Best Falsities Poems
Forevermore, this fantastical
free verse features
a fortuitous tale
featuring forty-four flirty
frilly fabricated faeries
fractionally forsaken,
forever fictionalized
philosophically and phonetically
free to force
feisty forest phantoms
to frenzy. These feisty forest faeries,
frequently act like
femme fatales, for whom
we fire phantoms feel free
to fixate for future faerie flocks.
Foundationally, this un-formidable free verse
is free of falsities, but fraught with fiction and fantasy.
Categories:
falsities, fairy,
Form:
Alliteration
Until pureness and honesty pass,
Leaving pain and aggressiveness as the dimmed lights,
For the intricate works of the corrupt dark world,
Foreshadowing the collapse of the protective shield,
Covering my emotions…
Until timelessness and eternity pass,
Taunting and mocking me disdainfully,
While pointing at the scars and scabs on my heart,
Hoping to stimulate the past,
And misguide the future…
Until patience and faith pass,
Staring into my eyes passionately with concern,
And smiling with contagious warmth and charm,
Extending a hand of friendship and trust,
Consuming all falsities…
Until irony and sarcasm pass,
Frustrated with the parameters of life’s equation,
Shaking their heads disgruntled and disoriented,
As I watch the last of forever,
Disappear in the apparent horizon.
Categories:
falsities, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
The evolution of humans is that
we went from simple cell
organisms to plastics.
All this fakeness makes me
want to embrace realness.
Blemishes and weight gain,
silver hair with golden bands
the struggles that come with reality
Dismantling falsities
that blind us from our truth,
You can't because
should be erased from
our vocabulary
becuase the mere definition
of becuase
should render
I can. I just want to feel real
have it ooze through
my fingertips
the same way saltwater
and sand flows through hands
when you try to take
hold of a beach.
I want to be reconnected
with plankton and
oxygenated substances.
Plastics are suffocating
that is way it has a
choking hazard as an
attachment.
Why can't you just enjoy yourself
in the skin your in?
Grow with it,
let it be your tuxedo
you wear in your golden years,
Your wrinkles and surgery marks
tears from broken hearts,
a smile that's slightly crooked
or a tongue that to this day
reminds me
it could've been a different
kind of yesterday.
Embrace the flaws
Hug them all
that's that
perfectly perfected feeling
of realness so many
seldom see.
That's what I see
when bodies have
evolved too far.
Categories:
falsities, appreciation, body, earth, ocean,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Yes,
you figured me out.
My smile has become crooked,
hammered down upon guillotine pedestal.
Her strands of tormented wishes,
now caressed by singer’s ebb & flow.
Baritone lyrics glide out in wanton scope.
Hope
no longer choked by charred rope,
double-knotted sadness.
Mercury skies rain down.
White satin mystery, solved.
Or so it’s proclaimed…
Joy’s declaration made upon Paper-Mache falsities,
placing reservations on matters of the heart.
True happiness thrives on sunrise currency,
not clouded futures.
…
Yeah, you figured me out.
This smile has become crooked.
No toothpick can hold this up high.
I guess this tear knew all along.
But, I walk on.
As I continue to pay my price,
writing out reality checks.
I know I’ll always be your friend.
Just
not today.
© Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
falsities, friendship, introspection, sadme, smile,
Form:
Free verse
What is left?
When your rights are simply wrong?
When my north is mostly south
and our shortcomings last too long?
When is up?
When my highs are lowered down?
When good blends into evil
and arc angels are not around?
Where are you?
When my what's fold into why's?
And the falsities of our truths
separates the you from I?
Why is it?
When simple questions posed to thee?
Are sated with complex silence
and deadly answers live in me?
How?
Categories:
falsities, introspection
Form:
Rhyme
On Being Soulful
Spiritual moments
on being soulful
find their certain
metaphysical aspects
when one seeks a
deeper meaning
and a sense
of true joy,
by connecting
with one’s soul
that lies at the
very core of all
human beings
and their
individual existence
on this
physical entity,
we all call
and know, as—
Our Mortal Earth,
Our Mother Earth.
Thinking about
and truly
understanding the
special elements,
and the wholly
transcendental nature
of one’s self-ego,
whilst mastering
the spiritual art
of self-reflection,
whereby—
one finds
His or Her
true ethereal sense
and begins
to see
Mortal Life
entirely unfettered,
and without any
human falsities
and obvious
facades of deceit—
that speak directly
to the
essence of
balance and harmony,
and the
true cosmic
passion and purpose
of the
spirit of soulfulness.
It’s this
that brings
all of us
in the end
closer to
God’s Kingdom
and to
Almighty God Himself.
Amen.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
December 22, 2018 (Verse)
Categories:
falsities, allegory, creation, earth, god,
Form:
Verse
She isn't real.
Near mere measures of perfection,
Upon the pedestal to be placed.
All faults beyond my exception;
Within consciousness falsities laced.
Wanted to feel,
Mortal intimacies elicited by her proximity,
To finally feel wholeness fulfill.
Cover my existence with normality,
Ultimately gratifying my eternal thrill.
Inability to deal:
Simple presents pose problematic,
Appearances irrational without reason,
Alterations of plans appear automatic.
My heart, ignoring my mind, commits treason.
Heart will seal.
Now my inabilities stretched past feeling.
Outward perceptions beyond dealing.
Consciousness and soul left reeling.
Uncomprehending of the things she's been stealing.
She isn't real.
Categories:
falsities, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
Transmogrify the sensationalist
An astute ableism of absolution and idiocy
Divine demeaning meanings demoralizing democracy
Through persuasive procrastination and promiscuity
Festering fragmented feelings forgiven for failing
Jailing juveniles jealously just for jokes
Writing worrisome wit without witnesses to worry
Original orange and ornate operations
While whittling away wisdom in the White House
Tear apart traditionalism and tribalism
Innocent eyes are protuberant eyes
Observing awful atrocities at times absently
Transmogrify the sensationalist
That sensationalist is now president
Sitting on a throne of falsities and blatant lies
Reject form and comprehension of standardized realities
Garnish lies with a touch of fear
And it's gourmet for the uneducated
Saunter and swagger through scandal
All the while destroying those who granted you platform
Normal is abnormal and abnormal is normal
Forget saving the system we must destroy it
And build it back up from scratch
IT'S TIME TO WAKE UP AMERICA
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
Transmogrify the sensationalist
And even the devil blushes
Transmogrify the sensationalist
By waking up America
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
It's time to wake up, America!
Categories:
falsities, america, conflict, how i
Form:
Free verse
recklessly chaotic surrender
midway untrained assimilating
thought patterns struck by twilit
idiosyncratic contractions'
irrational heart dotted i's
of contradictory falsities,
pushing past buttoned loops
orchestrating emotional surges
coasting sideways 'twixt
high as kites' paroxysm
saw Jesus before bloom
was off rose's thornily
fumbled holy water's
bloody crucified testaments
mid looking glass passion
of hysterics death's rallies
standing on sidelines
musing boxed refrains'
hallucinated confusion,
wholly plummeting
metaphorical indulgences
nonsensically dissuading
inartistic translations
of rhetorical persuasions
forfeiting divine secrets
halfway bent chimeras,
trashing an otherwise ominous
shrill screeching revenant
expediting manifested
liquidizing bastardizations'
bantered escapism,
like belladonna and nightshade
intoxication wickedly exigent,
trilling motley eclipses of
darkly boggled gray fog nuclei
burlesquing a bohemian scaramouche
furthermost an elusive raptus seizing
rhapsodically serpentine delusions
Categories:
falsities, allegory, confusion, crazy, hyperbole,
Form:
Burlesque
I walk through thin veils
of colored light and carefully
tread upon gleaming shards
of precious glass -
broken and neatly scattered
upon arctic bathroom tiles.
Each sliver reflects
a single piece of your
perfect anatomy.
An arm, a leg, an eyeball -
a swollen horizontal speck
perceiving a soloist’s surrender
outside a witch’s mirror.
I cried your name
in between
loathsome waves of solitude
this past weekend -
weightless letters floating
above my bleeding passion
like starved vultures
gleaning over carrion.
Did you know the affection
I’ve smothered you with
these past thirty years
is beginning to smell
like dirty nylon socks?
I use them now to
dampen my bloated eyes.
You're fitly ignorant
of my extended limbs
and repressed sorrows.
They covet apparel
not filamented with
fleece and falsities.
Your rehearsed kisses
are dressed in dull razors -
rendering my lips
gauged and coarsely
cracked.
I took a shotgun
to the nightlight last evening
and prayed as I reached for you
through strands of tattered muslin.
I was hoping to grasp
a parcel of your fading glint
and humbly touch
your jagged aura -
I foolishly cut my hands.
Categories:
falsities, angst, loss, love, passion
Form:
Free verse
Ooooh wow...a nice classy fortified wine dressed in a milky white dress. Shimmering for all to see. Injest not the erosive clatter of a purple frog. As it is far to dangerous. One may end up quacking. Or shivering in a bikini on a desert floor at three am. After midnight loopholes are often embellished with sounds so one can use a curly stick to jump into and over the many plates who arrive with handbags edged with carefully extracted silver. Who sounded the hunting horn of Thor? Not I said the fourth dimensional rune stone.I am happy to keep my inscription in this lovely luxurious box. Tinder cartoon it be not. I will wait for the wind. Erotic cries of Freya balancing on cymbal clouds. Exonerating falsities with wisps of sunlit hairs. Box shut. I marvel at the eighty nine acres of a moonlit street. Standing in a sinkhole. Sunken jag. Sunk not a beetroot though. They are very pleased in a jar whirling. Questionable is the beak of a large lobster flying. Often disguised. Disguises are unnecessary and unneeded and often the cackle of a candle can evoke a wandering godly orb. Orbital sound then. Oh good. Injestion and resulting in synchronized delivery in a swamp. Turds are often great for expulsion yet a turnip can be quite quick to move. So tread very carefully in a vegetable patch to avoid scarring. A mist in a mountain is a dew ball but free-falling with a thousand foot golden baseball bat is akin to holding a sword to a heavenly cloud to release acronyms and cones of very charismatic mind orbs. Viewed in orbicular centimetres and carried on the breezes by the caterpillar planes. Planting painting properly posted placed characterful colourful clown club visiting iron rays of dome. Sap seep swept sweltering swelling serpentry sent son. Sun. X and now I will have a sit down on the appropriate asteroid. And drink a large cup of air. Under Up under Up xxxxx
Categories:
falsities, beautiful,
Form:
I’m slowly dying ... being pillow buried alive,
and ain’t nobody’s pity coming
to prematurely save me
I fell into this death trap of my own crypt choosing,
when the creeping lust
of a sultry smile
enticed me so hypnotically
I shouldna went scuba diving for pearls only skin deep
Whispering desires wrapped around
my lascivious, madly buzzing mind ...
Entombing this naked truth —
I was in a web-caught moral decline
She passionately covered my fake naïveté
with a blanket of silky lies
My virgin pretenses got cocooned
by a sly black widow so fly
Oh, woe is butterfly me ...
so delusional, as not to see
what was happening
around the warm fireplace lit cozy
I was being pulse poisoned
by a scent pleasure sweat fantasy
Her lipstick negligee pleas
wanted my gentle, caressing touch of
bosom acquiescence
With empty resistence,
I yielded to the fatal kisses of death
Paralyzing inhalation of erogenous stimulation ...
she then sensuously took
whatever chaste dignity I had left
Her silhouette hungering ravished me,
as she feasted on my bio-cellular needs
Slowly draining every tear drip
of pulmonary sustenance,
she cradled me in a dying ember embrace
Whispering low, vow falsities blown so sweetly;
allaying these lullaby fears ...
putting my vulnerable doubts to climatic sleep
She said she would nuptial lie
in a cold dirt bed for me
But I’m the ungroomed bridesmaid
folding the coffin sheets
The woman of my demise
said forever
she would always love me
As her softly woven blanket of ecstasy lies
slowly suffocated
my willingness to breathe
Categories:
falsities, allusion, love hurts, psychological,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
I have been at a loss for cumbersome syllables
And dislocated octaves,
Which tumble in lazy metaphors from lips
Smeared with cheap makeup in declarative shades
Of fire engine spectacles, muddy rouge,
Polluted sunset pink,
To mask a cadaver's stitches, preventing
My Heart's restless peaks from bursting forth
Into senselessness.
Where have cognitive examinations flown
Off to, cradling air with hollow bones-
With the flowers, or the cowboys.
Lucidity snatches at April's
Lionlamb air;
I catch falling words on your tongue, like
Raindrops.
Strip my world, proverbial paint thinner
Peeling pseudo-realistic wallpaper
In sunburn fakes,
Of all falsities I've shacked my wrists with.
Paint over my
Red crayon scrawled morale
With You.
"Saint"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith
Categories:
falsities, dedication, devotion, faith, girlfriend-boyfriend,
Form:
Free verse
In cold melancholy the spirit sings,
As angels toss their darkened wings,
Grotesques upon yon pillared manse,
Awaken for this gruesome dance,
Fountains spout their molten flames,
Whispering forgotten names,
With furtive glance does Time evade,
Memories to dust doth fade,
And moonbeams shine on frozen glass.
A hollow gong of rusty brass
Chiming from the tower stark,
Nestling in the unbidden dark,
Where songs of joy and songs of hope
Vanquish'd in some gruesome stroke,
Resound in halls 'twere never built,
As oak and ash do groan and wilt,
For naught is true but falsities:
Shall this night ever come to be?
Categories:
falsities, mystery,
Form:
Couplet
The traffic was strident, lanes straight
the cars lined the street and froze rigid.
The cop with a glare of pure hate, directed
a line of gate crashers cutting.
The sidewalks segmented in rows, false
lure more tourists into a queue.
Cowed were young folk and old folks all queued
a ménage which was quite far from straight,
all had come for a peck at the Bard, false.
even a librarian or too, who waited with spines rigid,
and scowls on their lined brows like cuts
their critiques would be most direct.
Teens kiss in a clutch most directly
their faces make braces of queues
Scalpers hawk to the latecomers cutoff,
the elite meet and greet heading straight
for the red road with a rigid
line of bull filled with falsities.
Inside the antiquated theatre under false
the foot lights lining the aisles direct
Mayor and matron, gran and child in rigid
alleys to velvet seats also queued.
The stare of critic and patron glared straight
64 toward the author so pinned and cutting.
A bright white light cut
the chill air so false
and focused on drape lined straight
each fell open as artist directed
and orchestra swells filled their queue
and the author he sat stark and rigid.
His fate would he find in lines rigid
on the page of tomorrows review, they’d cut
make or they’d break his heart’s queue
these piranhas with smiles so false.
No fate could be more direct
this tonic he must imbibe straight.
So like dominoes, they fall lines rigidly, piercing cuts
Filleted be he by queues false,
in the end words directly aimed, straight to death cue.
Categories:
falsities, art, introspection, on writing
Form:
Sestina