Best Objectify Poems
In my blooming brokenness,
I seek for a
clue of something meaningful,
but what if nothing of velvety value
ever lies within material items,
frozen in trembling time,
soaked in raining blood roses,
yet holds memories inscribed~
with blushing beams of blueberry glows,
drifting above hushed hills
sitting in the hollow hallways
in hallowed motionlessness.
Is it ironic that a golden mirror
emanates reflections
of more than just my
bronze silhouette?
It weighs heavy with seething secrets,
lost between changing seasons
and deranged emotions,
resigned in rhythmic requiems
of restrained freedom.
I remember the suppressed
sagas of silvery glass,
that stretched beyond my watery iris,
written with russet skin of fallen feathers...
and I whisper to the vermilion wallflowers
within my burgundy room,
of how I found the magical mirror
to my aching soul,
in a retail store, illuminated
by medieval chandeliers,
hanging in Victorian gloominess.
I used to sculpt crystalline chronicles
along the caramel-tinted frames,
that have seen stars of summer fade
into fragile springs,
while autumn arrived,
knocking on my conscience,
to cloak me in sparkling
champagne warmth.
But time is a relentless reminder
of how the garnet moon wanes,
and constellations of
glistening truth crack.
Now the mirror that heard
the unsung songs
beneath my marigold lipstick,
is reluctant to see the unspoken wounds,
leaving me stranded
in an accidental battle
with rhyme-less words,
for all that remains, untamed,
are hopelessly claimed strings
of familiar, once-upon-a-fairytales...
So it refracts, stands, unbothered,
like a forgotten ornament
left under a broken tree,
with weeping leaves and tainted twigs,
without a companion~
wrapped as a pleasant present
ribboned with riddles
of a weathered d r e a m …..
I have no desire to mindlessly
objectify an abandoned object
with mosaic metaphors…
Categories:
objectify, deep,
Form:
Free verse
In a weightless state of tranquility,
paraphrasing relentless thoughts of motion
in my head into words, which 'til now
have laid dormant in unsung verse, waiting
for you to shine brightly upon them.
Freshly painted impressions mark
the beginning of halcyon days, where gulls
hover just above waves that barely
kiss the shoreline, burying tiny toes
beneath the coolness of wet beached sand.
To what shall we compare thee or can
your effulgent beauty be measured
by metered stanzas of verse taking form
on rice paper and egg shells so that the yolk
slips out draining lucent into the earth's core.
Your wisdom surveys the high seas,
coursing through cavernous veins that harbor
quietly in safety channels, as zephyrs
challenge moist underbrush among youthful
lips, blowing innocent kisses in playful semblance.
Oscines sway in sync beneath heaven's domain,
bathing in rays of sweet luminosity,
as sun-drenched fossils rise, reborn,
reclaiming their gaiety to shine unobstructed,
teething along crevasses of incandescence.
Embrace these Sun days, reflecting
on fireside chats and old storybooks,
reciting euphonious tales that burn mellow,
rising to greet the eyes of omnipotence
with chants of celestial song and dance.
And to this place we call rapture,
let wings of sober doctrine reveal
where grace resides within Sol's castle,
waiting for the children to come forth
with clasped hands in joyful unison.
Such days will greet warmth openly,
without hesitation, so the orbiting
star becomes ever more pliant,
allowing whatever name you choose
to objectify it, to stand always...
Bright, within itself.
Categories:
objectify, imagery, introspection, meaningful, sun,
Form:
Free verse
He is a sad man, badly flawed, but hardworking
He believes he is beyond reproach, just like many proud men do
That face does not crack a smile; a sign of 'weakness' it is to him
His poor children starve for the affection of a busy and distant Father
But by now, they've learned to keep warm hugs only for Mother
With the mindset that he was the spindle of his fine home and firm
Delegation of tasks came easy, and was delivered with shouts and expleties
Like a dark cloud he'd hover over his staff as they worked
And with no qualms, he'd claim credit for successes
And no one would stand up to him; no one ever dared
Most important in his life was work; he had no genuine friend
His warped mind assured him that no one was his equal in anyway
At home, he planned the weekly meals and dictated where they'd shop
And when a drink at dinner was accidentally spilled
Unforgiveness ruled the home for days
Toys seized as punishment were never to be seen again
Whether a favorite doll or game, it mattered not; sobs wouldn't break his heart
Clueless was he that in the hours he was away
His submissive family and servants come alive
And during times when he was at home, it had the feel of a tomb
One Friday night he delayed the staff by working extra late
Then when he called down for his car only to find the driver asleep
His rage overtook his senses and he threw the driver out!
In that instant he sat in the driver's seat hurling insults out loud
In blinding rain, and fuming with anger, he took the exit ramp at high speed
He never saw the old, blown-out tire coming at him just ahead
Fate that night made a devastating decision... it was taking back control
In his bedroom today, he lies motionles and sadly, visitors never sit for very long
Though unable to speak, he's gracious to see, the frolicking birds through his tears
At times he stares at the lonely hour glass upon the shelf below the window sill
~*~
2/20/13
For Jeremy's "Objectify Me Free Verse" Contest
Categories:
objectify, imagination, life, work, night,
Form:
Free verse
Looking at flowers, then leaves, I began to wonder about the roots and seeds. Yes, I thought, that's what I learned in Biology, Botany, Biodiversity ... But a brilliant, brainy, breath-takingly beautiful budgerigar whispered to me:
"You are "thought" [taught to think in boxes, as PT says] to objectify Nature from birth, almost. For us critters, the entire plant or tree is one of us, a community where we help, house, and hallow each other. It is all ONE life form, don''t you see. What are leaves but flowers yet to be? What are flowers but leaves modified for reproduction? Are your reproductive organs separate in type and origin than the rest of your body? Don't humans start life as one-and-two cells? Don't you see the seed - small and insignificant, perhaps - carries generations of trees, fruit, food, and shelter in it?"
Categories:
objectify, animal, bird, birth, childhood,
Form:
Alliteration
Sitting on my front step,
A black mental box awaits me.
Chills run up and down my spine,
Disturbing feelings whirls within.
Ridiculous, it's simply a child's doll
Passed down from a distant relative,
Whom I've never seen.
Taking it out of its coffin like box,
I display it on my overstuffed chair.
Its blue piercing eyes look much to real,
As if it has a will of its own.
With great fear, I put her back in its box,
Tying it with my spindle twisted threads.
Human hair intertwined with wool
Creates stronger more durable yarn.
This I know.
Night after night the doll haunts me in my dreams-
The infinite hour glass evokes my past self.
The doll points to the hour glass and speaks,
"Thy sands are running, thy doom is fixed."
Afraid to the point of mental exhaustion,
I bury the doll in the middle of the night.
Deep down in the ground where her soul belongs.
In the morning the doll sits full of dirt
on my front step once again.
A scream is heard.
For Jeremy Martin's contest, "Objectify Me "
Categories:
objectify, dream, me,
Form:
Free verse
Contemplating on my brevity,
I find sincerity in my integrity-
I’m a visionary with a muse so deep
I write with intensity.
Reflections and introspections
bring alleviation and deliberation-
My sedative is to be meditative,
as I get lost in thought and
concentration.
Introversion and deep illusion
bring me no concrete conclusion-
When I objectify and rectify
all I see is this delusion.
Inside I hide,
and outside I confide-
But when caught in
between realities,
I truly coincide.
Self-examination on my creation,
brings thoughts of intimidation-
But the bigger picture’s explanation,
gives light to this strange fascination.
I think I may try to live
another day of grace,
but you can tell I’m weak
from the lines upon my face.
I wonder if my depth is
deep enough to survive,
but I’m shallow and hallow,
for I cannot stay alive.
May 14, 2017
Categories:
objectify, introspection, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Lord Denis Healey was an intellectual Labour MP,
Who represented Leeds in the Commons for 40 years,
From 1952 until 1992,
When he could at last objectify as a Lord his real tears.
He was a Beach Master hero in World War Two,
But his bravery continued in his post-war politics,
When he advised other politicians on how Britain could,
Live within her means to become again productive, good.
He was then Secretary of State for Defence,
Between 1964 and 1970,
When the Cold War so frightened and intimidated the many,
Who just wanted their war victory respected in reverence.
When he became the Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1976,
He demanded an emergency loan from the IMF,
To save the pound from decline and most certain collapse,
When Britain was fast approaching that Winter of Discontent, lapse.
However, after that Labour did not see power until 1997,
But Healey became the Deputy Labour leader in 1980;
And for most of the 80s he was Shadow Foreign Secretary,
And was slow at Falkland Island assault and battery.
He was normally on the right of the Labour party,
A patriot who championed social justice,
Who guided us through some very dangerous times,
Where the country’s growing pains were his signs.
He’s the last surviving member of the cabinet,
Of Harold Willson’s government in 1964,
But when he graduated from Balliol Oxford in Greats,
Him and the Communist Party were pally mates.
He had a love of classical music,
But was enthused and besotted by poetry;
Shakespeare and Wordsworth were his philosophers,
And Blake and Butler Yeats he always did glorify.
Denis Healey died aged 98 at his home in Surrey on the 3rd of October 2015
Categories:
objectify, death, eulogy, history, leadership,
Form:
Elegy
***********
has to be
the ep-i-to-me
girls did not dream to be **** stars
girls dreamed to be teachers and lawyers
why o why
i ask you
does ***********
come and objectify
the bodies and minds
of so many
heartsouls
and do we not ask why
o why
do women and men have to lie
with each other
in the employ of pay
so that other lonely souls
can find a way to release
the stress
the barbaric system
that is capitalist
profit-driven
mad, insane world
unquestioned
by far too many
when real world is possible
when unity is possible
when one day we can turn ***********
into love
let us turn *********** into love
and understand
the word love
and make sex about love
about love
about love.
Categories:
objectify, psychological, sexy,
Form:
Free verse
Am I No Longer Desirable to You? By Robert Denton (November 2014)
Am I no longer desirable to you?
I don't even desire myself.
Angered by bodily dilapidation
That has nothing to do with aging.
I don't even desire myself
The way I am broken.
That has nothing to do with aging.
Immeasurable frustration and incessant reminders.
The way I am broken
Slithers like evil incarnate, trapped by
Immeasurable frustration and incessant reminders.
So I am left alone in a void.
Slithers like evil incarnate, trapped by
Social restrictions on love
So I am left alone in a void.
Where even masturbation is elusive.
Social restrictions on love
Only dehumanize and objectify.
Where even masturbation is elusive
So the lonely must die.
Only dehumanize and objectify
When you are a deceiver.
So the lonely must die
Having been tortured and whipped.
When you are a deceiver
You exploit the misery of others.
Having been tortured and whipped
You control the mainstream media.
You exploit the misery of others
Trying to avoid the grip of accountability.
You control the mainstream media
Like some kind of psychopathic demon.
Trying to avoid the grip of accountability
Only serves to alienate and damage,
Like some kind of psychopathic demon.
Am I no longer desirable to you?
Categories:
objectify, body, loneliness,
Form:
Pantoum
Spindle time as sowing illusions
Drowning in a sea of images
The measures that raise life seconds
Human is the animate doll who conquered the presence
Life from the past back to the present
From the present for the future
Turnover outlined by destiny
Like an hourglass that acts as a reciprocal measure of the time
The limitations are things of beauty
When the end of a round will be on relief
As the satisfied thirst
As the favor of all the sacrifices
Life in all parts come with the name of love
A form that presents a mirage
A perfect fundamental when you touch
It was part of a mortal but drunk when you shed
Small leaps present the flowers of aesthetic
A conclusion atop of provisions that you can reaped
I will not give up in any of those circumstances
My life is still in the front line of this battlefield
**************************************************************
Honorable mention
Objectify me
Sponsor Jeremy Martin
Categories:
objectify, inspirational, life, life,
Form:
Free verse
So tell me what gives you the sense that it’s right
when you see a female that delights your eye
to move in, and take the opportunity do some creepy touching
to touch inappropriately and the plead it was meant innocently
tell me what gives you the right too think that’s OK.
I admire the female beauty, their style, their elegance, their grace
but too put unwanted moves on them is nothing more than a disgrace
and too take that further and to use any power
to force yourself on them, brings shame to all men,
i admire and adore the female form, but I am respectful as should be the norm
and too think that trying to charm your way in and somehow get under their skin
using techniques that are disrespectful and shady
always treat women as proper ladies, don’t just look too objectify
see them as another conquest to be aspired too
don’t you understand they have intelligence, wit and feelings too,
do you not ever see the potential they may have
for being more that someone you can boast that you had
most women are more qualified
but men get the jobs because of the old school tie
and tradition is the biggest problem of all
it sees misogyny as acceptable
and this is one of the greatest troubles
the idea of that’s how it’s always been
is not acceptable as a human being
to see others simply as objects
something to be seen as simply useful for sex
we need to be much higher morally than this
ethically it is nothing more than taking the piss
so be the difference, be strong and brave
and act in a far more respectful way
and show them your ability too be impeccably behaved
and maybe in the future all men will change
and this world will be a more equal and far better place.
Categories:
objectify, appreciation, for her, strength,
Form:
Free verse
It's a guy who grew up with good morals
People with the purest of souls
Raised to excel and exceed
Born to treat
Attentive and sensitive
They spent minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years
Time without boundaries
Listening to the problems and fears
Of the males but especially the females near
'cause those girls needed someone to listen to them
Someone to vent to, really
And yeah, sometimes it made the nice guy feel special
It feels good to be needed by someone you love
Or someone you can love
But the stars of fate and destiny above
Don't always align
Not for this type
And while the womenfolk prance and dance with their hairless monkey
They're mistreated, used, abused, consumed and refused
And the shes rush to the nice hes for that undying comfort
But the latter are getting restless
Their looks are ordinary, so how do they compete
With tall dark and handsome
When they're short, pale and human?
This guy's not a cheat
He's patient and his anger is merciful
He won't take advantage of womenfolk so vulnerable
Won't resort to objectify
But they're lumped with the jerks and shirts and together are vilified
So what does the nice guy do?
Contemplate.
He'll meditate
and say "hey,
Why are all my friendships one-sided?"
His empathy and reliable nature can't be appreciated
So it needs to be asphyxiated
Cut free, act differently
Take on a job, a car, a tattoo, a gym, an instrument
Designer clothes, cigarettes, cigars,
All what was feared and all that is sheer
********
Like a hundred dollar bill, given so much value
But simply a sensitive cheap piece of paper
Easily ripped and quickly gypped
And he leaves his morality
Cuts his vocabulary
4 word sentences, 3 syllabus max per word
To get out of nice guy playground and friend zone
But that's really just accepting the parasite
Letting it infect you
Taking your views to the termites
Yeah, you might get tail
Or you may completely fail
Though will you really let selfishness > goodness?
No,
I won't
Not on the long run, at least.
Just this one time.
...
Categories:
objectify, depression, nice, nice,
Form:
Free verse
Spindled Mettle
Hour upon hour she sits thoughtfully absorbed
spinning attentively conception’s fibers
while creating new textures within her mind…
As grain, by grain of living sand, erodes the weaves
exposing gently or tearing the woven seams…
following the hourglass count to maturing age
Set aside are the frivolous dolls of youthful cloths
as situations lead to realities bolder textiles…
some strands chosen, others forced upon life’s spindle
Her mettle*, though moved by spindled occurrences,
is worn quietly with the era of wisdoms’ mantle
as intertwined events live within her fabric structure
Written by: Debra Squyres 2/19/13
For: “Objectify Me”
*mettle: spirited determination, mental and emotional character unique to an individual person
Categories:
objectify, growing up, introspection, life,
Form:
Free verse
I am beyond reason-
NO! I am at odds with reason
This unjustifiable act I deplore
Posing as righteous when in fact despicable
This thing which misconstrues that which is at its core
Burns and buries emotions
Makes suspect of all one once adored
Depleting credible relationships to useless parody
To associations that truly mean nothing to anyone, anymore
This posture of reason I detest
Flung about to objectify and belittle
To separate and strengthen lines of protest
To make the less priviledged be further ridiculed
Has one no heart?
No compassion?
No sense to be-
Beyond the constraints of social platters
All of which are matters that now mean nothing to me
For I have seen and in seeing have seen through
No longer shall I be reasoned with
No longer shall I be posed as the fool
For my heart and spirit are rich
Gorging on affairs that enrich
That bring one closer to the basis of their existence
That allows one to be rather than feel insufficent
The defect lies not in the feeling
But completely and purposefully in its reasoning
So I am at odds, bare strict contention with such beings
Such anomolies confused as dignities!
Categories:
objectify, people, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Momentarily
by Odin Roark
How elusive the quest
To place oneself in sync
Wavelength to wavelength
Response to reply
So many agendas beg ignoring
Those places where integrity remains suspect
Where job
Marriage
Relationships
Friends
Acquaintances
Eye contact
Undeserved pleasures
Even fantasized harmony
Portending confirmation of truth
Are often merely layered fears
Forged in distrust
For lest we forget
No one promised answers
Even as schemas know no boundaries
The road signs always offering direction
To the many of want
Facilitating few of need
They nevertheless remain available
Such goes this phenomenon of plans
Diagramable life
Representation of what might be
But rarely is
What is intrinsically longed for
Yet seemingly uncatchable
Like forever morphing mercury
Still
So desperate are most
Clutching to random connection
Often without reason
That attention from others
Is embraced as self-realization
Perhaps a venture off the beaten path
A bushwhack through the untrammeled past
Might beg consideration
Where revisiting the child within
Will remind how infant outbursts
Conveyed rudimentary logic
When diaper rash urgency
Void of language
Save scream and cry
Defined simple organics
A voicing in search of form
So easy to ignore this
Time’s simplistic message
Reaching back toward the dawn of man
When primitive bone and stone
Drummed the truth of need
Food
Shelter
Cover
When duplicity hadn’t been invented
When progress was preserved by raw instinct
Today
Actuality is in questioned focus
Our civilized regression
This guised-in-furtherance flight
Toward make-believe escape
Has jettisoned logic into the abyss of ignorance
Manipulating instead today’s lie of norm
Into modern truth
The hunt will continue
Beneath self-created imprisonment
To find that somewhere yet to objectify itself
That place where slumbers intrinsic reasoning
Kept safe by nature’s heartbeat
Requires nothing but simple acceptance
Of that known simply as
Ever available
Truth
Searching minds continue
Trusting consciousness will prevail
Even allowing occasional laughter
Along the path where delusions entertain…
Momentarily
Categories:
objectify, truth, integrity,
Form:
Free verse