Best Reattach Poems
What do you want me to write?
I think I will write about faith
What is faith?
Is it something you can see
can grab, can hang onto?
Yes, yes, and yes
You can see in someone though not visually, with your spirit eyes
You can feel in someone though not spoken
You can attach and reattach
You can detach and be attacked
Either way it works for you and not against you
It lifts you out of the bound and sets you on a firmer ground
It heals your senses, body, and anything it touches
It removes doubt, fear, oppression, and things not called for
It calls into being what is not spoken
It determines our fate through words that are spoken
It affirms our senses, values, ownership through its grandeur
It moves mountains, blockage, obstruction
It brings one to one's knees in a moment of desperation, brokenness
It catapults one to one's spiritual height
It remains with one through one's deepest sorrows
What can it do?
It can do a lot
Whatever one wants it to do, it will do
Because He will do
Because faith is God
And God is faith
Can't separate one from another
God meant for us to have faith
And have faith plenty
Have faith in everything
Because "faith is the assurance of things hoped for
the conviction of things not seen" (Hebrews 11-1)
"And without faith, it is impossible to please God" (Hebrews 11:6)
"For we walk by faith, not by sight" (2 Corinthians 5:7)
Because we need to "fight the good fight of faith" (1 Timothy 6:12)
Because faith is a gift
There is one constant in this world, it’s all around for us to see.
It can show you each one of your failures, or a future that will never be.
Every aspect will be affected, sometimes good and sometimes bad.
This constant will always remind us of a life that we once had.
How long can any of us suffer, how many tears can we cry?
Will heartstrings reattach, should we even really try?
Can one moment full of passion ever fix the price of light?
Is true love worth the exit, or will it just fade into the night?
To have love unbridled with loss, is like a cloud absent of rain.
You can’t have one without the other, and the cost is always pain.
Is it better to have loved and lost if it rips your world apart?
If your quest is for the truth, then just ask a broken heart.
Inner Conflict Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
8/19/22
As time flies by
My eyes hurt from
staring at the light.
Where can I go?
What do I do?
I can't escape,
I'm trapped in this
small little box.
No way out.
No doors, No holes.
Nothing.
No one trying to
help me out.
No one trying to
break down these
walls.
Except for one
person.
That person being
her.
She tries to rip down
the walls.
She tries to pull me
out.
But the walls reattach
themselves.
She's the only one
trying.
No one else.
Now for you my hidden
crush.
You will never try as
much as she does.
So stop trying to
succeed.
Cause you will never
get me.
Now all I hear is the
irking noises from
my brothers.
The bickering from my
mother.
All these noises.
Its driving me crazy.
My father,
no longer my father.
More of a sperm donor.
Though I wish I came out
with his eyes.
I wish I came out with
his long, tight, curly hair.
When he was supposed to
be in my life,
he went off and married
a wife.
But his wife is more of a
father.
My father and my
connection,
there is no connection.
My stepmother and my
connection,
is beautiful.
So why can't my father
be the father he is
supposed to be?
My tight little box is
collapsing on top of me.
I can no longer gasp for
air.
Cause there is no air for me
to gasp from.
I can't breathe no more.
So just going to lay here
and die.
In my small little box.
Fabric of the universe,
has weaved all within it's nature
upon looms from spindles,spinning wheels
beginning with a single thread........
Connecting all in purposeful suit
appropriate uniformity
serving one,to serve the all
the whole now luminosity.....
Somehow...the thread becometh loosen
and pulled unraveling many,
like spinning tops in chaotic spin
disorder now a plenty....
Must reattach our common thread
and rid the hatred violent dread
swathing patchwork fabric mend
bring everlasting peace to head.......
I've attempted to dissect “graveyard” as a compound,
Not in the back, nor in the front, nowhere to be found.
I delved into deep and hard,
Without doubt it’s not a yard!
For nomenclature I'd rename it as a “graveground”.
Given yet another thorough thought to this remark,
“Graveground” as parallel to joyful “playground” sounds dark,
My deep delving disregard,
Reattach “grave” back to “yard” -
For nomenclature we rename “playground” to “playpark”.
February 20, 2023
Sponsor: Constance La France
Contest: Graveyard
I've got these deviant flip flops
Cheaply made, I will admit
But they're masters of torture
Though you may not give a sh_t
The right's thong attachment
Comes loose with every step
I've tripped so far 8 times
I've even had times I wept!
I reattach this toe stud
Every minute, or less, I'm sure
And that's if I'm not too lazy
I should do it far, far more
I,ve pondered pragmatic solution
So far evasive ,it seems, to me
Duct tape (one of God's great wonders!!), glue, nails try horseshoes?
Drivin' me crazy as you can see
So I hung them on the wall
To be my dartboard's new bullseye
And squeal with great delight
Every time that I should hit them
I guess I'm quite a sight!
So is this what my life has come to?
My footwear my arch-enemy?
I suppose, just now, I'm ready once more,
For a psychiatrist's intense therapy.
Trying to remember
How it all goes
Ask, and no one knows
Pointing in every direction
East and west
just more reflection
Inward retreat
from these
external beatings
a slave in a land
of dreams
filled with too
many misdeeds
They say we've
lost our way,
I say the compass
we were given
was pointed
towards metals.
They say we are
animals with bad reputation.
I say reattach our
roots and let us
franchise our fruit.
They say drugs
run rampant
in our communities
but the stamp
upon delivery
commemorated Elvis
when MLK was an
after mention.
The government
has always meddled
in our endeavors
Welfare, warfare of the mind
It used to mess with ones
pride to be given something
without work
Now it's just what "We" do
but whites suffer too
It ain't about erasing
our color but
eradicating our power
they knew that would
keep us down
long after the finger
pointing would end
If we are too educate
ourselves, our
education should
begin with our
own turmoil
No where in our
school system
will they teach this,
instead,
they separate
docile from misfits
I asked for a hall pass
once, instead of
cutting up I found
my way to the library
and in the dustiest
book section
I learned the most
valuable lesson,
knowledge hidden away
holds invaluable truth.
There are so many cures today
There's help for whatever comes your way
There's an almost cure for headaches that linger
Most of the time they can reattach a severed finger
There's transplants for thinning hair
And so called cures for fat are everywhere
Bad eyesight? Get some glasses
Then there's " Beano" for natural gasses
Trade an old joint for one made of plastic
Sounds awful, but it's not that drastic
There's even a cure for a heart shot by Cupid
So, tell me please, why there's no cure for STUPID
Is there a thread that binds and ties,
an artist to his art
Is it thin or thickly woven,
does it hold or come apart
Is it there to free or wear one down,
with the memory of its form
Does its very nature reattach,
when in fury it is torn
Does it link in stark remembrance,
all that’s past and gone away
Does it keep the truth within arms reach,
—when again we’ve lost our way
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
I'll apply fact to the matter as a matter of fact - Fact doesn't matter.
I'm a time traveler, through mind travel, possibilities unfathomable.
Rather call a truce instead of battling dudes, 'cause I lack the unbattleable
lyrics that other rappers produce - In other words, I'm not too good yet...
I'll only spit what my mindset happens to induce, from past, to the future, and the present.
and I'll only spit with the intention of resonating a malleable essence.
Trouble? Forget it - S***, a vibe like this is nothing to mope around with.
Sober for weeks - with love for my music and girl like this - no need to take another hit...
Success is in tact but there's still scattered parts of an emotional disaster to gather.
A staggering semi-mastery of blasphemous metempsychosic abuse through psychological
self-battery;
actually self-betterment, for the sake of adversity. Almost gradually, rapture comes back
to me
to reattach my physical being to my mind happily - that's the first time in a while...
Just an incomplete Hip-Hop verse that I figured I would post here... The Stranger.
Form:
Poem Defining Moment
Up on a pedestal fallen from disgrace wounded words physical emotionally
Drained shouts echoing walls closing in to tired to defend self storage full of
Long over due un resolved issues tightly locked away fits pounding frustration
Clouding the mind angered filled the room to fast to assume the worst has accrued
Words not taken back can’t come back from were you never left no more silence
Tiredly constantly attacked for different agendas not seeing the full picture
Tired of the same roll play played over and over not one to do over moving on
Might stay but not fully once broken no super glue can reattach the years of hidden
Damaged always having to put a front as all is well when deep down what suppose
To make you strong is wrongly misconstrued tired of being tired it hurts the most
When you know your not about the pity nonsense fired up always having to defend
Self integrity to old tired of the same past tension having the glass always half empty
Done with none other than my self respect for me my self and I fully giving what was
Never fully returned I am always owed one way or another something I most come
To terms with at a much later time must focus on the emotional fiscal responsibility
That plague me not easily said then done but Achievable
By Mirian Parrilla
Poem
Poet
They don’t always match
It is not exact
I mean, opposites attract
Every brand new batch
Of poems can detract
From the original, not intact
The idea that did hatch
May not become tact
The meaning now abstract
But I guess that is the catch
When you make a pact,
Or rather a devil’s contract
To somehow patch
The little compact
Of inspiration, from which you distract
Yourself from your detach
That cut you off mid act
You try to reenact
And reattach
Disregarding the fact
That you were the one to subtract
Actual creativity to snatch
At the chance to transact
Quality to make an impact
But it all went down the latch
I guess all it did was counteract
Your initial goal, inexact
From the world, you unattach
And live on in redact
With no one to interact
Forever to be a mismatch
Written on December 3, 2020
tryst of the moon and the stars
- oh how far
off, when the greed of war
spoils with feldspar.
eruptions of not the loins
but clashes of steel —
political coins
care not how one feels.
a lightning grip on lovers,
mocking, celebrating their aloneness.
the dark hovers
over the waters of Loch Ness.
spouse weeps.
tears constantly fill
the freshwater deep.
the warmonger monster would’st kill.
any great and honorable name
that can be caught in the web —
her man would never be the same,
adrift in the ebb.
she tries to reattach limbs,
pry open his hopeful eyes,
fish for him with sermons and hymns
but he believes in Nessie-lies.
tryst of the moon and stars
-oh how far
off, when the greed of war
spoils with feldspar.
1/13/2021
Large fuzzy pajamas with a hood
Used to be for toddlers.
Now I have them.
They are getting rather worn.
My zebra go-to-pajamas.
My husband ordered me another pair.
They are big enough to fit around me, thus
they are about eighteen inches too long.
If you do not know inches they are
The bottom of a man’s shoe plus
The bottom of a toddler’s shoe too long.
I am debating how to fix this.
I love the idea of having feet in them.
My zebra zip up suit does not actually have
The footie part. It is cut off at my ankles.
I think I will pretend I am a knee surgeon,
Cut them off, shorten them, and then
Reattach.
Which makes me wonder.
If I get my knees replaced,
Can we use a 3-D printer and make
me longer leg bones so I can be
Six foot tall instead of five foot two
and a fourth? If I was I would not have to add the fourth.
Witchy Witchy is so twitchy
Her colorful broom is also glitchy
They are a team
on Hallows mean
We see them flying high in the midnight sky
And the children scream “We are going to die!”
But wait, says the cat.
Who knows where it’s at.
She is not that bad, just married to a cad.
Hold up! Yells a small warlock. That is my dad!
So, the fight is on.
To the death, and the cat is gone.
The warlock yells, "Down here Mum!"
And witchy witchy heads south to get herself some
Delicious girls
With dark brown curls.
Ugh! They taste awful! She says to her son.
I know, he replies. But I thought it would be fun.
And the girls reattach the limbs she spit out.
They hurry home to tell everyone about…
Witchy witchy and her broom which was twitchy glitchy.