Best Faulting Poems
MIND AND MOUNTAIN
Life
A climbing process
A gradual, grand ascent to view?
Mind can inveigle such
To go where all manner wild affecting grows
Foothills of some towering height
Mind can spirit one there
Ascent would be steep
Though earnest, determined
Path narrow
With stones of many sizes underfoot
And trees!
Such a wealth of enduring life
Resonating valley view
At intervals
See a meadow
Brook and wild life passing through
At one of these lush spreads
I would stop
Dabble toes in the crystal stream
Then push on
Seeking seeking
A view of the top
And the summit
Hazy through the mist
Well above timberline
Many stones now
Huge boulders
Make faulting my climb
The backward glance, though, faultless, clear
But rare the breath
Weakening the will
At last the top
Ah, the pain!
With blue heaven still afar
Dave Austin
Categories:
faulting, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
It has come to my attention,
by way of the news,
everybody is talking,
corporations are singing the blues.
They don't have any money,
they blew all they had,
now they're calling on our government,
because their management is quiet bad.
CEO'S with salaries,
that would probably choke a horse,
and since the economy is getting bad,
they need more of course.
They fly their jets freely,
to every corner of the world,
wearing designer business suits,
sporting big diamonds, and pearls.
Eating at the restaurants,
where fancy is the course,
while begging for our money,
they want to take from the poor.
I find it very amusing,
the way they flaunt their stuff,
then act like nothing is wrong,
while tugging at the Rolex under their cuff.
I guess they really think,
we owe them all so much,
while most of us are skimping,
cutting back on spending, and such.
Maybe someone needs to show them,
how the poor have to live,
and we are all quiet broke,
and we don't have it to give.
Most live from payday to payday,
buying groceries, and gas,
while faulting on our mortgage,
those little checks just don't last.
I don't think it is right,
they can live the way they do,
spending like crazy,
then taking from me, and you.
Most have to struggle,
just to live from day to day,
and we can't get the help,
when we lose all our pay.
Rich man, Poor man, Beggar man, Thief,
what else do they want,
all I can say is,
Good Grief......
Categories:
faulting, business, life
Form:
Narrative
AT ONE WITH NATURE
~~~~~~~~~~
The sun shines, brightly lights my day. My garden verdant many hues of green. Greater speedwell, resilient, blooms no matter the season. Late spring, early summer it explodes. Late Jack Frost, it copes beyond my imagination. A host to many invertebrates sadly made conspicuous by their absence. All misguided by a warming sun. The jet stream meanders too far south making for freezing nights. Most flora copes albeit momentarily set back, however,
most insects' don't survive. The daytime warmth encourages insect eggs', pupae, to hatch, doomed, instincts confounded.
~~~~~~~
a garden
one word... paradise
once our world
~
The day moves on, observed bird life failing, softbills take seed to feed their young. They are faced with a catch twenty-two situation. Feed themselves or feed their young. Aphids on the day abundant, some well sheltered will, and do survive the relentless nights. False security for others, how many would it take to keep a blackbird alive
~~~~~~~
gardens'
where one can cultivate
a love for nature
~
Sun still shining yet the wind chill felt. Summer, I think what
are you doing, but realisation sets in, it is not nature faulting it's us humans treating it as though it is a garbage bin. I know I do, and, maybe you do too. That is to help nature as we always have, sadly we are just a few. We try our best to draw attention to the devastation world pollution is creating. To much time spent by governments debating, if at all? Cos I reckon for centuries they have been faking. Take a good look at your garden where are all the pollinators, Thanks to winds, well at least for some, for no doubt there is flora that will succumb.
~~~~~~~
one heart
a garden to cultivate
truelove
~
My day in my garden nearly done. Koi carp fed, some photography done, Garden sorted, grass cut, hedge begging to be clipped. I look agreeing, but it will keep till the morrow, come what may. Check the feeders, all is fine. Time now for a cuppa, to sit with my beloved, make sure she's comfy and make her smile, for sadly she been poorly for some time.
~~~~~~~
at one with nature
how a garden should be
a passion nurtured
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Categories:
faulting, garden, nature,
Form:
Haibun
A huge monstrous olive tree
not giving shade nor bearing fruits,
existing in pains and disappointments
together with the others, they live
is the exact expression of my grieve.
Too hypocritical in being aggressive
and defeated by the contraceptive of my try
condemn and make me believe
I'm failure's chief executive.
How am I to know
that every attempt completed
is success' eve?
How am I to know
that more failure is effective?
How am I to know
that I ought to be vigilant
and be patient like a detective?
faulting the situation, myself I deceive
and landing in this mess
surely wasn't my motive
I should have been more creative
instead of staying sensitive to my senses
and searching for palliative methods
of scoring my goal.
I shouldn't have used
my cognitive functions this way,
perceiving challenges as dangers
always attentive to the red light
when it is in fact yellow.
Running away,
when the push seems less attractive
and summing up the crash
to be definitive.
For all these years
the agony has been an adhesive
to my soul.
comparative to a privileged bridegroom
who outslept his wedding
to an undeserving bride.
As descriptive as that,
mine is even more corrosive.
Now I pay taxes to sadness
and my regret more lucrative than ever before
as nature chooses my heart
to be the dwelling place of sorrow
keeping my self-ruin well preserved.
I've tried to turn back time
I've tried to apply similar energy
and pretense is now my best talent
but all I get is NOTHING!
I'm only left with wishes
a million times have I made them
and a million times more I'll proclaim them
but they will all stand as cup-bearers
to my constant regrets.
as I forever say........
I wish! Oh I wish!
Categories:
faulting, grief, sad,
Form:
Prose Poetry
6/6/12
I begin spinning
Watching the top spiral, winning
The consistancy leaves me grinning
The top still goes
Round and round, alone
When it stops, no one knows
Interesting enough it goes out of control
My heart races in a strange drum roll
The craziness of life has taken its toll
All ablur, it's hard to tell
If I'm on earth, heaven or hell
It's wobbling lively, spinning pell-mell
Slower, yet it runs off course
The consistancy is getting hoarse
What is faulting me, the pain of the force?
It is really sad now, this top
Losing all of its flair, in a single drop
Something in this life has made it completely stop
And the air of it all, the gravity
It is clear to see
That the top, when it stops
Is always pointing back at me...
Categories:
faulting, depression, life, life,
Form:
Monorhyme
FIGHTING FOR FOLKS FEES FALLING FREELY
FEELING FEMININE FILING FOR FALLS
FORCING FAMILY FACING FURY
FRIGHTENING FRIENDS FUSING FUSION
FEIGHNING FATIGUE FREE FRAME
FRAUDULENT FACTS FALL FALLACY
FREE FROM FINITE FRENZY
FAIDING FEELING FOR FAIRY
FIRST FIGURE FILLS FRONT
FAULTING FATE FAKES FINDING
FALLING FAME FROWN FAITH
FUMED FUR, FENCE FREAKY.
Categories:
faulting, education, irony, judgement, metaphor,
Form:
Alliteration
When I exchange life's rugged cross
for Eternity's crown;
my soul is rid of sorrow,
my burden all laid down...
I will trade my rags so wretched
for a grown of white.
When I see Jesus,
everything's 'gonna be all right.
No more tears will wet night's darkness,
no more loneliness and dread~
no more fearing the future
nor of what may be ahead.
No more guilty pain of faulting,
nor pangs of yesterday,
I'll have reached Life Immortal
in the True and Living way~
Categories:
faulting, heaven, religious,
Form:
Free verse
Time pauses when your heart's in denial;
refusing to move on as requested.
And regret's offset by a phony smile;
as fledgling feelings are weighed and tested.
When fantasy distorts reality,
there is nothing that you can do or say.
And though your broken heart may disagree,
it's time for you to wipe your tears away.
Your broken heart is reluctant to dream;
for anxiety and fear have combined.
And faulting fantasies for what they seem;
depression's shadow eclipses your mind.
Excise the ghosts that haunt your dreams at night
and believe in yourself; you'll be alright.
Categories:
faulting, angst, break up, depression,
Form:
Sonnet
A Winner in 2017 OHANA Woman Div 1
There I was, on a rollercoaster of anxiety with many an anxious moment...
Each time my player dropped a set against each of her squash opponents...
In the Qfinals she suffered a 3rdset hiccup to a player junior in her years....
Dashing the high hopes that player could wrap up the game in 3 quick sets....
This rival is a fast improving hard hitting junior player, tricky as they all come...
With a superior fitness and combative attitude, she was a constant danger until the game was done...
Next in the semis was another junior, another fast and furious player...
Who won the 1st set easily to set the pace, upped the ante to pressure my squash player....
Somehow my favored one prevailed to counter her opponent's energetic play...
Refusing to be drawn into a chessplay with muscle and brawn and power play...
So she made it to the final, there awaits top seeded player, a former international...
Last year she easily outfoxed and outplayed my player 3-0 in that final...
But for this repeat final, my player started off well and lead by 2sets initially....
Before a 3rd set loss, it was obvious the top seed was exerting control gradually....
My player hopeful was flustered, faulting someone for advising her to vary her game..
I was busy recording, wise enough to let the cookies crumble as it may....
Just managed to warn her that her rival was picking up the pace....
And that a real winner of any squash player should play a thinking varied game...
Luckily she played decisively for a quick lead in the 4th game, raced to 4-0.....
There were some anxious moments as she easily lost a couple of points....
Anxiety was all mine even as my player managed to lead comfortably on points...
She had to do some desperate retrieving and gave away some stroke points...
But long story short, it was one big joyous relief when the game was finally over...
The 4th set was won over, the mission accomplished, what a great feeling all over....
When favored player emerged triumphantly as the winner when all was over...
http://www.tournamentsoftware.com/sport/tournament.aspx?id=5E4ABBEB-3744-4BAB-940C-598E71343CB6
Categories:
faulting, anxiety, celebration, emotions, for
Form:
Free verse
Endorphin power is about positive politics;
it votes with little fading feet running away from negative politics
and WinLose competing economies of victimization,
marginalization.
Stress, dissonance, competitive over-indulgence are toxic
including to the abundant production of endorphin,
which, like its endo-morphine namesake,
creates a peaceful co-empathic trust feeling
that it's safe to believe all is well,
has become well,
and will continue well,
both endo-symbiotically and ecto-symbiotically.
Paranoia eats endorphin,
lays it to waste,
mows our mojo down,
while pronoia feeds shy endorphans
what they swellfully appreciate receiving,
especially if they need not ask,
Please Sir, may I have some more?
Mutual helping,
cooperative games and strategies,
regenerate pronoia invitations into each Earth day,
or maybe an hour,
or just a moment at a time until time evaporates,
builds deep sensory awareness of WinWin ecopolitical,
social and cultural and climate health trajectories,
well being inclusive of future generations
already flowing their/your imaginations
through your champion endo-chemistries.
So pronoia-healthy politics
incarnates cooperative economic intentions, designs,
structures and plans,
networks and gestalts and climates,
regeneratively
deeply ingrained
of/for ego-self optimizing through eco-self-identity-emptying,
through helpful health-wealth production with and for Others.
Our most fluid full-strength Yang egos are those most ecopolitically abundant
performing, practicing, intending endorphin driven and derived health
as we expand our ecoconsciousness of self-therapy with other co-mentoring therapists,
some of us comically bad at producing more confluence than dissonance,
but all of us doing our best
to extend our endorphin-provoking family empathic trust
back through regenetic recombinant reiterative history of time's enlightenment ourselves,
stories embodied within each organic turn of Earth years,
and forward toward shared endorphin ecopolitics
regenerating multiculturally positive therapeutic futures,
which also degenerate
absorb
endorphin traces erasing monoculturally negative pasts.
Endorphins swell power-with helping,
not condemning or faulting or neglecting, others
toward ecopolitically healthy wealth abundance.
Categories:
faulting, beauty, confidence, earth, happiness,
Form:
Political Verse
_____________
Poet’s Note: One of the last strong-holds of joint-family system, India, is breaking up. Old-parents, all-alone in lonely homes, have become a common sight. This poem depicts the fate of one such lonely mother.
______________
Two sons, one far across the continents,
His visits rarer than of a Blue Moon—
With some gifts to garnish his rustled guilt,
To cover up for time seldom given.
Another next-door close, and too far still,
Cared for money more than his old mother,
Parents he felt a needless burden were,
And incongruent with spirit of time,
He’s keen to sell her memory-filled house,
And place her in care of an old age home.
Both did well know what their mother wanted:
The one— far-off— hoped, she’d appreciate
That he can’t be home more often than now,
Both felt, their compulsions made immense sense.
Their visits dried like a helpless river
Handicapped by dams, much irrigated,
Her own concerns remained confined to her,
And left to fend for her fate long fated,
She aged fast trying to wipe own tears.
Age is no child of time, but faulting years.
Time was, not in a far off horizon
When children piled on mother’s ample bed,
Evening sun sliding through slotted windows,
She a rare focal point of their young life—
Childish cares, complaints, concerns, bed-time tales,
But that seemed like ancient time too far gone,
No use she thought hankering for spent time,
Now reduced to fragile vague memories!
Soon an old age home was lined up for her,
Her neighbours shaking incredulous heads.
It was of little practical use still,
For, no one had the time to intervene.
She was even taken there for a feel,
Perhaps to make the future shock less mean;
An old inmate showed her expensive shawl
Her son had sent, which, as a parcel came,
A telegram-like note and that was all;
Her wrinkled fingers on shawl, but what shame!
As she tried hard her hurt feelings to hide,
Best gift is time, she seemed to say as cried.
Time once was, richer her fabric of life,
Of late if life were rife, it was with strife! ________________________________________
Happenings | 08.03.2017 |
Categories:
faulting, age, family, life, loneliness,
Form:
Blank verse
Anguish I feel, in decisions once there made
Sharper the pain, then a cut throats blade
So difficult it is, to sever a link
A most bitter pill, a swiftly poisoned drink
Hearts broken, anger left was my faulting
Fates cruelty of lost connection, the final resulting
The feelings in my direction, rightly deserved
My need for affection, I felt so drastically underserved
I tried my very best to show where I'd stand
Not maniacally thought out or purposely pre-planned
So difficult it is to sever a connection
It was not easy to do, looking back in reflection
Never easy to suffer, a one-of-a-kinds, now rejection
Categories:
faulting, angst, break up, divorce,
Form:
Free verse
Do you know what it’s like
Being a stray, that is
A homely sight
No flower beds for your biz
People looked at me with pity
As they’d walk their golden doodles
Dachshunds, long and nippy
Those high faulting fools
What happened to a mutt
Being a respectable family dog
I try not to lick my butt
Intact tail and dewclaws
By the dumpster, I would sleep
And have these amazing dreams
On a farm, I’d round up sheep
In shape, strong and lean
It should come as no surprise
I embellished more than a little
When the opportunity, did arise
I walked straight in the kennel
The gentleman who took me in
Had a lot of faith in me
Following a wink and grin
He quickly set me free
It wasn’t quite as I imagined
Those curly headed beasts
Weren’t the ones that I’d been counting
To drift me off to sleep
Confused as a peach on a grapevine
Butting heads, then seeing stars
Incapable of forming a straight line
They couldn’t see, this was an art
Each day was a small improvement
And now, they’re single file
A cadence to their movement
To make my owner smile
He lets me sleep at his feet
Gives me scraps after dinner
Perhaps a small deceit
But now he has a winner
Categories:
faulting, cute, dog, farm, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
Regrets offset by a phony smile,
time stands still when you're in denial.
And within wants, where hopes are vested,
fledgling hearts are routinely tested.
Tears garnered from ghosts of yesterday,
can extinguish the flames of today.
For when doubt questions reality,
alternate truths and trust disagree.
Hurting hearts are reluctant to dream,
faulting fantasies for what they seem.
For sad feelings occupy the mind
as chaotic thoughts get realigned.
When dreams of love fail to compensate,
painful memories accumulate.
And nightmares ensure a restless night,
leaving your heart in a state of fright.
Categories:
faulting, angst, anxiety, depression, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme
How do I know that you're not the one?
This seems like such a strange opening line,
It feels like it ought to be the reverse,
When all of this time we've had so much fun,
With sincerity, rhythm, and verse.
How do I know that you're not the one?
The ambiguity is so divine,
No way to say yet just who's faulting who,
Seems like so far we have had a good run
Though presently we're feeling quite blue.
It is certainly not that we're right!
The ‘powers that be' will never approve.
Who else would argue that our love is wrong?
There is no lawyer to help with our plight
And our prayer is a personal song.
Morning comes and the day seems so bright,
In your presence I can not think to move,
At my desk there's no escape from your rhyme.
This love feels like I am flying a kite,
Its stark flight takes my heart out of time.
How do I know that you're not for me?
Well for just one thing our issues are tough
And connections that restrain us are real
The poignant truth is our hearts are not free
And there's no place to file an appeal.
How do I know that you're not for me?
We know that saying goodbye can be rough
Could this really be how our story ends?
Our tears self-contained as casually
Two lost lovers part ways, but as friends.
Someone calls out, ‘Hey! Don't rock the boat! '
And I'm feeling like we're in a movie,
Somehow my part has changed to ‘script writer? '
But I'm more inclined to dig us a moat,
I've never been much of a fighter.
Hold it! The high priest's squeezing the throat
Of the wrong man! Yes! I'm feeling groovy!
Wow! This isn't a script I'm defending!
Rather than become somebody's scapegoat,
Let's just figure out our own ending!
Brian Johnston
July 06, 2014
Categories:
faulting, love,
Form:
Rhyme