Best Disfigures Poems


Premium Member The Enlightening

The graveyard, shrouded in pale mist, so hauntingly eerie,
dampen spirits as the full moon loses her glow - dreary!
I float, like a vapour, amongst lifeless, inky shadows;
solitary yew tree, groaning with age, as the wind blows.

A ravens cold, chilling stare, shoots shivers within my soul
as I glance at fresh earthly mounds next to an empty hole.
Decaying flowers, leaves, disfigures forlorn, relic graves 
as melancholy whistling heralds me in mournful waves.

I wander past headstones sheathed in mould, epitaphs long gone,
This sacred place seems familiar to me as night draws on.
Movement beyond a mausoleum - am I all alone?
I feel I am being beckoned to something to be shown. 

                   Hypnotic, ethereal sounds now on this Halloween Eve - 
                   I am guided to a grave where I shall lay down and grieve.

                   For, as I kneel against sodden turf, horror upon face,
                  An inscription enlightens me -  I dwell - at this resting place!

Premium Member You Know What I Mean -POTD

Silent shadows whisper wicked rumors from tawny tinted tents
Reflecting rueful random thoughts, such are their laments                                                   
Circus kingdom cast offs disappear for no fault of their own 
If only you knew, the stunt star’s stunning and raving review                    
Perilous pyrotechnic cruelly disfigures, and if only you knew
Dark duplicate shapes of onyx outlines, two damaged lives
Repellant is he, a vibrant visible resilient soul is she who thrives
Redeemed restored! Residing in each other’s passionate thunder
Unscrupulous undertones shan’t ever tear their love asunder!

You know what I mean...

Sequestered away from prying eyes of light they remain inside
Alas all alone, as in The Phantom Of The Opera they hide
Yet, shimmering silhouettes seen against the dimming sky
What witnesses the galactic guardian stars cannot deny
They say beauty can never be found in the dark,
I’ve heard this from an empress ere she was ready to embark
upon a ship shouting, sheets rife with words written about her love
No not notes of loneliness it’s not for this lioness a warrior above
it all, she places all her inner impetuous into her piercing poetry
A dusky distant shape and outline listens, lusting, yearning with glee
The light shone brightly behind, they move closer kissing eagerly

You know what I mean…
© I Am Anaya  Create an image from this poem.

Blue Roses and Chocolates

Blue roses and chocolates have been lying there,
untouched and unopen over three days now, 
sadly turning rejection into endless despair;
even light struggles to filter through the closed window...



My gifts aren't appreciated, or even remembered,
and I am torn apart by disbelief and tremor:
with the empitiest feeling ever contemplated;
my disappointed sweetheart expected more...



Perhaps a bracelet or necklace with dazzling diamonds,
would have made her definetely happy like any circus' clown;
if love lusts after material and insignificant things,  
it has no sentimental value in itself, only a monetary one...



Uncaring and silent, with a blank and wandering look that
disfigures the divine face I admired and worshiped always,
my embittered darling is overwhelmed with vanity, touching her neck;
sensing visions of glamour and imagining the feel of sapphires... 
 


Everything I gave her was given out of kindness,
and my blue roses and chocolates should be a gift 
of the kindest of souls offering the simplest things;
and isn't her greed more implacable than a sullen sky full of rage?      


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Premium Member My One Liners Will Is To Strike

MY ONE LINERS WILL is to STRIKE


T S U N A M I 
Jazzy flamboyant boogie wave climax, a disaster show.

D E C E P T I O N
Sugar-apple are the smiles yet to her eyes, I see lemons.

D I R T Y D A N C I N G
Dauntless dazzling dainty dolls dirtily dancing disfigures dignity.

S U C C E S S
I bit the metals but I didn't break, only I became marshmallows after.

B A T T L E of the S E X E S
Hundred men can build a bridge yet with one woman there's a home.
_________________________________________________________________
9:57 PM; December 17, 2015

Media Control

The main stream's notice, coveting's resound,
nor look for options seemingly profound,
evil is as ~ evil does,  be still around,
the same as nurturance choice concern when found!

I carry on as briskly, not refute
the day be won, my victory astute,
as knowing not, some consequence dilute,
do gather strength, from "faith", without repute?

This win, or lose ~ disfigures not MY group,
that I still hold in bearing ~ not by loot!

African Mis-Culture Worm

Freedom asserted, freedom elevated
At the price of abandoning trivia
Jettisoning frills in the context of flights coveted
When whites and nights turn cold and Sylvia

Despite her brown complexion tolerates ebony skin
Rating it high, far above the artificial allure
Derived from immersion in complexion creams locked up in a bin
Sylvia suggests promotes the lure

Freedom denies to plastic surgery 
That disfigures natural beauty ensnaring it into a belief
That brown skin defeats dark skin although beauty forgery
Elevates creepy kingship of mischief

Meant to deny dark beauty its place under the sun
Where African men and women turn away from their nature
To adopt and coopt artificial beauty not just for fun
But also for keeps and the contemporary culture

That invades and pervades Africa from rejection of traditional meals
Traditional attire, primacy of the mother tongue
To the adoption of intrusive Western languages and frills
Which rob Africans of their identity and slang

Until Africans know not where they belong
Being neither fully westernized nor fully Africanized
Like when expectant mothers deem it wrong to don oblong
Maternity dresses in favour of balkanized

Fashion whose promotion and commotion don’t augur
Well for the short term, midterm and long term
Plunging Africans into a perennial quandary and conundrum which figure
High among inconsistencies that squirm in an African misculture worm.


Untitled Part 1

i am the salt of the earth and the ocean 
i am the light that shines from within 
the inner cries behind facial emotions 
the darkness that is covered in skin 

i comprehend the appearance of freedom 
though i am chained to this earth 
i accept the mistakes of edom 
and understand my own worth 

i am a man in need of compassion 
just like any who filled his challice 
but my love runs thin like rations 
and ive thrown virtue over the ballast

my eyes swing low in the presence of a smile 
and ears ring numb to a laugh 
i havent the endurance to run deceptions mile 
nor the energy to last 

the light goes into submission 
and the darkness smothers the land 
evil comes out of submission 
and begins to reach out its hand 

it comforts carress and consoles 
it puts the mind and body at ease 
then it takes over in total control 
and kills like a malignant desease 

it works its way thought the canvas of life 
and disfigures the art that has been laid 
like the reavers who waunder the night 
they destroy everything made 

watchers.... they gaze with envy 
as the fallen plunder the earth 
the hearts of many become empty 
as the battle begins for the turf 

they possesse and dismember ... 
the body of the humankind 
they erase what we remember 
over the ages of time 

they manipulate truth.... 
by the twist of a word and the tongue 
and all that was ever accomplished 
was demolished before it it ever begun 

but time is a constant and never ceases to flow 
what we forget in time only time again can bestow

Premium Member Arrogance

Arrogance is a dull thing
encased in a mirage of licentious desire
that disfigures the mind in the twilight of contemplation
              impoverished by glitter
found in a world extending no further than an arm 
to strut like a peacock. demanding acknowledgment
like a beggar...with open palms demanding alms
to enter the grand stage of the humble and righteous
               seeking applause
dressed in the King's cloth of self-gratification
held tight by a ribbon of lies worn as a crown
               on the false hair of folly
that lays in a circle around the feet of a fool
       to be so self-absorbed as to be blind
to the death that lay on the ground
covered with the bloody tears of innocence
that flowed from the wells of disbelief
       as they cried out...help us
arrogance looks down on the faces
finding them unworthy of time
         is it arrogance or a narcissist?
the question lays on the table of those weeping for the dead
        who turned their backs on the circus
having found arrogance wanting of empathy
they cursed this jester in their court
having looked into his heart...finding no soul

2/18/18

I Beg Pardon

When my race is run and done
And I reminisce why I stun
Doubting Thomases who to my head point a gun

Expecting my soul to project fear
From my eyes to pour a tear
As I utter ‘Thank you, my dear’

Ripe quaint age smiling
Memories from my pate swirling
Satisfaction from my bosom brimming from floor to my ceiling

I’d slump to my knees
Gratitude seizing keys
Snapping open doors to freedom to please

My Creator
Who appointed me knowledge disseminator
An avid ignorance interrogator

I’d smile awhile
Pray at length for a while
Promoting a sane lifestyle

Denoting gratitude
In remnants of the fortitude
Sunk deep into the attitude

I ought to cultivate
In every pore of my soul to fete
Virtues  and the denial of vices as I celebrate

Opportunities granted to appreciate bounties
Teeming with certainties
Encountered in my late seventies

If I should blush
Nurturing no crush
Which I’d gladly flush

To usher in the penultimate era
That would prevent a camera
From snapping selfies of mascara

That disfigures my natural looks
To invite unscrupulous spooks
From inserting plastic surgery hooks

I deride
As forward I stride
To prevent my pride

From surging forth
Feeling cocky that sloth
No longer invades and pervades the fabric of the cloth

I don
With abandon
As I beg for my bae’s pardon.

Chapatti

Her callused fingers
plow flour. A clock 
pendulum annoys her. 
‘Anon’, he’s impatient

before the plate. Her
sweat creates a moon
in wheat. A soft thing
is transformed by a hot

experience. It swells
like the belly of a 
pregnant lady. Kitchen
heat disfigures beauty.

Dark spots appear
slowly. Steam, 
like anxieties of an
exploited wheat farmer, 

rises up from the chest
of chapatti. ‘Dry chapatti’, 
he utters his distaste. It 
wets with concealed tears.






(Chapatti is a flat round South Asian bread.)

On What Disfigures Figures

Fat disfigures 
ladies' figures.

Volodymyr Knyr
2017

Premium Member Two Clouds

Never two clouds the same
Not in shape, 
Not in size,  
Not in colour.

Designer divine
Final purpose in mind
His sky protected from man
Without a beginning or end.

Mankind gives them names
Stratocumulus, cirrus, 
Cumulonimbus, 
Nimbostratus, 
And low stuff even called fog.

Sad thing that so often
Mankind being clever
Disfigures God’s heaven
With plane-trails 
All over.

The Bible tells clearly
That the heavens declare
The glory of God
Hallelujah! Amen!

“The heavens declare the glory of God;
And the firmament shows His handiwork.”
Psalm 19:1. NKJV

The George Chronicles: Past Light

The George Chronicles

There was once a past that was dark and gloomy
Perpetrated by enigmas with no angelical form
Procuring an enlightenment of satire
Which to a shallow mind pleases
to others disfigures.
Stars are gleaming which have come my path 
with an infinite universe and dazzling skies
Albeit as it may life still gives you lemons
What do you do with lemons you might ask
as for me
i'll save a few 
just in case someone might need them.

Dot Mockers

dot mockers
freelance me
oh look to me
oh look to me
medusa my hair
dread locks dreaded
climbing my stereo type
boot marks on the face
of
death
intrusions made upon peace
the cleaved disfigures clung
swallowing thumb tack thoughts
provoked beyond the reasoning in sanity
howled moons shadow stars guidance
here they are guiding rings to me
sorting through halo rainbows
my night
of
slaughtered day
what talkers
all we seen
was
dot mockers
?

Fitting the Within

When our world cracks open and  throws our bodies down
When the world evaporates and turns us into steam
When  he world disfigures you and you seem like a clown
Don’t be quick to build again, there’s value in these schemes.

Many worlds are possible and here’s the pattern book
Don’t be hasty anyway, better far to look
Fearful on the precipice and fearful on the hill
Fearful of the loneliness, yet cold lovers can kill

Stand alone on trembling legs and see  a different view
When we find our destiny, we  will  feel renewed.
Everything is blurry now,  poor eyes cannot adapt
But when the legs get steadier, vision will correct.

No mother dear nor father strong can help us with their care
We must be quite separate for our new world to bare.
The world is new inside the gap where symbols grow and swirl
And across the sky above the stars dance all a whirl

Safety and security if taken on too soon
Lessen the alternatives and may lead us to doom
Courage to the child we are, courage in our hearts
In the forms now visible we will find new shape.

Less like armour plating,  more like pliant skin,
Fitting us externally and fitting the within

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