Best Disdained Poems
Gary's Yard Sale, the story
Authored by Chuck Keys
Among the rustbelt cities of yesterday,
Along the edges of the Detroit River,
A short distance to the side,
Resides a slice of Victorian times,
Excesses exceeded needed,
Where age confronts time,
The day before meets the day of,
And greets tomorrow.
Those in the hood
And outside,
Meet and greet among
The scraps of forgotten memories.
Lawns filled with bygones of size,
Tables filled with important somethings,
Maybe everythings,
For important that evolved into history.
Where memories become linked,
Each to a stored thought,
Treasured, pleasured or disdained,
To a person,
Of late or present,
To a future of who knows what.
During the day,
The history-of and the future-of talk,
To each,
Of where they were,
And where they hope to be,
The dust is blown off with the wind,
From the east, west, north and south.
The yard sale, the graveyard of the past,
The arena of the present,
Life and death of the sale,
Dance together, coupled,
Where Mine, becomes Yours' while
Gary the Conductor, orchestrates to perfection,
The operatic enjoyment of history,
Buyer meets seller, exchanges
Are made. As is today.
Bravo! Bravo!
*This poem is dedicated to Gary and Ann Harris of Northville MI USA – May they and
their Yard Sales age forever!
© Charles H Keys, 2010. All Rights Reserved. V1.4.09252010
Night falls, and she stood up quickly,
Brushed up swiftly, arranged her
Hair briefly yet attracted, for her
Beauty, and smooth face like the
Surface of her chest...
She walked to the door slowly,
Turned gently, and stirs at herself subtly
From head to toe, then to her mirror
Which she earlier disdained.
Her hand bag contained
Preservatives protecting her horror,
Midnight she is a terror,
Daylight, an innocent beauty,
If you see her you will want her
As your lady, to make you matrimonially busy,
And happy.
But, try her and see, you will
Have yourself to blame after burning you up like flame,
Guys in new york calls her BEACH,
After they tried, but her
Heart they never REACH.
Wall street barons see her and flee, for she stings like a bee,
And her deception, they never
Want to see.
Las Vegas Cassino is also her prey,
To most night lovers, her tentacles
She spray.
If she smile you will think she is shy,
If she talks, you hear a nightingale,
But when you look into her profile,
You will find out she is filthy and guilty,
She is the immoral beauty...
Loneliness and pain creates a void
Dark shadows haunt, torment and torture
only reflective thoughts of happiness
Somber, melancholy moods decay the soul
It is futile to hope and dream
Emptiness is overwhelming
A deepening sea of nowhere consumes
And eats away at every connecting thread
Nothing considered worthy remains
Destined to walk through life less ordinary
Alone, exiled, different and disdained.
lonely shadows fly like phantoms
sodium arc lights sickly yellow
the pallor of puss; an old mans bellow
the young rages for parents they never had them
the quiet cold of ebony rain
sepia toned photo seeking remembrance
young old women with too much experience
raspberry lip gloss she's homeless but vain
tenement skyline
lighthouse for the lost
children at sea
drowning in a ocean of humanity disdained
the writings on the wall
dope fiends in the hall
penitentiary collect calls
to grandma who accepts them all
mournfully I hear Marvin Gaye
"brother, brother, brother there are far too many of you dying"
lying in bed silently crying
"we got to find a better way here today"
To all women battered by brutal men
Cast not the blame at the foot of heaven
The dyed cloth by brutality stained
Shake that rag in demon's lurrid face
The summons writ for him disdained
By God and the better virtues of the race.
Then come down to the spiritual waters
Here, find balm for wounds and craters
Of flesh and faith, the Creator's love await
Your witness to the truth of sin
Swing wide your forgiveness like a gate
Let his words flow where pain has been
For he who made you, his little flower
And brimmed the bee in your fragrant bower
Was not intent that a petal should fall
From pedacle or heart bruised to tear
But promise one day, it shall worth it all
Glory restored from winds of despair.
God, I am overwhelmed within me,
But you are merciful everlastingly
You release your sincere spirit of shameless serenity
And you wash me thoroughly with it wholeheartedly,
For I've been lost for many a year
I must grin in gladness ear to ear
Fill my bathtub with cheer,
Oh waters of Aphradere
I am content, but down low once more…
I've been brought low, but what for?
I have been troublesome to the core,
For change has been a challenging chore
Engulf yourself into the iridescent island of haven
Eager to reach the highest point in this darksome den
Empathy is in your elevating eyes of mirth
Escape with me to paradise, away from Earth
Drowning in the waters of Aphradere
What's been lost has been lost for many a year
I want to get out of here…
I want to get out of here…
Drowning in the waters of Aphradere
What's been lost can be found, my darling dear
I want to get out of here…
I want to get out of here…
Cheer up, oh sorrowful waters...waters...
Paint a smile upon your sons and daughters
You utter words of wisdom and it gushes so beautifully and oh so bright
You utter words of lost love and it brushes against me day and night
I am disheartened by the removal of your heart against my own
I am discouraged by the disapproval of our togetherness and making very little progress in the making in this bottomless mess
I am on my own in the woods of my meandering mind, feeling alone
I am disdained by the departure of our happiness, abandoned and left behind in the wilderness of meaningless distress
Drowning in the waters of Aphradere
What's been lost has been lost for many a year
I want to get out of here…
I want to get out of here…
Drowning in the waters of Aphradere
What's been lost can be found, my darling dear
I want to get out of here…
I want to get out of here…
I fear for you, my dear…
Shed not a single tear…
Words were meant to fill the grief-stricken solitude
So, let go and let live...
Waters draw near as we meet our mesmerizing interlude
Let happiness and hope appear
Steer your way out of turbulent seas of Aphradere
RAINING MELODY OF MEMORY
You walked away through mist along garden trail,
what stayed after nothing with me ever remained
was the amorous sea of your scent for me to sail
in the wake of your melting shadow I saw waned.
What stayed after nothing with me ever remained
was amorphous image of fathomless void you left,
an abyss in the cleft of my broken heart disdained,
in parched dunes of aloneness I felt fervently bereft.
What stayed after nothing with me ever remained
were ringing ripples of sound of silence you made,
I heard the music when melody of memory rained
with the hidden fervor of emotion you left unsaid.
April 19, 2019
They practise their guns on the land of the innocence,
these loathsome creatures wipe out the lines of our army,
now we are what left to secure this homeland,
"Come forth my soldiers" the cry of war is heard from leagues away,
we pierce these wind-lances through their corroded hearts with wrath ,
inferno burns the heart of the city,
as we guard behind this ineluctable vile scene like a vault,
keeping these lives we call treasure hoard,
forged iron weapons as our blades as we stand behind this door
waiting for the beasts, we wail our swords in valor
but we are disdained in return, are they blind, do they not see our courage,
in the vast hall the tyrannical emperor sits proud in his throne,
with a crown on his head,
riven by greed he covets this land as much as we want to secure it,
usurper we call him, his eyes instil terror to every man,
he curses the flame of war upon us, he wishes ill upon my people,
his soldiers swimming in blood,
drinking copious amount of alcohol as celebration to our folks death,
our cerulean sea pollute as if there is sickness lies upon it,
It redden and darken as season changes,
our people are driven mad by grief as we scream for mercy,
cadence they say our screams are as we cowered in terror,
distraught by this desolation and mangling towards our kin and home,
we stifled by this thick air where no healthsome air to breathe in,
we could not foretell but we yet still survive this,
we do not linger behind shadows, stench from these shrouded victims open our eyes,
where is the reverence we once deserved,
bairns swear vangeance, cut the head of the snake and you shall be free from this grief.
THE RELUCTANT GUEST
Not proof against the pricks disdained
By the broad impact of petty phil-
Osophy, but sundered when our passions rained
Over our heads, when wish invaded will,
I am part neighbour in this shire of doubt,
That keeps me tenant on the promised crowd
Which you waggishly say will never rout
The insane longing to impact with loud
Music the harmony of sense. Yet I fear
The submerged faculty of my wavering power
Is grief to you, a crutch for every tear,
That springs between us, to endower
Your raving optimist’s cry that you’re a help,
To such as me, a miserable poor whelp.
Like Ripened Fruit
Authored by Chuck Keys
Where is my next stop?
I look but cannot find,
Forever seeking unfulfilled dreams,
Of ... yesterday,
A falling tree in the forest,
Can it be heard?
And it's echo?
Yonder calls me,
Where days of endless youth move on.
I walk selflessly through moments to be,
Disdained and distanced from what was mine,
As the foliage turns to colors,
I miss what never was but want more,
Pick the fruit before it ripens,
Watch the tide come in, effortlessly,
Naturally,
Rain drops bring life and darkness,
When time will pass us by,
Oh time, Oh me, Oh freedom that is.
I have not tasted enough,
Like a lake to be bedded down for winter,
The birds head south, driven and free,
Effortlessly,
Naturally,
Endless ageless tears disappointed,
I want so much more, where and when,
Will it be?
When will it be for me ... if ever?
Many can recall and recollect
the halcyon moments of carefree abandon
When juvenile limbs climbed upon cedar limbs
or squatted under oak or baobab shades
while languishing in youthful salad days
As they chased butterflies or katydids
Yet ironically in their prime
most disdained the veggie salads.
No bothering much where and how
the shillings and earnings came from
Home made cakes and pies gobbled in for granted delight
Engrossed in exploring the wide old world with youthful eyes.
He was careless in the race
Yet entered in by wondrous grace.
His works of earthly gain, no more remain.
The world’s pursuits there now disdained.
Forlorn of blessings lost to greed,
Mistaken goals and careless deeds.
While words of praise from men he sought,
Such idle words have come to naught.
Another entered into rest,
His works of love far greater blessed.
While poorer was his life on earth,
At Heaven’s gate, found Kingdom worth.
For small the pain in life he bore,
His sacrifices gained far more.
His faithful love and service too
Bore gold and gems of vibrant hues.
And then, all stood toward Heaven’s gate
Where throngs of anxious saints await.
An elder mother made her way
Past countless lives her life had graced.
A chorus rose of cheers and laughter
Extended arms, were panting after
A chance to welcome and embrace;
This little mom, a queen of grace.
Beyond description or imagination
There came new heights of jubilation.
I turned to see the Savior leap,
To greet this one, now at His feet.
He knelt, and raised her up with grace,
Embraced, then gently kissed her face.
On cue, all heaven roared in praise
For they knew how this mother prayed.
Then Jesus cried aloud triumphant,
As with the voice of a thousand trumpets:
“Bring forth the crown of righteousness,
Well done, dear one, receive your rest!”
For such God waits and longs to bless,
For these are heaven’s highest guests.
(continued from PART ONE)
Why I’ve seen him countless times, regurgitate old dog faeces onto fresh bread
And listened to his quiet voice exhorting me to do the same.
This fly was a born teacher.
There can be no greater accolade for a teacher than to be followed by his students.
He used basic good common sense, but spiced-up with a dash of excitement.
The well-known excrement-with-fried-egg, the easy-to-recognize urine-flavoured
Chips in the gutter, and the now commonplace saliva-over-spoon trick,
Are today almost standard delicacies for us all. Yet it was Hector who pioneered them.
He ignored the scorn and catcalls from younger flies, as he disdained a baby’s diaper
In some trash can, and went winging his way up to the second floor of the hospital
To select the juiciest old blood he could find.
No - Hector was independent, he was truly his own fly.
He stuck with pioneering ideas like the then-untested skid techniques
For escaping fly-swatters wielded in kitchens. It was Hector’s brave soul
Which brought standardized fly-patrols into being to catch a greater proportion of
Unsuspecting open-mouthed sleepers at night.
Uncle Hector went where no fly had gone before, and he did it with style.
He often said,“If you can make it on this heap of cat-dung, you can make it anywhere”
And there’s the lesson for us all today, ladies and gentlemen.
Let us not grieve for the loss of such a fine fly, but rather
Celebrate his life of discovery and progress. Let us go forth from this cat-crap
To a brighter future illuminated by the searching curiosity of Uncle Hector’s mind.
Younger generation, you must go forth boldly and find your own rotten cucumbers,
Your own half-eaten porkchops, your own dandruff-laden combs,
And be not afraid to mix them with relish as you choose from the delicacies
Of the knacker’s yard or the remains of a crow hit by a ten-ton truck on the road.
We stand - or hover - now in silence for one minute, as a token of respect -
And as we enjoy the gentle aroma of this cat-crap heap,
Allow the memory of Hector to inspire us.
God bless you all.
In a society where mood elevators thrive
Of Lady’s Slipper’s value we should not be deprived
Now as rare as the Native American culture
That found the medicinal plant promotes composure
Its moccasin shape made it even more attractive
To peaceful tribes who disdained the hyperactive
For just like stepping into a pair of comfy shoes
A Lady’s Slipper’s herbs can eradicate your blues
A treat for the eyes awaits in the early spring shade
Soft golden texture like skin on an Indian maid
I try to push away
she said
As I lit my cigarette in hand
The gleam from the fire made my eyes squint
and gave me a sub version of her face.
All I glimpsed was red bitten lips and black stained skin
that trailed from her eyes; I guess from that mascara or eyeliner
whatever the hell you women wear.
Push away..?
From what?
I thought
Hmmm
I'm really not interested.
I just wanted to smoke and watch some hopeless girls dance.
That's right, hopeless;
Men don't come here to watch a seven
find a way to grab some dollar bills without her hands.
We get to see that there is someone out there that make us feel better,
cause we got dealt the better hand,
they just happen to have a sweet face and nice pair...sometimes...
So could I have one?
she said to me
I was so gone and dazed that I forgot she had spoken to me before.
Have what I said
She stared at the lit white duke in my hand.
I lingered there with eyes glossed from my buddies
Jim, Jack, Johnny and Jose;
Those boys sure like to ride those horses...
Are you even old eno- ah what do I care.
I hand her a one out of ten cancer stick,
her cracked lips pucker as she holds and looks to me for a light.
The fire waves hello and goodbye quickly
and we're back in the musk of things.
Not much for caring are you honey?
she seem to mumbled with a disdained smile
Without a beat I told her:
I'm not your savior baby
You've been watching your own time
And God only knows when that hand is going to stop at five
I'm not your lover darling
That hand's only clinging wine
And no man likes a sober woman, but no drunk woman be mine
I'm not your father lady
It's seems that guidance has gone and kept you lost
But it seems your mothers words you've tuned out or have shaped them boxed
And with that I took a lost drag and started walking out the door,
and as I looked back at her she sat there still not knowing,
not knowing what she's living for...