Indignities Poems | Examples

The Keys to the Future

The doors to yesterday are shut tight and locked.
     Only windows allow quick glimpses... you, face red and angry, eyes shut tight, refusing to accept reality away from your warm, slushy world of heart beats and distant voices. 

    Alas, we are all thrust out into bright lights, cold hands, and loud noises. Our lifeline cut in two, leaving us without a tether. 
    The air presses in all around, the first heavy burden we bear. Simply lifting our heads is too much to ask. How quickly we adapt. We learn to accept the indignities of a flesh body. 

     I watch you grow again and again. Each birthday is a celebration…and a time of mourning. Missing the child you were, whom I'll never see again, carry again, hold again. Each year you change into someone else and I come to love you everyday, with every smile, every word and moment. 

     I may miss the baby I see through that window to yesterday, but I also look forward to falling in love with who you are and will be each and every day. 

     The doors are locked to the past... but we have the keys to the future, in the eyes of our children.

Domestic Silence

If you are in an abusive relationship, please try to walk away and live. You deserve a chance to thrive; to find joy and happiness. Remember that no one deserves to be abused. Please take care and stay safe. 

Domestic silence
By Michelle Morris
02/11/2022

Domestic silence
Silences all of us
It stifles tears and
Strangles hearts

Domestic violence
Pushes boundaries
Brutality inflicted
For ego and power

It allows bruises
And broken bones
It allows shame
To have a home

It encourages indignities 
To its victims 
It perpetuates inequities 
In relationships

It makes men
Into beasts
It makes women
Feel uneasy

No living being
Should suffer abuse
No one deserves
Trauma as a path

No one should fear
Loved ones' wrath
No one should live
In constant anguish

Don't let the silence
Kill your soul
Because the silence
Is evil's cloak

Speak up now
Before it's too late
Walk out the door
Instead of a body bag

Domestic silence
Is a global scourge
It kills our souls
And kills our world

© Michelle Morris, 2022

The Poet's World

Blown of indignities,  what quiet yet hangs
Thought-beauteous well above them.
Enclose darknesses of all kinds. Still crowned
With Virtue's starry diadem.

The Acquiesce Irony

Reluctantly I acquiesce 
This is much to my dismay
Daunting, appears the task
Overwhelming thoughts consume my days

Disillusioned by the emotional discourse 
Troubled by the arrogant improprieties
Living in a world of ignorance
Full of contemptuous indignities

Disheartened - I confess moving forward
Perturbed by societies disinterest of clarity 
I still have hope for my family’s future
Hence, the acquiesce irony

Death By a Thousand Indignities

Your large stuffed synthetic sack
and the aching bones and muscles
that strain against the pain
of a planet that you're sure must hate you,
are sure that you hate it too.
Your wheels are just large enough
to allow the suicidal stride
of the dire recycler's chariot
which may really be suicidal or worse,
but what, for you, is better ?
Your muscles and bones so busy
that they don't even know the pain,
your chariot wheels so quick and slow
that they don't know what will be,
assuming that anything may be.
Your last fair job was an unfair chance
and your bosses and their trucks are forgotten,
because the bitter angry man
in Tracking & Surveillance
found a reason for you to be fired.
Your last unfair job disintegrated too
and you no longer sit on the back of a pick-up
watching beautiful women and angry men
cutting the night or the morning in half
with cars that could pay a thousand funerals.
You die a thousand deaths.

13th October 2018

The Man Died For Nothing

Man crucified he died yesterday,
While destruction coming my way;
The man died at three o’clock,
For the unworthy human flock.

The man died on the cross,
Was his painful sacrifice at a loss?

The man died for nothing,
Since the sins keep coming;
The man died for all iniquities,
Evil starts here with indignities.
 
The man died crucified,
Forgotten and put aside.

The man shed blood on Calvary Hill,
All this for you, me, and all of them;
Suicide bombers in his Father’s name,
They are all doomed to be damned.

The man died for nothing,
I cannot stop crying.

Enough Is Enough

I accidentally let one loose, shoot,
it's going to get embarrassing soon.
For even though it was merely a toot,
it held a stench that oft makes women swoon.

At first, it was somewhat tolerable,
then without warning, it got hard to breathe.
And it soon became intolerable,
as tolerant tempers began to seethe.

The vile smell was slowly dissipating
when I accidentally let one loose. 
And this nasty one was nauseating,
it was about time for me to vamoose!

One woman gaged, looking like she might faint,
and a man began heaving up his lunch.
But loudly voicing a vicious complaint,
I deflected fault with a counterpunch.

Of all the indignities, I shouted,
voicing my anger, enough is enough!
And my innocence was never doubted,
as I shamelessly stomped off, in a huff!


(Quatrain)


7/8/2018

Common Sense Casserole

Common sense, larger than life
Encapsulated in minds that appreciate sanity’s value
To actualize and revitalize purposes more precious than strife
As people of goodwill enable diverse dreams to come true.

Common sense, invaluable ingredient
Couched in determined discourse
To set matters on the right gradient
And facilitate fruitful inter-personal intercourse.

Common sense, gravity glue
Fastening faces, aces and maces at variance
Endeavouring to validate value
Over impertinence, insolence and arrogance.

Common sense, pivot in human interaction
Immersed in templates teeming with opportunities
To promote quotes and votes for mutual benefaction
Despite chasms of infirm inanities and indignities.

Selfies, Thoughts and Skintight Jeans

Posts on my Facebook Page
Done when I feel undone
In the middle of a nuptial night rage
In no way invite predators into my zone.

Selfies sent in moments of excitement
Admired in my mirror
Invite no corny comment
From minds assailed by error.

Thoughts caught on Instagram
In no way suggest hopelessness
In pound, ounce or kilogram
Though I’m entitled to tithes of listlessness.

Skintight jeans I wear
When it tickles my fancy
Don’t mean my subscription to indignities I swear
Nor do they signify my tenderness for truancy.

Priorities

As humans we are exempt from many indignities,
imagine you were a fish just waiting to be stuffed,
no place to hide, pre-determined, after you huffed and puffed,
shortened life-span, of no consequence, the classic also-ran.

Kipling said: 'To be born an Englishman is to win
one of the great lotteries in life,' an out-dated
and racist comment but ironically with an element of truth;
however, goalposts have moved - what price a black Englishman?

My nephew says: 'No problem,' until you pass through
US Immigration - don't want any grenades hidden under turbans;
the extremists say they will never stop, have already,
fools, wasting Allah-given lives just like the stuffed fish.

Yes, we know, at least the fish is eaten, they're beaten,
contributed nothing, except condemnation, 'in a black room
with white curtains,' at Mombai Station.

Classism

Many U.S. citizens
deny that democratic civility and classism can,
and often do,
co-exist.

These tend to be
those who also deny
the multigenerational inheritance of enslaving racism
in defense of egalitarian beliefs
about dignity and indignities of human life,
where some have access to personal and habitat and economic health
by right,
while others,
often born multigenerationally poor,
have yet to earn their equal health care receiving rights
until they have paid their economic care-giving dues
for another decade or generation
or two
or three
or more,
who knows?

So good to know
we live in a culture
without classism,
and certainly without racism.

We just think,
using that term loosely,
that everybody should live equally 
separately
as things have always been since,
well...
back to the days of slavery and Kings,
the way God originally ordained,
after the Paradise Forest of Eden,
of course,
which is all our own damned Original Sin fault.

Nodoby would want to go all the way back 
to that radical absence of classism
and racism
ReGenerative Creation Story.

Or,
maybe we would?
perhaps we could?
possibility we multiculturally should?

Onward Christian Soldier

a cavalcade wept ashore with frenzy like a beastly bus
oblivious of tribes who blissfully dealt without a fuss
triangulated within an ever narrowing pen
contaminated, decimated, eradicated “red” men
once a collection of indigenous separate “nations” 
plucked by invaders who usurped america as their den
releasing poison couched as religion into the air
which indignities true colors became readily clear
when europeans “discoverers” fomented war-fare
to those who found themselves in deadly cross hair
every inch of “new world” grimly rustled in every lair
with deadly piping hot metallic bullets with near
with unfamiliar customs on par with a satyr
without means to escape any direction they did veer
cohesion of unity did annihilate without a trace 
that belonged to those who stood apart as separate race
paraded as “exotic specimens” in some faraway place
bandied about as if some rare refined silken lace
of their rightful home by chicanery tactics base
to banality, effrontery, hostility though dined
with travesty from Europeans whose dreams lined
against so called original occupants who got maligned.

The Unveiling of Jane

 Celebrating the Unveiling of Jane 

Jane, a doll, is important to me,
As my childhood slips from my dwindling mind,
She's what I have left materially,
She can touch many another of my kind

Her face is crackled, nonrestorable,
Her hair is skimpy and thin, a sage,
One toe was once nibbled by a mouse,
She suffers the indignities of age.

Still she's a bit vain in her original dress,
A bit of silk, and a still sweet smile,
Her blue eyes twinkle, still open and shut,
She represents all of our miles.

So, speaker, say "She's you and me,"
Let us sit vicariously on her pedestal stand.
May our eyes twinkle like Jane's as we grow old,
Our secrets dance with our old school band

Toll of the Bell

The pain of reality 
allows my mind 
to slip into delirium 
Where faces, once recognized
shed tears for the 
shell of who I was
I lie waiting
for the toll of the bell
Soon, I will get my wings
leaving this body behind
Free of indignities 
old age has garnished upon me
There is no fountain
of youth as
Tedium escapes me
And shadows pass
before my eyes
The final page
has not been written
in a book which has 
reached its end

~JJR 1/30/16

For a Sweet Sable Saintly Mother

FOR A SWEET SABLE SAINTLY MOTHER

Wearing her crown of pearly white hair,
Her sunken orbs glowed with a regal glare.
Her ebony hued, wrinkle hands, strong as stone
Are monuments of the burdening labor she had owned.

As her broken body has known sorrow and pain,
It remains a mystery how she has managed to remain sane.
Though her life has known despair and great depravity,
She’s never succumbed to the indignities of social gravity.

Indeed, “life for her has been no crystal stair”,
Yet, for us, she has always been there with loving care.
She’s the sturdy black bridge which we’ve crossed over on;
To travel along the jubilee road towards our liberation.

Indeed, this raven skin queen reins supreme like no other:
Praise God for the blessing me with this sweet sable saintly mother.

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