Best Cement Poems
Cement Pillow
Blame, blame, blame
makes playing life’s game so much easier to do…
Shift it, change it, switch it as long as it ain’t put on you.
Blame, blame, blame
Mom’s the easiest target…
since dad I never knew.
Blame, blame, blame
Let others wear the shame…
As you rip a beat/ freestyle & put on a show…
Convinced that such is true, that chip on his shoulder is free to grow & grow.
Blame, blame, blame
No! Son try a ‘lil’ Socratic Reasoning…
You might find out it was truly all your own choices & actions…
In reality the blame all belongs to you.
Blame, blame, blame
“No, no, no!” Is the retort I get…
Look back in truth with that gifted brain
Choosing still to refrain,
cause the performance is way cooler, when one has been ripped off and beaten down by one who’s sposed to help you make gain.
Blame, blame, blame
“If I truthfully look back, think hard and follow the logic, I might have to accept that it was my own choices and actions…Shite! I really did create my own bed!”
No worries, son, you have naught to dread... my love is unconditional and just continues to spread.
Jill Spagnola
I don't need very much to stay alive,
a little urban rain from time to time.
It's not luxurious, here in the ground,
but I'm content with it, this life of mine.
There's not a lot for me to view from here;
the iron forest always sees to that.
It must be nice to venture past those trees;
but trapped am I, within this concrete crack.
At times, my mistress seems unfair; although,
I'm quite accustomed to this static fate;
her morning eye and moistful firmament
ensure my needs are met, despite my state.
I'm well aware her sight does take a while
to reach my herbal arms from where I stand,
but being patient is a noble trait,
and one that's helped me flourish in this land.
Oh there's no need to worry over me;
I'm quite resilient for a city weed.
I know I can't get up and rule my life;
but as I said, there's not much that I need.
But what of you, my busy human friend?
How goes the life your maker granted you?
Forgive my prying, but I'm most concerned
with all the stress that you've been going through.
You have the freedom to decide your home,
the priv'lege to decide what you will eat,
the sov'reignty to change your day's routine,
and you were gifted with nomadic feet.
I cannot say decisions aggravate,
for they are favors I have never had.
But how can one despise such dowery?
I can't imagine how that'd be so bad.
So listen to this humble seedling's word:
before you think your life is but a curse,
take out the time to reassess your gifts;
your life could surely be a great deal worse.
.
After the world has bottomed you up
like a brown bag, no label wine.
All. Day. Long.
Plopping your worn glass,
empty, on a Whirlpool cardboard box...
Absorbing, drying
all once-upon-a-time, 'Made In China',
condo-walled dreams.
Your buddy, 'Thunderbird', twitches whiskers
over glistening gutter teeth.
Dandelions in cement cracks.
Ah, life is good. Sleep peacefully.
No mortgage. No rent.
The morning brings a full glass
to hold you in escrow...
For Torquemadas
Of the World.
.
In the midst of detritus ,rubbles and silt,
dirth powder flaring along the wind,
lashings of cement neath the tin,
were drawn two fingerprints.
A red cap moved from pillar to post ,
Jumping and squeaking among log woods,
Streaching his arms and bending his limbs ,
Twirling his lips to make sounds of air wings.
Quick he ran from place to place,
Came down instant moving with some pace,
ran from the door towards window pane,
Forming a real superjet plane.
"Don't you disturb run from here"
said his mother daunting him with fear,
straight he went towards the fields near,
sat down crouching and shed a tear.
"Crash down my dreams,resolve my fate,
Labour like dad , carry family trade
No pen and diary , no future plane
Your absurd wisdom mom , will possess only a minage".
"She sent me to dad to help him then,
Again excited i got viewing a book and a pen,
Daily wages he scribbled unclear of words himself,
Quickly I wiped all thoughts and intent,
Knowledge is not acknowledged by my kin itself".
either drown with me or let me in,
let me in, let me in, let me in, let me in, let me in,
my tears hit the cold lonely paved cement,
and feel like cement,
and taste like cement,
and stick to my skin
like cement, but,
let me in,
let me in,
let me in,
let me in,
let me in,
I get back into the room to finish writing
Ideas become reality in your belly
Raw ingredients are added for effect
Laboured limbs inject liquid food
It begins, sounds signal transformation
A cacophony of notes orchestrate
A fusion of materials cleverly made
Atoms collide as water subsides
Dry mixture almost expertly tied
Your creation up to imagination
Never the master of your own destiny
Your loins rhythmic to the fixation
Of another genius creating beautifully
A mansion, castle or glorified shed
All born from your glowing womb
Expectations destroyed and met
Artistic design from your living tomb
On the occasion of the Westbury Cement Works tower being demolished ...
Farewell then Westbury cement works tower,
No longer over south wilts will your presence glower,
Once you were used by Lafarge
But now you'll be gone, just like Farage.
He looked at me.
I saw him through the slats.
His eyes brighter than the moon,
Smile as pink as a rose.
From that moment I knew.
I've always been one who struggles in life have often been associated and often times
been frustrated by the causes of life. Cause's I choose to alleviate in my mind, but
my addiction made me realize I was running out of time. "I am that rose", had
obstacle's to climb, obstacle's I tried to work out on my own, but the quided rays
of Sunlight beaming through the cement of life, suddently I realize. I was not
along.
A rose planted by the wayside, a throw-off of family and friends. A rose certainly
to blossum, people's places and things and again I would Sin. One day could find
one, sober and clean, or someday when you're not feeling worthy of all your ob-
stacle's could find one "stuck down on the beam".
I am that rose, triumphanily joy has come, gotten through the cement, gotten with
joy & pain. Now a rose above the cement, standing on power not my own?
A rose above the obstacle's, all one now need, is rain...
P.S...."Rain is a cleansing, Blessing from God"!!!!....
From high a silent body fell,
another...then...another.
Someone's father...someone's
mother...husband...grandpa...
sister...brother.
They fell into the clouds
that day
caught by angels on
their way.
Can our tears be also
caught
to cement love what hate
has wrought?
A cloud of dust, and they
were gone.
A summer's day, a bitter
song.
We became those who
were lost,
brothers, sisters, differences
tossed.
Now, twenty years along
the road,
both good and bad have
been bestowed.
We've learned some things
from that sad day
we can find each other
but a smile away.
Two Wiseguys have locked me in their car trunk and are taking me for a ride.
In just a little while from now, those two men will commit homicide.
I was an eyewitness and I was going to testify.
But the Mafia captured me and now I will die.
They're going to throw me in the lake after giving me a cement overcoat.
It will be heavy enough to sink me to the bottom, I certainly won't float.
The car has stopped and those two men are opening the trunk.
They're getting ready to cover me with cement, my boat is sunk.
Suddenly I hear thunder, and lightning just struck those two punks in the head.
God has saved me after the Government failed to, those evil fiends are dead.
I'm still shaking because I was so terrified.
If God hadn't intervened, I would've died.
If you're wondering how grateful I am to The Lord, the answer is a lot.
God saved me because I'm a Christian and those Wiseguys were not.
(This is a fictional poem.)
Laying brick by brick, with stickum in between.
A stone on top of another: dream quest and scene,
erected diligently, with a blueprint at the ready.
Each dot and line progression is sure and steady.
Despite storms, hurdles, and limited funding
With slow but steady aims, slanted rashly cunning,
with optimism, sharing in God's dream design.
Adversity shapes us to strive rather than repine.
God's will is a bunker, so every lesson is a brick
His word is final, and the walls of the friary are thick
Our foundation is the cornerstone of our existence
Lord God, the ruler of men, smooths the essence.
I savor being amazed; trust my full autonomy.
A heart full of hope gives way to honesty.
It's optimistic, soul-strengthening, and simple.
We stir up lies, and our ignorance is sinful.
Our love shrinks our hatred with each pulse.
It's tough to stay aside; must veins convulse?
I'm not sure what they'll do if we meet to shine.
Our passion for each other will be closer to fine.
Written: February 16, 2023
Closer To Fine Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
blade hits the cement
sparks fly and spin the saw blade
give days and nights fight
Fearing a turn in the wrong direction
he stands still..
Frozen by his lack of confidence
he lost hope.
All directions
lead to failure.
All directions
are frightening.
Yet standing still
he is torn apart.
He wants to move
but defies himself.
Shamefully crying
he weeps alone.
The sky hounds are tracking me down
in the cul-de-sac of social anxiety drive...
Despite covering my tracks in a hot peppered wind...
sticking the heart into a bowl of burning dice
(to cover the scent of predictability)
they've arrived.to bore their way back into the core
pick the scab off every weakness
exposing every soul blemish,
(that crippling, iron face of shyness)
that's chased me through the back alleys of life.
The sky hounds have cornered me again
waving stingers -coming down hard
like an anvil in the night
getting off on the vibe of
my twitching mind.
Years later I'd half-mastered
all those black lessons from the past
kneaded my heart into a flower
dipped the petals in a whorl of lime.
attracting that swarm of hollow iciness
then laughed as their stingers snapped
when the wet cement of karma had dried in their minds.