Best Reinforced Poems
Confined within the steep banks of a narrow mind
is a cryptic river where men stumble in and go blind
They construct reinforced dams that hold them back
from accepting the candid truth; white is not black
Like the slow moving current of a trickling stream
their thoughts are clogged and clot like curdled cream
What chance do the recalcitrant ones have to accept
reality if they allow no vision of being circumspect
of taking fault and blame for having a closed mind?
These are the ignorant, the foolish ones aptly defined
as those destined to stagnate until they decompose
It's the subsequent end to the stubborn who oppose
a new premise or concept with which they don't agree
They rot inside prisons of conceit; a human tragedy
Don't hate her because she's beautiful
Or envy that she's hot
She is all about appearances
It consumes her every thought
Try to look a little closer
Past the makeup and the hair
Beauty has little value
If a person doesn't care
Looks are her priorities
She doesn't work on what's inside
People tell her she's beautiful
She gorges on her pride
She's an emotional anorexic
Soul food she refuses to eat
Her behavior reinforced
When people fall at her feet
She craves the admiration
The attention she receives
Pretty is her curse
In the end it's her disease
She becomes a caricature
Her illusion to maintain
Fighting the mirror and time
Over and over again
I appreciate a beautiful woman but the Beauty has to emanate from a much deeper place for me to truly appreciate it. The most beutiful women I have met have become more beautiful with each word they have spoken. We need to stop emphasizing the physical when we raise our children, we will then raise up a generation of truly beautiful people.
A mother’s ears - fine tuned
will pick up on her infant whimpering
in the middle of the night.
Whether the baby’s cries are soft
or even if the mother herself is deep in restful sleep,
her child’s distress will prick her ears
rousing her from even her sweetest dreams.
A mother’s arms will cradle her small son,
wrapping him in a loving warmth
that will abide with him to his dying day.
Her cooing voice will ease his unnamed fears;
her gentle eyes will instill in his developing mind
an image of devotion, which reinforced through time,
will compel him to seek a mate
who will look at him one day
in that same adoring way
A mother’s ears will hear at last
her child breathing deeply.
Then the mother’s heart will swell with quiet delight
knowing she has comforted her son.
For Richard Lamoureux's Applicable Not Applicable Contests Poetry Contest
Why I think this poem deserves to be read: When I first wrote this one, I could feel it unfolding very naturally in a style I do not often use. I can't recall if the contest asked specifically for free verse, but I felt that I had done a nice job with that form. That is why I was surprised when I got an N/A. More surprising to me is that I got two other N/A's when I entered it into other contests based on mothers (using old or new poems). I had hoped for this one to get more attention because it's one of my better tributes to mothers and entails my strong feelings on how important a mother is in the development of her children, particularly in the emotional development of her son(s). Sorry it is not a humorous story. I know I have a good funny one somewhere that got an N/A, but I can't remember its title any more or how to find it! Also, I have N/A poems better than this, but I do not feel comfortable using a poem that has N/A in one contest but a win in another, so that is another reason why I decided on this one. To my knowledge it has all N/A's.
Cityscape
The artist’s hand reshapes yesterday
In straight lines
Of hard edges -
Peaks of
Right angles perfected
Missing oblique or obtuse –
Claiming the horizon
In full frontal
Silhouette
Cut from ebony shades,
When daylight sinks into the shadows
And twilight goes down meeting midnight
One dimension pyramids,
Floors layered by steel reinforced
Triangulated honeycombs,
Octagonal rounds
Gather cotton clouds
Topping off their naked crowns,
Lofty spires
Scrape the midnight
To gather far flung stars
Flat rectangles with jute box tops
Soar with arches -
Lines leaping up and sliding down -
Squares low and squat,
Took up their space,
Yanked from the line,
Openings left
Like toothless
Grinning;
Concealed within the cityscape unblinking
The murmurings of urban sighs,
No rise and fall of breathing,
Foundation’s feet bound in stone
Swaying only when magnum cores
Tremble moving plates east to west, north to south;
Unseen
The doorway cradle songs
Of shivering dreams,
Desperation
Pacing
On the nineteenth floor
Fauna’s night perfume
Floating up behind dark floral gates
Of swirling iron
Grids of neighbors – blocks of neighborhoods -
Graphs of boulevards winding round,
Absent from the cityscape.
Inspirational verse – “When the lights go down in the city and the sun shines on the bay; do I want to be there in my city….I want to be there in my city.” Journey
Encage us we are of collective souls
Display us in prisoned wallpaper as ghouls
Send us into these sepsis tanks, in tin cans
in torture dungeons, in faraway lands
Mistaken for us are the migrants
who don’t belong in our black hole,
ripped from their family’s arms,
and broken, it has a toll
Try to discern, unchain me,
give me the time of day
I’ve not done any of what you say
I’m here, do you not see me?
I’m tucked in all of your publicity
Before us you stand prestigious -n- tall,
your toughness shared inside our halls
Donning is the blood red Maga cap a telling of your gang
and Jackboots as they were worn by the Sturmabteilung
Wings reinforced by the sword’s blows, in your case
against the chains that contain, and any empathy inside
Keeping you safe an expressionless speech,
seal the deal it shall seal my unmerciful fate
Judged and sentenced without any assemblance
I see right through your imminent coarse leather, and
by the end of your reign, hard you’ll fall
And later the field forces in which you thrive
rotting torn in shreds, but still alive,
as shall be fathers ripped away from family
Have you not exhausted every remedy for me?
Infection is your reasoning,
concede for me and it shall be litigation of guilt
Rewards you’ve given, they’ve taken
and so, forsaken I be
Regardless of it, they have me in error,
as prison wallpaper
I work in the fields, a visa allows it
I wear pastel colors, a straw hat covers
possessing no tats, what of straw hats
What of straw hats?
Hard is the rock, yet it does roll, beneath the oceans
Swift currents its rough edges become smooth, rounded
But it makes no sound; it is the silence of stone.
Gray is granite, as markers grave marker, yet in times
Harshness the names that speak for a life lost, is vanquished
Do to erosion and the elemental tides of nature, thus is the
Silence of stone reinforced.
Cast down are the mountains of greatest beauty, due to
The ravishing of time, natural monuments reaching upwards
Unto the very heavens themselves, yet these are divine alpines,
Remain left in the shadow of the silence of stone, unable to speak.
Burn does not the eternal soul of our world, a cores heart of flame,
Heating our inner desire to thrive and survive as a species, but if it’s
Fiery furnish pilot light flickered out, turning our planet inside and out.
Would we be able to cry out for helps support, nay behold the true silence
Of stone.
Ideal statues of forbidden deities, stand covered beneath the
Rain forest canopies of the past, nay forgotten by their idol
Worshipers, vanquished, crippled they do crumble to the ground,
Banished Gods, in the silence of stone.
Grinding, cutting humanity tries in vain to leave its eternal
Mark, for generations in the future to know that we existed,
Carving epic figures amongst the rocky tops most high,
But we are the dinosaurs of our own mortality,
And in this venue, behold the stone remains
Silent not revealing our existence.
As the thundering asteroid giants of heaven, cascade
Ever closer to us from above, the world still casts
Rocks of ignorance against their kindred brethren,
Denying that the collision is due to happen no
Matter what.
But stone never shatters, it’s solid,
And it weighs heavy on the intellectual mind,
But stone ears remain dual of sound, again
The silence is deafening.
Hard is the rock, yet it does roll, beneath the oceans
Swift currents its rough edges become smooth, rounded
But it makes no sound; it is the silence of stone.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
within Zieglerville, pennsylvania
genuine snow white hair
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private)
after i croon (to said lass),
the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission
perchance twill be doomed from the start,
and hence finding me forlorn
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure,
would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness),
aye also resort to buttress
any aural "stormy Dani yelling)
via walled in interlap,
which accouterment functions
as a double agent i.e. (or,
to be rather crude),
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news
inducing madcap
mass media circus
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap
essentially providing wig gull room
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap
pill low ma rendered free and clear
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms
most likely something internuclear
simply to discover visa vis authenticity
if cute employee
(sporting hair
white as the virgin snow),
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited
all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.
You should know that I've
reinforced the bunker
I built around my heart
until it can withstand a
direct hit
ground zero
head-on collision
from a YOU-bomb.
I've shielded it to withstand
the worst Emotional Mutilation Potential
you can generate
and to protect me from
the flash burns of passion,
Not to mention that I've lined it with lead
to save me from the fallout
of your so-called love.
So-
hit me with your worst.
My bunker--and I-- are ready.
(Shakespearean Sonnet)
The blue-grass music blares from speaker's face
as guys and gals entwine moon-round the floor,
she sits alone, ignores the dancers' pace
although her ears record the rhythm score.
He begged her love; he painted instant fame.
She nursed her song in dreams alive to wit,
she trusted him to give the verse her name,
and reasoned out they spun a perfect fit.
With traitor's greed intense, he stepped aside,
and claimed her song as his with no remorse.
He left her raw, his chest out-puffed with pride.
Disgraced, abased, her anger reinforced,
she writes another song, recounts the tale,
assured his star will now commence to pale.
Staring teary eyed and awed from within our atmospheric cocoons,
we witnessed the appearance of the first of seven dancing moons.
As Primora, the closest sun, sank into the marbled vapor of the north,
and Extran, the highest and farthest followed it forth,
gleaming, mineral crested, curling, wind swept cliffs,
sent double shadows across the multi colored mists.
From within the fizzling aurora of a streaking star
debuted the brass colored moon, Alacazar,
followed by Splitz and Hoboken
and it’s circling asteroid, Token,
reflecting their eerie light on the myriad acid pools,
like funhouse mirrors breaking all the known rules.
When the last of Extran’s static rays disappeared,
the acid lakes and puddles suddenly mirrored
four of the moons, gem colored cliffs and a meteor shower.
We looked at each other and cried at this beauteous power
where an atmosphere much too hostile to survive,
with it’s sunset that reinforced we were alive,
imparted in our hearts an eternal, loving attitude,
Of faith in our Maker and profound gratitude.
We turned and slowly power drifted away,
But in our beings that sunset is here to stay.
Inspired by Paula Swanson's "Not Just Any Sunset" contest
written 8/20/11
I had a dream.
In the dream I wove you a poem.
I used the fiber of my character
to create spools of silken thread.
Then I dyed them
in the colors of my imagination.
I reinforced
each and every single strand
with the strength of my love.
Spun the spools
from the intricacy
of my spirit.
Enamored by your vision,
I pattern every part of me,
every memory,
into every filament of my fabric.
Finished
I initialed my woven piece.
M.Y.
The storm has subsided
The wind has died out
The sea has calmed.
The night has passed
The sun has risen
Darkness is dissipated
Fear is gone
Hope has returned
My dream is revived.
God gave me another chance:*
Another day to live,
Another day to test my wings,
To fly
To create.
The goal of my life appeared before my eyes
Anew:
Provoking
Challenging
Demanding.
I feel God's presence!
My faith is strengthened,
My determination is reinforced,
My heart rejoices,
My soul is uplifted.
It is certain, that this time,
I would succeed in serving Him better
For
With the Lord's help,
NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE!
-
-
© Demetrios Trifiatis
12 May 2022
-
* Back in October 2021, I had a serious accident that
caused a large Hematoma in my brain, and as a consequence of that, I had
a long (12") Craniotomy which brought me to the gates of eternity mute and paralyzed, however, God gave me another chance to live!
-
**This is my 3200th poem posted on PoetrySoup!
I would like to thank all my friends for they were and are a
source of inspiration.
I once behaved. Followed all the rules. Understood what was "normal". My parents taught this, teachers demanded this, principals enforced this. Ministers expected it, society reinforced it, friends tested it, professors challenged it.
Then, poetry became my statue of liberty.
following the rules
and behaving normally
no longer appeals
New ambient light taking hold of that which was once darkened by time.
New thoughts eluding desires and all answers to the questions at hand.
Laminated emotions taking the places of the empty spaces inside the mind.
Feel the love from behind the reinforced glass? Didn’t think it was possible.
Now the age of reasoning comes into play, now is the time for deep thought.
The devil calls for pain, in waves that crash on this body like water on rock.
No visible damage but over time it wears it down to nothing, little by little.
Plunging into the deep end surrounding the mind and clouding the vision.
Breathing is impossible, gasping for air only brings water into the lungs.
This feels like dying. This feels like numbing. This feels better than living.
IN DECEMBER 2000 WE SAID I DO
In the haze , of a dimly lit dance floor.
Swayed a couple who were madly in love,
They had met at a wedding,
Knew the way they were heading,
But fate had in mind another way,
Certainly not a quick role in the hay!
They dated sometime in the seventies,
Lost touch in the eighties,
And most of the nineties,
During this time each had a son,
For which they thanked God a ton.
His marriage had landed on the rocks,
And hers because she thought out of the box,
Both were divorced,
However,
Their love was about to be reinforced.
At the turn of the 21st century,
Bumped into each and spent a memory,
Charged day,
They rushed off to say I do, and excitedly
Headed for a bundle of hay!