Best Disaffection Poems
Dismal, gloomy
is the Future forecast
Ominous beta waves
carry neural turbulence of
mood destruction
Nocturnal tempest creates
a cyclonic flow
Cranial pressure release
a petulant downpour —
Tsunami tears on the pillow
Whither does those idyllic memories blow?
These stormy, overcast feelings
don’t appear to be bosom bound tropical
Grey matter skies
darken the dawn horizon
Reluctant to arise,
it’s safer to
shutter the optical windows
Let the barometric recall pressure subside
Bad weather thoughts
will soon muse altitude change
Monsoon emotions still seems to sigh abide
Disaffection tide wrought,
clear conscience is out of range
No slumber relief to ease
the torrential pain
09-13-21
I sometimes,
through the noise of disaffection,
hear a distant song,
with soothing comfort in its embrace,
a calling reminding in its humanity,
an echo of peace once owned
but pawned for transient needs.
Its undemanding lyric beckons without command,
reasons in metaphors
and smiles knowingly with intent.
From fading vision,
its sound grows dimmer,
even as its need grows stronger.
Would if only I could join in its refrain.
Its melody might resonate in needful spirit
to mend this weary heart
and return the memories
of why I scaled its notes.
Distant Things Contest
Sponsored By John Lawless 06/09/2016
Therein lies your beauty
testify to me no longer
of dandelions and daffodils
of butterflies and bumblebees
do not chant as crows
beyond sight scatter
then gather
in frigid naked trees
diseased with
discord
disaffection
malfeasance.
The recompense for
transgressions
lays waste to beauty’s cache
of finery
of magnificence
of splendor
do not disgorge sorrows
breathlessly
from your heaving chest
that conclave of muted
dreams vague and dreary
do not yearn
for lovely things
that
evade you
elude you
avoid you.
Talk then of
gnarled paths
overgrown with weeds
and thick brush
and rotting moss
sing soft melancholies
into indifferent airs
scatter
your tributes breathlessly
entreat this soul
to yearn ache desire
for hues of sustenance
those colors
those images
those portraits
of secret truth
lying in wait
for the impact
of despair
dismay
distress.
Therein lies your beauty
your truth
and your essence
yet do not brave
the chasm for
it is conquered
it is besieged
it is occupied
by forlorn sages
aching to know
what chance their hopes had
from casting dreams
and illusions
and secrets
undetected
into blackened pools
of wonder.
Even dread Beelzebub
hot with rage
blindly jealous
with furious hatred
ravenous for vengeance
who rose from putrid ashes
who rose from rancid death
who rose from deadly hell
fiercely intent on doom
is but feeble
and infirm
for scarcely could he
barely could he
set ablaze
reign terror
wreak havoc
on one tenth of
the thousand worlds
within this volatile
and eremitic imagination.
(click the pic for Angst & Anger)
DISAFFECTION
To any politician,
Tell someone who cares...
This is society's news I'm reading,
Disaffection and tales of lemmings,
To any politician,
Tell someone who cares,
Homeless youth, street sleeping,
Drug overdoses away they're sweeping,
To any politician,
Tell someone who cares,
School leavers, forever unemployed,
Dystopia is being deployed,
To any politician,
Tell someone who cares,
Drug ravaged teens,
Rapes and stabbing their scenes,
To any politician,
Tell someone who cares,
Disaffection is poverty and crime,
Young armed robbers doing time,
To any politician,
Tell someone who cares,
This is society's news I'm reading,
Anything else our nation could be doing?
To any politician,
Do any of you really care?
Maybe I'm talking to myself, my dears.
Today wasn’t a good morning at all for Hassan,
a victual merchant in Baghdad
Thirty four customers got killed by a suicide bomb
A jihadist Arab wearing an explosive vest,
proclaiming to be fighting against the west,
ended up only murdering his own people
The sun rising on the eastern horizon
cast a bloody pale
Screams and sobs, weeps and wails
Ambulance sirens blaring ... death is a hard item to sell
Innocent people shopping for meat, dairy, nuts and fruit,
in a tragic transaction bought the farm
The sign outside the market said half-off,
it didn’t mean exiting with half a leg or one arm
Somehow, Hassan in dust-covered anger survived
He was one of the fortunate few to make it out alive
with every body part intact, except his calm Iraqi mind;
it keeps expanding and contracting
in violent, kinetic convulsions a million times
from such a vile, humanitarian crime
Anxiety fruit flies hover over unsold crates of apricots,
seething vengeance
ferments the not bought bottles of apple vinegar
Mass killing is always bad for business —
a lot of potential repeat customers will only
come to the open air stalls one time
Nobody wants to buy ripe pomegranates, fresh goat milk
and vintage premature dying
Terrorism is bad for consumerism,
fanatical death wish ain’t good for the merchant gift registry
Not when buying a bouquet of flowers becomes a morgue delivery
Suicidal shrapnel kisses don’t welcome tourism,
foreigners eschew dying on vacation ... death ain’t an easy item to sell
Prayer vigil purchases of screams and sobs, weeps and wails
Hassan says business has been bad
ever since that fatal, holiday dawn mourn
Only rueful disaffection comes
with the bagging of the cabbage and corn
If Jesus is the answer,
What is the question?
Is it, let's say,
Youth disaffection?
Kids need to be taught to say,
"Back off", to drugs and bullies these days,
Jesus as a forever friend,
To wisdom their lives to wend,
How can we reach more of them?
In this modern digital age,
Introductions need to be made,
If an issue is, indeed,
Youth disaffection,
Is Jesus the answer to this question?
The lonely prince’s resolution
A perfect lair’s creation
Months, years in the construction
Verdant fields seen from crenellations
Lofty towers his foes’ intimidation
The balm to his disaffection
But mostly, an ultimate seduction
The fairest maiden’s attentions
Soon to be his for the assumption
From across his fair and wide nation
But a chance encounter’s demonstration
On the road to the exposition
The fairest maid he met, by any definition
Yet much to his consternation
Nonplussed, the object of his affection
The castle not a successful persuasion
Swore she would wilt in isolation
Issued him the invitation
To let go of dream’s fixation
Become mere citizen of the nation?
4/24/16
©Thomas W. Quigley
A BRIEF HISTORY WITH PLATO
At the beginning Plato reigned
in a way they never quite explained
or understood; the mutual attraction
obviated thoughts of sexual satisfaction.
For so long being together sharing time
was enough, and in retrospect sublime;
beyond that moment when Nature took the course
it did, bodily coincidence foretold divorce
from the friendship they had shared
lovingly, eschewing known conventions, they cared
for each other, defiant in the face of rumoured lust.
Lust once only in the mind now turned to the dust
of disappointment, racing to the point of satisfaction,
stuttering to the depths of disaffection
from the moment they confirmed Society’s fashion,
eternal friendship sacrificed on the altar of instant passion.
The lifelong friendship abandoned in momentous heat,
an experience of life they can never, ever again repeat.
Should the human tale
Become nothing more than a tear
Sorrow written quiet
In the dumb mouths of history
Grey within the sunlight
Dark inside the love
All proof to the conscience
We forgot
Where are we now in this grand future
When any child any where, dies of hunger
When medication controls the young
And sends it’s tendrils of disaffection into everyone
Should the human story, be written so
In entertainments celluloid war
Portrayed by the gangsters and bankster of bullet and blood
And marched upon the killing fields of propaganda
Is this us
Is this what we have become
To be governed and guided by the faceless
Bloated egos of wealth and greed
To be made ever less
And forced to live under their duress
Cowering now beneath our willing blindness
While the nameless skin tight skeletons
Beg us
For the mountains of food we store in supermarkets
We weep in the anguish of our souls, in silence
The truth carved among us
While we dedicate the boredom of our discontent
To the next phase of pressing entertainment
Should the human tale
Become nothing more than a tear
Sorrow written quiet
In the dumb mouths of history
We have become the weapons
And the finger trigger pull on them
For nothing more than mindless acquisition
To live in regret, this age of iron
To pass each day and each life
Burying the truth in an evidence of sand
We who lived
We who survived
Did so by the death, of our brother and sisters
In some far off and foreign land
Where out of sight
Became out of mind
Supremacy permitted to carry out his work
greatly loved by heavenly beings
disaffection spirit, ripened into revolt
once again, get caution of the supremacy
thou refused to be cautioned
sophistry and fraud pioneer
hard to discern, genesis deceiver
supreme neither deceit nor flatter
that, he imbibed
apparently, waged dishonour was highly honoured
veering rectitudness cum fidelity
delve the frail of humanity
getting men similitude you
the thing himself, unmasked deceiver
why is thy path zigzager
manufacturer of sin and his clang
extirpate spirit of rebellion
modified the given tenet
against divine government
nature of sinful nurture
come on! you longing to rule?
yeah!
no obligation, rule the caliber of your sinful nature
forget not the allegiance of God's creature
rest upon a conviction of his justice
we are all acquainted where you will end
heavenly infernos
peerless you, with your clans
caliber of sinful nature
tainted sinister folks
ponder not, am not a stakeholder in your entity
not single I, but multiple dextral folks
solid rock I stand, not to be betake
prepare, zillions depart thy darkful cage
enter lightful space
... the hour has come to liberate the world!
divine inferno is thy ward
collectively citizenry crowd
greatest controversy ever seen
black snake under the black grass
Oh! death knell of yours was rung
Haaa! "it is finished"
The Empty Nest
What shall we do today?
Now the nest is empty
Not as much washing to do
When the kids lived at home there was plenty
Shall we go out for a meal?
A two-for-one meal deal will do
Instead of the usual bargain bucket
Which would feed a slew
Chicken wings and coleslaw and fries
And a large tub of chocolate ice-cream
Drew would eat more than his fair share
His love of fast food was extreme
When we get home from the restaurant
I'll look in the boys bedroom door
And i'll think how bare the carpet looks
With no discarded clothes on the floor
I'll lie in the bed and think
That the house is far too quiet
And think of when the kids were here
Music blaring and running riot
I feel a sense of loss
And feelings of rejection
I'm laid here with my loving spouse
But I feel a disaffection
I think that what we had is gone
I'm starting to wonder whether
Our children living at home
Were the glue that kept us together
We celebrate Guy Fawkes although he did not quite make the grade
I know and understand rebellion threatens thus he met his fate
Could have been worse he could have blown of his incendiary hand
Less body parts to torture in the name of country and King of the land
Guido as they called him fighting for the Spanish before his foiled plot
Was fully aware that he could be exterminated for an unsavoury complot
Can violence in the name of debatable justice be ever condoned
The masters of power today might agree when Syria is droned
Crusades in the name of some cause or other belie religion and creed
When money meets oil geopolitical persuasion derived from greed
Black powder in Guy’s case blew up in his fierce revolutionary face
Unlike Nelson an eye for a blind spot got him nothing but disgrace
Dark power gloved fists velvet resolutions and orange insurrections
Should of course release white peace doves from resolute minds’ disaffection
Nena’s 99 red balloons and Banksy’s street art reveal a powerful message
No doubt they beat anthrax in envelops and letter bombs sent by expressage
Yet Mandela in his armed struggle days was deemed a vile terrorist
Fought for the cause in despair but was labelled a mean criminal errorist
Suppose that leaves us with religion and Jesus crossed bleeding nailed
Whereas Guy stored explosives in Westminster’s undercroft with little avail
A white robed Ghandi marched for salt freedom justice peaceful opposition
Before him the Buddha sat quietly under a Bodhi tree for untroubled transition
Fawkes received victor’s punishment but is said to have fallen from the scaffold
Before being hanged broke his neck probably mocked the crowd that was baffled
Avoided the agony of the punitive rope before drawn and divided into four parts
Outsmarted the executioner retribution erratically broken in fits and starts
Few of us know the real story only shoot fireworks remember November the 5th
Blow money miss the pith dispense judgement in blessed ignorance forthwith
A lesson to be learnt from the historical legend some possible moral from treason
Is that words are superior to gun powder and it’s better to die for a right reason
Disaffection Contemptible
Inaction
Always disappointing
A life filled with abjection
A bitterness following
A black clouded – sadness – infliction
Running in retrogress run from her apathy
False heartedness filled with antipathy
Praying for death
in my godless ministry
Suffering so ruthless
Without any sympathy
Without you I'm useless
Opprobrious eyes demand I abscond
For she's a shell
that is now loveless
Now selfish
now dies
Her hand is now gone
In my hands now I cry.
Kind-hearted displays never was
part of her intrinsic, fashionable support view
Genuine concern often got the facial window dressing ...
Feelings dismissively expressed
with distant half-smiles of plastic disaffection
In sad times of other people’s tragedy,
the principal thing
was to show some synthetic sympathy
Walk into a somber room,
and with vacant, steely eyes
support the teary-cheek weak knees
Giving the smallest comfort measure of
a little false posing empathy
In someone else’s vulnerable moments of need,
her self-interest
was simply to deliver lip-service compassion usury
Talk like a mannequin ...
sealed lips don’t ever open up to share,
expressing minimal, wooden emotions over the telephone
Walk like a mannequin ...
confessing to be moved enough to care,
she only gives the slightest effort to help someone move on
Never wanting to get too involved personally,
or let the on-lookers see too deep intimately
Mannequin skin feelings,
possessing a harden body of plastic emotions
Synthetic thoughts hidden —
seen only on display,
when her exit doors of naked truth are closing
My soul's eyes look upon the past,
and see hers meet mine for the first time;
I watch as our love's die is cast,
as the bells signaling our fates chime.
I watch as the fires within us ignite,
as everything we will be finds its beginnings;
this love at first sight burns ever so bright,
making our hearts rejoice at their lofty winnings.
I watch every passionate, yet tender
moment flow by, again kindling my emotions;
to her, I watch myself surrender,
diving into her love's boundless oceans.
I watch as we smile,
as we laugh and love.
We were convinced this would last awhile;
that this was ordained far above.
Then, we foundered, led ourselves astray;
her passion whisked away as if by a thief.
At this, I strive to look away,
to turn my gaze from this pain and grief.
But no man can shy away from the truth
of what he had and what he's lost.
He must forever contend with the mistakes of youth,
tears shed in vain and pain his cost.
Therefore I watch as the embers die,
as she turns away, headed for that door.
I watch as what I thought would be our life goes awry;
as we fade away, becoming no more.
I watch as she sheds
herself of what we were, gives up on me;
I watch as she tears into shreds
the heart I gave to her, and scatters the debris.
At length, after much introspection
I begin to wonder and muse;
if I had a chance to go back and make a correction,
what would I do to prevent these blues?
Would I try to discover the source
of her disaffection and our loss;
or would I simply plot a new course
from the start, never letting our stars cross?
They say that it's better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all;
but my disconsolate heart thinks that this has glossed
over the true depth of a spent heart's fall.
The beaten, weary soul knows not whether to pay heed
to the maxims of those dead and gone;
knows not whether to concede
that there might indeed someday be a new dawn.
At long last I reach the end of this vision,
the tragic finale of this bittersweet reverie.
The sad reality settles on me, of our division;
no greater agony exists in my memory.