Best Reenactment Poems
Frayed border prints paste illusion,
worn-out inks swirling bleeds,
The hauls, stareways, persuasion,
privileged balconies.
Antiquities of read reviews,
claims of a rustic quill,
to scribbled marks a light verse muse,
and forever bestill.
I hear the silence of the slams,
satirical critics,
synthetic irony exams,
stardoms paralytics.
It dominates its point to rise,
where life did emanate,
afeared facade recital trice,
timeless collaborate.
A reenactment of Bo Peep,
tough be a ruminant.
My first part, blossom -- was a sheep,
I was magnificent.
A teenager with the expressions of a middle age individual
is the wonder-creating characteristic of its accelerating growth.
Dwelling in a land not presented with natural gifts;
it still beat all odds to be a member of the Asian Tigers
and a competing contributor to its domain’s prosperity.
The birth place to the Toilet theme amusement park
and a camp of makeup obsessed men.
The fourteenth day of every month is set aside in romance’s banquet
except that of the fourth month when mourning becomes love’s pirate.
February is for young men, march, three times for the ladies.
Prides in the globally acknowledged Boryeona Mud Festival
and gives socialization a new countenance in the “hoesik” event,
while new standards in robotic technology is climaxed
as prison guards, patrols, anti-jelly fish squad and teachers
actively exist through exciting artificial intelligence.
A humiliating public ritual in a form of crime reenactment,
personality stereotypes emanating from the different blood groups,
a nationwide superstitious repugnance to the red ink;
very cultured to even create a backlash
on Bill Gates’ presidential handshake;
typify a people coming a long way from a turbulent past.
A territory of very bright and brainy students;
the god of the LG, Hyundai and Samsung among others;
and to the largest church in size and congregants in the world.
It is the well preserved garden where plastic surgery strives
all to show an amazing growth once heavily stunted,
suffering a suppression entertained by the comfort ladies;
somehow causing a perspective towards the rising sun
to be similar to the swastika’s view by the Jews.
Despite the Japanese colonization, soviet meddling and North Korean threats,
it’s still showing mental strength to be the world’s 12th largest trading Nation.
For you my dear, of glistening gold and hues of blue,
A mirage created by the constructs of feeble minds.
Our ability to connect is truly frayed, a romance delayed,
Short as the breath of some insectoid, bent on lustful satisfaction.
Are you even real?
If so, very little time is spent on the marvelous experience that is joy.
Pure and free of the adultery which is an office and a cage.
The highways connected like the arteries of some foul beast,
Circulating through the body with the opioids of ignorance and indifference.
How is it that you would like to pronounce my name,
Would you make a gentle song out of it and lull to me sleep?
Or spit at my face with anger and disgust?
I have yet to know the ailments and disease of a life full of unhappiness,
For I have not lived one.
To yearn for your touch in the waking slumber of the schoolyard is to daydream,
But not of my distant hopes and visions of accomplishment.
But of truth, brought forth through the neutrality of time.
It is the waiting game, which I cannot live through,
A wasteland filled with the death of youth and innocence.
Their ghosts, specters that drain from you all the creativity and imagination
Of a child, to alter you into the grotesque twisted form of a worker ant.
Subduing the hearts desires with binds
Made of paychecks and the disillusionment of having importance.
But you are no fake, nor cheap reenactment of some unholy war.
You pulse and vibrate with the magnificence of laughter.
Your tears shred through my dissected emotions.
Freeing me, no, all of us from the confines of having just one feeling.
Broadening our mental scopes,
How can I feel hate and love at once?
We were taught that they were polar opposites, not of the same lineage.
And so I say to you
With the unflinching eyes of man decapitated on the stump of an oak.
That I hate, love, fear, admire, and envy you.
Following your cycle of death and rebirth.
Tambourines in the air;
Whistles and bustles in a
rhyme.
In the house of Khloe,
Melodies of the heart;
A reenactment in the farm house
of old rhythms.
Grand mother's tongue in cheek,
but she is gone;
Gone home to be with the lasses
Free from the pains of the masses.
The house of Chloe will never be the
same again.
Mirth and laughter gone through the
back door.
Enter the dragon, my mama with sternness
and a rod.
Not to be spared for our scrawny behinds
my mama.
The house of Khloe has changed course
never the same again.
For the longest time, I could not speak your name.
I could not write it; I could not bear to think it.
I was angry.
I was too young, too vulnerable, too powerless.
There was no justice for me, a mere girl.
I hated you.
Every fiber of my being writhed.
You became the scapegoat for my every misery.
I blamed me.
Was it my fault? I did not scream.
I did not fight, I did not kick, I did not wail.
I froze.
When I needed my strength and spirit the most,
It failed me; it sputtered into cold icy droplets.
I dreamed.
Years later, suddenly, for no reason at all,
You came to me in a dream.
You were real.
For the first time, it was not a reenactment
Of the unspeakable things you did to me.
An actual person.
You had not changed much physically;
You will always look the way you did on that day.
But you apologized.
You said you were tired of having to live with it,
You said you did feel the remorse all those years.
Too many years.
No more would you be the perpetrator.
You were tired of living with that weight.
Too heavy a burden.
I thought I would be enraged.
After all, one of my greatest pains back then,
One of the worst emotions that tore through my soul
like a howling, black wind:
the excruciating, heart-stopping fear
that you had no remorse. After all,
there had been no repercussion for you.
No justice for me.
Instead, I felt... understanding.
We have suffered, the two of us, for too many years.
Five years.
I refused to look you in the face, or speak your name.
But at last, after struggling so arduously, I knew:
I forgive you.
Form:
After your butterfly alighted my dreams,
I never forgot your kiss,
You became the object of my vespers,
The refuge for my injured toiling chest.
I await your spectacle, your curtain call.
Your fragile teasing dance.
Like Groundhog Day, I predict your fluttering
Wings, the wavy flurry of your bowstrings,
Again and again.
What wonder comes next?
Are you counting down my dreams?
you raise your knee
then stamp the foot down in a quick thrust
as a mare in warning, snap your head back
we lock eyes
then meld in each other's arms
we move together
your hand upon my hip
my hand secure at her shoulder blade
the other arm extended hand in hand
she must be maintained in this position
to lead her in the curving moves across the floor
i am the Earth holding the Moon in our orbit
as we swirl thru our own universe
it is a dramatic reenactment
of a movie that inspired her, we began lessons
another notch in her list of accomplishments
it is an unending play at playing
i am forever grateful for the request
i may not be the most adept
not exactly someone to be envied
as we glide across the floor
but as i hold you
as the music surrounds us
your eyes hold me in
more than a magical moment
i have come to know, That's Amore
when you waltz into fantasy
knowing it is not imagination you are holding
thankful you never loved the Charleston
yet, if that is what it takes
i will add it to my burdens for love
there exists no cross too large to bear
and in spite of my initial thoughts
i love every moment with you
kind of like sitting at the table
what seems forever waiting
for you to walk in
dressed and ready to depart
and as soon as my eyes
fill with you now ready
i never remember a moment spent waiting
life is all about enchantment
and that exists only when dreams
walk in life hand in hand
1/26/19 Kismet
Two kings, one queen looked upon my quiet self as I sat.
Asked I was to appear before them one quiet spring day.
They sat there for moments which seemed like hours.
The first king spoke and said what a shame I had been.
That my career was full of shambles, change I did not accept.
Many people had spoken about physical sickness I spread.
I asked if my designation had suffered so much, why was it now,
Being scrutinized and corrupted by such, and not sooner.
Time had passed and my charm was well and then fell from grace.
While as well maybe I should be the peasant, another to my place.
Haunted, devastated by the words the royalty uncovered.
I was dismissed from their presence, while tears gathered inside.
Like an overflowing bucket, straining, I held them inside.
They formed a gel that hardened my soul and body so quick.
Feeling the jiggling, I somberly left the town of my existence.
Anger raged and boiled the gelatin to a more lucid state.
First one drip from left then following from the right,
Jumbled thoughts swirled the now liquid of salt and grime.
Poured over the humiliation shield, this had buffered me,
Tears of the ages that I had stored ran freely, so rapid.
Inhalations of the fluid that cleanses heartaches, poured out.
Exploding into a landslide, like sudden storms pounding rain.
These supposed to be droplets had grown like hailstones.
Flooding my cheeks, causing a waterfall over my lips,
I tried to wipe them away only to find more that followed.
As in the torrential rains of a summer storm that hammer,
Then heated by the sun to return to flow down again and again,
This river that ran over my entire being was to never return.
Just absorbed into my skin, saltiness to glimmer my sin,
My spirit broken though capturing and rebuilding my soul,
These lucid deluges washed my humiliated grime on the ground.
They have never surged a reenactment and never shall return.
written by
Cecil Hickman
written for
Sponsor HGarvey Daniel Esquire
Contest Name Personify A Tear
though the two
held in their extreme
horniness, there was
no hiding that look in
their eyes---that one
where the want to tear
off the clothes of
said hot body was
one which brought
them carnally back to
the roll in the hay of
their ancestors &
for a minute, there
was no doubt between
the both of them that
the historical reenactment
of just such a climactic
event,
was only around the bend,
as the night progressed &
the passions built
inside---
but the both of them,
having had more
relationships than they
would care to remember
(all of them failed, hence
the reason for the current
state of affairs),
felt the need to prolong
the initial orgasmic
rampage, in order to
establish a deeper
connection, in hopes that
the subsequent bond between
the both of them might
lead to something more
substantial, than the typical
fleeting summer romance,
which the both of them knew
all too well.
problem is,
the body often gets what the
body wants,
regardless of the consequences &
so while these two were trying
to work out a deeper
connection, one of them
varied off the path on the off-hours
to indulge in the arms of
another,
taking with them the passion
that had been about to burst
when in the presence of the
deeper-relationship-member-to-be
&
so,
old habits showed up
like they always do,
leaving one lonely person left
sexually frustrated &
neutralized,
sent whining & crying into the
friend zone,
never to be heard of again.
Reenactment!
Cocoa...passed it
Caramel...sandwich
To a night glow...hand picked
'94 the year like recent
Eye contact like the cliche say
A toe burrowing spine squeegeeing seamstress
Binding our minds suspended
An aspect you were told not to trust
She bore with the resilience of a lion's mane
A free flowing curve of thickness
Resembling the bow of an elephants's tusk
Hypnotizing all efforts to remain chaste
But an unending facial response to laughter
Granted by none other than the most high
Symbolized what felt like handcuffs
A tree toting root connection what we were together
To what we are after
And what we wanted like small flesh wounds
Faded away to the crackle of distant lightening strikes
Now those two bolts of interference
Are barely a remembrance
I can't forget...
I want
like sonnets beckon
a love so true as fiction
investments deep in true reflection
emotional direction
I will that she will for me
as though we together share in love
a simple passive harmony.
I am a mess of things
of jumbled thoughts and misdirection
an honest soul with no momentum
stunned in the face of the universe
and she would love away the emptiness
bring to life the subtle verse
of dead poets in lively reenactment
like her to me is my Sonnet 29
and in her presence I smolder
with the intensity of her admiration
and I in bed entwined by wrist and hip
feel so baked by summer's loving sun
her warming smile, and tracing fingertips
in midday slip to comfort's siren call
and nap away the day in lull
with her and feel complete.
What a beautiful mess we'd make
all skin tones and white sheets
so beautiful would we
that the dust from my dim room
caught mid-flight in sunlight's glint would
seem to sparkle more in your presence
than the many days it spends in the solitude
of my lacking company.
But be damned if fables ever see the light
of day today in any sense,
and die all the fairy-tales
and old love true and bold
smothered by their consequence
the world is lost and gone
without the sounding of a requiem
for dreams now dead and absent.
Form:
His makeup is pasted on him as though a ghost
The makeup was taken from my very last breath
The lack of blood in my veins caused it to be white
As the mime prepares for his reenactment of my death
The knife that was placed with tact in my heart
Was buried so deeply as if it were Excalibur
Only a true King of people could take it apart
Though my King is dead next to me….I killed him
The mime as a showman prepares to deliver my scene
Blood of white looks as my spirit received a fright
As I am looking down at two carcasses and a clown
My deliverance is stopped as Satan begins to frown
Why must Satan be so sad at my untimely death
Why when the clown relives my empty breath
That lonely King was sent to free Excalibur from my chest
But I killed him in fear that he was sent from Satan's desk
My fear of people sent to be my aid
Resulted in a leader so brave it made Satan cringe
However if this is the case why does Satan cry
This is the case for the mime only knows why
Satan's tears of blood stream down his lonely face
Wrinkles to deep as if the grand canyon was in place
Satan screamed why as his hero lay on the floor
Although he was good, the King was a real leader and more
If this King that I killed was so good that Lucifer even cries
Why do I kill my hero with such demise
Why does the mime not shed a damn tear
For the hero of the hour is lying dead next to fear
The mime removes his paint only yet to reveal
An even lonelier body without a soul to revere
The mime spread his wings of might
As the mime revealed his trueness of flight
Satan cries turned to fear as he saw who it was
The holy one standing tall with a look of despise
For the King on the floor was sent by his hand
To remove the knife from my heart and place it in Satan's back
I stopped the death of the one who killed me
I out of fear turned to my hero and now the devil lives
I will truly be banished from the pearly life of glee
I will now be in eternal fear for I feared my hero
Form:
Seldom now, but once popular,
carnal Feast of Adam and Eve.
A Christian tale, if you believe,
spun, no doubt, by a gospeler.
Late December, Mystery Play –
downfall, the original sin.
Played on stage, moral tale to spin,
a day both frightening and gay.
Reenactment of solemn scene
was surely presented well-posed.
Original sin, acts exposed,
with performances now obscene.
Paradise Tree prettified strung
with roses, lit candles, and sweets.
Apples and wafers, tasty treats,
all upon the bare tree were hung.
O, Tannenbaum, I may believe
this festival, your lasting fame,
the current Christmas Tree became,
that we adorn on Christmas Eve.
C. Cure T. Clarence
Been making, (sans
daily) regular appearance
in the news oval
hate gambling arrogance
vis a vis spewing,
shouting, and scathing rabidly
foaming explosive clap
trap in ascendance,
asserting how incredibly
tremendous collusion between
CIA, FBI and media
(must warrants revocation,
hence heroic intervention,
and emergency dis
Pence sing balance
of security fabled
clearances Aesop - Asap)
hounds engaged "brilliance"
in (community) chance
of making an very
usual fool of himself,
viz the "FAKE"
trumpeting dapper Don
expostulating the latest ploy,
raging against the machine
i.e. entire popular culture
will get their comeuppance
being so freely outspoken,
a disgraceful unconstitutional defiance
which oh press
sieve act of deviance
spluttered, thus an extreme
measure to clamp down
on all news outlets,
and immediate disappearance
all the while poor
Melania stoically, objectionably
and lamentably stands
right alongside him,
(nonetheless nonverbally
metaphorically exhibiting
vitriolic livid rage)
as he rancorously spouts
(ala VERY) convincing impression
of la va reenactment qua,
Krakatoa volcanic disturbance
lambasting utter disgraceful disservice
(foxy Dis Putin
commercial stations construe, conspire,
conjure egregious collusion
outlets asper dominance
a pugilistic ringside fan loathsomely
(re: scowling non verbally),
wherein pejorative spectators whether
(moral less minority, and/or
majority whips lashing) weather being
The carriage arrived at the ball a few minutes fashionably late.
Which was exactly what Fairy Godmother had hoped for.
However, the carriage was empty.
The door opened and no one appeared.
Where is she? F.G. asked the footman.
He did not talk.
Neither did the driver.
Fairy Godmother was not allowed the luxury of this kind of mistake twice.
Her supervisors appeared from the ether.
First you let Snow White run off with a dwarf,
And now you have lost Cinderella.
What kind of a reenactment are you running here?
At least she got Red Riding Hood home safe, said Pinocchio.
His nose grew a foot in seconds.
That cinched the deal.
They revoked Fairy Godmother’s license.