Best Deface Poems
It could have been me,
It might have been you.
Race and color is baloney,
When another hurts you!
Three huge men, watched
a New York woman die.
They even shut the door.
I was both angry and wanted
to cry.
Her face was smashed by his
gigantic feet.
But those three men, who did
not a thing, explain that to your
maker when His face you meet!
It's easy to stop disaster... stop
being a wimp!
Open your mouth, distract them,
don't be a useless gimp.
Here's a simple ploy, that stops
any bully of a man!
Yell......"Your fly is open," he
becomes dis-manned.
I did that myself on the streets
of San Francisco!
A man beating a woman in
broad daylight, oh?
Blood flying just everywhere,
pedestrians ignored it?
I just got in his face, told him
to stop hitting her this minute!
Don't ask me where that courage
came from!
I just saw pain and wanted to
stop the bum!
He swore at me, in words quite
unintelligible!
Turned angrily away, and ran on
the double.
I helped the woman pick up her things.
She said, thank you and went about
on about her meanderings.
"Don't be a wuss, and ever allow another
to be beaten!"
Being a good Samaritan means you are
a credit to the human race.
Something that neither time nor age can
ever deface!
When police are not in the area to assist
you....
Support your fellow human,
Walking away, I heartily eschew!
Perhaps it was two beatings, I endured in
Chicago Public Schools?
That gave me the courage to make protecting
another, my life's golden rule!
4/1/2021
~5~
I feel more than a little out of place
As if my trusty pen does deface
The paper, that lies stubborn, blank,
My words hang heavy and outrank
My thoughts, which battle to clear
But struggle in a fog of fear.
I try hard to shake the demons out,
I will not sink to harbour doubt
Or turn to lay claim to fragility,
Fractured phrases mar ability
And jumbled lie and make no sense,
Cause rifts to form in competence.
I want to leave an inscribed trail,
To succeed where odds are set to fail,
To make a difference to the world
And use my pen with fingers curled
To hold the precious gift and savour
Writing truth without fear or favour.
I hope my words will fill a need,
Defend all of our freedoms, that lead
To providing power, to build, renew
And abandon weak words; join the few
Who have learned to wield a mighty pen
That defeats the brutal acts of men.
Evil might not be specifically based
Its head emerges when something’s erased
That leads to censoring our creations
It’s not linked just to religion or Nations.
At first subversive it rises and shatters
All I hold dear - and to me this matters.
When I am gone
When no more I deface the whitest page
With scrawls
Will you keep my words as my total wage
Withdrawn from life's bank?
I have nothing else to leave
Indigent all my life
Invested nothing but my love
Imparted through my words.
I give you all.
Let no silence or blindness break it
Little fragile flower
Lean your tongue against it
Ladening taste with desires
Love templed in a tender tropic song.
Inelegant, the silence wakes and yawns,
pretending not to notice or to care;
while symphonies of chaos greet the dawn
and ashes of our Banner fill the air.
The few, with vacant visage cry the creeds
~march on with signs remastered from the old
in broths of propaganda where it breeds,
the willingly disposed in boredom's fold.
Onlookers pause and gasp in rapt surprise;
unruly hordes deface the hallowed halls,
like "Kristallnacht" they scare what they despise,
too late for recompense when conscience calls
or quell fallacious lectures as they wreak...
dumbfounded when the fruits of silence speak.
Silver’s scars
The evil little lad that creeps
About while others soundly sleep,
With a key he scratches many cars,
He hates the stranger owners, ha ha.
Cos they have much more than him!
My silver ute, she bears the scars,
Of screwdriver,
scratches are,
The prettier they really want to marr,
Cos it's anger they can bring,
Of course I have been in his place,
Was tempted sometimes to deface,
Jealous kind of thoughts erase,
But I’m no dingaling?
Most never had the dollars, gosh,
To strut around and be so posh,
Us poor, had things without the gloss,
Does life bring on the whinging:)
Don Johnson 8-jul-11
"Awesome beauties of fall never deface,
autumnal pictures of natural grace.
Scarlet, yellow, russet and brown,
leaves of various colors all around.
Summer rightfully fairs one well,
as sweetly as spring graces with its smells.
Beauty faces of autumn never fail,
as a summer growth graces just as well,
leaving winter splendors, all to quell."
I'm for all people and their faith
It's for them and not others to deface
They'll have their moment to preach
On poetry sites the words teach
And leave for another time, another place
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/religion-or-not.php
Public Convenience
A war ‘nowhere near me’ is a concept that does not exist
an oxymoron so to speak and weep and cry or believe
propaganda for the convenience of denying responsibility
Wars allegedly ‘afar’ is a notion too far removed from the
distortion that you and I do not benefit from the slaughter
as the wealth of some is built on the shoulders of many
who suffer for global greed oil exploitation geopolitical
domination for booming stock markets and neoliberal evil
Call me touchy feely or a pacifist to discredit my knowledge
but my paradigm is one of hard core sober fact that in my
name and without my direct consent rape pillage and plunder
deface the human condition and legalize collateral damage
What a euphemism to ask me to close my eyes in view of
pulverised people atomised ashes and call them not near
Rapacious avarice or conscientious objection to misleading
terms and diminutive are a choice very close to my heart
20th May 2017
Another day's sun
Lights the carpet of the earth
Where an evil that is done
Waits suspended in the dirt.
Unfortunately, the aura
That was fashioned from his life
Cannot be changed to flora
Like the flesh that now pulls tight.
He butchered all my daughters
One savage, blasphemous night.
Now I fear his poison waters
May flow farther than the site.
One day of intense tortures
I visited that grassy glade
Where the beast escaped the torches
But fell upon my blade.
Two dogs with canines blaring
Fought hard to claim some food.
The victor now lay staring --
Dead and strangely lewd.
I hastened from that burial mound
Least my shoes pick up a trace
From that moist, infected killing ground
That -- God forgive me -- I helped deface.
The Mother Earth
The fountain of your profound love
Gushing out with presents and gifts
Showering bounties, its treasure trove
To all mankind your love drifts.
Your rivers and seas, forests and fields
Are full of provisions to banish hunger
You do not relent to meet our needs
You distinguish not between rich and poor
Your hidden treasures are not clueless for us
Your gold, silver, sapphires, diamonds
And precious pearls invite us to transgress
You serve us fruits, resins, cashews and almonds.
We owe our strength and courage to you.
Our bright eyes, our beauty and robust health
Are all your gifts to be honest and true
Your contribution is no less in amassing of wealth.
Your dazzling days and darkness of nights
Are skillfully designed for working and rest
Your changing seasons innovation invites
When dead our body enters your chest
But thankless we are, we deface you with tar
We cut your trees and raise jungles of concrete
Our wastes poison your rivers, seas and air
And thus havocs like tsunamis greet.
You meet all my wishes and desires
I want much more, I can’t shed temptations
My closets filled with diamonds and sapphires
And garments of every description and narrations
You gave me dazzling youth and power
To ease my travel there is petrol, coal and gas
For my fields and gardens you gave shower
Colorful flowers, bees, butterflies like dancing lass
You gave me power, strength and courage
To face tyrannies of anguish you made me bold and tough
To confront life you gave me every advantage
My body strong like hawk and heart filled with love
I am lying on your grass spread like a rug
My mother come, give me a hug
Sintra, Portugal 6-12-2012
Death of a Dream
by Amy Swanson
Time
existence
goes by
*long drawn out sigh*
gray transforming
overbearing
the happy
once joyful
exuberant bright cheerful eclectic
becoming shadows
misty vapor
rising to the sky
fleeting...
gone.
Days gone by
weeks
and
months
and
years
motions of life
crowd out
emotions of life
This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...
This is where dreams are born.
This is where dreams die.
Spark of light
soft golden
struggles against
darkened mire
hope's ashes
faith's grief
love's despondence
Marigold hue
charred
sphere of night envelopes
Streaks and smudges
of pride
vanity
selfishness
cruelty
deface life's canvas
once glowing brilliant
-- now torn and tainted.
This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...
This is where dreams are born.
This is where dreams die.
Silence...
utter chaos...
sheer madness
consuming life -
they don't know.
They don't care.
They go about
*busily*
trading dreams
spiritual riches
for material fantasies
built with air.
Colorless
consumes the bright
one small spark
daring dream
chasing burgeoning shadows
until exhausted
extinguished...
no more.
This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...
This is where dreams are born.
This is where dreams die.
My guardian angel sleep how I honor thee,
Thy contrarian ways leave me breathless,
Thine art, the bearer of life’s synchronicity.
I am your vessel, a vassal on your highways,
Thou speakest in tongues, thy magic conveys,
Subtle shifts in the feelings of voluptuous days.
You speak to me archaically, sometimes not,
With ears I absorb your many voices,
Though my eyes are slow to know your every plot.
Faithfully you come to me when the shades are drawn,
Carefully you wake me with touching flair,
I am pushed to reconsider most every dawn.
A night without you is an adventure at home,
It is, to wit, but a journey to bed,
Better not to sleep if you venture not to Rome.
Your flavor spices my mind, with thirst I crave it,
Its abundance and magnitude move me,
I search the seas to find your shores to inhabit.
You surprise me, you recognize me, you see me,
The masks I use to cloak, your hands deface,
Uncovering my ploys with mirthful subtlety.
Naked I stand before you, your canvas to paint,
With strokes of genius you unnerve my life,
In depth you make my shallow ways seem less than quaint.
A weaver could not imagine the text you bear,
The knot you wind only a knot can know,
There is no metaphor that can describe your stare.
I will never understand how you do this trick,
Yet it is me who does it every night!
I am undone by you, yet you make my life tick.
If you are the eye of my mind who sees the truth,
Better to go, leave me to my devices,
To abide by your laws would be just too uncouth.
Yet I hesitate to cast you away stranger,
You are the god who lives inside of me,
I can not live without my nightly messenger.
Stay with me then my ritual marvelous friend,
I need you, crave you, in sleep I would die,
Without your visitations life could not amend.
------
Written 09.06/2014 By Jornjorn.
REGARDING RUST
Don't accumulate treasures on earth
They soon will lose all their worth
Moths, rust, and thieves will ruin or steal
Treasures like these have no appeal
Heaven is the safest place
Where your treasure should be from the start
Rust nor moths can ne'er deface
For where your treasure is, so is your heart
Curtis Moorman
21 December 2011
For Rick Parise's contest
The years your memory can never steal
Your smile still warms my heart; your touch I feel
And time can never make your love to fade
It speaks to me in flower, greenest blade
These years have no control on legacy
You've left your thoughts and dreams inside of me
From me they pass on to my dearest girl
Inside her fertile mind how they unfurl
Oh, mother dear, though years keep rolling by
You are alive and well in my mind's eye
I won't allow the ravages of time
Deface your love, I won't allow that crime
Sleep blissfully inside my beating heart
In every day I live, you have a part.
17 years have passed. Words are nothing. Memories remain....memories and the blessed hope of resurrection morning...
Eileen Manassian
I know a world of sadness in your grace
because in thee, I cannot trace
my own world's longing to embrace
some crudeness wronging, some deface.
Cantingly, subjects stronging with replace
of aptitude, and songing - happier days
that built hope's erstwhile thronging, not encased
with worries staid belonging's commonplace.
Oh love, beloved will - seek thought, not maze
from crippling entities programmed abrade.
That gift of life, of God, not lean-to craze
of modern tempo's struggling with self praise!
His gift of love, I know, with thee .. He made!