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Best Hurl Insults Poems | Poetry

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The Best Hurl Insults Poems

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They found her today, curled around a dirty blanket under an overpass.  The coroner estimated her age at 78.

She had been an aged, unhealthy homeless woman, living on the streets, seeking sustenance from whatever source presented itself. 

While alive, when seen, most passersby had turned away in disgust; Youths would yell: “Get a job”, or hurl insults at her.

But … who was she … who had she been …?

--=< * >=-

She abandoned her dreams at an early age, and elected to follow the dreams of the man she thought to be her champion and life long companion.  More than once she uprooted her life and accompanied him in pursuit of some passionate dream he embraced … and did her best to help him find it.

The “star” on which she had hung her hopes and her entire future abandoned her, with their child, in a bus station in Georgia.  She was 28 at the time.

Wear of the years and hardships had taken their toll on her, both mentally and physically.  The times and opportunities had passed in which she could have engaged in furthering her education, and it was these things she had put aside to follow “his” dreams.

It was not she who failed, but rather, the “star” she had believed in.  The mirror of hope and aspiration she had longingly gazed into when she was fifteen, he had shattered.  A lifetime was lost, and its’ shell she wore as tattered rags.

She did those things she had to do to survive, and her child, taken from her, was somewhere in the morass of government bureaucracy, assuring she’d never see him again.

There were days of solitude where white tracks on her soiled face could be seen from her eyes to her chin, as the legacy of her memories.

Her days were filled with foraging.  Her eyes had been dulled by disappointment and defeat.  Her body was dirty and scarred.  Hope to her remained only as a memory of a word of no substance or possibility. She was completely void of any expectations and lived from day to day driven only by the most basic of instincts … it’s what’s left when dreams are callously destroyed.

I was too late, but, today, at last I had found my Mom.	

Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2015

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His Sorrowful Hour

Gethsemane's  fragrance soothes our Lord,
In prayer He kneels and rends His Heart.
He pleads for mercy but His hour has come,
Our chalice to be drunk, consumed by the Word.

Led away to the dungeon cell,
Cold and stark, prepared for hell;
Stripped and striped, the bell
Of death sounds its knell.

Weak and exhausted, the robe
Of a King adorns His Grace,
The Crown of Thorns spike His face.
Mockery and spittle leave their trace.

Through narrow ways, along pebbled stone
The Victorious beam He bears for all,
The crowd hurl insults, hear his groan,
They smite His Cross of gall.

Nailed and humiliated, cries of pain,
Hoisted high, feeling the strain,
Crushed for love, for all to see,
This mortal man of deity.

Copyright © EdwardJ Clark | Year Posted 2015

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He is sworn in holding a branch
Cut from the tree of life and a vine
That's sacred he swears to protect
His people the tree and the vine
He swears by the sacred abode

Shortly afterwards he gets the vision
Go to Nineveh Jonah and warn them
He departs not to nineveh but to Taasis
Aboard the ship they have no option
But to throw him overboard into the sea

In the belly of that big fish choking on seaweed
Three days seem like three thousand years plus
This is too much he's now praying earnestly
My Lord i will accept your will i will go and warn

The fish spews him in the great city of wonders and signs
This time round they spit on him pour dirty water on him
Hurl insults at him beat him up yet he says repent.. repent
His message over he then moves to the edge of the city

In the deep of the night Khat the sacred tree grows over him
And the African orchids encircle the roots - the base of the tree
Roy rubs his eyes inspecting the fruits from the tree -tree of life
Three days from today this city will be destroyed....
Thinks Roy he will tend to this tree together with his descendants

In the midday sun a ground worm ate the root stalk of the tee
It then ate the root of the vine... both tree and vine dried up
And a SOUND says... Roy i have forgiven this city i will let it live

Roy is astounded but the SOUND rebukes him..
Roy you are willing to protect a vine and a tree
Yet you care not for this great city go home..
Roy departed and went back to his home

The sign of the prophet Jonah will portend the coming of age...
Roy remembers during the ceremony he had chewed the leaves
And the visions were no more than Khat visions he's still perplexed
Roy goes back home and starts reading the sacred scripture

CODE 254
Lewis Nyaga
Thoome wairegi
Kings counsel

Copyright © LEWIS NYAGA | Year Posted 2015

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Wooden heart's politics

They who cry as victims for the yes side hurl insults 
truly heartless trying to remove the truth beginning and end 
without compassion in how people choose to feel inwardly 
it's a symbol of faith and love expired incorrectly un-natural ways 
to cherish every life equally removing it's extreme value 
underneath the word human existence has rights 
we all know those not blinded by purity over hate
by the want to spill innocent blood opening slaughter houses 
to butcher none other than innocent babies 
at our doorstep where the majority of them will be condemned 
as healthy little boys and girls so sad is the reality of it

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2018

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It confuses me

It confuses me when you claim
   to understand what i want
yet you are the one who hardens 
  my life and makes me go mad

It confuses me when you say
   that you love and cherish them
yet you hurl insults and beat them up
   without even pitying their dear lives

It confuses me when you laugh,praise me
    and show loyalty when im with you
but talk crap about me to anyone
   you will come across

It confuses me when you shed painful tears
    and lament because of injustice
yet you are the one who remains behind
    when we are all sharpening our swords for war

It confuses me when you call yourself
    blessed and God fearing
yet you are the same one who walks in the dark
   stealing from the poor and plotting evil against people

Copyright © Roselyn Wanjohi | Year Posted 2016

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A Different Kind Of Monster

As we hurl insults and accusations,
They who fearlessly swore to protect
Stare at death amidst hellfire.
As we try to pretend and comprehend,
They who bravely fought to live
Run from monsters in man's clothings.
While we continue to look in the past
They struggle in the present
Praying to their gods for a future.

Who are we to say what is right?
Who are we to decide what is wrong?

We let the past haunt us,
Chain us, preventing us to move on.
Making us fear our very own shadows.
We know nothing of their fear.
Their pain. Their suffering. Their loss.
Who are we to pretend otherwise?
We fight for things we shouldn't do
Rather than things that what we must.
Is this really what we have become?

What happened to the wise?
What happened to the hope?

We continue to scream for freedom
As we condemn those fighting for it.
Those keeping the cages away.
Why must we use our words to hurt
And not to heal the wounds of war?
The pain, the suffering, the loss?
What did we do to ourselves?
We were supposed to be a nation
Regardless of the sea that separates us.

What monsters are we running from?
What monsters have we become?

Copyright © Grushen Guazon | Year Posted 2017

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Because Scars Remain

It may have not been meant, when you said,
"I never really loved you" in that tone.
But let me tell you this, "I was wounded!"
The audacity, though by anger, to say that!
Words can certainly cut deeper than a knife,
especially from the mouth of a loved one.
So, please think before you say and do.
Please also act, instead of reacting.
When we share anger, I promise, too,
to allow my love to shine through
even though it's enveloped by a dark cloud.
May we never hurl insults or try to hurt,
because scars remain.
I love you always.

Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008