Best Disowning Poems
They’re playing bingo in the lounge bar,
between ten and dinner time,
pensioners arrive from near and far,
to try and win a bingo dime.
I’m watching from me usual stool,
and hear numbers shouted out,
while drinking beer that’s nice and cool,
waiting for the ‘bingo’ shout.
While there is laughter and loud groaning,
depending on their bingo luck,
some others claim of their disowning,
because bad luck has struck.
They are not sitting at a bingo table,
but in a corner all alone,
knowing for now that they’re unable,
to leave the tavern comfort zone.
The Barley Tavern offers shelter
for the likes of Lukey Brown,
who’s problem’s not a mere welter,
but a simple wife put down.
We all know that a woman scorned
can breed disaster to a tee,
and many times a love is mourned,
that’s why I offer therapy.
I brought a beer for Lukey Brown,
who gave me a nod and smile,
and after I was sitting down,
I put Lukey up on trial.
“So what’s the go old Lukey mate?
Why are you feeling so morose?”
And Lukey took a while to state,
“Are all women bellicose?”
Lukey really had me puzzled there,
‘What does bellicose all mean?’
And Lukey states “it means beware,
the wife’s about cause a scene,
and all because she made remarks,
about a couple down the road,
and my reply it set off sparks,
and bellicose so quickly showed.”
Then I supplied more therapy,
shouting Lukey another beer,
to ward off living dangerously,
but to learn to live with fear.
“She pointed to a couple in the street,
who played a loving sexy game,
kissing, cuddling, and no way discreet -
then! Why can’t you do the same?”
“Why can’t I do the same I said.
Have you gone stark raving mad!
I got the stare that means I’m dead,
everything got worse than bad.
With crude insults I copped the hurl -
- can you get me another beer?
I said no way, I don’t know the girl;
and that’s the reason I’m in here.”
I’m no longer a deplorable
Somehow become a fascist
At least according to those who claim
That all of us are all the same
Except, that is, the chosen few
Who really know what’s best for you
Spend your money without thanks
Lock up the sober in drunk tanks
Some claim their states are RED or BLUE
Thus, disowning half of you
Yet my mailbox is at full bloat
Beggars pleading for my vote
I dare not raise the flag too high
As passersby, offended, sigh
And wish it hidden out of sight
Its shadowed haven now a blight
I’ve never been deplorable
One time was thought – adorable
I shed a tear at Taps sad drone
For a flag that bravely flies alone
John G. Lawless
©10/2/2022
Shavous, True to Us
Rosh Hashanah of Fruits,
Literally, When Tree Fruit Blossoms,
Figuratively, Free Do-It Creativitus,
Earth was Created for Man's,
Improvement by Applicus,
Of Torah Chiddush Wisdoms!
1st 2,000 Years were Barren "Tohu"-ous,
Post Har Sinai, Inventous Peoples' Brainstorms,
Thus, Mortals, Sans Angels, Torah "Safeguardous",
Since Only Man Could Mind Contradictions,
Possible True Welfare, Wedding Any Multiple Versus,
Rambam's "Shalom Emes": Torah in Stark Distinction,
To Other Beliefs' Messages to Us,
To Wit, Feelings Define Right Action,
By Contrast to Absolute "True or Falsous",
Over & Over, the "Nachas", Cunning Deception,
Pulling the Wool Over the Righteous!
Shavous, also Rosh Hashanah of Learning,
Judgment on Next Year's Acquiring Torah,
Thus, Instead of Flailing, Earning,
Internalizing in that We "Soar-ah",
Satisfying Wings Earnest Yearning,
By Disowning Olam HaZeh Mesorah,
Of Narashkeit Replaced by The Discerning,
Taryag Sensitivities, the Infinite Aura,
Held Back Since Creation's Beginning,
Antidote to Amelek, A "What Ails Cure-a",
Elevating Our Commitment is like Lightning,
Flash Flaming a Gourmet Flambé Endura!
a sestina
To every zephyr comes a bold quest
and every squall can whisper regret.
Those who will take the deeper breath
are those who gain a discerning spirit.
The eye of a storm loves the calm
while the vortex lives for the clash.
When two people sense a coming clash
because they’re on a divergent quest.
One may keep peace, remaining calm
while the other shows no regret
for baring an ornery spirit -
hell-bent, ranting with “baited” breath.
The pacifist, holding his breath,
prefers to downscale any clash
disowning the negative spirit.
The personality of quest
depends on one’s view of regret.
Cold is how the gutsy perceive calm.
Some get uptight when life is too calm;
conflict leaves another gasping for breath.
Satisfaction versus regret -
can both be balanced without clash?
Is there a more productive quest
for passive and proactive spirits?
With open mind, the hostile spirit
can work at finding a sense of calm.
When threatened with a thorny request,
count to ten and take a deep breath.
At the invitation to clash,
do not attend; send your regrets.
If you are one who shrinks from regret
confronting an in-your-face spirit,
do not forgo the challenging clash.
Count to ten; dismantle your normal calm
and debate ‘til you’re out-of-breath.
Learn the thrill of making the conquest.
Sometimes in regret, I answer with calm,
then try a raw spirit with weighted breath.
Peace reigns both in clash and a quieter quest.
June 7, 2014
contest: What brings you peace
hostess: Chantelle Cooke
Despondent
we felt
doing deeds
donned by illusions of necessity.
Drat
we thought
disowning our dignity
drowning our dignity
driving our dignity
down into delusions of
dominance.
Do-di-do-do
we knew
when spontaneously
life came to the streets
and we did
what we
know how to do.
it's
a hunger
that thrives
on
momentary lapses
of reason
a
split second starvation..
sound
stealing
stimulant
I
finally have possession
of you..
So I
sit here and
watch you sleep
while
Satan softly serinades
the air..
So
you can dream
as I scheme
on
how to keep you
another shot of
comfortably numb
sung by the bottle
humming a hostle lullaby..
i'm
out of my mind
Moaning the
sweetest disowning
knowing
you belong in first.
but
for what it's worth
Tonight
you have met
the dirtiest demon
dining
on
"But, there's gotta be a way
i can get her to stay"
let us prey
Holding on to the past and refusing to forgive.
You're only hurting yourself, that's no way to live!
I'm your sister, yet we haven't spoken in years.
Please move forward and learn to confront your fears.
Mom and Dad done us wrong by putting us in foster care.
It's unhealthy to hold grudges and to live life with despair.
Disowning your parents is one thing, but your siblings too?
Let me help, I understand somewhat what you went through!
You should be seeking solace with your siblings who love you!
Instead of dealing with the pain, you ran away and withdrew.
You were not the only one physically and mentally abused.
Our childhood without love left us all damaged and confused.
We were separated for 3 years, but together for another ten.
What I wouldn't give to see you and hug you once again.
Seven of us were affected in one way or the other.
I want you back in my life, you're forever my brother!
You have neices and nephews that you haven't met.
It hurts to know you may one day be filled with regret.
You're welcome back in my life with no questions asked.
I want to be in your future and not someone from your past.
"To my brothers Kyle , Edward and Ben"
Sponsor ~ Poet ~ Destroyer
Contest Name ~ India Arie - "Get it together"
I knew my ancestry and my dad was a joiner,
But verged on disowning my mum for labour,
Not married in history yet throbbing with spark,
Love, truth, kindness fibered the gelled dark.
A stunner - intelligent, muscular but sensitive,
The royal in me saw the people as plaintiff,
As steering the vile lark of determining troughs,
In a grass-roots democracy to nullify the toffs.
Prolific at speeches, education never lacked,
Peeking as child into the ear in discern I jacked,
I knew nothing was unproven, cleanliness won,
Joules inside quenched the human sown son.
In the health profession I beamed, overcame, won,
Differences waged exacted to desecrate the sum -
Poor, minority, stealthy and dragon ignored asunder,
No equality known to hook the solid, base shelter.
Mobile, but wherever I tread met haters and lovers,
Pranced about suckered by vulgar ruling bearers;
Taught children life and followers’ carers’ quick,
Stead ahead hailed by the people as their wick.
Freedom held my blink until shown as the trait -
Real by weight for the sick to crop myself as bait.
Therefore human aim, space, time shouted ball,
‘Cos the individual is right, by the pinnacle, wall.
My twelve friends accepted my way and my mind,
Chose to love crook, crank or by altruism behind,
Meant rear - banned and ashore, but fully sentient,
No restorative, candid deeds to strike ambivalent.
People glued came to see me - the Nile drawn,
Dealt troubles without ways n’ routes to spawn;
Yet state and common folks both, themselves,
Killed me for a movement shooting with shelves.
But those many who loved me would never forget,
Forged sail by the integral identity never truly set:
They said afterwards that my substance, way, holds,
It’s life that affords me, not the shined, bold folds.
There was a court case and everything, a slot,
When they asked if I was a god, king, mad, a shot:
Dumb. Bitter I’d gone and cut short, they said I’d live,
Within them in their memory as the cultural give.
My existence is not a point - your location, for always:
It’s not belief in me that matters but it's your sways;
Your life is important and it's your existence that calls,
MLK, Lincoln, Walker ball for the sentient, rugged stalls.
Who am I?
A Hopeless Being.
Oh Lord! Before in hell forsake,
dreams do remove from all the men;
strip them, their hope away do take,
or shall in hell rebel again.
The dreams I dream they aren't mine,
but of that learner courting hope,
at nightfall are a humble shrine,
in peaceful slumber envelop.
in sleep such obscure visions come,
while vulnerable am I whole,
the hostile sights my heart do thrum,
in mixed melody is my soul;
their beauty what does signify,
and those faces that are ne'er real!
Now do our breaths they dignify
or negate all --that we do feel.
Is poor most a dreamless being,
with flightless nights and yearnings sour,
his curse is a mind of stable seeing,
disowning growth forevermore.
Isn't useless hope that ne'er pays,
is present yet as thin as air,
though in the eye it always stays,
but to the reason seldom there;
these drinks of dreams I do condemn,
but life and death come from this cup,
I might have given up on them,
but will they ever give me up.
R.N.Khan, © 2012
When
Giving silently makes you hollow
Draining your feeling of possessions
Worrying you bit by bit of tomorrow
Of still thinking about your giving reasons
Then
You don’t wholly give, but lending for something in return
Someday, somewhere, somehow, someway
For true giving makes you fuller in many ways
Of never asking for anything, but merely giving away.
And
That's the hardest way
of disowning possessions.
Divorce is not flight nor sacrifice
It's closer to a bonfire of half of me
It’s not disowning mothers for elation
Divorce is unnatural among parrots
Parents come back to feed their young
Fledglings don’t come to nourish parents
I thought divorce was a worthy sacrifice
Not believing a court can divide a chick
No bird cleaves their own with dice
My nest has always been spare for three
Even when she moved in and I was in hers
Every twig chosen was still a rental lean
She once kept our nest at sub-zero
My tongue pressed on her icy legs
I decided to light a match like Nero
I chose to be selfish in building my pyre
Sacrifice isn’t real until a hatch divides
That’s when appreciation survives
When half of a jay comes back
Bringing cool water fully refreshing
Returns my joy with a feathery joke
Grateful now for half-time untogether
I gather straws to rebuild my future
I and home first to receive others
Divorce is closer to perspective
Nearer to reluctant ashes rising
Halfway to God however expensive
“Both of you say this live baby is yours. Someone bring me a sword. A sword was brought, and Solomon ordered, 'Cut the baby in half! That way each of you can have part of him.'” -- 1 Kings 3:23-24
I don't know how to abandon
This maniacal world
Where electric words stalk my nights,
Devouring my mind.
Volcanic images appear
As uninvited guests,
Wrestling atrophied concepts
Into structured rhythm.
Metaphors tease unrelenting
As sounds tickle my heart,
Disowning my need for respite
From red saturation.
Yet I feast upon each moment
Of inspired reverie,
Count each hour of sanity
An insulated gift.
I fall into meek thanksgiving
For voice of expression
Even as I hear the approach
Of mystified ideas.
For what would I be without art
Conveyed in written form
But an aching, unfulfilled soul;
Derelict and deprived?
It returns to haunt,
the dilemma, of disowning
the old version of truth;
when I was searching the parallelism
for the sake of otherness.
The unreturning melancholia,
brings the surreal intruder,
I did not want to entertain.
The insane activity of heart
wants a sin uncommitted.
The flirt eyes like a tulip
between your fingers,
unrolling the tender petals.
Night throws the salt on the moon.
There were no tears.
Satish Verma
everybody want to blame
some one else for their life
saying your the reason
everything is not right
it seems every exchange is
bitter and uptight
whats the soloution they
need much more insite
analyse your self and be
more observant
you will find out the one in
the mirror aint perfect
couples getting divorced
over trivial nonsense
if you can fall out of love
then you never was in it
siblings hate each other
whole families not speaking
half of them probably cant
remeber the reason
got parents disowning their
offspring
just because they decided
to do their own thing
and chlidren showing
parents no repect
cause they felt abandoned
during crucial steps
I can relate you all but
you've got to see
hate hold you hostage
forgiveness sets you free
As if my inner sound was demanding
take me for
meiosis ;
I want to break into many daughter things.
Half my genes
half my color
partly male
partly female
disowning the boundaries,
my lasting pain of grief and anguish
becomes an androgynous god.
I hear the voices in brain
I see the nebulous thoughts dancing
I touch the fallen tears
from faceless eyes.
All my thoughts are leading to void
coming from nowhere
going to nowhere,
I am water and I am sand !
SATISH VERMA