Best Scornful Poems
Taking a long ink dip in a desert pond,
rejected drake words
ripple echoes in the wilderness: Tread with care!
Dreadnought thoughts silicate crystalized,
glass menagerie opens to a darkening sky
Wing-tipped metal muse raised to the foreboding air,
infusing liquid lightning to the bard birds
Watching intently as the anti-gravity atoms abscond,
executive electrocution is on a delay timer
Prose avian sentries see
Splitting anti-social charges
seep into the hate-soaked, polluted atmosphere
These momentous crisis changes,
poets of a new dawn articulate so very clear
Tho’ labeled by a scornful society
as being conscientious ugly ducklings,
the fear factor in the swirling wind
keeps increasing it’s whirl war buffeting
Incoming V-formation of ionized mallard birds
dropping kinetic malevolent words
Stork deliver radiation babies —
Blackhawk moving targets that glow
with surgical stealth Caesarian precision
Whilst the designated survivors
be the fleeing flock having open duck ears
Poets of a new dawn
continually pen agitate
strong current ripples in the desert pond
Letting their U2 ugly quill mirage liquidity
dose infect the minds of those
who syringe swan dive in beautiful disbelief
Of all the sorrows that so govern her generous heart,
Her love is the most unfair thing breaks her apart;
In her life everything is already signed and sealed –
And she evermore solemnly griefs her soul appealed
To cheat, to relinquish, or to commit suicide and die
The death that shall liberate her of her perpetual cry.
Has providence deserted her, so unkindly in all facets of life
That she so feels old, unhappy and like a desperate housewife?
For alone she weeps, breathless with melancholy; her pouring tears
Desolate with bitterness, anger and incessant grief of discovered fears.
Her heart is weak, her soul is weaker –her life is a scornful jest;
No endless joy, or liberty of love (a nice little girl by love depressed.)
‘Tis hard to dissever when love & pity have been merged in dim,
When all that she wants is to love and to be fairly loved by him.
Behold the humble Cowbird, such an evolutionary quirk.
Somehow nature taught this bird to be a first-rate jerk!
When it comes to low and dirty tricks no other bird can match it;
She lays an egg in her neighbor's nest; leaving them to hatch it!
She says she’s far too busy; "I’ve got to follow the herd".
I say that she’s just lazy! You conniving cowardly cowbird!
When her ample hatchling sheds its egg, the bugger's just not fair.
It crowds its nest mates to the ground and eats more than his share!
Sound familiar? I hope to shout! Of all things that annoy . . .
The cowbirds in the office here act out this scornful ploy
By dropping projects on my desk, ill-thought, half-baked at best;
Expecting me to hatch them out and make room in my nest!
Our bosses do this all the time, but I reckon that's their lot,
But what of Slow Joe down the hall? I can’t believe this rot!
He hangs around and wrings his hands, judging my ambition;
Taking potshots while I sweat to bring his work fruition!
The problem with this cowbird gig; the thing that gets my goat
Is that cowbirds get promoted, and I don't get a vote!
This is small of me, I admit; this outrage misdirected.
Cowbirds will always tick me off, at least 'til I'm perfected!
The Blackness And The Hard Labor Of The Housemaid
Store up the spasms of the low rims of busy suns
trudging work tills the upheaval of ragged soil
and what of shadow hours, sweat and hard toil
does indifferent soil its gasping unholy vomit spill
she folds the clothes and then she falls asleep.
Trudge the hours and crack the unwilling stones
as her shadow walks into bars of uneven ethereal mists
the dark red rouge smears in round about shy patterns
she wonders, where does brown dung of yesterday hide
She slaves as a worker, her tired muscles cramp
her mind drifts and then it accuses her of nothingness
today is for work, tomorrow the mice may play
her work is as ancient days a drifting into noon
she is bent as a scornful indifferent boothill
as she finally stops, yes stops, to dare to go to sleep.
Robert J. Lindley, Verse
June 2nd 1972
Note: My new girlfriend's mother is a housemaid. Works 6 days week about 12 hour a day/
She glides out of the room on tiptoe,
As graceful as a sinuous ballet,
Sliding past sad memories that flow,
Staring, scowling eyes upon her still prey.
As graceful as a sinuous ballet,
Stealthily steadfast, slipping slowly,
Staring, scowling eyes upon her still prey,
She’s ready to strike bloodthirstily.
Stealthily steadfast, slipping slowly,
Marked double-crossing husband might have guessed,
She’s ready to strike bloodthirstily,
As he unwittingly lies down to rest.
Marked double-crossing husband might have guessed,
Slithering snakelike, it’s his scornful wife,
As he unwittingly lies down to rest,
She swoops in silently with sharpened knife.
Like a surgeon’s slash it’s very precise,
Sliding past sad memories that flow,
With bloodied knife in hand, it’s once, twice, thrice,
She glides out of the room on tiptoe.
A conversation overheard between Shakespeare and his former muse.
"So many things hath turned to utter folly over the ages.
Hundreds of years since I've penned pages and pages.
What these ancient eyes of mine doth now conceive
plead, 'Return to thy grave, Bard, for here you'll grieve."
"In sooth, fair maiden muse, I know not why I am so sad.
Perchance to dream, is this a scheme or have I gone mad?
Enlighten me as to what's become of life as I once knew it.
Bitter dregs are coffee? Bring me tea or I shall lose my wit!"
"Fie to you and the darts of scornful glances from the eyes
of natives half-dressed. Is modesty held in compromise?"
It's accepted attire by everyone, nothing like in the past.
"I shall not rudely stare, but I find myself quite flabbergast.
What of the churl who spits venom into that man's face?
Doth women in this day act like shrews? What a disgrace!
Is not thy husband honored as both her lord and keeper?"
Women are equal. She looks at him like she's the grim reaper.
"The lady doth protest too much. That's what me thinks.
A goblet of ale tis what I need, and then forty winks.
That minstrel sings gibberish. Has he no pride in himself?"
He sings a Christmas song about an elf who sits upon a shelf.
"O, teach me how I should forget from whence I have come.
I do not belong here. I need a draft to sleep and benumb.
Romeo's poison was quick. Thus, with a tender kiss he died.
To chamber I betide to cleanse this stain I shall not abide.
Out! Out Damned spot! Thy splotch besmirches as if blood.
Begone fore I hear my heartbeats pounding with each thud.
On the banks of Stratford-On-Avon tis where I long to be,
rewriting Romeo and Juliet so in the future he will decree...
To Juliet when she says, Romeo. Romeo, wherefore art thou?
The lad shall reply, "What do you want from me, you cow?"
Dear Bard, you mustn't change a word of what's been written.
For centuries women have read your lines and were smitten.
"I shall nary breathe a word of this ill journey to the future.
Thine lips are sealed forever more without need of suture.
Back to the grave where I belong, most gladly shall I return.
In eternal sleep, ne'er to dream of such time I did spurn."
O, fluffy city clouds that above drift&pause
on an endless journey in the vast blue sky
over cities&forests&oceans you fly
just floating- with no specific laws
O, forests that listens to birds singing
through the trees&beyond the fields
where those same trees act as wind shields
for the birds on branches- helplessly clinging
O, oceans with your loud waves that crash
peaceful aquamarine or dark blue mournful
at times so angry&nasty&scornful
rolling over rocks- you scream and lash
______________________________
July 22, 2020
Poetry/Enclosed Rhyme/O, Clouds, Forests, Oceans
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1270-729-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the contest, New (12),
sponsor, Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
4 matches left
for John Steinbeck @ Annabel Lee@of course E.A.POE
Chickens; a roaring rooster
An old house filled with flys
and many bugs
Many Mexican neighbor
Friend
no water no elec
No Amends
Romans 11: 29
" For the gifts and calling of GOD are without repentance"
Cold beer sometimes-mostly hot
and a cheap cigar
Romans 12:9
dissimulation means Hypocrisy-Scornful-psalm1vs1
Noise heat sweat no work no shower no money no respect
NO REGRET
nO FAMILY NO CHURCH
A FEW RARE FRIENDS
I WILL NOT USE
Enlightenment
I AM embedded in a bunker on the front...
Know I Love You and all the little Children too...
I do not like Zealots who work for money!
I like people that work for GOD
Guests of Niagara Falls
A narrative stays untold,
Of which I can recall
Since the time I was 5 years old.
Between two cataracts
A strip of earth does lie,
A terrain of little impact
Found beneath the New York sky.
Upon this stretch of soil
A gentleman did live,
Fed up with worldly spoil
And with what it had to give.
Days were spent in solitude
Among the grassy plot,
From the world he did seclude
In this most congenial spot.
But oh how days are mournful
And nights are filled with strife,
A man becomes quite scornful
With no one to share his life.
His thoughts flooded with pain
He grew weary and forlorn,
Then one day they found his remains
A victim of bridal veil’s scorn.
The legend continues today
Rumors are told on the byland,
Of acute and utter dismay
The tale of the man of Goat Island.
At cockcrow, I head down to the river, forsaking my little log cabin situated in the dense forest till dusk, which was strongly built by my endemic hands. I have no compulsion for rods and hooks, no bait. I have my ways. I be sincerely unwanted at the riverside. Others be fearful of my gruff, contemptible guise and demeanour. Fearful that I'd snipe their catch or peck their lunch. Incomprehensible! Hence, I descend the forested hill on which I dwell in the purpose of pilfering the village of food.
I plead the inhabitants for at least a bantam amount of vittles but it is nearabout in vain. All individuals barring an altruistic gardener be scornful towards me. He understands my plight as well as harking what myself alleges. He feeds me his residual edibles. It's his generosity that keeps me alive.
When I be passing the villagers shun me and ensconce me from their young'uns. When I be nigh to them I be able to hear mutterings under breath:
"Undesirable,"
"Accursed tramp,"
and an occasional"Eavesdropper!"
That's what they entitle me but I possess a name. I did not merely crawl up out of the loam and come into existence. I did not start off as an abominable creature spawned on the riverbed (some consider I presently be just that). I be correctly known as Grey, I be named Heron Grey.
By Sean Martin-Byrne
Life is precious than pieces of silver
So never say never
Life is precious
But evil people make it dangerous
Don’t pay attention to the scornful
If you really want to be successful
Life is not a race
Neither are we going to space
Life is not a fight
Life is about right
It is about responsibilities
For we are here to fulfill our duties
How you think is who you are
What you do is who you are
So never, say never
But live like you are forever
For till the end we don’t know our destination
Reducing errors and living perfection
Life is precious than pieces of silver
So never say never
I think this Footman likes to snicker,
and the human situation is the kicker,
when one becomes sicker and sicker,
and it’s one’s time to die and cry for one’s soul.
Prufrock’s point is well-taken and understood
for the Footman is an end of life reality who is
the “King of Finality” and doesn’t care while seeking
mankind’s banal end, since Man is really small potatoes
in the Universe’s great and grand pecking order.
I think that I shall not want to meet this Bamboozler,
at least this would be my choice, if I really had one.
I doubt that I, like others, could ever be like Lazarus.
The Footman presents us all with a one-way ticket to
what awaits mankind beyond the pale of death!
And so we all await the end of our finite time as
measured in grains of sand and the clock on the wall;
waiting for the day and time of our final departure,
and hoping not to hear the scornful snicker, snicker
of the Prufrock’s Eternal Footman!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(July 17, 2014)
With sadness and a deeply furrowed brow
I am apalled at the hate and wonder how
this world will somehow manage to survive
while bigotry and enmity eats humans alive
Lines are drawn between black and white
by those with penchants to bicker and fight
Words fly like feathers plucked over a nest
Blood seeps through the wounds in my chest
Humanity has fallen from grace and gone mad
Dark visions are of sorrow, my thoughts unclad
I've been stripped bare, left moaning deep sighs
Tears held in check behind my lamenting eyes
If you think you are innocent, you have no clue
You continue to accuse others until you turn blue
Point those scornful fingers at your sneering faces
Where anger and bitterness have left ugly traces
Earth is my sinful child but don't call me "mother"
Your wickedness and abuse causes me to smother
I pray with each mournful beat of my woeful heart
Seek the truth before you tear this sad world apart
I was just walking around and spotted a golden ladder.
People walking past it, a swarm of people are under it
Yelling up at people, cheering loud when anyone falls down
Some fall and are slightly bruised, some aren't so lucky
Some charge right back up while others walk away sobbing.
As I walked closer, this ladder seems wider at the bottom
And narrows the higher it gets towards the top.
Using binoculars, I saw people climbing up and down it.
I even see some climbers kicking others down
As they climb and take their place like a rat race.
Racing up fast to get a bite of the cheese.
Some are taking their time, others are dashing.
The crowd underneath are cheering for those to fall
I walked closer, a few people looked scared
Desiring to be successful, but fearful to fall
So they never try, they become one with the crowd
The scornful, the haters, and the ones whom fallen.
So I touched the bar, instantly the boos began
Telling me that I am worthless, I will never succeed.
I touched the next bar, feeling hands on my feet
Feeling jealousy and envy by others under me.
I've just started this journey, I climbed higher
Trying to grab the arms of those that are falling.
The top of the ladder is so high that I can't see it
But I know that it's there, there has to be a ceiling.
And what's beyond the ceiling, who really knows?
I hear rumors of prestige, riches, luxury,
Honor, power, but is it really a myth?
As I climb, the crowd throws rocks at the climbers
Helping them to lose their grips and fall off.
The more I climb, the more callous is on my palms
My arms growing sorer, feet sweaty,
Head dizzy, fears increasing, scared to fall
Second guessing the desire to climb this ladder
But at the end, is it really worth it?
Climbing up the ladder of success.
In the garden, The Christ did pray
For strength ardent to bear pain's stay.
Gethsemane, the Master kneels
To ask to be with fond appeal.
His close aides lie in heavy sleep;
The Christ now cries in pain so deep.
The soldiers come to seize the king;
Judas now sums betrayal fling.
A kiss laid sound to tell on him;
Jesus is bound with scornful whim.
Then off they go to a mock trial;
Conspire to show with sure denial.
From high priest to Pontius Pilate;
An impromptu in vile charade.
Death sentence flawed in power play
As Roman law primes unjust stay.
Scourged to appease the crowd's frenzy;
The Christ was seized with mad cruelty.
Thirty lashes upon the flesh;
A mocking clash of bloodied mesh.
Crowned with thorns plucked from marine haunts;
Pierced mortal tucked with painful taunts.
Then the mocked king is forced to walk;
Heavy cross stings the burdened stalk.
The route is long with steps uphill;
The Christ bears strong with humble will.
Three times He falls, and feels the whip;
Cruel soldiers all who torments heap.
On and on He bears the wood cross
To death's alley, to sure recourse.
Along the way, The Christ meets those
Who did display the pains and ghost.
Golgotha's space, nails are driven,
The cross is raised in cruel action.
The Son of Man prays for mankind,
To save the damned that evil signs.
Two thousand years have come and gone;
The Christ did peer to times forgone.
Good Friday psalm to each and all,
We must not harm but heed love's call.
Love frames a law: "Who harms, must heal." --
Law without flaw, it's heaven's will.
The way ahead is beyond hate;
Let love break bread as grace now plates.
The Living Christ offers to each
Love's fine reprise: Love each to each.
The message comes to one and all;
Love is the sum of love that calls.
Go deeper still to know and see:
The Christ that wills love and beauty.
Grace sets you free to know your place,
To simply be love's happy face.
Heed this story just to be clear;
Join the lovely way to love's cheer.
Follow your heart and it will show
The steady art that true love knows!
Let love bring light to live and learn;
Let peace bring sight for grace soothes yearn.
Leon Enriquez
18 Apr 2014, (on Good Friday)
Singapore