Best Facile Poems
August-5- 2026
Contest- The Pensive Poet Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
~PLACED FIRST~
"A poet sees things which others seem to ignore and stores up his thoughts and impressions in the casket of verse, treasuring them as valuables that Time can't steal"~ By Poet
Alone, when I sit in my room in pensive mood,
Thoughts flit across my mind in endless succession.
They erupt out slicing time and space,
And flow in disarray, in a jumbled mass.
Then my facile pen starts moving quickly,
Gathering my thoughts in reflective refrain.
Like waves beating madly across the shoreline,
Emotions flow out, my mind no longer can contain.
On flipping through the pages of my life,
Deep nostalgia overwhelms me.
Like falling petals, as years hastily pass,
I long for the past when my days were quite glossy.
My mind wanders to distant memories dear,
And I wish to preserve what time has stolen.
So, I scribble my thoughts on the sheet in hand
To traverse through bygone times over again.
In my silence, I hear footsteps of the past
And see my dear ones as shadows fading out.
My parents who are no more there to care,
Gleam before, leaving my eyes misty.
I am on a sacred mission~
To stitch together broken memories and moments
And build a bridge between past and present.
My poems, l hope will serve as a window
That I can open and close at will.
Only in silence l can behold scenes,
That others miss out in diverse distractions.
The more I grow silent, the more I can see and hear.
I get ensnared by the breathtaking view of a sunset
The serenade of nocturnal birds,
The beauty of blooms and meadows wide and green,
The vastness of the sapphire sky -
Where rainbows arch after a drizzle
Or stars twinkle at a cloudless night.
Rills as they murmur and cataracts as they roar,
Fall on my ears as dulcet music of the cosmic band.
I wish to recall such sights and sounds
That once I looked on with a casual glance,
And fell like grains of sand funneled through the hour glass,
Later forsaken with no effort to keep or brush them up.
I wish to preserve them in poetry’s fragile art~
A craft sharpened and perfected in pensive mood.
So, time wouldn’t steal them away from my memory.
I strive to make my verses a mirror reflecting life.
Beneath the realm of Reality
Lies a secret- a world of fantasy
Feasting my eyes upon the faded stone
Delving into a vast world of the unknown
Whispers dance in the curling fog dancing amongst the dead trees
Murmurs of those who have long passed, float against the breeze
Passing the large tree, the gate surrounding the stoned castle
A slender inhabitant, dazzles my mind, his speech facile
Shall I trust this unknown creature, from this the unknown world
His arms, his...tendrils, curl...and around me swirled
My thoughts-he knows them-for he and I are entwined
Further into the dead woods I wonder, a sense of fear encompassing my mind
A bubbling stream I faintly hear, as further I go into the forest
The watery grave seeming to get closer, it's symphony-a chorus
Entranced I follow this fellow into the unknown
Closer and close to the stream i go, further away from the grey stone
Above the lines of fantasy
This, has become my reality
Dreaming-this land I return, once was I lost
But now here I am at home, everything quiet and soft
I search for you amongst the dead
And there, standing behind those gates is cloaked figure-hood on head
I wonder who this master of mystery is, but he soon disappears
A blink of my eye he is gone, and I have not seen him again in years
I search once more for you, my fiendish friend,
But soon I fear you have left me here-to come to my own end
I do not wish to wake, I do not wish to leave this place
Soon I come to spot your featureless face
The King of fright, so tender towards me
Showing me, when I lost my way so long ago, out misty dead trees
But I could not stay away, I wanted to see him again
And thus he promised to return to me again
That forest land I wish to see once more
But I have lost my way, trapped in a darkness forevermore
Kept away from what I so desperately yearn for
To return to that mysterious home I adore
Quote from Hugh Prather: "Most of the conversations I hear
are carried on as if there really were such a thing as an answer
and as if the people present were actually in possession of it."
Shouldn't we all adopt
some sort of "busy" pretext,
display fake fronts intended
to suggest determined aims
are being seriously pursued?
Wouldn't everyone believe
that we are "busy" people --
intent upon accomplishment
important to ourselves and others?
Isn't there some conflict between concepts
of "empowerment" and of "involvement" --
of "delegation" and of "taking ownership"
(directing, guiding -- dictating, really)?
Consider whether these are not
confusing opposites -- messages
easily regurgitated: mere facile
managerial sloganeering....
(Uncertainty, easily detected,
is usually condemned.)
Doesn't everyone read Dilbert?
And who remembers
"Ready....fire....aim!"
I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis,
passing chambers of an Heiress
(though no need to feel embarrassed)
through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless.
A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex-
poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics
carving symbols, round and runic,
in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness.
Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues –
patchwork paths consume my shoes
(chasing foggy curlicues
twisting, twirling by in twos,
floating anywhere they choose),
leaving footprints that confuse
vagrant wispy retinues
of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering.
Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew,
shifting Shadows I pursue
(wearing faces I once knew,
slipping slowly from my view)
turn their backs to bid adieu
leaving stars to tempt me through
Awful Tower residues
mocking treasures time outgrew
in the birth of old from new
framing pageants in review
midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering.
Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension
caught in twilight’s intervention
– still unlit (in stark dissension),
therefore seething with a tension
in the quiet apprehension
of the Watchman’s inattention
to the night-time’s bold pretension
to her power, not to mention,
to her hyperspace extension
(far beyond my comprehension
of the sundown’s bleak dimension) –
on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness.
Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles,
me, a simple abject vassal,
trailing moonlit floating castles,
– fickle feet, but fingers facile
grasping straws and pendant tassels –
as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness.
I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things,
neath a sky alive with wings
(hear the Nightingale, she sings),
midst the whispered murmurings
soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings
pacing palaces in rings,
while their hapless footfall clings
to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins.
Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries,
(while the wind beside me scurries
as an ermined hermit hurries)
lurk my sleepy woes and worries
(glowing faint’ but growing blurry)
which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2
Play Station
It’s not entertainment
But a relief from boredom
Purchased with the mesmerized hours of a working life
And save for love and friendship
To highlight the continuum
There would remain nothing to relieve the endless waltz of boredom
So desperate and insatiable
This need for new experience
The human passion continually outstrips
The worldly measure we are given
Though capable of dreaming
Imagining almost anything
Still we are tied to realities realization
Limited in it’s dominion
These dreams we have will never be
And as we slip from the pinnacle of our potential
Having merely glimpsed
The vistas of possibilities
Returning to the level where wonder and inspiration
Are a repeated indoctrination of acceptance
This is not how life could be
This is how life will be
Trendy little idiom
Wrapped in facile fashion
A cult to thieve away any individualism
Dressed in plagiarized opinion
A walking talking vacuum
The bleating sheep of humanity
Searching for relief from its obligatory boredom
And the intricate little details of fast cars and even faster wars
Are lost in the political greed and national gluttony
For the higher paid heroes and newer roll models
Reflecting in this dilatory need for belief in the latest craze
We are nothing more than a play station
Buy another game and press
X
The abstract hues,
The merging colours.
The confounding cry,
So regal,
Strutting with its head high.
The complexity of its almond eyes,
Never fail to mesmerize.
Its piercing majesty,
The facile expression,
And its purposeful stride,
They always hypnotise.
Its beauty never ceases to amaze.
And if it’s proud to confound,
It has a reason sound.
Diamond 2
Dead
A final word
Why not say it
Forget the platitudes
They don’t change things
Nor do they make anything better
Truth means more when does not hide
Behind the façade of the facile.
I am not alone in weeping
Others have also lost
Passed on? No.
Dead
Cocooned in safe world so fragile,
The butterfly flutters by,
Nothing in life comes too facile,
Struggle you must, break in to fly,
Kites of success shall sail on high !
Written on 26/5/14
Sponsor- Kelly deschler
Contest- The butterfly flutters by
We are much alone when old,
after lifetimes of accompaniment,
of tacit support and connection
from our friends and peers.
Must I now label as mental failing
sometime strange behaviors I exhibit?
These are a consequence of long living,
result in my speaking to the air, to myself and
to my beloved pets. No one else is around.
This becomes habitual. I explain that it is
only to retain my sanity, ability to speak,
to think, to hone skills of artful conversation,
of facile verbal composition.
Although silence may be soothing
or oppressive, calming or profoundly
disturbing, pets are a great comfort --
though they sometimes underscore
and magnify lack of human interaction.
Loneliness is a sad consequence
of aging, intensifying losses, magnifying
declining mental agility, dulling consciousness
of changes in behavior. To fill empty hours,
to calm fears, to feel at peace, welcome
the company and affection of pets.
Treat them as deserving beloved ones.
We should protect, support, preserve them.
They are as central to our lives
as we are to theirs.
I stand, waiting, out of the dappled sun light.
Listening to the hollow timpani that is my
stomach, the adrenalin coursing
through my chest, telling me 'its time'
My neuronal switch 'clicks'. I am no longer
inert, I am hunter. I have smelled the air
and read its menu. I have stretched life
back into my stagnant limbs
The smell is strong, close. A young doe
stands on the edges of her grazing family.
Young, healthy, unseasoned. When I pounce she
will Freeze. Making the kill easy. She will be easy
I stifle a memory. I have lost so many on the hunt.
Sometimes, I get too close and they scream, causing
agitated stares, that force me back. Back to my
hunger.
Twenty tries since my last kill. Twenty times I have salivated at
the thought of my hunger being satisfied. My preening delayed ,
like a peacock whose feathers no longer meet the expectation of
a mating ritual.
Slowly. Slower than slowly. Time no longer exists for me,
or for my kill. I skulk, each foot testing its ground before
being planted down. Hips sway low from side to side,
like an exotic dancer. Both of us earning our living.
My heart rips through my own blood, ejaculating it into a
bursting surge. Now is the moment. There will be no other
moment. I lunge, connecting with flesh. Soft flesh. Power pulls my victim
to the ground. I smell the sweet sweet smell of metallic ooze, dripping slowly,
like molasses from a wooden spoon. I hold my kill, turn and drag her away
Her family still graze, unaware of their loss. Unconscious of
my facile victory. Time soon enough to savour their haunted calls
And what of my kill? Picked up like so much road kill. Just another unsolved
homicide to add to my growing file. And what of me? I am once more content
to wait for another sound to grow deep within my soul. For I am Tiger, Hunter.
I am God!
obliterated existence, perforated thorns
seams ripped apart, tattered and worn
vociferous scream, all around
rusted existence, never to be found
desolation complete, for there's nothing else
scourge upon me, bane people that never felt
shrewd attempt, upon my soul
pandemonium surrounding, havoc seeping in
iniquity negotiating, request denied
divulge my trust, omission to confide
misguided comfort, unknown to all
facile humanity, waiting to fall
ascending above, the havoc among
scandalmonger talking, those with loose tongues
conviction absolute, no one cares
imposter, equivocater, and no one is there
syncretize now, each is equal
spire above, yet, you don't see the steeple
perpetuate what you know
elapsed time, no where to go
Jinxed jesting jejune junior jobber...
just jabbering gibberish (A - I)
Again, another awkward ambitious
arduous attempt at alphabetically
arranging atrociously ambiguously
absolutely asinine avoidable alliteration.
Because...? Basically bonafide belching,
bobbing, bumbling, bohemian beastie boy,
bereft bummer, bleeds blasé blues, begetting
bloviated boilerplate bildungsroman,
boasting bougainvillea background.
Civil, clever clover chomping, cheap
chipper cool cutthroat clueless clodhopper,
chafed centenary, codifies communication
cryptically, challenging capable, certifiably
cheerful college coed.
Divine dapper daredevil, deft, destitute,
doddering, dorky dude, dummkopf Dagwood
descendent, dagnabbit, demands daring
dedicated doodling, dubious, dynamite,
deaf dwarf, diehard doppelganger, Doctor
Demento double, declaring depraved
daffy dis(pense)able dufus Donald Duck
derailed democracy devastatingly defunct.
Eccentric, edified English exile,
effervescent, elementary, echinoderm
eating egghead, Earthling, excretes,
etches, ejaculates, effortless exceptional
emphatic effluvium enraging eminent,
eschatologically entranced, elongated
elasmobranchii, emerald eyed Ebenezer,
effectively experiments, emulates epochal
eczema epidemic, elevating, escalating,
exaggerating enmity, enduring exhausting
emphysema.
Freed fentanyl fueled, fickle figurative
flippant fiddler, fiendishly filmy, fishy,
fluke, flamboyantly frivolous, fictitious,
felonious, fallacious, fabulously fatalistic,
flabbergasted, fettered, flustered, facile,
faceless, feckless, financially forked,
foregone, forlorn futile fulsome, freckled
feverish, foo fighting, faulty, freezing,
fleeting famously failing forecaster, flubs
"FAKE" fundamental fibber fiat, fabricating
fiery fissile fractured fios faculties.
Behold the pulchritude overhead exalts to about a spread.
It is o full swift which greatly outstrips thunder and gale added,
Yet ocular to sigh from more than a score of hillocks afar.
It is yet not as harefooted as my head can proceed thinking,
Wending in raining sands anyway in the world; I am, warping.
Eclipsing, rising flowering is stalking to a lightning hark.
Fit ratherish hebetates the wit seeing the fleeting on-dit.
Wights excitedly get unaware and err without a merit.
Thunderstorm is a marvel, a thrill, and opposite to a pit.
To expand the concept in top glass, I can only compound it
To a bit, as Oak's nether jut loud rackets; I lief bracket it
To daunted lit fibrils in an electric, animated chit.
Grandiosity and haste of german "Blitz" allure me pretty,
Puffing sinew of great intensity as exit gratefully.
No wonder Homer, a sage, enkindled Zeus with it slatefully.
Withal, Gandalf scragged up a demon by a bolt, hit it fatefully.
I fumble in night to kiss spits heard in my inner olio.
To fancy, a mountain of clouds on the stratosphere sits and flows.
Ergo, zenith and nadir fascinate each other, pitch and tow.
Lightning is jars of macedoines of grits afloat as dominoes.
A scad of millesimals in a galaxy: shrunk, shot, and blows.
Such dragons breathe snows wee of infinitesimal ratio,
So snows sock the gullible cherub in me so as hue arrows.
A bolt o real as it speeds, is so so vivid; No nod, it glows.
A man tranquil in a head, able or wicked, it's good to know,
Mental heaven to if it is full facile to trow; Thor follows.
Break apart all those facile screens
Organized overdrawing of institutional bleeding
Walks through maps and tourism
Pushing hour glasses beyond comprehension
At the ground level, animals are recurring
Human bounty participates at the nexus
As species consolidate their voices
Power and choice conglomerate each family network
Brother in arms bent apart
Relegates to the past where futures amass
The tiny behavioral netting with wet tongues crawling
Putative changes through into city potluck
LAMENT
"You will forget me, the love we once shared
Has vanished in the attempt at disguise.
The dreams we once knew can't be repaired
It's gone with the light that once lit your eyes"
Romance rolled to predict ‘we would never be apart.’
Unleashing your passion, you dared to propose.
Emotion was entwined from you to my heart.
Couldn’t imagine door of heart, you will close.
Territory of love was built in vain.
Facile feeling in guise of love got coiled.
Love terminated in inevitable pain.
I was devoted, but destiny spoiled.
Days rolling, scrolling on bliss and rapture
turned mournful chapters of our love-story.
Lamented lovers flunked to grasp and capture
amour, losing ecstasy and glory.
05/07/21
Second Place
'Choose Your Form' Contest by Joseph May
Second Place
'"L"' New or Old Form
Contest by Constance La France