Best Refutes Poems
I do not belong to your affluent society,
nor do I live at your mercy
A victim of social circumstances.
You sell your art and I bank on my flesh.
No body likes to be called by my name
for I am not a part of your fame..
yet you will sleep with me at night,
smelling my flesh gives u delight !
Don't you throw away your pounds!
Instead ,get some bones for your hounds !
I spit on the way this society refutes
For no body is a born prostitute !
Smriti Jha aka Redfiery
Pure beauty is eternal bliss.
It permeates our existence
And lightens a burdened soul.
The most beautiful thing is love
(Without judgment or assumption)
Fostering acceptance that—
Nourishes the famished
And empowers the meek.
Aesthetics make a pleasing world
They personify lasting trends,
Stimulate creative minds,
And entertain world consciousness.
Delight embraces desire,
Passionate words inspire,
Art refutes retire,
All get to admire.
To be of beautiful spirit
Unleashes outward radiance--
A gratifying notion
To be of a beautiful mind
Fetches cognitive recognition--
An honorary triumph
Loving your own beauty
Transcends all other thought.
***Inspired by Catie Lindsey's "Focus on Syllables" Contest***
I'm now in god mode
Explanation, if you will
That I have the power
To give life or take it
We all do, in our way
Aside, only one force
That transcends time
I will love you forever
Not one ... second ... more.
(This is NOT religious statement of any kind, it is about the emotional power
some people hold over others, and the ambiguities of the only thing that
refutes it).
With His deathbed, He staggers straight up a bleak hill.
Bless those who will help him as the others stand still.
So reluctant to shoulder the harsh timber He bore,
We all remember his name and the rest we ignore.
This woman’s small gesture in defying the crowd,
Refutes modern science, embossed on a shroud.
Near the end, his expression of truth and belief
Mark him always as good for he died as a thief.
For these smallest of mercies they did for a Lamb
Intercede for us, always, to the one called “I AM.”
Float like a butterfly sting like a bee
Dancing and prancing, “Frazer can’t hit me”
Frazer’s punch was a killer
Smoking hot in Manila
Refutes the Rope a dope prophet Ali!!
For Contest; My Favorite Sports_ Limerick
For and in honor of Royal Trrevino
Dreaming dreams is silly.
Realistically you well be working a dead end job where you work for hours with a pay that is only slightly above the minimum wage, with a boss named billy.
True love is a facade,
Realistically you will fall in love with someone who well hate you after 2 years and your boss named billy will commit heinous acts with your spouse while your abroad.
Dream cars are just that dream cars.
Realistically you'll end up driving a car that breaks down in the middle of the road, the car well be in such bad shape that owning it is breaking laws.
Perfect children is not possible.
Realistically they well grow up depressed and useless, your daughter well be stuck up and is anorexic because she sees herself as ugly even though she is beautiful, your son well most likely be lonely and rejected, they will do drugs to ease the pain, even though you try to connect with him but you just can't.
A perfect retirment is a funny joke you tell your grandchildren.
Realistically you'll end up in a care home old and decrepit, barely able to remember your own name, every face you see well be unfamiliar even your own children, your children would have grown into failures in life, your daughter became a washed up actress who does more drugs than she has cuts on her arms, your son turned into a supposed strong smart person, but only when he left you and your terrible family behind him, he most likely refutes the fact that his family were such failures, your wife would have left you for your boss named billy many years before your retirement.
Death is the only reason you well be remembered.
Realistically all your "friends" would have already forgotten your existence years before you died, the only people to attend your funeral would be your son who refuted you for so long, he still does but slightly less because you wrote him in your will and gave him half your life savings, your ex-wife went only because she wanted to see you one last time to remember the "happy" times and also because she was also in your will and got your house that you worked oh so hard for, your daughter didnt make it, instead she was also six feet under and already rotting, she had overdosed on the many drugs she did.
TWO CURIOUS MINDS
1
TWO CURIOUS minds entwined with the
mind of God
Einstein and Bohr
The debate was difficult
and more
tipsy from decades of argument
their friendship soared
2
determinism an evil force if
to be believed by?
refutes all claims of an
eternal spirit that decides
external scapegoats lay blame
says those without souls
3
and through the window of a
prestigious institute
a wildly white-haired man
peered across the campus
and noted a beautiful
garden next door
4
it belonged to those who had lost
their mind in ways similar to
all those who -- like him tried.
the lunatic asylum could be
his home if not more
5
back to the blackboard with weapon
in hand, the equation for his madness;
unified field theory
fleeing all sensible manner it hid
as a wolf in his den
6
not a weak heart so his bold heart
worked and labored
shredding chalk and sweating drops
of intuition
variables came and left as Mistresses
in his mind
7
the gravity of this situation was to
marry such forces
his ill-born child, not just his own--
cried in his arms
papa Einstein fed his baby but would
never put it to bed.
:: ~ ::
In the showing of the first tick, my anticipation grows
Though with the second, stems only regret
For no matter my efforts, satisfaction evades
A caption of you, is only slight through words
As if a camera, can do no justice
What am I through my puny embellished lines?
At first hopes of the product, were high
Though diminished they were, soon
For even a year before, had pessimism overwhelmed
As relinquished many pieces prior, I had
But through opinions, had my faith been partly restored
Albeit my doubt, remained golden
Sleep, did I deny much
Before the shut of my eyes, was my pen poised and ready
Though to the detriment of my heart, did my mind falter
As yearn did I, for diction
But to my core, was there none to be found
The coalesce of letters, lacked potency in description of you
Peruse had I, with great repetition
Though in my eyes, was there only dread
As time, was of no trouble
Contentment with my attempted art, was the struggle
Beauty it claimed much, to its end
But to measure to you, it failed
Maybe on its arrival, would the desired response be attained
To type out and send, I chose against myself
And soothing it was, until reclaim it I could no more
The recipient you became, whilst your reply I eluded
For a triumph, did I assume in admonishing you
Though a loss arrays only, as my sight refutes my hand's work
I see yard signs reading JESUS 2022
Scattered throughout the neighborhood
Confused, I wonder what they mean, too,
Are they merely expressing an attitude?
I’m told they show support for Trump
That some believe he is the Messiah,
It certainly seems an awkward jump
For many of us, he is a noxious pariah.
I can’t see Trump appearing on a white horse
Or standing for virtue and principled truth,
I find him unapologetically crass and coarse
Not to mention disconcertingly uncouth!
I surely wouldn’t want my neighbors to know
I think Trump and Jesus have anything in cahoots
For Jesus came in peace and love to bestow
Jesus taught everything that Trump refutes!
Written July 21, 2022
RAJARAM RAMACHANDRAN, YOU WILL BE MISSED FOREVER
You’ve left a legacy, a treasure to cherish,
The words of wisdom, the priceless pearls,
Each letter embedded with love and care,
For all the fellow beings, the loving souls!
Spreading cheer abound, filling hearts with joy,
The depth of the ocean delving deep in purity, wisdom,
A seeker of truth, a philosopher, a thinker,
The highest realms of the consciousness, pinnacles reached!
The scriptures enlivened, the epics mastered,
The Ramayana, The Mahabharata, The Holy Bible, The Krishna Leela,
Blessings showered from the Divine, the Grace,
Offering the poetry at the Lotus feet of the Lord!
The greatest humans, the purest souls,
Revered, honoured in your words galore,
Gautama Buddha, Harichandra, Adi Sankara, Saint Thyagaraja,
Swami Vivekananda, Mother Teresa, Saint Bernadette Sobirous!
A master of letters with expertise, finesse,
A devotee of Krishna, the mellifluous tunes that you sung,
From the depth of your heart, from the core of your soul,
Shedding off all darkness, dissipating ignorance!
You taught me to live the life to the fullest,
With the brightest smiles sparkling on the way,
The life lessons learnt, the messages spread,
The guidance, the compassion illuminating all!
As a shimmering candle, your aura shines,
A sudden bliss, a gleaming hope,
A modest, humble self-effacing guide,
Enlightening the path, unfurling tranquil peace!
My heart refutes, the mind repels,
The cruel death snatches the mortal being,
Your memories I treasure to reminisce and cherish,
Your words my companion in the journey of life!
The great mother to whom I cry
But when will your mind be to laugh
Or mouth in joy of peace it seeks
When will happiness to brethren smiles
To him your joy afar in miles
The treasure your children lost
Or the inheritance of mother flaws
Grand children in madness drawn
To steal, to fraud and to loot
To this your veins drain in cries
And in pains your mouth bleeds
Yet curse your mouth refutes
Because in changes your mind lurches
Of children in wilderness of vain chase
Hope in vanity of welt wealth
Great mother to you I cry
But mother, behold you too in cry
Sour the taste, milk of your breasts
To whom will us the solace get
Nigeria, mother, bleed they made you
II.
In trust the one I gave the vase
To lead, to mold, and spray the musk
That which brethren will make a symbol
Fragrance the world sought in haste
Aroma the one to mold in folds
Your kids, your world, your growth
But, amongst of you, leaders you hailed
In cry I am, my kids are cursed
Like Judas you are of trust to keep
But the one your elders waste and frayed
To throne your ascendancy in flaws
When justice you claimed but ruts
In market justice you sell to hawks
Like lion poking and sneering of preys
The rich, the little of the weak he takes
Blame not the kids whose hands do stink
Of whom, I ask, they tutored in gales
To steal, to fraud, to loot like cats
But of their elders, parents, even the guides
The reference of elders, now their pride
III.
But there, standing he holds
In pretext the Books of the sages
The one he claims to bear
In them contains their sayings
Of the old and I say, of the Host
The one in whom I am mould
Books of the Ancients and of age
Of ancients before your gods
That in it my mind in cry
That in lies he claimed to know
Behold, he swore to an oath
In himself, his oath, his spirit rejects
The taker and the one who is charged
The responsibility of oath he took
Accursed these children I begot
The one for which I’m in cry
That unto him I say, woe betides
Fury of me is here to reckon
Rage of the Books that you hold
The one of oath as your witness
Against of your mouth, it shall witness
JEKYLL-AND- HYDE ABIDE
smiling my charmed smile targeting the façade of
obligatory expectations to those who would care
to see the hidden agenda of a perfect mime muse
speaking my learned lingo directly into hearts of
stone softening slur and lies they strive to deny
with brittle anguished shriek the disguise I try
Hyde splinters and reverses its swift purpose
my breath runs off its track in a missed heart
beat now stuck and struck as arms and legs
lay lame by constant screaming in this head
my anger absorbs taut terrors inward torments
while the next bender of Benzo’s fights the X…x
factor in placid restitution and perfectly refutes
tornados of emotion that demolish control with
appease as stage is set for another Jekyll arrival
©Kim van Breda—May 2014
elephant tusks
harvested for ivory towers
truncate the wisdom of time
blizzards hail snow flakes
weather a storm or two
before they melt into memories
Babylon refutes Jericho
an eye for an eye
that money can’t buy
Rosetta’s stone
gives a clue to incomprehension
and sometimes the monolith
takes on new meaning
when frosty crystals meet
eternity in shining armour
Midas touches mammon and greed
blistering peeling forms scabs
on lost conscience and souls
the snow flake melts
because it knows about destiny
eventually ivory decomposes
once humanity has died
I usually donot attempt free verse and I hope this is okay?
If you fear what others happen to believe?
Then you know your heart’s not of stone.
For God created each one of us to care.
No matter if we share or refuse not to relate.
It’s up to us how we react or try to achieve.
One can reach one that others can’t reach.
It doesn’t matter if you are their parents.
Why, it could be simple just a nice gesture.
Perhaps it might make them feel special.
Have you a gift to be used as an outreach?
This is something that we can do for God!
So many refuse this they say I am unworthy?
His desire for us is to give our own testimony.
An avenue that’s open in your life to give.
Do you have a story of where God took over?
If this is the avenue He wants you to work in?
Then the Holy Spirit will give you words to say.
God will not force but your life will be uneasy.
Your life will have meaning it’s your choice.
Many a person refutes the call and says not me.
By tiptoe
Plato says that Heaven is perfect things,
that nothing pure or good exists on earth.
We leave the Ideal World when, at our birth,
like ants who've briefly flown, we shed our wings.
All infants cry, in Shakespeare's view, when first
they leave the womb, to find this Vale of Tears
is what they must inhabit four score years,
dreading the hardship into which they've burst.
Our human life, so Seneca would say,
is prone to failure, suffering and pain.
The only shreds of solace that remain
are stoic calm, acceptance of decay.
They're wrong, of course, to tend towards this view:
but then, my Perfect Girl, they didn't know you.