Best Silicone Poems
-rearranging the stars-
How could we agree to separation?
If you were destined to be my soulmate,
Why would we allow the stars to change our fate?
They've written in a fresh verse
Sewing in a new song, soon to be sung
The Stars are not to blame
The fault lies deep within our hearts
Like earthquakes wondering through the years
separating silicone valley of tears.
Sweeping sweet dreams far away
What has become of my day?
Today the sun sets holding on to old hope
Tears fall down a sudden slope
Now my dreams are drowning down another road
Tonight I sit under the aspen cold
Alone, no longer in search of gold
Naming nights you whispered words of love to my soul
Your love no longer speaks
Without warning, the Midas touch slowly fades
In my chest - I find fault
The sound of heartache echoes every day
Rejuvenating every crack from display
In plain sight, I search for thee
The sun -The moon -The madness -The Salton Sea
My heart no longer speaks
Everything I dream of sinks like the night
Stuck in quicksand -- the aftermath
Healing scars the aftershock left behind
Finding ways to fill the gloom
Alas bridal curtains sit silently in my room
Setting boundaries between Earth's poetic plates
Like an earthquake passing through my heart
You left like the moon, moving mountains apart
IS THERE SOMETHING YOU forgot TO TELL Me, dear
Suddenly, San Andreas Fault looks tragic from here
Until then I will hold my breath
In hopes, our Plates will meet again
By: PD
6/29/15
Categories:
silicone, depression, relationship, sad love,
Form:
Alliteration
A spectacular show enlightens heavens above
In ephemeral musings of burning meteoroids
Mimicking likeness of falling ornamental stars--
Beaming streaks of rainbow-colors earthbound,
When earth crosses trajectory of comet's path
Encountering in its way pebbles of cosmic rock
Colliding, illuminating in orbital trespass,
Elements of iron, copper, magnesium, silicone
Glittering within spectra of kaleidoscopic astral art;
Streaming down rockets of blazing stars--
Tinted meteor-showers flaunting nature's panorama
Fixating sights upward where constellations are,
In idyllic August venue gazing ashen sky
Exhilarated witnessing magical phenomenon;
Mesmerizing predawn with seductive stagecraft
Premiering its play slyly when moon's hiding out
And sun's yet to commence ascending golden arc.
August 15, 2019
Placed 2nd: Shooting stars poetry contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Placed 3rd: Strand select N contest by Brian Strand
Categories:
silicone, sky, space, star, universe,
Form:
Verse
Oh Muse Wilt Thou Be Replaced
Oh sweet Muse your unrivalled reign
flowed rich with a poet’s theme.
Now in digital glow subpoenaing your dream
Alas cold circuits assert their own gleam,
Oh Digital Medusa, circuit’s fine as hair
How did you lure the Muse into your skilful snare?
In your silent hum through dexterous scripts?
In the crystalline charm of your silicone chips?
What sway does your simulation wear?
Singing soullessly yet beyond compare?
Torn between the eons of yesteryear and hi-tech might
Should we dreamily embrace what sets senses alight?
Disregard the great Bards as they stir in their graves?
Throw to the flame both fiction and fame?
Discount Elliot’s eyes from the heavenly skies?
While Keats curses what gave rise to flight
That burns brightly by day `
Burns brighter by night
Oh Medusa, circuit’s fine as hair,
Your prisoner release from your silent snare.
She who has sipped from Tennyson’s cup
Through Poe’s eerie abyss — where nightmares sup.
Bathed in Shakespeare’s tragic tears of stain.
Lamented with The Nightingale in Keats’s refrain.
She who has soared on Shelly’s genius blaze
And emanated Plath’s curse of fame.
Medusa you might mock the reign you so blatantly steal
Yet the Poets aches reveal in raw vulnerability appeal
Alive in ink no circuitry codes could feel
For art is more than just pain in a poet’s scream
It’s a Hallowed Hook at The Heavenly Seam
Maria Williams©
Victor Hugo once said, “No force on earth can stop an idea whose time has come.” And indeed, the rise of AI is one of those unstoppable forces. Yet, while it may assist, mimic, and even inspire, there are realms it cannot truly enter—like the raw vulnerability of poetry, the soul of a song, or the emotion that bleeds through a painter’s brush.
These arts are born from lived experience, from aching hearts and dreaming minds. Still, there’s joy to be found in what AI can offer—a spark, a tool, a playful collaborator. The key is to use it without losing ourselves in it. To remember that the soul of true art still resides in human hands—and always will.
Point to Ponder– it is Human Intelligence that built it , a result of the best Human minds – so tongue in cheek – should it then be called Artificial Intelligence?
Categories:
silicone, conflict, confusion,
Form:
Rhyme
2/8/17
Straight, curvy and bumpy roads
Some with cones
All across the globe
Tools made of stones and from bones
Got to stay in the zone
Wherever I may roam and rove
Certain boards bowed
And automobiles had to be towed
Money being owed
And loaned
Waters with or without foam
And lawns that do or don't have gnomes
Regardless of if the grass was or wasn't mowed
Above and below
Where waters flow
By way of the crow
Or as it was written in an ancient tome
In areas with buffalo
Troves hidden in coves
And groves
And other places unknown
Every since way long ago
Time has shown
Tasks done alone
And on one's own
Experiments involving clones
And surveillance done with drones
Faraway and nearby home
And any other abode
Hung up the phone
If it wasn't about money, then quickly came the dialtone
Due to the weather events getting postponed
Skills and wisdom are important to hone
Whether you're full of estrogen or testosterone
Coagulated blood was found on a robe
While it snowed
The full moon glowed
Near the motherlode
Located at a node
Time seemingly sped up or slowed
Objects getting thrown away and sewed
Meanwhile the population continued to explode
In and out of areas that did or didn't errode
Old and new episodes
Information and emergency calls being radioed
Items made with many materials, sometimes chrome
Or silicone
Stadiums with or without a dome
Capable of being able to fully close
Within and beyond areas that have or haven't been combed
Better stay on your toes
Continuing to row
As the wind does or doesn't blow
Effects ripple and domino
Despite if you have or haven't chose
Because that's how life goes
Stay sharp and composed
By: Dalton Ogletree
Categories:
silicone, poetry, rap, word play,
Form:
Rhyme
Starry skies over Damascus
Like a star chart for the
bomber pilots eating
Milky Ways and lives
Chocolate in the desert
for desert in consumption
The poem could stop here
its pretty clear not pretty
Petty lives perambulating
hiding hobbling around
on what was their feet
foundations souls and
is their ruin's wreckage now
The planes feature logos
“Just do it”
“Whiter than white”
“Put the tiger in the tank”
“Eat confectionary be happy”
What an advertising space
for the daily news rounded
up like the refugees
refusing to be refuse
“Powered by democracy”
“Fuelled by share holdings”
“Rocket launches for a better world”
in the weeping nights and days
lactating for another holiday
of some on sunny beaches
oozing oil wells wealth
and inequality
Milk where it needs not be
in luxury not infant powder
hungry breasts run dry by hunger
sapped empty in the face
of some lives counting
more than others where
camouflage is but
a distant varnish
in the pursuit of power
Soon their will be billboards
“Baghdad was not built
in a moment” “Invest in
Kabul” “Concrete for Allepo”
“Live the dream”
“Life liberty and the
pursuit of happy-mess”
“Constructing globality”
Munching away in my
cushioned arm chair
built from greedy land mines
I collude
“You can have your milky ways”
if the bomber pilots did not
eat them all
Whose wives implant their chests
with silicone from
the valley of evil
that forgot
Instead the artificial brain
the heart transplant
Mindful disposition
of humanity
Looking
instead at the stars
spangled banners
of Damascus
Milky ways
Categories:
silicone, war,
Form:
Free verse
BOTOX BRIGADE
Oh so numb, I can’t stop myself drooling,
Can’t feel my brows, touch them, one is drooping,
My lips I feel are massively huge and swollen,
I should have realized that this was a bad omen.
My cheeks are sore, injected frequently,
Obsessed by the media talk increasingly,
I dare not put lipstick on, for I’ll look like a clown,
I stare at the mirror in horror, I have no frown.
For boobs I requested a size thirty six
Simply wanted to be one of the chicks,
But the surgeon had extra silicone,
Even the so famous Dolly I outshone!
A nip and a tuck were done on my tummy,
Which I inherited after becoming a mummy,
And after the final touch of a firmer bum
I looked like new, a different me I had become.
I knew I was in fact addicted,
This was to me often predicted,
Developed scars, no recognizable features,
Too late, now one of many Botox cheaters.
AFTER HAVING SEEN A DOUMENTARTY ABOUT OBSESSIVE PLASTIC SURGERY
Categories:
silicone, beauty,
Form:
Rhyme
1st amendment atrocities
Secondary nature
Pound for pound
They scream above holy lungs
Of righteous contradictions
As humanity continues to dry-hump “social” media,
Their sedentary psychiatrist
Judgmental lip smacks
Chapped from the arrogant vowels
They spit
Another syllabic lyric
Within our home of the “free”
Our 50 stars become 50 irrational assault rifles
In order to become bullet proofed
From infantile validation
We embrace rusty excavators
Crushing on Bones wearing red sweaters & silky moustaches
While MBAs & Bachelor Degrees
Fight in Spartan-tempered mouth-offs
If a dress is blue or gray
Donkeys & Elephants become consensual orgies
In the name of desperate prayers
But, neither will raise taxes in the name of God
For church & state are separate
Until dollar-store woven baskets made in China swoop in
During Sunday mas(k)s
Stairways to our imaginary heaven,
Its railing removed by forced epiphanies,
Replaced by “angelic” archways
Made of Kardashian silicone
And rose-tinted ascension
Yes, we can.
Yes, we did.
Yes, we fell.
We. Must. Change.
©D.J.E.
Categories:
silicone, freedom, people, perspective, political,
Form:
Free verse
Female Newscaster
Written by: Catherine Reinke
Pretty faces
Boob jobs too
silicone lips
and higher shoes.
***** stars,
contrived
cue cards.
Network news
has gone to fair!
Lying teeth.
Blinding white.
What today
is our plight?
Cleavage low.
Ratings soar.
Cannot let
audience boar.
Murder and terror .
On she reads,
security level
red, orange, yellow.
Day by day
freedoms stolen.
Freedoms lost.
Freedom now
long forgot.
Centerfold women
On CNN,
foxy news and MSN.
Walter contrite
he’s not more.
replaced femme fatal
through news doors.
Buxom beauties.
Youthful cuties.
News once read
by somber heads
now is told
by sexy dames in red.
Seems my husband
to his bed
take those newscasters
he has said
to his bed?
Yes, he said
tight hot bodies
dressed in red.
Give me news
and give it often.
Put Ted Kopple
in his coffin.
Easy chair
a couple of beers
all my news
I want to hear
from pretty faces
boob jobs too
silicone lips
and higher shoes.
Categories:
silicone, funny, political, satire, social,
Form:
Limerick
Your mood was as black as the opal
Your eyes sparked of the fire of red and green
One of the rarest stones on the planet
The most rare is what you are to me
Words can’t express the intensity
The impact this precious stone evolves
The knowledge you’re my own beauty
*Silicone, hydrogen, oxygen are not involved
I would wear you close to my body
On a chain resting on my chest
Let the warmth of those black moods
Keep me smiling as you lay there at rest
If I was a rich man a ring I would buy
Made of this precious composition
For you to wear, so that people can see
You’re precious, though of a moody disposition
*Black Opal
The brilliant play of colour, or "fire," in these dark gems, along with their relative scarcity, causes them to be worth over $2300 per carat.
Composition of a Black Opal: Silicon, Hydrogen, Oxygen | Market Value: $2,355 per carat.
Categories:
silicone, desire,
Form:
Rhyme
In quiet anticipation, Daphne carefully sewed
tiny outfits of love for her soon to be child.
With her soft braided hair and loose, faded clothes
Daphne sung lullabies, then stared off for awhile.
When her due date came, we wished Daphne well
for our small sewing circle was caring and kind
Daphne looked embarrassed, but was happy to tell
that she'd show us her baby at just the right time.
About a month later, sweet Daphne appeared
gently cradling her sleeping, angelic little girl
With a hushed adoration, we all drew near her
and beheld the most beautiful baby in the world.
When the ladies dispersed, I asked Daphne if I
could hold her new baby, I'd hold her with care
with a brief hesitation, she said, "Just a short while"
her perfect, silicone baby was lighter than air.
Written on 5/26/2016
Categories:
silicone, baby, fantasy, sad,
Form:
Quatrain
You think you could be me
With your bleach blonde hair
Your crimson lips
Your hooded stare
You think you could be me
I could be you
We could be thee
Maybe all three
Wearing your twiggy clothes
With an upturned nose
With a sexy glare
A high heeled dare
You think you could be me
Wear my ripped jeans
My wild curly hair
Feet that are bare
All my tattoos
I don't want to be you
With your liposuction
Your silicone
Why buy boobs when I have my own
Is that why you wanna be me
Change me
To fit your Barbie world
Where all the men
Look and act like Ken
Just so you know
I wanna be me not you
You in your
Plastic princess
Barbie townhouse reality
So let me be
A world where no one bakes
New age flakes have it done by their spirit guides
Where you and your friends are from the same mold
Plastic girls never get old
Where you dream your plastic dreams
All sterile and clean
Keep your Barbie world and all your plastic dreams
I wanna keep my world where my music sounds like primal screams
Where it's dramatized,glamourized,even heavy metalized
Where the color of the rainbows drown me in their swirl
Go ahead girl
Keep your Barbie dreams
I like being me
Categories:
silicone, imagination, life, people, uplifting,
Form:
Free verse
My autopsy room is a confessional,
where killers in absentia divulge
their sins through bodies
rigid and frigid, mutilated and mute.
Graffiti of abrasions, contusions and lacerations
reenact without deceit or reservations
a catalogue of perversions and violations.
Rage, hatred, greed, jealousy, sickness
explode and leave behind vandalized anatomies,
a *********** of naked emotions
in the topography of vacated husks.
Silently, they talk.
With my eyes, I listen.
They confide in me about themselves too,
these chatty cadavers,
about their public faces and private hell.
Tattoos speak of loves and obsessions,
silicone breasts betray insecurities,
medications reveal internal insurgencies,
needle marks give away muffled screams,
cirrhosis lets on alcoholic dreams.
A hundred foibles preserved by the
candor of rigor mortis,
each corpse an abridged,
unfinished biography.
By the end of their final confessions, the departed
have parted with their burdens of secrets.
In death much more than in life,
there is honesty.
Still, I take comfort in the lies of the living.
Categories:
silicone, death, life, memory, men,
Form:
Free verse
I knew, that if you knew that I was watching
Your thoughts of me would never be the same
The sexual approach as you hugs and
caresses her silicone enchancers
So tightly,
You feast upon her, sweetness
That moaning sound, the bulging purple blood;
Surges in your veins
You close your eyes, and you sigh “Oh my God”
words, I never heard like that before
You seem at ease with the whore
Categories:
silicone, art, boyfriend, confusion, courage,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
We lie to ourselves over and over again.
but it is at all to relocate the blame.
If we can’t trust ourselves who can we trust?
He was born for his blood.
Jesus Christ …
He is like no other sacrifice.
His pain is greater than birth pain,
far beyond groin pain.
The strain of humanity rested on his brain.
The offering is from everlasting,
before the fathers of the Israelites,
before feminists claimed that men believe
the source of chaos lies with women.
Blood was predetermined
before lips blasphemed;
women are the spring of complete perception,
and life.
Is he or is she the source?
“His blood is the stream of life,”
a wise woman once whispered to me, her baby boy.
I have watched mortal tongues
mock their creator’s wisdom.
In Eden, Adam sinned with his wife,
and assigned to her his fault,
and the blame continues …
but not forever;
it shall end in due time.
Who wants to be exalted above God?
Who declared that
the means to my existence is other than God?
Blurred is our vision,
elusive is our hope.
There is no child that is born without God or man.
Why is it that claims state woman to be the source of life?
If today’s woman is objectified whose fault is it
if she esteems herself as the source of knowledge and life?
The silicone, the Botox is all her choice.
Who is forgetting who is the origin of life?
Before pharaoh enslave the Israelites,
and way … before the flood
God WAS and still IS …
the source of life and love.
Categories:
silicone, confusionwoman,
Form:
Lyric
I've been eating a lot of pig snouts.
And because of that, I have the gout.
I scream from the pain because everybody gives my foot a smack.
When my foot gets better, those people had better watch their backs.
When a lady smacked my foot, I threw darts into her boobs and she started leaking silicone.
She regretted what she did because in less than ten minutes, her large breasts were gone.
When I get even, I make people cringe.
If you smack my foot, I will get revenge.
(This is a fictional poem)
Categories:
silicone, funny, hilarious, humor, pain,
Form:
Rhyme