Best Deprecation Poems
The people of this world are like the three butterflies in front of a candle's flame.
The first one went closer and said:I know about love.
The second one touched the flame lightly with his wings and said:
I know how love's fire can burn.
The third one threw himself into the heart of the flame and was consumed.
The alone knows what true love is.
Rumi
I sit alone in a silent field of fairness,
under saffron rays kissing sunflower serenity,
among dawn's daisies and dusk's dandelions -
watching buds floating away with whisking winds.
Fate does not favour my quest to soar freely.
In a meadow of humanity's betraying breaths,
our buttercup souls become ambushed by a suffocation of sighs.
When there is no justice in spiteful judgement,
visions of Basilisk slither with a deadly gaze.
Envious eyes poisoned by potions of venom,
abuse the selfless mistress of my garden's muse -
but without Eve there would be no Adam nor Eden.
Weeping on the grave of her past self,
her fatigued spirit struggles to fight and rise.
I watch darkness ascend in springtime,
when her mind portrays a veil in the misery of mist.
I feel like a helpless flame burning in ivory wax.
Untreated wounds with time festering
into an ebony existence of self deprecation.
I can see butterfly hunters with their narcissistic nets,
chasing my imperfectly perfect empress of empathy.
Her heart hungers for a plethora of petals,
to hover from a ruby rose to lotuses of liberty,
but predatory birds like harlots and hussies,
have lured her into a withering winter colony of thorns.
Sorrow stitched her eyes closed with merlot thread,
as her sanity sits upon the edge of heaven and hell.
The Devil wears a hat with an emblem of her sins.
The bewitching conspiracy of his crimson eyes,
tempting to massacre the magnificence
of her invisible crystal wings of bronze and gold.
In a martyrdom of self-sacrifice,
love reminds her that kindness glows softly like fireflies,
as she tries to find light in a tunnel of lost thoughts.
The universe echoes her cosmic whispers of life,
as psychedelic ink shimmers like starlight in her veins,
pouring compassion into a selfish blank canvas of hearts.
Cherry blossoms tint the air pink
and she's looking at the world through their gaze,
but knows like everything,
their fragile beauty is only momentary.
Categories:
deprecation, absence, analogy, discrimination, love,
Form:
Free verse
A murder of crows screech my funeral song,
disturbing the eerie silence that surrounds.
Heartless hands have left scars etched into my crumbling bark,
as bleeding sap drips upon ivory sands,
which fail to comfort the aches of my collapsed torso.
I once ascended under sapphire skies,
as golden rays adorned my emerald lush leaves,
but now I've descended into dismal decay,
realising humanity has no use for me -
offering me as a sacrifice to toxic tides.
I can still remember the sound of crashing to the ground,
as men with axes laughed at the glory of my demise,
allowing me to slowly sink toward the abyss of nothingness,
now I'm helpless as ripples of regret carry me into the sea.
Alone and abandoned, above me is only dreary darkness.
I'm barely breathing, listening to careless whispering waves,
smashing against my soaked motionless trunk,
drowning me deeper in self deprecation.
Frigid branches begin to crumble and snap,
as I slumber cradling echoes of worthlessness
Categories:
deprecation, destiny, earth, loss, silence,
Form:
Personification
A glint in the black, like stars
Pearly, polished, pointy peaks of a fiend
Fangs of self-deprecation, puncturing every effort
Coursing the flow of doubt, discouragement and defeat
I may not see your face, beast, but your teeth betray you in darkness
Dripping with the blood of my best effort and intention
Inexperience and ignorance, clotting ...
I am but a babe in the woods of poetic expression
Searching like Hansel, for crumbs of excuse and artistic insight
Oh, I see your vestiges, hear the gnawing of your dismal disregard
And your umbra shades every scribble ... every keystroke
But I know you well ... I know who placed you there
Yet, with a sword forged in kind encouragement and friendships, rare
I will stand on the battlements, and fight to the end
And should you gain the last word, it shall be inscribed ... in my blood.
~ 8th Place ~ in the "Plucking the Poisonous Parrot" Poetry Contest, Maureen McGreavy, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
deprecation, analogy, introspection, metaphor, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Where are your words?
Who wants to know?
What should you be saying that you have forgotten to say?
What should you be saying to yourself? To revitalize yourself?
Self-deprecation does not work in your schemata.
Anxiety and fear are not your go-to places.
I consciously banish the feelings of the last three weeks.
Realizing they were induced by drugs, not reality.
Can I get back? Can I retain my enthusiasm? Can I get past this apathy?
My acceptance of my former self into my reality is all I need.
I read my words and recognize the positivity in them.
Remembering these are my words.
Not anything else’s, determined to
bring myself back
one
word
at
a
time ...
Categories:
deprecation, self,
Form:
Free verse
I pretend I'm alright
And put my best stance forward
Wear my brave face
Tryin to be smooth
Just tripped on my shoelace
What's a girl to do
Busted, razed, flat broke
My foot slipped off the pedal and into the spoke
Out of focus, idling, coasting on fumes
Myyyyy, mmmm, my oh my
Must retreat to my bedroom
For slumber; ugh - that noxious perfume
I sprayed on today
In the department store
I don't need to tell you
It reeks
That's a big pee you
Oh my
My plan has gone awry
I try to write
After listening to Vile
He inspires me
Perspiring
Thinking bout how to
Ink brilliance
Such as he
Slamming on the brakes
My leg itches
Ya damn flea
Bravado and all
I seem to fall
I spiral out of control
Resilience reels me back in
I'm a bouncy, buoyant, headstrong girl
Go ahead and believe what you want
Self deprecation is my defense mechanism
Keep playing
those cards close to your vest
You're bluffing fool
I know this by now
Prevaricator is a might big word
For liar
As you try to set the world on fire
I see you race away
And turn my head
Pretending not to see
When you visibly disgust me
You're not proving anything
With your ostentatious
Obnoxiously awesome self
Annnnnything
I ain't seen before
And won't soon forget
I'm a rhyming
tonight
Maybe filled with fright
Or could it be boredom
Delirious laughter
G'night
Sleep and clarity are what I desire
Slough off this crap
I know it's beyond time for a nap
My RPM is slowing
My aching for REM is growing
Copyright June 17, 2023 Lori Steindorf
Categories:
deprecation, anxiety, depression, mental illness,
Form:
Rhyme
Affirmation without discipline is the beginning of delusion - Jim Rohn
Without meaning, your mind may portray delusion,
so some search for answers to end this illusion.
Is it that simple to cleanse a life from confusion?
When trials subdue the heart into seclusion,
we yearn for a remedy with jasmine infusion,
where the scent of truth is the ultimate conclusion.
Before death calls to offer a final conclusion,
create a loving legacy without delusion.
Combine discipline with affirmation infusion,
where positive aspirations are no illusion.
Let go of wishful thinking when lost in seclusion.
A return to reality will end confusion.
In equality and kindness there's no confusion.
Lennon said; "Make love not war"- a perfect conclusion.
Like a poet left alone in depths of seclusion
release words of sincerity to kill delusion.
When demons arrive to tempt you into illusion,
only a strong soul can resist their foul infusion.
Poor values resemble a weak coffee infusion,
if spirit does not kindle, it leads to confusion.
Why stay asleep, lost in a labyrinth of illusion,
when self-belief is a flawless diamond conclusion.
Why remain trapped in a cocoon of mute delusion,
use your wings to escape from effortless seclusion.
Self - deprecation is a disease in seclusion,
where self - belief blossoms in refreshing infusion.
Self - deception structures puppet strings for delusion.
where a tangled knot patterns a clot of confusion.
When the muse is blocked there's no ink for a conclusion.
You thirst under the heat of a mirage illusion.
Illuminate to glow in rainbow toned illusion,
shimmer like stardust when fate draws you to seclusion.
Firm foundations flourish in a beanstalk conclusion,
like sapphire skies blending in indigo infusion.
Paint a self - portrait where brushstrokes remove confusion,
when the heart is committed there is no delusion.
Will power is like tea leaves and water infusion.
A blend of herbal extracts soothing from confusion.
Honest testimonies keep us safe from delusion.
Categories:
deprecation, analogy, philosophy, truth,
Form:
Sestina
Once upon an under edited and somewhat jaded,
female’s mid-life crisis
she sat down to contemplate the options of all her
“age appropriate” vices’
“Debauchery deficient”, “depravity bereft”,she
was "tragically prosaic”.
sadly ending her self-indulgent deprecation
with,“pitifully archaic”
Upon further diagnosis and self
evaluation, she concluded
she had neither mid-life crisis nor deficiency,
but was brazenly deluded!
Severe results of this delusion;
insomnia induced proliferation:
this excessively verbose and heinously,
superfluous pontification!
Categories:
deprecation, funny
Form:
Rhyme
so many unknown variables to consider for such a tasking pursuit
a conditional ‘If’ but what if ‘whether’ reigns in a supreme challenge
conjectures battle refutations and synapses blocked in surrender
as long as suppositions succeeded in their hypothetical contemplation
the world may as well be flat and circle unhappily one of its moons
the ‘I’ would be futile a self negating deprecation on auto-destruct
and endless loop of no Self on a path to nowhere and nothingness
not of Buddha like Nirvana but hell on earth as we know it too well
a spinning confusion of gravity with levitation spared its flight of fancy
when meditation and pondering could not lift the soul above the mind
‘ruling’ that wishes to overcome suppression domination and power
appears a futile concept when freedom should be the ultimate aim
of course anarchy holds its merits but people cling to being governed
by false leaders fake news and an insatiable need for crude abdication
in an attempt to cast responsibility and shred all courage and hope
‘the’ poses the question of this or that where and when whether at all
a simple adverbial adjective refusing to rest on quiet incomplete duty
bereft of solitary meaning and such an imposter of clarity and precision
no stand alone metaphor of context and contingency lost in the process
but the planet needs answers and I do not give up easily if besieged
is there a ‘world’ out there a compass and globe in my restless attempts
to understand question emphasize deconstruct and give a sweet home
to live up to its promises and dreams as opposed to terminal decline
word has it that there are only illusions betrayal and survival of the fittest
engulfed in delusions conflagrations raging inferno straight from its core
‘I’ if it was able to resist compartmentalization of Ego Super Ego and Id
might not want the elusive generational torch snuffing out a last breath
maybe I am overthinking under emoting and have surrendered in vain
to lost beauty and a vacuum of distant echoes of an unforeseeable future
therefore I conclude that if I was the ruler I would ask my kids for advice
14th August 2020
Categories:
deprecation, angst, anxiety,
Form:
Free verse
I dripped into the night liquidating and metamorphosing.
Somehow managed to form a string of emotion tied with self deprecation, darkness and other forms of chaotic Structure.
Conceived into black and bathed in cold emotion.
A world of depression leaves me bound by persistent fear forever drowning me in despair.
Submerged in a liquid sense of isolation that shrouds the deep Ink abyss.
Defined yet undefined underwater sinking me further.
Will I ever emerge from the liquid that sinks my body.
Categories:
deprecation, dark, depression, horror, psychological,
Form:
When you cried for me, heart
Fallen on calloused knees as I supplicated
Blood thrumming in my ears
yet running cold to my finger tips
Face distorted, eyes tightly shut
but in my mind's eye images projected
in vivid details of learned self deprecation
Crumpled over I surrender to my bloody fate
My insides turned to ash
I'm all but hollow,
weightless and adrift
my essence as it bleeds out
I let go to the numbness. . .
When I cried for you, heart
A collage of said colourfast images
washed lacklustre by a calculated manipulation
Resignation and surrender hung on a pair of windows
barely translucent they give a glimpse
of space as vacant as their dwelling
Oh, I cried for you my heart
but my hands were tied fast twines wound
tight biting and marking my skin
limbs paralysed by a fear of self liberation
So still I lay, lay in this bed of thorns
naturally piercing and commissioned for my benefit
Then, you cried for me, heart
The thrumming quieted
I heard your rhythmic injection
continuing to give me life
Warmth gradually seeped into my being
hollowness filled with a gushing stream of hope
Release me captor of my soul!
Here I stand the sun is yet to set
as I look up, sigh,
My strength regaining I limp, then walk
never to return. . .
Categories:
deprecation, abuse, courage,
Form:
Free verse
'Dress Rehearsal Rag'
of humble beginnings,
'Who by Fire'
melodic intrigue,
'Nevermind'
a gravelly
reckoned voice,
'Everybody Knows'
his razor sharp witted
comic relief in
self-deprecation,
he knew it was
'Closing Time,
shared his last
sentiments,
'You Want it Darker'
with all those in loving
accordance relishing
his masterful talents,
poetry, music &
stories intertwined
'tween the life
and death of the
Greatest Artist
of the Highest Caliber,
our Beloved
dearly departed
one & only
Leonard Cohen
Harking 'Hallelujahs' with angels,
'dancing to end of Love'
'Coming Back to You'
in spirited reminders,
'heard that my body was free'
notably 'Take This Waltz' evermore
'one of us cannot be wrong'
'Hey, that's no way to say,
goodbye...'
Categories:
deprecation, appreciation, death, dedication, destiny,
Form:
Elegy
Cruising home from the driving range.
My collared shirt free of cigarette burns…
58 in November, hit’em pure
Pushed back against the wind flirted with woods
Everything should be peace Turners on; and I’m contemplating hard
A trip back to dodge way ,
bury me in project bricks
Surrounded by fresh needles and chunky cocaine.
Skoal Mint sinking me to the chair again,
Dotted pupils linoleum on my knees…
I”m pushing it all the way cause
I want me the ****ing ringing chased by black melting weightlessness..
Ohh where did I lose soul.. between rattling box car trains at the back porch in point breeze,
or the cramped back seat of my ford escort home… I still feel the abrasive fabric on my cheek…
Don’t think Ill find it in a 401k or wooden pin..
salivating at double seals again
I don’t think I can do this,
don’t think I can be high enough sober
,I ain’t never gonna recover.
A vibration sucks my lip dry, damn phone dashing fantasy.
It’s not locked, Alone, but a few voices behind me.
humming I can’t handle another decade of subs junk and booze..
I feel too much. sober
Drops of sweat on my back from heated seats flash call off leg cramps
Black trucks remind of exit door deliveries at Giant Eagle..
Uneasiness haunts back the anticipation of copping
Am I supposed to eat honey nut cheerios with a damn fork…
How am I gonna recover?????
Artificial warmth always distracts swollen veins and cherished loneliness
How am I gonna recover?
The drugs don’t know
this time
I’m fighting with sessions, a pen and ****ing numbers…
I can mask rage as calm conversation
Throw out chunks of feelings in self deprecation
And turn away from nodding strangers
I’m calling out to all my desire to die…….
.
Cause today I’m feeling high enough
Dave streett
Categories:
deprecation, addiction, death, desire, heart,
Form:
Verse
‘I didn’t sleep well last night’ is all you say, as if you sleep well every other night, as if you don’t have more important things to do, heavier burdens to carry. Rivers running through your fingers and vaulted ceilings made entirely of stars. Nameless faces, unfamiliar voices in song; lulling you to sleep, to drown.
The dark rings under your eyes are a permanent fixture, no amount of vanity will take them away. They are a part of you now, just as much as the dirt under your fingernails and the eyes that constantly feel as though they stare into the depths of your soul. You hide the scars from the world behind forced smiles and a gentle voice, clutch at the wolf teeth strung around your neck and repeat prayers in your old tongue until your voice is cracked and hoarse and these are the only words you will ever know (besides the names that are too sacred to speak aloud)
Is self-deprecation an act of devotion?
You’re no prophet. Your place is not to sing and dance in their praise but to silently shoulder the weight of their wickedness, their monstrosity. You feel their divinity like a thousand knives in your back, between your ribs. You’re no prophet. Your place is not to teach others of their pain. You are wild; born of the wolf with forest fire burning hot in your veins. You’re no prophet. You’re just a child who howls with the wind and dances in the rain. Notebooks filled with words that can never pass your lips, ancient languages whispered in your ear even as you struggle to hold yourself together.
People hear the words ‘sacred, holy, divine’ and think of cathedrals gilded in gold and silver, ornately carved statuettes of the virgin mother, sunday mass and quiet contemplation. You know this to be untrue. Your prayers are selfish and your altar is the ever changing landscape which surrounds you, mud and moss and snow.
‘I didn’t sleep well last night’ is all you say, even as war rages in your head and the will of the Gods is enough to force you to your knees.
Categories:
deprecation, mythology, religion, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
Why is it so easy for me
to see the ''good'' in everyone else
ANYONE else.......
but me?
It was brought to my attention
that I quite frequently
self deprecate.
My first response to this was
''Oh my gosh! I am so...stupid! ''
But, then I thought
about my kids.
What am I teaching them
when I put myself down
as I so often do?
Why can't I just accept a compliment?
Instead of saying ''Thank you''
I always try to convince the person
why they should reconsider.
I hear myself.
I tell myself to ''Just shut up! ''
But, I still manage to sound like a fool
listing my many flaws
(just in case they hadn't noticed them) .
I have to stop this.
I need to find a way
to accept praise
and love myself.
Categories:
deprecation, angst, introspection, sad,
Form:
To show the world so many faces
yet not reveal your tears,
to take imaginations places
throughout your bright career,
To see your heartfelt humility
and real self-deprecation
with natural unmatched ability
of mad improvisation,
to fly where others find no path,
to thrive in air so rarefied
defines a genius of his craft.
How could life's role terrify?
Perhaps Robin would break the silence
with a brilliant improv routine,
heckling death with satirical defiance.
He was the best I’ve ever seen.
Otherworldly talent must command
a price no man should ever pay.
I can’t pretend to understand,
so I will laugh, reflect, and pray.
Categories:
deprecation, death, memory, remember, tribute,
Form:
Quatrain