Scorning Poems | Examples

Night of Tragedy

The incentive to write the following verses came from my thoughts 
at the moment the 'president' addressed the country about the 
tragedy that took place over DC.


The night many witnessed a collision over Washington, DC
A terrible fate and loss of lives. It could've been you or me.
"Acceptable" the description of traffic control at that hour
Then, "not normal" twas said of those manning the tower.

In a burst of flames, Blackhawk and AA fell into the river
A national tragedy witnessed that caused many to shiver.
Sixty-seven in the cold Potomac... what a horrific way to die
Left behind, their family and friends, many tears they'd cry.

Except for one... While tears flowed in hours of mourning,
The President's heartless speech, I found worthy of scorning.
He read words without emotion, no compassion in his droll voice
A Republican elephant, more like an a.s.s. ~ the people's choice.

He made it worse by pointing a crooked finger, narcissist fool,
blaming Dems for the crash. Greed and power make him drool.
A President without a heart cannot display grief and empathy.
What kind of man is totally void of showing an ounce of sympathy?

No longer funny

Now that I've no money,
You said I'm a monkey,
You now think it's funny,
But it's no way funky.
You said I'm a donkey,
That's no longer swankie,
'Cos you're now a bunny,
Im no longer hunny.
 But when I had money,
I was then a honey,
We went on journeys,
Needing no attorneys.
You left without warning,
I now cry each morning 
I'm now good for scorning,
With my heart now mourning.

Hopelessness is a Loyal Mistress

Hopelessness is a loyal mistress. 
Tender agonies whispered in ones ear,
twisted thoughts to forget by sunlight;
only the uneasy shadows cast doubt.
Warming embrace of past mistakes,
lovingly corrupting every though;
every joyous memory left defiled. 

She is a tenacious, unstoppable force.
Sacred truths lifted from impenetrable walls; 
raised up as if by providence, thusly burned.
Loneliness is the timber piled to the sky,
entombing childish dreams of the everlasting.
Hatred for the self becomes a ready tinder,
Lost sparks of loving hands burn forever. 

Motherly care scorning innocence;
beautiful tenderness charred to a black husk.
Hopelessness is a loyal mistress, 
ever guiding you into the abyss. 
Hope a bonfire lit by loving hands.

Behold the Beast

Behold the beast, wandering in astral night
From dark caverns he emerges by starlight
to quaff nectar from his ambrosia chalice.
A leering creature with evil eyes of malice.

What nefarious thoughts does he ponder
as muscles ripple in his aimless maunder?
Does his venomous tongue thirst for more?
A pungent stench sloughs from every pore.

Empty cup held in gnarled gargantuan hand,
this goliath bellowed orders in foul reprimand,
"Heed my warning or tonight one of you will die;
the one who allows my nectar flagon to run dry!"

With each guzzle, the more belligerent he grew,
a frightful scene in which a battle would ensue.
The massive titan stumbled out in moonlight,
with ripe grape libation, he was fueled for a fight.

What brutish slander he grunts without a pause.
Frothing at the mouth with fallacy as his cause.
Scorning those upon whom he wishes to feast.
Brutal is bigotry when malevolence is released.

Thanksgiving Dinner

November came in downright quiet
Scorning seasons who bring a riot
Thanksgiving would come fast,
Scrumptiousness at long last,
Warranting you’d go on a diet

Sun shining bright in sweet November
Causing souls to surely remember,
Thanksgiving brings delights,
Sweetness in tiny bites,
Bellies eager to meet December

Decisions

Decision-making often is quite daunting.
Uncertainty pervades my thoughts this morning.
Two worthy causes prove persistent—haunting
my fevered mind. The one will I be scorning,
for now, is housework. Rhymes, I will be penning.
Preferring words to cleansers is not sinning!



April 28, 2023

May 1, 2023,  placed 8th in Brian Strands contest 1212

Cathy's Cat

Half Alpaca, it spits if I dare kiss Cathy's ruby lips.
It plants a jacked-up rhubarb stalk,
a stiff stalking walk
if I dare roan hands over
my lovers compliance.

Cathy’s cat is much loved by itself
and also by the silky paws of its owner.
I think it may be transforming into a Burmese python
or something more slinky, sneaky, and lower.

As for I, it shows its one scorning pink eye
as it struts away
tail up, exposing a cool distain
as arrogantly possessive as any ‘fork you’ flag.

Admissions

When I join myself in prayer
all the survivors; all those still able to bear witness
regarding my twisted way through the moments
and decades come together in the nothing flat
all eager to tell their tales once more.

The dead speak little;
ushering blindfolded angles
lead them into my presence
yet they are reluctant to testify or blame.

The survivors line up ready to spill all the beans
or elaborate upon some minor escape from
a near miss, or a cliff edge pull-back
when I gabbed myself away, not from the fall
but from the hard ground.

I listen nodding like a priest in a confessional box
absolving some, scorning others, dismissing many.
After this séance with myself,
I take an Ambien and sleep
dreaming of a life that once had meaning.

Valentine Greeting Card

I love you in the morning
I love you in the night
I love you without scorning
I love you with my might

Save your kisses just for me
Save your caresses too
Save your song of what will be
Save your words of love so true

Say you’ll be my Valentine
Say you’ll be mine forever
Say you’ll love me for all time
Say you’ll leave me never

Snow Job By Santos With Lying Long Nose

Snow Job by Santos With Lying Long Nose

has job when it snows
Santos has long nose that grows
in dark also glows

what we do propose
stop Santos who has long nose
each lie grows and grows

Santos anointed
after being appointed
were disappointed

storming and storming
guided by global warning
Santos is scorning

a picture he paints
of members going to All Saints
following restraints

Annuntiatio

I stumbled through each morning,
it was all about today
Dissolute and scorning,
of all that passed away
Wandering and faint of heart,
old promises unsworn
Living once then living twice
—the moment was reborn

(Dreamsleep: June, 2021)

The Sugar Sprite

The Sugar Sprite is not the one to blame
Although I was ashamed to call her name
I didn’t want to lose her
By the fact I might abuse her
But the calling was to choose her
Just the same

The Sugar Sprite is not so good for me
Although I like to keep her company
I call her in the morning
And she stays without a warning
With an attitude of scorning
Prophecy

The Sugar Sprite is still within my room
Her whisper is the reason for my gloom
I know she is my sorrow
For the sugar that I borrow
But my fate is still tomorrow
Or my doom.

Spam

I’ve never tasted Spam before
And don’t intend to do it,
Although, unless I try, I know
That I should not pooh-pooh it.

I wouldn’t even think of Spam,
The food that I am scorning,
If not for getting, on my phone,
A daily “Spam Risk” warning.

Some days it happens several times
From unfamiliar places,
Where spammers sit and make the calls
Behind their unseen faces.

I never answer if I see
That “Spam Risk” message blinking,
But just that word, you understand,
Provokes me into thinking.

Imagine on the other end,
A scammer with his planned pitch
Making calls all day while chomping
On his favorite canned Spam sandwich!

A Cold Calling

The cold calls were upsetting at first,
after a while, I almost wished for the
heavy breathing silence.

It was satisfying to think of someone
on the other end sighing disgustedly
at my own mechanical voice message.

Later I imagine that person, working
a second or third job,
desperate and tired fingers thumbing  through
lists of possibles, only to come to rest on
my number, and my scorning disregard.

Of course it’s all probably computer generated
and automated. No actual humanity involved,
except for the scam artists. They have
definitely got the human touch.

Maybe I can get a tele-marketing job?
Most poets have the necessary skills to be
disruptive, intrusive, and convincing,

and I can always wave my conscience
goodbye as I hunt you all down.

A Cold Calling

The cold calls were upsetting at first,
after a while, I almost wished for the 
heavy breathing silence.

It was satisfying to think of someone 
on the other end sighing disgustedly
at my own mechanical voice message.

Later I imagined that person, working 
a second or third job,
desperate and tired fingers thumbing through
lists of possibles, only to come to rest on 
my number, and my scorning disregard.

Of course it’s all probably computer generated 
and automated. No actual humanity involved,
except for the scam artists. They have
definitely got the human touch.

Maybe I can get a tele-marketing job? 
Most poets have the necessary skills to be
disruptive, intrusive, and convincing,

and I can always wave my conscience 
goodbye as I hunt you all down.

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