Best Façade Poems
As this week closes into hours of pewter night
may the moonlight touch your lips while
I sleep in the arms of dreams unrefined.
Though I may not be with you
on misty evenings caved by my pride,
but think of me as I send you this
whispering sigh
of an embrace feathered by the sky...
I humble myself in your presence not,
but,
wait for me to disrobe this façade,
while you can, then…
Remember days like other days
when the roof of blank shades begin
to unwrap this cloistered body
hidden in a pile of sawdust
still reeling like a glistened dragonfly.
The light bulbs of time's avenues are streaked
with marquees of a name
where the lattice of my wishes
climb into a garden of your moistened eyes so green.
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Sponsor: PD Linda 7/6/2016
Take away the frost of winter,
rid the land of biting snow,
then who would praise the warmth of August,
how could April rivers flow?
Hush the deafening crash of thunder,
dull the flash of lightning's thorn,
and who would feel the calm of silence,
when the still of dawn is born?
Sow your seeds of evergreens
so that spring’s soil year-round conceives,
then who could reap the multi-colored
glory of October leaves?
Look beyond this thick façade,
you'll find four seasons in my soul,
but take away a piece of winter
and you'll leave me cut, unwhole.
written 4 Feb 1985
When splendor shimmers hypnotized glance
O, glamour, how captivating is your stance,
Aesthetic, harmonious, brushstrokes of art,
Flaring embers of elation in enamored heart.
Opulence of your aura lights glorious flame
Showcasing gems, glittering ornate acclaim
Ravishing pulses-fervid of inflamed desire
From stunning demeanor of alluring attire.
You are a flirtation, an enchanting display,
An embroidery woven, motifs exotic relay,
On fabric of life, teasing impulses of mind;
Fascinations galore, masterminds designed.
Yet, I wonder, if your charm is real, is it all true,
Are you a diamond, through and through;
Be not spurious, be not dubious, divulge a clue,
Behind glittering façade is it genuine you?
Be not a counterfeit to unsuspecting sight,
O, glamor, dazzle not, sparkling false delight
For inner halo is brighter that a phony smile,
Be the authentic grandeur of affluent style.
In my portrait of life the
palette began in pigments
of blue, red and yellow,
but with each stroke,
my horizons slowly dissolved into
mustard, muddy brown
and burnt orange.
Not everything you portray
upon a canvas is mutually accepted,
so my soul remained subjective
and my heart abstract.
As I collect dust upon my shoulders,
I wish I was a painting never painted.
Visibility has turned into a veil,
resulting in stubborn invisibility,
so everything is an illusion
lingering in a black hole absorbing
the conspicuous.
I know I will regret not expressing one day
but bitter roots remain rooted deep into the earth.
I don't want to hide
but protect what breeds inside.
I'm afraid someone may look deeper
into this façade where time forgets the truth.
My hands resemble a box of nothingness,
as hues fade from indigo into charcoal,
with pastels infusing with the darkness.
My heart is an ocean
beneath a motionless surface.
Not everyone can view the world
like Van Gogh's eyes,
where the longer you stare
the more you become aware.
In blind visions a 'driftwood' mind wanders
between mental blankness and
the angst of actuality,
all that survives is blackness.
If fate was fair
then we would all view and be viewed
in soft pastels of peach,
sapphire and lilac.
The harder I attempt to find myself,
I lose more than I thought I would gain.
At the end upon the edge
in the last exhale all that is left
will be the silence after an echo.
I can’t be branded and put into a box
I’m a rhyme wrapped within a riddle a complete paradox
I won't carry the labels, or walk around with the stigma.
I am the great unknown a total enigma
I am an incomplete masterpiece, a beautiful disaster
I am the once upon a time and the happily ever after
I am realism, embedded within a parody
I am hesitation and doubt, clothed in certainty.
I am cause and effect, the inevitable reaction
I am the unattainable that brings complete satisfaction
I am an open book, and still a complete mystery.
I am a façade, covered in authenticity
I am assurance and conviction, facts draped in fiction
I am chaotic peace and silent confliction
I am the writing on the wall that you try to decode
I am a living saga, great legends untold
I am a conundrum, a million scattered puzzle pieces
I am the hypothesis that obliterates your thesis
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass had never learned to cope;
once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope.
She fled the curse of worlds perverse by shooting shots of dope,
and stalked discreet’ Asylum Street her daily horoscope.
The stray was struck by passing truck which was her only hope.
Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire:
“The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire
(born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire)
for no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require;
though faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar,
infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire.
Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her -
whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire;
though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.”
Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene.
And now she’s dead, the rumours spread: her age? a sweet 16,
with child, unwed, her soul stained red, her body so unclean.
A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes,
in limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens;
and all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines
which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens.
Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod
“In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod,
(the twisted grin seemed dark and thin behind the robed façade).
“She’ll burn in hell with sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god.
Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire,
but Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir:
“The clueless search within the church to find what they desire,
but near the nave or gravelled grave, there is no Rectifier.”
And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
icy daggers serrated his chilly mind
memories sharp as polar bear’s claws
wielded reminiscent evocation in pain
how he longed for selective amnesia
heart and reason at war with the enemy
a battle only to be won if he surrendered
to inevitability that conflicts were useless
unless of course they concluded in cease fire
his father had fought at the Russian Front
which left his own upbringing out in the cold
no Potemkin façade could melt the chagrin of
twelve years of Germanic menace and madness
both of them prisoner to emotional deprivation
trans-generational transmission of trauma in action
it was bitterly cold in the heat of many a moment
and icicles festered in the young brain to be formed
shape up they said – fight flight or freeze
food for thought no doubt but what about feelings
many winters have passed and the old man is dead now
took many secrets and memories into his grave
the boy now in his sixties decided he needed a snow man
carrot charcoal eyes and Che Guevara’s bandana
collected drift wood from a beach of forgiveness
and danced around the bonfire of exorcised hurt
until permafrost yielded to fire and passion in time
he had been his own antagonist for far too long
The mask I wear, a crafted porcelain guise,
Hides uncharted depths behind these shadowed eyes.
You glimpse the surface—an actor’s polished play—
But the soul beneath? He walks a world astray.
These laughter lines, etched scripts of light and cheer,
Conceal the wars I've waged, the silent fear.
My casual stride, a dance of practiced ease,
Cloaks ancient burdens, whispered on the breeze.
The tales I weave—a tapestry ornate—
Thread vivid joys, yet darker truths await.
Each word I speak, wrapped firm in bold disguise,
Veils restless doubts, unvoiced beneath the skies.
I long to strip this mask and let you peer
Into the fractured core, the flaws sincere.
Yet fear of scorn—a binding, spectral chain—
Keeps truths submerged in quiet, unseen rain.
Perhaps one day, in courage, I’ll reveal
The man unmasked—the wounds that time won’t heal.
Expose the jagged pieces—light and night—
And hope you’ll see a soul, both fierce and slight.
Until that hour, this visage I’ll sustain,
A nameless shadow, hiding depth and pain.
But know, beyond this painted, bright façade,
Dwells more than meets the eye—a soul unflawed.
Who am I is a question,
That baffles and confuses me.
Aren’t I a stranger to myself,
When in me angels and demons cohabit,
Dwelling side by side.
Sometimes I am mired in confusion.
Sometimes I feel I am a moth caught fast in the fire,
And about to be burnt, when drawn to light
Mindless of the great peril looming.
Sometimes I feel I am sidelined and ignored,
And left out from the mainstream of life,
Like a book stacked away on a rusty shelf
In a dark corner, never touched or dusted.
After a wave of rising energy
I fall into a state when I feel so inert and dull.
At times, feel that I am a lifeboat without oars.
But soon I alight on the lighthouse of joy.
As the cycle of seasons keeps changing
The pendulum of my life swings from joy to sorrow
And hope and despair are threaded,
Into the tapestry of life as warp and woof
Essentially kind and compassionate,
I am moved to tears whenever I see,
An instance of human suffering
And tears of joy well my eyes
When I witness human excellence and pride over it.
Time has mellowed me, and wisdom has taught me,
To see the inner light shining in me.
Even when dark clouds creep into my night sky
Beneath the façade of my aching torso,
I see a soul eternal and indestructible.
At best, I like to think that I am a child of God,
And I strive to be led by that inner light.
Even when I swim in the doldrum of life,
I pray to release the infinitesimal quantum of energy,
That keeps the fire in me ever-blazing,
To add my lustre even to the stars.
To love and be loved is my credo,
For “even if I speak
in the language of angels and have no love
I am only a noisy, empty gong”.
There is a spark of heavenly fire in each one of us
Though it may lie dormant in broad daylight
It kindles up, beams, and blazes
In the dark hours of adversity.
So, frolic in the Living water and dance on the cliff
An edifice constructed through years of hard labor
May be destroyed overnight but keep building anyway!
After five days of irony,
life was looking bleak
That fourth night seemed long,
much more than a week
I seen geckos licking eyeballs,
shovel-faced lizards swapping feet
trying to cool off
in the searing desert heat
A nomad walked by,
talking to a mirage
He could’ve been praying
and the mirage was a façade.
From my point of view,
his journey was damned
walking in circles
around the promised land
I came here fracking
for my missing soul,
and then it came gushing
as liquid black gold
Looking up astonished,
a genie appeared
saying, “Thank you, master,
I’ve been down there for years”
“Be careful what you wish for,
I’d like to give you one”
She was a sexy genie
and very good with a pun
I asked for a Time Machine,
knowing well she’d fail
but I did get one off her,
time stood still on any scale
Back in the real world,
things are calming down
I joined a death metal band
from some unmarked town
They liked my catchy riffs,
deviant lyrics and poems
We’re called (many names),
mine’s out there on its own
* * * * * *
Now before falling asleep,
it’s impossible to be dead
Living brings the nightmare
that nothing lies ahead
Still, my fear of being shunned
beats off the ugly stares,
in a world full of friends
playing musical chairs.
I watch your riveting sonatas
Layer decadent truffles
Upon his pupils
Leaking wanton tears
Grasping for serenity
To have epilogue’s slow dance
You latch onto love’s empty façade.
No return flights to your destination.
Where are YOUR wings, angel?
An embedded hunger for him
To treat you like a priceless prayer
But, his knees are too decrepit to kneel in your temple.
Yet, you stay…
…stay
Your freedom becomes latched
Onto tortured leeches
Sucking
You
Dry
It’s the closest you ever
Come
To his flesh
You stare out towards melancholic branches
Cracking in unison outside your bedroom window
Under Gemini moon
A gripping slide of your fingertips
Against convex glass
Craving for encore
Of that night emptiness filled your lungs with lustful whisper
But, now,
Pandora’s Box is your only translator
Held by the skeletons in his closet
With your name written against necklace’s recycled parchment
As the one they blame
For being a silver medal
When will it be your time to shine?
©Drake J. Eszes
A huge shout out to my dear friend, Eileen, for creating a wonderful memory with this collaboration. There is a vital lesson when moments like this are created: The cure to uncertainty is togetherness. May we all make more memories like this. Friendships, real ones, are a commodity.
Surrounded by impenetrable marble
A stained glass perception
Milks dignity from dilapidated pores
I stare unto retribution’s flame
Gliding softly on waxy façade
Holding the hand of a friend
I hold on,
Strength
Waning
Distorted view of reality
Piercing inner sanctum
Veil of peace
Tranquility
Torn asunder
Set aflame
Melancholic facades
Dripping in hardened tears
Waxy build-up
Inner core of existence
Reality
Licked by burning infernos,
Extinguished
I hold on…
Holding the hand of a friend
We raise eagle’s wing
Banishing oppressive lips
Venomous soliloquies
Tasting alliterated misdirection
Uninvited to solace’s peak
Our time is now
Our time is now!
Our time
Turning hourglass sands
Into horizontal awakenings
This eloquent candle will never wane.
Our strength faces resurgence
Your hands to mine
My soul awakened, revived
Our orange-hued sands of time
Reversing ravages of melting tears
Candle light, incandescent,
Burning
But not melting
On this night
Burning,
But no hesitant flickers,
On this night
Generating heat of bonded hands
Bonded minds
Burning flame of mystery
Light
I hold on to your hand.
This is our time
OUR TIME!
Words set to eternal flame
Oh, yes.
This eloquent candle shall never wane.
©Drake J. Eszes & Eileen Ghali
Dear members of Poetry Soup, here I present my most awesome poem to date.
It is best appreciated while listening to my mate Andy's recital.
So please open-
http://www.andyevansfiction.com/interviews/andy-reads-a-poem-called.html
and read along.
Here goes:
DOUBTS
When the sanctuary
Of sunlight sinks
And dark shadows
Lay across your thoughts
Spiteful talons
Scrape against your reason
Their dragging
Resonating
In your mind
Out beyond your vision
In the darkness of the hour
Your doubts stir
Shuffling
Muttering
Foul damning words
That pierce you
Slicing through your certainty
Severing the flow
Of your integrity
Chill words
Spoken so close
They breeze past your ear
And settle like ice
On your dignity
Threatening
Menacing
Sounds of movement so near
That doubts brush
Your confidence
In the gloom
These doubts
Analyse
Scrutinise
Your every mistake
Real and imagined
Emphasised
Magnified
Demonised
Your honest intentions
Mercilessly proven
Futile
Trivial
Infantile
Your courage
And Morale
Shattered
Scattered
Lost in the darkness
Surrounded by doubts
Fearful
Deceitful
Doubts twist
Blur reality
Ripping
Façade
From hidden self
Clawing
Screaming
Igniting fear
Pupils dilating
Stupefied
Skinned
Heart racing
Blood
Gore
Torn from your chest
Undesired self
Splayed
Exposed
When the sanctuary
Of sunlight rises
And dark shadows
Are chased from your thoughts
Hopeful hands
Massage your reason
Their comforting
Relaxing
Your mind
She wears
a dark façade -
a charcoal grey
once hot like burning coals.
Consumed by too much passion
she was scorched.
Too long
she has smoldered.
Her dark façade
is cold now. . . and brittle.
She fears that if you touch her
she’ll crumble.
Written 10/30/12 By Andrea Dietrich
For Nette Onclaud's VIEWS FROM A VIGNETTE Poetry Contest
I stood at the top of the mountain
Giddy, grinning— panting like a fiend
And thought of O2 sat.,
Allostery,
Polyporphyrin rings
And, in time, I thought of bottomlessness,
Half-filled glasses
Stars exploding through the ineffable blackness
And thought, underneath it all,
What’s the vastness even mean?
I began climbing slowly down from the ego of my dream
And asked
What for?
Nothing more
But a flag stuck in the ground?
To calculatingly defy gravity
As it mercilessly tugs us down?
And then I wondered, ponderously:
Am I a prophet
Or a god?
Is there a defined mind to our brain?
Dimension to our façade?
A man behind the curtain?
A voice within the sky?
An ultimate time and place?
An adequate answer to “why?”
I sat on the mountain, tortured
Like the archetypally wise
And knew then that all life’s purpose
Had been imparted through desperate lies.
--
Note to those not familiar with Biochemistry:
The first stanza refers to hemoglobin's decrease in oxygen affinity in response to high altitude/ low atmospheric pressure. This is accomplished through the molecule's allosteric conformation change. Hemoglobin's molecular structure consists of a porphyrin ring.