Best Personas Poems
Love maker,
Body taker Love shaker,
Hot whisper,
Peppermint & jasmine in air
Tickling every body hair,
Reverberating into the Queen's chamber,
A tiger's den teething to be,
Safety in no layer, romance the pillar of this prayer,
Our auras igniting flower vases ablaze
To compliment our shadows,
Personas fevered with juiced up joy,
We both played Aces,
Mine the Spade her's the Diamond,
Together we make an Ace of Heart's place,
Caprice keeping hold of Club's Ace,
She exhales stars from a mouth murmuring for moments of senseless beauty,
Purring for pleasure painted with a kiss,
Illuminating my frame with pixied permission
Unharnessed we are, as spontaneity seduces strategy,
Craving the next second like atoms in a spin for sin,
Feeling each other in ways undefined
Unrefined, simply, lustfully,
Loyal to needs supernatural,
Gifted in gritty game,
Rubbing her rose with fingertips of cool flame,
Giving her the wand that was once only mine,
As lovers now, belonging to Poetry's promise,
Complete partners, reunited treasures -
J.A.B.
Bewildering static
frames the soulless—
restlessly habitual, as
crippled philosophies efflux
amidst stunted swells,
cracked and parched
despite ocean whorls that
coat wayward sentiments, of
grave quagmires rippling in
steady streams,
paradoxically cornered into a
vortex of intoxicating drifters.
Rather, the moon guides my way
amidst lulling meres,
soothing the storms
raging within perplexed
personas, sailing towards a
dawning of lucid seascapes—
home to you, my ocean blue.
What’s left behind is the fragrance of the lilac
Crushed between forlorn fingers
Petals held in contorted hands
Once lust rendered dust the terrain shall cover
Fierceness is abandoned forgiveness is given
To whom does this come, whom shall it deem
As father time allots and consumes
Pro tem I am, pro tem I am
an irrepressibly creative force
Manifesting myself
by channeling a myriad of diverse
and inexplicably bold personas
struggling to leave resonance in my wake
to whom does this come
this legacy that lives on~
is what I shall be
The body electric; it moves about
On fire from a heart that has exploded.
Suspicion of me; eyes on me. I didn’t do it!
I merely sat idly by while they killed themselves
With drink.
I have a drink, and perhaps I shall
Have another, and the humanity of
The world will reflect in my glassy,
Blood-shot eyes.
I had a last hope but I gave it up,
And I am in pieces on the floor like
A mismatched puzzle; you can’t put
Me back together because none of
My pieces fit.
Whore, you dirty, exhausted mess; you are
Me in the mirror. That’s me, right? In this
Skin suit? In this foreign body?
The air is poisoned, and I can’t recognize
Anyone anymore. God has sent us plague
And fear of touch.
Diamond eyes, blue as the salt sea linger upon
My swollen flesh. Whose eyes? Lo! They
Are mine. They have always been mine!
I haven’t cried for you in a decade, but here
I am wearing your topaz ring,
And I can barely feel it there.
I am no prophet, yet I predict that I shall fail
At any sort of love other than yours.
I’m brave now because I took a pill, crushed
It between my fingertips and allowed the
Powder to travel through the cavity of which
My very breath emits.
My pupils are like the tips of a ballpoint pen,
My brain is swimming in luscious grandeur,
And it overwhelms me in a fantastic way.
Which one is the real me out of these
Two personas? Dry or full of the nectar
I’ve just consumed?
Whichever it is I am tired of me.
Scars, scars everywhere; so jagged
And never subjected to the fading
That stitches would’ve provided them.
I taped myself up like a doll that had
Been torn apart. I feared to remove the
Tape, lest I look upon the gaping wounds
And white muscle beneath.
Do not fear me. Beware.
Secretive woman,
no longer shy girl,
hidden within,
the layers of a book.
slowly turn the pages,
take it all in,
the pictures don't always tell the story.
the words,
fill in the missing spaces.
write your own lines;
when you reach the end,
add to, improve, gently.
don't try to change the story,
its written in a fabric stronger then stone;
continue the story,
with new characters,
interweiving personas.
once shy girl,
turned to secritive woman,
blooming in her beauty.
confusion slips into our beds
games the minds of gentle heads
twists familiars to never-beens
personas dark mask every scene
far away from hearth and home
on echoes' endless shouts I roam
in vain retrieve my former life
confusion wakes ~ a butcher knife
Bonita.
Que?
Es bonita. La agua...
Ho, si. Es muy bonita. Como tu.
Eres loco... Quieres nadar?
Ahorita? Hace frio!
No hace frio... no mucho...
Si, hace frio. En el verano,
Entonces podemos nadar.
Ho... ok. Que piensas?
Nada. En ti. Y tu? Que piensas?
Mm... que eres un buen amigo.
Y... que amor es malo.
Por que dices eso?
Que?
Por que dices que
Amor es malo?
Es la verdad.
Amor es bueno.
Mentiroso.
Por que?
Amor es malo. Ya lo se.
No, es bueno. Es perfecto.
Como puedes decir eso?
Dios. Porque Dios es bueno,
Y Dios es amor...
La problema es con las personas.
A veces las personas son malos...
Pero amor es bueno.
Pienso que eres bueno.
Enserio?
Si. Claro que si.
Y amor? Amor es bueno?
Ahorita, no se...
Pero... talvez.
El amor a primera vista
No se define con los ojos.
Se define con la química inexplicable
Que toma control instantáneo
Sobre dos personas sin conocerse.
Ya sea física oh virtualmente,
Esta emoción envuelve los sentidos de los individuos
Obstruyendo la razón y en forzando determinación
Para ir contra viento y marea
Con tal de poder llegar a conocerse.
Los ojos son el portal,
Atreves de ellos comienza la atracción.
Pero en caso de un ciego, ¿que?
Para poder sentir el aura y buenas energías
Tan solo necesitamos estar vivos.
El amor a primera vista no es amor.
Es un cariño puro que brota de dos.
El comienzo de algo grande
Y la oportunidad de poder conocer,
Nacer, crecer y vivir una gran historia de amor.
I cause one's self confidence to crumble away
Like a worn-down building left to decay
I infect the minds of the old and young
Trapping them in the isolated web I've strung
I force others to believe they aren't good enough
They must be tall, skinny, beautiful or buff
My name is body image
I am seen throughout education, employment, and social rights
Taking expectations to soaring heights
I make women assume that it's acceptable to be used as objects
Or men must be strong and can't ever cry in any prospect
I don't allow genders to be reassigned
You must be your birth gender defined
My name is gender roles and discrimination
I can cause impressions with just one glance
individual expression isn't given a chance
I create the illusion that one race defines all
Fabricating personas big or small
I seem to compel others to act
Solely based on a skin color abstract
My name is racial socialization
I am needed to have success
Until one obtains me they'll never rest
I drive individuals into the ground
Instruments of money don't make a sound
If money is power
Where is my crown?
My name is money obsession
Together
We are called society
The story of your life
Is just the same as mine
We may be born in different dates
Different strokes we draw in line
Different hues and colors we paint
Persons of strange worlds mates
Personas not molded as saint
But blooms and ends in a story
on the same road of life's fates.
As black birds, bad luck shadows us,
For we have many personas like trickster
Or ill-omened out caster, cast away
No matter how our broken speech sounds.
Our mere presence spark uncomfortable discourse.
How many chances can they take with our lives?
I’m cursed, within this unnoticeable room,
Where my only odds are fight or flight.
Except, my wings have been clipped, so it’s pointless.
Still, I’m dubbed as the freedom fighter,
And yet, I remain locked in a steel cage.
My sanity splits into delirium.
Fear burrow ever deeper into my fragile soul.
Anger begins to throb inside my once gentle heart,
When the sadness starts clawing at the darkened pupils.
All the while, the hunger instills its own painful symptom.
So, I peck, I claw, I snap at the lock,
While screeching the dialect, everyone forgot.
As one of them, I am voiceless.
A handful of grain is tossed in, with little care.
Above, the water rains down from the silver jug.
This occurred, till one hand unlocked it.
I struck her— blood had trickled down.
I clawed— I struggled for the sweet scent of freedom.
I hopped—I hopped from that oppressing cage.
Willingly, I followed her out of the devil’s domain…
Never to return.
People say they care when they don't really care at all,
But it sounds good and by saying so, they don't feel as small.
People tend to say what will serve themselves the best,
Hoping they won't be called upon to prove by any test.
People like to say lots of stuff they don't really mean,
They're simply performing so with favour they'll be seen.
To keep up appearances they make sure they appear
Like they are wonderful and caring as well as sincere.
Oh, all the fake personas out there, especially on the 'Net,
Who profess they Love and care, and you, they never will forget,
But as soon as your presence isn't as much as it used to be,
They'll forget you exist along with what they claimed emphatically.
Real is real. Truth is truth. Both are constant and consistent,
And so this goes with people, true friendship is persistent.
Fair weather friends shine on sunny days when there's no rain,
But true friends keep shining through in storminess and pain.
The 'Net is like a jungle, tough to get through,
All so overgrown, at times, treacherous too,
But ever so often we are blessed to find
A flower in the thicket of the rarest kind.
This flower we can add to the garden in our heart,
Knowing its beauty will remain, always be a part,
Of who we are today and in all our days ahead,
Always adding beauty uniquely in our flower bed.
Then, as for those who are plastic and pretend,
They matter not as a fair weather friend.
Only those who shine when our skies are grey
Are the flowers we must cherish each and every day.
Their presence may be obscured when from our eyes we see,
But their fragrance and their beauty in our heart will always be.
A Jungle Flower is a treasure, indeed, a miracle to find
Amongst the jungle of the 'Net so often fake and unkind.
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2015-08-17 01:15:00 (EDT)
All rights reserved.
Kissed by the rebel mouth of Dionysus
set tight against their fulsome lips;
lapped into shapes by intoxicant tongues,
arms fused in a chain of swaying hips.
Tiptoe this sisterhood of Athena,
this trio in bright synchrony;
blown back on Acropolis stilettos,
risen skirts above the stockinged knee.
Aphrodite waged love at closest quarters,
hair and smiles in abandonment;
cocked ears unto the night owl's dreaming cry,
dancing rings on cracked cement.
And in their gentle, giddy transit
do these Three graces reincarnate;
resurrected in neon and nicotine apparel,
a vodka cocktail triumvirate.
With clicks of glitzy, glittery nails,
Beauty, Love and Pleasure burn the midnight oil;
the winds of Olympus ply their skin,
bled as one with each other on urban soil.
A graffiti collision of sensual ephemera
sprayed on a backdrop of brick and grime,
Three graces raised up by the ancient gods
from the mists and depths of mythic time.
Oh to see the marriage of their personas
bared in a nocturne, driven weeping,
only one lone gaze imbibes the miracle
for the world and his wife lie blind and sleeping...
When the mind with numbers grappled
The heart with thoughts dabbled
When the eyes on the ledgers are fixed
The soul with different hues mixed
To keep the different personas
From trespassing I strive hard
When one dominates the other
The other retards
The heart disobeys the mind
The mind reproves the heart
The tug of war continues
The form bearing the wrath
At last the form too rebels
Expressing in its own way
This story is not new
Has spared only a few
Some say follow the mind
Some say follow the heart
But is not the mind incomplete
Without the company of the heart
One signifies necessity
The other desire
To strike a balance between the two
Lies the success of the affair
I'm singular.
I'm night-driving.
With vibrant hum
of standard speed.
I'm glowing of dashboard.
Utterances of am talk
alien abductees and remote viewing.
Barely diverts my musing.
I night-drive
periodically.
A rite of wanting
Control, of the wheel.
Arm out window
night air cooling me.
Headlight on blacktop.
A yellow metronome.
This nights topic , I'm.
A question proposed,
by a small man in robes.
I started the list:
I'm a modern Tom Sawyer
an ebb-and-flow.
I'm this psycho-manic jester.
Dharma junkie, with subjects.
I'm Charlie Brown on acid
but who love the dog.
I'm a skin head hippie.
A guy with no wrist watch.
I'm a independent film critic
speaks religiously of Fight Club.
I'm these and other clever observation.
I stopped at a neon diner for tools of thought:
Coffee, pen, paper, and consumers of isolation.
Filling a page of I'm
looking for a singular
a true answer.
Just finding personas
and learned traits.
It came to me this I'm.
While leaving the tip.
In my wallet a picture of my children
looking full of me.