Best Disregards Poems
The Fountain
Where have you been my love
Did the hours slip from the pools of your thoughts
To go wandering heights in vacant skies
Did they capture their images on high
As you floated through the siphoned mist of your dreams
I stood on the golden rim
Where comes this shimmer quiet in your eyes
Did the blessed heavens kiss away your sadness
Flushed you seem with a new coy brilliance
Coquette by your demeanour disregards my question
I drank from a sacred stream
This sleeping softness sensual pressed to warmth
Pervades the corners of your mouth; teasing brigands
Have those loose moments retaliated their freedom
And gathered the snippets of lust once again into ragged ball of passion
I lay naked in the dust
The tip of your finger is playing upon a pharyngeal string; my love
Purring cat you are stretched bare skinned on a Persian rug
Your playful whispers intone in those exquisite curves
Flexing white porcelain opening of slow swan wings
And I held the source spring of my heart
Impatient now edges the tangled slides of your auburn curls
This gesture turns your shoulder; from behind lowered lashes you look
A predator’s toy in scratching claws lays its throat willingly bare
Ready to be devoured by a single word; of love
I stepped from the golden rim
Your palms carry the visions you have seen entranced
Coursing through your touch with eclectic imagery
There is a moment of succumb, of slavery, in you, my love
Relinquishing all but dignity, proud, honest, capitulation and senses devastation
I drink from the eternal fountain
Internal Rhyme
The Sonic of the earth’s plate tectonics was given birth
By the unbalanced wobble of the earth
While the wobbling of the natural earth
By carnal mind invention, was given birth
By the carnal act reversing Love’s intention
This is how the earth reveals how Love feels
About the mind’s rejection of Love’s perfection
Earth reels to and fro as a drunk man on the go
Now by our earth’s wobble, our earth is gobbled
Recycling itself, until nothing is left
Of reflected self of carnal human race
With the carnal mind’s every day fast pace
Purity of earth’s internal fire, in a race
It will devour, the external nature
The carnal nature of carnal wager
Made with the man, concerning Love’s plan
By Love, the Dove, giving life it’s stand
Earth in it’s perfection, but mind’s rejection
Which be reverse of Love’s balanced intention
Previously mentioned, by man in God’s plan
Continues to wobble as humans cobble
The carnal mind’s extent, to it’s own intent
Sowing extensions of strife, instead of life
Recompensing together, disregards weather
The signs of the times that lines, within the minds
Of the wise virgins, of truth’s purgation
From the intention, of carnal mind invention
Note: Just a little something my heart gave me, explaining why our earth wobbles on it axis.
I am sure some minds will think this is too simple to take serious. I am sure also our earth’s
weather would be calm if it’s rotation was in balance. The mind’s logic, is it own worse
enmity!
The sun rises on the eastern
horizon, the moon sets
in the west this Easter morning
as the dove coos a song his love gets
Cool air laden with dew settles
upon all creation
His creation even the trees
One tree of destination
He knew all, yet He still made us
He saw it all yet still
Carried on with man in his sin
He made a way; always will
Man still disregards His abiding
love, ignores each gift
Like the orange mamalade sunrise
that gives this morn a lift
Or the sounds of early morn
Nature praising the Son
Each bird singing its song in tune
The Hallelujah chorus done
There is a joy unspeakable
That fills my inner being
Bubbles up like child's play bubbles
Blown to the wind teeming
Thank you, Jesus for being willing
Thank you, God for giving
Thank you, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit
For salvation plan delivering
The love child
of inspiration and imagination,
The poet is the spirit of a shaman
walking among us
but dwelling in the realms
of speculation and spiritualism…
a wandering spirit from the astral plane.
Nourished by the melancholy light
of the waning gibbous moon,
He rides the pale tide’s low ebb
thriving on the sandy shores of life
inscribing abiding thoughts on
the sands, stones and winds,
on the hearts, souls and minds.
He's woebegone who disregards
the ever pining spirit of the poet.
~A Brian Strand contest.
Often, I enter a contest
I enter the ones I like best
But one sponsor said
Write stood on your head
I moved on to check out the rest
Another said stand in a bucket
Write Latin, or I’m gonna chuck it
Eight lines by the way
Or get an NA
I thought about that and said f… ..
[They say stick to your chosen form
You should never break with the norm
In two stanza’s time
I’m switching to rhyme
The purist would kick up a storm]
But what really scrambles my brain
Is what comes up time and again
It’s apps for surmounting
The problem of counting
And one’s a particular pain….
*
‘How many syllables’, that’s what gets me
The logic it uses ain’t easy to see
Take for example the simple word ‘Wouldn’t’
They say it’s one syllable…
See it?..
I couldn’t
It misreads quotation marks, single or double
A single’s a syllable….. doubles?…. no trouble
It claims that the open quote counts as a syllable
Yet the ensuing quote counts not at all
Now I’m not unique so I run with the crowd
And I’m sure that no-one reads quote marks aloud
With ‘How Many Syllables’, if demand lingers
I simply ignore it and count on my fingers
But Soup has a resource called ‘Syllable Counter’
Which disregards quote marks that it may encounter.
In ‘shouldn’t’ and ‘wouldn’t’ and ‘mustn’t’ and ‘couldn’t’
The syllables all number two
And all of that makes pretty good sense to me…
So does it make good sense to you?
*
I love writing poetry, dearly
And often I get it right… nearly
So please do feel free
To set rules for me
But ‘How Many Syllables’?…. Really?
The more Man disregards nature's immutable laws the closer his demise brings!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
18 August 2018
Bear Grylls
warns us not to brave the ice.
That is until
he quickly disregards his own advice.
NOTE: For those that don't know, Bear Grylls is the host of Man vs. Wild. It's a show that teaches you how to survive in the wilderness...
They say some girls just can’t be fixed
They say pain can always be felt
They say guys are easier to read than a novel
But who is they…
They is just a figure of speech that has no voice
No description or meaning
Any girl can be fixed or healed
All pain can’t be felt
And reading one guy like an elementary book
Doesn’t mean that the others are at such a low level
So why listen to the unheard voice or a song that has yet been produced
Live life full of joy and accomplishment
And surpass what the voice is saying
Living life day by day…Sunrise to sunset abundantly
Is the only way to overcome the unheard
What’s the word hot, cute, and sexy mean
Why is the word beautiful such a drive in a females heart
Both are heard from a human voice
Both go to the heart…but
Only what is unseen can be felt
We can’t see wind but its felt
We can’t see feelings but they pierce our bodies daily
We can’t see love yet we still feel the strength of its power
B…Because we are led to believe the unseen
E…Even though sometimes it’s so unreal
A…Associating with its uncertainty and loyalty
U…Unified and brought together what is seen and not seen to create an emotion
T…Together growing into a feeling called love which can’t be seen let alone expressed
I…Involving two different aspects of live and making it become one
F…Fulfilling all of life’s expectations and becoming strong in what you believe
U…Ultimately overcoming all fears and disregards you may have against the unseen
L…Love has been created
That is why the word BEAUTIFUL is such a drive in a females heart
That is why I use it to describe what you are
Then unheard has no reward
But the unseen….has one
© Jeremy Fennell
Indian say white man speak with forked' tongue
He took land kill buffalo and my young
Great Spirit hear entreaty
White man disregards treaty
Me think he talk heap of buffalo dung
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Entry for PDs "Indian Giver" Contest
I'm going to have to lie.
Can't admit I'm desperate
I'll say I have an "open mind"
I hope this photo makes them think
I'm under twenty five
Can't tell about the happy pills
I'll state "contagious smile"
Or should I be honest?
"Party girl who likes to drink
until she swims in vomit
Seeks like-minded, big ol' man
Lazy, low attention span,
facial spots, some teeth missing
undeniable penchant for whistling
Must be fun, must be flirty,
must be black belt in karate"
No.
"Voluptuous blonde,
gold digger, white trash
loves nothing more than smoking hash
looking for a loving man
who disregards my hoarse moustache"
Bwaahhh
This is hopeless, this is lame
Cant compete in this dating game
No-one will ever want me
When all I can offer is honesty....
"Are you looking for a fun loving, beautiful intelligent female who's wild in bed?
Well, good luck!!"
Take me back to the days
Where the feel of texture and distinguishing colors among Africans didn't matter
Where the only word was black, and not pale or darker
Where the only weapon was loyalty upto royalty actually smarter
Where mother toung superiority excelled the rest was after.
Where rituals and ceremonies were significant in culture
Where oral traditions activities was a preservation of history.
Where inclusivity wasn't done based on tribe, status or age
Where inspiration and education was passed from generation to generation through storytelling.
Where people performed rather than spoke
Where the media was the speaker's tone, volume, and cadence
Take me back to the days
Where people did not blame nationality, ethnicity,
culture, economics and education
Where there was no colonial domination
Where there was no concept of slavery, racism or discrimination.
Where Africa was rich in culture and not the fallacy of primitive and a backward jungle
Where Africa was peaceful and not a race with guns and violent.
Where shouting am black and proud wasn't important because color didn't matter.
Where respect for elders remained an unbroken cornerstone in african culture
Where birth, marriage and burial rites was honored.
Welcome to the days
Where exporting and importing of cultures have become the trend
Where cultures travel through deserts, cross trade routes and through immigration borders
Where exchange disregards our notions of geography and race.
Where virtues such as hospitality, empathy, courtesy and respect is long gone
Where the only thing left are byproducts of culture.
Where multiculturalism has faded and everone hails on becoming one
The richness is not in Africa looking like Europe
What makes the world beautiful is in the diverse contributions
Welcome to the days
Where culture is paraded on an image of drum beating
Where media's notion is dancing naked or eating bush meat
Where in the midst of it all culture lost its definition
Where there is no importance in defending a territory with no boundaries.
Where technology dominated our land and mind
The struggle lies in reclaiming what is rightfully ours
I refuse to fall and cramble because I'm for the idea of sameness.
In the mind is where it all starts
I put no blame on culture, not my affliction.
When I was just a little boy,
Attending Sunday school,
The story of Methuselah
Outshined the golden rule.
He was just like Rip Van Winkle,
A kind old gentleman,
Who lived more than nine hundred years;
The oldest living man.
And so I closed my story book,
Assumptions grew from there.
I wrote an ending in my mind,
And sealed it with a prayer.
But looking closer at the facts,
Something else emerges.
And here is where the fairytale
And the truth diverges.
His age was one eighty seven,
At his son Lamech’s birth.
One hundred eighty two years more,
And Noah graced the earth.
He was three hundred sixty nine,
When Noah joined the game.
And in Noah’s six hundredth year
The deluge waters came.
Scripture says Enoch and Noah,
Walked with God all their lives.
So God spared Noah’s family,
His sons, even their wives.
But what about Methuselah,
Was my assumption right?
Did he not also walk with God,
Into salvation’s light?
When the Lord said unto Noah,
In reference to mankind,
That their hearts were always evil;
Like each thought in their minds,
Was Methuselah excluded,
From God’s picture of men?
Did God call him a righteous man,
Whose heart was free of sin?
My assumptions were proven wrong,
The evidence was clear,
Methuselah’s death and the Flood
Occurred in the same year.
No scripture said he walked with God,
Or was a righteous man.
No word about a peaceful death,
Or any divine plan.
We just assumed the best for him,
For he had Adam’s blood.
We hoped that God had spared the man
From dying in the Flood.
The one who disregards the facts,
Clings to their presumptions.
And their beliefs are built upon
Incorrect assumptions.
As the spirit and the flesh,
juxtaposed and jostling,
against each other,
the essence and the letter of the law,
so tussle.
Alas, when in application,
the letter of the law,
disregards the spirit of the law;
lawfully, the law becomes libelous,
operatively, the law becomes oppressive,
willfully, those who wield the might of the law,
become agents of oppression.
Unintentionally, the intent of the law is interred,
essentially, the essence of the law is tarnished.
acrostic
2 Two family members died this past year.
0 Zero was the amount of my last raise.
1 One car needs new tires, the other new brakes.
5 Five trips to my oncologist since June.
G Gratitude understands that God is near.
R Remembering the still, peaceful waters,
A anyone could acknowledge His blessings.
T Turbulent spheres call for more patient faith - -
I insight into an overgrown forest.
T To give thanks when the terrain is hilly
U underlines our belief that God knows best.
D Deep faith disregards difficulties
E expressing praise for 2015.
posted 6 Jan 2016
AN UGLY VISITOR, CORONA VIRUS
We have an ugly visitor;
Corona Virus is his name.
He's prowling like a predator
With an aim to devour or maim.
He disregards every convention.
Schools, airlines,... he shuts down;
Doctors are in his line of elimination
As he locks down town after town!
Countries are wearied from burying people.
Caterpillars are full time grave diggers.
Coffins in a grave are multiple.
Little attention is paid to mourners!
He's the newsmaker of the year,
If there is still such a thing!
For indeed different times are here;
It's a new world of Corona's making!
He found people living in peace,
At least peace as we' had come to know it.
Being, as he is, a life changing disease,
He despoiled in a manner rabied!
"Everyone has to stay at home,
Then the virus will not travel!
No spectators for any sort of game
Or sitting at a bar with a liquor bottle!"
He cares little about national pride.
He looks down upon local wars
Or the special day of a bride!
He shuts down both bank and bourse!
Corona has eclipsed every concern:
Major issues are whitewashed!
How food for your children you will earn
Is rendered insignificant and quashed!
"Call the intelligent men of the land!
Let them cast their lots and tell
When this distress is going to end!
Bring all tools this curse to quell!"
It's been ten months and there's still no cure
Except the recommended hygiene methods.
Governments and institutions must procure
Personal protection and nutrition needs.
The world is hoping for a vaccine,...
Earnestly hoping for a miracle:
That the journey to a medicine
May indeed prove a shorter cycle!
Maybe Corona will make us one:
Oriental, Caucasian, African, all one race,
And all the living under the sun,
Might learn to have a little more grace!