Contempt Poems - Poems about Contempt

We came not for conquest, but for containment— though conquest is what happens when containment itches beneath the skin like sulfur spores in a sealed lung. They had the secret. Not gold, not weapons, not prophecy— but language that healed. Real language— not poetry, not prayer, but syntax of cells. Their infants spoke in codons. Their trees rustled in protein sequences. Their dead decomposed into algorithms that rewrote the...

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Emboldened by whispers, echoes curdled in algorithmic rot— electronic voices hiss their sermons, venom soaked in coded politeness, dripping beneath polished avatars. Hate seeps through curated feeds, a slow infection wrapped in memes, seducing the young, the angry, the aimless— until ideology feels like identity. A curriculum of fear streamed without consent, etched into abandoned timelines, where education once should have stood. Now, only digital ruins remain— barren soil where thought might have grown. This...

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fear fell away from discussion the inferior postulate that anothers poetry hath not free speech beneath the scope of obligation of love of love the mind is left, desolate sound and smut ridden apocalypse is your pretense to burn burning earth in chase of heroic confine subjection, and of war crimes study you have been charted from paranormal disdain congradulatory suffering is you house furnished? ...

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Turning the maxim familiarity breeds contempt on it's head... not just in time for Valentine's Day but the remaining days of our lives as the world turns on all our children the young and restless now grown to womanhood After being married for nearly three and a half score years, (our eldest daughter, will celebrate her twenty ninth birthday December 22, 2025, hence you dear reader do...

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Descending from the Himalaya’s during the intense cold , innocent icicle lacked the knowledge of freezing, Escaping down the narrow lane of frosty creeks and death embedded edges. She made it till the first ray of horizon. Dawn was a legend, blood was thickening against the water, and light went in oblivion. Before the howl and...

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Seasons change, love remains; my heart stays soft. In marital bond, your touch soothes the hard. Though less gentle fondness falls from your mouth. Through gale storms and glee, I have held my mouth. In the autumn of our lives, I need soft, lambent serenades to supplant the hard. Each cycle through time has made your bind less hard. Weathering me brought...

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there once was a skunk named Pepé Le Pew when he came near, well, everyone knew Penelope, his chérie to her, he was smelly odorous advances met pooh pooh!...

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Contempt freezes the heart refusal cools the soul quickly makes love wither in life...

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This harsh light, back on you Piercingly cruel aimed Is of no sun, though it burns In heart, as hot yes? And however thickly Shaded, walled off are For protection, there's just no Hung bough, cloister, right? Unless counter-eying bright! Love's, for that loveless!...

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1.To disregard court order in a scoffy way. 2.To Scourn court order with contemptous behaviour. 3.To impede court order flouting the rules. Note.To put aside the order of a court......

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I was carting horse manure in a trailer that’s on loan. I’m driving on the back roads ‘cause I know that I am prone, to be courting a disaster if I take a major road, with no brake lights or blinkers and no cover on the load. I took me time by driving slow but then uttered in disgust, when...

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confronted by lions within a whisker of death laughing through ~ the fence By David Kavanagh...

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Cookie cutter words so carefully cut and pasted on me are simply wasted. Their relevance defunct so silent deaf and mute someone else’s route. This romances brevity couldn’t even warrant a freshly cut torrent. Thoughts on you only today are freshly writ not from another’s skit. Your cycle oft repeated new color same game please shame and blame. Faded far from view a barren desolate land this love’s final stand. Pain is public...

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There didn’t have to be a reason no one thing no trigger it was always boiling just beneath the surface always. It could have been the number of soldiers lying empty on the desk next to the ashtray. You know the one the one that left the two scars the one into which you stamped your anger hostility hopelessness. I could always tell in the car Adele’s playing the hours will not pass quickly it will...

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I’m thoroughly surprised you chose the brocade over chiffon my dear poking at the brie only serves to show insolence and ignorance and the violins give me such a headache such a migraine jacketed like a caterpillar in its cocoon it’s no wonder it’s difficult to breath in this stagnant setting this tomb of a room we share but you knew before the steaks were cut that even the open window wouldn’t clear this air didn’t you? (click the pic for a preview...

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