Best Scornfully Poems
Dangling from fragile threads
soaked in suppressed emotions
I weigh my limited options
as flashes from the past flicker
behind a barrier of uncertainty.
In swirling mist I see your hazy
expressionless face. I call out,
my voice cracking under the
strain of persistent instability.
Scornfully stonewalling me
you turn and walk away, while
suspended in the throes of time,
I hesitate, then stop in my tracks
dejected…rejected…hurting...
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A Pale Shelter Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Placed 2nd
© 7th November 2019
Published in:
PS: It’s Still Poetry Volume II ~ (1 Jan. 2022)
ISBN-13:? 979-8793344418
Categories:
scornfully, pain, relationship,
Form:
Free verse
Silhouetted Stagnant Shadows
Stagnant shadows of night sequestered slaves in sight
Faces fading in fright as the fear feeds the lethargic light
Silhouettes of love in plight demons dancing in delight
As darkness devours the white, images surreal will smite
Within negative reflections of my loves dire defections
Outlines of lost connections metaphors of misdirection’s
Dormant internal infections reliving raging resurrections
Silhouetted projections of my dismal depleting affections
Black portraits of palpable pain never to rejoice and regain
Darkened phantoms of grain scornfully sabotaging the sane
Deceivers of the defiant drain tragically tangled of the twain
Vanity in a voiceless vain the sentinels stand in their reign
A dark matter display particles of light have gone astray
Within a decomposing decay a silhouetting fractal buffet
In my capturing love delay, silent shadows bitterly betray
And now my dreams are far away within a black hole ballet.
Sept.08.2017
Silhouette
Sponsored by... Craig Cornish
Categories:
scornfully, longing, lost love, sad
Form:
Rhyme
When she named Jack as her val,
I knew him never to be a pal,
To the naive girl with the eyes of dove,
For this rascal has been known to shove,
Every soul who has been his prey,
Leaving them all with the eyes of grey.
But Cinderella was sure she will not be the same,
Like the other girls who didn't know how to tame,
The crooked guy with the dreamy eyes.
She rode foolishly on the rascal cheeky lies.
But landed with a thud too bad to mend,
And the crooked val laughed scornfully at her sorry end.
This Cinderella is in many girls I see today,
In a twinkling of an eye they eat their future away,
With just a morsel, a future is marred.
With just a morsel, a destiny is barred.
14/2/19
Categories:
scornfully, crush, love, love hurts,
Form:
Rhyme
" She was born in 219 A.D.,
I met her in 235 when she was 16 years old.
I was working hard with her father as a mercenary
from a Belgium territory, trying to persuade a chieftan named Horaic
to attack the Roman garrison west of the river.
Tamitha had the energy of a robin & the curiosity of a pirate,
she loved hearing accounts of mesoamerican cultures;
I gave her a jade owl from the Andes
which she held onto like her heart depended on it.
One day a couple of bandits scared her off from the woods,
she fell from her horse,
broke a few ribs which puntured her lung
and she died nine days later in agony;
there is a balance to the Cosmos that I cannot interfere with.
1300 years later I found a girl that resembled Tamitha,
brought her to an artist named Michaelangelo
and arranged for him a Vatican Commission
if he would draw for me that picture
based on my recollection and this girl from Constantinople."
I asked, are you capable of having children,
Lucifer answered with a pensive dignity, " Yes,
actually I possess the libido of a rattle snake
but I dare not concieve,
any biological offspring of mine
may successfully challenge my supremacy."
So that Biblical story of you and Eve
is simply a myth like the lost city of El Dorado,
He replied, " Since you have broached the subject
I'll reveal something that is very precious information for me,
Jesus, whose original name was Mephistopheles,
was my first and only biological Son.
Mephistopheles was born so long ago
that the stars you see today
in the canopy of heaven were but afterthoughts to him
when his regicide was affected.
We coexisted for millenia,
sometimes happily, sometime scornfully,
our goals were more regional then,
not so much global, he lacked access to primordial wisdom
and consequently developed philosophy & strategy
diametric to fundamental nature."
J.A.B.
Categories:
scornfully, creation,
Form:
Ode
The Trail Where They Cried
Following the wooded trail;
Fainted footprints I traced.
Embedded in the dirt and shale;
Of ancestors who were displaced.
The wind blew cold and mournfully;
As tears streamed from my eyes.
I cursed Andrew Jackson most scornfully;
Wishing the history I could revise.
Shadows linger in the mist;
Forever in solemn despair.
Of an ancient race not allowed to exist;
And I, their humble heir.
The sadness on the Trail of Tears;
Permeates and lingers still.
Speaks volumes of cruelties austere;
Man's law against Creator's will.
Should we forget the place where they cried;
And just get over the past.
And once more trust a government that lied;
We become our own downcast.
Ask that not of me;
To forget my ancestor's genocide.
Or to dismiss this country's history;
When the truths are still denied.
When their stories are finally told;
And privileged bias has decreased.
When men no longer worship oil and gold;
My peoples can rest in peace.
Categories:
scornfully, culture, death, history, holocaust,
Form:
Classicism
Here lies papa, the bravest warrior
Who turned the cats back to the ground.
Whose mighty sword slain thousand soldiers at a sight
And his presence calmed the snarling hyenas
Salute to the mountainous beast among humans
Salute to the king tree, the iroko.
He, who fought the wind in a physical combat with a fist,
Oh papa, enfolded by glories, demon, flapping fans of war.
He walked with the lions of the forest
And his eyeball sent fears into the elephant’s heart.
Wolves trembled at his sight, here lies his corpse unmoved
Now,
He has gone to meet his ancestors
His glories diminishing unnoticed;
And his honour with held.
Death threw his door wide open to receive him
That glories Eke morning.
His bony claws were outstretched to hook into his heart,
And plucked out his life.
His cavernous mouth was determined to drink his blood
To the last drop.
Freedom! Papa cried and fought but the hands were too strong.
Stronger than the winds
Later,
The ground protested for freedom from his grip
As he joined them.
They kept moving on razor edge to penetrate him
Mother earth wept for peace.
The worms hastened in
Alas! They all bleed the day to death.
Suddenly, the underworlds stared at the body
I understood their plight
Papa was stronger than them all.
Ogbuefi, my elegy burst in the name of isieke
Your ancestral home land.
The iroko has fallen.
The fallen iroko was once upon his glory
And men dared not look into his eyeball.
But here lies he, unmoved.
Feeble ants now laughed at him scornfully
Yes, we dreamt of conquering death.
So lives could live and grow sore not.
I remembered the lures of that ancient call.
Of what importance is life any way?
That man stumbled and struggled for evil.
Vanity, it is, vanity upon vanities.
But men understood not the call there of.
I will walk through the pains
Promising with all hopes
Not to turn down men of good will
For I pass this road but once.
To wait on this great green side
Till the coming dark clouds have cleared
Then, death be no more
And, father emerged in joyful smiles clothed in white
To welcome me home to dwell in his bosom with his Chi.
ALL RIGHT RERSEVED(JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT) 2013
Categories:
scornfully, allegory,
Form:
Elegy
She slipped clumsily in a
café
Looked all around her
from the corner of her
eye
Felt all eyes upon her
Bit her lip
and flushed crimson
disconcertedly.
He was sacked, literally
fired
Got down in the dumps
Was down and out
and was left feeling blue
so gloomily.
He gave her a blossomed
rose
Blood rushed to her
cheeks
She blushed a deep red
so joyously.
She watched her rival
from afar
Summed up her
envy in reflex
and she turned green
jealously.
It looked hale and hearty
Ooh the cherubic chubby
cheeks
Baby looked in the pink
as it babbled away
innocently.
She heard of a loved
one's demise.
That was a shock indeed
She went white as a
sheet
as she then wept so
woefully.
She saw a teeny-weeny
spider on her skirts
Talk of arachnids and
phobias, yikes!
She turned a pale yellow
in fright
as she screamed fearfully.
He found his sweetheart
in another man's arms
Doubted his own charms
and his face went purple
with rage
almost immediately.
He faced his lifelong
enemy
Hate brimmed up in him
as his bitterness found a
vent
He shot him a black glare
most scornfully
well well, it might seem
that the worst of all the
human hues
are the melancholic
depressing blues
But I think being green
for jealousy
and the black of hate
top the list in deserving
poohs.
Mind you these human
pigmentation of emotion
are a matter of reflex
for you can't choose
which of the human hues
you'd like to wear, on
party day
and which you'd rather
not use.
Categories:
scornfully, emotions, feelings,
Form:
Blank verse
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Words From A Dying Ancestor
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2015
This is why
I
rebelled,
Dawn to Dusk -
It's why
I
was
malcontent,
over
the
cruelty
of
America's
enslavement -
Dawn to Dusk
Mopping
o u
r n
a d
neck
in
iron ring's,
chained
to
waist....
handcuffed
Dawn to Dusk -
Risking
life;
seeking freedom,
from
the lashing
cuts
of
a
Southern
whip -
Dawn to Dusk -
I fought
to
my
last breath,
against those
who
oppressed -
and
who stared
at me,
scornfully
Dawn to Dusk
I fought
back
those
evil eyes
of
hate;
even though
my
sable skin,
beaten
raw -
I fought
for
the future
of
my people
until
breath left -
Dawn to Dusk
Someday
we
won't
have
to
fight -
we'll be
free
At Last -
Categories:
scornfully, black african american, hate,
Form:
Verse
Broken-Hearted Caressing Sorrow
Where do you bring a broken heart, damaged dreams that won’t depart?
Where do you go when things fall apart, serving silent screams a la carte?
What do you do with a saddened soul, within a virulent void a skinless sole?
What do you do when you’re in a hole, progressive paranoid a shadow stroll?
Within the stillness of my solitude, a storm exists admits a sacrificing seclude
The eyeful emptiness of a life subdued, the evil enlists a blasphemous brood
Within the veil of my bitter black, the idolatrous infant sleeps in a shackled sac
On the wall, my punitive plaque, of the wounded weeps that scornfully stack
Who will be there for me, to mourn, escaping earth a denticulate dust reborn?
Who will be there for me, to warn, a residual rebirth of a lifeless embryo torn?
Who will kiss me before I dimly die, a wretched wreck in a shattered satirical sky?
Who will be there for me, to cry, a segregated speck ceremonially left to calcify?
Oct.13.2017
Broken-Hearted Poems
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Categories:
scornfully, depression, heartbroken, loneliness,
Form:
Rhyme
I used to sing on the school bus,
Harmonise and everything, full blast,
Most of the others had strong voices,
And I would wish mine was cast.
Geoff the driver would put Radio Forth on,
And we’d all sing along very loudly;
There was nothing there to sing above,
No-one to distract or behave scornfully.
My mum told me off three times,
For singing in church normally and confidently,
As she needed me to have a place for her,
To nurture me and disciple me intelligently.
So since I was four, I've never really sung again,
In church, all dressed up and religious,
So I greatly appreciated those times on the bus,
When the others were about my voice zealous.
I remember Morvan who had Christian grandparents,
And George who really had a lovely voice,
And Keith who would join in whenever he wanted to,
And Kirsteen who thought she had no choice.
It was an offish old yellow mini bus,
With dark yellow and brown triangle seats,
So it reminded me of the yellow submarine,
And I looked forward to its shortcut cheats.
Categories:
scornfully, friendship, journey, kid, mother
Form:
Rhyme
In the midst of the raging waves,
they watched her gulp the callous cunning darts.
Her crumbly heart cruelly impaled; the fate that enslaves.
So fondly she’d mask the marks.
Her soul would ache and bleed from life’s glaives.
She cried an ocean for redemption from a life perpetually stark.
In desperation, the rope ends it.
With stigma the chums looked in utter scorn,
and nattered her solitary life she so drowned in.
As a jest they’d laugh it off and know not the pain borne.
Options to content would be the faster poison to kick in.
The jeer and tough love, be strong. Would suicide suborn?
Yet blithely a random word alienates, even with the kin.
The loop finally tightens round the neck.
With croc tears the mates flock to condole.
“If this message would reach Mary in heaven;
life lost so young—” all will strive to console.
For what? She writhed in pain and longed for a haven,
but scornfully, her soul you shunned like a rotten pole.
Her tombstone, now a patch-spot for a raven.
World’s cold shoulders soaked in her silent tears.
Be chaste, fair-weather friend, lest you atone.
Religion and priests you’ve scorned,
while the vain fanes of pretense you adorn.
In exalted hallow worship, you plead with Him
to remold the hearts of clay to vessels of honor.
Yet in your hearts of tin you curse and vilify—
you thought it was an act and left her marooned.
For remaining Mary, my soul cries to you.
Blinded by constant flopped success.
For the media, it’d hurt not to leave a cue.
Live the sacred life, gifted as a princess.
And flout their nonsensical bleats of an ewe.
I’ll wait on the podium for a fess.
It’s never the end—you’ll ever chew the bitter pill.
Categories:
scornfully, betrayal, death, death of
Form:
Elegy
WHO REALLY CONTROLS THE WORLD?
Going up and down
Dark and cruel to behold
We smile in tears and agony
Death smiles scornfully behind
The only gift of life is death itself
Fears in joyful mood
Destruction our humble friend here and there
Cry, pains, and suffering faster they match forward
In tattered clothes like a kite in a carbonated rotten air.
Who truly rules the world?
You, me or the presidents and governors in selfishness
Or the black mountainous creature sent
Down from above in those dark days?
Who controls the world, mother?
Father, who truly controls the world?
When shall we see the true ruler?
Our aging minds are bleeding
Our world a mess of mess of evil
Liquor in kind cruel heart
Of the Animal called man
War sings in perfection to us in fear
Mother, tell me when we shall be free
When shall our suffering be over father?
Who really controls the world?
my children await the answer.
(c) JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT
Categories:
scornfully, addiction, age, art,
Form:
Name
They didn't want Jesus Christ for their king,
being meek was an utterly detestable thing
They didn't want Him for their king,
what conquering tales could this man bring
They wanted a fierce one like Julius and Alexander,
men who were lecherous and loved to pander
They didn't want a king who was pure and angelic,
they wanted a king who brought back bloody relics
They wanted a king who sung tavern songs,
and endorsed riotous living for living long
They didn't like the way He made His disciples walk,
and how His miracles made sinners give pause and balk
They didn't like to hear the goodly words He spoke,
and how He was surrounded by poor and simple folk
What kind of army was this they scornfully wondered,
that didn't lie or steal, that didn't kill nor plunder
No, this man was worthy of a Pilate rejection,
He with the flinty face of godly perfection
For on His cross it said, "He was the King of the Jews"
but the unbelievers said He wasn't the king they did choose
Don't be like Judas: who for money made a sell-out decision,
and got rejected from being part of the righteous twelve
Those paid to spread the lie that Jesus Christ had not risen
have a very special place reserved for them in hell
Categories:
scornfully, bible, christian,
Form:
Rhyme
Bow down
when you hear the music
Stand up
when you hear the sound
Limber low
when you see the golden image
Babel Tower rise pyramid erect
like a flagpole
Toes arched high,
elbows bent with hand over heart
Eyes swaying side to side,
when the wavy cloth idol music start
Brow pride is palm raised like
battle eagles soaring in the sky
Stripe octave bars ... vocal fawn pull ups
follow the push up bra lung stars —
Lady Libber tease who lyrically demand bending knees
to have total loyalty ... no protest hiccups
Babylonian calisthenics,
moral free exercise of mind control
It’s the Caesar peace diet: Wait-loss edition
for every patriotic war starved soul
Babylonian calisthenics is robotic brain wave pathetic
Cardio wavy instructions will teach you
to know when to servile stand,
and when to grovel, beggarly bow
Know when to voluntarily sweat accept
a mandatory enlist,
give a dog tag vow ab crunch howl
Then wince the bomb music stop,
tap the mushroom bulge of your global warm belly
And ask yourself,
did you put enough prosthetic coin fat in the
Veteran of Foreign Wars lean pot?
If not, donate some more submissively supple blood
to the white surrender flag
Which is always scornfully used
as a Babel blues snot rag
So bow down
when you hear the death music
Stand up
when you hear the siren sound
The politically paid peace mourners
will tearfully tell you that you’re physically fit
to be buried in the sour ground
Categories:
scornfully, imagery, political, symbolism, truth,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Distancing does aid
To hide a veil of shame
Compartmentalize the sheep
To lull the wake to sleep
Unearthed the fled play dumb
Circumvention follows through
Big brother saves a piece
To call on those that eat the food
Take your shot or hit the road
When then will they stop the show?
For now the bitter wait
Knowing they'll control their fate
Common sense points to the past
This repeat came round so fast
The tree of liberty wilts and thirsts
Scornfully demanding it's great sacrifice
Steadfast the brave come clean
The upright seeming evil to the dim
Can't bargain with these fools
Common core has warped the fiends
Bears of Red just want your will
Stolen choices rot the soul
Taking aim against humanity
This great country will not fall prey
The devil's children of perdition led so far astray....
Categories:
scornfully, america, anger, death, family,
Form:
Rhyme