Best Shamefully Poems
She said, if I correctly recall,
That, for her, a sustaining love is an
Absolute prerequisite for what
Would be a total commitment of the
Coupling bodies...and all that
Constitutes the essential parts of the
Eternal Soul;
And I not so assuredly competent
In this - the practice of such a higher
Art!
Adding, some little time later, that
Being so chained, in what she described
As an unfortunate consequence of a
Most regrettable thrall,
To a domineering Harlequin who,
When mindlessly exercising the upper
Whip hand, had neither modest restraint
Or any amount of unimpassioned
Self-control,
Was, in fact, just a flagrant excuse
For a base lust;
Of course this was not to be confused
With the laudable and gallant actions
Conceived within the inner workings
Of a steadfast and more openly honest
Heart.
And was I convinced that I was indeed
Sincere in all my avowed pledges?
And did I truly understand that all her
Troubled life she had tirelessly
Searched for one such as I purported
To, somehow, seemingly be?
How I instantly can bring to mind
Those obscure and doubting mutterings...
Still carrying upon an ill wind I
Should not wonder;
I think of them like the songs of the
Naiads: what woefully remaining
Sounding endlessly above the glassy
Tinkling of a mystical lakeside's
Stiffened and shuffling Sedges;
You a modern-day Danae, infant Perseus
Clutched to your swollen breast, your
Little box, in all its abject
Loneliness, now set adrift upon some
Desolate and open sea.
What turned out, in the end, to be a
Pointless charade. Perhaps; but that
Which, despite shortening periods, whilst
Enduring felt almost timeless.
Then of course this shared guilt...
That will, shamefully I fear,
Forever bind us.
Categories:
shamefully, destiny, relationship,
Form:
Rhyme
You may not know this,
But sometimes, I sneak
away from my cynicism,
and see through my vehement
in self loathing, to uncover
the tender optimism of
my former self, reminiscing
of elated memories, that I
over time, forgot belonged to me,
As I see us, my mind captures the
image, in hopes of warming my
essence, but the thought of
holding this picture, is inferior
to the risk of learning to smile again,
To smile and relish in a moment
that cannot be willed into reality,
despite the sincerity of a heart's desire,
Secretly, the vision of your beauty
belonging to me, releases melted
fragments of my heart through my
eyes, I shamefully wipe away such
signs of sorrow, and tell myself you
were "just a girl" but all of me
knows better, for the truth of your
importance is a factor unimaginable,
I cannot tell you that you were the
best of me, created out of prayer,
and wished into reality, or that my
eyes still remain closed until yours
sees sunlight, or that it was your
love alone, which gave me hope,
taught me faith, and filled my being
with the invincibility of a deity,
Such delicate confessions should
remain silent to your ears, and ears
of the world, for within them lies
the truth of a sorrow unseen by humanity,
and the power to allow this elation to
again grant me immortality, an everlasting
life in which I could only agonize over
a paradise unreachable, and the fruitless
fantasy of a raisin in the sun,
Categories:
shamefully, introspection, lost loveme, me,
Form:
Free verse
When everyone goes east, he heads west
to him, every dialogue is a contest
comes into an interaction as the biggest
then leaves agonisingly as the lowest.
When he speaks, you know he is half-honest
even though he truly knows, but not near the best.
He always end up lost in the forest
this simple fact, he cannot digest.
The moment he shamefully fails the test
he begins to manifest
then becomes far from being modest
and everyone around him, he treats like unwanted guests.
Causing a general unrest
as he unnecessarily protest.
All over his countenance, ignorance crests
not accepting defeat, he holds high his egocentric chest.
Quick to make jest
but correction; he equates to incest
and disagreements, he always detest.
We all have the quest
to know and share the latest
so as to add value to ourselves and self-invest
which can be a cultivation to future harvest.
But knowing it all is impossible
and knowing half, believing to know all is ridiculous.
Admiting not to know it all is the fairest
but this is yet not comprehensible to him,
to whom; to know is like a conquest.
The wise keep quiet lest,
they cause him to become the tempest
and with every word, he neutralizes any palatable zest.
Oh poor child!
change or you'll suffer from everlasting molest
where no one wants to visit your nest
not because you are unblest
but cos of the truth of your infest
which now, is obviously clearest.
It is good to learn my child
and sharing is an attribute of Love.
But run away from half baked lines
or be humble enough to listen
while they become fully whole.
You were given two ears and one mouth
hence talk less and listen more
because an Ignoramus is always not far from becoming a fool!
Categories:
shamefully, funny,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Blowing up things, unfortunately,
Birth’s the printing of endless money.
By Gov’ments and world money makers,
That overwhelm global undertakers.
Yet we cry out that war is unsound,
That it spreads grief and guts all around.
Yet money printed that’s spent on death,
Shamefully gives our markets bad breath.
Which helps to inflate our portfolios,
And house prices rise when their money flows.
Which is a bummer when we are buying,
But when selling our spirits are flying.
That’s the nature of evil Ponzi schemes;
They’re a huge faux dough making machine.
But when interest rates start going higher,
The globalist fear’s become direr.
Yet they’ve pre-planned for any crisis;
Funding Hamas, Hezbollah, and Isis.
So all sides may have weapons for gore,
Creating more dollars; yes, much more!
But faux dough made on printing devices,
Is the main reason for all high prices.
So they help blow up half of creation,
To help lessen that sticky inflation.
But most aren’t aware of the real players,
Who divide and distract behind layers,
With ‘news’ and psyops that raise our ire,
Fooling us to put out the small fires
Oh fie, a poem about money and war,
What is the point of writing this for?
It’s for those with an enquiring soul,
Who care to see that our sons remain whole.
Categories:
shamefully, money, peace, war,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
Sometimes I think the way we view the world is a little antiquarian
for instance we have words to label everyone…from Capricorn to Sagittarian…
Take Deborah and I…we don’t eat meat…we are proudly vegetarian
though occasionally we will eat fish…which makes us pescatarian.
and since we’ve been known to eat a burger…we are most assuredly hypocritarian.
however we do not care what you eat…because we’re not authoritarian.
And though we believe in eating food that is predominantly agrarian
we know it doesn’t matter what you eat…if you are humanitarian.
It doesn’t matter if you are straight or gay…black, white or Hungarian.
If you’re Democrat, Republican, Independent or Libertarian.
It doesn’t matter…if you’re Catholic, Muslim or Sectarian
If you’re a doctor, or a lawyer…a dentist…a Veterinarian…
It doesn’t matter the type of music you like…rap, pop or opera that’s Wagnerian
or how you like your donut cream…whipped…butter…or Bavarian.
I think it’s time to apologize and end this poem
for I have shamefully become aware…
I can’t remember where I was going with it…
and, I imagine you…no longer care.
But let me end with these two hopes…
that you are not a strict grammarian…
and that we all may someday live…
in a world…
egalitarian.
Categories:
shamefully, humor,
Form:
Verse
"this poem is not about what is written,
but what is not written. . . "
Firmly rooted, I stand in this desert of nothingness
Facing your wrath and warmth with equal willingness
Life around me moves ahead, passes me by
Scorpions, birds and occasionally a butterfly
You gave me all the power to bear fruit, nurture and shade
Yet my entire life passes standing stoically in one place
The wind nudges me, taunts me as it blows
I still stand there unmoved, head shamefully bowed
The leaves that greened with me too flew away
Eloped with the breeze in autumn, left me betrayed
The fruits that I had worked hard to bear
The flowers that graced my wavy hair
With time, these too were snatched away from me,
No reason why I still stand barren and empty.
My bark reverberates with the melancholy of my soul
Waiting for lightning to wield its shining sword.
Afroze Ali
Contest name: 'The unwritten'
5th July 2011
Categories:
shamefully, introspectionme, me,
Form:
Monorhyme
Who are you, my Lord?
And what am I standing here as a weather-beaten tombstone,
O Lord, reveal yourself to me on the tombstone standing here alone.
Long, long ago
Cain averted his face from the light,
the condemned river, surrounded by a dead
Cain laid atop of his own brother, flows into the valley
carrying the curse.
And the condemned river flows to the dark side of the sun
since the time Abel’s blood cried out.
My eyes grew so accustomed to the darkness
and, thus, though I am no longer able to stand in light,
I face you, the Lord of the origin of light,
standing here as a tombstone.
O Lord, are you the very person whose voice I hear?
are you the man who is rolling and tossing on the ground
under the out-pouring lashes who moans:
“forgive them,” each time I call for aid of my destiny?
O Lord, are you the one who crawl on the path
that leads to the Place of the Skull
in the mixed air of cries as the fools shout,
mockeries of the evil ones affront,
and the useless tears the women shed?
Are you the one who mutters: “forgive them,”
while falling under a rootless tree
for the weight of the tree is too great to bear?
For the good nature of humankind is numbed
by the weight of sins too deep to break loose.
The emotion of human kind becomes cold and cruel
and, therefore, O my Lord,
do you groan with pain unbearable:
“forgive them,” when those stone-hearted drive spikes
pierce your hands with no compunctions?
Are you the one who stands as a decaying wooden pillar
on atop of Golgotha with a darkening sun on your back
to close the shamefully-mistreated hard life,
the miserably-humiliated painful life?
Are you the benevolent kind-hearted one who looks up at heaven,
and at mobs who accused you, appealing with tearful eyes:
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
When the wooden pillar collapses from its own weight
and darkness falls onto earth to cover the unsightly world,
I, the tombstone with no name or epitaph,
see a sad image standing atop of the Place of the Skull
tightly holding the world’s anguish.
Categories:
shamefully, cry, dark, emotions, faith,
Form:
Free verse
A treasure of water surrounded by the mountains,
Is where my jolly grandpa resides,
Sea green water embellishes enchanting fountains,
And, the ducks swim around water slides.
The surreal vision of the majestic mountain lake,
From my grandpa’s wooden home,
How I wish time would apply a brake,
And, I receive the freedom to roam.
A horrific reality perturbs my dream,
As I walk closer to the lake,
Heaps of garbage block the main stream,
Putting the water quality at stake.
Engines of motor boats roar with might,
Tourists queue up, for an adventurous ride,
For fun, we sacrificed the right,
Look, our lake has dried and the ducks have died.
Our beautiful lake has stopped shedding tears,
Now that her children are deaf and blind,
Our ancestors preserved it for endless years,
Shamefully, we left our duties far behind.
The fishes in the lake stare at me,
With the hope that their ecosystem is secure,
A promise that I will make them free,
And, their home clean and pure
The earth beneath is slowly engulfing our lake,
Punishing us for our brutal and mindless actions,
When will we learn from our unforgivable mistakes?
Do we wait for nature’s disastrous reactions?
Categories:
shamefully, 6th grade, dream, environment,
Form:
Rhyme
my friend I've met you in
the most peculiar way
I feel what you feel I cry
as though we speak.....
my friend your not alone
in this world I too have felt
the loneliness the fear..
one day life won't seem so
cold you'll see the wondrous
ways of human kind.......
crying so loud but a cry
that isn't heard in hearts
or oides of others...
shamefully I speak of remorse
and guilt as for me
a life altering journey...
A blade that cuts me open
doesn't leave a trace but grasping
for comfort it bleeds blood of sorrow
blood of death......
Categories:
shamefully, friend, introspection, life, lonely,
Form:
Prose
Accepting Pain
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Accepting pains,
I fain life becomes troublesome.
In Sun or rain
As days of great helplessness come.
Praying remains,
Sustain hope that hurts shall soon go.
Forestall complaints.
Watch faith with great endurance grow.
Go not insane
Nor spend thoughts on self-pities lure.
And be not vain,
Dwell not on aches without a cure.
Jesus the Christ,
Pain and death without protest bore.
Kingly gifts, myrrh
Scores of sins roared upon Christ's door.
God's Begotten
Willing, complaint-less, crucified.
A mortal man
Suffered pain and shamefully died.
Soon pain shall pass.
Living truths prepared souls procure.
God judges last.
Trusts, take comfort as pains endure.
ã October 31, 2009
(Dedicated to all that suffer with the
mental and physical ills of mortality-
Never give up!)
Categories:
shamefully, health, upliftingpain, endurance,
Form:
Rhyme
Goodness me, fiddle dee dee and la de dah
Mary turned into a black sheep, baa baa baa
That naughty little lamb
Has contrived a big scam
She's gone too far astray and has lost her way
Mary's been tinkering on an old fiddle
But she can't play worth a piddle or diddle
She's as crazy as a loon
Mind and fiddle outta tune
Even the cow can unravel this riddle
I heard about the guy, name of Jack Horner
Who hangs around the lamp post on the corner
Mary does his bidding
It's true. I'm not kidding
She didn't listen when I tried to warn her
What'd you plant in your garden, Mary Mary?
I heard smokin' it will make you quite merry
The feds have grown wise
To her innocent disguise
My goodness! She's become very contrary!
Mean ol' Mary dressed up as Little Bo Peep
To bully and mock the flock of grazing sheep
She is shamefully cruel
I'd meet her in a duel
To put an end to that mean-spirited creep
Last weekend she frightened Little Miss Muffet
Who was eating a light lunch on her tuffet
Munching her whey and curd
When Mary dropped a turd
Then ran off, telling Miss Muffet to stuff it!
What a fussy hellcat Mary has become
Her lies have people describing her as 'scum'
She's bonkers in the head
Obviously ill bred
and if you believe a word she says, you're dumb
Evil is a person who chases blind mice
But by now we all know Mary is not nice
She screamed at them, "Now run!"
Then shot 'em with her gun
One day that ghastly creature will pay the price
The Big Bad Wolf's a hero in Mary's thinking
Cuz he's dreadful to others without blinking
He was mean to two pigs
when he blew down their digs
Mary's just as horribly cruel, I'm thinking
Like Humpty Dumpty, who once sat on a wall
Mary's wicked ways will lead to her downfall
A powder keg's been lit
It will hurt quite a bit
But she's a bad egg who always starts a brawl
Categories:
shamefully, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
Oh, fuming teardrop!
You’ve boiled over from wrath and anger,
leaving painful blisters as you sear the heart
Why you don’t evaporate is a wonder
but there must be a valid reason…
If only to let the heart know it lives
Oh, fuming teardrop!
Will you ever learn how to forgive?
Oh, defiant teardrop!
Teetering on the edge and glistening,
refusing to fall to make yourself known
It is not fickle mindedness playing,
rather, a power play of emotions
a blatant refusal to show what’s within
Oh, defiant teardrop!
Why even stop yourself before you begin?
Oh, crocodile teardrop!
If you were truly so, slink back shamefully,
recede to your lacrimal gland and stay put
There is no need for your insincerity,
the world is chaotic as it is, too troubled
Fall not, trickle not, trick not who see you
Oh, crocodile teardrop!
How can you be so heartless to fool people so true?
Oh, pensive teardrop!
How gracefully you streak down window sills
Wash away grime and grit, cleanse everything
Flow unhindered, purify hearts you fill
Laughter may be the music of the soul,
but you are pure— the distilled spirit
Oh, pensive teardrop!
Will you course down blackened hearts, pay a visit?
Oh, jubilant teardrop!
Married to laughter, frolic and dance to its tune
Give birth to hope then soar with elation
Brighten faces, sparkle days, light up the moon
Let souls remember that you speak of pain, joy
Let them remember, then allow them to heal
Oh, jubilant teardrop!
Why did I ever doubt that you are spirit revealed?
04062011
**for Paula’s “Beseech “ contest :)
Categories:
shamefully, allegory, introspection, life
Form:
Verse
I hope I remember you for the rest of my life.
I can see your face every single time I close my eyes.
Every single time, I lay my heavy body full guilt on the bed;
I can see you.
I hope I succeed for being alive,
Cause simply when you depart I lost love, hope and the will to survive.
I hope now that you are out of this world like hell,
I can fulfite your will: me being alive.
Just for this simple will I am alive now.
I remember your last breath your last beating heart.
You told me:” I’m sorry that I will leave without a warning,
I am sorry for being selfish and go to the other world alone.
But still,
You need to stay alive for that I may stay alive:
In your beating heart.
Just imagine that my soul is inside yours,
That I breathe whenever you breathe.
Just imagine that every single beat of your heart
It means another life for me,
Every single sight from your eyes is my only world.
You need to stay alive simply because:
“I love you “”
Then he fell,
He just fell from the edge of the cliff.
In his way down, all my happiness disappeared.
Some countable seconds were enough to make me come back years ago
To the one before meeting him.
That girl who had no faith or trust in any body,
And surly no love for a single soul.
Feelings or emotions are words that didn’t exist in her dictionary
Nore in her descriptions.
Back in the days before you,
As I walk in the way;
Never imagining that you would cross my way,
I used to observe people in their eyes as if
They are empty without souls,
Nor past, present or future,
As if their bodies are controlled by the circumstances of their surroundings,
As if they don’t feel nor do they think.
In mush easy explanation: controlled people in a controlling world.
In my case it was the same:
My house, village, the near forest with the flowing river,
All the people I knew or merely accidently met,
Were the writer of my life story.
In much easy explanation:
The pen and the book of my life were not in my hands
I had a young body with an old soul.
I was full of emptiness.
I couldn’t walk in a simple path,
And shamefully I couldn’t return my natural right: Freedom.
To be continued....
Categories:
shamefully, love,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
That one lost their tongue
somewhere along the way
long ago, the sound,
doesn’t come out the same
anymore, so they roll it up
like a carpet containing
a nakedly dead body
of blunt words
like unplucked violins
untuned to how it all
really works
begging to be heard,
and the flowery prose,
purple and bruised
like over-ripe fruit
teeth rottingly sugary sweet,
is now seen
day-in-and-night-out,
struggling with ease
way too much
like madness overgrown,
the dense overgrowth
of language unspoke
hides glittering gems
blushing shamefully
more exquisite than
the now daily averies
all penned in babel
that flow in glass jarring
anticipated patterns
of suffocating
paisley prose,
the simple beauty
in the plainly spoke,
never again
to be seen nor heard,
the mercurial metaphors
birdfeed scattered
to the begging migrations
of petulant bluebirds
naughty nightingales
honey trapping
wet-beaked hummingbirds
all beating hearts
with their wild wind flapping,
tossing sticks and stones
to those tongue thirsty
kiss lapping, lap dancing
love parched, gargling
swallows
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Categories:
shamefully, muse,
Form:
Free verse
The day has come, a smiling sun shines through bold bars, across the room to the door, ajar, projecting the bars on the door as if it is definitely and eternally closed to go out or come in.
The swirling, smiling haze of the past few days is slowly lifting. The rectangle of the open door has an attractive oblong shape the form of a mouth, telling me I am welcome to enter it - or is it leave? -
The bed has a mind of its own, it owns me, it thinks.... When I try to lift my arm, the bed stops me, stalling me, suspending my arm mid-air, by encircling my bony wrist, encompassing it with an iron grip. My peaceful plea, brought with ever so supportive but strong words that I cannot repeat here, has no result. The opposite is true, it does a sincere attempt to keep me there forever. Turning me into a spreadeagled, reluctant, foul-mouthed lover.
The door decides enough is enough. It squeaks, squirms and squeals, uttering a single, long lived OOOOOOOOoooooooooooo in a deafening ear-shattering pitch....
And in they run, the men in white, with their syringes and multi-coloured pills.
They beam benevolently at me, and then show the bed its rightful place: it's a bed, not a guard!
And shamefully it complies, clips open its claws, groans as I sit upright
Finally, the day begins!
***
May 4, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Categories:
shamefully, allegory, funny, humorous, mental
Form:
Narrative