Long Scornfully Poems
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I used to sing on the school bus,
Harmonise and everything, full blast,
Most of the others had strong voices,
And I would wish mine was cast.
Geoff the driver would put Radio Forth on,
And we’d all sing along very loudly;
There was nothing there to sing above,
No-one to distract or behave scornfully.
My mum told me off three times,
For singing in church normally and confidently,
As she needed me to have a place for her,
To nurture me and disciple me intelligently.
So since I was four, I've never really sung again,
In church, all dressed up and religious,
So I greatly appreciated those times on the bus,
When the others were about my voice zealous.
I remember Morvan who had Christian grandparents,
And George who really had a lovely voice,
And Keith who would join in whenever he wanted to,
And Kirsteen who thought she had no choice.
It was an offish old yellow mini bus,
With dark yellow and brown triangle seats,
So it reminded me of the yellow submarine,
And I looked forward to its shortcut cheats.
She slipped clumsily in a
café
Looked all around her
from the corner of her
eye
Felt all eyes upon her
Bit her lip
and flushed crimson
disconcertedly.
He was sacked, literally
fired
Got down in the dumps
Was down and out
and was left feeling blue
so gloomily.
He gave her a blossomed
rose
Blood rushed to her
cheeks
She blushed a deep red
so joyously.
She watched her rival
from afar
Summed up her
envy in reflex
and she turned green
jealously.
It looked hale and hearty
Ooh the cherubic chubby
cheeks
Baby looked in the pink
as it babbled away
innocently.
She heard of a loved
one's demise.
That was a shock indeed
She went white as a
sheet
as she then wept so
woefully.
She saw a teeny-weeny
spider on her skirts
Talk of arachnids and
phobias, yikes!
She turned a pale yellow
in fright
as she screamed fearfully.
He found his sweetheart
in another man's arms
Doubted his own charms
and his face went purple
with rage
almost immediately.
He faced his lifelong
enemy
Hate brimmed up in him
as his bitterness found a
vent
He shot him a black glare
most scornfully
well well, it might seem
that the worst of all the
human hues
are the melancholic
depressing blues
But I think being green
for jealousy
and the black of hate
top the list in deserving
poohs.
Mind you these human
pigmentation of emotion
are a matter of reflex
for you can't choose
which of the human hues
you'd like to wear, on
party day
and which you'd rather
not use.
The dream was of me
I dreamt off me in my dream
It was fearfully dreadful a dream
Long ago was the day of my last dream
Before the dream that came knocking on me
Startled still, as I opened up myself for it
Then comes the dream in a dreamy toga.
They were many of them gathered
Gathered only in one accord accordingly
Like the disciples of Jesus Christ of the then
In front of a room just like the upper room
Some in their usual ape-like suite with a tie
Others in Babariga ;Ankara ; Damask ;Lab coat
Pretending to be engrossed with something
Giggling with a mischievous stern look.
In one accord they all nodded cynically
Mimicking no one but the Agama lizard
It was of me they discussed endlessly
Still refusing to leave the only path
That leads to the other world of light
From the darkness we were plunged into
They scornfully displayed the key before me
It was the key to the other world of light.
Tiredness suddenly zoom off me
As I regain my strength to continue to
Force my way out, off the men who held sway
For several moons only in darkness in a garden
Meant to be of light en-route knowledge.
Alas! My freedom came like a proverbial thief
The king of the jungle only in the dark.
For the misfit mistaken as men in our garden of light
They were swept off the ground, nurtured, captured
And ruptured into the dustbin of history,
As I regain freedom from the shackles of their fiefdom,
I shared the dream of me with other dreamers
That was me in my dream.
Alayande Stephen.T
13th,July,2006 , 9.49pm
Dangling from fragile threads
soaked in suppressed emotions
I weigh my limited options
as flashes from the past flicker
behind a barrier of uncertainty.
In swirling mist I see your hazy
expressionless face. I call out,
my voice cracking under the
strain of persistent instability.
Scornfully stonewalling me
you turn and walk away, while
suspended in the throes of time,
I hesitate, then stop in my tracks
dejected…rejected…hurting...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A Pale Shelter Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Placed 2nd
© 7th November 2019
Published in:
PS: It’s Still Poetry Volume II ~ (1 Jan. 2022)
ISBN-13:? 979-8793344418
Why was born in that specific time,
sealing a fate too quick to regret,
when changes swept an entire world?
In some places there was war,
and in others there was peace,
but the unrest was read on every face;
and the most courageous ones joined the fight,
to defend their freedom on this once-serene shore...
who could have sensed the anticipation of discord?
My dilemma seemed to bother me alone,
everybody else went about their normal living,
without the anxiety and the worry of being
carried away by the pathetic winds of sub-consciousness;
was I being neglected and rejected for my opinions?
Nobody seemed to listen or even care:
a battle is fought by all, and the fiercest warrior must lead
them in the challenging battle-field...
to determine ways how to win it without incurring many losses;
and an exaggeration, with boastful praises, would be unfair!
I exercised caution not to provoke hostility,
or aggravating those tensions already exposed to anger,
so I hid myself in the shroud of an incognito: to bear
a day-to-day existence sensing a denial of sympathy;
to be a sentinel and warn what was the scourge of the lie,
because the evidence was as clear as a moonlit sky!
Making compromises to underline my concept...
words as concise as the ones spoken by a truthful mouth,
unvarying in their pure meaning, piercing as roses' thorns;
and then, menacing glances and sour eyes became the phantoms
that could have easily frightened me or harmed me with their enraged voices...
I intercepted that danger and ended their madness!
Approaching life without questioning one's heart,
without asking what can be claimed for every effort ever made,
implies an ignoble cause not needed to be scornfully concealed:
in the shroud of an incognito and be blameless of the internal conflict!
When she named Jack as her val,
I knew him never to be a pal,
To the naive girl with the eyes of dove,
For this rascal has been known to shove,
Every soul who has been his prey,
Leaving them all with the eyes of grey.
But Cinderella was sure she will not be the same,
Like the other girls who didn't know how to tame,
The crooked guy with the dreamy eyes.
She rode foolishly on the rascal cheeky lies.
But landed with a thud too bad to mend,
And the crooked val laughed scornfully at her sorry end.
This Cinderella is in many girls I see today,
In a twinkling of an eye they eat their future away,
With just a morsel, a future is marred.
With just a morsel, a destiny is barred.
14/2/19
" She was born in 219 A.D.,
I met her in 235 when she was 16 years old.
I was working hard with her father as a mercenary
from a Belgium territory, trying to persuade a chieftan named Horaic
to attack the Roman garrison west of the river.
Tamitha had the energy of a robin & the curiosity of a pirate,
she loved hearing accounts of mesoamerican cultures;
I gave her a jade owl from the Andes
which she held onto like her heart depended on it.
One day a couple of bandits scared her off from the woods,
she fell from her horse,
broke a few ribs which puntured her lung
and she died nine days later in agony;
there is a balance to the Cosmos that I cannot interfere with.
1300 years later I found a girl that resembled Tamitha,
brought her to an artist named Michaelangelo
and arranged for him a Vatican Commission
if he would draw for me that picture
based on my recollection and this girl from Constantinople."
I asked, are you capable of having children,
Lucifer answered with a pensive dignity, " Yes,
actually I possess the libido of a rattle snake
but I dare not concieve,
any biological offspring of mine
may successfully challenge my supremacy."
So that Biblical story of you and Eve
is simply a myth like the lost city of El Dorado,
He replied, " Since you have broached the subject
I'll reveal something that is very precious information for me,
Jesus, whose original name was Mephistopheles,
was my first and only biological Son.
Mephistopheles was born so long ago
that the stars you see today
in the canopy of heaven were but afterthoughts to him
when his regicide was affected.
We coexisted for millenia,
sometimes happily, sometime scornfully,
our goals were more regional then,
not so much global, he lacked access to primordial wisdom
and consequently developed philosophy & strategy
diametric to fundamental nature."
J.A.B.
After undergoing all kinds of known tortures
a prisoner closed his eyes with a heart-lending cry.
The torturer who witnesses the dying prisoner
was so frustrated because he couldn’t induce
any wanted information from the prisoner.
He kicked the dead man by the side with anger and mumbled,
“This persistent SOB, died so agonizingly, didn’t leave
a piece of information I was looking for!”
Then, the corpse opened his eyes,
staring at the torturer, wearing a sardonic smile and said scornfully,
“Don’t you know? A dead man won’t feel pain!”
The torturer shocked, couldn’t speak for a moment,
then gathered himself and said,
“I hope you didn’t forget that you have
a wife and children.”
The corpse closed his eyes sad and painfully.
There a drop of tear clearer than the early morning dew
welled up and stood in his eye became red as ruby
mixed with blood stain.
Enough
Do I need your validation?
God forbid! I’d rather die
Who decides if I am worthy?
I would think not you, but I
As you scornfully will eye me
And pretend that you don’t see
All the richness of my blessings
Just because you are not me
Compliments were never granted
Though I craved a few or more
And I know that I deserved them
But you kept me starved and poor
Still you lingered in my presence
Or was it the other way around?
All the while you would be gleaning
The things in which I would abound
Even though I felt your envy
I would fool myself instead
That your friendship did me favors
So I followed while you led
And I gave while you were taking
Not one time I would rebuff
Till one day I took the courage
And I sternly said ’Enough!’
Now you say my sudden actions
Made you feel much hurt and pain
Well I’m sorry but I had to
So I could get off your chain.
Wendy Nipas
Whoever tries to interfere
with this mystery about me:
is in for a stunning surprise,
everything deeply concealed
can't possibly be revealed!
Others will sell their soul to green,
to be in the glamorous spotlight;
and the irony, beside the folly,
never demands an apology
and be apparent in every delusional appeal,
which feeds on justification rather than sympathy:
feeling so wretched and depleted and ashamed of being seen...
And will this mystery about me
die and not be denounced with demure...
without being in a deluge of dire regret,
devising another plan and detour;
desiring of breaking free
without deviating from the main road:
to discern the importance of dignity,
and disconnect hope with dilemma and hate...
Dispirited, recurring to unpleasing choices
and dispersing the inward beauty without dismal;
disembodying my aspect of gracefulness,
to hide this mystery about me
by building a wall to ignore their call...
and will my dishonesty be rejected scornfully,
or will they understand my silence
by showing fondness and love?
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci