Best Unmasks Poems
Evil unmasks within Night's embrace;
assured that no one can see its face.
And patrons of darkness clap with joy,
applauding the tricks, tricksters employ.
In the darkest shadows of the Night:
a vampire's kiss morphs into a bite.
And as blood splatters the edge of time,
desire and eternity combine.
Two immortal hearts now beat as one:
merging, in the shadow of the sun.
And consummate their union with blood:
consumed in an emotional flood.
Sweet ecstasy, distilled from the dark:
quenches raw desires; primal and stark.
And befitting creatures of the Night:
silhouettes morph into bats in flight.
Where is she
Where did Faith go
If she's abandoned me
How did she know
Listened so patiently, I did
Made sure I understood
Checked my ego at her gate
O, Faith, is it really too late ...
I gaze into her eyes
They are deep, I realize
Faith pierces my heart
unmasks my disguise
waved away from certain topics
Yolanda and her Singing Saw blade
captured the intellectual integrity
of a generation in readjustment
freedom springs only from freedom kids
so lock your shields and set your pikes
and whatever else unmasks the poseurs
making mischief upon civilization
with zero police penetration
weighed and calibrated by the
by the US Bureau of Insanity
warned by the masked men at Masked Men U.
we'll find out if your daddy raised a fool
putting on a carefree face
clinging to childhood like a lost puppy
once again it's political suicide everywhere
the archetypes are tramping
through my head like Hitlerjugen
convulsed in the Little Death championship
strutting and hooting for a mate
will today's monster be tomorrow's arbiter of grace
Godzilla was eventually tamed was he not
he now does handyman work
and can come around some time
and get that squeak out of your door
that feudal ignorance and superstition
start with whatever impedes your mind
laughter will watch your back
cognition is a word game
rally and carry the colors with insolence
like a glowing catalytic converter
streaking across the endless night
distant from instinct like a horizon
illuminating a physics of the psyche
alive with maladapted ardor
like a dynasty of serial plagiarists
what then exactly is attention
news flash we are way past neolithic
up where the power meets the grid
if your point of observation is outlawed
only the involuntary spasms will remain
and a persistent mania for theology
to be dissected like laboratory toads
and poked with battery wires
where pickpockets with scissors
leave your pants a bit breezy
while clicking the mouse button of God
in a well orchestrated decoy fiasco
a talent show for the inept
tonight we have a knockout lineup
with lots of orange explosions
horrendous vs. hellacious
mastodon hair from the freezer
slapped on the bald spots
by a rapidly wilting imagination
strumming its ukelele in a hammock
burnt to a crisp in a flaming car wash
his soul finally attained its freedom
such as it was soot and ashes by then
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
When I looked in to her eyes,
In it I saw a prospect of a paradise.
A paradise whose entry was not
contingent on my righteousness.
My days of startling agony, still battled my
hope of finding true love.
Like the Battle of Armageddon,
I always came out a looser.
But meeting her... yea the Vault of Heaven,
was like proximal to the Book of Leaves.
Her countenance and demeanor,
whispered melodic symphonies.
And her meekness and charm,
transited me into a world of ecstasy.
Covered In fine linen and sapphire,
she glowed than a continuous spectrum.
Her beauty was an Achilles hill,
that all men that saw her failed to vanquish.
Just like my maiden father Adam,
In her I saw the hidden part of me.
As a woman, as one I will be spending my life with.
I have never felt this conflagration before,
It was apparent she was my dream woman.
What can be compared to the taste of crimson honey,
The more it reddened the more it sweetened.
I have never loved like this before.
For her I was willing to exchange my soul,
To be with her till eternity.
But cunningly she unmasks her real face.
Beneath her could not be compared to an iota of grace.
She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Who entered my life to distort and annihilate,
My hope of bliss.
All these while we paddled and flew high,
In the crescendo of our emotions.
It never crossed my mind that it was all a hoax.
A calculated sham just to make away with all I ever had.
Now am left with nothing,
Since her angelic face and docile pace,
Which I thought was the elixir my unending conundrum,
Was rather an emotional and psychological torture,
That has rendered my life defunct.
When I imagine her driving around town,
Adorned in my hard earned luxury,
There is only one moment I wish ,
I could re-write.
And that was the day I met her.
I always tell myself that sometimes,
It is better some people don’t come into your life.
But here I am know,
Wishing to right my wrongs and alter the past.
But it is so sad that I cannot have my way.
I know in the annals of time,
When my saga is being told,
I will be know as the moron,
Who killed himself because of a girl.
Though it may sound and look stupid,
I deem it a befitting penance,
For my obsessed illusion of love,
Thus love is an illusion that,
Emotionally disrupt sober discretion.
What can be compared to the stench of a broken heart.
A strong pube itch
unmasks a *****.
Volodymyr Knyr
2013
frankly zapped after wildly oscillating
in tandem with seven bobble heads and ten French horns)
a devilish trumpeting event
by pre-Christian Celtic festival standards
with a “proto” Don twick or tweeting
like a Taj Mahal wonder of webbed, wide world scout
Samhain celebrated on nightfall of October 31
for bachanalia, candy corn, dreaded locks tot tout.
Now, the Celts I met lived 2,000 years ago
in the area now Ireland,
the United Kingdom and northern France,
believed that the dead,
cuz the underworld could not tolerate nor find stand
ding room, thus returned to earth on Samhain –
accessing a outdated map drawn by Rand McNally.
Though all roads leading to Rome,
would be millenniums as future did advance
but (mentioned for no particular rhyme nor reason)
only for discordant anachronism
Lewis Carroll took a tumble,
and neither fat nor slim chance,
would never find him completing Alice in Wonderland,
cuz quite an expanse
of centuries extant between his accidental slip
somewhere back in time at a glance
hence, he befell the same fate,
how Alice would never en hance
her life, yet the first stanza hailed
as powerful punch from grunting naked tribesman
with armstrong brandishing big lance
which phallic symbol extolled bare necessity,
and no need to wear seer sucker pants
even when inaugurating the ritual, including the verse
..."The time has come," the Walrus said
"To talk of ma ny things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."...
set the listeners in a trance
emptying coffers of bipedal feral simians to add vance
this yearly practice filling rucksacks
with berries, carrion and twigs.
Whether ya favor Golem, Hobgoblins, or Dybyk,
take pause buffer ja pour out massed goodies heck
enjoy satiating yar sweet tooth while still able to lick
every morsel of junk food afterwards a tooth pick
might be necessary to remove gobs that didst stick
analogous to tallow melted from candle wick.
After becoming confident
(das ernest frank gent) handled ignition
jerryrigged knobs, levers, motors,
nameless other parts quintessentially,
set registers to “understand” vital www xy zone.
----------------------------------------------------------
A blitzkrieg capstone detonated explosive forcees
generating horrendous instantaneous jolt,
Krakatoa lost mighty noise,
outrageous phenomena qualified regarding
tremendous unearthly violent
whiplashing xing yawping zeitgeist!
----------------------------------------------------------
Imagine; The giant from Jack and the beanstalk, deign
Paul Bun, or the Jolly Green Giant,
straddling an imaginary line
between fall and winter. Therein lied the rub
(a tub tub three men in a tub), a question of mine
if pecking peccadillos peculiar per pretend puppies
engaged in any...Snoop...doggy style spine
tingling homosexual behavior,
no who matter intimated naked playtime also flourished
amidst can dyed cornicopia of good 'n plenty eats
contrasted with paucity,
life and death, Halloween evolved
as a celebration and superstition with wine
woman and song. Such weaning of the hallow,
or hallow of the weaner originated
with ancient Celtic festival of Samhain,
when village people would light vanity of bonfires,
and wear politically incorrect costumes
to ward off roaming ghosts of inept leaders
if necessary rivaling Tarzan impressions
swinging on a vine.
The Mound of the Hostages car bon mot dated
(by this amateur sigh hint hussed)
at 4,500 to 5000 years old, or there about
suggesting Samhain celebrated long before
first Celts arrived in Ireland
about 2,500 years ago with no cleats boot riveting clout
Samhain (pronounced /'s??w?n/
SAH-win or /'sa?.?n/ SOW-in,
Irish pronunciation: without,
or possibly Greek to this doubt
ting Thomas – [s??u?n?]),
a Gaelic festival marking the end,
when pollination ceased to flout
ushered advent of harvest season,
and beginning cust tomb of caw king grout,
discussing the epic winter of Gilgamesh,
or the "darker half" of the year,
when one feasted on giblets and sauer kraut
Halloween rooted er beer reed in ancient biers
caravansari doggedly exhumed along route,
66 (the third beastly 6
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part Two (continued)
( for sweet-teeth kiddies )
IF you pull a long face
And that too on Halloween Day
Mascara and rouge will drip on lace
And Mom will take your candies away
If you pull a long face
Not caring it's All Saints' Day
You're bound to continue losing face
If it falls on a hapless holy Sunday
Yet if you pull a long face
All-Hallows-Tide to All-Souls' Day
It matters little which way you face
West or East you'll rue the day
If you pull a long face
While for the Departed you pray
Under your masks to win them grace
Candies chocs will rain down your way
Yet if you pull a long face
Loads of paint the leer overlay
When the date with Fate unmasks your face
None here might remember you and pray
© T. Wignesan - Paris, November 1st., 2018
It's all imaginary
it's all real
it's all ephemeral
all eternal
every little gesture
every racing emotion
every breathless whisper
every dark and mystical room
overflowing with night air and moonlight
nothing is ever lost
truth is what is not forgotten
suffering, we learn
learning is remembering
the pain you give me
brings me back to myself
and I remember
who and what I was
before I had eyes or ears or even chloroplasts
the symbol on my hand is changing
on fire
like all of gleaming reality itself
the pearl of price which blinds the impoverished merchants
who wander naked and lost
hawking all their wares on every noisome corner
the fire is all consuming
all sanctifying
all purifying
all changing
all revealing
I am in the fire
and in the fire, all is holy
and every last thing is eternally in flames (even the merchants)
and sleep is the great activity
and death is a dear friend
who betrays with one kiss
but whose betrayal is love incarnate
I am one
with my many selves
and though I may be above you
you hear my voice
you fumble after the meaning until it finds you
I am
the light bursting out of a broken lantern
the diamond with an infinite number of perfect cuts
the voice crying milk and honey into the wilderness
the children's song that flies above the lamentation up on the desert plane
the melody that found its way into your equations
the dream that startles you wide awake
the life that pulsates in decay and corruption
the happily ever after horror story
I am
the unstoppable force
that meets the immovable object
and the result is nothing
nothing but the purest, clearest light
that has never entered the mind
take heart, my love
the raging storms of your own neurochemical electricity
will give birth to their own silence
all thought is designed to produce its own resounding negation
all speech is born to fade beautifully
all music is played until it is over
and it's closing time
and the bars empty
and the streets grow silent and still under the street lights
and the last enemy, who you fear with the Great Fear
unmasks herself, a friend and a lover
The Lover of lovers
and trembling
you fall forever into her holy and erotic embrace
This fate we see in tragedy
Unmasks a plea in comedy.
This era grows away from smiles
As hunger shows what conflict styles
The world we know is fading fast
As violence grows pain that outlasts.
This global glut of pain galore
Speaks of a rut that breaks some more.
The pace of peace is breaking down
As harsh disease flings screaming frowns.
This is the face of human woes
Struggling to trace highs from such lows.
The touch of cheer is fleeting here
As fear creeps near to fund more fear.
This is the tact of weary times
As simple acts forfeit sane chimes.
The world now fails the course of joy
As truth unveils a fragile ploy.
The end must come in swift descend
As failure sums what lies pretend.
Too soon, too late, the dream comes true
As caustic fate hurl empty cues.
Here where I stare on this mountain,
Faint echoes dare dreams for certain.
Leon Enriquez
16 December 2014
Singapore
Cold winters day... Shall we play in the snow or stray? Frozen icicles hanging on trees effortlessly in the atmosphere. A frozen atmosphere filled with cold winds whistling ever so loudly. A cold heart ponders and shields itself as a protective layer. The layers builds a wall, thus then feels protected. Protection exists as does resistance. Resistance often persists. When one builds a wall, one masks the soul. Break free now the wall.. As one explores and unmasks the soul. Gone is misery.. Gone is pain accompanied by grief.. Wall crumbles into tiny pieces..
Many, many tiny pieces create an abundance of an everlasting unveiling of the soul..
Love divine, sovereign in directive
Smites lust, selfish midst carnal perspective…
Though both can be passionately active
True love along life-building objective
Unmasks lust that’s grievously "afflictive".
While love sublime works really effective
Reaching-out: restorative, curative…
Scheming lust is deceitfully protective
In the guise of care, vainly productive
For personal gain; oh, greedy motive.
Love can turn to lust when it’s destructive
Overwhelmed with own wants, so "exploitive"…
Flawed by human nature’s mark: defective
I beg for God’s great love* --- re-creative
To vanquish lust’s force, sweetly seductive.
*Romans 5:5…The love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.
July 1, 2020
1st place, "COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(2) any theme any form" Poetry Contest; Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 9/3/2020.
a single glance from God blinds a billion evil eyes
a single glance from God binds and breaks a billion lies
demons doomed to die where angels...like flames of fire...learn to fly
down in the depths and up in the sky are a million signs and wonders
forgiven and forgotten are mad mistakes and badness blunders
i sleep in peace and slumber cause His thoughts are like thunder and lightning flows from His lips...vengeance and fury surge through His fingertips
i slide into sin and i slip...
a single glance from God puts an end to that terrible trip
a single glance from God ignites a holy holocaust...like firebirds rise from ashes and sinners
get blood bought
dead to rights and caught red handed...marked and branded
satan makes the truth seem slanted
still salvation seeds get planted...soon tall towers reaching heaven
enemies come united but flee in 7 million different directions
with His power and protection...the divinity hammer drops
a single glance from God makes death and devistation stop
a single glance from God puts bad men on their knees...while they're praying for forgiveness
He listens to their pleas
a single glance from God unmasks mad masquerades
those lions dressed as lambs...those predators turn to pray
a single glance from God scans the bottom to the top...from the vallies filled with violence to the mansion mountain homes
a single glance from God turn false halos into horns
no bird or beast can fake it
a single glance from God is all it really takes
Wailing winds, crying in the empty night;
tripping leaves rattle across, walls and roads;
click-clacking out a lullaby.
Soon, squirrels will be rocked into a
hibernating dreamtime;
their nests swaying in high treetops.
As fall unmasks winter,
Mother Earth beds down her creatures;
tucking them in for
the approaching nights.
Wrapped in her white blanket,
she takes her, long-deserved rest.
lost words are wolves hunting
heat from the herd, raw desire
one day less alone
American prom night
youth-swept hair moussed down in place
cigarettes light, poof
there goes Mary's lamb
water pail swings from her jaw
blind to the boil ahead
it begins like a bath
soft as the sun's seduction
quiet as a rack
back window fogs up
fingers paint shapes on car's cave
condensing moments
it was kilning day
he, my substitute art teacher
ersatz guardian
photos of his kids
near the hearth of his grandma's
basement fireplace
I was a student
thirteen is an innocence
despite the heated clay
Sandro knew his kind,
let's call him Terry Carter
because that's his name