Denigration Poems | Examples

Tandoori or Tangerine Tan shorts no3

Don't give a jot or 

A sod this lot

On your tod..just nod

Seedier greedier leaders

Stun..Shun the Needier

Not just down trodden

Sodden...run roughshod


Beseech each of those clowns..down 

In the dumps chumps who chose

Plumps for stealthy

Leeches who teaches 

Fools at our schools

Only the wealthy can stay healthy


No education for the nation

Uses...abuses..eschews..media issues..then sues

Argy bargy - sarky malarkey ensues

Bemuses readers…forsake news as fake

It's a Maga Saga ruse for f**ks sake


No immigration...deplore integration

To restore order…close the border

Hardcore race riot diet of denigration

Likes 60's generation segregation 

Damnation not salvation..just devastation

spark quickly the rise

Spark quickly the rise, 
Dilating dark with glitter stars of cats eyes.
A language we sausage use. 
Clumsy myths attenuated 
With parachutes of feelings mapped; 
Syncopated copiously. 

A door opening those parts explored, for instance.
Snail trails of shiny slime on wet pavement;
Mirrors looking backwards, 
Entwining organs through time. 

Primarily another path 
That leads me back to you.

Sheath Your Querulous Pen

It's shadowed in darkness, growling like a hound
Creeping about, whispering as it slithers around
Begging for attention, for it desires to be found
Silence is loud when its echoes continually resound

Behold, it comes masked, disguised in these places
Preying on the gullible ones with innocent faces
Cajoling as a lover would to gain their good graces
Offering false humility with arms of frigid embraces

Silence cries out with a stench breath for adoration
Quietly seducing the naive with phrases of flirtation
Long ago, spawned to be the wielder of denigration
Contrived as a stealth mute, soused on pride's libation

Writes with ink splotches, dripped from a toxic tongue
Its poetry is deceiving, lyrics not meant to be sung
In darkness, it leaks toxins with the scent of dung
Disguised as a pacifist, but its bile words are flung

Silence, speak what you should be wanting to say
then fade back into the shadows where you often play
Your acrimony doesn't fool the many you did betray
Sheath your querulous pen, for it leads people astray

Paranoia

In depth and breadth of shadows, it prowls around
always flowing, wafting on air, ne'er making a sound
It exists in dejection and rejection, and always found
in silence, too loud when its raucous echoes resound

No deafening roar of blaring thunder comes with fear
It's audible only in a mind, but muzzled to each ear
Manifested in visions, without guttural words to hear
The threat it poses in a reverie wears an implicit jeer

Solitude exhales a stale breath with eager anticipation
Quietly seducing our trust with mendacious flirtation
Spawned to be the covert wielder of our denigration
A stealth mute, besotted on doubt as a form of libation

"Take heed, people!" It screams at us without a tongue
In song the tune is hummed; the lyrics never to be sung
Anguish, leaking acid in which toxins are cleverly sprung
Disguised as a protagonist, paranoia's qualms are flung

It watches without eyes, trying to keep us in disarray
An ever lingering specter, hovering wherever we play
In reticent whispers, how deftly it schemes to betray
A taunting voice without curses, a message to convey

Its Time'

Its time now..! To become survivors you must stand.!Thank
God for putting Tim Ballard in contact with those
Who needed to be released.! And there was a reason
For that ! For its so much harder for abused people.!
To get their minds out of (flashbacks) 
And self denigration, to beleive they
Can; stand strong.' To not always be burying the
Horrors.! it took an unbattered well ajusted person
Tim Ballard, who in his revulsion at child abuse fought
To support their humanity..Now its up to us survivors
Stand up get up crawl.! to the nearest support and stand.'
If thats what ì takes.? but open your mouths at all costs
Come forward.' you are needed to support these real
Heroes.'

Different Directions

War taps into the pent-up hate,
anger and aggression, stored in the human heart.
And pacifist souls suffer
abuse, humiliation, denigration,
and even torture;
from those bent on domination.
We are taught not to feel empathy
or compassion for the oppressed.
Words get spun, sweet as cotton candy,
like hero, patriotism, duty, and service;
all designed to fuel blind faith,
fear, and obedience.
There are other words whispered
amongst the brave:
words like hope, love, peace,
and brotherhood.
But they are inevitably stifled
by the sound of guns;
or cries for revenge!
And so, the human story unfolds,
like a cat and mouse game;
with the pointlessness of the hunt
triggering raw emotions.
Innocence often gets caught
in the middle;
as truth and lies pull heartstrings
in different directions at once:
until all the heart feels is pain.

American Nero

American Nero,
showering utter disdain — 
Denigration downpour on pleb citizens
begging for pandemic crumbs
As the pestilent fire rages around 
your virally tainted kingdom

Ghastly gladly,
you keep on fiddling 
acid text madly

Dripping hateful words that burn
deep into the bipolar soul 
of a divided nation

An enamel disrobed toga ethos
reveal naked desires
Sparking flames of cold pathos 

American Nero,
a contemptible paper reign
is exit poll falling
Whilst the fire of pox chaos
contagiously spread
with spittle accelerant ease 

This scorching hoax
raze any flagging, publican hope
Truth unmasked
do singe that gallows rumor rope

Fiery breath fiddler 
kindling fear, 
high up on that Ivory Tower roof
Tearfully playing the ill-fated fool madly,
as graven torch idolatry
lay fallow ‘neath ash liberty truth

Learned From Each Allegation

Learned from Each Allegation

What we learned from each allegation,
Was it could end up  with the creation,
People abused,
Then misused,
And things disgusting full of denigration.

Jim Horn

Jon Meacham's Soul of America and Lincoln's
Better Angels are quite interesting. How America
has been so prejudiced, biased and rascist has
been incredible.

Belittled Bedraggled

Constant denigration
wears you down
you feel so small
as your efforts are
downgraded with cast-off scoffs.
Your pearls bedraggled,
lack lustre,
displayed dimmed and dulled,
squelched by doubt,
smeared in fear.
Duet performance discordant 
sung in disharmony
with lead player out of tune,
tone-deaf.
Belittled, you be,
and bedraggled becomes you.

When Silence Is Too Loud

shadowed in darkness, sniffing as a hound
creeping about without releasing  a sound
begging to be noticed, wanting to be found
silence is too loud when its echoes resound

behold, it comes creeping  to known places
among those of us who wear innocent faces
cajoling in soft whispers to gain good graces
offering false humility and fridgid embraces

silence cries with stale breath for adoration
quietly seducing with phrases of flirtation
spawned to be the wielder of denigration
a stealth mute, soused on pride's libation

ink splotches fingered from hushed tongue
will never be songs aptly written to be sung
in silence it leaks acid and toxins are sprung
disguised as a friend but what lies it's flung

SPEAK the truth you have neglected to say
then return to shadows where you oft play
your silence has not fooled those you betray
sheath your vile dagger then be on your way

Dark

Retarded limbs in dark surrounds,
Embattled heart ‘n muffled sounds;
Dying hope of life abounds
I am winded to the gut.

Slowly sinking through the clay,
Sly emotions slip and sway,
Tomorrow is another day
and I am winded to the gut.

Pain takes charge of limb and head,
Feeling like I need a bed, 
Read a book; pray instead
I’m so winded, to the gut?
                 *
Twitching throat and anxiety,
“Heart, practice piety”
Re-integrate ‘to society
and rise above this deadly rut
                 *
Once thought it’s gone and then
Alas, it intrudes without pardon,
Rudely again my heart to harden,
I’m kicked again, in my gut.

Cycle, cycle, this awful groove, 
Shakes it’s hand in sick reprove,
Denigration with one swift move!
I’m so winded in my gut.

So what now, my hopeless host;
Can you prevail above this ghost?
Healing physician – lost your boast?
I’m still winded to the gut.

Is that a light in this dark cave or
just some glow fly at the grave?
What will me from this dark pit save?
I bow my head and hold my gut.

Time passes by relentlessly;
Who’s in control – you or me?
These questions mean I still can’t see!
Oh, such turmoil in my gut.

Let Englishmen Awake

Let Englishmen Awake
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2016

St George’s day is coming
let Englishmen awake
the denigration of our name
is more than we will take

but we will rise above it
the Red Cross on the white
and once again we’ll show the world
the English still can fight

Though part of the United Kingdom
we are a people of our own
and through the march of time
our history has grown

With Scotland, Wales and Ireland
we’ve stood throughout the years
through war and through disaster
the heartache and the tears

Saints George, Andrew and David
Saints Patrick and Piran too
have been with us throughout the years
and we’ve helped each other through

But now there are some people, 
try to stop our flag flying high
but they are wasting their own time
they may as well not try

So, the 23rd of April, on this Saint Georges Day
let flags fly high, and to God and St. George we’ll pray
raise your voices one and all, and give a mighty cheer, 
and we will let the whole world know,
the English are still here

Only Medium Happy Today

anxiety insinuated pressure

denigration isolation, 

spiritual deflation

all of today's ingreidents beyond

our needs,in abundance, 

from (where?) does this all come.?

Ego's Last Supper

What sets one above the pack;
the throng, the herd the mob?
And, do these honorable?
attributes nearer us to God?

Does walking upright like the shaft
bring clarity from aloft
indicating those of a slower pace
are merely God’s castoffs?

Do denizens of air and sea
fall farther from God’s grace
are the golden buzzing bees
a mere afterthought, a trace?

Shall ego serve our last cold dish
as harsh denigration falls
upon all the smaller things
man’s mindlessly enthralled.

Or, will we find on judgment day
sure scintillation and surprise
as we realize all God’s creations 
are equal in His eyes.

The Month I Was Born

The rose did bend
upon the bush
of fear and pain
and denigration
petals shook
thorns did brake
while a tiny bud
prepared to die.
The wind took one last
breath and tore the bud
away, toward the earth,
to richer soil
and the promise of spring

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