Best Appearances Poems
Broken mirrors crush me under deceptive appearances,
mutilated wisdom whistles hesitantly,
the heron gropes, flying through fragile fantasies and follies lost in the penumbra
Penumbra that pulses,
words flow like a black river rolling shadows,
Shadows that gaze at me with empty eyes,
routine breaks my shattered steps,
meaning seeps away,
I wonder if the murmur is worth it
The gloomy murmur of the moment hides a strange beauty,
the sky cracks with lead weeping liquid silver,
bitter drops burn my skin,
wounds sprout like lost roots from trees fallen in silence
Silence that presses,
nostalgia is the ash singing of a extinguished fire,
the obsession with time pours a cold blind eternity,
eternity that crushes weak dreams,
the moment captures and absorbs everything like a sea chewing shadows
Shadows of lost ships melt into viscous waves,
echoes fall silent under the broken sky,
meaning whispers a concocted story,
Story that bites,
silent screams vibrate under my skin,
broken light rocks me gently
Gently I float through the mist, the walls breathe silence,
shadows dance on dusty and cracked floors,
Cracked like the soul,
the dry leaf glides on a nameless lost river,
melancholy caresses a thin veil between longing and oblivion
Oblivion that calls me,
the abyss growls a strange peace,
the black moon grins in the sleeping waters,
Sleeping waters whisper,
thoughts break like scattered threads,
the sky crushes the moment,
The moment crushes meaning, water runs far
Far flies the heron buzzing over the mist,
words merge with winding shadows,
routine gnaws at cold roots,
eternity sleeps under the dull shining slab,
the dull shining slab calls me in a dream
Keeping Up Appearances takes precedence these days.
It's all about how we look in the various visual ways.
Our clothes must be fashionable, our hair must always shine,
Our body must be perfect, our face look young and fine.
So we work and work for the cost of this charade.
Though we are so stressed, the expense must be paid.
While who we are within, it seems we have forgot,
For how we appear's important, yet within, matters not.
Inside we can be rotten, selfish to the core;
As long as we're looking good, 'cause nothing matters more.
Modesty, former classiness, now has aside been flung
For sexual promiscuity and a wagging, toilet tongue.
Technology is keeping up with appearances' demand
With selfie taking phones attached to every hand.
The competition's fierce on the crowded stage,
Where breeds narcissism, spitefulness, and rage.
Being public is what's in, while privacy is out.
It's tell and show the world all, barring any doubt.
Everyone is public and so is everything,
All except humility as we, to our egos, cling.
All this showing off with our egos on parade,
We're too high on self to see, the outcome of our trade.
As Keeping Up Appearances keeps taking precedence,
Human values keep eroding along with common sense.
If Keeping Up Appearances remains the center of our attention,
Humanity will pay the cost with no values left to mention.
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2016-03-26 00:29:00 (EST)
All rights reserved.
There is a storm
Upon the tide
To keep good form
We have to ride.
Resisting temptation, oh why do we try.
Each resolution our lifestyles deny.
Self sacrifice, gives results we can measure.
Overweight flab, the product of pleasure.
Luncheon consists of some pieces of fruit.
Ulterior motives for wearing, a skimpy swimsuit.
Testing resolve, or a mere passing whim,
Impulsive actions are needed to slim.
Over achieving what nature intends.
Now we're enjoying a vacation with friends.
Slimming once more starts, when each new year ends.
1/ 30/ 2020.
Now I can tell for sure,
That I know a lot about life.
I can tell you something about people
And this opinion is not strict at all.
You know, looks are pretty deceptive,
And cute faces hide the axe behind their backs.
Knowing this, I'm a little unhappy,
I won't be so naive anymore.
Man's eyes are like a pool,
There is an extreme depth of feeling hidden in them.
And hide the deception in them, I'll tell you simply,
Sometimes in our life it is impossible.
People judge without noticing their vices,
They point their finger and shake their tongue.
They never learned their lessons,
And they try to hit me with a word like a bayonet.
Looking at such people, you want to spit,
Hoping that their venom will go away with their saliva.
It's a pity that such people can't disappear,
But they can easily not be themselves.
I can't pretend to forgive everyone,
I still see the pretense around me.
It's a good thing I've only been a guest in their lives,
And broke the deceptive circle.
This poem is written in the sonnet form,
And yet I have my doubts about its shape
Though nearly to that structure it conforms
There may be holes where nightmare faces gape.
It looks and speaks just as a sonnet would
And talks of metaphysical concerns.
Do we conclude, as poets and readers should,
That in our schizoid age we cannot learn?
For humans may be decked in clothes of wolves;
And lambs be dressed in lion’s fearsome furs.
Thus, sense is tricked and problems are unsolved.
Landscapes etched, yet details seem quite blurred.
It looks like one,it feels like one,it speaks;
Yet from these words, does human feeling leak?
I tried to reason with the Lady of Shalott,
"Be content! Don’t be so distraught!
You may long for the world of Lancelot and Guinevere ~
but let me tell you what’s about to happen there ~
they're about to lose everything they've got."
High heels in lawyer’s closet.
Pressed and starched weekday black and whites.
Three drawers of fine lingerie.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
.
I slipped off my smile
and removed those tight shoes.....
alone in my room
Broken Hearted Butterflies
Melting down now as she cries
Every single tear that rolls
Pain that only multiplies
And reveals all that she hides
Deep inside the core of lies
No one cares no one cares to see
Everyday how she sacrifice
Fading away with colors of life
Yet with a sparkle of hope in eyes
accepting all that as her fate
Every dream of a mother dies
October 13 2017
Broken-Hearted Poems - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
appurtenances, appearances require
~ society grieves passion’s passing desire
After
The retreat
Of the last cubic ice
The fire
Discovery,
And after,
Thousands of years
Of
Iron
Bronze
And tools
Testing.
After
The first form
Of calligraphic concrete was poured
After thousand of years of
Earth quakes,
Volcanic eruption,
And the earth calmed down.
God appeared.
First
To help us
Sort things out
To keep records
Of tyrants
And stories
Of few casualties
Cows and lams
That time
Himself
Was not that idealistic
He was dedicated
To a particular
People
Who spoke?
A particular language
He wanted
To calm down
Their spirit
And
Satisfy their little
Needs,
And make
It enough fair
Then
He appeared
A second
Time
This time
More sophisticated
More dedicated,
Blissful
With a new
Refined thoughts
And sharp
Commands
New powerful Greek truth
As powerful
As the Greek Zeus
But still
For
The same people
The same place
The same language
It is true!
Hell!
Who knows?
Back then about geography,
Eskimos,
Or a great river
Called the Mississippi.
But look
He is pragmatic
He knows what he wants,
What he is doing,
And to whom
He is addressing to.
Just to make it fair
It was not about
Geography
Then
After the commercial
Roads were well known
And extended
The Romans finished
Their exploration.
And after Cleopatra
Knew her f ate
He appeared for the third time
See!
It needs
Hell
Of
Human
Experiences
Hell
Of
Records
To show up
Again
Now here he is
In a desert
In no where
But still
Too close
To the same
Geography
It was about
Civilizing
The un-civilized
Desert
It was about
Taking care
Of the
Dust and
Chaos
It is about
Unifying
Values
It was a big
Bet
As hard as to make
Iron
Out of dust
But see
We always
Push to limits
It is bout us
It is a about
How organic,
Icy,
Hot blood,
And salty we are,
Eyes saw, Nose smelt
Ears heard, Skin felt
Tongue tasted
All were elated
Eyes see, Nose smells
Ears hear, Skin feels
Tongue tastes
All the Senses judge
and the Mind prejudges
All went off charge
Come As You Are
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Come as you are, forget appearances!
Is your hair untamable, your part uneven, your bodice unfastened? Never mind.
Come as you are, forget appearances!
Skip with quicksilver steps across the grass.
If your feet glisten with dew, if your anklets slip, if your beaded necklace slides off? Never mind.
Skip with quicksilver steps across the grass.
Do you see the clouds enveloping the sky?
Flocks of cranes erupt from the riverbank, fitful gusts ruffle the fields, anxious cattle tremble in their stalls.
Do you see the clouds enveloping the sky?
You loiter in vain over your toilet lamp; it flickers and dies in the wind.
Who will care that your eyelids have not been painted with lamp-black, when your pupils are darker than thunderstorms?
You loiter in vain over your toilet lamp; it flickers and dies in the wind.
Come as you are, forget appearances!
If the wreath lies unwoven, who cares? If the bracelet is unfastened, let it fall. The sky grows dark; it is late.
Come as you are, forget appearances!
Only Let Me Love You
by Michael R. Burch
after Rabindranath Tagore
Only let me love you, and the pain
of living will be easier to bear.
Only let me love you. Nay, refrain
from pinning up your hair!
Only let me love you. Stay, remain.
A face so lovely never needs repair!
Only let me love you to the strains
of Rabindranath on a soft sitar.
Only let me love you, while the rain
makes music: gentle, eloquent, sincere.
Only let me love you. Don’t complain
you need more time to make yourself more fair!
Only let me love you. Stay, remain.
No need for rouge or lipstick! Only share
your tender body swiftly ...
Mother dearest don't you know?
of the clean freak I've become.
When people ask me where I'm from,
I raise my finger to the plateau.
Remember the dirt under my bed?
it seemed like I really didn't care.
Unfolded clothes still on my chair,
my homework still new and unread.
And what about all the chores?
you would not even let me sleep;
until I finished that linen heap,
the blame was seldom ever yours.
Have you forgotten of the guilt?
I could not leave without consent.
You fears would anchor me like cement,
In the concrete prison that you built.
So how many days did I remain?
on this high risen ground of demand.
For I was crippled and now I stand,
on the surrounding fields of grain.