In a violent contumacious act
the rankled child smashed the terrarium;
the green shards of glass making an abstract
scheme on the tiles of the solarium.
Amid the sphagnum and the fertile dirt
sixteen years of tender growth lay dying
a single swipe with full intent to hurt;
the child listened to the mother crying.
Categories:
contumacious, anger, emotions,
Form: Rhyme
When my breathless body returns to the earth from which it came,
Let it be known that I tried,
In the face of damnation,
With the manacles of propriety digging deep into my flesh,
And the corpulent greed of the contumacious seeping from every open door,
Let them say that I tried,
Inside this strident existence that we call our own,
Where the fastidious prey on the guileless,
I just wanted to be a luminous beacon of intransigent truth,
A munificent solace for those In need,
I just wanted one zealous moment to make a difference,
And as the remnants of me powder and dust into the soil in which I lie,
Let at least one person say that my life was worthwhile,
That my existence was heuristic,
Because if I am to become just another sorry loss,
An echoed memory only deserving of a sorrowful after thought,
Then what was it all worth,
And more so,
Why then would anyone else bother.
Because if we cannot make a difference,
Then I would rather not be remembered at all.
Categories:
contumacious, death, remember, remembrance day,
Form: Free verse
Dotard Trumpery used to disgust the "ery" excrescence ending his surname,
for apocope he approached Megan Trump and poached her maiden name,
to which Joshua Trump, her son naming after her, dare no longer lay claim,
because from then on he was reduced to campus bullies' fair game.
Pretending to be placatory, Dotard Trumpery had to invite
Joshua Trump to the Slayer-Of-The-Union site.
Trumpery, standing on his rock-and-roll rostrum, spieled song and dance,
Trump, seated off his opposite nostrum, cast ahead no glance;
Trumpery, haranguing high, may presume to be contagious,
Trump, lolling low, just continued to be contumacious;
Trumpery, in skittish stance, legs to prance,
Trump, in stolid trance, his head askance;
Trumpery, right hot, opened his mouth to smear shutters with sputter soars,
Trump, left cold, shut his eyes lest they be crisscrossed by sordid sores.
Impersonating Trump, Trumpery violated Trump's right of name;
Impugned due to Trumpery,Trumpp suffered long dark campus time.
trumpery blatherskite.
Categories:
contumacious, abuse, slam,
Form: Prose Poetry
If your ego is capacious
Or your appetite voracious
For a plucky, pertinacious
Confidence in cherished creeds,
Then your genius, though sagacious,
Conjures arguments audacious
Never seeing they’re fallacious:
Truth be told, you’re in the weeds.
Your disease: a contumacious
Predilection for tenacious
Relics of the late Cretaceous
Buried deep within your soul.
Now the clash of clues vexatious
Shows your self-made strait hellacious;
Still your will proves efficacious
To maintain your status quo.
In the face of facts veracious
When your mood is disputatious
You remain unfazed, pugnacious,
With your slowly dying breed.
Your rebuttals wax loquacious
To escape the perspicacious
But they seem a mite mendacious
To the few who pay them heed.
Though my grousing is ungracious
And my rhyming ostentatious
I won’t stoop to be salacious
For the horror’s grim and cold:
While your heart still soars flirtatious,
Charmed by pterosaurs predacious,
Laxness leaves your brain crustaceous,
Drying, hardening in its mold.
Categories:
contumacious, funny, humor, humorous, mental
Form: Light Verse
Villanelle: Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth
Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth
Love us as much as we whose steps in vain grace
Why make us defile the holy womb of birth
Who wouldn’t find us such a mawkish source of mirth
Our entry into world blessed with slime on face
Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth
Should not some other means have been found for birth
Than the bang-bang thrust in lice filthy disgrace
Why make us defile the holy womb of birth
That pleasure be sought in and around the girth
And to make things worse drag down the beauteous face
Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth
Unless the lesson’s to rise above and loath
The fiend in thirsty loins contumacious
Why make us defile the holy womb of birth
Could our true fate be to disown very earth
Not knowing why we came in the first place
Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth
Why make us defile the holy womb of birth
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Categories:
contumacious, allegory, birth, sexy, woman,
Form: Villanelle
Contumacious remarks abound
Words that sting and injure deeply
A reflection of their inner turmoil
Played out in another’s space
Their hatred knows no bound
The distance of the internet
Turns us into faceless combatants
A Case study on wounding for wounding sake
Image consciousness rules the day
The image required not found
With a cursory glance
The inner person
Of no importance
The gloss of looks and the clothes one wears
Sparkles and fools
The rejection stings
Its ferocity and frequency
An attempt to demoralise
The vituperation of unknowns
Has inflicted deep un-healing wounds
Forever kept fresh and open
No peace for your psyche
The occasional warmth
Stings hardest
The rarity of affection seems
A cruel inhuman joke
Categories:
contumacious, anger, depression, how i
Form: Prose