Best Shore Up Poems
I shore up my doubt, behind a loosely bound hope
Which in turn is propped up without foundation
Cynical of a life, at the mercy of luck
Collateral damage feeds my reservation
I shore my up tomorrow with what I see today
Without conspiracy or investigation
I place trust in all that’s completely unfettered
For fear, I’m left to this present resignation
I shore up my life with whatever came before
Not hindsight or academic education
The oblivion traversed until I was born
Strings along primal echoes of information
I shore up my conscious with bliss and ignorance
Interspersed with indifference on occasion
It’s not I don’t care about suffering and death
Rather, I’m desensitised by their pervasion
I shore up my denial with an open mind
Which is nothing except raw interpretation
This planet spins correctly, even though tilted
Not by wishful thinking, but strange gravitation
I shore up my boredom, trying to fall asleep
When really tired, will attempt hibernation
Anything to forget this human condition
After remembering, I’m long past salvation
I shore up my heaven, by creating a hell
Balance looks more appealing, in an equation
Gaze upon purgatory, and share what I see
Not because I’m kind, it’s more my destination
I shore up my poem by claiming it’s my own
But in truth, it’s an open collaboration
I conspire with the musings of all that’s unclear
They dwell inside me, in flawless aberration
- - - - - - -
better to face hell alone ~ than bring the whole world along for the ride
said the moon eclipsing the sun ~ who replied son I’m right behind you
By
David Kavanagh
A very human touch to a story
with some zip to it.
The media is a heartless leach
to the many unfortunate souls suffering,
amongst the filth and chaos of a city in peril.
War has reduced entire cities to rubble,
people are forced to flee for their lives
and yet, the news cameras focus their lenses
on its bullet-ridden facade for dramatic effect.
A money-hungry machine,
news stations suck every ounce of emotion from a story
without shame.
We expect them to inform us
of worldwide catastrophes and events,
and so, we encourage indiscriminate insensitive
photo-shoots of people’s pain.
It may be a sad addiction, and quite pathetic,
but it’s perfectly acceptable,
to exploit human suffering
in the name of news.
Coverage of childhood trauma, fear, or starvation,
all fall under the doctrine of clean hands.
Reporters inoculate hard hearts from reality’s truths
as homeless, hopeless faces,
cling to life, walking away
from everything they ever loved.
And recording their pain
while it’s still fresh and piercing,
is but an opportunity for the news to shore up falling ratings.
(Free Verse)
Since time’s distant dawn
Men have told lies
Calling it truth
The facts, patronized.
But truth doth not jest
It is what it is
It’s the brim on a hat,
It’s a bride’s wedding dress.
Revered in our lives
Honest men we respect
For uttering truths
We’ve all come to expect.
Yet lies now made vogue
Scatter truth like the birds
And no handshake will do
To shore up men’s words.
So do well to respect
The integrity of sleuth
Pinpointing all lies
Shining light on untruth.
Just recall the pure facts
As they actually occurred
Lies have no one's back
And in the end
Only truth is remembered.
© Michael Wegman, 2014
The Doer does: Yes, he does
The doer never says what he does
He does
Nor what he’s going to do
He simply does
Fears not the consequences
Of what he does
If by the hoi polloi right
He does
In accord with vox populi
He does
Even what the lambda citizen spurns
He does
Fears not what history books record
He does
What he’s compelled to do
Only just does
Takes only tentative steps
Never really does
Even when lame-ducked
He does
His heart’s not in it
A contrecœur does
Puts not the blame on the other side
For what he does
Nor the lambda hoi polloi for the mess
He does
Wags not the flag of executive terror
And what it does
If he fears not his own vested power
Aught he does
Even if only one people remain un-free
Nought he does
Depletes not his side’s chances
With what he does
If he takes time out to shore up his side
Will forget about what he does
Should he think only of what he could do
Will wonder about what he does
Will re-double his appearances
To talk about what he does
And the other side’ll take the advantage
Not because of what he does
Yet because of what he does
So he does
Yes he does
Yet he does
Yea he does
What He does !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Studying for hours on a subject that I love and despise
Grappling with words and definitions
Trying to make sense out of all the confusion and complexities
Of ethical hacking, security, and intrusion detection
Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing
Studying technology rather than art or the humanities
For within them my passion lies
But somehow I am always drawn to the almighty dollar
Knowing I can make a living, even if it kills my soul
Anxiety-ridden, insecurity-driven
And I march on, like a good soldier
Pursuing that which allows me to survive
Who was it that says there are two sides to every person?
I’ve often thought that, although for me it isn’t good or bad
But rather heart and mind, soul and survival
Starving artist or thriving consultant
For three years I sailed around the world
Hoping I’d found my new calling in life
But in the end, reason took over, and I returned
Like a pig to the trough, consuming ideas and information
To shore up my vessel, preparing it for another journey
Into the vast oceans of the world, all my futures
Depend on my success here
My soul cries out, hoping I have made the right choice
Allowing me to pursue my passions, through monetary gains
A boat cannot buy itself
The money must come from somewhere
In a perfect world, money would not be required
We would be free to pursue our passions
Without worry of the cost, or the inability to feed ourselves
But alas, this is not the world I live in, despite my desires
So I must carry on, study on, memorizing definitions and algorithms
Passing the tests is all that matters now
To earn my degree, gain the new skills
Keeping my eye on the prize
And someday, sailing off into the sunset, with my pockets full
of the gold pieces required, to blow the man down
--All my writings are at mraymus.medium.com
The eyes of the world are upon two men today~~
One continues his assault upon a sovereign nation
The other travels to shore up peaceful alliances
One isolates himself, knowing his life is in danger
The other visits a town where people are suffering
One’s poll ratings are very high as thousands perish
The other’s polls lag as he deals with enormous issues
While juggling tremendous problems not of his making
One consorts with oligarchs to increase his great wealth
The other works for meager salary considering his task
One will remain in power by manipulating an election
The other will stay or go, as the people make a choice
If I have a choice to live under Joe Biden or Vladimir Putin
I choose to live under Joe Biden, any day, no disputin’.
Written May 21, 2022
COPLA 96 INVOCATION : This Bad Guy World
How bad’s the Bad Guy State on its own
Strangles own peoples by its laws :
Rule by fear
Can the State’s only aim be foregone :
Shore up flagging image in the jaws –
Horse for Lear
Leaders come together to control
Wayward gods who know not One God :
God be leader
What about that One Great Soul
What’s His role in this God**** World :
Powerless Seer
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
When love disappoints does it mean you’re not loved,
Could it be that the blame’s perhaps shared,
Assumptions in place that you’ve never discussed,
Or a grievance that you’ve never aired?
Is mind reading really a love merit badge,
Or good timing a thing to count on,
No secrets the secret to love’s sweet repast,
Beauty’s detail much more than a con?
Does love really rest on just fond memories,
Or on battles where lessons were learned,
On beautiful days that we know never last,
Or on miracles yet to be earned?
So what are the pillars that real love rests on,
Are there techniques to handle love’s pain,
And how do we manage to shore up the walls
When just emptiness seems to remain?
Forgiveness of self is what lovers need most,
It’s the pillar that most never see,
Forgiveness of others just bargainer’s price
That we pay for our own clemency.
The later is phony baloney of course,
And one reason why marriages fail,
Both parties are living in teen fantasy
And their love affair’s really just tail!
Though loneliness really is nobody’s goal,
It turns out that it’s quite standard fare,
For how is it possible love is at fault
When your own heart is not even there?
It’s you that controls if you’re open to love,
And its price is you leave other’s free,
Attachment to love signals imminent death,
No control is the way it must be!
But third pillar’s quite the most difficult one,
For its onus falls squarely on you,
Integrity that signals viable heart
When all other distractions are through
For love’s born and finds its full bloom in a choice,
When you choose, yet are free as a bird,
And that which ensures you are melting her heart
Is that she can believe every word!
Brian Johnston
February 18, 2016
We all make choices in life:
sometimes, it's the small
seemingly insignificant,
little things that can corrupt the heart
and assault the soul:
or make a positive difference in someone’s life.
We try to shore up our convictions
using alternative facts, logic, pride, and hubris:
yet end up fortifying frustration, anger, and contempt.
For we're all human,
and share the frailties intrinsic to our species:
no one is immune to failure.
Some have stumbled and fallen
through the cracks;
living in the shadows of life.
No one likes poverty:
and yet, here it is, all around us.
Society's reaction to the homeless
is unapologetic and stern;
fueled by scorn, as opposed to love.
And the general deafening silence
speaks volumes;
sanctioning policies
lacking in compassion and understanding.
Our choices define us.
Some reveal humanity's heart,
while some sully humanity's soul.
Bring the ocean to the forest where flames lick the dead.
Banish hot scalding lava with a surging polar flow.
Tug the mountain from its roots. Shove it onto the wet earth,
ordered to suck the torrent and spew it into the sea.
Pour cement on the headland, freeze the cold mud solid;
hold back the squishy slide, let rock embrace the shoreline.
Shout to the cowardly sun slipping into wispy haze;
send the hawk from its nest with talons to rip the screen.
Run o'er the half-baked moon picking up pieces of the dark;
cast them off the forward bow or stuff them in mud-duck's ear.
Shore up the timbers of home, bar each window with steel;
order oaks to clutch their limbs, thrust down extended claws.
Strap on a double edged blade, strap it high upon your thigh;
meet the invader with courage, leave him begging for mercy.
Turn the chaff deep down under, call forth the rich black loam;
plant seeds ready to burst. Renew, renew the ravaged Eden.
Security is tight, the world is different now
To each man and woman we must be vigilant and vow
To do our small part
To shore up the ramparts
So for peace loving people, our freedom will allow
Acorns and golden leaves dotted the path before us,
your hand cradling mine like a mug around warm tea.
The steam was our breath, hot and kissing. A hidden
walkway just for us in those woods behind your house.
“…I was so stoned…”
But the school hallway trod a different path, stained in
peer footprints and slurs from the acquaintances you
shunned when alone with me but high-fived when passing
on the football field. I carved your name into my desk.
“…I don’t remember a thing…”
You built a wall in those woods where we walked - erected
it with bricks made from shame and cement that turned my
giddy mouth into a well of stones, grey. The stream that runs
at the bottom of your garden still holds those stones we skimmed.
“…I was so drunk…”
It became a eulogy, a refrain you told me after we stared too
longingly or our faces caressed; a mantra you lived by publicly
when privately your walls were invisible to me. My thornless
vines wanted only to shore up the cracks you felt inside yourself.
“…I don’t remember even seeing you at the party…”
Years later at the reunion the auditorium still smells the same.
A scent of sweat and plastic chairs hovers in the air, mingling with
the memories of your lips upon mine. You turned my sun upside down.
My moon was no longer white but painted the kaleidoscope of a clown.
“…I can’t feel this way about you, not right now…”
The porchlight flickers outside your house still, a firefly’s
electricity dimming. I wonder what would have happened if we
had just been together, been free to be together. Yesterday,
I walked back amongst those dropped acorns and autumn leaves.
Your wall was gone.
UNINTENTIONALLY I offended you
SINCERELY I apologised to you
VEHEMENTLY you refused my apologies
INSTICTIVELY I shore up my defence
AUTOMATICALLY you get crossed
TRUTHFULLY *'I no send'!
*'I no send' - A slang of Nigerian origin meaning 'to mind or care less', 'not to give a damn or hoot', etc.
Moorings anew are easy as thought,
Vessels tethered, fixed as weather,
By an anchor, a person, or an idea,
Sure to shore up evidence of defense, of itself.
With every wave, memory fades soft as morning fog,
Providing wet hiding and reinforcing ties,
Binding us together, on shores of security,
Like seamen seining a weir of our own making.
Forgetting respawns our willingness,
To be encircled again, within a radius of safety,
Ropes with a constricting reach, endless limitations,
As far away as the unmovable horizon in view.
Then we float into the final harbor,
Less grounded, ethereal anchorage more stable,
Rites of arrival unknown, moored in others still,
Slipping in, your past adrift, reborn under a new gable.
When death, like silence
Creeps into or sleepy lives
We feel the moorings untie
The threads that tangle our lives
We feel the currents of emotion upend our hearts
Images of both good and bad rage like storms in our souls
We are blown and buffeted in the currents
We flounder in emotional waves
Till that last thread of reality snaps
We are blown in the wrath
Of emotions, memories blurred imagery
That death opens holes in our small little souls
We search for reasons and meaning to why and what for…
We see the sliver flare n flicker in each fuzzy moment
We do our best to remember and attest
To the moments lost in time
We fight to hold the sliver outlines, as they fade fast
We collect them together
To patch that ever growing hole in our waning souls
To cover the loss n shore up our failing memories
We fill it with emotions and imagery
Of our time spent with the ones we love
As a little death takes them from our silent lives
The ones we love, the ones we idolize
We feel the unmooring of all that binds
Like boats casts into the tempest, watching for the lighthouse; sweep
Our life comes undone as we flounder
In the wrath of the storm
A storm of memories and feelings of our lives
Images of our loved ones lost to the grave
We hold on to those memories, feelings, and imagery
Catching all that silver outlines as memories fade
And fill the voids in our lost lives
The feelings aglow in the ruins of time
As we can only watch our histories fade
Catching only the silver outlines that remain