Best Gloss Over Poems
as best she can
she tries
to insulate
each gap
of silence
the voids the cracks
with everything she can
anything to blur
the reality
she wants
so desperately
to gloss over
and forget
mindless chatter
most times sadly pathetic
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
The falling man, one photograph captured in time
An unforgettable image, imprinted on this mind
He represents us all, weather we like it or not
His faith did not kill him, destiny was his lot
Spiralling out of control, once the planes hit
Acting purely on instinct, not champing the bit
Fire and terror stoked decisions, until overcome
Incinerating heat compels him, never did he jump
This was no leap of faith, Infinitely more than that
A transcendence into agony, he’s looks down at
I try to pen his plight, impossible as it seems
Of a world going mad, upon our Tv screens
I wish it was over quick, that fall to his death
Alas he suffered slowly, until the very last breath
I’m been brutally honest, won’t gloss over the facts
For we owe it to him, it’s with innate honesty, he acts
A picture’s worth one thousand words, some disagree
Falling man, gives nothing away, we can clearly see
My heart’s telling this story, his fall sets the stage
An immortalised snapshot of life, will never fade
For all other innocents, murdered that fateful day
If there’s a silver lining, it’s with confidence I’ll say
Your loved ones cradled you, as the towers fell down
Far across many nations, pain is felt inside every town
Sun and moon appeared together, purposely that morn
Heavenly bodies, bore witness to a new world reborn
And this occurrence, should give a tiny ray of hope
Not used as a tool of glee by Helios misanthropes
Below is a comments box will the Helios misanthrope set foot in it
not a cowardly chance
By
David Kavanagh
Xenoglossy
I learnt the language of silence
She declares
Miming is painful for the little girl
So that her eyes moves to the rhythm of xenoglossy- Silence
“Peace!” She declares as her eyes gloss over the leaves of the fall.
Pastel shades and spilling beans.
Of course she has no words for spilling beans and pastel shades.
Miracles do happen- the rhythm of xenoglossy
The language acquired without teaching
Visits the deaf girl
So that she feels the silent words in her bones and often in her skin
Not on her tongue.
Writing is too painful for her little hands
Reading impossible. Her green gaze is held
Permanently on the fluttering of the wings
Then a smile on her pursed lips.
Xenoglossy- bona fide kind
Beneath the xenoglossy of her own.
Sweat drips from little dust covered faces in the grim back-alley factories
No time for rites of passage other than fingers nimble enough to spin and
Balance wheel spool spin and stitch regulator to their master’s instruction
Anyana is not unique but one of the ‘fortunate’ ones
Gloved hands mop up droplets of perspiration from a lace veil and seduce
A myriad of lovers before she even enters an intricate parquet dance floor
Takes a cue from the orchestra and whirls on stilettos and rhapsodic flair
Chantelle did not purchase her dress at the charity shop
Their stories unite as neo-liberal gangsters spin a yard on wheels of fortune
While their procession fails to trickle down moderate glimpses of hope
Some stride on the cat walk of privilege and others are scavengers in rags
Exposed nipples are rather dissimilar but follow a different path
Anyana gathers her virtues and sends love across the boundary of despair
Her shoes bear no fairy tale stories when midnight strikes at the fashion
Of stolen passion from sweat shops for garments scented with perfume
Cause and effect cannot moderate nor gloss over amoral fabric
03rd November 2019
Life is all white butterflies and yellow flowers
For the rich and blue eyed you
You want for nothing except perhaps
Teal tribulations
What do you know of amethyst angst
How it reels from your gut
And paralyzed purple souls
Vomiting violet verses of pansy poems
You lack liquid death felt by
The mother of a soft stillborn infant
How could you know peach pain
When your long lashes flash as magic wand
Instantly your wildest wishes are granted
You’ll never know hunger harm or hell
And I desperately despise you for it
Because you lack emerald empathy
You gloss over others loss as “God’s will”
Disenfranchising demise of dandelion dreams
As if death is a green gift to be opened
Your happiness is snorted in white lines up your
Nose leaving psychedelic rainbows in your spirit
An artificial light illuminates your mind
But you feel elaborately enlightened even elevated
Your life is rich your words your food even
Your grief seems scripted by gold and silver pen
The soft satin lavender lies you tell yourself
Are a jaded justification of lack of life’s joy
You dig a grave for the less fortunate in
Your poetic world full of magenta misery
Dressed up as colorful inspiration
You feed off others like a blood thirsty vampire
Never quoting never worrying at all
That AI stole your doily soul
No your rehabilitation is red white and blue
A flag burned by drug paraphernalia and
False imprisonment in cranial concentration camps
False because your mind doesn’t have to be there
You have all the tools you need to bleed
Feel reveal and write truth but
You chose not to
Your verses in ash smell of smoky hell’s dissent
blood pouring forth . . . red
yelling . . . hate r a d i a t i n g
shooting, dying . . . why
“A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentations . . . “ Jeremiah
“. . . so much weeping! Such a burden of lamentation! I will not gloss over the terrible pain and sorrow that comes from vanity and anger, but neither will I forget the final word of resurrection. “ Eugene Petersen
David Meade
01/21/2015
Live Generously
I gloss over my moods
With a sparkly L’oreal
And lock eyes briefly
With no one in particular
Strangers seem plenty
I’m wary of the city
Its perversities I distrust
Even its curiosities I spurn--
But even the homeless have homes; well they must
Maybe a pedestal in someone’s heart; Thus
Give them claims to life and trust; But
They leave me energy for one thing, just!
One country some often say
Since banned firearms day
Is safer than the USA
There really is no truth in that
Mass shootings there rare before Act
Little or no change after... fact
Though mass murders no reductions
Some five plus killed on six occasions
Difference was no guns as weapons
Along with USA's mass shootings...
Other countries have mass stabbings
frequent car attacks and bombings
All countries have problems this we know
People with agendas gloss over for show
May 7, 2018
She gazed at the looking glass, but the mirror refused to grant her a preview of what might happen, a clear picture of where she had been and if she existed at all, the spectre of the moment seemed to be disguised from inspection. Coming to terms with having absorbed and condensed too many of society’s norms and demands had seemingly been her duty and the prism of requests on her image of beauty had failed her inner Self. She drooled onto the spitting image of nothingness and the slobber ran down to the frame that upheld phlegm and contempt before it trickled down onto the baseless floor founded on hardcore delusion. Diet pills and dark shades had not relieved her from a succession of errors of reason and emotion and when she had blindfolded herself, the blinkers tore deep into her misrepresentation of surrender and cosmetic denial.
scanned in revulsion
vacant echoes burst the sight –
shards of glass splintered
So many fragments pierced into her eyes, that dry tears covered the pulverized viewing and heart-blood sprayed all over her soul. A point of no return, because if she failed to stem the flow and bandage the wounds, gangrene would set it soon and salving the lacerations would only speed up infection and purulent grime. The wall in front of her blurred out of proportion and there was nothing she could do about it other than retrieving bristles and paint from the storeroom and gloss over the shiny remnants of disrepair. And therefore, she entered into a journey of the unknown, drew rose petals and thorns onto broken canvas. Before she knew it, she decoupaged disintegration and fractures, glued a mosaic of imagination to mirror what should have been there in the first place. Sweat dripped from her forehead and smudged aquarelle shades which reassembled self-worth and confronted demons and abuse. An inner voice shouted, ‘all you need is a mantra to caption the artwork which you truly are.’ That is when she wrote her first poem and became free of doubts, oppression and cynical critique.
blame discredit reproach
failed to appease me in vain –
reflections can change
26th March 2021
I look around and all I see is emptiness.
Surrounded by souls but my mate is nowhere in sight.
I search deep into my thoughts in an alternate world of colors.
There is where you reside, along with the voices in the back of my mind.
I find you sitting on the edge of the lustful cliff, next to the fountain of love.
The zephyr striking your hair strands as the multicolored sun runs a radiant gloss over its floating self.
There I stand, leaning against the tree of reasoning.
Admiring your beauty and wondering if what I see is mirage.
To walk towards you, or to admire you from afar?
An unanswered question that hypnotizes me into the emotion known as infatuation.
How strange to detach in an already detached world.
Transcending into through my thoughts trying to find myself,
But instead I find you.
Are you an answer or are you a threat?
A perilous journey that drives me to a dead end.
A high voltage fence lies ahead, I frantically turn around only to find u standing behind.
Speechless with wide opened eyes I stare blankly at the figure in front of me.
What I was seeking has found me.
I standing in between Death and the truth.
To run away, or to face my fate?
So many questions yelling inside of my head trying to escape,
But not a single word is said.
Sitting on a park bench I get a grip of reality. Awakened by the pouring rain that washed away my wild thoughts.
Observing everything with virgin eyes.
Exploring every visible thing till I manage to go back to the state I was,
before I was assaulted by the thought of you.
A sly violinist named Max
In ethical finance was lax.
He pulled all the strings
To gloss over things
And fiddled his end of year tax!
revised 18.04.21
The scarred desk, littered
with the wrinkles of young,
melts into chocolate
canary
easter bunny
birdsong
My ear mutters
"Are you there"
not able to finish
my homework
grinding
pepper
she reduces herself to glossed lips -
they gloss over everything
dull
turn on the light
If you hedonistically entail to wage a war
If you are possessed by the longing to eradicate
If you fathom the nitty-gritty of the havoc
If you need to endorse your prerogatives in life
Leave free reign to your rational mind
Pull out of this inequitable,rotten,imbecile game
Ditch and this greed for pogrom gloss over
Thwart your apex for evil and hatred tame
Morph into something humane and peace prop up
Vent your indignation on war trivialities
Elect to live off the grid and continue to fly
Then without beating about the bush poverty target
Let wisdom sink into your depraved,wicked soul
Designate your catbird seat among peace devotees.
Let’s pretend the world is okay
And that life is really good
Let’s forget for just a few hours
Things aren’t happening the way they should.
Let’s forget the pain and heartache
And all the lies and misery
Let’s gloss over the imperfections
Of this thing called you and me
Let only beautiful thoughts
Intoxicate your head
Let’s fall into each other’s arms
Then let’s fall into your bed
Try to numb it down, dumb it down
Gloss over it and paint it with a smile
Rose-tinted gloss paint
With a hint of insincerity
Somewhere between Violet Desolation
And Optimistic Yellow Glow
I paint my own colour chart
Backwards from the finish to the start.
Hopeless, helpless? Then Passive Blue
Is just the right one for you;
Lost and confused best suits Muddy Brown
If you don't know if you're up or down
But when it gets too much, I find
It's easier to be colour-blind.