Best Statues Poems
There are certain people
who appear to be normal on the outside
like the have it all together.
To me, these people remind me of walking statues,
that walk around wearing these big genuine
ridiculous phony smiles.
Once you go beneath the surface,
its a whole different world,
where silence is mostly spoken.
And when you're in their presence
which,you'll never know when,
or,where that will be.
So you must always stay on guard
because,they're very observant,
and,very crafty in choosing their words wisely,
in order not to be detected.
And whatever you say,
or do,might come back
and haunt you.
But,this'll all depend
on how conduct yourself.
At the same time
while you're desperately walk on eggshells
trying not to slip up.
Insanity slowly begins its journey
into your mind,
torturing you with every passing second,
causing extreme sweating and
making your heart beat out of control.
And as long as you let them see your weakness,
they will continue to torture you with their fakness .
Of clay and water, I am made;
day in, day out, here I stay.
My soul, it yearns, to live and learn;
as humans have, for all times turn.
As passersby, all stare at me;
I ever long to be set free.
Trapped here in a stony chest;
I suppose, it’s for the best.
No elation, I will feel;
no joy of dance, jig or reel.
I stand alone, for all to see;
a human, I will never be.
Simply put, I stand alone;
just another treasure, some museum owns.
Faithful few
Filled the
Firmament with
Fundamental fervour
Finally finding, through
Fastidious fellowship,
Future fanatical friends and
Fulfilling the fine frequency
Favourable for forgiveness.
Finally.
If we can’t tell stories
about our past
—the future stays untold
If judged by standards
out of time
—the fault beyond control
Our history always
both good and bad
—correction on the rise
What happened, happened,
as time rolls on
—and yesterday reminds
(Independence Square Philadelphia: March, 2021)
Monumental statues
so quickly torn down
by radical, woke vision
Truth, a ghost town
Sewer workers' heroes
too, have to go
They carry out the
'Plans of the Man'
Don't you know?...
Located underground
Can't tear those statues 'down'
Will they be broken 'up?'
~ I hear a voice screaming 'Yup'
Stone Cold Statues
Clothe the saints.
Whosoever sees their flesh
will be damned to the great kiln.
I love their garments, the sculptor’s breath
on billowing stone, their faces white
like hosts of God turned man,
of bread turned God, and sinners
turned harmless in unleavened circles.
I am not of the miracle life.
I only understand the statues'
never-wavering watch as their
clothing flows obdurately soft.
©Kathryn McL. Collins
On this UBI's Day, May 1st, to observe the greatest socioeconomic concept ever conceived.
You can't have all you want
but not having all you need,
it's a pity, unworthy economic being,
don't expect a man plant
growing grains, fruits and juices,
rise to the heights
of your human nature's creator,
make them a gift,
and have as gift
life's gift, for piece of mind,
with our society's work.
Still hunger is a scare,
unconsciously makes you
rushing running hurrying pushing.
Why, ask your god and,
bring the answer down to earth.
Say it to the tall powers
to whom earth belongs to,
what's misery for,
while there is plenty.
Where is my piece of mind
and fulfillment.
Other species await in you,
without sorrow questions
so without negative fellings,
freer about its wellbeing.
Forces of petty power up there
must do what's needed,
powers abstract, unknown,
like the sky,
always as far as started going to it.
Who are they, that stop me,
can't really see them,
I'm changing them
and they remain the same.
A new human being may emerge,
to live life as was meant to be,
effortlessly, with society's work.only.
I can only live in a garden
where warped talons
of tiger tulip petals mar
unbroken lines of pastel shimmer,
not where silent cerulean lakes
float as though aloft
in frames of polished stone
to tell the cloudless sky,
I'm your offspring.
I smile for blighted statues
mocked by companies of peonies
effervescing in ballet
and the coarse tusk of St Augustine
thronged by emerald dichondra.
I have no business among wisteria's cornucopias
of lilac bounty nor the glee
of summer marigolds.
I tend thorny stalks
of a wild rose that never blooms
and climbing ferns whispering
in shaded corners of spring's
explosive allemande.
I feel only weight of gray misted mornings
when the dank of coming rain permeates
in pale foliage's stag line
where vines creep in distant communion,
ignored by harsh jonquil rays.
HISTORY CHANGING IN THE MAKING
A very touchy subject now
Who is behind this movement?
The hate they build inside themselves
say history should be changed
They'll tear this country all apart
till history's rearranged
Hide the truth from everyone
The good, the bad whatever
Tell your children anything
What's in the books? (was never)
Somewhere down a highway
a billboard spewing hate
Denouncing those once honorable
and telling of their fate
Within a decade (maybe two)
things won't be the same
Pictures of a President
you will not learn the name
Statues? Maybe Marxis ones
considered good, not bad
Will surely rise throughout the land
no arguments? How sad
Pete Yuhas
Statues Out of Stone…
As I pass the time tonight
It seems the words may rhyme
But right or wrong
Still doesn’t make much sense to me
Because I’m lost in my thoughts
Wondering if all I’ve sought
Will stem from all I am about to leave
Still there is indecision
Though my decision has been made
Like a surgical incision
And I’m the only one holding the blade
Carving statues out of stone
Though I still bleed and shed my tears
Carving statues out of stone
The only way to conquer my fears…
Statues out of stone
Statues of Darwin
David J Walker
Cayotes claim what they can of
The daylight hours hounded by the
Windblown November sun
Below the Mesa
No better than the
Blazing days of the summer
Only colder
Every rock looks the same
Every plant a chameleon
Every insect a meal in a race for
Its life
Here the world is cruelly honest
About its business and
Indifference to death
Here, life is recycled
Without ceremony nor prayer
Language needs no interpretation
Reading is seeing and reacting
And each species erects its own
Statues of Darwin
harsh reality
revenants of slavery
reminders removed
THE MONUMENTS MARK OUR EVIDENCE
Stop! Wait! Be Still!
This isn’t the way to heal!
Tearing down statues of the past,
Removing the passion behind what we feel.
Listen to my urgent cry,
You’re not destroying what was,
It is our Ebony Trail of Tears
Our reason, our because.
Just because it’s history,
doesn’t make it beautiful,
Laws made on our misery,
To them, to kill us, dutiful.
The monuments mark our evidence,
To rid them is not suitable,
Will not remove what’s relevant,
Only making our cause more prevalent.
Teach now your children harmony,
Love than hate our musical,
No longer enslaved by memory,
Teach them your freedom beautiful.
Still yes, they are stone memories,
But let them not make you relive
They are the pavements of our history
A past from now we’re healed
Adonis in obsidian
Midnight Heracles
My Orpheus, though out of key,
You sing the dark right out of me
Achilles himself had a weakness;
Yours is within your chest:
The golden heart that’s beating
Within an ebony breast
Olympians play chess with their mortals
Hades takes the rest
Still, Iron Apollo,
You rise and set in the West.
Wash away the sins of the father
Release your head from the sand
Try to start again
Or ignore the reaching hand
Who are you to judge over a body? A way of life?
A face growing weary and thin?
Restless, are we still so cold?
Are we a plague to ourselves, made of mildew and mould?
Pigment and porcelain statues refuse to give in
Committing evil against humanity
Fighting a war against prejudice
Over melanin produced in the skin
Find the key others have found before
Let their voices be your guide
Open your mind to the reality of death’s door
To find the ignorance from inside
Refuse to accept anything but truth
And choose to refuse the lies
And move forward into a new world
Where melanin doesn’t depict who lives and who dies