Best Refashioned Poems
RELISH THE RICHNESS
luscious
notions
attempt
to demonstrate
vibrancy
touchingly subdued
original
precisely
endured
refashioned
fulsomely
in
gorgeous
desired
voluptuousness
feminine
apparent nonchalance
inhabiting
&evoking
sevelteness
semi-revealed
conscious
twinned
with entitlement
intriguingly
sensuous
stunningly
nurturing
the surreal
What If There Was No Tomorrow? - The Polar Ice ‘Cap’
- this time it’s burnt and curled upon a new head. The
sweet smoke of his sugarloaf effigy black as night,
surrounded by a material red trim, below Parliament houses
blows political greed into fiery smouldering smithereens –
then it floated and landed after years, drifting, onto
the crown of a man: a business man portraying
wealth and class; here it sat above suit and below sun. The
American dream swirled with scotch and the tip of a bowler,
only for the same piece (restyled of coursed) to later sell for
pounds to make the pupils of any impoverished person pop:
his Hamburg with a knowing dent in back, how it span and
spun from black to grey and back again around Hill’s peak
to be dyed again and tilted just so. Now it’s pillbox pink and a knitted
O of a name/shape-sake that covers her head where her husband
had a target upon his. Watermelon-pink colour dye actually: the very
same fruit palette of brain cradled in her hands at high speed.
This latest star attraction of Burgdorf’s no doubt was, decades
prior, nothing but a mix of lifeless green and sludge brown from
grass and cud - metallic dead daises ducking over No Man’s
Land. A Brodie: styled on a not-yet-pulled pin grenade atop
beads of sparkling sweat, dripping slipping salt where now
a pedal controlled sewing machine stabs and pins sequins into
veils that hide brides with (it must be said) the same success
that protected Fawkes’ Plot or Churchill’s reputation or
Jackie’s husband and the slaughtered soldiers’ skulls - but
still the accessories twist into fascinators fancy enough for
mothers to weep below, only to find the box dish or bow
to be knocked akilter during the traditional bouquet mad
dash - then up – up – up! into the air before landing anew,
refreshed as a Gatsby or Hijab, perhaps a Trilby or Zucchetto;
better yet, the Boater or Sailor we’ll need when the hat that covers
all our heads smoulders and peaks when next dented and melted: a
loose grenade we can’t be veiled from, nor refashioned nor restyled
when the next season’s must have
will be a copper and bolt
protective Diving Mask
for the drowning tomorrow
from The Polar Ice 'Cap'.
"And now I drink a toast to your coffin.
May it be fashioned of lumber obtained from a hundred-year-old cypress tree
whose seed will germinate this year."
Rob Brezsny
Refrain:
And now I drink a toast to your absence of coffin.
May you become refashioned of organic fibers
gifted from a thousand-year-old cypress forest
whose vulnerable seed will regerminate yet again this year,
and every year to follow
to lead our future
through all past time
of well-rooted trees
born for regenerately crowning Earth.
Dawn arrived beleaguered
and redrew the peaks
across a bruised sky that churned
a displeased blue and pewter.
Soon lightening, a brilliant white
with titanium opacity,
crackled with scraunches
and screeches across the horizon.
Rain labored brutishly
against the grueling winds
savaging the already sodden,
soppy, soupy earth.
Multi-dimensional, phantasmagoric,
noctidial nightmare till, conterminally,
the broken sky refashioned itself
in vivid electric pink and tangerine.
yellow leaf leaves soon
assurance draft to return...
men yearn to unlace.
all awaits autumn
arrived, invoking slumbers...
hoist fingers to pen.
like seductive smile
autumn greens adapt reddish...
refashioned the soil.
the birds and ant rush
gathering bread before cold...
nostalgic relived.
giant eruption of
mushroom maturing season~
relishes flavors.
pure ecstasy, this
seasons bestow on mankind...
ignite, poet in me.
dated; 09/09/2022
used grammar checker from poetry soup for correction.
when everyone has nothing
we will fight for scraps of bread
while the dogs are eating gourmet food
our school kids dine on things long dead
when all of “us” are equal
except the ones on top
we’ll eat the roots and spit the dirt
while “they” consume the crop
when all the words are “numbered”
with a level of “perception”
the talking heads and asses
will use mathematical deception
when the minds of children
are constrained by “liars” truth
and street corner rantings
the lonely voice of youth
there will be a rebellion
not of weapons but of words
refashioned into ploughshares
the uprising - tongues as swords
when everyone has nothing
something must cease to be
when everyone has closed their eyes
only the blind will see
John G. Lawless
©3/14/2018
A person’s life is all about choices.
Some are regrettable, others just fine.
Yet the one’s we choose rarely suffices
Our needs and refashioned minds.
Take a man with a chance for promotion
He’ll embrace it without further ado
Deciding on a capricious notion
Winds up regretting on Monday’s debut.
The same can be said of a high school belle
Forgoing the occasion for college.
Marries instead she's unhappy as hell
Missing out on a world of vast knowledge.
When faced with a choice choose not just any
Right choices are few, the wrong ones many.
Love’s Sonnet
Tattered womb, shred by sharp blades of regret,
Weighed down by rough millstones, dark as shame,
Pale dawn stumbles from midnight to forget -
Stinging acids scar through showers of blame.
A whisper of consolation murmurs,
Infused with the incense of compassion,
A harbinger of enchanted grace demurs
Spellbound, purified enigmas refashioned
Love, like a lyric – a lady in waiting –
Steps out of ebony’s clinging shadows
Releasing hard night with nightmares abating
The pall of shrouds rent by empathy’s glow.
The chivalry of love – a silk caress –
Eternal perfection, fulfills love’s quest.
Beautifully broken;
I’m tattered but not torn;
Beautifully broken;
I’m not lost in the storm.
Beautifully broken;
I’m put together with shattered dreams.
Beautifully broken;
I’m not what I seem.
Beautifully broken;
My scars out for the world to see.
Beautifully broken;
I’m not what I seem.
Beautifully broken;
My mantra is clear.
Beautifully broken;
I have a renewed purpose here.
Beautifully broken;
I’m tattered but not torn.
Beautifully broken;
I can withstand the storm.
Beautifully broken;
My parts form my whole.
Beautifully broken;
I can bare my soul.
Beautifully broken;
Refashioned with renewed dreams.
Beautifully broken;
I’m not what I seem.
4/15/18
He ranked as de facto semiprecious,
tremulous and unanimous scapegoat
bullied by a bumptious, callous,
disputatious hippopotamus of a brat
infamous bruiser later in his life to become
forty fifth president of UnIted States.
Though documentation incomplete, the un
named subject referred within torn shred
recovered included signatory couching
ambiguous references to a tenebrous,
unscrupulous, and vicious wiseass initials.
Dee Tee quickly intuitively assessed
as one inhumane specimen, whose pugnacious,
pretentious, and pestiferous, persona characterized
impetuous, adulterous apprenticeship appetite
for erecting phallic skyscrapers.
This once pacific pilloried pupil, whose grown
son (myself), now recalls father's misty eyed
anecdotes dripping with acrimonious, curmudgeonly
grouchy, grizzly and crotchety old sorries,
viz refashioned abominable kamikaze
psychological sorties.
I can vividly recall (how painful unto his old age)
oft daddy's repeated quotidian taunts, whereby
that bad ass, acidulous, avaricious, contemptuous,
enormous, and grievous big boy trumpeting
bruiser exuded devious, heinous, libelous, and
parsimonious tightwad, though born into wealth.
shock
in. abundance
transitory
& irregular
once
refashioned
in
random
diversity
of
erotic
existence
yet
deliberate
innocence
of heart
failed “savior” turns addict
s/he wants to “save” you from yourself
to feel like they have a
purpose,
as if they were put on this planet by some greater force,
something that spoke to them &
said,
“dearest subject, you need to help johnny doe!
yes, you need to help jenny doe! for they are on the
path to self-destruction”---
and yet,
the context of this destruction of the self
never changes---
the savior thinks that if they put a bandage on this
little cut,
that the whole body will feel better---
but the body of the world is getting sicker by the day &
all the cures, being unsatisfying, benign &
just plain boring,
do not suffice.
soon,
the failed “savior” sees themselves for who they really are
in the mirror one morning,
an addict like the rest of us,
seeing nothing in the reflection but a sickness
brought on by our fast-paced human progress &
increasing ignorance of health as a means of
sustaining the organism.
as the failed “savior” becomes addicted
her/his “purpose” is revealed to be a sham---
their whole world breaks down into the bare necessity
functioning components
which thrive only to get the next fix
of their chosen poison &
they take their place on the conveyor belt
being disassembled & refashioned
psychologically
by the stresses of the world
whose relentless pounding
will only cease with the coming of
the machines.
Pain and fire; you understand?
No! I do not understand myself!
And what have I done?
O God - what have I -
I don't want the answer but I cannot run
What's broken then? Can circumstance really be faulted?
Or has the apple rotted right down to the core?
Nothing left but to perish in its own toxic flesh.
Yet ... if once pure then corrupt, could it not then be true?
That I could be refashioned for good all anew?
31 July 2019
Reborn --
Restored
Refreshed
Renewed
Rejuvenated
Revived
Reawakened
Rekindled
Regenerated
Remade
Revitalized
Reshaped
Reconstructed
Redesigned
Refashioned
Re-upped
Redeveloped
Reclaimed
Rehabilitated
Redone
Rewired
Refined
Reinvigorated --
Re-created!
Off with the old
Into the new
Januarys gallant attempt
To startle the Year
Except we’ve been swimming in the rain
Refashioned old shoes with stitches
Missed the right pub
Spoilt for choice
Photography at Blackfriars
Perhaps its muse time
Find my friends keys
he needs a new mojo