Best Scaffolding Poems
Do not build a ladder
when I fall into the abyss
I did not call for climbing
The thorn in me
is not a riddle to be solved,
nor a window begging repair
I am thunder — not your project;
I am rain that needs witness,
not your umbrella
When I say I’m drowning,
do not throw me ropes of reason
Let me sink into your silence
weightless unrescued
yet unalone
Be the shore that does not move
as my waves thrash
and settle
My pain is not a puzzle.
Don’t match it to your pieces.
It is a wild bird
let it wheel
let it scream
let it land
without your cage
on wild earth and
broken branches.
You see my storm
and lash advice like scaffolding,
but I need someone
to taste the chaotic torrent
to say yes — it bites,
yes — it burns,
not someone who murmurs
“you should have stayed inside”
To love me is to shhh,
to hold space as sacred
to hear with your cells
not just your ears
What courage it takes
to offer no answer
to let me erupt
without stapling my wings
Let me weep
without shame.
Let me unravel
without thread.
Let me fall
and do not sweep
the pieces away.
These fragments
are not failure;
They are a kind of scripture
not trash,
but story,
etched into the fabric of my being.
Only when your stillness
echoes louder than your words
can I hear myself return
Only then
can I stitch up with cat gut
and name it healing.
And when I rise,
not fixed
but found,
I will turn toward you
not to repay
but to remain
to share this journey
And then I will listen deeply.
Categories:
scaffolding, bird, deep, pain, psychological,
Form:
Lyric
Welcome to the Bijou
Sometimes the creepiest places are old.
There’s a smell to them of stale nicotine
and rancid oil.
The denizens are often as ancient
as the peeling wallpaper.
The plaster cracks mirror
the wrinkles on their faces,
stale faces with
down dropped corners.
Layer upon layer of age
ground in dirt flecked, peppered
perpendicular
boxes and scaffolding
sucked dry by time, tasteless;
their visual appeal long gone
to celluloid.
The walls don’t talk
and few ask the opinions
of the bone sacks
wandering in and out.
The untold and asked for stories
hide like ghosts, shimmering
in the ancient incandescent lights
liver spots on the skin,
fish hooks in the eye floating
suspended
and powerless like flies in amber.
There are those who have always been
mesmerized by age
absorbing filmed content
wallowers in times leftover scraps,
those who bring their own infusion.
They are the catalyst of forward motion
pendulum pushers, who spew curiosity
into the dark corners
for those who follow this path
there is beauty, most certainly,
in the crinkled planes.
Categories:
scaffolding, age,
Form:
Free verse
I - this vacant building, dilapidated by years and cold inadvertence.
Obscurities dance in my eaves, ravenous belfry bats, scouring dusk -
Notions, plans, dreams, impulses - the detritus that bloats their bellies.
Scrawny, gnarled trees about me, bony-fingered limbs clawing, scraping,
Biased, ragged people who assume to know, whose perspectives bleed -
Careless, avaricious purposes, spirits gutted like my stark, graffitied walls.
YOU shall redeem me ... douse my scaffolding, ignite these timbers ...
Ravage my whole with conflagration, toss the cooling ashes windward!
My foundation runs deeper than these trees' tangled roots ... now ...
Raise again, my walls - loving, formidable, joyous, and you ... INSIDE.
Written and submitted on January 25, 2019
For the "Ten Lines Ten Words, Free Verse 1" Poetry Contest
Lu Loo, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
scaffolding, analogy, growth, introspection, love,
Form:
Free verse
A cold wind.
Whatever was here has fled inside
or has curled up in a corner somewhere
out of sight and gone to sleep.
Footpaths are tiled in the wet,
skeletal remains of leaves
and tree trunks have begun to wear
their gray winter coat of lichen.
There is an honesty in the landscape,
the scaffolding that holds form
together is no longer concealed
by a camouflage of color, the eye
is confronted by what lies beneath.
Cover withers away to bare ground,
the earth takes breath, bathes
in the chilly glow of a winter sun.
I also come to this place,
to this stark season of truth
and see myself stripped back
to the bones and sinews of me.
The wind blows through the same
vacant spaces, unpicks the pretense
to let a cold light shine through.
I don't like what I see.
Categories:
scaffolding, seasons, self, truth, winter,
Form:
Free verse
Diverse masks I face on each day in hell,
locked within this bone-borne scaffolding;
where once two full lips had screamed farewell,
now, sound's denied without the balm of rocking.
I'm beset, no way to run from the gore,
malformed with want, no orifice to moan;
had I culled another form to explore;
I'd not be trussed within these links of bone.
Suits of skin of white, black, and yellow, worn
were thought the rage in life, and yet abhorred,
each sack the other envied and so; they warred.
Too late now for these bones to implore
sanity and peace. But next time, I'll be
I think, a well-loved cat, freed from greed.
Dante's Inferno
“THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain:
Through me among the people lost for aye.
Justice the founder of my fabric moved:
To rear me was the task of Power divine,
Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love.
Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”
Categories:
scaffolding, creation,
Form:
Sonnet
Deep as defeat as conspicuous
As the influx of presentiment
Passion is aimless humility
Panic is native to injury
Reasoning divulging odium
Sparkles unchosen but chemical
Puritans' speechless delivery
Idles in syllables neutral to
Carpet biology tapestries
Woven in Persian but personal
Surfaced in diamonds and sodium
Burnishing flavorful scaffolding
Sauntering over the savagery
Blanketing social impurity
Witnesses! Silence the speechlessness!
Caution the ignorant eagerly!
Woe as the end of the suffering
Millions of eyes as the visual.
Categories:
scaffolding, inspiration,
Form:
Epic
UUUUUHhhhhh!!!!!
I woke up this morning to find I am bald,
Wear glasses and only 5foot 7 tall.
Me bodies out of shape and what is more,
Me bits are all shrivelled, scaly and small.
Who the hell says life begins at forty,
I’m a blind, toothless bald headed shorty.
Which woman is going to throw themselves at me,
She will have to be blond and rely on a dog to see.
I walk up the stairs and stop half way,
Me hearts pumping mad saying “lets call it a day.”
Me **** started making these terrible smelly sounds,
And parts of me body are having a race, the first to touch the ground.
I now need Viagra to turn me into a yup
Or scaffolding under to prop me bits up
Foreplay is leave me teeth in the glass
The climax of me sex life is squeezing a pimple on me ass
Oh youth where art thou,
You left me in a mess.
I look in the mirror and cuss with every breath,
I’ve turned into an obese belch farting sow.
And they say life begins at forty, with a body like this tell me how?
** It has been brought to my attention that I should not have used "blond" so if you are blond please change it in your mind to blind, thank you :-)
Categories:
scaffolding, body, life, me,
Form:
Rhyme
1977. Was the Queens Jubilee,also eventfull year
flew down from Teeside to London Heathrow,for an overnight stay
an onward journey to Kuwait, my father prime in the proffession he did
scaffolding coordintor,myself and sister Tracy were only kids.
Not many children get an oppertunity, stemming a family memory
weeks rolled on, settling into school,became normality.
I couldn`t put into perspective,developing indepth
pining for home,muslim life portraying what i missed.
However,amongst the feelings of uncertainty,and meeting my new mates
building dens behind bungalows,from old shipping crates.
We would attend The Hubara Club,an update leisure complex
untold amounts to occupy youths,skateboarding main context.
Not forgetting my mother,and mundane everyday tasks
muslim laws preventing,normality, has to ask
simplicity took for granted,from showing arms of pale
amongst kuwaiti public,the women wearing veils.
Christmas that year, will be forever etched
an altercation between perants,that i`d rather not fetch.
Kuwait a beautiful country,Twin Towers of Ahmedi
without sounding ungrateful,home i`d rather be.
Paul Beadnall for
Sponsor Paula Swanson
Contest Name Opened Doors
Categories:
scaffolding, family, travel, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
Part Two
To have written is to leave but a mark
nothing stands for the proud rhyming syllables
more than his acquired business acumen
a Vaishya karmic hope
Now we stand aghast before this edifying monument
and verily wonder at some man
who may have in gusting wind and blasting brine
clung to his loincloth on the scaffolding
his knotted hair thick with the chimes of the Colamandala tide
the bells from Mahabalipuram to Chidamparam tolling in his veins
his sinewy rhyming muscles pulsing to the chiselling of reliefs
in memory of Kannaki and Matavi
and the liana apsara Manimekalai
in her forbidding expunging of her caste courtesan rôle
the lethal unmaking of an infatuated prince
Tied then to the creaking wooden framework
left by Ilango Adigal's epic-making epic
his stomach heaving
the low burning wicker lamp stinging his nostrils
in the stilled small hours
his eyes hardly following the olai leaf of his beaten memory
night after sleepless night
his merchant's paunch and eyes sagging
wife and mistresses in unrequited rut
while in tryst forlorn
one thought lingering under the tree in Bodhgaya
lamenting for the disciple's offering of trichinosis
he lets the dawn creep into his ears
with the kuyil's ironically teasing call
the fingertips charred with lampblack
till loaded cartwheels grind on the gravel of his spent dreams
It is easy for us now to quibble over him
and make much of when he may have conceived his poem
for at least in so doing he comes alive
only to be killed
revived
chided
praised
drowned in words
more than he has bequeathed us
© T. Wignesan- April 7, 1992 (from the sequence/collection: Words for a lost sub-continent). Pub. in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature & Tamil Culture. Chennai: Institute of Asian Studies, 2006.
Categories:
scaffolding, on writing and words,
Form:
Free verse
Knowledge is always a useful tool
And every one of us can easily obtain
Whether it be collage or even school
It’s about learning to excise ones brain
And often referred to us as scaffolding
That is a platform for a solid foundation
When we’re out there and gaffe ring
A whole swarm of vital information
That is the infrastructure on which to build?
All of your hopes, dreams, and aspirations
A mixture! Too, finding your place in the world,
If not bombarded with so many distractions
More easily recognised, thoughts and ideas
Let’s face it I mean every one of us has some
It’s about learning to use our eyes and ears
If we took the time to expand our cranium
Ok Perhaps not quite to the point of strain
But learning to think a little more refined
Use our thinking caps if not a runaway train
If we try not to have a one tracked mind
Predecessors will tell us what to think and do
Very little in the way of varied subject matter
But they are guesser’s life a learning curfew?
I must emphasis one that dose build character
Knowledge is power; look at the books we read
Be inquisitive it’s all about getting the know
Is there a thing as average if the will to succeed?
Then there is no doubt that we can all grow
With this I was mearly giving my view on those small minority
Who choose to p there life up the world and have no sense of direction
Or any enthusiasum but i think no matter whether you learn from life
............................................................................................................
The literer we read whatever it may be we never stop learaning
And we recognise our selfs and others more better understaning
Knowlage written by david scottjuly October 2016 also jan
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Inspired by past current exsperancines over the years
Categories:
scaffolding, write,
Form:
Rhyme
Fears only one thing;
Scaffolding came down-
Nothing left to Fear.
Categories:
scaffolding, death, sad, social
Form:
Haiku
standing tall against the winds
bursting open unwieldy clouds
immovable, indestructible, majestic
insurmountable by mortals
something I always wonder
does hatred rise with vapor
to make you shudder
do the birds ever warn you
of the spectacle you are to witness
are rivers the tears you silently shed
at the carnage suddenly spilled at your feet
is it the sun's warm sprawling embrace
scaffolding you from crumbling over
Written on 07/11/2016 for Julia Wards' "Mountains" contest
Inspired by mountains of Kashmir in India.Ownership of Kashmir has been the source of discord between India and Pakistan.Years of war have witnessed blood spilled in the paradise like valleys of Kashmir
Categories:
scaffolding, mountains,
Form:
Free verse
The unruly mob beat me to death
In the dank filthy street,
Before the scaffolding had its chance
To snap my whiskered neck
Beneath the bone crushing force
- Of the proverbially,
(But still most certainly)
No less than lethal
Terminal velocity...Lucky me!
It was a real load off
My overactive imagination:
Finally, some good news for a change!
...I didn't even have enough precious time
To nervously vomit my last meal
Before being ultra-violently killed...
...So there probably is a God after all...
# Welcome to Gallows Humor 101:
If you don't already know and understand by now,
exactly what "gallows humor" is
- Then I highly doubt a God of any nature
can actually help you see the light before you've died
- But this is just my professional opinion as a satirical author,
who really should have become a medical doctor - If I ever wanted
to be able to afford a legitimate interest in women.
Categories:
scaffolding, dark, death, humor, silly,
Form:
Free verse
time’s sands swirl
the spinners spin, our marionette lines
twisting and entwined
caught upon each other’s lives
loss now stains my mottled
once proud face, scaffolding
slack and slipping ever downward
with fogged eyes failing in their folds
summer’s sun a distant memory
and winter’s icy doorway within reach;
so much I should have said, but
words failed, falling stillborn from my lips
immedicable wounds now fester, layered
scars purple and puckered accuse
as I hum some dreary dirge
to the beating wings of carrion birds
no refuge anymore for the damned
time a long way passed such redemption
I stand staring at that frozen hole
muttering prayers in an angry landscape
.. goodbye old friend
Categories:
scaffolding, allusion, bereavement, death, eulogy,
Form:
Free verse
The paranoia you caused me triggered a change in my character my personality adapted to certain ways that weren't planned for and when challenged I latched on which created imbalancement with a chain reaction generating new clear embarrassment
Im channeling this energy you tried to erase taking the brace off the back that has carried it's weight
Im removing the scaffolding that's stood there in place establishing strength that stabalised the breakages we happened to face
While crafting our fate creating our demise manufacturing frames of mind causing brain damage and shakes and when I rewind it reminds me not get at it again I had some self restraint then when in that fragile state I backed away swearing I would never go back again
That's how I can stand here today explaining some issues because I love to hate you and f#**ing hate to miss you
Doesn't mean I wanna kiss you I ain't reconsidering distance because there isn't a chance of rekindling our spirits I'm just clearing up a few things like the source of interference after a years worth of disconnection because I don't wanna a see a fool in the mirror when I look at my reflection
Categories:
scaffolding, character, confusion, courage, feelings,
Form:
Rhyme