Best Disarrayed Poems
Angry acts begin.
Harmful words would never flare,
Count to ten then once again.
Wildfire spreading fast,
With mistaken, muddled acts.
Smokey aftertaste will last.
Then finessed assaults,
Vainly exit, pride intact,
Casting blame, the other's fault.
Friendships fall head-long,
Disarrayed in stumbled steps.
Puzzled reasons blurred then gone.
Gene Bourne.
10-22-14
.
Pheromones’ anguish, settle for censored compromises
Windows layered across beckoned cathedrals
Shattered by chipped stones of the hypocrite
Wanton hearts scramble to restore weakest links
To a forged importance
Vacuumed tears towards a leader-less Sun
Yet, these incipient bonds
Will
NOT
BREAK
For it was today
Where cognitive dissonance fell unto a rejected, abstract morrow
As disarrayed perceptions
Copy & paste their way to mirrored confessional booths
Begging for error’s atonement
In order to repeat pencil-drawn, vicious circles
Tomorrow
…
Oh, what good is a curdled beggar reaching out for God’s clarity?
When they already took back the “change” left in His basket?
©Drake J. Eszes
You fooled me
You played me
You cheated on me
I'm at a lost
Drowning on thoughts
Sinking deeper
Darkness closing in
Mind flick
Anger ignite
The now raging fire is about to explode
Let lose is the scream sounding beyond
Awaken are those who sleeps on drunken thoughts
Blinded and disarrayed
A spark of reality flashed
I'm a fool for being fooled
I'm pathetic for being played
I'm a loser for being cheated on
Who am I now
Hungover on thoughts
Tears of great pain are flowing wildly
like streams in a bad storm
Feeling sorry isn't going to cut it
Regretting isn't going to rewind yesterday
Hating you won't free me of you
But walking away is a start
Making today be a new beginning
Beginning of respecting myself
and let you be the death of
my drunken thoughts
That would be me now... Smile!
Akkina R Downing
11-16-16
Don’t Hate
I’m just being me
From the tips of the strands of my hair
And the smile in my alluring eyes
Don’t hate, I’m just being me
And when I walk with my head held high
With every step and shakes in my curved thighs
Don’t hate, I’m just being me
Or how about when I’m not feeling too good
And I may come off heavy and strong
Don’t hate I’m just being me
Like sometimes when things are crazy and disarrayed
But I scratch and claw to get everything straight
Don’t hate I’m just being me
Even when I’m voicing my opinion
And it is important to me because I’m on a mission
Don’t hate I’m just being me
Or when I choose to do what you are too afraid to do
And my motto is you have nothing to loose
Don’t hate I’m just being me
And having the courage to move forward
After vicious storms were brought onward
Don’t hate I’m just being me
When i died, hush bequeathed the Scrabble Board
The once weighty tomes floated off cramped shelves
Whilst married letters argued midst themselves
Phonics quivered sans the vowel adored
O' warm vowel with the prominent dot
Disarrayed lost words bowed their heads and cried
On that sonant solemn day when i died
Shrouding the dot with a forget-me-not
Ill-fated, O' How could i bear such strain
Replaced without heart in a scrabble game
From die to dye, opponents scored higher
Of y's bold encroachment on i's domain
And when i died in Craig, one must exclaim
Replaced by a y, does it create Ire?
Date: 11/04/23
I died poetry contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Alone,
Alone with an echo.
Alone with a hollow heart.
Allowing my empty mind to run.
Run from thought to thought.
Deadly thoughts.
My mirrored image is oblivious to the emptiness inside.
She smiles,
She laughs,
She even jokes around,
Everything is silly,
Everything is fun and games;
But for every smile,
Every joke,
For every laugh,
There is a tear,
And a drowned scream for help.
I’m a mute,
A mute in many ways,
Mostly emotional.
And I can’t communicate,
I don’t know hand language;
I know aggression,
And pushing,
And shoving,
Just not love.
I connect with pain.
I connect with the broken,
The ones with the torn past,
Disarrayed life stories.
They leak their pain onto me,
And I suckle at it like it’s the last drop of water in the empty desert of my life.
It feeds me.
I live for those I attempt to fix.
Those who,
Even for a moment,
Make me feel a little less messed up,
A little less broken.
Still,
I usually end up under them,
In their deepest holes.
Alone,
With the only company I dread;
My own.
No one has peeked into the inferno of my mind,
No one has dared,
Cause if they did,
If they opened that Pandora box,
There would be no turning back.
But I long for someone,
Someone to break my barriers,
And cradle me.
Tell me there is some light,
Something good inside of me.
Anything.
Someone to embrace my demons.
Someone to embrace me.
Up on the hill, melancholy and forlorn,
I stand like a Ghost at my Grave,
Where you buried me.
You buried me deep beneath the soil,
Where your roots have touched my skin,
No regret was there, nor ever been.
At the lightest of light, the darkest of days,
I wish I wouldn't have stayed,
Because now I stand like a Ghost at my Grave.
You destroyed my purity,
You buried my guilt,
For I still haven't returned, to the moment I lived.
Disarrayed, yet uneasy,
I observe and remain like a ghost at my grave,
As my soul, in awe, gets taken away.
Inspired by and based on L’Étranger by Albert Camus
I'm a stranger to you, even stranger to me
I'll pass you by like a memory
Of innocence and ignorant bliss.
I feel nothing every time we kiss
I feel nothing each day I'm alive
Nothing matters, we're all gonna die
When and how, I could not care less
I don't care for the life over which you obsess
It can be changed but should I bother?
This life is just like any other
So taciturn and disarrayed
Oh, didn't Mother die today?
Reflecting the sunshine on the blade of a knife
To turn away or to take his life?
I stopped to think as he hit the floor
His breathless body took four more
Now I'm being punished for refusing to lie
If my life is the price then I'll sacrifice
I am not like you, I refuse to pretend
And if truth equals crime then I will not amend
It can be changed but should I bother?
This life is just like any other
So taciturn and disarrayed
Oh, didn't Mother die today?
But I found myself in this nothingess
And learnt to embrace the indifference
The end is nearing but there is no pain
For some strange reason, I feel happy again
I'm a stranger to you, even stranger to me
My blind rage has washed me clean
Proud to say that in this life so absurd
I never belonged to your condemned herd
I could have changed it but I didn't bother
This death is just like any other
So taciturn and disarrayed
Oh, dear Mother, I'm alive again
As a child and a teenager I used to attend a mission-hall,
Which had an outreach to the homeless of Edinburgh;
And every three weeks until I was about seven,
They would give the last call so that god could your soul deliver.
They said at the end of every sermon,
Every three weeks in the evening,
“This is the last call!” and they meant ever,
‘Cos Jesus could return any time for the believing.
I felt so intimated by it, this unkind presence of mind,
That I could not properly sit on my seat,
But I knew that they were insane with melancholy,
And that it was the real dynamics of life that they could not heat.
I refused to chat with them after services and at the youth club,
About what I believed and about the in and outs of my thoughts,
But poignantly sat down with the Youth Fellowship leader once,
And talked to him about what in me life had very clearly wrought.
When I said outrightly that I did not believe in the Second Coming,
And that life was for keeps, give or take a few possibilities,
It was as if his world crashed down disarrayed in shambles,
As he was shattered by my philosophical sway and confident amble.
He realised fully that I was damning their last call,
The pressure of it and how it riled, writhed and tormented;
That it was for no good reason, for no universal moral principle,
For no disciplinary cause and for no complimentary angle.
So he arrogantly walked away from me, rudely with passivity,
Not aware of his own need of polity, sense and direction,
But it was a triumph for that mission-hall boy worker,
To react to an objector so firmly and not himself recapture.
They were generally unresponsive and indifferent,
To intelligent objectors who had a righteous way,
Because this left them with their day-to-day lunacy,
With reality dressed for them to face another day.
That mission has changed today into a Christian centre,
Bright and refurbished and selling lunches in a cafe,
And I am proud of its journey, how far it came,
Because the transition was by no means lame.
Your golden hair like Jason's fleece
Flows and streams, now disarrayed, yet neat
Waving as a banner at once to the beat
Yet with promise and rapacity so replete
How your eyes sparkle behind your lids
How they must glow and how they must flick
Flash when they open so wide and blue
Yet now closed, as fire trap't by flue
Your arms now lift, delicate fingers wave
To banish the world of monotony and pain
They so loose and murmuring true meaning
A life I view 'thout your simple, sweet reasoning
As you move, loose rapacious rampant glee
From a world of spirit - simplicity
Your hips they do sway, speak condemnation
Of all misery hereto, to which we seem hasten
Conniving voracious creature which harkens
Is banished and cast off, made but microcosm*
Leo, great lion is as nothing to your rhythm
Struck off as venality to your creation, your schism
The human so simple so caught up by miasma*
Is at once transfixed, in place, in paroxysm*
This viewer at once poised, caught up in his pride
Is now gravitating, and to thee I must slide
Knowest you how wonderfully you exemplify
What is contrast to left - so right
Nay but you don't, and such is thy grace
You dance so light-airy, make perfect this place
Shining hair and glowing eyes
Re-laxed posture, abandoned pride
All memory is cast away, aside
As you dance in beauty, perfection, arised.
* Microcosm - A world in miniature.
* Miasma - A noxious atmosphere or influence
* Paroxysm - A sudden attack or violent expression of a particular emotion or activity
*** The image here represented is supposed to be a girl dancing. Leo was a suitor of hers, rebuffed by the dancer, who enjoyed herself, while dancing alone to "It's a beautiful life," by Ace of Base
Silly is, as silly seems,
silly things, in all my dreams.
Rustic fences, painted blue,
solid walls I walk right through.
Silly sausage, silly soul
all emerging from a hole.
Spirits fighting for their right
to be set free, at dead of night.
No sense, nonsense, side by side.
join me on this senseless ride.
Brain corrupted, disarrayed
thoughts erratically displayed.
Night time sent, to give us rest,
order tumbled and distressed.
Sleep refreshes all who fall
as chaos drains the daylight's call.
Consciousness climbs with the sun
to drag us back from night time’s fun.
The slumber that releases pain
helps us make sense of life's small game.
Ivor G Davies
Flora and fauna hides the maze,
In the concrete jungle of corporate race.
Disarrayed and frazzled thou shall not,
For thou shall seek a roadmap of top notch.
Emerald leaves of summer quickly disappear
Autumn arrives as days draw short
Leaves dance in the soft blowing breeze
As multi colored visions now appear
Waltzing ()~()
()~ () ()~()
()~() ()~()
They cascade to the ground
Twirling into disarrayed heaping mounds
Signalling the closure to the seasons warmth
Autumn becomes laden with frosty mornings
Forewarning of the up coming winter ***snow***.
Half-baked smiles, conversations disarrayed, high in poetry, I guess I’m nineteen.
Half-filled maturity, occasional fits of naivety, I guess I’m nineteen.
Eyes frenzied, tears anfractuous, it’s too dry, the environs, where to look, where to?
Voices seem distant, no arc of light behind dark dreary, I guess I’m nineteen.
Scampering through days, slugging through moments, no sense of time, only of beauty;
I guess it’s too late to say, “I don’t want to be twenty”, now that I’m nineteen.
Age opens a lid, Dew, experience lifts, winds hurl it through light into darkness:
Past days of childish frolic, recreational pranks, gone free, I guess I’m nineteen.
-Pin Dew (30/04/2017)
How many times must a scripture be read to us?
So many ways they suck em in to follow and trust.
We're led to believe that heaven is made of gold.
I say heaven is without don't trust what they`ve sold.
The purest of hate, most evil is Wiccan turned catholic black in red.
The weak, the blind, the burning glazed in dread.
All sheep follow the next, like that life of a drone.
The simple mind cannot help itself if it`s left all alone.
The priest, the pope, the father's, and every single bishop.
A fact them fu*kers spread suffering, I've had enough.
No longer can I just sit and have faith in a holy religion.
There's one thing I know, and that`s they have never given...
A holy father, or a graceful joyous place.
My mind expansion is like that of cosmic outer space.
Misplaced every single person that I loved that has died.
I know cuz I've tried, and tried and have only cried.
Most times I was wretched in my life.
But I was awakened so I'd realize such strife.
How many fathers would kill their own son with such brutal torture just to be a God.
Surely you must find this interesting, wicked, and odd.
You should look harder when there's much more mayhem.
Why do you continually contribute and constantly pay him?
The same song for 7411 years.
Is so weird, as the sight of the Seer`s
How many times can the same story be the savior of man.
Every age span gives life the same fu*king hand.
I've been to the place of my real grace,
It is not what you think.
It took lots of time,
It tore the deepest of pain.
For me to vomit the master of the my insane.
Took it all in then realized my misguided path of destruction.
They perform black magic under these cathedrals of corruption.
It was me who was wrong to have been so disarrayed.
Where was your God each and every time a child or woman was betrayed.
By a church of child molesters and the torturous murders of women throughout it`s entire existence,
There`s an absence of god`s love and his power he displayed Egypt, no interjections like exodus with no interference nor his holy assistance .