Best Frays Poems
My inky echoes conflate,
atop mountains of ivory versos;
Blank pages into whispers,
like the sway of moonlight tides;
Papers dappled by my ineffable,
frays of jet-black cursive swirls;
My best ideas are forever found,
somewhere amidst silent worlds;
'Tis best to search for me right before,
the feathery quill touches to the page;
Arisen from the blotter, my hand held in totter,
but before I drizzle down the tar;
Where my psyche thinks loud,
with the rhythm and the rage;
A battle-ballet of coarse cashmere haze,
only then does my heart think to open up its cage;
Still I promise to always behave like a poet,
one who is the epitome of an idyllic odist;
Solemn ink be my savior, perhaps a mind lost in time,
resonant verse between blinks, my soul in the lines--
March 15, 2016
ASP OF GRIEF
She buries her head upon this asp of grief —
soft with reptilian fangs, hard with poison.
Her covetous husband lies upon the Nile’s reef.
She holds her abdomen in her arms - his son.
with lunar belly...
the shape of her husband’s seed
...a fateful eclipse
The pit with its bone-chilling cold, hisses with hatchlings,
dreaming of spoiled seeds and seas with a vortex,
coiling around ships. A queen’s lips burn red, yearning for her king.
An abandoned wreck will not lay eyes upon his baby’s sex.
insanity’s kiss...
eyes burn with crimson lipstick
...unrepentant flames
She plays with sticks and desire, enticing asps of despair —
gorges with vampiric teeth. She embraces their mock
and likewise teases, beckons and pleads for death so fair.
Like a breeze about her ankles snakes snip her royal purple frock.
entanglement frays...
dyed purple threads unravel
...rigor mortis strikes
His candle ensign in the dark, a resurrected hero of vanity.
The light flickers with feet in the sand, footprints at lover’s leap.
His profile in death’s shadow, his purple passion of insanity —
laughter litters this carnivorous cave where ashes of dust heap.
alluring ashes...
Salome’s serpentine dance
...Cleopatra’s veils
The sound of a knife being sharpened, his sword with venom drawn,
leaps upon his self-righteous chest, a single blade’s deep penetration.
No handsomer lover, thighs of steel, tanned and craven brawn.
He lost his rapturous beauty bright and fleeting, weeds of veneration.
bilious-amber
mixes with his crimson blade
— a suicide pact
4/28/2018
The sunset clouds are pinks and greys
in tattered strips, in rips and frays,
in feathered flight at end of days,
in summer skies that fill my gaze.
And in the pines beside the sea
a hundred birds talk endlessly
and shooshing waves lap hungrily
as we eat fish and chips for tea.
Before the day turned into night
the pinks were burned by dying light.
The birds were still, the moon was slight
when day had gone and it was night.
And then my eyes could hardly see
the scenery in front of me.
Your laughter sound so hollow and there’s something that you hide,
You forget that there’s an ebb and high for every passing tide,
When dust falls and settles, beauty eventually will die,
For you need to rouse yourself after you moan and sigh,
There’s nothing more destructive than living an idle life,
When you could be out there to join the frays and frights,
Chorus...
Life is a roller coaster never close your eyes,
For the journey’s filled with loops and turns
And eye popping highs
When you strap yourself please don’t forget,
To make sure it’s nice and tight,
For you never know how far you’ll go,
Or how steep you will climb
So when it comes down to choices
Don’t hesitate to try,
All the crazy things that’s meant for you
Makes living more worthwhile...
End of chorus
When days are grey and dull and you spend it sitting down,
You feel everyone’s laughing at you the lonely clown,
For they never could quite get it, How hard you desire,
To throw yourself and go berserk and Set yourself on fire
For you know there’s nothing harder than living in fright,
How boring it will be…. each passing day and night
Rpt chorus
Restless nights and guarded days
chastise a heart that has strayed.
And vowing to mend your ways
past sins, await penance paid.
As the months morph into years,
pressures build, as nerves get raw.
And laden with fears and tears,
fantasies and dreams withdraw.
Empty lies shadow your past:
cast by promises pending.
And the years slip by so fast
that you fear your time's ending.
When trust is left to fate's whim
forever friendships break.
While passion's flame grows so dim,
Hope can't see past the heartache.
O'er the years, time's fabric frays,
failing to postpone old age.
And you're running out of days,
till you must exit life's stage.
Breaking Dawn
Night sky frays to day
Headlights make holes in the slate
Driving out the dark
© September 2013—Kim van Breda
When visions crawl into his dream
to grate against a hilltop’s ire,
a sheriff flicks like soft campfire
where hazy winds dip low ,midstream.
Bandit frays stab a roguish past…
he gazes at Time…in lone sojourn
as plucks of hummed guitar return,
to soothe a mind now calm, steadfast.
Though old wounds bite the edge of glow
a hundred stars bathe eyes quite whole,
and moonlight kindles to console
the raid of dark through glazed halo.
From where he rides, the visions fade
in homage to a pure moment…
that on warm breath of contentment,
morning knights his final crusade.
4/18/2016
For Rob Carmack’s Lyrics Contest
Inspiration from lines of the song,
‘God Hates a Coward’—Tomahawk
Mesmerized...she's playing with purpose
fingers delicate, skilled...searching
finding the keys that speak to me
High
Low
The notes they flow
from the baby grand she plays
emotion frays
and sways with no malaise
Stage lights light her-a blue dimension of lovely
shadow lingers on the features
brows furrowed intense
lips pursed to words intense
eyes gazed into the grand...recalling
recalling the spirit that birthed this song
She transforms...
A medium for this spirit...
I see now through her eyes...
reliving a moment I'd not lived at all
Captured completely...she sings to me sweetly
A moment she shows me her soul
She smiles back knowing--the melody flowing
pockets the heart that she stole
Written: Jun 2nd, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
****************
A poetic reply to a piece created by Nobel Prize winner and Mexican poet /writer, Octavio Paz:
There is not
A single soul among the trees
And I
Don't know where I've gone.
"I step—"into the quiet rising from trees,
my fingers are tracing the cold, resistant bark.
"The path— waits, thin as~a breath before speaking"
Birds' flight testifies~our souls prowl woods.
"The wind—" fails to read~the omen of fate,
A frightful form frays from a furred finger.
"The gap—" between roots is all that we are;
a wraith, fumbling for skin~outruns my frantic stride.
"I follow—" until its echo threads my footsteps,
and I am found, rooted to~disappear...
Death awaits me under a shaded picnic area...
It taunts me with the white hot frays of late summer...
I float in this seemingless eternal pool of hopelessness...
Trapped in my tattered brain of mindless stupidity and excuses. Passing the time.
I slam the doors of good fortune and simmer in my misery. I sit in a hot broth of tranquil beauty and the violent edge of the overlook. Only my cowardice stops me from plunging off the steep cliffs a few yards away. Hikers walk past and wave at me as I sit under the shaded picnic area. If they only knew what torment and self hatred the man typing nonsense on his phone was actually feeling. Hiding.
Passing time.
My new favorite place. 5.00 parking. Gorgeous views. Solitude.
Great place to think.
A great place for
Passing time...
Everyone has to stand
Either side of the belt
In two big lines.
Line managers fill
Reserve boxes full of nuts.
Then comes the chocolate.
A column of chocolate.
We have to stand and
Watch out for the frays in the belt.
We must stay in our lines
And trust the boxes have been refilled
With nuts.
Unending boxes full of nuts,
An unending formation of chocolate
Coming closer to where we stand.
Moving hands ahead blur the belt,
Quick and steady hands keeping in line.
Already the boxes look less full.
The bosses in blue hairnets refill
The boxes full to the top of nuts.
They oversee the decoration of chocolate.
Every day and they do this by sitting
By the boxes on the side of the belt,
Chatting, or milking power out of nuts.
And it’s us on the line
Who get the blame when the boxes are empty,
And chocolate goes by without being nutted,
And they have to chuck away trays of chocolate,
We’re sweating from their shouting but we stand;
We keep our places by the belt.
Our place is by the belt.
Either side of the line.
We do not wait for the nuts to be refilled.
If necessary we will take them from our friends
We think only of the chocolate.
For as long as it takes, we stand.
O what a man, so bold and brave,
Could do, his mighty hand could save.
This noble warrior was a relative of Zeus himself
Or so they say
His kingly proise remains today,
A standard figure of Persian frays.
Lightning crashed and thunder rumbled,
Signifying that this man would become well-known,
Not one to be humbled.
He was said to have tamed a wild horse,
By the fullness of his brain, of course.
His athletic records, no one could break,
For they remained for his pride's sake.
He became a briliant man, built like a tower of steel
That led some to believe he was unreal.
One every man would have yearned to become,
His power, his splendor, an unbeatable contendor!
Until only by a fatal error, his well of talents stopped flowing
For once in his life.
No one could save him from this horrendous plight.
The face of death reared its grotesque head,
And only to the path of enternal stillness it lead.
However, his name, emblazened by his noble deeds, very old,
Will retain its place in history in its priceless weight of gold.
Slipping gently towards entropy,
Ownership with an apostrophe.
Braid the loose frays of sanity
Till something true finally answers me.
Troops are marching over many lands,
Tagged cornflower blue--a worldwide brand.
Don't speak out or you will be banned,
Towers implode just as they've planned.
Constantine merged Rome's faiths to one
Keeping time and step with Pagans.
Moloch laughs at our dull compassion
While Illuminati goals corrupt conception.
With a punitive eye beneath the skin
Mankind’s been declared the pathogen.
So an age of ignorance was ushered in
With aims to squelch the soul within.
Rotating parties deflect shared shame
Allowing complacency to be blamed.
Splintered populations can be tamed,
And bombs tend to leave bodies maimed.
Thieves steel gold and filch the free press,
Bobble heads working to keep up stress,
Businessmen sponsoring all this mess.
"We've got some pills if you feel depressed..."
We inherently trust their authority
As they outlaw nutrients due to toxicity.
In an effort to organize bioactivity
They count on our enduring apathy.
We protest lies, so they've built some pens.
Peace simply means they'll take our weapons.
"So go buy a widescreen for your den
To watch us start your wars again."
Even the name Bilderberg is a joke.
As they like it they’ve managed to fleece us broke,
Locking humanity into the yoke.
They sold the world lies before they ever spoke.
Crypto-eugenics is a fatal threat,
Academia functioning as a stooge pet.
Look into those eyes; they've got no regret
To kill us all off like they're clearing a debt.
Global control would only serve them well,
Micro chipped souls have no secrets to sell.
Salivate each time you hear their bell
Or they'll call themselves gods chasing you through hell.
Our oppressive puppet liars, they will not quit,
So don't waste breath saying, 'I'll submit.'
Words of our liberty are just and legit,
And truthful self-rule is a righteous fit.
When bureaucrats state dissent is treachery
In truth they've already sold their loyalty,
They still threaten our sovereignty.
Reclaim our human right to be free!
Zephyr,
echo of the eastern wind,
gentle and balmy is thy caress,
your kiss leaves the hardened heart due west;
breath of hope for steely-days,
winds of change whisper fortune,
do they raise the spirits of righteous device,
and speculate to riddance,
of tempests to come,
flee me forever ---
in thy pleasant climes
Spirit of the western wind sings,
thy floral in flowered Spring,
whistle in the wombs of weeping willow hangs,
the grated ground from stretching hands
(courtship of the tasseled frays)
so human is thy playful ways,
and child-like thy fickle display
(though so earnest is thy whistled word) ---
I leave thee my levity, and forget thee not,
keepsake to keepsake; when the hour is late
and the icy-ridges of doom do renounce and boom;
in the breath of my end days
sing in my ears once more
(the coda of drummer calls)
and play thy earnest tune,
in the vestige halls of evermore
(I do wait)
My Dearest Brother And I
I want the wall of divide to fall apart and
Forget we're cousins, born of different parents
We are the children God made for love
Now the parents of children teaching only love above all.
Lets once again remember our childhood pleasures
When I holding the hand of my baby brother
Walked over the red gulmohar carpets
Running and playing in our grandpa's garden.
Lets remember the fun with your friends
Holding small bats but too heavy for the hand
Hitting with all your might and happily
Frightening our basking cocks and hens.
Lets, once again, forget we are grown-ups, and
Sprinkle the plants with our overflowing love-cans
And share secret smiles at the nest filled eggs
We discovered in our shrubs.
Lets hide and watch the woodpecker
Hammering his long beak into the the huge trunks
Of the goliath gul-mohar, frilled with white and blue orchids
Dancing in the breeze upon its hardly delicate waistline.
Lets reminiscence our childhood love
When I bathed you, brushed your hair, buttoned your collars
To march you to school, sharing home-work with my overtired brother,
Reading you out fairy-tales before tucking you to bed.
Lets cherish, for the joy of love, when you and I were sharing our togetherness
Caring for each other, with pleasures undefined
Childhood is a dream, youth we have surpassed,
Our present bond I hold fervently, my dearest brother, above all temporal frays.
nivember 29, 2015
Contest: Open Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Charlotte Jade Pudifoot