It feels muted.
Like a bubbling ache, miming the mince of my patronising murk.
The peevish petulance of my prejudice prompts an abandoned frugality so thinned to a destined demise.
Unlaced.
Untied.
Undone.
A portal so honed to the residual refine of my extinction.
The sterling silver glints off the ashen sheds of my abandoned flesh; she looks like a platter.
Each serving an amortisation to the segments of my pestilent seethe.
Every atom of her making nurtures a barbaric famine to the fester of her feud.
Each larceny a sacrificial suckle for the prosperity of her condemn.
I feel my ruins spewing in a sovereign decay of a cataclysm so heinous in its destruction.
So sinister in its devaluation.
So predatory in its death.
It feels muted; all my days blending one.
All my days blending into the countdown to my censure.
My day of reckoning.
Who is disabled?
Is it me, or is it you?
Should disability be based
On an anatomical stock-take,
Or based on what you can do?
For I can climb mountains,
I can soar through the sky,
And I can slay dragons,
With just a blink of an eye,
I can overcome barriers,
Fight against impossible odds,
Ignore patronising glances
And condescending nods.
So who is disabled?
Is it me, or is it you?
It is completely subjective,
It’s just your point of view…
CHICKADEE
The term of endearment for a girl
Now dated slang and rarely heard
But around any lady it could swirl
Not so much the cute winter bird
But for some, a patronising word
False Friend.
Your bull smeared on crystal glass
Comes out of your mouth, out of your ass
Your high society, hold your pinky high
You found the gutter, reaching for the sky
Condescending, patronising, business failure
Buy a jacket from a top-hole tailor.
You can’t buy class it’s all pretence.
Doing things that are complete nonsense.
Making plans, planned never to keep.
Used to control, the peasant sheep.
Paying bills gives the illusion of power
Explaining a clock in an ivory tower.
Imposing your will, expanding control
Speaking words, using a sociopathic drawl
You don’t fool me, I shake my head.
I never listened to a word that you said.
The perfect pair, how clever you are?
And yet you still bought an electric car?
Building a house staying off the grid
Justifying the cost who’re you trying to kid?
David Cox 23/03/24
Telling people I don’t get it
misunderstanding your objective
my perception be corrected
teaching me when I’m pathetic
I thought you were horrible
but you say it’s not possible
my mind’s become illogical
really you were wonderful
Oh right then I must be a clown
I thought that you had let me down
guess I got it wrong way around
forgot to smile wrong to frown
I must have looked like a dumb thing
now I don’t I owe you something
you stay there all nice and comfy
without you I’d look a numpty
Stopping me looking the bad guy
saving me from such a sad life
god I bet I looked a daft sight
always wrong you’re always right
Well anyway our friendship’s done
because you are a special one
I make mistakes while you make none
you’re a fake mate that’s no fun
gripping the shards of memories
ignoring the bloodied emotions
why do we torture ourselves
with that which we cannot change
these evocations
vivid
disturbing
invisible to others
but our élan spotlit
driven
instituting mostly patronising
eleemosynary projects
perfect recall
subject to
experiences dictated by
accident of birth
the authenticity of memoirs
tenaciously defended
but ravaged by
subliminal influences
a testimony to its perfidy
better in the darks
patronising words
to tell you
all those times
her whispers of because
peeled me to the seed
empty stops awhile
and darkness glints from edges
lifting dying swans nape
to share breath
touch of almost hasn't
and hold that does
I was a total novice when I joined the site
hadn’t got a clue what was wrong or right
You were arrogant with overbearing bravado
patronising me, saying my poetry was trite
In your eyes I didn’t write ‘proper’ poetry
and became hell bent on humiliating me
Acting like you were a poetry aficionado
who’d swallowed an archaic dictionary
You made barbed comments, it was so cruel
and even challenged me to a ‘poetry dual’
behaving like an egotistical desperado -
in the end you’re the one looking a fool
I stopped posting poetry for a short while
got soup mails, folk were missing my style
People preferred my wit to the dull ‘dodo’
he left the site, I stayed to bring a smile!
A true tale of what happened to me a few months after I joined soup - this guy couldn't stand the fact my fun poems were more appreciated that his 'superior' sonnets and he challenged me to a dual to see who got the most comments and reads. In the end I stopped posting for a while but got so much support I bounced back
Judged By A Jury Of Your Peers Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Koplin
20/29/20
Welcome…
Judgemental, Patronising, Fake adults
Mocking, Scornful Ridiculers
Contemptuous, Disrespectful, Sneering Users…
Welcome Welcome to ripen to maturity.
Who is disabled?
Is it me, or is it you?
Should disability be based
On an anatomical stock-take,
Or based on what you can do?
For I can climb mountains,
I can soar through the sky,
And I can slay dragons,
With just a blink of an eye,
I can overcome barriers,
Fight against impossible odds,
Ignore patronising glances
And condescending nods.
So who is disabled?
Is it me, or is it you?
It is completely subjective,
It’s just your point of view …
"A Recipe for Antonym"
the opposite of
didactic
ulterior motive
Elastic,
bend over for receiving
patronising missives
presumptuous, friendly and deadly
with lol and smiles
then genuflect
then somersault backwards
it’s part of the ceremony
in the soupy wash
Socratic passive is us
plastic, pernicous, piquant and plural
sipped slowly and loyally steadfast
scratching backs towards the shadows
of whispered never me's (sic)
to mirrors gushing sibilant soliloquy
the opposite of lost is now moving in
with a bent halo
and sewn off blunderbuss
inscribed on the handle
I’m sure glad I'm not one of you us
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Twice" / Little Dragon
https://youtu.be/TrpMncSZe-I
It is true,
That once we were so much more,
But through the ages of devolution,
We have become lost within our time,
What once we were capable of now is incomprehensible,
No longer open to interpretation,
So few so close to remembering,
Perverse how evolution has become our execution,
We are echoes crossing dimensions,
Drowning in the obsessions of morbid fascination,
Our inability to conceive our own potential,
Becomes the patronising ignorance of our own progress.
We have come so far by losing so much,
That all we are now is lost.
wM
Speaking truth through lies, in a society so guarded,
Desperate proclamations simply disregarded,
covered by what is maleficent,
unheard and insignificant,
within the draught a cocktail of emotion,
patronising rumours ignite the commotion,
Preconceptions mask the integrity of one’s word,
Misunderstandings faintly disperse, no-one’s truly heard,
a recycled response too quick and bleak,
no chance to think or hear one speak,
confront to unveil the truth,
provoke to aggravate the youth,
flickering flares of cynicism burn the strings by which hope hangs,
scepticism seeping through the caged tigers’ fierce fangs,
rattle the metal, aggregate the beast,
hair lifting, chilling stab, to say the least,
recuperate that which you lack,
self-proclaimed target of attack,
need not exert the power of confidence,
only to be tackled down by ignorance,
A peaceful act goes unnoticed due to preconception of brutality,
Manipulating persuasions, display a distortion of reality,
mercy is only given as defeat is anticipated,
Who are these folks we call people?
For want of names drawn from hat
or drawn from lucky dip in remainder bin.
A set of folk not friend nor foe
but unknown masses anointed as anonymous.
Prescribed to be, what we want them, to be
just people, other people, strangers.
We can call them what we like.
We can say what we like about them
good or bad, happy or sad.
Our gumption in presumption
is patronising to people,
just people.
SONNET FOR REALISM IN ACTION
OR: If a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing badly
We’re told with smug assurance patronising
That if a job’s worth doing, then do well with it
But if we doubt our faultless realising
We’re inclined to say in hopelessness ‘to hell with it!’
With projects of high promise I could regale ya
Begun with soaring hope at their inception
But ended, quit because of fear of failure
To live to standards asking for perfection
An alternate motto, different course to plough
‘Keep hope and faith then maybe bye and bye
If we press on, we’ll muddle through somehow
We might as well go on and give it a try’
Here’s a slogan more realist than proverbial
‘If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth it’ - no clause adverbial
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.