Best Exteriors Poems
Broken People
I wish to be with the broken people.
The get in your face challenge me people. The sometimes hidden sitting in a dark corner kinda people.
The “Don't you love me?”
I wish you seen me sorta people.
People just being real people.
Not having to have it all together people. Them doing their best to figure it out people. Dancing and singing without the smooth moves people.
I don't care about the color of their skin, or what others think of as their sin. No need to be perfect to win.
Seeing and listening is where I'll begin. Beyond appearance of fat or thin. I only know what I know
I've never been where they've been.
We'll start
with our broken smiles
it's the best we've got.
It might seem like so little
still I think it's a lot.
Through life's struggles we've all fought. Lessons needed learning
experienced not taught.
Real is real it couldn't be bought.
So forget the fake people,
the all about perfect hair and clothes people. The I live in the right neighborhood and drive the right car people. It's all about me, top of the hill people. They only hang out with the supremely cool people.
those too important to talk to me people. Thinking they're the best of the best kinda people, when all along they are merely Sheeple.
Ba ba baaing, thinking they are strong instead of feeble.
I love characters
people who are unique.
I look under exteriors to gain a peek.
Strength of lions disguised in meek.
Unconcerned with fab or being chic.
Worth listening to if allowed to speak.
The stories they tell will make your eyes leak.
For in the end
we are all broken
stumbling and choking.
Disguising hurt with our joking,
victims of others and their poking.
So look close maybe you'll see
eyes that aren't blank
hearts that aren't empty.
Who we think of as complicated
in the end might not be.
They might push when others come close,yet they are affectionate times three. Each just a bit afraid and broken. All the while wishing
and wanting to be a part of something. If only we choose to see
those on the fringes are a part of the we. All we have to do is let them be.
Categories:
exteriors, people,
Form:
Free verse
A land of ice and snow, a picture perfect postcard,
It is here I walk alone, lost in thought, of glories utter
Amazement surrounding me.
Draped across the pine branches of evergreen, frozen white
Lace glistens, in the December sun.
Raw wilderness lain exposed, on a canvas of bare natural beauty.
Freedom's unexplored world, lies outstretched before me,
In this my wintery wonderland.
Crisp is the wind, blowing against my skin, it sends
An icy chill downwards, but I notice not.
I'm a dreamer set adrift, engulfed by a poets
Yearning, to put words of inspiration, onto an empty page.
Heavy steps, crunch the layers texture beneath, nay
I'll remain still, soaking in this forest portrait.
Before these eyes, I'm unable to grasp everything,
There is to be seen, but ti’s a spiritual moment,
Of reflection, in clarity's vision.
The mountains breath, is a thin chilling mist,
A fine thin halo, placed upon rocky peaks majesty, by the
God's themselves, a majestic crowning of divine design.
Covenanting these exteriors hardened edge,
It gives a taste of harsh flavor, to this natural
Paradise left undiscovered.
The blue hews of the sky, are Chris-crossed by
The northern lights, aurora’s multicolored rainbows,
Dancing in the Alaskan horizon.
An echoing peace lives here, a quite tranquility,
Humanity has forgotten for progress.
It is a magical essence of solitude, that
Speaks to ones inner being, a purity in the
Meaning of existence.
Within my little cabin, I'll rest, beside the fire side,
Warming these aching bones.
But the mind remains alive and alert, sparked by
A higher powers kindling, a flame, ignited with imagination,
In this my wintery wonderland.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
exteriors, art, beauty, christmas, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
The soft self-praise of your own heart,
Is this not our lost secret?
Bring forth that feathering truth
Like fields of canary bells
You ring, you're ringing,
Ringing from the rib cage.
Poetry is the land where all rules fade,
Rules for yourself and rules for others, replaced with spools
Of no code though every color
As the innermost leads this boundless, heralding march,
march, marching, towards where?
Does it matter? Cry your bloody tears out.
Let loose the hysteric mess of a laugh.
No manic tide can take the seed of your joy
And turn it to some shriveled past.
Though what of some perverse prattle?
Is that not wild life, too?
You are writing now.
You are always writing now, the source of blooming miracle,
And aren't we all blooming into something ugly or radiant?
Confounded or brackish? What madcap nonsense of exteriors we wear.
What a looney song we are.
But what's inside, what's inside the clamor of it all?
Are you forcing words into the dumb quiet?
Your one raised hand rising out of infinite dunes?
Tell your face it's okay.
Relax your grip on the organs of your body.
Write this crazed flood and smash through the dam.
What dam? Damn the dam.
Your nose is a dam,
Right between your eyes.
Oh, your gorgeous eyes!
(Have I told you?)
You are the riptide, the holy puddle, the frayed lace.
Now set yourself anew.
Blooming, blooming and true.
Yesterday's stub in your hand, the Life Fair goes on and on.
Go today. Go tomorrow.
Relish in the joy as much as the sorrow.
Categories:
exteriors, happiness, writing, writing,
Form:
Free verse
I’m dying…I really am
And those around me see the forces pushing me out
Sticky black outlines me, scratching its way inside
I feel like the divided creatures are availing…
My heart is failing
Is there a worse feeling?
I want to find a healing…but the eyes keep closing
FACEBOOK masks and seething lies bleeding outwards
Murdering personality, some say
Words of poetry undeserving recognition
Minds are crawling away from me as I reach for warmth
Grabbing onto a glob of black
I can’t see their real intentions…he needs an intervention
The priests won’t stop dunking her in the waters of perversion
Spitting open Pangaea, letting them flood its base
Things are going so fast…time is ticking disasters
A quiet sadness in souls I’ll never know
I’ll never come to understand you—I can't look them in the eyes
The tumultuous pupils overflow with the blackness…sticking the eyelids together
And drying…coagulating…
Binding…blinding
Only burning flames can lick it away
But my fingers are smoldering from the metallic roll of the lighter’s starter
The fuel is running too rapidly through my veins
Smoky ambience is weathering the skies
While Pangaea is depleted…broken
The creatures are separated—WE ARE SO MAD AT EACHOTHER
Racial content bleeding from the melting wax of our exteriors
Brotherhood—merely incestuous wasteland of hornless hornets
Empty stomachs moving special organs
Singling the heart out…
Shifting the lungs that give them airways of achievement
My teeth sinking into my cheek
I can’t move them…I can’t even speak
Categories:
exteriors, allegory, black african american,
Form:
Free verse
A human race of relay and replay,
Their soles push off unforgiving exteriors
And are kept on track by applauded obedience.
Their recurrently blistered hearts
Become calloused by an aura of expectation.
Hedonism is a fort where their souls sit while their bodies work.
They chip at the sedimentary foundation of their spirits
To harvest a second of sedentary cessation.
Their bodies cycle through obligations
While their minds are babysat by empty stimulation.
An evolving species of technological hybrids,
Their eyes are glued to the baggage of what their hands make.
They syphon their own consciousness into blocks of metal.
So advanced, they transform into the robots they create,
And relish in the reality of desolate mystery.
Skilled in the art of artificiality,
The leaders challenge naturality with isolation.
They quarantine those who are sick with manic compassion,
And crush contentment into a take-once-a-day solution.
But here, the wind and trees sing harmonies
Which stop us in our tracks and sweep us off our feet.
We rest our bodies in the arms of others
While our minds explore the layers of our souls.
Our hands remain free to guide the blind into themselves,
And we wear our emotions like an interpretive art.
Here, hardship plagues and endings are tragic.
Negativity festers in optimists’ open wounds
And imperfection dresses each being.
Yet here, unity lies like a blanket over struggle,
And simplicity heals the wounds of humanity.
Categories:
exteriors, addiction, change, depression, desire,
Form:
Free verse
I got a fetish for neglecting things that I should cherish.
Once I realize its true value, those moments have already perished.
Who's at fault when our time becomes essence-less?
When we begin to question our coexistence.
How do we make each moment resemble something of elegance?
Time must be at our mercy because time is merciless.
Forgive my sins and all my sins that may become friends.
The time I have left only depends.
Many circumstances. Moments left up to chances.
I surrender to pessimistic thoughts on multiple occasions.
Only make moves when motivation is provided by mental persuasion.
Or when exteriors give me a motive.
Sometimes I fail to see the reason for the worth of pursuance.
Coagulated thoughts then become a nuisance.
Time never waits, so I watch time with prudence.
So maybe my time can be continued, rather than in conclusion.
Categories:
exteriors, devotion, life, poems,
Form:
Rhyme
Seven half-naked men gather around the table
For a meal that is to me only foreign
They speak in tones of joy
Tones nearly obscure to my ears
But oh, so near
My eyes avert from my glance
Picking up a dish from the sink
I scrub the grime away
The laughter grows in a masculine crescendo
And the tone is nourished into vibrancy
My curiosity is but a dull pan
Awaiting a wash and rinse
Stuck into the sticky filth of envy
I envy the joyous expression
Yet I welcome insipid depression
Happiness and content so far from me
But merely. . .across the way
No embarrassment of their exteriors
By far their lives feel superior
The language they speak is nothing to me
But tones and emotion I can never reach
Oh, how far you are
The motivation; the nourished vibrancy
From me you are clean
As the guck collects within
Somehow I cannot hide from the light of their words
The distant, alien joy
My sense of inner unity is so coy
Compared to these gathered strangers—my neighbors
The brotherhood—that I can only discreetly witness
I can only pick myself up
Like this lonely, dirty cup
And glance at the seven half-naked men
Across the way
Categories:
exteriors, absence, analogy, body, depression,
Form:
Ballad
A land of ice and snow, a picture perfect postcard,
It is here I walk alone, lost in thought, of glories utter
Amazement surrounding me.
Draped across the pine branches of evergreen, frozen white
Lace glistens, in the December sun.
Raw wilderness lain exposed, on a canvas of bare natural beauty.
Freedom's unexplored world, lies outstretched before me,
In this my wintery wonderland.
Crisp is the wind, blowing against my skin, it sends
An icy chill downwards, but I notice not.
I'm a dreamer set adrift, engulfed by a poets
Yearning, to put words of inspiration, onto an empty page.
Heavy steps, crunch the layers texture beneath, nay
I'll remain still, soaking in this forest portrait.
Before these eyes, I'm unable to grasp everything,
There is to be seen, but ti’s a spiritual moment,
Of reflection, in clarity's vision.
The mountains breath, is a thin chilling mist,
A fine thin halo, placed upon rocky peaks majesty, by the
God's themselves, a majestic crowning of divine design.
Covenanting these exteriors hardened edge,
It gives a taste of harsh flavor, to this natural
Paradise left undiscovered.
The blue hews of the sky, are Chris-crossed by
The northern lights, aroura's multifcolored rainbows,
Dancing in the Alaskan horizon.
An echoing peace lives here, a quite tranquility,
Humanity has forgotten for progress.
It is a magicial essecces of soilitude, that
Speaks to ones inner being, a purity in the
Meaning of exsistence.
Within my little cabin, I'll rest, beside the fire side,
Warming these aching bones.
But the mind remains alive and alert, sparked by
A higher powers kindling, a flame, egnited with imagination,
In this my wintery wonderland.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
exteriors, adventure, america, beauty, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
We Look Up At The Family Of Tracery Architecture
Tracery architecture began seeing the light
From the Gothic Age on it gained its birthright
Its beauty spread left and right, day and night
In the stoneware dividing the glass with all its might
It took shape in the rising windows to a viewer's delight
The molds and shapes symmetrical and out of sight
Where the decorative patterns do please the eye and incite
With grooves, twirls, and colors holding the window tight
Many a cathedral today share its passage and sprite
Like an acquired custom, blessing, and rite
That duly accentuates the interiors and exteriors flight
Where the parishioners do see more than the rays of daylight
1/28/23
TRACERY Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Julia Ward
Categories:
exteriors, beauty, blessing, gothic,
Form:
Rhyme
Machiavellian dharma bums-
thumbing noses at the world
brazen fingerflags unfurled
tragic frowns on magic clowns
in fine designer hand-me-downs
hip and flippant,chips on shoulders
colder than the golden rings
piercing their exteriors
Neoclassic neobrats
drafting in and out of time
tatting lines of prose and rhyme
in easy lays that tease and play
in not the least most pleasing ways
the seed is sown,a need to hone-
a poem of their very own
near to the interior
Categories:
exteriors, parody
Form:
Ode
I caught you looking
In what world ?
Please
Even if you where the last person on earth
In reality
You would still be to good for me
And Yet
I would still slam you down
Because shallow is pretty
Outside to in
And flawless skin
And shinny hair
Don't care
For the less fare
When make up cases
Paint a picture
Of mask's indifferent
To anything but the face
Of camouflaged exteriors
The world won't let in
Because differences
Be the sin
Of Love
In beautiful boxes
Categories:
exteriors, allusion, april, slam,
Form:
Free verse
A hippopotamus in a tree is never the same as a forty foot sunbathing prawn with sunglasses. For in the eyes of the cool breeze not all can be delivered as speedily as a fish and chip tea on a promenade. So when skipping in leaves speak to the beetles nestled within. No fur coats necessary for such tough outer exteriors. And when feet are immersed in sand take time to consider the milestones made by the several hundred thousand years of eras and fauna and tides who shape the land akin to spreading thick amounts of cream on a homemade bun. But when in wind, now this is the time. The time to fly the inner kite. Mind residue can often flap so perhaps by placing a raisin in a currant one can escape the glows of yesteryear demise,junk,felons and demonstrated demonic plagues. However never let it be said that a clapping pan can dance to the spoon beats. And always be aware a tiny 6inch snail can travel at great speeds in the morning dew or in the dust explosions. Tapered. Tailoring. Trapping. Taking. An hourglass undercut. Cute. Cat. Fishing a five foot wave. Undergrowth underwent until ultimately uprooting. Pointless planning pain pun eyed people swarm. Delivery optional yet opened and arrived in a time looping hop of 1 2 3 beat. Hindsight hinders. Jalapeno skirts on lobster faced girls dance a pretty dance to a large goggle eyed clam. Balloons. Balls. Bake. Banal. Banalities of banana bread. Stallion toss. Geraniums. Xx1 !
Categories:
exteriors, animal, baby, birthday, ,
Form:
Pelicans
Dipped in a hard oil exteriors in LOUSIANA ARE SUFFERING
Why must natures angels suffer from human destruction
Their mouths quieted by the fact that their vocal chords are voiceless
and they choke on liquids humans define as precious
But their eyes like a crystal balls show that their hope is beginning to deteriorate
Their angelic feathers now drooping like 10000 lb heavy weights
Agonized by poisons they grieve the acknowledgement of what a beautiful life they could have had............. before we took it without consent
Lackluster from exhaustion they hang their heavy heads
Defeated, is their miracle coming to save them yet?
Such graceful beauteous creatures lay with their feet in the air many are inanimate
Still they hang on defiant against the weary arm of death
Awaiting to soar higher than the sunset
Categories:
exteriors, animals, forgiveness, life
Form:
Free verse
The everyday ordinary beauty of this exquisite island paradise
Amplifies the hellish anguish of your absence;
The sea rushes in and out
Lullaby’s the inhabitants
Into nocturnal wonder;
Caresses the sharp boarders of
Unexpected dreams;
Softening their jagged exteriors with delicate
Whispers which leaves memories of
Sensual wet kisses on my cheeks;
My body howls, trembles in
Uncontrollable sorrow/sadness;
A cruel game played by God;
My eyes look out on the blue sea;
I feel the rock-a-bye rhythm of the water’s lull;
I taste the gentle sweetness of the morning mist;
I hear the lovely choir of cocks
Crowing at each breaking dawn;
I am deliriously ungrateful;
I long to taste the soft salty musk of you sweat.
Categories:
exteriors, angst, lost love, love,
Form:
Free verse
O Ruthless Fate
Why are you so partial??
Look at those small hands
Mopping the floor
Sweeping the corridor
Picking the garbage
Bearing all that burden
A small kid
With a soiled face,
disheveled hair,
running nose
and a ragged exterior…
Only thing shining
are those eyes
Those striking ,gleaming eyes
Filled with dreams
Dreams of change of fate
Alas! We humans
have messed up our lives
Have no courage
to lend a helping hand
So, O my dear, dear fate
Do something for such kids
Or else, bestow us with courage
To stand up for once
To let these buds bloom
Into smiling flowers
With groomed interiors
And exteriors
Or else in no time
Will even these eyes
lose their sheen…….
Categories:
exteriors, growing up, hope, social,
Form:
Free verse