal horizons with no guiding stars,
with the moon obscured by dull smoke,
jaded eyes simply wonder why.
What has become of me?
I despise the voices controlling my head.
I'm afraid of the images they've created.
Who will save me from this ludicrous lucidity.
Can anyone prevent vicious vines from suffocating me?
Vertigo seduces the mind,
influencing it to leap - but it has no faith.
Below lies an endless void,
a collection of human delusions;
an abyss of crushed expectations.
Heaven's broken arrows rain down,
blood dripping with fragments of broken dreams.
A reminder of another false pledge -
the final episode of a heart's connection.
Flames of hell prepare to scorch me.
Sometimes growth is like a stream,
that has lost itself in an ocean.
No identity, misplaced and alienated,
so it dies a slow death.
A sigh can only become deceased,
when a heart does not beat.
So, why do so many die
when the water of existence is in your hands?
In the marketplace of life,
each merchant will give you a different price.
Some will try to sell you dreams,
others, goods on false pretences.
Be careful, not to give all your emotions
away to the first bidder;
life is an auction -
don't let the auctioneer play with your heart.
Sometimes love is an unpredictable enigma.
I'm tired of living around gambolling gambits,
who's games condemn a soul to suicide.
But, little do they know,
I am a master of self deprecating.
The greatest of all pretenders,
suffering from a poison mistake
that lives with me forever.
Categories:
deprecating, angst, emotions, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Well, it's back to the sillies I go
This serious stuff is hurting my brain
If you notice I'm being serious again
Admonish me, must be totally insane
Must maintain my “silly” status
Or I'll totally fade away from the scene
“D'ya hear bout a guy who walked into a bar”
Sorry! Well you know what I mean
My humour's more of a cerebral nature
Yah right! Who am I trying to kid?
I'm down with all the rest of those guys
An image I could never get rid
Satirical, slapstick or self-deprecating
Puns creeps in now and then
Not what you'd call that high brow stuff
A hit with my P-Soup friends
Well hopefully I've got my point across
Though I might write a “serious” again
But they'll be rare, few and far between
A great big relief for my brain
© Jack Ellison 2013
* Wrote this one a while back *
Categories:
deprecating, humor,
Form:
Quatrain
I feel for gentle hearts in this loud world,
Ever suspect, dismissed and derided,
For long has been the shy a songless bird,
That Darwin dismissed as ‘odd state of head’,
Jane Austin gave shyness a broader scope,
Calling it a ‘moral, mental disease’,
And Freud, his fame fending for men no rope,
With sub-conscious cladding, a twist of his
That smelt of ‘displaced love of self-scored goals’,
A simple disposition framed as law,
Oh poking fun and scoring birdie holes,
In matters straight, cobwebs of gauze he saw,
And sensitive violets were on blame,
Poor things, shrunk with self-deprecating shame.
Violets shrunk with disparaging shame,
And shyness drawn from society’s unease,
Scarce unto standard mould can ever squeeze,
O get condemned— a jade that could be gem.
Though sensitive nigh to a gawking gaze,
Here am I basking still in benign bliss—
A shy soul, they say, more inventive is,
And tolerant the more to worldly ways
That mistake plane shyness as being cold,
Aloof, and worse still, somewhat arrogant,
And value those that be loud, neddless bold,
I’m happy now that they were ignorant.
Let critics bask under ill-informed bliss,
I marvel, how creative this bird is.
Creative, this touch-me-not kind of bird,
Or call it a flower called violet,
An introvert of an easy mind-set,
One blessed with fecund skills, a bit absurd—
Skills lacked by too talkatively inclined,
While some greats confess to ‘fainting with fears’
Ere giving speech to some so-called speakers,
Some loners lack the skills called social kind.
I know, shyness has no one ever hurt,
But self that feels cosy under own skin.
Let shyness stay forever verdant green,
Let it never make me an extrovert,
That I live in my own solitude proud,
Innovative, gentle in world so loud.
_________________________________
Two recent books set my thinking bird brooding over bashfulness: The Man who mistook his Wife for a Hat, by Oliver Sacks; and Shrinking Violets: The Secret Life of Shyness, by Joe Moran. These books advocate that the shy should get a better deal, for they tend to be more creative. Here is the why: musing over, these three sonnets (crown of…) materialized that made me feel a bit elated.
Crown of Sonnets | 01.03.2017 |
Categories:
deprecating, how i feel, introspection,
Form:
Crown of Sonnets
G..long, G..long, G..long,
It was so intriguing
The G..long sound
Trumpeting elephant?
No elephant here said..
Greville the greedy goat,
Sim the swaying giraffe
even Lind the chaffinch.
In deprecating way
Vee then laughed mockingly
Well, he couldn't help it
Being a hyena!
Exasperated Saul
determinedly stamped off
to ask Arc, the owl
He found him fast asleep
G..long, G..long, G..long
said Saul in Arc's right ear
Fluttering his feathers
Arc woke suddenly
Then eyeball to eyeball
Saul asked Arc politely.
"What makes a G..long sound?"
Silence was prevailing
until they both jumped at..
hearing the "sound!"
G..long, G..long, G..long!
Saul ran and Arc flew down
Here was the distinct sound,
which was getting nearer,
Saul's capuchin monkey
Kareen came into view.
Arc peered downwards
WHAT WAS ON..... Kareen's feet?
OVERSIZED GALOSHES!!!
G..long, G..long, G..long!
Was heard the flapping sound
As Kareen, head held high,
nonchalantly strolled by
Saul and Arc exchanged looks
Arc's disapproving one
with Saul's embarrassment
glowing red on his cheeks.
Saul beat a quick retreat
As Arc chuckled aloud! ......
Categories:
deprecating, giggle, humor,
Form:
Free verse
One Sunday morning, I went home to visit mom and dad.
My brother was also there, and I showed them what I had.
The first thing I said to father as soon as I saw him,
was that I had four free tickets to the art museum.
His first verbal reaction was the old thing “I don’t know.”
He then said, “Ah, what the hell! Alright, I think I will go.”
Getting the old man in the place proved to be a tough sale.
The one thing he seemed interested in was a female.
This young attractive blonde woman was someone father eyed.
We discovered shortly that this cute thing was our tour guide.
The old man showed displeasure after passing through the door.
He displayed constant disapproval while he walked the floor.
Dad would make deprecating comments of all he observed.
Witnessing this, the tour guide seemed to be quite perturbed.
As everyone was led down the abstract art corridor,
my dear dad spewed out obnoxious comments a little more.
He made remarks about a work by Pablo Picasso.
This resulted in an embarrassing scenario.
He then emitted some words that sounded quite imprudent:
“Might this be a painting rendered by a preschool student?”
While standing and observing at a Jackson Pollock work
My old man displayed another example of a quirk.
He was heard to ask with loud interrogative candor:
“Is this from an accident at a Sherwin-Williams store? “
His next words transpired into negative vicissitudes:
“Tell me, where do you display all of your paintings of nudes?
The tour guide appeared to have had enough of my old man.
After all, she took more than the average person can.
Immediately following my father’s last retort,
the tour guide announced she would cut the exhibition short.
She told me, “Please take him out of here as soon as you can!
I really feel sorry for you if he is your old man!
If you ever want to avoid some abasement and shame,
any Sunday afternoon, take him to see a ballgame.”
Categories:
deprecating, family, funnyfather, words, old,
Form:
Rhyme
I think this is one of my dumbest flows ever/
Cause it's a heartbreak I allow to repeat forever/
Refusin to quit, my loyalty is undying/
Heart doesn't wanna realize that it's lying/
To the logic, to my brain, to my god damn sanity/
Meaningless teases inflates my damn vanity/
Why can't you get her out your god damn head/
Why can't you choose another girl to love instead/
A self-deprecating angel is the saddest thing I've seen/
I Appreciate the beauty in HD on the widest screen/
My perception is perfection/
her perception is rejection/
Categories:
deprecating, beauty, desire, feelings, girl,
Form:
Rhyme
We as British people are known around
the world for our own individual traits
Such as we are supposed to be and
thought of as polite
Love ever so saying and apologizing
for anything and everything even if it
isn't actually in fact out fault
People say we even love and don't
mind queuing
Our self deprecating sarcastic sense
of humor
The Crown a Royal wedding like when
Harry met Megan
But there are also a few other traits that
can be added to the list which aren't
that great , such as
How we love espousing our views and
values upon the world at large with such
overbearing righteousness and sincerity
Well that is all well and good if in fact
theoretically it actually worked in practice
and we had managed to solve our own
problems here closer at home first
No 1 has quite ever explained why we
can't don't or are unable to rather try fixing
our own 1st before we go in search of others
And I promise then I will start worrying about
the plight of the snow leopards of Afghanistan
homeless cat's 3rd world debt and adopting
a child or building a school in god knows where
When I have any spare change left after
tripping over and giving to the homeless
on my doorstep or soon to be able to afford
and provide either electricity or food for
my own family
Who made us the arbiter of the world
and best placed to right and solve
all of the world's problems and wrongs
Our day's of Empire are long gone we
are no longer technically a superpower
Maybe it's time to start concentrating on
matter's here closer to home
And try instilling and restoring a bit
or some sense of pride back in all
of our own
Because everyone would benefit from
that and wouldn't only be good but
Great for all of us who reside here in Britain
Categories:
deprecating, slam,
Form:
Free verse
It is awaiting,
the prominent perfection I desire,
fingertips tracing insecurities,
media fuelling the fire.
The ideal takes reality,
burrows and distorts the view,
corrupting and twisting,
self deprecating smiles construe.
Along came a broken soul,
who desired the same perfection,
to stare at the ghost in the mirror,
and adore her own reflection.
As one we shall push,
rumbling and pain worth it all,
prevention can’t beat the cure,
or prepare to watch us fall.
Categories:
deprecating, addiction,
Form:
Rhyme
Am I that hard to love?
To be treated with some delicacy? Dignity? Joy? Celebrated instead of tolerated? Honored instead of scorned?
Can you hear me screaming, pleading, begging behind my plastic smile?
Words are like daggers...
I thought my shield was Impervious to your slurs and half-joking barbs, that rip at my inequities, as you sit in haughty judgment of me.
This isn't love; Silent torture I endure as my silent screams are covered by self deprecating laughter.
Pride is frowned on, however narcissism and egoism are celebrated.
In an upside down world this is normal...
I think you got it backwards,
Love makes you feel wanted, needed, dare I say...happy,
not aching, burned, lost, scared, scarred or hurt, that's not love that's abuse of a form most base...
So I strike out in the only way I know how, with my pen...
Half concealed daggers of my own, blindly hoping to hit a mark and make you see...
You say my words are beautiful, but I don't think you realize they are loaded daggers filled with poison that you carelessly cast off to me.
Categories:
deprecating, angst,
Form:
Free verse
Few who were as funny as you came after.
Wherever you went, the folks emitted laughter.
For a professional entertainer, you had a gift.
Your jokes gave us an emotional lift.
You described your life with “Fang” as self-deprecating.
Such humor was funny and stimulating.
When we saw you on television and the stage,
your style and delivery were all the rage.
We will all miss you as you have gone away.
You were a lady and a scholar in your day.
RIP Phyllis Diller
(1917-2012)
Categories:
deprecating, dedication, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
Read this in conjunction with my previous poem, when I wanted to be white
The Amazing Coconut. Why is it amazing?
It is like the people of India - Indians:
"Brown outside, white inside!"
Categories:
deprecating, analogy, color, confusion, fruit,
Form:
Epigram
those dead-ends are just around the corner
where deep calls to deep,
that infinite-in just beyond where we sleep,
in that dream we don't have any names,
no games, no blames, neither waxes nor wanes,
no hell of flames, no self-deprecating shames,
a place where we'll all happily greet,
in a tunnel vision where all dead-ends meet
Categories:
deprecating, allegory
Form:
Lyric
Matthew Scott, Whar Art Thou *****?
Nobody, but yours truly
bore deeply and countersunk
his spontaneity satisfactorily
lightweight corporeal mein kampf,
didst more than baptize or dunk
cuff, which admirably aided to flunk,
(whereat no universal solvent,
could (kant) kelp dissolve barnacles
of sea sonned gunk),
asper thickly congealed
encasing this laughable
antithesis of hullo kit ting hue man
overweening tricky hunk,
which thought to attempt
skidding row bust humor
as a "FAKE" teetering drunk
ken-pro lit tarry hut overgrown punk
(riotously swinging balled fists
way of course), and mine
feeble insubstantial poetic jabs, where
teenage shadow boxer slunk
tis my harmless recourse to peddle
as sway to escape funk
seriously, Aesop hoes,
this personal mockery
wrote for no rhyme nor reason junk
bonded really gluten
free self deprecating
playfulness of course as chipmunk
makes any sense, neither kerplunk
emanating from atop
me notched noggin
swishing with grade A klunk
emasculation par excellence, asper
out thee talking head of this lunk,
whose earlier "talk therapy"
every Monday at 2:00 p.m. with preshrunk
kin shrink finds tarnished psyche resonating
analogous to reverberation while spelunk
king in an echo chamber futilely
questing, searching, rummaging...why I trunk
hated living when merely thirteen
this admission honestly haint no bunk!
Categories:
deprecating, 7th grade, absence, age,
Form:
Bio