Best Authenticity Poems
In times of retrospection we discover
The miles our vagrant compass trekked
Silent horrors from which we recovered
What be righteous or unworthy we assess
For to all children life is not toys and hugs
Or enchanting dances on daddies feet
But bitter realities of drunks and thugs
Eggshell walks and battering clubs
Bewildering the difference the years can make
And the choosing to which one is inclined
To follow the path with which they were faced
Or to carve a new path by need redesigned
They say that Rome was not built in a day
Stone upon stone is a sound foundation laid
Tethering twine pulling massive loads up high
Burying tears in abysses carving smiles from cries
Oh no, I'm fine. Concern yourself not with me
For I am the architect of my own design
Someday a pillar in the Temple I will be
My fortress not breeched nor climbed
My world hastens wisdoms patience
Compassion and mercy will abound
Fragrant love skilled willing agents
Through tenderness barbarians turn clown
Recreating the days of innocence
Forgiving those too weak to see
That some with all their pitiful ignorance
Have not the power to strip you of your dreams
There's a power of soul endowed to man
To walk by authenticity
Pities frown subsides as does vengeance
When taken hold of true humility
No promise of ease nor heart unbroken
To even one was this promise solemnly given
Though pain so deep to bleed is relief
It is friction that compels the driven
Though shadows past haunts you to fright
There is light to be found in its darkness
For shadows be slight illumination of light
The evidence of all you've accomplished
How far I've traveled from condemnation
My compass directs true north
On days my history taunts my persuasion
It's for loves sake I've stayed my course
I come from the borough of Queens, New York
My classmates call me a Klutz and a dork
Those names pervaded my soul, taking a toll
Being at the bottom of the totem pole.
Then Dad took me to the town of Tortilla Flat
I walked into a store, bought a ten-gallon hat
I started talking like John Wayne, also bought some boots
It’s funny how a costume can make a mind slip its roots
The ranchers nodded with respect; I looked like them
Cowgirls smiled in my direction, one shone like a gem
She said there’s a rodeo at half past three
Come join us there, my friends and me.
I said sure, I’ll mosey down there
I’ll bring some popcorn that we all can share
When the time came, I walked into the ring
But through the wrong door, that was the thing.
Two guys lifted me onto a horse, and opened the gate
I shouted, “I’m not a performer!” but it was too late
The horse bolted out, then tried a somersault
I held on for dear life, couldn’t them girls call a halt?
They told me later, t’was the worst horse in the west
I flew over its mane, but it was a personal best
The crowd went wild, but I threw the hat on the mud
Dropped all the popcorn, wiped off the blood
The cowgirl looked adoring, said “that was so cool”
I looked at her, but my mood was cruel
Said “I’m a nerd from Queens, don’t want to pretend
Keep that dang hat, this all got to end."
Dad took me home, the worse for wear
He got me a baseball hat so nobody would stare.
I put it on backwards, I don’t really care
Buy the wrong hat, and it’s dangerous out there.
What I think I know is not
What I know
I assume I know much more than
What I know.
I do not know
What I do not know
As what I know reveals
What I need to know.
The trouble is to know
What I do know
And to know what I do not know.
This makes me humiliated
For I have been quarreling with authenticity
That I know
And what I know is correct.
"To know what we know
And to know what we do not know
Is real knowledge."
Said the philosopher.
I know he did not know
What one needs to know.
Knowing one thing becomes
A known thing the moment
One thinks of knowing
And some thing of that thing
Is not known,
So I do not know
Of that something.
This means
One can infer
'I do not know' is the truth.
Then arises the billion dollar question
"What one has to know?"
As the known thing expands every moment you know
Just to know is not even knowledge,
Leave alone wisdom.
The question now arises
How can I know
What I do not know
And what I can not know?
Sometimes I do not know that
Because I can not know.
If I do know
What I can not know
Then I know
What I do not know
Then how can I say I know
About the thing I do not know.
Can I say
I know something about
Everything of what I know
And What I do not know.
Now,
Do you know
What I know?
And
What I do not know?
I know
You do not know
What I know
And I do not know
Because you do not know
What you know
And what you do not know.
I am a dare-dreamer, a mask wearer
a soul bare-r (not always my own); a word-weaver.
I pull thoughts like strings. Strings of cobwebs,
cirrus, frayed dungarees, threadbare memories.
I warp and weft strings of thoughts into poems.
Sometimes I get caught in knots—
I cut myself loose of those naughty strings.
I hold kite strings. Oh and rainbows strings.
They connect my soles to realms of my soul.
At times, I lose sight of kites in the gale.
Was I irresponsible with responsibility for strings?
I think, “thoughts”, should get lost in wind and clouds
to find the eye-of-the-storm—where I rescue
kites and make a poetry page my stage
and arena. I twine strings into heavyweight rope.
Fasten it to four corners of a contest page. I enter,
incognito, with Apollo imagery and Dionysus metaphor;
a masked prize-fighter filled with creative angst.
I grin for wins in poesy masquerade parades.
When I fail, strings break off of my drama mask.
Revealed but unrecognized, am I a fractured rainbow?
My inner balcony critic reprimands:
“sunlight through raindrops must be flawless
to create flawless strings of prismatic color”! Alas,
lack of refraction leaves words white; non-prismatic.
I restring tragedy mask; ego sphere of a versateer.
I create poetry because I love to pluck things;
harp strings and heartstrings…
If I no longer make readers cry, will pen cred be lost?
Don’t think I won’t pluck nightshade petals, fly’s wings
and cello strings to make you feel my tormentia!
I’ll quiver lips of lost-in-love verse. Coax your soul
to sip pale ale of sorrow, as strawberry scent
scalds your skin. I’m not unhappy to gratify your senses.
I loop maverick string, whirl it and throw—
lasso a funhouse mirror; rein it in.
Imagination stilt-dances in looney-glass gaze.
I use muse strings to hang mirrors and ask;
who’s the puppeteer and who’s the puppet—
poet or reader?
look it up in the
dictionary by kristi-
authenticity
angel card #22
I fell off the assembly line,
halted production ...
cost the robot makers money
in lost time
No labor was given in the interrupted duration
Mind control wires weren’t put in the cranial console
Free radicals floating in society
is a no-no
Independent thought permitted?
I don’t think so
Reject models are shipped to the ghetto trash bins,
labeled as inferior and defective
Being poor is a capitalist sin;
that’s the way it is,
that’s the way it’s always been
But the poor trash didn’t get incinerated quickly
enough that day
Somebody liked the flawed black object
being thrown away
Slipped through the cracks of society somehow;
was reprogrammed by a force
greater than
the universal masters of misery
... got cut loose from the rat race plow
Was made into a model of authenticity,
given a voice: original and free
To speak on things that are hard to speak on —
mass production of oppression has always been wrong
Loose monkey wrench thrown into the works,
gum up the line
... help another model fall off,
and become a partner of mine
Wanted poster says:
Being a Robin-in-the-Hood is a crime
As a voice of unauthorized non-conformity,
I’m way out of line
My views aren’t packaged on some assembly line —
I’m a model of authenticity,
I’m totally self-defined
I thought I’d seen the worst, many times, many times
- No, I hadn’t -
We are now in times beyond anything imaginable
So many people suffering in a stormy sea of problems
We are here and it isn’t easy relying on survival tactics daily
Tired, but enduring, reaching deep inside for every resource
- While keeping faith -
There are no longer limits and justice is mainly gone
We can only keep loving others and ourselves
I thought I’d seen the worst so many times in the past,
- But, I know there is more ahead -
I am a creator, but I am analytical; I am a dreamer, but factual
Always facing truth, regardless of how hard it may be
For, a life is not worth living unless living it authentically!
Heidi Sands
5/31/22
Privacy tenaciously holds on to freedom and seclusion.
It is soul-spirited and viciously fight like pirates to obtain.
Beautiful front yards displayed to the world with hundreds,
Maybe thousands of dollars spent on flowering plants, shrubs
And trees for many wholesome views by a passersby.
But when it comes to viewing and entering private spaces one
ought not,
The pirate in owners rise, sword in hand, to protect rightful
seclusive space.
Its not "Ship Ahoy", climb aboard!
But though privacy is allowed, even by law,
Only a little kitty meowing with a tail bushy tail,
May authentically snoop around and even be fed
Beyond that protected space.
For poor kitty is not a copycat and authentic in his
or her own way.
One can depend on kitty and rely that mice would be
trustworthily chased or caught.
Privacy like piracy cause some yards to be fenced at the sides of
the house keeping outsiders out.
Copycats unlike authenticity, grapple to falsely fake, disguise or
Take and may even make it their very own!
Contest: Privacy is like piracy yet copy cats are unlike authenticity
Poetry Contest Deadline: Thursday, December 15, 2016
Sponsored by: Ir0nic ZiNk
Requirements, or strictures, often stifle creativity
Thus, I tend to avoid forms with strict syllable count,
I appreciate a suggested topic, but I may not feel it,
And the message of any poem should be paramount.
Best expressed in the poet’s unique choice of phrases
Its origins are necessarily found in the poet’s psyche,
Blossoming with rhythm reads with robust originality
Prepared themes often cripple the poet’s authenticity.
The great poets of yesteryear allowed clear departures
Which accounts for the proliferation of poetry forms,
Today, our mutations of the long-accepted sonnets,
Variations on old French formats, are accepted norms.
So, none of the aforementioned are revealing secrets,
But giving credence to the diversity of poetic outlets.
Written July 11, 2022
since writing is being,
who the hell am I,
measuring meter,
caring about perfect rhyme,
an attention seeker
trying to impress
writing is being
breathing
unreeling
unraveling
unearthing
seeing
hearing
smelling
touching
feeling
e.e.
("since feeling is first
he who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;") *
since writing is being
can I just
be
stop pretending
and wholly kiss
me
if I can't
how will I ever
wholly kiss you
* From "since feeling is first" by E.E. Cummings
What a tragedy
Nothing but life
No love just reality
People making promises
They say they'll keep
But I've been wondering
Where's the loyalty
Mindless sayings and
Heartless love
Who on earth are
We supposed to trust
Family supposedly
The best remedy
But really just
a lot of misery
Right now,
There is no right, no wrong,
Everything feels so dumb
It’s hard for me to describe
Because you made my mind a scribe.
Out for your gaze
Feeling like a haze
I went into a maze
To see your face
That’s where I got Amaze.
It’s 1:28 still thinking of you
What did you do,
Oh my Delilah,
Who are you?
As like a light
which vents into dark
You came into my mind
Without a mark.
Oh my Delilah,
Why you came,
Oh my darling
Why you came,
This is to all my sisters,
Who are in the market for a Grand Marqui.
Please make sure to ask the jeweler for a certificate of authenticity.
See i knew this jeweler who's work was well known
Many admired his work without having work done.
His cuts were made with precision
his angles were made with perfection
and he captured every spectrum of light
But see this was no diamond in the ruff just a cubic zirconia
for half price.
In pondering, less is more.
while I sleep deeply
my imagined world comes to life
my environment has darkened
as a result of my waking
who am I?
an artist!
a poet!
a singer!
a dreamer!
Written: October 14, 2022