Best Deride Poems
Sometimes, in uncertain outcomes, as life agitates,
It can sway either way, maneuvering on the edge,
For a difference rather modest, makes the final call,
When a narrow margin determines a win or a loss.
If a win we choose to celebrate, or defeat we deride,
Prudent to bear in mind, that it wasn’t a landslide;
When results are so close, why not cheer them all,
Cognizant to recognize~ distinction is awfully small.
Slender is the layer between eve’s dusk and twilight,
Between dark of dawn, and luminance of sunrise;
Between safe and danger, there lies a narrow divide,
Where, between cliff and fall, life’s border resides.
Mementos of love embraced, and love sadly repelled,
In albums of beloved, or memories forlorn dwell,
Clamoring from corridors of good or bad choices made,
Between narrow margins of hope, and contours of fate.
O, a narrow margin can be of mighty consequence
Inhabiting elation of success, or anguish of regrets,
When death lingers in the clutches of final moments
Stilled between breath inhaled, and breath exhaled.
The congregation eyed him skeptically
Long hair, a beard and sandals on his feet
Beyond his exterior they’d not see
This rambler had just come in from the street
He blessed himself with the sign of the cross
And joined fully in each hymn that was sung
It was soon apparent it was their loss
When he greeted God with a gentle tongue
“Lord, You sent Your Son to roam on this earth
His hair was long and to some seemed unkempt
And when He preached, insults were often hurled
But He was not repelled by their contempt
“And so, Lord, I seek forgiveness for these
Who cannot see beyond the clothes I wear
I’ll not be put down by those I displease
I ask for forgiveness, make them aware
“That Your Son sported sandals and a beard
I ask You judge them not as they judge me”
When the mass ended, the man disappeared
At heaven’s gate his name’s on the marquis
Some of the congregation dwell below
But the homeless man now sits by God’s side
For he had chosen love’s path to follow
Appearances he did never deride
*For Jared's "At First Glance" Contest
With the Biblical accounts of angels
Regarded by some as proof of aliens
Science and religion remain at odds
One says the other has no faith in God
Is there no room in Earth’s family portrait
For both sides to speak, not one view omit
If we believe God created all things
Can’t this be said of other-world beings
No life’s threatened by angels or aliens
So mocking of either just makes no sense
When God created both heaven and Earth
Perhaps a new species of life gave birth
In another part of His Milky Way
And, in friendship, they visit us today
Appearing from the sky basked in white light
Celestial creatures laugh at the sight
Of scientists and theologians
Pitting God’s angels against God’s aliens
And man’s ignorance they may deride
Since angels and aliens thrive side-by-side
The folly of the fight
These four walls; such contemptible and wretched creatures-
mock me, taunt me, deride me as weak and worthless.
I am shackled to the two evil twins-Misery and Myalgia.
As I wrestle with my afflictions, I throw tantrums-like a feral beast
charging towards the drawn sword.
However...I succumb to the inevitable.
I sense the folly of the fight and submit,
although-unwillingly to this intransigent,
auto-immune disease.
How do you fight an enemy entrenched in your marrow?
This enemy is urging me onward on this death march,
and it is unrelenting in it's insistence.
Death, at times, feels like a release of sorts,
but I could never indulge myself in such disgraceful folly.
The pain is intractable, inscrutable, but...
I soldier onward... until the end.
August 07, 2020
John Derek Hamilton
We have the left; we have the right.
In the political arena they both fight.
Always claiming to be on our side,
With ferocious rhetoric, opponents they deride.
Vote for us, to be saved from a vicious clan’s
Reckless and dangerous life ending plan.
So now it’s up to you and I
To decide, who is right and who tells lies.
Now I don’t know what works for you.
I judge not what they say; rather what they do.
For talk is cheap and taxes ain’t.
I’m in support of fiscal restraint.
Now this is a fact for all posterity;
A nation can’t spend itself into prosperity.
Both sides know that this is true.
But look at what the charlatans do.
They simply make a language adjustment;
Government spending renamed as investment.
So now it’s up to you and I
To decide, who is right and who tells lies.
The finger of accusation is pointed;
As our nation becomes disjointed.
Now both sides in self-righteousness claim;
The other side is the one to blame.
I’m not sure how you deduce,
But I look at the fruit they produce.
Who supports phony investigations;
The sole evidence of their own making.
Who supports keeping people in places;
Dividing them up into different races.
Who believes they can legislate prosperity;
Ignoring all of human history.
Who believes it a proper choice;
To slay the unborn who have no voice.
So now it’s up to you and I
To decide, who is right and who tells lies.
Media acts in a partisan manner,
Thus, I ignore their constant clamor.
People throwing bombs and firing weapons;
The very definition of insurrection.
When people gather to show disgust.
That is what is defined as a protest.
There are few neutral voices.
Everyone is always spinning choices.
So now it’s up to you and I
To decide, who is right and who tells lies.
The tiger, majestic and proud
Fearless, strong and solitary
A predator by nature
Domineering yet wary
The dove, gentle and harmonious
Passive and apprehensive
A free spirit by nature
But always on the defensive
The jungles most perilous feline
Encounters the fragile dove
A most unlikely pair
Yet they have found love
Their journey will be a challenge
Obstacles in every direction
A never ending conflict
Between rage and affection
Each possesses, what the other lacks
Complimenting and yet taunting
A compromise of character
Is what they are wanting
She wants his intemperance
He wants her domestication
Together seeking a compromise
In search of salvation
The dove cannot tame him
Or dismiss his need for the hunt
She must accept who he is
Placing him at the forefront
The tiger cannot disengage her
Or deride her passion to nest
He must accept who she is
Keeping her abreast
The future lies uncertain
For the tiger and the dove
But they can conquer anything
If they just remember to love
Sail most by north, by west the least,
until the moon sets in the east.
There, in a sea the colour of custard,
ye'll see the Ile de Deux Sans Mustard
where locals speak like buccaneers,
calling you ‘me dirrr' and us ‘me dirrrrs'.
Their pirate accent's quite inexorable
though, than ours, their grammar more is flexible.
They appear to verge on being mammalian,
a little bit like South Australians
(I'd never for the sake of mirth
deride the folks who come from Perth).
Hard left, first manatee you see,
or right, your choice, you're free as me
(it's nix to do with politics,
a pox on all elected plicks).
Sail till the sea turns sweetest violet
and there you'll spot the cutest islet
(had we to rhyme with ‘sweetest red'
it'd be a continent instead).
Here, when poetry is long dismembered,
lies the place of rhyme remembered.
Yes, you have come upon a land
that any poet would think is grand,
where almost everybody aint
any kind of ffffflamin' saint,
but seldom use the worst of curses,
when they converse in freeish verses,
or communicate in playful rhyme,
pretty much whenever they feel like it.
We all employ them in different ways,
most wisely, to inspire, cheer or praise.
Some try to keep them clean, and some do not.
Depleted of them, we can’t voice a thought.
We use them to make small talk, break the ice,
or offer resolutions, give advice.
We wheedle and beguile with them for gain,
or we may sharpen them, inflicting pain.
Consumed with envy, vengeance or with hate,
we hurl them to deride or to berate.
And it’s the foulest ones that some will seek
to ravage fragile spirits of the meek!
But other times, we ply them to entrance.
We spin a tale with them or make them dance
across a page in lines of poetry
by wielding them to capture imagery.
So whether they be dull or cast a spell,
we learn and grow if we digest them well.
And whether they be heard or signed or read,
it’s by the power of words mankind is led.
for Mac McGovern's "by request only contest, part 2"
The battle between body and spirit
Housed as I am,
in this earthenware vessel
I witness,
the raging between body and spirit.
My mood- sullen and morose,
a telling sign-
a flashing indicator-
pointing to a weakness in my will,
a slow debilitating decline in my convictions-
indicating a buttressing of my resolve-
is urgently needed.
This paroxysm has been a body blow,
and my spirit is reeling.
I am cloistered, incarcerated now these three years,
having served a portion of my sentence.
What is my crime?
These four walls,
such contemptible, wretched creatures-
mock me, taunt me, deride me
as weak and worthless;
but I know better!
I am shackled to the two evil twins-
misery and myalgia-
myrmidons- secret agents of the devil
serving at his pleasure.
Hell-bent they are on a wicked crusade
raping and pillaging the golden storehouses
of my treasured faith and hope.
Sacred vaults protect my integrity,
my zeal is still intact.
As I wrestle with my afflictions
I throw tantrums-like a feral beast
charging towards the drawn sword.
However, I succumb to the inevitable.
I sense the folly of the fight and submit,
although-unwillingly to this intransigent,
auto-immune disease.
How do you fight an enemy who is
entrenched in your marrow?
This enemy is coercing me on this death march
and it is unrelenting in it's insistence.
The gates of Sheol* beckon to me to enter,
I resist the clarion call, although the gravity
draws me ever closer to my sealed fate.
I see visions of paradise, here on earth,
where pain is no more,
and all suffering is a distant memory
until eternity erases it from my mind.
Unfortunately, for me,
looks like I'll be taking the subway,
instead of the train to paradise.
December 17,2018
For Misery contest Edward Ibeh
*Sheol Hebrew for the grave.
Not hell as a burning place of torment
as is commonly taught and believed.
Ah, the wistful daydreams about my lost youth!
Astride upon a white stallion, riding into a distant past
I miss youth like a barren, parched desert misses pouring rain
I wish I could coax father time into restoring my vernal exuberance
My aging body is starting to betray me. I can't see quite as clearly
I can't move as quickly. And I sure can't run up the stairs as fast
As I used to. My memory isn't quite as sharp anymore. Each morn
I awake, full of aches and pain. I'm a squeaky wheel in need of grease
You needn't strain your eyes to see what my age wants you to see
I have greying hair, crows feet, lines across my forehead, the works
My testosterone is shot to smithereens. My virility is steadily waning
But who's complaining? I'm loving life. There's a lot of it left to live, still
Aging is hard to accept, but I must. I see my wrinkles
In the mirror, and I smile because I wear them well. I'm still me!
No one stays young forever. I am but a flower no longer blooming
As beautifully in springtime, but c'est la vie. I'm still thriving!
Youthful folks may deride and dismiss me as over the hill...
A Phoenix with clipped wings, thrashing about the ashes
Sucking me in like quicksand, but I'm still alive and kicking
Look how far I've made it! I have something they envy---wisdom!
Submitted for...
Strand Select 2 Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest(Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 01/01/2019
A Contest On Aging Poetry Contest (Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Date written and posted: 06/02/2019
If you should hear him coming, fear his roar
His grizzled warnings, you should not ignore
A formidable champion is Ursus, a carnivore
His claws protects those he loves with vigour
He confidently stands on two powerful legs
to liberate the world from its deviant dregs
Quite beastly is his gnarly savoir-faire attitude
when in combat with the insolent and the rude
He'd prefer to live in harmony with c'est la vie,
thinking, That's life and what will be will be
But he will fight when needed... c'est la guerre
Off to war with courage, strides the Great Bear
With one arm held in check, he'll not be denied
the voice to rebuke those who abuse and deride
If blinded in one eye, he would never hold back
To defend those in need he would bravely attack
Brother Thomas was a preacher
Who knew the scriptures well.
He asked people to follow him,
And he'd save them from Hell.
One night while he was working late,
A man entered the church.
Brother Tom thought He was homeless,
Or on some kind of search.
The man was welcomed to the church,
A smile lit up Tom's face.
He said, if you seek salvation,
You've come to the right place.
This temple of God is Holy,
And I minister His word.
If you put your soul in my hands,
It will soar like a bird!
Those questions you've been burdened with,
Will prove a simple task.
I hold degrees in all of this,
You only have to ask.
But the man just starred right through him,
And then began to pray.
He said, "did I hear correctly,
In what I heard you say?"
"You have called this temple ‘Holy’,
Yet only God is so.
And you say you have the answers
That lost lambs need to know."
"Those degrees you so proudly wave
Were earned in schools of man.
But the heart was our Lord's classroom,
Since man's journey began."
"You claim to know what is the truth,
While pushing God aside.
And those, with whom you disagree,
You censor or deride."
"To follow the road to Heaven
A soul must walk alone.
How can you say you know my path,
When you don't know your own?"
Brother Thomas became angry,
Demanding that He leave.
You cannot come into my house
Intending to deceive!
"As you wish" proclaimed the stranger,
"You've asked me to depart.
But don't forget what I have said,
Let it grow in your heart."
And when He turned to waved goodbye,
Tom spied the stranger's hands.
He saw the scars, and heard Him say;
"Your Father understands."
I sip Long Island Tea, watch your bare knees upon the tiles,
the suits and Blaneks pass you, unaffected by your smiles,
you work so hard to brush the day's debris to ordered piles,
still, folks pass you unaware, kick your dirt without a care ...
You are a gem of nature - shining eyes that best the snow,
that grin of ivory brilliance noonday sun could not bestow,
with flawless cappuccino skin, buffed chocolate afterglow,
yet the steady passerby's find you something to despise ...
I see your nails are neatly trimmed, as clean as they can be,
work dress - pressed with utmost care, as anyone can see,
your hair up in a braided bun, and tied with ribbons, three,
but all that others do, is deride and snarl at you ...
I can not help but think just how absurd this is that they
can find you so deplorable - though somehow in the way,
when you are working hard for but a fraction of their pay,
and yet their views and skin are at odds, and far too thin ...
The madness of this picture gets too much for me to take,
I leave my drink to walk to you and take your hand to shake,
but as I do, you yank it back, as tho' some cursed mistake,
your complexion pales to wan - in an instant, you are gone ...
It's so sad their biased spell, has now chilled your heart ...
as well.
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Children of a Lesser God" Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
( How horrid a reflection on humanity, that we can apply the label "untouchables" to others of our race )
Crowds and noise and people enthralled me
When I had deciduous teeth.
And a simple thought of loneliness
Engendered collywobbles in me.
How amicable people look when viewed with jejune eyes!
Blanketing all kinds under pristine
and untarnished label
Without contemplations and with profound celebrations,
Labelling the sweeter tongues 'good'
And tactless simpletons 'deride'.
Perhaps it was the age of innocence!
It afflicted my eyes with myopia
Hindering my childish wisdom for masques
As one after another, the deciduous white pearls fell
They did shake my bygone edifice of sagacity
With each new rise, my style of mastication changed
Sometimes to the left
Sometimes to the right
My food could not be chewed with stability
Sometimes the hollowness after the fallen tooth engendered agony
And in the artless custom of childhood, I believed all......
Then with time, the new convictions came
Enamels with more glint and rock-like firmness
With age, it pondered and with 'relations' it was illustrative
'That people are not always they appear!!'
'Their words are not always what they sounded!!'
But by that age, I was one of them
Deceptive in deed and sardonic in words
Perhaps it was the stage of Adulthood!!
Shores of doom
Needn’t engulf the space in your mind
Where without your will gloom
Can’t inhabit until faithless fleas and spiritual sleaze find
Room and space to waylay and slay without delay
The faith you profess to possess
In a spray without a ray stray
Strung and hung when you dispossess
Your faith of the strength and depth
Which faith has sunk into its roots
In each significant step and faith breath
You smuggle and gaggle in the boots
You wear with pride as you deride the loss
You claim not to suffer in the dwarf
You call disbelief and the abandon toss
Spotted in the wharf
Where faith ought to find succor
By virtue of the pride of place
You claim to allocate to the anchor
Faith can’t in your mind squeeze from a disbelief trace in a lace
Shores of doom and gloom striving to mount
On your faith a determined assault
Within a number of sorties you dismount
As conscience pangs claim it’s no longer our fault.