Best Life Truth Poems
That tiny pause to skirt the truth, half-reals you'd paraphrase,
The subtle softly spinning gyre of cunning in your gaze,
Vague reflections from your skin - a shedding, sheltering plaque,
All concerned syllables sent swiftly bouncing off your back.
Ever adrift on fiction's lost sea, never blown to shore,
Too late I saw your hidden thirst - too easy to ignore
Evasion and avoidance - thus was piloted your ship,
You'd dance around, not run aground - you gave us both the slip.
I failed your buried, rooted pain, I missed the reddened tracks,
All facts would step aside your rime of displaced parallax,
I slighted each secluded wound, the false-trod thoroughfare,
So ends a life of wary silence, cloaked mutely in despair.
No one knew you as I did, my reward there sadly sure,
I'd like to think away now, yet the hard truths are too pure,
Blinded, perhaps, by my own fear, I let out line for years,
And all my stock of forward time now fills with bloody tears.
Upon my closing sight of you, muzzled words within your eyes,
Your final hour released you not - you'd walked too long on lies.
It takes its stand the moment we are born;
first breath of life invites its rival, death,
to hand in hand walk on a path that leads,
without exception, to life's certain end.
The cloud of death does shadow all of us
until it strikes...obscure, the why or when.
Expected, accidental, or by choice;
the cycle never fails from start to end.
The older we become, the more aware
of death's awaiting stage we come to be,
as friends and family take hold its hand,
bid life goodbye and watch their circle close.
Life is a borrowed gem, a wondrous gift,
so like a rose that buds, then fully blooms
until at last, it withers in the end
as life and death, their dual chorus sings.
We may live on through afterlife, so clear
for those who do believe, God takes us home.
But also through our children, like the rose,
rebirth, new life comes forth to start again.
I’m feral like a fox
misplaced in the
maroon mists
of wilderness,
only found in
woeful woodland.
My skin is blanketed
in crimson balmy
hyacinth feathers
from a
forsaken rainforest.
Misguided on
delusional paths,
where spring-tides
mirror liquified colors
of warm diamond tears
I’ve suppressed
behind ice blue sighs.
And I’ve seen
splintered petals
beneath thick-leaved
jewel orchids,
that surrendered
to greying leaves
on tainted twigs
and broken branches.
I’ve walked through
fields of thorns
where the
musky scent
of roses remained
a poison to
my aching soul.
So, why does it
feel like I’m chained
from vines of changes,
that suffocate
the sun within me,
crucifying the fragility
of premature
begonia beginnings?
Am I to follow
the darkness,
to cast away the evil,
constantly pushing me
into a cave of
cacophonous silence?
As I see beyond
the gossamer veil,
hiding sharpened talons
of treacherous eagles-
flying amongst
vicious vampires;
emerald foes
masked as friends,
feeding my conscience
with cruel concoctions,
oblivious to the truth,
that I am a bark believer
of marigold miracles.
So let the
steel black breeze
and the
faceless ghosts
of fleeting time,
witness how I
rise against
wicked wolves
lurking behind
stars within
a chiffon laced
canopy of nightfalls.
For, I am more
than the empty labels
you’ve placed,
like the shame,
I’ve buried beneath
lyrical lies drizzling
from vanilla skies.
"REBELS" WAS THEIR NAME
Judge not, that ye be not judged.
Matthew 7:1-3 KJV
----------------------------------------------
Each fair familiar feature of their face
aglows with the dim lit day's assistance,
rests upon strong shoulders reminiscent
of roses bloom, see their trust and proud grace.
Before those same red cheeks were flags of shame;
tearing at their hearts, rebels they were named.
Who knows, are they friends, sisters, or lovers?
They don't look alike but but they live strong,
telling their own truth stopped rumor's hover,
truth clears the blind eyes, errs are not lifelong.
While the shrinking sun delights in its role,
can they sustain falsehood, forgive such ways?
They chose to stand strong, still in mute dismay
but in their bosoms dwell two holy souls.
__________________________________________________________
~~Inspired by the painting: Twilight Confidances
by Cecilia Beaux 1888~~
__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
4:30 pm; January 17, 2015
Be who you are
Not what others want you to be
Your life is not theirs
It is yours ….so live it authentically!
Ah, the wistful daydreams about my lost youth!
Astride upon a white stallion, riding into a distant past
I miss youth like a barren, parched desert misses pouring rain
I wish I could coax father time into restoring my vernal exuberance
My aging body is starting to betray me. I can't see quite as clearly
I can't move as quickly. And I sure can't run up the stairs as fast
As I used to. My memory isn't quite as sharp anymore. Each morn
I awake, full of aches and pain. I'm a squeaky wheel in need of grease
You needn't strain your eyes to see what my age wants you to see
I have greying hair, crows feet, lines across my forehead, the works
My testosterone is shot to smithereens. My virility is steadily waning
But who's complaining? I'm loving life. There's a lot of it left to live, still
Aging is hard to accept, but I must. I see my wrinkles
In the mirror, and I smile because I wear them well. I'm still me!
No one stays young forever. I am but a flower no longer blooming
As beautifully in springtime, but c'est la vie. I'm still thriving!
Youthful folks may deride and dismiss me as over the hill...
A Phoenix with clipped wings, thrashing about the ashes
Sucking me in like quicksand, but I'm still alive and kicking
Look how far I've made it! I have something they envy---wisdom!
Submitted for...
Strand Select 2 Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest(Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 01/01/2019
A Contest On Aging Poetry Contest (Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Date written and posted: 06/02/2019
What breathes into the brain
and sustains from some secret place a sullied heart?
The pains of faces of others for the wicked barb
and (un) done deed to garnish a little 'peace' ---
but to gloat in cruel cosmos ---
and sharpen thy sardonic horns,
trust in the world and its soft whispers of death....
Little darkling upon thee ---
who walks on crushed beds of glass,
the sharp shards gather in baneful bits
....to each corner of thy heart and mind;
Thy soul is devoid of death and breathes infinite dreams,
and rears from the razor-sharp, biting shards ---
not a glass darkly,
but the glints of glazed stars;
Dig a little deeper, through the sullied shadows dark,
how slow, fat little imps swiftly depart,
swifter thy beams of light than slow plodding dark,
faceless night;
not moon, star or light ---
deep...deep... so stark and shadowless,
beyond all memory and thought
Not an image to paint for only formless black...
(on thy pallet to have) ---
only light in life;
can bring you back what you can have,
the stars and moons, and dreams you make....
How can you be lost,
(when you are the light?)
***Written in 2015/For moments down in faith***
In school when I was being raised
the role models who then were praised
were the American icons—
George Washington, “I cannot tell a lie”
Honest Abe, a straight-shooting kind of guy
Later we heard Jimmy Carter testify
“I’ll never tell a lie …”
For my generation and prior
they raised the bar higher
Honesty was the best policy
That was then
This is now …
When caught in a lie
deny
When accusations resound
double down
When proof’s presented
get inventive
When they continue to confront
cry witch-hunt
When they accuse you of a crime
deflect each time
When they bring more claims
call them demeaning names
over and over
and over and
over and over
and over again
Nothing to lose
You may even win …
But lying is still a sin
Best to extol the role model
who always gets it right
(then and now)
Jesus — ‘The way, the truth, the life!’
~* ~* ~*
John 14:6. Jesus said to him: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." —NWT Study Bible
It was crazy.
They weren't.
They just like the whole craziness.
I guess I did, too.
It was the type of crazy,
they teach you not to talk about.
The type of crazy,
you supposedly didn't know about.
The type of crazy,
that makes you clueless as a newborn ones you hear it.
The type of crazy,
as soon as you see someone write about,
you become more informed than him.
The type of crazy,
you get the applause,
while the author gets the hissing.
They were dismayed by his actions and writings,
happy and overwhelmed with your knowledge.
The type of crazy,
that we all know,
but don't show.
Better to be quiet, play dumb in disguise,
than to be loud, smart and horrify.
I find the whole thing humorous,
wouldn't you?
Living in a sleepy slumber..
As life passes by..
As one day is another..
eyes shut..
A daily grind of deceitfulness..
Masterminds of manipulation corrodes the air
A sleepwalking corroded mind asleep at the wheel..
The wheel of life is spinning ..
Trapped in yesterday..
A sleeping mind stagnant
As web of lies had spun deliberately..
Matrix of falsehoods had risen..
Awakened by a sleepy slumber..
Where every day is precious ..
Truth is not just spoken..
Truth is shown..
Eyes wide open..
Feeling over the moon with blessings.
A daily grind of gratitude..
Where vibrant colors of the rainbow captivate ones spirit..
With an open heart..
A beautiful mind awakened to the truth..
The wheel of life radiates love..
As the truth shall always set us free..
What colors would my life shine
if we had not moved all the time?
In every home, I felt quite sure
my bedroom walls felt me there;
as eyelids sighting proof I had lived,
they'd hold my poetry in their care.
Then would come the cardboard boxes
that unlike walls, did hold my life's causes.
Past walls of white, yellow, blue and pink
all smeared into my poem’s blood-dried ink.
If one paint coats those who belong,
whose presence is community strong,
whose roots hold, growing ever long,
then such paint has never brushed my song.
I’m a chameleon, reborn with each move,
showing colors only the lonely may choose.
I am one all may lovingly embrace
until I move and they forget my face.
My hometown is painted ‘no place.’
My paint presence does not a reunion rate,
none of my three high schools sent me dates.
I know not the paint of a lifelong friend’s face.
My paint is cardboard box true brown ..
my family moved it from town to town.
I grew up long ago, an adult raised invisible,
shaded with poetry, lifelong indispensable.
One can move paint, even revise it,
but unlike me, not all can improvise it.
Burlap marinated in backwater ponds.
That's what the spirit of truth often dons.
Always forever and mahogany strong...
Untruth, the drunk weaving down a neon road.
A pair of vertical eyes, a million potholes.
Always the deceiver, never yearns to give back.
So much quicker than what you'd expect.
This type of fool fancies chasing the tail of the Asp.
Truth, the cay of salvation circled by sharks
Lone firefly piercing the mask from the dark.
Gilded loom of the humble and homespun heart.
Untruth, supreme seductress of venomous ID.
Vertical eyes hissing for death.
People all over seek fair treatment
nobody likes being treated not fair
we all think it's our absolute due
but even adding an L only adds flair
What's fair to one isn't to everyone
various opinions make it so hard
everyone can't be satisfied no not at all
pushing your view too far may get barred
There's a great need for people to act
with humility, meekness, integrity that's true
to win the argument really doesn't matter
treatment of others is our integral cue
This brings a conviction in your inner soul
that sits peaceful, wholesome and cool
receive servanthood within oneself
then you've found your missing jewel
Deep down all want fairness
be the one to carry it out
go on be the one, do it!
fair is what's it all about!
Million miles away,
Embracing the light of grey,
They may have heard you sniveling,
This sweet misery that we're nibbling,
The rush you're trying to adore,
May bring you back to the shore,
Bend down by constant flagging,
No string to hold for surviving,
But once you sit to realize,
Your blood will turn all ice,
As the wind may trigger you to revive,
"Have you ever been fully alive?"
This chasing and haste was a lie,
We'll end up from where we've arrived,
When you'll leave the world of crime,
You'll be the one beyond time.
My soul, a ripe fruit resembles
Ready to fall from the tree of life
Onto the ground of eternity
Ending thus my existence strife!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
24 August 2022