Best Mold Poems
break me -- reform the old
prepare this vessel to receive
the dew of your love
David Meade
11/16/2014
Live Generously
that day my smile
sucked you in,
to places where things
crawl because they are too tall to walk
and yet you stood up,
you stood out
not twisted,
like you always belonged
like that space was carved with you in mind
the mold that fits
the one thing that change form
and yet it stays the same
the comfort
the easiness
pure joy
from that day
it still remains a mystery
whose plot it was to make
me smile
who wanted us to meet
it can never be this easy
to like something so quickly
to feel like you've come home
even though you never left
still feeling that day
still feel you standing tall
as if the mold was made for you...
12/05/2011
There is a woodpile in my in-laws’ cellar, and some coal, but other rumored things also.
And it has been there a long time since anyone tripped down these broken concrete steps.
Maybe twenty or thirty years; we inherited this home a long time ago.
We have sold it four times on contract,
which has fallen through again.
My husband is not here,
He cannot take it.
But I can, so I take a couple of steps,
Until I get within a foot, when I stop dead as
I can smell the mold through the three-inch door.
The rumor is that there are treasures down there.
I do not know. We were never allowed near this cellar door.
Now I am sixty-six, so technically old enough to go down into this cobwebby den,
But I can smell the mold through the door.
So I back up and rest in an old lawn chair, left by one of the people who thought they
were buying the house before they decided to desert it.
I can still smell the mold, so I back up a bit further, the sun on my face, my feet leaning against a gentle lavender clover.
I am terrified of mold, as I am an asthmatic, and mold could trigger some awfulness in me.
So here I sit, staring as others wander in and out, poking among dusty things
That are disintegrating as they are being brought out into the sun.
Other relatives are coughing; trying to breathe as they haul green and brown stuff out,
Most indistinguishable as real things at first or second glance.
Most needing a power washing, that would completely decimate it.
Maybe she had the right idea, one says, pointing at me, as I lie here, soaking
Up the sun rays. I take off my shoes and push my toes into the clover.
Then I turn my face up, letting the sun hit my nose.
Are you kidding? A teenager yells. This treasure hunt is great!
She runs back down the steps to haul out more loot that her prissy mother
Will never let her take in the car, let alone in the house.
I know because I am prissy girl’s mother.
So here I sit, in a falling-apart green lawn chair, watching the show.
Thinking how my mother-in-law is probably up in heaven laughing, as she too
Smells the mold through that cellar door.
Rain falling with all it's
Patterns bestowed
Watching ground targets
Seeds calling
Root pouting coves
Stretching limbs in weakness
Meeting beginnings
Steepness
Peeking trough
Descriptive stories told
black circles
mold spores on prison walls...
spreading day by day!
For Charles Henderson's "Haiku your way" Contest
Mold Me, Paint Me But, Inside, I Am Still Clay
God in His infinite wisdom and design
shaped man’s body out of His newly made clay,
and man as His crowning design and achievement
was created on His 6th day.
These bodies were originally made
to last us for an eternity,
but then sin came into being and His time clock started ticking
and running out for you and for me.
Oh sure, we can sculpt and mold and exercise these containers of ours
all we want but, inside we are still clay,
and even though we will die and be buried
He will resurrect them again on Judgment Day.
We can dress them and paint them and clean them up
to look like a beautiful porcelain doll,
but because of our sinful nature in them
we can set ourselves up for a great big fall.
Consider for yourselves my meaning here
and listen with an attentive ear,
these bodies of ours were made to hold Him until we take our last breath
and when we see Him all will be made totally clear.
How many of us have looked into our mirrors
only to have been dismayed by what we see,
but then again that image is so deceitful for contained in that vessel
is what will matter for all eternity.
Just as the day man was created and before receiving God’s breath
he lay there as a cold, hard, piece of lifeless clay,
yet things have not changed for today the same is true
man needs His breath in him yes even in these modern times or days.
Clay to clay and dust to dust
we came from it and one day our body will be that again,
but, where we will spend our eternity
still by our will it wholly depends.
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings - March 30, 2014
Clay mold
matters not humidity
Skin taut
worries not frigidity
Sky grays
in a mood morbidity
Drops fall
on my skin's rigidity
Softens now
arms and legs begin to crack
Eyes blink
surely there's no turning back
Move me
but please leave my soul intact
De-shelled
left in love to be exact.
Mold me, make me, wake me
and when I'm lost find me,
confined me and shelter me.
Control and protect my path,
lead me only to you and away
from the wrath.
Fill me with dreams of you hide
and eradicate the thoughts
that are not true or of you.
Guide my path and continue to
warm my heart.
Our father, the art of heaven,
the significant thoughts of my
life and the true reason I write.
Mold me, make me and when
I fall asleep please wake me.
Copyright Andrew Vassell 2012
So Morality is guided by a compass
Who engineers that compass
Does my true north bears south and my east to west
can we see beyond the basic conduction of a decision
as a compass is only as strong as the material it is built with.
Actions are based on philosophies
philosophies dictate principals
A Principals weak point is dogma
A principal is only valid at the time of conception
What factors have changed
What factors have not changed
Why does the love affair between hypocrite and principal melt so deep
Logic is my pathway to righteousness
righteousness and morality should then stand on the same pillar of strenght
Why then are they so far apart
What is this fallacy
To connect the dots of another mans soul
why cant they connect to mine
All I want is a relation
Yet my logic does not convince
Blame goes to the synapse
the pathway created by the mold I was poured into
The hand that was never there.
Creating righteousness that could not be challenged
Where do I go to be to transformed
I am screaming to spill over my mold
Yet limits are dictated
Do i not get a say
Any result will be an unsuccessful grapple.
Nobody can make a gelatin mold with fresh pineapple.
If there are any attempts, you are in for a bad time.
This is because the fruit has a proteolytic enzyme.
If this were a game, you would be drawing the wrong card.
Fresh pineapple will never allow the gelatin to get hard.
However, success can be conveniently in hand.
You must use the fruit from the store that is canned.
Yes, this is a fact requiring realization.
The enzyme is denatured by heat sterilization.
She drove me into madness and a hollowing despair,
Meddling with concern with the greatest amount of flair,
Probing a life of personal choices that is only mine to know,
Crushing my spirit into her mold and refusing to let me go.
She never makes a stand for others if their could be cost to her,
Leading a life to please the people without creating any stir,
I can not fit that shape she wants my unique and brazen soul to be,
Instead I live in her requested silence and eternal misery.
Where the eyes lost their sparkles
Through the prairies-shadow lie,
What is South Dakota
A collective of arrowheads,
Deers, or buffaloes' dried skin?
Is the great Sioux chief sleeping?....
Or watching us
With his racy soul?...
Or is he in the peaks
Tripping through the sky as a pine?...
Or in the front of the dangerous trail?
Or his pipe is still filled of ashes,
where the smoke gleaming cold like bubbles?
Or with the elegance of a horsemaster
Letting the wind to take all legendary away?
Not the uncertain is certain,
Long stream and grass-laden,
Nor the mourn shall cry with us --
against the Sitting rock
Of a legend --
the unseen Holy man
Watching the blooms
Of Paha-Sapa!
Where the eyes lost their sparkles
Through the prairies-shadow lie,
What is South Dakota
A collective of arrowheads,
Deers, or buffaloes' dried skin?
Is the great Sioux chief sleeping?....
Or watching us
With his racy soul?...
Or is he in the peaks
Tripping through the sky as a pine?...
Or in the front of the dangerous trail?
Or his pipe is still filled of ashes,
where the smoke gleaming cold like bubbles?
Or with the elegance of a horsemaster
Letting the wind to take all legendary away?
Not the uncertain is certain,
Long stream and grass-laden,
Nor the mourn shall cry with us --
against the Sitting rock
Of a legend --
the unseen Holy man
Watching the blooms
Of Paha-Sapa!
Rainy days are fun, except for me who catches a cold,
Rainy days are winter's best friends, they fit like a mold,
Droplets in rhythm, I long for a flood,
I get a shower,but end up in a fold.
Take me as I am, my love,
And make me what you will,
For I am but a clay to mold,
To shape with your sweet skill.
I offer you my heart and soul,
To cherish and to hold,
To take me to the highest peak,
And make me feel so bold.
Wrap me in your tender arms,
And let our spirits soar,
Together we will reach new heights,
That we've never known before.
Our twin flames burning bright,
With a love that's pure and true,
A bond that's meant to last a lifetime,
A connection like no other, just me and you.
So take me as I am, my love,
And make me your own,
For with you by my side,
I know I'll never be alone.
Our love will grow and flourish,
As we journey through this life,
Side by side, hand in hand,
Through all its joy and strife.
So let us embrace this moment,
And make it ours to keep,
For with you, my twin flame,
I know my heart will always leap.
Mold me, into something I have never been
Make me, take me change me into a Ten
Forever I have been sheltered, I am my own outcast
Until you mold me into the weathers forcast
Living a lie beneath the sky
Until you mold me to that eagle up high
I want to seek happiness something I have never known
But I cant until you mold me into something thats not alone
Mold me, make me, take me, change me
I want to be like him, or him, can't you see
They are all happy with beautiful wives
But I cant until you mold me and change my life
I'll never be me, I've been molded to much
To much that molding is out of touch
Now I'm learning to just be me
No molds, nothing fake, the way it should be
I can do it on my own
seek happiness without being alone
I will find love, a reason to be me
No molds, no change. Forever you will see
I am who I am
thats what it will always be