Best Defacing Poems
Sometimes In silence
I question citrine stars~
what streams beneath
murky waters,
Is hope still flowing
through rusty ripples,
why do we live
in an orb
of sheer blindness,
would the wind
ever seize tunnels
behind the black hole,
or are we destined
to narrate novels
too narrow and unseen
for the naked eyes.
Whilst the earth
lies dreaming,
manifesting milky-ways
quilted on magical mats,
wishing, hoping, praying
that pastel colored patience
and crystal clear compassion
would vaguely sway
like glowing fireflies
amongst the darkest
edges of innermost core.
Transmitting seraphic
breezes upon
tender branches
of silk cotton trees.
But amidst the
destructive defacing
of turquoise heart
within evergreen forests,
sun and the
moon still flicker
streaks of poetry
along the linings
of tattered
tweaks and wilted weed.
Yet worldly impulses
fail to remember
that mother nature
is in need of kindness,
as she’s been
fed poisonous petals
dipped in a quagmire
of ignorance.
Escorting her
golden spirits into an
inexorable grievance,
as ghastly greediness
left no rosy seasoning,
of soils we strolled,
paths unnamed and
undiscovered halt,
questioning toils
of intrinsic creation~
the earth lies
in solitary slumber,
for in delicate dreams
we sing songs
of tranquility,
more mellifluous
than the burning
fumes we
inhale mindlessly.
Satan is destroying your graveyards
And defacing your Synagogues
Now you remember that
You are black too
My mind is racing.
My dreams are defacing.
Everyday is the same,
Every night is a shame.
I need to continue bracing.
My nightmares and fears are interlacing.
My heart needs a gracing.
No one can take blame,
My heart is the only one guilty.
I need a sad songs embracing,
Or an artist’s tracing.
I need something soothing for me to be tame,
Except nothing can take me away from my grame.
Nothing in this world has been the cause of my souls aching.
My heart is the only one guilty.
Why not make a real difference?
By mending broken down walls and fences.
Instead of defacing personal and business property.
Recognizing people and their business need the
freedom to operate them. A healthy and productive
economy, Complete with equal employment opportunities
Is beneficial to all of our countrymen and country women.
They feel they are being surrounded by walls
of hatred, and bigotry. Black people need to
have the responsibly of freedom. By respecting
the rights and privileges of all people, tribes
and tongues. Those of us who are white.
Realize the need for social justice and equality for
Black Americans.
Why not make a difference? Each in our own words,
and each in our own ways! Locking and closing down
our country. When your voices have been heard
is counter productive! The time has come to mend,
fences, walls and bridges not to tear them down!
We are all in this together. United we stand, but
divided we fall!
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
July 02, 2020
There are those who are still waiting for the signs to tell them what to do.
There are those who will do the opposite of what the signs tell them to do.
There are those who don't understand what the signs want them to do.
There are those who think defacing the signs is the thing to do.
There are those who think sign collecting is the thing to do.
There are even those who think obeying the signs is the thing to do.
Me, I prefer to read the sign before I decide if that is the right thing to do.
As I don't intend to end up landing in a pile of poo.
Because I thought signs had the ability to know what the weather will do,
Or that those charged with putting them there always have clue enough to do,
By using a dictionary before they do what they do,
If they are unsure the words they have written will lead me to do,
What they think I need to do.
Yours is a horrendous bother
I decode one side, you obfuscate another!
I twist and turn, twist and turn again
Fingers engrossed around your parts, another twist
extirpates the other side! My enthusiasm refuses to wane.
I warp your shifting visage, weave the obliterated wrist,
Only succeeding to dislodge several faces,
I continue defacing your six surfaces…
In my euphoric endeavors to somehow unwind,
The unfathomable thoughts in your wavering mind,
I take manifold cyclical turns, like a brisk walk in fog,
Your complex anonymity refuses to unclog!
My flirtatious advances, don’t inveigle your resolve?
Chances to demystify you, in vain I solve,
I stare at your complacent maze,
you’re smug, with a mystic gaze!
Still in downright disarray
my curiosity, undone by dismay,
You’re unfazed, as you obliviously recline
Further inquests, but you obstinately decline!
I scrupulously ingest your manual again,
And brace for another futile try,
Why am I so smitten, as if to ascertain
If afterward, you’ll still be awry!?
© Maverick Nyambu
It’s when the night settles in
and the bridge collapses at one end
that you pull me in and let me drift
on moonbeams soothing glow….
You pull me away to another land
where dreamers join, hearts in hand,
drifting on love….hopes expanding
realities calmed…pain releasing
It’s here, it’s now, where we stand
Time defacing the clock of its hands
Racing around on a comet’s tail
As even in death, love still prevails
Gently as the morning mist sound
you return my heart to solid ground
Dewdrop released replacing the tears
A new day brighter to face the fears
The afterglow of sleep receding
My love for you, never depleting
~~~Debra Squyres @2013~~~
As peepholes windows rattled on over pot holes,
In the inner sanctum, dim-light show darkly,
As prolific pickpockets glimpsed full fat purses;
With stealthy filty paws to fiddle and fondle inside hot
pies
Where hustling market's women chests underwear pouches,
Raucous kerfuffle flew after razor slashed deep pockets;
Like the flight of Flamengos
Dropping on motion, the golden stolen wallet assailant
vamoose;
And here, disgraceful disguise faces of nourished notorious
beggars,
Glib salesman eulogize marble chalk tablets and
turpentine,
To singe one thousand and one sickness,
And lifeless crowd spilled and shrouded lapsed on the parts
of poison ivy;
Thrust-thronged, defacing the emerging showcase of faceless
skyscrappers,
Better forgot in the museum of pyramid antiquity,
And rot on the garbage of yawning-gap memory,
Dark films smoke caked on drooping ill-faded fountain
Hibiscus,
Tree-lined traveling barb-wire amid
Toxic sludge plaster grass on muddy carpeted borderline,
The prowling beast trailing, triggering machine-gun
shrapnels and blasts;
Screaming smoking tires scattered shimmering lights on wet
avenue,
Turning bank of orchard blooming in red pomegranate into
cemetery bay.
I love you better
than Cookies and Cream,
my lifelong favorite
more than seas playing footsies
with shore clams
in cuddly tropical sands
The warmth of enticing Caribbean
soothing waters
(billowy-sails...fields of overhead
stars...night's complicit fireflies
helping chart to a romantic cove
a beat-up heart seeking a paradise-like
new-start)
(a desire for tasteful, novel, cheerful effervescent
brew, a need to leave on the old dock past that settled for
impure bitters)
( navigate clear of thought defacing
apps like Facebook's and Twitter's
that falsely entice, tempt
a free-thinking, sacred spirit, to
express living solely on a mindless
uncaring device – not a true life, just a
wax slice
not abiding complete, but in fact,
manipulated into electronic defeat....)
Petals need firm attachment if to be
enticing blushing roses~ blooms for crinkly smiles,
puckering lips and playful toes-es –
Valentines of
perfumed hearts made of hand-laid,
lacy type paper, crafted by flirty eyes
in agreement with pheromone receptive
noses
A softly played harp...a bower of flowers...
Back lathering showers shared – which
requires a minimum of two daring
hearts...wantonly, lovingly paired –
Love is always trumpeted, openly, fondly, vociferously
musically declared....
My mind is euphoric from scenes historic
Assyrian chariots innovative wheels bristling Mesopotamian plains
Paring the ranks of each, dated infantry formation
In Greece, anesthetizing anvil of the Dorian invasion
Glorious bronze relics supplanted by cheaper iron distillation
Persian armies: Greek hoplites, Scythian archers; mercenary aggrandization
Shrinking rebel hordes in Asia Minor's wars of attrition
The venal nature of imperial Rome's persuasion
Crucifying a few, targeted rebels for cultural ingratiation
Devout, gentile Europeans crusading to Biblical heritage's door
Defacing cross with predations in route, arriving uplifting banner 'gainst infidel Moor
Normans in hordes splashing across the chilly, English channel tides
Under William the Conqueror's mantra, bridging the Anglo-Saxon divide
SHOCKING!!!!!!!! WHAT? THAT?
Bad taste?
They know not what is at stake
They do as they please
Then later beg for forgiveness
A right sin
And a dismal business
Nothing is shocking anymore
To thump each other
They go to the extremes of bad taste
The exotic of the past
Is now the mundane of today
To push the boundaries of rascality
Is the new wanton game
Played by trouble makers galore
To shock is to liven up
What a rebellious few
Think is dreary and staid
But is the result of good taste?
Actions we take now do tell
A story to our future
What of our legacy?
Will our avant-garde seem
Nothing but a real shame?
Critics slam with hyperbolic feelings
Prolonging a naturally temporary phase
The rebellion against the norm
Is but a turbulent teenage phase
Desperation for fame
Pushes the tactless
To seek increasingly embarrassing ways
To force our senses to
Confront what is best left private
Books
Art
The stage
All are infiltrated by the listless crew
Who seem hell-bent on defacing decency
Nudity
Crassness
Debauchery
Bad talent
No longer have critics powerful enough to
Cauterize such abject mood swings
Of artiste who feel no shame
Extending the boundaries
Of moral inhibition is not new
Those that claim to be even more shocking
Know not the history of petty rebellion
They are just another transient few
Decency has lost its unsung heroes
Who slash canvasses
And cover up the detritus of artistic license
Those who oppose any act
That does make us think
Examine or
Analyse our existence in new ways
Are deemed too sensitive for modern life
They are accused of bleaching creativity
To be a rogue is best
To impose any limits seems
To rascals as wilful distress but
Trendsetters don’t often know best
Wild Atlantic Way
The sea, slowly surging, crashing, claiming;
Waves endlessly corroding, consuming;
Rocks deeply wrinkling and age defacing;
Seaweed lashing as in a gale swirling.
The sky steaming, magically misting;
Demons forming, twisting, disappearing.
The wind wailing, dementing, high pitching.
Gritty greys powdering, sunlight blotting.
The land shouldering, cringing, succumbing;
The shore crumbling, earth shuddering;
Green browning, fertility unearthing;
Sweet Flowers depetalling, uprooting.
All Mankind hiding, sheltering, fearing;
In homes, tortoising under heavy slate,
Praying for nature’s fury to abate,
Begging the Wild Atlantic way to ease.
Choking, churning dense river of clouds.
Vengeful, raging, wrathful airspace,
where seraphs and cherubs are murdered,
where cold torrential demons are unleashed.
Dank deep noons and nights interbreed,
incestuous and quailing, unholy waters
wailing, exploding, spilling specters,
erasing, defacing, disgracing all that was.
We all know the inequality of cruelty.
Cloudbursts inflict the most on the least.
Drenched hopes and soaked assumptions are
undone by mudslides, unhinged in flash floods.
There are so many conversations we wish
we once had, before the rains started,
before the blast of tainted waters scoured
our private rooms, and it was too late.
No, we don’t know we’re drowning in
the life we repudiate.
'THE WRITING ON THE WALL'
god hath numbered thy kingdom and brought it to an end...
porta-potties scattered around high rises
placed like sacred pillars.
a stonehenge edifice of heroin diaries
and delicate scratched cuneiform figures
scrollings of huge *****es and booby robots.
the eloquent poetry of low brow purists
along the walls they read like the neolithic monuments
of old so telling us all we need to know...
the urinal dialogs written for future posterity,
are defacing angels inscripted with lipstick and pocket knifes.
A feeble excuse that's plain as day,
given in the forlorn hope
it evokes forgiveness and pity,
with a lame witty ditty tale,
about what the dog ate,
is demacing, defacing, emacing and demurring.
It voids the hope of mercy, pardon and exoneration
that the dog ate as well.