Best Derogatory Poems
Intense emotions surged when justice sought
if I defended wrongful witness brought.
Then I was saved through Daniel; nearly caught.
Accused of sins absurd, derogatory words
from people’s tongues not curbed, but gossip which they heard.
Cupidity the driving force behind
the false accusers’ spiteful state of mind.
So rarely friends could then be found in kind.
The tides will ebb and flow as inner doubts still grow;
for balm of ocean’s throw thus right so many lows.
If seen at daily tasks, I’m never fraught.
I won’t let memories my love to curdle.
Some kindness helped recover peaceful find,
depend’n whichever way the wind should blow.
O' Beautiful poet you write the letters form to words turn to couplets, sentences and verses
Beautiful poet you don't write for fame you don't disclaim to write for worth for moneys or celebrity
Beautiful poet don't be discouraged as long as you have one who reads your words you are fully aware that you are gifted of God and that you can
Write those word encouraging to be held read and heard those beautiful words
Beautiful Poet don't let no one, no one discourage you don't let no one engage in negative views, try to silence you be derogatory for it is their View
Beautiful poet you write on, Write on right on
Beautiful poet if there's no one out of the 10 of thousands but just one who you enlighten Co creator co create your verse, whom you touch with your beautiful words
That means so much always, be encouraged never stop writing those words co-created by you and our God Beautiful Poet you mean so much
To everyone yet you don't even know it
Write on, right on, write on
Dedicated to the thousands of Poetry soup Poets and Poetess
You are All BEAUTIFUL
Write on!
Write on!
Write on!
Liken a baby bird, on the keyboard pecking with your beak
writing words
A chirping voice, rhyming of course
Beautiful poet
1/14/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr ©
She said maybe to so many things, I was not sure she had an opinion
But after awhile I realized she has an honorary degree in diplomacy
Always accepting, never judging
I had not found anyone else like this in the world yet
I was amazed and pleasantly surprised
She never put anyone down or used derogatory names
I wanted her to be the queen or the president,
but she was not excited about either
preferring to be a neighbor, friend, and nurturer instead.
[Poet’s Note : This is an Afrikaans Poem with its English Translation : Form : I don’t know : It could be classified as Metaphysical since it voices direct communion with Divine & visions. This form is not listed on this Site ]
N.P. van Wyk Louw : foremost Afrikaans Poet, Playwright & Scholar
Sara Baartman : the San woman exhibited as a freak in 19th century Europe, labelled & ridiculed as “Hottentot Venus”. Hottentot is regarded as a highly derogatory term in South Africa, similar to calling someone an Unbeliever. Her body was later returned to her birthplace for burial, with much unholy drama (these two personalities sometimes appear to self in dream or meditation state.)
_____________
Sondag middag en die koue wind
waai die wasgoed droeg
Ouma slaap, Oupa kyk sokker
yogurt en piesang vir poeding
N.P. van Wyk Louw en Sara Baartman
kom kuier nie vandag nie
Ek haal asem in
‘n yskoue see van Italia of Griekeland
vloei oor my skewe bene
“Waar drentel jy rond in die winter
as ek hier van jou laggie dink
terwyl my arms bewe?”
God se vir my
“Ek ALLEEN is jou Liefde”
in die stilte veg Hy vir Siel
die yskoue see draai in ‘n oomblik
en weg skuil jy op ‘n klein boot
Sy Son soen my lippies op ‘n
Winter Sondag in die middag
________________
English Translation
Sunday afternoon and a cold wind
dries washing
Grandma sleeps, Grandpa watches soccer
yogurt and banana for pudding
N.P. van Wyk Louw and Sara Baartman
visits not today
I breathe an ice cold sea from Italy or Greece
it flows over crooked legs
“Where do you wander in winter
as I think about your giggle
whilst my arms shiver ?”
God utters
“I ALONE am your Love.”
in the silence He struggles for Soul
the ice-cold sea swerves in a moment
away you skulk on a small boat
His Sun kisses my lips on a
Winter’s Sunday afternoon
I look all round me and I’m engulfed by shame
I see people chanting freedom
But they have nothing tangible to show they are free
Because their freedom’s trail is unknown to them
Shackles of apartheid still tight on their wrist
Check the net and go through the list
See the names that exist in our midst
Because the apartheid segregation policy still exist
Kaffir used to humiliate black men
And Negros to disgrace a black men
In our minds we think freedom
Yet our attitude shows how tight the shackles of apartheid are
Our history is colorful
Decorated with blood of heroes and heroines
Who fought for the emancipation of non racial society
In black and white names of black and whites are recorded
They are recorded for the benefit of everyone in the land
To remind us the importance of unity
To embrace miscellaneous colors molded us to a rainbow nation
Who can turn a blind eye on the colorful history of South Africa
Who can claim an individual victory to the journey traveled
From apartheid era to become a nonracial society
We broke free from the shackles of apartheid
Why then adorn ourselves with shackles of shame
Every time you call your brother with derogatory word
The shackles of apartheid shine like a diamond necklace
And the artisan smile, for you pursue his evil art of segregation
Africa is my home and Africans are my brothers.
He was a grumpy old man
And there was no one at the funeral to deny it.
Even he didn't pretend to be otherwise.
Yet the whole town turned out
To pay their respects.
All but the very young stood at the podium
To farewell this grumpy old man,
In words that big city folk would call derogatory,
But to this grumpy old man it would have been seen
As speaking plainly with heartfelt honesty.
For even when grumpy and he was most of the time,
No one in need did he ever turn away,
He was generous with his time.
And his money though plenty,
Never made the bank rich.
In between his grumps he even gave out some sound advice.
In case you are wondering what they put on his headstone
The choice was obvious to all who had given him the time of day.
"He was our grumpy old man"
Workplace harassment is rife, alive and well,
Occurring too often in this pseudo company.
Derogatory, condescending words roared, inches from your face,
Sounding like a battlesque symphony.
People in charge making foolish demands,
Then usurping workers places, employing visible stealth.
Not being productive, effective or profitable,
To any of the workers, or for the companies health.
Forcing workers to feel small, inadequate, not bright,
Forcing workers to accept their lot in life.
And, to any workers who bring up any questions,
Publicly back stabbing them, with a knife.
Workplace harassment in this office, it’s cruel and demeaning,
To the folks just plying their trade.
It’s easy to see the bullies in charge, strutting around,
Ready, waiting, clasping a shiny switchblade.
You say you know me
But do you know whats behind the smile
behind the laugh and the joyful mask
A man made from pain and rejection
Socialy unaccepted as a young child
Presented to constant derogatory terms that hurt deep down
They called me a disgrace to my race
No speed or jumps, no black traits
Always fighting to keep my name
People tested me out and called me lame
Whole groups of people laughing into my face
Words filling up my mouth with a salty taste
I forced a smile on my face and kept going
through the hard time i tried to forget society
Alone i recovered from those times
Relaxed and isolated
Today you see me and think i'm funny
A talented athlete with a skill in poetry
Always smiling, acting like a "g"
Truthfully, you don't know me
My demeanor, the aftermaths of recklessness
A child once, a man to soon
The glory to my name gone, the grace faded
Change do I offer no opposition to
Derogatory remarks, have I afforded restraint
A new cry heard; my steps subtle.
Your age, can I speak not of
Every moment, filled with more youth than the first
Memories created; gems remembered
Your hand in mine, a single entity we formed
For each other, were our lives
The joy spent, a cost to you.
A meeting of hearts, the night inspired
The ecstasy unspoken, but felt
Our naivety the error, unconsidered
An unthought conception, implanting itself
Impulse driving our passion, forth
Creators we became; the end I found.
Your figure lost, its voluptuousness
Atrocious had you seemed, to my young mind
The tips of your caress on my palm, offered no connection
Conditions to my love, a reality
Together could we be, never again
The burden was yours, my eyes were free.
To witness I chose, an obligation it was
The lights so bright, intensity I felt
Your tears and screams, nourishing life
The mistake shadowed, by bare beauty
My hands were gifted with purity; my luggage fallen
Reconciliation was to late, but my hands knew no release.
My depart planned, my destination unmoved
His gentle touch, redirecting my path
The regrets unknown, my chin's resemblance I admire
Your forgiveness, I do not desire
Mutual feelings, the base of our relations
A conditional love, the root of an unconditional one.
Once a burden, now a source of joy
The end of had I decided, devoid of reconciliation
His subtle cries, owning my love.
Our thoughts are as powerful as our words. When you commit to a negative thought process, you actualize a derogatory subconsciousness.
There was a chef named Luke,
All of his entrees were nuked.
In every dinner he planned,
All of his food was canned,
And most of his patrons puked.
Now many patrons inquired,
Why this chef was never fired,
But his boss was anemic,
and very bulimic,
Which is why Luke was hired.
This Diner's reputation lags,
But the owner always brags,
That his dining auditorium,
is a modern vomitorium
With no need for doggie bags.
There are days I don’t want to feel,
There are days I want to destroy all I’ve healed.
There are days that I sail,
Through the skies without fail
On a manic high,
I feel amazing without having to try.
There are days that I’m so angry,
Like a big cry baby
And I want everyone to hate me.
There are highs and lows,
The up and down is harder than you’ll ever know.
There are days I feel like a tornado.
There are days I’m nothing more than a couch potato,
Whose roots are mangled,
And my neurotransmitters are all tangled.
I have a chemical imbalance
And I’m the queen of this palace.
My kingdom is quite nice,
It’s like fire and ice.
The highs are great,
It’s the lows that I hate.
There are days this imbalance feels like purgatory,
Please don’t call me crazy though,
That’s derogatory.
There are days I want to scream,
On those days I can get pretty mean.
Those days I feel weak,
From the guilt that I keep.
Just because I can’t control it
Doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad for doing it.
I don’t want to blow up,
I want to feel like I’m enough all of the time,
Not just when mania is taking me for a ride.
There are days I never want to comedown,
I wish I knew how.
There are days I’m on auto pilot,
Where I don’t fight it.
There are days I’m deep in a hole,
When I just want to feel whole.
There are so many sides to me,
So many versions of myself I could be,
There’s so much more than you can see.
I am Bipolar Disorder.
Every time you walk into my space,
Everything that’s real about me,
Gets erased.
Somehow, it always ends up
My mistake—
Comatose I am,
to my own fate.
I have decades, years
Not knowing how--
Can I fix this ever,
If not now?
Every step closer, you’re closing in on me,
You say cruel things
And then say you’re “helping me”
There’s always Doubt— anxiety needs approval:
I’m still inside this hole and
You won’t hasten my removal.
Will you leave me stuck here?
I bend and bow, and
Bow and bend then try again, somehow-
try once more, again, to get “me” back on track,
Sometimes it feels like “me” is
Never coming back.
Broken me feels lost and helpless,
Ripped with pain,
Broken is still broken,
No matter who’s to blame.
You become a non-person
It happens slow—
you don’t deserve to be respected, didn’t you know?
Everything you say is questioned, your life is made a lie--
You broke their hearts, you nasty person, just lay down and die!
Suffering’s hard, and so is pain,
But there’s no one here to stop me, except me, and its become a game...
Of keeping tabs and hoping you’ll never see how broken I've become-
Yet your words against me are only lies, one day the curse will be undone.
One day, you’ll get a glimpse of your iceberg cold
Heart
The Deja vu police’ll
Catch up to you when speeding on a lark,
And ticket you for lying to GD, pretending--
You were only playing Peacemaker,
Your devotion neverending…..
Oh the Horror of admitting
You were in fact, Ego-sitting!
Then it will be plain,
It was YOU who commanded me to wear the Scarlet
Letter,
Not because I sinned, but because you needed to be
“Better”.
But until then, ‘dear’ Christian(s)
Who committed me to this
Hole,
You currently offer generous condolences to
Yourself, not me, the
“Infidel”…
Parading your mirrored mask,
Your friendly smile--now its on, now its off-- just like a faucet
While behind closed doors you
Spread derogatory gossip—
And there can only be an ugly end to this
Charitable epistle,
I wash my hands of them, and wait for their delusionary lies’ dismissal.
Those who stake their lives on
Crying Wolf may
Seem to have the upper hand,
yet Gd sees through their fake disguises--
and always remains in command.
Patiently waiting
with unseen surprises,
Blatantly ripping off
Their dark, dirty
disguises.
Blames and allegations
Conceited self-admiration
Habitual fabrications
Never ending Justifications
Maligning reputations
Backbiting and deceptions
Derogatory manifestations
Avoiding responsibilities, remembering dispensations
Friendships and betrayals
Unjustified humiliations
Killing exasperations
………………………..
This needs proper clarifications
We need moral and ethical upgradation
Focus and proper determination
Instead of shortcuts and distractions
This world is one and we have beautiful relations
Empathising and developing patience
What we are is our creation
Education inspires aspiration
Life is a pledge, we are not on vacation
Race is not just about directions
4/3/2019
Education has never deluded me,
it is a rich mine from which my gemstones are extracted;
and all of them can adorn with its brilliance
a king's crown, but the glitter on my silver pendant...
with my natal sign, not with my image, outshines it
and displays it very elegantly.
As skilled hands relied on mental deftness,
I depended on mom's provincial practicality,
not on chances, but on her canonical guidance;
her words told no canards, only truthfulness:
an illunination of beatitude to encourage and fortify...
and that voice taught me acts of benevolence.
Guessing what was the mysterious name it bore,
would have been quite easy to identify with sharp eyes:
examining the deeds I did and the actions I still compromise,
to conclude with certainty
that it fitted me so perfectly...
I learned that art by listening to clever people with more ardor.
This is not a gift which is instilled
in the infant's brain at birth,
it is acquired by growing somewhat old...
who could have such a prodigious knowledge?
The Old Testament prophets for instance, or possibly
every learned man who studied philosophy.
Spend time with me, and observe how I peruse:
listen to the clear and incisive words spoken aloud,
riddling no mystery, or being derogatory...
proverbs might be included to give some clues;
and they were written in an inimitable way
to stimulate the minds of the unlearned.
Is intelligence inborn or learned by chance,
or even isometric to astuteness?
Many admit it stems from accruing knowledge,
to increase the capacity of the thinker or genius...
accumulating their ideas and earning praises,
while the uneducated struggle with rage.
Logical astutness is efficacious when it invigorates ability,
and exhorts a great deal of mental energy;
and will the proper words be used to that effect?
Happy New Year to all the wonderful Poetry Soup members!
Copyright 210 by Andrew Crisci