Best Disclaim Poems
I disclaim your anger
Every word I despise
despite your promises
my pounding your walls
my wish to change you
fails.
Your frenzied yells
bounce off my wall
no longer intimidated
impaired by paralysis
this force within
wins.
I fell for you
tiptoed around you
sometimes you accepted
or took me for granted
or used me as crutch
You are now imprisoned
within my indifference
There is a corruption we all should abhor,
It starts on the left, and corrupts to the core,
Cancer of the soul, if left to go on,
It takes bit by bit, ’till the whole soul is gone.
Makes people think that there are no values,
That everything’s fine if it’s ‘true to you,’
Moral absolutes they loudly disclaim,
Then turn and wonder why the world seems insane,
Why their true feelings don’t bring happy lives,
Only leads to a black rage deep in inside,
‘being true to you’ is a moral perverse,
With no standard to judge, things get much worse.
What’s ‘true to one’s self’ for those fond of rape?
Should the serial killer show his ‘true’ face?
And what of the types who change ‘truth’ every week,
Then act offended if anyone speaks?
The corruption permits them to silence all,
Pushing more and more, until it all falls.
The corruption pushes out all real beauty,
Replaces it with the fecal and ugly,
Throws out the masters who’s work defies time,
Declares that splatter and blank space is ‘sublime.’
Renir, Bougereau, Bierstadt, and Degas,
Masters whose paintings amazed all who saw ,
Now me have charlatans, ‘artist statements,’
An art world that can’t uplift, just dement.
The same trend pus music into a plight,
Ignore Beethoven, ’cause his skin as white,
No longer to Mozart do critics clap,
But ‘es and ’hos,’ that’s where it’s at!
Celebrate decline, claim that it’s ‘sincere,’
As it there’s no ‘real’ behind beauty and cheer...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
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 ©
There is no blame or shame
in sometimes not being the same.
Woes will oft times call our name
even if we live a life without blame.
The secret is to play the game
whilst our hearts we tame
giving the finger to the dame
of misfortune who is in the frame.
Revoking things of ill fame
bad things we set aflame
and their sins we disclaim.
It is all about playing the game.
So come forward without shame
you are who you are, so your life reclaim
and at the end of the day proclaim
to all, I am me without any blame.
Will you allow me?
Could you fathom how?
Would you even listen?
The sound-of—
Of my voice—
Only one;
Only one voice...
It's as if you have no choice.. .
Choice...
You don't have any other choice...
You were sent here...
You're world senter.
Your-the-center of your whole You-World.
That's the fact, is that—
That—
That it's true...
Yes.
Yes it..?
Yes, it, tis the truth!
Too you—
You—
You're the only one.
The one and only. .
One.
You're the only one who matters!
Your opinion
Is simply
Important. ..
But you don't..
You don't even, get a clue...
I loved you.
You love me not...
I loved you
You love you people a lot!
You think that.
You think tht-that....
Really you think that-that was just?
Did it make you feel better?
About..?
About..?
I would be presumptuous to assume.
My intuition is usually right.
Ritualistic reality of it all, you weren't even prude at all.
You controlled me...; I
I-You did it on purpose...; me
I figured out.
I figured it out.
You actually,
Truly, You
100%, You
You actually believe you(or)...
Your worst off scenario.
Recently i re-named you.
I should've already had named you.
Princess... I
Princess Peach.
That describes you... Well...
I still care..
Well is how I want you to fare..
Well here's help..
HELLO!
HELLO!
I am worth the time of day
I'm worried you are going the wrong way
I didn't even like you
But for some reason I had to stay...
You were sent here to save my life
And to make it living hell
But I am happy that you are here.
I would like to thank, you...
I always mean my word'
Are
Intentional...
I do not condescend without disclaim.
Listen to my words,
Not the sound of my voice.
Please;
I'm begging you,
But you...
You don't even have a choice.
4-7-15
Ironic Zinc
“POETIC JUSTICE” (VIRTUE OVER VICE)
Virtue over vice—who will pay the price
Ironic twists of fate are flawed if virtue does not equal reward
Logic needs to triumph—to beat and defeat
The tragedy of treachery that strives to cheat and repeat
Try to see outside myself and understand the eyes
To analyze, theorize, recognize and polarize
Excuse all the highs that terrorize
Unacknowledged trauma’s are like wounds that never heal
Never feel—on a constant wheel—a terrible price to pay for sin
Until at last the outside matches the justice
History written on the body—a canvas of poetry
In the end, reality, the price to pay would be too great
Too much at stake
Comfort zones obliterated, confusion reiterated
What then… the end?
Life seems slow to reach conclusion
To wait, turn back, to stop or go
To fly or dive when there is no restraint or self control
Deceit makes it hard to separate the self
Seeking truth above the easy way out
To shout, express doubt, to dropout--- burnout
Justice is tested through another’s eyes
Disguising their own lies as they spy and deny
The poetry of playing the same game
Camouflaged by another name—to shame blame and disclaim
Does virtue win the day?
Or vice have its say and inevitably stay
Does it triumph and receive reward?
Or is logic a masquerading fraud
The poetry in justice must ultimately distrust and adjust this
Lift the darkness
Make it painless, nameless and stainless
The punishment… its sword
Seinfeld’s Jerry, George and Cosmo Kramer
Looked on in revulsion as Elaine danced
Jerks and quirks embarrassingly enhanced
Her three best friends wanted to disclaim her
It all began at a festive party
No one dancing, Elaine tried to set pace
Resembling a tick that was sprayed with mace
Amused smirks grew to bellows so hearty
She thought herself to be a great dancer
With kicks and spasms she danced on and on
All she beckoned to the floor said, “Be gone!”
Social life failed, no one would romance her
Note: Seinfeld fans probably remember this, but you
can see Elaine dancing at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xi4O1yi6b0
*Entry for Barbara Gorelick’s “Dance” contest
When I was a boy of three,
My sister much older than me
Raced me to the teen-age stage
Where we seemed about the same age.
We knew that folks of thirty
Were way over the hill
And their greatest thrill
Was to sit back and relax
While teen-agers furnished them facts.
But when we reached thirty,
Filled with awe, we foresaw,
That thirty was grace to behold,
And knew in our soul
Folks of fifty were hopelessly old!
But in our fifties we grabbed what we said,
And pushed “old age” way up ahead.
And at sixty we did the same.
Age was just a game not to disclaim.
In our seventies we slowed just a bit
But were still not ready to quit.
And now as octogenarians,
We breeze through museums and aquariums.
With many things to learn
While we have energy still to burn.
So youngsters don’t fret,
Old, we ain’t—not yet!
In tinsel time the bells do chime.
We deck the halls and shopping malls
with plastic bough and holly wreath.
The conjured tricks that lie beneath
the plastic magic make-believe
pull cheap tradition from the empty sleeve
and, with the angel chorus on demand,
demand the payment of the damned
by overdraft and plastic cards,
with season's greetings and regards
for Christmas Joy and Yuletide Cheer;
the end of one more bloody year.
In tinsel time the bells do chime
the dance of money and the mime
of love's best giving soon forgot.
And in each cardboard palace, hot
inside each borrowed suit of red,
each Father Christmas pats the head
of every child, drags out the lie;
and so the holy days go by
and fall beneath the pounds and pence
that parents value more than sense.
The harlot traders rub their hands and cheer
the end of one more bloody year.
In tinsel time the bells do chime
and all rejoice and with one voice
proclaim, disclaim, complain the lack
of honesty in Santa's sack.
The parties drag from pub to pub
and end up at somebody's club
and after, in the morning pain,
the disenchanted mutter "not again"
and stagger through another day
but then, again, go out to play;
Until, at last, the bells they cheer
that start another bloody year.
Kim James
12/12/95
You try it,
You even buy it,
You don't get it,
You claim it,
You disclaim it,
It works,
It doesn't,
Again, you denied it,
You pay, your stay: monthly, annually
You gain, sustain,
You barter, charter,
You bargain, you bust
it stays a must.
You cry,
You cuss,
You fuss,
Sign on the line
It pays
betrays
Rent -- it stays.
I Shot My Teacher
Right in the back against the blackboard,
Ambling late into the class with my bag,
With a sullen outlook and a plan to nip the hag,
I settled in the back row looking upward,
With no emotion or whatever.
Even though, I didn’t mean to,
But, she made me a show
I didn’t regret what I did, you know.
Thundering, she cursed the day I was born,
Her tirade on why I came to learn in turn,
Elaborately lambasting milieu I found myself
And offing, blindly she effrontery disclaim
The dears parents that gave me life.
Although, these inflame not hatred toward her,
But, brought out in front of the gallery
And showed the affectionate letter
I scribbled to Valerie,
She broadcast while Val. Sobbed,
And all of their faces looked in jeer
While a recluse, I vision.
On this overdone for long and wide;
The loaded pistol of my pop would wrapped the vendetta
I revealed it out of the den
Wall-drope, where it always hide,
And put it in bookless Backpack,
The following day was school day,
On that gray day
I put it right through her back.
Asking the Attorney after
Couldn’t you keep me from the prison?
There are seven despicable sins each one
of us willingly or unwillingly commits daily;
I disclaim six, but I willl claim one openly:
it's the irrepressible anger raging inside.
There was a big trauma in my early childhood:
that memory was stored, but cannot be retrieved;
I blame dad for the love he didn't give to his child...
remembering hurts indefinitely, forgetting is hard.
For years, I carried this secret so ashamed to reveal,
mother saw the depth and dimension of everything;
she lifted all the weight I was incapable of carrying,
but my cry wanted to escape and break off the seal.
If I am guilty of this sin, God will not punish me for it;
His sympathy for the ones who weep is forgiveness,
but those inflicting pain won't escape His judgment.
Lord, end at once this anger that brings on illness.
Written on 1/24/2016
-Quiet voices with low decibels are taken with offense. Preconceived notions, spoken words without thought, inserting smileys to disclaim. Invertebrate personas can be seen evaporating from the skin, with the naked eye. Forming a resin that keeps building up over time. Labeling you with defects of character. Beating around the bush, hiding from problems; loose ends form. Texts twist the dough sprinkled with good intentions. Life's a *****, it hurts, don't it? Untied shoes are today's special, featuring potential failure. Intentional lack of preparation. Detached from the lanyard of civilization. Eyes disconnect; declining their calls. Reading the texts with disregard. Getting notifications and silencing alarms. Misdirected; free-falling off the imaginary edge of fictional beliefs. Playing a new version of make believe. Pretending with the help of it's big brother assumption, the answers we do not know. Taking offense to the actions committed with good intent. Overthinking the simple things in life. Misinterpretations of the harmless innuendos.
9-24-15
Drop off written document box—
Cliff…
Cavernous crevice—
The gap…
|Space| between the lines—
Infinitude…
Continue to-do—
Proposed madness…
Accusation—
Abuser…
Formatted contextual suicide—
Any last words?
Nuff said;
Feller-poor—
Naughty-nuff-ever-
Poor-feller-for…;
Naughty-Nuff-
Ever-poor—
Clever-poor-feller-forever-more—
Gallery-glamorous-galore-
Poor nuff-not-ever-more—
Furthermore related by propositional disclaim—
Plea bargaining forever-more…
Embodied image interrogated—
Seemingly poor-
Naughty-Nuff wants more-for-less-more-for
Nuff-said-feller-poor—
Ever-if-fortune-wins-glamorous-galore—
Poor-feller-remains-for-ever-more…
Wonder why?
Why wonder-for?
For why-for-wonder-more?
More-or-less-for-ever-wonder—
What wonder-for?
For why wonder-for—
Why am I writing—why-wonder-more?
More for why wonder-what-for—
A LEDGER. . .
No less or no more—
PATHS OF LIFE
The labyrinthine paths by which I came
Oft chosen not by judgement but by chance
Crossed lotus fields of indolent disclaim
Where callow sought distraction stemmed advance
Took me on many a witless cul-de-sac
Enforced reversal, desperate pull back
When all was lost in feckless dire denial
A track of hope appeared on which I stepped
No primrose path: soft slopes, and easy whiles
Yet one that took me forward though inept
Til rounding one more bend revealed a view
A vision of a scope in brighter hue
The roads then opened took unforeseen turns
Where newfound hazards challenged my traverse
And hubris taught harsh lessons sorely learned
Enforced resets to my mapped universe
Decisions made had outcomes I might rue
Yet each drove to new paths that I would hew
Of wisdom, should I speak from latter stage?
On route that yet continues though near end
Let others teach of truth that comes with age
My lessons and my lore may not extend
The gains I’ve made not from complete true sight
At best mere fifty one percentage right
Then is it so when all is said and done
(But is all said and have all roads been run?)
This life is but the testing track to say
How all eternity shall ever play?
Or with reset of stage shall then avail
Still yet another long and winding trail