Best Bluntness Poems
I cast these concepts
I cast these kernels
Kernels in my hand
Kernels in the clay
Clay of loam
Clay of words
Words to describe
Words packed
Packed with exegesis
Packed with strength
Strength of scavenging
Strength of crowd
Crowd of swarms
Crowd of staleness
Staleness with enthusiasm
Staleness with bluntness
Bluntness of prediction
Bluntness of demeanor
Demeanor with smile
Demeanor of delight
Delight in adventure
Delight of writing
Writing of nursery stories
Writing of poetry
Poetry from heart
Poetry for show
Show of pride
Show of faith
Faith in progression
Faith in aestheticism
Aestheticism in connoisseurship
Aestheticism of spirit
Spirit to convince
Spirit with zoanthropy
Zoanthropy from hysteria
Zoanthropy of diabolical
Diabolical in a cave
Diabolical of power
Power to rule
Power to deceive
Deceive with attempt
Deceive to mislead
Mislead unfair impression
Mislead into thinking
Thinking about calm
Thinking about success
Success isn't happiness
Success isn't wealth
Wealth
Happiness
Tolerant coaxing aided my first hundred starts
to rescue you from your own negative dark.
I failed and failed while you grew more hurdles.
My sanity got trapped in sketchy drawn circles
where time left me helpless as you sharpened
more false things into outrageous doses of hurtful.
Came your broken wrist and me to care for you.
I brought hope for all we might joyously mend.
First eve, your dimples did not smile or reach your eyes.
Still, with hope, I hugged and kissed you good night.
Next morn, your bad mood launched commands,
demands, accusations and insinuations that
tugged my frustrations into poking my anger
and I zoom-zoomed beyond my hoped conversation.
I startled, then wondered who voiced such aggression
that ‘F you’ was spoken aloud to my elderly Mother.
It was me, no - I was surely possessed by someone foul
and vulgar …. or perhaps I was desperate to convey
all your bitterness insisted we senselessly suffer;
perhaps … I was desperately reaching out to my
treasured Mother, long loved, but now hidden …
and missed by all her children and grandchildren.
My overwhelmed-self spilled bluntness abruptly.
I ache over what I cannot forget whenever it hits me.
Since the time of my disrespectful utter,
God best soothes my Mom-pieces to someday still gently.
At your age, you change all facts around a bit
which eases me in living with how you live with it.
An evanescent bouquet of skewed briars,
is how a tinsel laden tawdry essence wickedly unfolds ,
scuppered signpost to a fetid human compost,
faint light pendant on soul crushed quantum migrant,
who might chortle at vivid veil flimsy vacuum,
skirt recklessly around bogus symbols,
peer behind the squalid limp sodden hedge,
mock myopic moribund mist upon boundary busting dawn chimera,
sneer at synthetic spectrum elastic in its irritating tidal wave surfeit,
cerulean fabric‘s milky way escape plot,
in a perilous quest for that eternal tape loop mantra,
the synaptic heart of that vainglorious horizon,
self-knowledge under charcoal moon and silver cloud veneer,
or feral waste rapid fire contagion,
the indecisive day glow dither on the margins ,
of fly weight feeble frantic dash,
that velvet shadow treason daubed pettifog,
known as tangential wanton cobweb fester creed,
the mind a bloated ripple vortex numbing in its scope,
golden mirage but faux fur real concoction,
against the banal backdrop of complex-ridden superficial eddy,
from floral garland poseur stricken en train,
some vox pop indignation mere shrinking violet showcase waver,
the gleam-hued truth has this dastardly demonic derailment,
that I brush aside as spiteful oxalic sting repost,
that deceptive mint green forest of chameleon cant,
sly nuanced molten maple syrup hint,
from out of kilter tree pierce otherworld,
unseen yet bliss-edged virtual garden of firm conviction,
not just from isolated enigmatic individual script,
such as torrid turbulence or mindless scattered rim shot,
when conventions can be altered in exotic prose,
human zeitgeist has this far too often penchant,
for silkworm rapt effervescent double speak,
whilst plain unvarnished uplifting utterance,
resides within the deep crystal spring well,
of us torch aloft emerald earthling sages,
please augment the rock buttress stark phrase,
whose bluntness is a carrier pigeon of candor,
devoid of muted gray cloud blind waffle,
aromatic sprig to giant spasm of bold pluck,
quandary of human race at hearth,
frightened cliques, hidebound yes men who yen,
to swim the azure gulf of august freedom,
to the Eden where lucid tongues herald pristine witness.
where values at the centre of our being should blossom
A child's mind
One of the purest things on earth.
For they know not of lies,
or deceptions.
They speak the truth.
It's all they know.
They speak the truth
and often show
Bluntness isn't always malicious.
Matter of fact...
It can come in
Total innocence.
Have I looked upon the darkest hour
Cluelessly cleansing, experience dire
Renewed regret, taste of the flower
Cunning clever concoctions, now sour
Triggering a transformation by fire
Have I looked upon the darkest hour
With witty wings I flew, now I cower
Restless reasoning, ready to inquire
Renewed regret, taste of the flower
Tantalizing temptation takes power
Honestly only one thing that I desire
Have I looked upon my darkest hour
Written rhythm and rhyme I scour
Savvy sayings of saints, I don't tire
Renewed regret, taste of the flower
A blundering bluntness as I devour
Wicked witchcraft have I called sire
Have I looked upon the darkest hour
Renewed regret, taste of the flower
Penned 2/5/2013 by Wayland Bunch II
did this on phone so harder to see errors, which after checking barely today 2/13/13 were a lot lol, thanks guys for not mentioning them lol.
Could you imagine,
A face like that?
Created by the face of an angel
And modeled like fashion
For the damned and deceased.
A respected locksmith,
Drunk on insomnia and aging,
Kissing the pavement
With bare and busied feet.
The Brazilian beauty
Who prides herself as
The representative of blushing.
The one who catches the bouquet
By chance and
Throws it away before anyone notices.
But on a theory in a slip of time,
Before the extinct proposition
And an oddly proportioned new born,
Curls a quivering life form
In the belly of this woman so sweet.
Born from innocence and named Mary,
For the sake of Jesus.
She is not 36 nor is she 16
Yet she is at the fruitful age of 57.
And at 57,
This symbol of love and innocence
Is fumbling with the curiosity
Of breast feeding her unborn child
That wiggles and withers with frailty
Inside of her.
Dark wood,
Unimaginable line,
Where could you have gone
When the pages were as blank as the faces
And for the life of you,
You couldn't tell the difference.
Just say it.
Rip it from the tip of your tongue.
Show your taste buds no mercy and speak.
Grow.
Expand.
Consider the possibilities when
It appears there are none.
Enjoy the pain
And embrace all oppressions and oppositions.
Slumber in the smutty bluntness
Of a marital masquerade.
Quit it
Then keep it going.
Move the stones
And bend their broken subtractions.
Crack the indescribable aptitude
Of times motive for murder.
Explicate reason,
Smoke your lungs away,
Cry your eyes out,
And suck at the wastelands.
Two scales must always be within an approximate range
for an accurate weight, and the close relationship
between the Humankind and God must withstand any change.
Solutions must be found before catastrophe approaches,
and if we were caught by surprise, we would regret the outcome;
less trees should be cut down to make room for buildings.
Thieves, murderers and rapists should be held in contempt
and thrown into dungeons...instead of giving them cosy cells,
the Law admits that's just to punish, but inhumane to torment.
Nightly streets have been taken over by muggers, drug dealers
and prostitutes, now called escorts, haven't changed their lewd attitude;
even madams of the brothels open doors for the well-dressed sirs.
Society has gone mad, and it has condoned both sexes of equal desires;
never was Sodom and Gomorrah as iniquitous and lustful as this one;
God forbid...I entered this city and be found guilty of their perversions!
While on the outskirts, in run-down homes poverty duplicates its horrible woes,
politicians' corrupt hands are not seen...pocketing money that Congress approved;
and the suffering of the poor is plagued by famines that turn into deadly diseases.
Crooked judges are manipulated by criminal defense lawyers who have handfuls of cash;
justice can never be served when criminals are given their parole, and the innocent,
humble men are detained and put behind bars, because of their limited wealth.
Proud hearts see neither simplicity nor beauty in anything that evolves into splendid light;
self-praise, greed, bluntness and invulnerability are the rules they live and swear by;
humbleness is unacceptable and insignificant...it's a virtue which diminishes their pride.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Anguish when fragmented by helpless musings
Bluntness staggers like punches
Sluggish when cut by limitations
Elixers downed promising possibilities
Needing the energy bravery requires while
Crevices threaten the sagacity of age
Extinction in the rage of alzheimer's cage
Acrostic written March 1, 2023
Contest: A Forms and Words Challenge
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Orange is reminiscent of the sound of thunder, of muted drums,
Dissonant in nature, like the call of distant, broken trumpets.
Severely caustic, rather scathing in its delivery of
A burning sound, crackling and popping, as if the
Brass breathed black embers...
Orange is a color that embodies a brutality,
A roughness and an edge that is
Unmatched by the RAINBOW.
And the other colors seem to halt and stare at its
Bluntness, its assertiveness and its ferocious voice,
Gravely and deep.
Orange is reminiscent of the sound of roaring trains
Emits a sort of glowing dominance, of arrogance--
Its sharpness of tone allows for precision and mastery.
It is more a color than the rest of the colors, for in its vibrancy
There is a youthful proclamation of hope that is gilded by
A solid realism. It hopes loudly but stoutly refuses prayer.
In orange's stoic presence, its voice like
Battering rams and clashing pans, it demand, no it
STEALS a presence. Yet in its arrogance, there is a
Resilience, a persistence, for
Orange is a color reminiscent of the Gods
And in its faults lies its power.
Long travelled
am I,
amongst words
that have sailed
in and out of months
beyond the horizon
of years and age.
Set down
and scrolled out
in lexical identity
on parchment stane
quarried and carried
in the soft strom
of half light.
Earlier
I gave
a cursory nod
to the old man,
I had not considered then
that his solitary stature
would guide so many.
But his
aching, half arched frame
in washed out form,
guards entry
and signals the
traveller
of tides the
glimpse of long lost siblings.
And in your flatter
inflexion,
my attention drew,
to the obvious
island words,
that take shape
their derivative
prose.
Sung in angular
and Whale like form
their signature
icon denotes
my spiritual home.
And so,
the ellipsis
hidden from view
was always there,
its codified embodiement
still breathing amongst the living,
in you and I,
and all the seas
that ever were.
For time,
as with the bluntness
of Helgi’s flint like passion
…………the writing is on the wall
Old feelings from the past,
Rekindled by a single thought
Hopefully not here to last.
My last heart has been bought.
My quick and simple solution,
Makes an insignificant impact
Stuck in a circle of confusion,
My own jealously is intact.
All the knives cutting me are blunt
But a particular blunt knife hurts
It's bluntness, in anger, makes me grunt.
This little heart of mine hasn't learnt.
By an Anonymous friend of mine.
Galleries of life, ignorant and tough,
Sometimes as sandarac’s incense, usually morose.
I erase bluntness that grew a cravat around my heart,
Abominable inheritance riveted into the soul of farce,
But there is nothing more valued in life than experience,
And there is a bag-full of it in every one of us.
No remorse or isolation, nor any type of solitude can adjust
The solemn desertion that he had to live through.
I am a repeat stranger of sleepless nights,
Lord of rage and hope deposited in a vending machine,
Even during this epistolary hour as a rusty apparatus,
I tick away the time of my life with a slackened pace,
I bore pain, and challenge the horizons where hope seeps
Into the shadows of silence. ---- And it drags its tails,
And it downs the trust that was instilled into the twig since its birth.
The lucent moment of the very first fresh breath ever taken,
During the opulence of love, ---- I beside him.
And he?? He bears the name of a god, in the name and in the spirit,
Dragon-heart-in-a-boy knocking down the stacks of wonder,
In awe one is to marvel his persistence, in awe I remained.
And there is the black sky that roasts my visions,
As the quiet weeping, from the fringes of a moral conduct,
Fastened, with a shawl around the neck that blurs the boundaries,
Of the conflagration as the labyrinth of thought brings to
The verisimilar life-tales, one unintentionally, creates along the way.
And there is the ground-zero widow, the dead bride, an apparition
From a different universe that stands atop a pyramid seemingly vincible
Yet untouchable, yet invisible, yet as vocal as bell in a chevron wave,
When I think to dare, when I am happy, and when I am cross as a bear.
a quarter of a coin that flips
heads or tails
no life
just the breeze of freedom of speech
words that are conjunctions that flows with vivid taste
bold
no hidden facts
just the bluntness of truths
apolgetic for offending the characters of life but truth be told a lie equals the chains of no
return
no honesty
no loyality
just the scrapping and pounding of daggers, killing our heart
excessive content
maybe
but the world I paint: is from the toungues of of ripple words that portray a painting
do you want just a picture that's ugly?
no emotional feeling
no lines of truths
just the broken art of the imagination
A small speck of dirt on my floor
is worse to me than brutal war.
Gritty grime and nauseous noises;
ruin Perfectly prime Poises!
Once you're put together we'll talk,
I'll watch your details like a hawk.
Oh, us early birds get the worm,
if you're late, you'll make me squirm!
Foul bluntness never held my charm,
radicals just cause all alarm...
Life should be like a golden scale,
Beautiful balance never fails!
Beth Watkins
ALIGN WITH YOUR STARS!!
06/05/11
Moments of treasure buried in time
I can’t seem to find the silver line
We are all on a journey
Just passing though
One day Our paths crossed
Birthing something new
Heaven saw fit to give me friend
Who taught me, we don’t break, just simply bend.
You were an open book some would say
A much-needed laugh on those dark gloomy days
With a contagious presence for those that new you well
Always delivering unpredictable words you said quite well
Giving kindness when others were completely shut down
Showing mercy when none could be found.
Some could misconstrue your bluntness for beaning mean
But that was the way you allowed others to be seen,
There is a symphony in my heart playing for you
At this moment in time it has turned into the blues
I know there were many chambers to your soul
Thank you for letting me see almost all
Thank you for showing me what a good father should be
Loving your precious son beyond infinity
I will always cherish the video that plays in my mind
At this moment All I seem to do is hit pause and rewind
Everyone can give but they are not always giving
Everyone is alive but not always living
God broke the mold when he created you
I hope he tells you how many people looked up to you
I know you talked to God during your final hours
And he saw fit to take you home with is infinite power
But it doesn’t make this any easier for all of us down here
And it can’t take away the pain and these uncontrollable tears
I look forward to the day we will meet again
You will always be my beautiful friend.
I love you Patrick
Love Sabina Nicole