Best Fabricating Poems
when demons scream
fabricating falsehoods
i'll summon the angels
to help ease your mind
when you feel damaged
too broken to whisper
in dull blank darkness
i'll illuminate like stars
when dreams are nightmares
sleeplessness stresses sanity
rest tired head on my chest
i'll be your comforting pillow
when you forget the lyrics
i'll hum sentimental tunes
when struggling to express
i'll create heartfelt poetry
when tears rush in like the tide
puddles become dismally deep
i'll lift you upon the highest cliff
watch sunrise from your heart
when leaves fall to the ground
birds abandon naked branches
i'll wrap you in my winter coat
till green leaves shelter nests
when society points in prejudice
i'll strive for justice in injustice
open every door that has closed
clear paths to offer you clarity
when there is too much silence
i'll request nightingales to sing
when there is too much noise
i'll always be your silent friend
Sunday Musings
Silent One
18 October 2020
Dedicated to all those who are always there for others.
True act of friendship and compassion is how friendly and compassionate you are to those, who are not. Even those who may take it for granted.
Fabricating Trees and Things
May God bless your heart
with harmony tones
Let the rusting rain refrain of grief
fly away in the wind
Yours is a greater chore
a glorious alchemy
Welcome your garden guests!
This will be no party for pity.
No one should be locked inside.
Put away that unholy cell phone...
Pain’s penmanship,
will not crush our appetite.
You say “ Take the leap into my heart.”
After all sharing poetry is about being close,
a transfusion of sorts
We are the carnivorous beasts.
Our appetite revealed,
as we destroy creation.
Us who are a single sifted grain of sand.
Much is revealed by Kindergarten Philosophy,
yet we choose to stay forever old.
Witness our director’s cut and paste,
fabricating a tree in a forest
Will you be on the outlook
for you, me, and Candy?
So we can escape winter’s endless night.
I dismembered your tongue twister,
hoping you might take the leap into my heart.
I watch as your memories resurface
You are polite and compliment my longing
Still my ordering of words cannot redo you
You say “These strands, they hold me together.”
I see your purple longing
and feel the immeasurable impact.
I guess there can be no proper goodbye.
I fabricated this piece from Juliet Ligon’s poem titles.
I hope you enjoy the end result.
Please look up Juliet as she can make Romeo blush.
From fjords, forests, hot springs,
slopes and snowy mountains,
people from different 'walks of life,'
connect their cultures to entertain.
A vision of Europe and humanity,
where a continent is home to many dialects,
serenading in diverse artistic styles.
Blending voices that carry something distinct,
bellowed from a ballad, rock or
something completely comedic.
I can hear the echoes of Celine Dion's
'Ne partez pas sans moi'
and the soothing tones of Gwendolyne,
from the dulcet Julio Iglesias.
Unifying musical tongues to
sing with sincere camaraderie,
bringing people together, dancing to
iconic beats like ABBA's - Waterloo.
A stage where future superstars
are born, glorifying 'Long live love.'
reminiscing Olivia Newton John's
universal message, be it in
fast rhythms or slow beats.
An evening of sporadic colours,
where dreams really do come true.
Where strangers join arms and
find new friendship - despite the politics.
One by one each country votes,
dreading the 'nil pois,'
fabricating many a conspiracy,
where the Baltic and Balkan states
seem to love each other's music.
Each vote unfolds excitement,
as nations anticipate the outcome
from the public vote -
there is always a surprise!
Eurovision, may not feature perfect lyrics,
nor angelic voices - in fact not all participants
are from Europe anymore!
Still millions tune in on their TV's
and radio's bringing people together
through the power of music.
Lost in a labyrinth of
Glistening sights
Infinitely out of reach,
Trembling amidst sweeping mistrals,
Fabricating a life of nostalgic allusions,
Caught in lapsed reveries, of
Restless arias and faint rustlings
Sequestering my rampant aura,
Bleeding in russet naivety,
Evaporating in silent elegies.
Tenacious ichor tells entire construction
Divulges puerile battles during idle procedure
Relic compiling spotlight show seduction
Library ivory tower truth siphoning beseecher
Adapted lady adorns princely throne
Padlock hammocks tween valuable threads
Warm cove cocoon moors love's loan
Imbibing cover only, for information dreads
Mould folded within her novel costume
Pacifying massage, limbs lubricated levitate
Elephant keratin tusk thrusts impromptu
Smudge of shame fades chalk dust archaic
- Fifth September
Fabricating Sculptor
With each brush s t r o k e I sigh with pride,
for on my canvas, I have nothing to hide-
A silhouette of a man who loves me so,
embracing all possibilities I hold inside.
It’s the contour of life, it’s the f l o w,
I’m an ARTISAN BEAUTY that can’t let go.
I pour all my instincts and paint with passion,
so that each masterpiece speaks of compassion-
Fabricating a perfect picture with zeal,
I lose all my inhibitions and my ration.
I just can’t explain how I internally feel-
Oh, this c o m p l e t e n e s s is so tenderly real.
A graceful outline of my daughter so pure,
or a painting of all the pain I’ve had to endure-
Hues of colors creating a k a l e i d o s c o p e,
shades of a rainbow that brings allure.
I cast all my cares and hold onto my hope,
so that in my anguish I may learn to c o p e.
Infatuated with landscapes and illustrations,
maybe of this God-given miraculous creation-
Scenery of mountains and a s u n s e t in the sky,
brings me such a satisfying sensation.
I feel as if I can s o a r like an eagle and fly,
as I whisper all my anxiety goodbye.
When my hand’s technique knows its part,
I can say I’ve p a i n t e d from the heart,
and with each proficient artwork I originate,
I know that with my pigments I cannot part.
It must be my destiny, my born fate-
I’m an ARTISAN BEAUTY that can create.
Meraki
Silent One
November 30, 2017
I read the burn to hand-feed
the dark with pills of pleasure ~
twilight entombed
within troubled walls,
swollen and sore,
throbbing with ache,
an insatiable appetite
to relish the realism
of your silhouette of sapience,
a breathing poem
with metaphors in motion,
meticulously merged
with the musk of euphoric musings…
O bronco wild, white force,
the bona fide heat
heaving in bedazzled breeze
around the fragile fingers
of my unclothed heart.
Walk me out of the devious
doors of demented dreams;
free-flow me to a realm
of quenching quiescence,
where condemnatory pupils
do not imprison
the tongue that savors
the flavor of foreverness,
with everlasting vapors
of pulsing peridots
staining these panopticon lips,
sealed with softly sewn secrets.
Serve me your sanguine silk…
They do not sympathize
with the bleeding thorns
painfully wanting ~
sleeplessly yearning
to trace the honest waves,
catalyzing the spark
awaiting escape,
away from the cross-eyed fables
fabricating the fragrance
of my zealous love ~
your rose lady,
restless to bloom as one,
rooted to the runes written
across your ambidextrous armor.
I am tattered and torn,
stuck in a scrutinized cycle,
yet still I refuse
to let these petals wilt.
I let my thoughts wander
to the waking wilderness,
where gypsy blossoms
caress and nurture
the penetrating luster
of pearl-light sepals,
resembling my damask spirit,
unstained by the sepulchral ashes ~
dust-laden, kohl-corpse chains
of faithless society,
of blood serpents
masking malevolence,
pretending to be well-wishers…
I care not for their callous clamors,
cruelty caved
in charismatic lies,
deciphering my virtuous dawn
as dangerous delirium;
so take me away ~
to flawless fields
bathed in orange topaz skies…
~ I am yours to worship,
your masterpiece of paradise ~
***Inspired by the artwork; The Lady Rose, by Paul Delvaux
Cold shower today - (early afternoon)
September eighth two thousand
and nineteen more challenging than June
dog days of summer test tolerance
to feel alive and bark at the moon
hypothetically imagining myself
alone in the (suburban) wilderness
fabricating, envisioning crossing pontoon
bridge while humming nonsense tune.
Jolt to body electric induces zing
unlike missus who cannot wing
subjecting her sensitive skin
versus modest bragging
rights of this faux king
please pas din me boasting,
but perhaps explanation
I shower without hot water
linkedin to aging.
Which (no matter cumulative
chronological orbitz around sun
just a number), the fleeting
passage of years doth stun
more so forces me to assess
mein kampf, retrospective
devoid of nothing merit but pun
hushing disappointment plus
self deprivation of fun.
Alas within narrowly
circumscribed realm stale
stagnation doth prevail,
I easily overwhelm
courtesy panic attacks of this male
bred avoidance behavior
(cue Pavlov's dog) hearty and hale
trained to withdraw
from challenging tasks
markedly pronounced when fail
my middle name,
where besieged psyche doth ail.
Fatherhood, albeit necessitated taking ace
sip of courage, sometimes
adept to chase
fear of unfamiliar, though
never totally erase
sing passive behavior
I attest infrequently to face
anxiety inducing situations
poise zenned clowns
feign amazing grace
me convulsing with intimidation
agitating, flinching, recoiling...
retreating into isolated place
while profuse sweat drips
from every porous space
heart beat does madly race
despite absence of any threat
exhaustion spent without
factual, logical, rational... trace.
Time and again work fraught
self into lather for naught
recurring soap opera taught
me impossible mission
to rinse figurative suds
unlike showering/washing hair,
whereby cleansing wrought.
Fiery furnace-filled flames,
Fabulously flash-flare;
Fantastic feelings flow,
Forming flamboyancy;
Flirtatious fancies foam,
Fabricating frenzy;
Freedom flutters fondly...
Written: June 16, 2023
______________________________________________________________
The flames grew dim as the wax poured.
A silent killer, it stealthily soared.
My fire drowned in its accompanying liquid.
As the wax engulfed me, my spirit was rid.
Wobbly thighs are forcing legs to thrive,
Against the tides of doubt, I strive,
Softened walls once held me tight.
But now I break free with all my might.
Hardened, I pressed on through trials and strife.
I was prepared to fight the challenges of life.
But not the same; I emerged anew,
A phoenix rising, with strength imbued.
My stature morphed; I was no longer small.
I stood tall, no longer afraid to fall.
Spreading out with deeper roots,
Nourishing my soul with resilient pursuits
Fabricating a raw wick from crisp-cut hair,
I swallowed wisps, training for another blare.
Filling my insides with my melted torment,
I structured walls with blunt-force blows.
In the depths of darkness, a fiery rage ignited,
A flame untamed, burning bright,
A storm of fury is brewing inside.
Ready to unleash its destructive might.
I crafted a weapon, a wick of hair,
Each strand is a reminder of my despair.
Swallowing wisps of pain, fueling the fire,
Training my soul for vengeance dire.
Every cut, every strand, a sacrifice made,
To forge a weapon, a fury blade,
Igniting the embers of my shattered past,
A tempest unleashed, a fury unsurpassed
I cause one's self confidence to crumble away
Like a worn-down building left to decay
I infect the minds of the old and young
Trapping them in the isolated web I've strung
I force others to believe they aren't good enough
They must be tall, skinny, beautiful or buff
My name is body image
I am seen throughout education, employment, and social rights
Taking expectations to soaring heights
I make women assume that it's acceptable to be used as objects
Or men must be strong and can't ever cry in any prospect
I don't allow genders to be reassigned
You must be your birth gender defined
My name is gender roles and discrimination
I can cause impressions with just one glance
individual expression isn't given a chance
I create the illusion that one race defines all
Fabricating personas big or small
I seem to compel others to act
Solely based on a skin color abstract
My name is racial socialization
I am needed to have success
Until one obtains me they'll never rest
I drive individuals into the ground
Instruments of money don't make a sound
If money is power
Where is my crown?
My name is money obsession
Together
We are called society
Lustrous black hangs over pale skin
Gleaming green under deities sight
Wheeling toes transfer lanolin
Watchers skill shadows this neophyte
Who's damning dexterity draws in
The old woman watching weaving
Whispering advice to halt spokes
But fibrous boasts offend mountain
War horns sound an electric warning
Arachne's eyes roll with faster strokes
Athena whets sharp javelin
Circling pressure spills lymphocyte
An emerald eyed grimalkin
Issuing challenge instead of a fight
To save face in front of kin
Anxiously she begins fabricating
Charring wood, wisping smoke
Arachne remembers old sin
Clean fingers start recording
Twenty one episodes to provoke
Woven lust impregnates linen
Details capture birthright
Divine lashes flicker, flecking venin
Mortal legs levitate, threads snap and choke
Defiant victory from the coffin
Punished and reborn with aconite
To appease her guilt for relaxed reign
Arachne is transformed and hanging
Always spinning; a masterstroke
The only good politician
is a dead one.
They are the root of rebellion
with their fabricating forked tongues;
This should not imply they be killed
Hell no! Karma will tend to that.
As a rule they’re old and grizzled
men -self servers that have grown fat
at the expense of the people;
Parasites pandering their base
rarely the country’s as a whole
beginning at the polling place.
Their souls sworn in smelly restrooms
their shiftiness baptized in piss.
Both [left and right] are lowdown goons
And when they’re gone they’re never missed.
Eyelids dance in a world obscured
Fabricating illusions we will seek
Like the melody of an unforgettable song
It's conception buried in the deep
Visions of his eyes
The tone of her skin
Is the one they see a dream
Or something clearly impinged
His laugh and the curve of his lips
Sun-touched highlights in her hair
Are they fabled reveries or
Unconscious aspects by which we compare
She longed for his tender ways
He wanted for her seducing dance
A distant memory that was never lived
A dream within a dream perchance
We're looking for things we've never known
In someone we've never met
For this we cry and bow our knees
A joining of halves that must connect
And if by some miracle of fate
These two dreamers paths do cross
By no visible nor unseen force
Could ever unjoint loves intercourse
The Dream Maker
In some majestic space resides
The famed and masterful slumber illuminator
Arranging the destiny of lives
For Rick, the love of my life!
'Tis well-documented that George Washington had issues with his choppers.
'Tis also well-known that he was not prone to fabricating whoppers.
So it comes as no surprise and can be truly said of our first President,
That truer words were never spoken thru falser teeth by this honorable gent!