Opprobrium Poems

Tandoori or Tangerine Tan shorts no1

Tandoori or Tangerine Tan?

Mister rich lister Blister

Sinister Mandarin Minister


Sin..Spin & Chagrin Talisman

Jaundice scrotum prejudice totem

Prime time Pantomime

Podium pandemonium
 

Needs Imodium...clearly feeds Opprobrium 

As this git dearly did his bit 

No boom just bust

To ensure the sh*t really hit the fan

Just one more time!

Do Your Worst

Perhaps you think I’m sitting here, amazed.
Egregious as the test you set me is,
the truth is, I am utterly unfazed.

Desultory, to me, this kind of quiz.    
Of course I like a challenge. Don’t we all?
God’s chosen one? The lawyer. He gets his.

Concupiscence I’ll use (I have the gall):   
attendant difficulties, I ignore.
Tough polysyllables? The merest squall 

before the sunshine. What I most adore,   
objectively, is playing with your mind:
you throw me junk, I somehow make it soar.  

So do your worst. I thrive on rotten rind.    
Opprobrium I effortlessly flout,
neglect embrace: contumely, leave behind.

The rancour’s like the Russians, put to rout, 
or North Koreans, tied up, tamed and  tazed.   
You’ll try, but you will never catch me out.

Africanism:Rise

The ancestral savannahs of my people
Are still alive in the unseen horizons
Our grandparents have told us many
Wonderful things about our tribe
Before they arrived, we were here

On the banks of the rivers and streams
We stood and saw their ships
North, south, East and West
Your blood flows in my veins; Only we
Can irrigate the fields without profits 

The sick mentality of favour doing
Need to be hang or put in the electric chair
We are not anyone boys or lessers
Our ancestors were kings, queens, and nobles
There was so much to eat and drink

The blood of our sweat, the sweat of our labor
Elements of stability; Rise Up Africans
Like a corpse, bury the weight of opprobrium
No more trembling, red blemishes
Shine in the middle; go nowhere

Africans, wise, and strong
Young and old; be a stimulating tree
Be part of the newfound springing up Africa
Amid the pale and faded flowers, we rise
Deliberately, and earnestly, we rise

With Habakkuk Kargbo (Rabbi)
©Poem Makers SL (18/04/24)

One Day

When man becomes
           the man's dog ...
           When the clear appears
            the dark...
            When the authority acts as
            injustice ...
            When the law lives on
            the disorder ...
            When violence establishes itself as
            the truth...
            When the ideology admitted as
           the religion...
            When all love is
            the pain ......
            When love then
             weaken...
             When to defeat instead
             to touch ...
             Then this world will be
             close to extinguish ...
             Then our blackout will be
             imminent...
             But it won't be exactly
             so if, man does not
             disappear in the opprobrium,
             in barbarism ,,,!

You Look Mad When You Tell of the Mad

Trying to express horrifically unsavoury and odious acts of heinousness, 
such unspeakable repugnant opprobrium packed with horrendousness 
is a test stacked with specific unfavourable hopeless stress, 
seen a crying fuzz of the weakened redundant mental mess.

You will find, 
when telling of the mad, 
you're unkind, 
and seemingly bad. 

People will treat you insanely s*it,
but insanity is you when you tell of it, 

in short: if the stories are mad
and the people in them are mad
but nobody knows they are mad
when telling others you look mad




*because sometimes the simple words 
better the poetry 
with regards to simple minded herds, 
that's what life is showing me

Half a Century

Half a Century

Fifty is not old if you are a tree and the oak tree holds acorns
already planted in waiting for the wheel of life to continue in
sentient beings on time weathered paths one step at a time

I used to be the little child with budding flowers spreading
branches wings for leaves and restless roots pruned with giant
secateurs of what the tempest’s norms held in store for growth

Youth no opprobrium no graceless ignominy’s dishonour but a
rebellious tentative and necessary premise for fulfilment and still
today mere age is no achievement and tree rings not a triumph 

At times the reaper has ignored the oak tree fruit and had a go
with ropes and chainsaw poisoned water nails in bark and acid
rain and yet this seasoned sapling stands its tiny ground in time

It is a tree because of branches and without them it is just a stake
some of them withered some are supple like the child I used to be
and somewhere in boughs and twiglets lies the youth of ageing life

False Profit

I've been misled by my opprobrium again
Stuck in this continuum until the bitter end
Elysian fields beckon me like a moth to flame
Halcyon days gone like 15 minutes of fame
Coal black devil in a pinstripe suit 
and the suicide king are in cahoots
To strip me of every last fiber of being
until it's all over but the fleeing
Girded by the phalanx, but still just one man
I wade into the gore as far as I can
Herded like a sheep to its slaughter
I'd fight back but why bother
Miscreants and mendicants, magi and infants
Orchard full of the skulls of dissidents
Juxtapose a joke within the jeer
Somewhere amidst the ennui and the fear
Go to church and lurch forward in your seat
Bring a casserole for the meet and greet
Pixelated images and a distorted voice
mouth full of marbles garbling about choice
Parading about with the éclat of a Broadway actor
while actually looking for the next benefactor
Truth be told, water does come from a stone
As long as the glory is given to God alone

Limerick: Once a Cadre In a Revolution

Limerick : Once a Cadre in a Revolution

Once a Cadre in a Revolution
Took strict lessons in elocution
Saw himself on podium
Safe from opprobrium
Ai ! Missed lessons in execution !

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013

Fealty's Storm

Clouds hover over fealty's 
splendored domain
Grey patches our devolving 
relationship stain
Dark shadows of doubt stride our 
weather vane
Jading wind of indifference; eerie, 
dolesome refrain
Thunderous echo of despair from  
distant, careening train
Lightening's serrated edges strike 
our exposed terrain
Duplicitous motives weathered bond 
doth strain
Torrential outbursts cannot all the 
opprobrium drain
Icy pellets laced with malice 
bombard each, desolate plain
Soaked psyches now bleached with 
residual disdain
From all rational discourse spent 
minds abstain
Penitent tears cannot cleanse the 
mildewed brain
Flooded tributaries flowing from 
fidelity's bulging vein
Eroding the final links of fealty's, 
tenuous chain

Canvas of Life

The panels faded o'er time earlier creativity constrains
Yet the material value of past visions maintains
Canvas now tinted with darker hues; youthful vigor restrains
But each, underlying tone, burnished with yesterday's dreams, remains
Once gilded strokes now meaningless, paternalistic strains
Yet the meandering pattern an innocent quality still contains
Each, delicate, insecure swab the grainy picture retains
But on the brash backstrokes the forgiving eye trains
Every callous blot each year more opprobrium drains
But every thoughtful deviation the quilted fabric ingrains   
Glossy pictures of green pastures corroded by earthy stains
But ephemeral beauty from burgeoning fount surrealistic vista still feigns
The counterfeit copy the brokered ideal even more disdains
But the bartered images serve to rationalize nominal gains

Cold Comfort

When life on this planet seems cumbersome
and weighted with serious magnitude,
delight dragged down by deep opprobrium,
I pad into the kitchen for some food.

In front of the refrigerator, I
see tacked with tacky magnets your sweet face ,
in the photograph taken last July,
and what was crushing becomes an embrace.

All the gravity of Earth seems flimsy,
it’s unyielding force demonstrably soft,
when refrigerator magnets’ whimsy
can anchor cheerful memories aloft.

Cold comfort may sound like a paradox,
but nourishment’s on both sides of this box.

Harbor of Incontinence

In loves harbor moored in the dock of regression
and anchored in the quicksand of incontinence
as briny waves of inconstancy wash over my jaded bough
scouring my white-washed deck over and over 
leaving the silty residue of bartered romances
tarnishing the fibers of my brigand hull
peeling back the glossy facade that coated my proud vessel
the drift wood of jilted lovers floats all around
shrouding my leased yacht with the residual chaff
of once fertile fronds that bloomed with romance
then were blighted by the cankering disease of insincerity
tides bring in the brackish seaweed of of salty flings
that never rooted my wandering eye or planted my wavering feet
which were tossed to and fro by a truant wind
constantly moving in a listless, uncharted direction
bandied about by the restless currents of change
barges of opprobrium clamor about in my choppy waters
tugging at my corroded conscience pushing the dross
of my intemperate, impulsive dalliances into my feckless psyche

Beyond the Veil

Sacral veil that shrouds bright hopes, dark fears
Screening altar that christens so deep a bond
Scrolled with the innocence of carefree years
Sacrificial shutter signifying all self-serving interests will abscond
Separating from the corporeal ties that correspond
Shade shielding truant desires from the dawning light
Mantle that merges burgeoning stems into fertile frond
Curtain hiding fawning beauty; maiden's honor not to spite
Mysterious tapestry woven to purposely slight, then seemlessly delight
Universal symbol sanctioning fealty, consecrating fidelity
Satin awning whose placid eaves opprobrium doth disquiet
Temporal cloth lifted; two souls span the bridge to immortality
Ceremonial threads relegated to the scrapbook of blanching time
Cherished patent that spawned a new love in it's prime

Augustinian Premonition

Dark shadows stalk the imaginary paths of my brain
Mirroring conscience reflects the torpor of my anguished soul
Black clouds hover in every dark corner of my jaded psche
Raining doubt and fear on the canvas of my jaundiced mind
Brackish tears of penance but soil the pores of my fever-soaked face
Flowing into a convoluted whirlpool of shame that constantly recycles my depraved actions
Emptying into the recesses of my vacuous inner being
Stagnating pools of opprobrium surround my bleached heart
Nauseous fumes of pride from my murky depths smother all good intentions
Stranding my drowning soul in the quicksand of intemperance and overindulgence

Ire

What does it take to pinpoint
The emotion of love and get
It past you?
How is it that you uncongenialy
Antiquate us with malevolent,
And still live with no worries?
You've created such antipathy in
The human eyes
Now it's so much more opaque
Than it used to be
The lack of emotion is
Inestimable and sequestered
There here is very incredulous
Am I the only one that sees this?
Such ignominy has filled me
This world, these people
It is all just opprobrium

Written November 1, 2005

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