Best Themselves Poems
I want to be an artist.
I want to create a piece if be proud of for the rest of my life.
Id peel back the skin, cutting the fat away until it was the perfect size.
then id mold it - shape it until it was just right.
Pulling muscles like clay, threading through blood vessels and veins like string, digging through the mess of myself and scraping away every inch until i loved what i saw.
every flaw,
carved out of my body until all the was left was absolute perfection
when im finished, id stitch the skin back over in a beautiful mess, - tight, trembling
and standing in the mirror, ill know -
i made the greatest art piece id ever see
they say, an artist greatest masterpiece is themselves.
oh dear heaven ...
how impeccant …
how subtly innocent and eager!
are you truly as oblivious as you seem?
oh, I am sure of otherwise …
or would there not be so much unsullied skin laid bare -
so few garments that thus adorn the masterpiece?
utter innocence, burning in the motion of your stride ...
a fortuitous feast of flames for the common!
the gods themselves feign deference to such fair symmetry,
and barter the heavens for but a grace of your shadow -
you are pristine virtue, annotated ...
you are torturous fare for the plain and fallow,
and envy for even the inimitable …
innate sensuality trickles from your feathery brow
to your Lilliputian toes, (painted bubblegum pink),
tracing an unblemished dermal landscape
that any hormone-hewn human would consider a dream destination …
you exude a connate allure, inexplicable,
enchanting even the stars -
sky weeping in exquisite anguish for sake of your fluid movement,
saucy, exposed hips,
tossed with coy yet libidinous intent,
their immaculate and fluid rhythm
catching in chests like a cardiac event,
pulling the breath from lungs around you like taffy,
(and not returning without discerned effort),
every gaze in your line swinging in matched tempo,
stupefying all within your affect ...
a mass hypnosis inspired by your walk alone -
ponytail braid and pink ribbon sway in opposite tempo,
adding to the sassy attitude …
eyes, pure white arctic spheres
with polished onyx centers,
set to possess the soul, should they find your focus …
faultless, blue-white smile,
framed by sugar plum lips, shaped to perfect bows ...
oh dear heaven!
such resplendent rapture should they whisper your name!
such divine intoxication should those eyes affix yours!
the gods themselves are weeping wonder ...
the gods themselves!
* SECOND PLACE in the "Free Verse On Love" Poetry Contest, Laura Loo, Sponsor. *
oh dear heaven ...
how impeccant
how subtly innocent and eager
are you truly as oblivious as you seem?
oh, I am sure of otherwise
or would there not be so much unsullied skin laid bare -
so few garments that thus adorn the masterpiece?
utter innocence, burning in the motion of your stride ...
a fortuitous feast of flames for the common
the gods themselves feign deference to such fair symmetry
and barter the heavens for but a grace of your shadow
you are pristine virtue, annotated ...
you are torturous fare for the plain and fallow
and envy for even the inimitable
innate sensuality trickles from your feathery brow
to your Lilliputian toes, (painted bubblegum pink)
tracing an unblemished dermal landscape
that any hormone-hewn human would consider a dream destination
you exude a connate allure, inexplicable
enchanting even the stars -
sky weeping in exquisite anguish for sake of your fluid movement
saucy, exposed hips
tossed with coy yet libidinous intent
their immaculate and fluid rhythm
catching in chests like a cardiac event
pulling the breath from lungs around you like taffy
(and not returning without discerned effort)
every gaze in your line swinging in matched tempo
stupefying all within your affect ...
a mass hypnosis inspired by your walk alone
ponytail braid and pink ribbon sway in opposite tempo
adding to the sassy attitude
eyes, pure white arctic spheres
with polished onyx centers
set to possess the soul, should they find your focus
faultless, blue-white smile
framed by sugar plum lips, shaped to perfect bows ...
oh dear heaven
such resplendent rapture should they whisper your name
such divine intoxication should those eyes affix yours
the gods themselves are sobbing ...
the gods themselves.
words give a lively dance
not staying on the lines of the paper
or in left to right order
or even down the page order
letters are flinging onto the page in every direction
I just saw a crazed T jump onto a Z's back
C stuck out her tongue and two ran off to tattle
the verbs decide to outdazzle the adjectives
racing, chasing, facing, macing, spacing,
These wild wonderful words are excited and joyful
I happily give up the reins
leaning back in my chair
allowing yet another poem to write herself
as every good poem does
I HEARD THEY THOUGHT THEMSELVES CIVILIZED
Each grain of gorged sand
civilized people —
themselves owned; owned land.
meanwhile the steeple
looked down at the band
of loquacious stock.
each thought themselves well
in front of the rock.
Ozymandias’ plaque —
bleak headstone of hell!
Cain’s ark had a crack —
offed sand of red sea.
Cornerstone cuts back
the billows — sets free.
7/28/2020
Ozymandias was written by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Here is a couple verses:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
The bible speaks of Jesus:
On his robe and on his thigh he has this name written:
King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
Revelation 19:16 NIV
This Jesus is the stone that was rejected by you, the builders, which has become the cornerstone. And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.”
Acts 4:11-12 ESV
In Exodus 14 verses 21-22
Then Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, and all that night the Lord drove the sea back with a strong east wind and turned it into dry land. The waters were divided, and the Israelites went through the sea on dry ground, with a wall of water on the right and other left.
As Blacken Monsters Paint Themselves As Glowing White,
Dedicated to, Ghost Writer
As darkness wields its deep slashing demonic blades,
sanity seems to be malignant tour de force,
corruption flows along hiding in wicked shades
as malicious malady on a tragic course!
One must hold steady if life is true to liven.
For we face truth, if sin is to be forgiven.
As evil dances in its guises and parades
slicing innocent hearts to laugh and watch them bleed,
from black abyss, spring such malevolent charades
beastly feedings to sate arrogant selfish needs!
One must hold steady if life is true to liven.
For we face truth, if sin is to be forgiven.
As blacken monsters paint themselves as glowing white
and too many simply refuse to this farce see,
do we flee, abandon others to hidden blight
does land race away from the waves of crashing sea?
One must hold steady if life is true to liven.
For we face truth, if sin is to be forgiven.
As life, its beauty, its sweet treasures offer up
and our deepest hope and dear dreams are ours to keep,
dare we in defiance, from adversity sup
or silently yield to darkness, too scared to sleep?
One must hold steady if life is true to liven.
For we face truth, if sin is to be forgiven.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-10-2020
Rhyme, Dedication poem
( A Poetic Answer To Greg Barden's Poem, ("Ghost Writer")
Numbers Count On Themselves
3’s make love in the open
Twist with trees that turn from Winter
Count on music to reveal Spring
Several 7’s take lessons on how to Jitterbug
They disco with 6’s by the river to keep in step
Zero’s boat house is open for business
Even ants look for action
Reason to leave the house
4’s step in with them
For the common good
For hours at a time, for whiskey and a song
The audience breaks into applause
8’s broke into fractions on the floor (Which is against the law)
7’s did illegal sambas (Knowing it was wrong)
Cops stepped in to stop this numbers game
Questionable digits and their issues are cause for inquisitions
Zero, the owner of the boat house business
Had no power in this matter
8’s and 7’s, embarrassed, reduced by more demotion
Showed no emotion as they left the show
Taken off to jail for infractions of the fraction code
There is nothing wrong with any number
They all wish to rise above themselves
To make a better future for their children
Who start out like 1’s like everyone else
Zero never had a business plan or house
When he started out
We all began as little 1’s without a clue
Counting on ourselves to get us through
I guess you could say that is a plus
The calculus of us
Soon all things will owe themselves to progress
and nature will neither wane nor wax
accosted by bulbs and cog-laden streams.
Children in god-awful Christmas jumpers
gather around the May-pole to watch
the leaves become what they’re deprived of.
We are taught to fear puddles, duty free
purchases, and heroes speak in slant rhyme.
Thermodynamics washes the feet
of tired old gravity, entropic
kisses to keep loved ones close; parody—
if absence does what it does, we should leave
and never return to this place of progress
where bluebells can’t frost and starlings sing falsetto.
Beautified and vain
Pampered, preened to "perfection"
Lovers of themselves
If you're wondering when I'll stop loving God, the answer is never.
I will love and worship the Lord forever.
God helps those who help themselves, this is true.
If you are in need, help yourself and God will help you.
We live in a world that is sometimes sinister and cruel.
But if God is a part of your life, life can be wonderful.
stated succinctly,"I'd rather be or appear to be a creepy guy rather than a phony guy. period.
The arrogance of comfortability can become a disaster
Thinking you can be the master of all circumstances
Can bring on the stubbornness of growth
Some people keep changing partners
To avoid changing themselves
Some people come into your life as a blessing
Some come as a lesson
One cannot stay the same
Change is inevitable and
The change you will give
Can cause a ripple effective that
Can align with changes your partner makes
Don’t be stuck in stubbornness
It calls for deep brokenness and
This will only lead to foolishness
Some people keep changing partners
To avoid changing themselves
Sacrifice is an essential ingredient!
Thinking you can be the master of all circumstances will often show
That the arrogance of comfortability can become a disaster
Mark Frank
Copyright 2023
stated succinctly,"I'd rather be or appear to be a creepy guy rather than a phony guy. period.
Some heard as his mother
stood over ironing in the 1947
summer of Hatboro, Pa..
Some of the songs
in black and white
Saturday evening television circles.
Some later, songs of folksy pretension.
The songs persist
anchors of memory,
like the crystaline
seeds of clouds,
matrons of tribes.
The path to tread is hard to know-
When each person denies to show-
What they truly feel inside their soul-
With the things from others they stole-
People always go with the crowd-
Since with themselves their not allowed-
To express themselves, their own self restricts-
Of what they see, what of them depicts-