Best Scorn Poems

East of Eden we still painfully churn
where belief is earliest bloodshed's birth
and every wicked man shall have his turn
to spill his rage upon the wretched earth.

From outer realms there can only come sin
and for fear and hatred of all unknown
we'll slay the unspoken laws from...

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able bodied service man off to fight a war battle scorn


4/14/18
written words by James  Edward Lee Sr 2018©...

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HAD FUN WITH ENTERING THE DICTIONARY FUN CONTEST sponsored by Delliah Ventura!
THESE ARE THE WORDS THAT HAD TO BE IN THE POEM 

Abomination scorn Affection Passion Yearning
Struggle Attempt Cherish Relationship Flame
Taste Tender Inner soul Bloom Bamboozle

HERE IS MY ON THE SPOT CREATION!..enjoy :)
I was a...

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I
I  looked below and saw the dawn from here,
Disturbing may, below the light- a man.

II
“Oh, stranger most, shall I ask you with fear?”

III
“Dear one, you fear no one”, replied the man,
“Nor Him, you fear Him not for you are but
The holder of the strings...

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Dust swirls heavily in the air
I choke on each painful breath.
Wailing cries from everywhere
mingled with blood and throes of death.

Turn cloak! You sneak off with jingling gold
singing some cowardly song.
No moral creed, no worthy code
a vile traitor you’ve been all along.

I will not die, not...

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KIDDIE SCORN

Little boy blue went
looking for a stray
He came upon a
maiden asleep in the
hay
Said he, I’ll slip
round and kiss her
awake
But found he’d made
a bad mistake
For pretty Nell,
though small in
size,
Sent Blue a crying
with two black eyes...

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Eve dresses the night to Dawn's scorn



At the other side of midnight awaits Dawn
Watching over the night waiting for her turn
Dawn whittles the time for Eve to begone

Moon and stars dance to night's drawn
Eve's presence causing a slow burn
At the other side of midnight awaits...

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The grass is trying to squeeze back through cement cracks. 
Dying to breath. 
Though we're dying for it. 

Black sheets on top of dirt comforters. 
Soiling the soil. 
Beneath water boils. 
We need the weeds oxygin. 
But slay said weeds like sin.

A little river of...

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No words to mend,
Hell's lack of moderation. 
No salve to cool, 
This fire’s damnation. 
No drink to drown, 
This love's dying thirst. 
No breeze to blow, 
Away this wretched curse. 
No passion to hold to, 
Through days so trying. 
No voice to scream 
But inside...

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Sitting in the seat of scorn...shackled and chained tangled and torn
Mangled by memories that ingest me like monsters
In the belly of a beast...six million feet under
Deformed and disfigured are my thoughts, hopes, and dreams
Sitting in the seat of scorn my soul screams

Sitting in the seat...

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How could I love one—
That fails to grow sickly in love with the word?
That thinks them dull to hold,
And yet—with great interest,
Caresses the hand that writes it?

How could I love one— 
One who is deaf to the music of poetry?
Who clutches at me heartily,
But believes...

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Never scorn my pure passion,
for it has no seed of abomination
and I have not made any attempt
to have a taste from another honey well
nor do I  bamboozle you with my glittering sheepish look.
You alone has has been the centre
of this wild fire that burns...

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Never scorn my pure passion,
for it has no seed of abomination
and I have not made any attempt
to have a taste from another honey well
nor do I  bamboozle you with my glittering sheepish look.
You alone has has been the centre
of this wild fire that burns...

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Locked away on some  quasi-doctors couch
Spilling untold secrets to eager ears
Hoping for absolution
Knowing I've fallen from grace
Holding onto untold rage, jealousy of a love that isn't mine, trying to save face
Trying to be the good wife, keep up the charade of a good life...

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Waking to a promising morn,
refreshed from healthy brand new sleep,
you will realize all kept, old scorn
that you have yet to cleanly sweep.

You will sip pain in your coffee,
spy it all day sharing your seat.
When allowed, anger will vent spree
through thoughts in a constant repeat.

Anger feeds...

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