Hatefully Poems | Examples

Left Handed Boxers

There has never been a southpaw, 
Who has the crushing show made poor; 
Each in the ring a carnivore, 
His left hook, his wasting death jaw, 
Your swollen eyes already a law 
Before the last bout on the floor. 

A lateral body positioning 
That The Left Thing keeps conditioning, 
From the ring catapulting a victim 
To an international hospital 
And from its ward to its mortuary: 
So, it had been with Callous Etim, 
From a fight to a celebratory rental 
And a speeding-up of his obituary.
 
South paws still have been licked 
By the Maverick Right-Handed, 
When they have such boldly picked
For the blows hatefully landed. 

Pacquiao saying it was going to be Mayweather 
And meeting with a bit of bad weather.

Taking Over From An Outgoing Treasurer

The Out-Going Treasurer had me briefed
But through the released records I still leafed,
Just in case a thing was tightly overlooked
And I some tomorrow hatefully booked
Over some books I had barefacedly cooked
And some missing one million or thereabouts
I should kindly explain its whereabouts…

The one hitting about The Handed Over
And one lousily taking them over:
Before a week’s swiveling of the chair, A Police Land Rover,
If one had happened to be lucky with Army Range Rover;
For unsmiling cops that shall in your office hover…

Always, while taking over from A Treasurer,
Try to be about one or two things surer.

Colonial Master

Colonial master:
A lot was doing faster
Many stubborn chains able to loosen
Like the vessels whom Christ had chosen.

Colonial master:
Hatefully fought by Rasta
But they were also safeguarding Jamaican rights,
Which sometimes would their sanctity lose
In the darkness of tragic nights
At the hands of The Conquered by booze.

This Great Master though was a great slave
To every African cultivable soil
And ready to hysterically rave,
If we twice looked in the direction of our own crude oil
Ever willing to perish wherever it was in huge deposits:
An assertion of blacks and white being irreversible opposites

More than fifty years now he our bridges built,
Whose survival lengthen our Engineers’ guilt
For having worn the same bowler hats
And chances had to use the same enormous CATS
Beside daring to look as much decisive
In the rarest of bow ties, very massive!

Intoxicated Adam

My fill I drink
And simple instructions no longer sink
Nor straight succeed to think.

I sense mocking winks
But judge them innocent blinks,
My fifty - year - old face,
Mirroring a discarded doll's;
My ever staggering pace
Molesting sober walls.

A sudden exploding interest in love - making,
The woman I have touched hatefully quaking.

On some table, a dumped, careless meal,
To the steward, not a big deal,
More worried about my skipped trousers' button
Than the unfinished juicy mutton;
Plus a passerby I had ignobly got down
And before she could at her first frown.

A sure roaring scandal to an enemy madam
And sure living disgrace to intoxicated Adam
Who had had the option of a life calm
But still with a bottle on his palm

Help-

How hard help hits hatefully
Holding huge help hires hurtfully 




8/14/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2020

I Rode Shotgun

I rode shotgun
		with someone
who look just like me

Had the same skin color
			as far    as I 
could steering wheel see


I rode shotgun
		with a racist someone,
	who hatefully 
talked the same way as me

Had the same gnarled speech,
	same gnarly hands,
		same ugly voice,
			same cursive feet 
like the carpal in the passenger seat


I rode darkie mind shotgun
		with a ghost face someone
who look unholy, just like me

Had the same 20/20 side-by-sidearm vision,
		same 20/20 gauge belief
As near   as I
	could peer passenger see


I once rode shotgun
		with a rearview mirror friend,
now a gas pump-action enemy

It’s hard to double barrel conceive,
		I went from zero-to-sixty   in a heartbeat
Change of attitude direction 
		came baptismal trigger swiftly


I was passenger told ... and I prayer hope,
	distant objects are closer
		than they appear to be

Cee'su Was a Looker

You’re the dumb one, aren’t you? She asked me so beautiful, sweet.
Cee’Su was a looker, married to my first cousin Pete.

I did not reply, after all, what could I say?
Was she daft in the head? Is that why she tossed it that way?

She is the other one, my horrified cousin quickly told her.
The fat one, she guessed, which made her look amazingly older.

Cousin Pete thought she was hilarious, pretty the first two days.
Woman of God she informed us haughtily, stuck up in her ways.

I had never met a reverent woman who had such an urge to tell,
But she drew out proof constantly that we would be the ones going to hel....

Cousin Pete stopped talking to his mother because Aunt V refused to bow down
To the queen bee, who took him from us, they simply stopped coming around.

They raised some caustic children, hatefully mean and depressed, often blue.
Both of them ran to the grandma they had never met when they reached 22.

Yes Cee’Su was beautiful looker, Cousin Pete’s Woman of God.
When I meet her on the street I give her a swift happy wave and a nod.

The Warring Curses

We stood atop God's hill
among God's hills
and saw no mountains
where mountains are not seen,
but gazed hatefully, fearfully, longingly
into Satan's valley.
Ours was the grandest little hill,
and below was the wickedest valley,
and between was the contest of angels dark and fair
where the living is not easy
and the dying is not quick.
At once we knew both
all that there was to be known
and nothing that could be known.
Once born, twice seduced, yet more,
we dared to peer sideways and downward
and morbidly at the edge of the plague.
And weary, or indifferent,
some were claimed,
vanished into the core of the depraved,
where the dying is not easy
for the killing is not quick.
The warring curses were one.

6th July 2018

Malediction

MALEDICTION

Evil in nature

Evil in influence

And evil in effect.

Becoming necessary

Baleful beast – filled full of ill-will

Greed seeps through the pours and infects

I – incarnated nemesis

Your Created adversary

Invented rivalry

An enmity prognosis

A new language my malaise reflects

Malign plots

Predetermined death

Predictive obituary

A murderous grift.

My corrupted destiny

Rank!

Like a malodorous crotch

Your sadistic future

Now a painful present

Hatefully happening.

Concurrently.

Rot,


The end,


April 19th 2015
By Joel R Thornton

Demon Scarecrow

He hung way up high intently
Fear he delivers corruptly
Scarecrow lives only for the night
Absorbing any signs of light
Sending chills to all hatefully

Arms spreading along perfectly
Scarecrow looks down menacingly
Causing fear is his main delight
Demon scarecrow

There’s nothing peaceful seemingly
Evil comes straight through heedlessly
Fright comes to those who are in sight
Power of the scarecrow tonight
Tortures your hurt soul endlessly
Demon scarecrow

Russell Sivey

A Suffering Soul

My soul’s reamed hatefully inside and out
By timeless instigators
The suffering intense

Russell Sivey

Cries

~Beth Watkins~

Cries; their flow like rain no longer in a masked disguise,
A lament to the lonely, raise their fell unbending cry.
The wind, a blizzard, blows so harshly through the bitter chills,
Of trying to forget the past, yet nothing stops or stills.

Cries; their sting a poison from a curling monstrous beast,
A somber sadness so alive, though caused by those deceased.
Moans rise to stem the looming waves of endless, crushing tides,
Yet cries, a stalwart soldier, stand up for their proper prides.

Cries; a musical symphony to a drifting, long lost friend;
So forgotten and forlorn, that only time will ever mend.
Flowers litter wilting graves of tears' so softly fading tune,
Lingering on lost lives that they have hatefully, haggardly hewn.

~Sounds of a Cry~
8/3/2011

Moments

Born in seconds yet gone in a flash,
Spent cherished with family or accruing vast cash,
Some fill with the glory of life,
Other remain as scars reminiscent of strife,
Some cling to those which left sooner,
Causing the soul to pick up gloom like a refined fine tuner,
Patience is required for those that we are waiting for,
Like waiting eagerly inside to burst out an open door,
Clarity to understand those dark few,
Feeds the soul like well-kept grass and morning dew,
Amnesia to forget the most painful lots,
Since only the hatefully corrupt try revenge plots,
Time to enjoy those that are precious to many or just some,
Which stick to our minds like shoes to old aged used gum,
Compassion when we need to understand others' troubles,
For misunderstandings reportedly only make the issues double,
Love to hold on that which makes up ourselves,
As the compilations of others' and ours moments stock our lives' shelves.

Life At Its Best

Life At Its Best

My friend, do not ask what evil deeds your enemy aspires.
Or worry whether friend of foe will with battle fights, acquire.
Take no thought of rudeness, which upon thee did transpire.
Or ponder ways in which revenge could low blows send most hatefully.
Bereave not with fear that tomorrow your good fortune shall subside.
Or fantasize love lost again abiding near your side.
For time thus spent imagining will surely rob life of its best.
Its wiser, friend, to spend yourself on time that is at hand,
And seize the day for all it is worth with goodness and with zest.

Poetic form:  Carpe Diem
©  Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
     11-14-09

The Reasons Why I Cry

Love is like my enemy instead of being for me heartache know
my life too well, why bother what the hell; lowered to less
than anything but a person life is a curiosity that you
begin to wonder is it really worth living for? degraded,
misunderstood, emotionally abuse by the hatefully lies
people put on me. Trying to stay strong through it all but
it get hard sometimes, sometimes you envy the life somebody
else has even though their may be no better than your own,
for that moment all you see is the self-respect others are
giving them and you wonder what is wrong with you and begin
to judge yourself as less than perfect. So much your going
through and people really have NO clue what you've gotten
through and what you ain't through yet; patience is a virtue
and two time the lover of your own love, told lies to and
cheated on how do you trust anyone now? so much stuff to
tell but so little words to say them in as you run low on
words to express yourself... one day. I can't make you
understand me nor can I make you listen but wear my shoes
and walk the mile in them too and you'll get a very rude
awaking to the reasons why I cry.

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