Best Stone Faced Poems
Night draws out like a long, sharp blade.
Keen edged, it carves its image upon a
black-ink sky. As iron sharpens iron, the
knife hurls glowing planets and stars
upon the deep.
A soft-faced moon of soapstone,
is the sharpening tool upon which the
knife's edge beckons light into the darkness.
Its opaque face is the focal point of all the
twinkling entities illuminating a quilted darkness.
Each night's sharp-honed edge is a memory
to hold in the mind's eye. The spark thrown
stars and stone-faced, silent moon remind us
of the unrelenting friction our earth must feel
hurtling resolutely through an endless void.
Night, like a long blade draws out from dusk
until the dawn again cracks with morning light.
Night Like a Blade
3-17-15
One by one your bones are stacked,
to hold back Mother Nature.
Or as a need for privacy,
a man made stone enclosure.
You turn a graceful curve around,
a walkway or a drive.
At times you are snap-line straight.
A Canvas for artistic eyes.
You end against a building wall,
or with columns as sentinel ends.
At times your left with toothings out,
so you may continue once again.
Be you cottage stone or slate flats,
created of rip rap or river rock.
Your rugged beauty ads some flair
and curb appeal around the block.
You lead the way, block a path.
Keep man out of danger.
You silently stand against time,
a stone faced, familiar stranger.
For the contest: A Toothful Ode
Sponsored by Nancy Jones
*note. Toothing. When a stone or brick wall is left
unfinished, with bricks or stones left jaggered at the end,
so the wall can be continued at a later time.
Do not tell me anymore of mythical mermaids lurking
In the fine gradient of the sea, eyes heavy with a snaring desire,
A monalisa smile framed on their faces or of
Sexy mermen and smiling salacious simpletons
To stereotype the smile mystery of the swahili of diani;
Their courtesy charms me like their taarab in the moonlight;
Their light-skinned women with lessos wrapped around
Their hips, flowery with petals like butterflies, carrying messages
Emblazoned in rich swahili proverbs and poetry, or in pitch-black buibui,
Silvery silk hijabs on their heads, the all encircled face radiant like sunlight,
Their disarming ubiquitous smile, proud seeming and confident
With their polite dialect even felt in the soft tread of their feet...
Swahili women do not just smile to strangers, they greet them too:
''Here we neither buy nor sell salamu, we give it for free!'' one elderly
Woman in msambweni tells me one day when I pass by, stone-faced,
A typical bara man demeanor with courtesy only reserved
For the familiar face. I feel the surge of culture shock creeping
Into my conscience, a creepy confusion like in a stormy sea;
A reflection of a sojourners new baptism. I bowed my crest-fallen face and said,
''Shikamoo mama'' she answers ''marahaba mwanangu.'' I was amused and
Warmed up by the sustained, sweet matrix of her mouth.
Their henna art is spell-binding too. Breath-taking. A love of femininity,
Seem they have all the time in the world to spruce up, to be women:
Smart, sexy, sassy, their feline grace unlocking the manacles of man;
They know their place in this man world, an aura of a social panache,
A tapestry touch of a culture that soothes the soul, a kind of social philosophy-
A humble humanity born of the light of love with life
Like fish in their natural element.Their laughter lacerate the sea,
Make marks on the beach sands, build dreams in the fine gradient
Of the waves, hearts entrenched in the soul of the sea.
To a tattered-clothed monster, the city of lights looked so dim,
only stone-faced gargoyles never grimmaced at the sight of him,
everyday, with hideous cries of horror, voices rose and rang out,
it may have been his tears running down from the rainspout.
A human creature who can easily fit in with festivals of fools,
his grotesque, deformed face deemed unfit by society's rules,
while this toll reverberates within his ears, until torn apart,
a song, so beautiful, still plays from the depths of his heart.
People turn their gaze skyward to breathtaking cathedral towers,
where a lone, strong back peals the bells to pass by the hours,
a golden melody floats from the heavens to the town below,
his outward gentle nature only the gypsies and peasants know.
At night, he peacefully slumbers with a picturesque view of Paris,
for, in his dreams alone, no one could ever mock or embarrass,
wishes to dance, to taste the cuisine, in this sanctuary are hidden,
still he carries on a hope, a longing, for a freedom forbidden.
In the dark I see you clearly
Images your hardly
Ever share with the world
Why be gentle in the dark
When others think you are hardened
That your emotions
Were extricated at birth
Two complete opposites
Gentle versus rough
Stone faced
With signs that if you smile
In the daylight
Your face might crack
I see you smile all the time
Behind closed doors
Behind the four walls
Almost like you are afraid
The world might see
The gem I have uncovered
It is a joy to see you laugh
To hear that giggle
I reckon it is about time
You show the world the gentle side of you
©152625072013
Gonna stop, and think a few
Expose what I'm committed to
Take a closer look, and see
What it is that's running me?
Let me introduce myself
Fun and friendly, hooked on health
Generous as you could wish
And considered quite a dish
Mostly happy, at times insane
Turn my back, so you can feel my pain
Hold you close when I hear thunder
Let you gaze, admire and wonder
Want me, just enough to know
You'll be there when I let go
Love being right, and, not to mention
Dammit, I adore attention!
Hopeful, sweetheart, up for fun
Tease me and I come undone
Dreamer, dancer, storyteller
Feeble, frantic, fearful fella
Peaceful, calm, warrior Prince
Get my way, judge and convince
Pretend to listen, so I can speak
Creative genius, attention freak
Worship, cherish and adore me
Scared, I let your love ignore me
Desperate, I hunt your heart down
Humiliated, foolish, clown!
Beat me up, make myself wrong
Sounds like a familiar song?
Stick in the knife, twist it around
Hold me under, gasp and drown
Soul sliced by every incision
Cuts with surgical precision
Charming, witty, eye for fashion
Stone-faced, steel eyes, no compassion
Conniving, scheming, love control
The framework built around my soul
Open-minded, guarded heart
Made self-destruction in to art
Cunning mind, I grow, and know
To deal a devastating blow
Move mountains just to help you shine
Align your goals and thoughts to mine
Love, torment, enjoy the latter
Find fault, just so I can matter
Beam in like a crystal, bright
Scare the darkness from the night
So peek inside a little more
To see who lives behind the door
Lift my mask, I'll let you see
Needy, greedy, ego feedy, me!
Look at your hands.
Tell me the stories they would tell.
Will they speak of the deeds you have done??,
the good, the bad,
the decisions they've pondered,
the wonders.
Eyes caught in stone-faced modes
while being next to chins,
or cheek bones.
Look at your hands.
what journeys would they explain.
will they speak of warm embraces,
while standing in the rain?
have they been met with warm breath
on a cold winter's day??
or maybe even swam through cool waters,
on a hot day in May.
Look at your hands.
Tell me they stand they have took.
what clinched fist,
at injustice as the world watched and looked.
Look at your hands.
What miracles have they done????
giving some a fighting chance,
when others say there was none.
Look at your hands,
as they wipe away your tears,
blocking up the things unheard,
by covering up your ears.
Look at your hands,
give them a true thumbs up,
they work you through this life,
whenever things get tough.
Thank the creator for giving us,
such wonderful tools as hands,
but the package would not be complete,
without they eyes,
that are looking,
and a mind,
Understand????
As you look at your hands.
Form:
Rogue and destitute,
In dreamlessness I drift
Stolen by the numbness of routine
I lack your acceptance; I crave the pristine
Your pivoting words both lull and dull me
I harden day by day in its power
Though inside, the spark still lives
Gaining ground in an otherwise lost heart
Toil I must
Wait, I trust
Can you not grab hold of life and hurl these material things?
Can you not, for once, be free of control, and instead live?
Can you bear your force upon me with passion,
Instead of stone-faced apathy?
Direct me, and I will flee from all paths
From all of your torturous machinations
You cannot protect me, destroyer of joy!
Worship your uninspired content,
Your uncurious, indifferent rot
For I must away,
To the greatness of every day
To undo this cursed sleep you have inflicted upon me
Awaken me, undress me, and bathe me in secret exhilarations
And do not look on me like one who regrets,
Do not qualm over this uncontrolled zealot who possesses me
For she dresses you, comforts you, enlivens you, completes you
Every great day
They said he had no heart at all
They said he felt no pain
The stone-faced man just gave the facts
No feelings would he feign
He talked of floods and accidents
He spoke of deadly quakes
There were reports of surgeries
He spoke of bites from snakes
But then one day a war broke out
It was one of the worst
The man who was most seasoned
He would report it first
Day and night, the two sides fought
The massacre was brutal
Leaders said they saw no hope
They said the talks were futile
One night the man reported late
The sun was going down
The light was still enough to see
The story done in town
The bullets came from everywhere
Small fires raged around
The camera man had focused in
It seemed there was no sound
The little girl had stumbled out
She could have been his own
Her face had blood, her skin was torn
The building had been blown
The girl appeared as in a daze
But still their eyes did meet
Amidst the terror all around
She walked across the street
She seemed just like an angel
Her dress was burnt and torn
She held her hands out to the man
Her little face forlorn
Not more than thirty feet away
His eyes fixed on the girl’s
A bullet flew and she went down
The blood had drenched her curls
The man just stood in silence
Like time had stopped in space
The tin man’s heart had melted
And tears streamed down his face
They said he never was the same
the killing took a toll
They said that you could almost see
where bullets pierced his soul
Mr. Butcher, the undertaker, did a capital job of laying old Cheatum out,
Though he had to cram him in the casket since the senator was rather stout!
During the viewing, folks marveled at Mortician Butcher's cosmetic skill,
Especially the work on his bulbous nose, purpled by the booze he used to swill!
At the funeral, the preacher asked if anyone cared to eulogize the late departed.
The stone-faced congregation remained mute - no kind words were imparted!
This came as no surprise to the reverend who struggled to say something nice,
Something tactful and meaningful for the old galoot's bourne to Paradise!
His stoic widow sat staring ahead under the glaring gaze of the congregation.
She wore rubies, diamonds and emeralds looking like a queen at coronation!
Cheatum somehow always managed in his annual congressional appropriation,
To divert funds for his aggrandizement, further tainting his soiled reputation!
He was transported to Glorious Sunrise Cemetery in a horse-drawn hearse.
Folks thought that appropriate since they knew him to be a horse's reverse!
The reverend intoned an appropriate prayer as he was lowered in the ground.
There was nary a teary-eyed constituent of old Cheatum to be found!
On a nearby grassy knoll stood the gravediggers Arnold, Cletus and Dave,
Leaning on their shovels sipping Old Milwaukee waiting to close the grave.
Cletus having a way with words said, "I feel like throwin' rocks at the hearse!
Good Lord a-mighty! Can that new guy, Senator Swindler be any worse!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Beneath a columned structure people watch
As man and beast compete in a deadly match
Soon the drama before them will unfold
A drama contested by the very bold
In the distance a palm tree stands
in this ancient desert land
where pyramids rise from arid sands
To inter pharoahs who were grand
Two stone faced pharoahs observe the scene
As 3 men strain to control the king of beasts
Their muscles taut, their senses keen
As they try to avoid becoming the lion's feast
A leopard skin lies near their feet
Perhaps a cat that was too weak
But now the lion they try to defeat
If they lose this battle, the result, bleak
The lion roars for freedom's hope
As the men hold tightly to the ropes
Trying to subdue this creature with ebony mane
But the beast within cannot be tamed
As the lion rises up like a roaring flame
Yearning for freedom once again
The 3 men, perhaps captives themselves
Into danger's realm have delved
But if this feline should break free
The captive will give chase, and the captives will flee
~~
Stinking, dirty money
Foul, festering money
Putrid, gassy money
Rotten, disgusting money
Oppressing, cruel money
Castigating, merciless money
Admonishing, finger-wagging money
Subjugating, stone-faced money
Aah, money…
That your kiss is so sweet,
Your embrace so sensuous,
Your possibilities so tempting…
I am dirty with your scent
"No blood runs through his veins
only endless ice that flows hate."
Quote - Constance
I know a man who is cold-blooded
ice runs through his veins
his eyes are dead
his heart holds no mercy
for the life of innocent mothers, grandma's grandpa's
babies and children trying to flee his guns and bombs
or for men and women fighting for what is theirs
and he lies, lies and lies
he is calm and controlled in a hellish way
stone-faced he appears never upset
seems calm and controlled in public
(I wonder does he scream when alone)
he is never afraid because he is like a serial killer
he has no remorse
and cannot get enough of death and destruction
(I wonder do storms shake the ocean of his sleep)
he even sacrifices his own soldiers and people
to feed his eternal greed
he could care less if they starve or die
oh, the devil dwells in this man's heart as hate
a heart where no love could ever exist
no sadness could ever pour
for anything precious would just wither
this is a man created by the devil to destroy life
I think he must suffer from some
serious mental issues that only get worse with time
he sees himself as a KING
hiding in his castle of gold
surrounding himself with brain-washed followers
hate tells him that he is indestructible
he is a rolling stone crushing all in his way
but one day . . . one day
this wicked, evil man will fall
devoured by the devil he loves
I loath to say his name but you know him
_______________________
April 25, 2022
Poetry/Free Verse/ice in the veins
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1450-906-25
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Title Chosen - Ice in the Veins
Written for the Standard contest, Pick-A-Title, Vol. 30
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Judged 05/30/2022
First Place
I watched the snow on the
mountain tops turn to liquid gold
as the sun set swiftly
as if fleeing from the cold.
So black was the night that
the peaks just disappeared
and everywhere was stillness
as the wraiths of night appeared.
So cold was the air that
it almost hurt to breathe,
so thin was the air that
my lungs began to wheeze.
Staring at the blackness
I saw a twinkling light
suspended in the air
in the darkness of the night.
Yellow, orange, red in turn,
like the eyes of stalking tigers,
I realized, astonished,
that the light was on the Eiger.
Some fools were on the mountain,
having almost reached the summit!
As I thought of their predicament,
I felt my stomach plummet.
The Eiger isn't pretty
like the other Alpine peaks,
it's stark and sheer and barren
and its summit's rarely reached.
The north face of the Eiger is
so sheer that snow can't cling,
I wondered, as I went to bed,
what would the daylight bring.
Morning crept up slowly
as I pondered what I'd seen,
now the Eiger was in daylight,
I guess it must have been a dream.
No one could survive up there,
or even climb that high,
it must have been an illusion
or some stars up in the sky.
And then I heard a throbbing noise
that echoed through the valley:
a chopper with a rescue crew
to count the Eiger's tally.
Four bodies they brought down that day,
those fools whose flame I'd seen,
and the northern wall was stone-faced
and the Eiger sat serene.
Stalls with red plums, green grapes and yellow corn
And bits and bobs in the market of rags.
The Bullring was a buzz with life that morn
Children in prams, elderly carrying bags.
And amongst giant traders the Lamb does stand
St. Martin’s Church a light of new engage
A sole gargoyle peers down without command
Stone faced to change brought on by time and age.
Pigeons and Doves all walked in front of you
Some black, some white, some still with fear without
And yours became the face that I found true
The way you smiled with calm, removed all doubt.
At dusk I dreamt you held my soul awhile,
And through your watch slept like a peaceful child.