Best Vanity Poems
WALLPAPER
---------------------
Paper Thin
Cut down to any size,
Crumble, crop me wrong
Pull the insulation from my heart.
Never will I be "A Paper Doll!"
Thank you for calling me a "Friend!"
Thank you for wasting my "time!"
Enjoy the WALLPAPER display
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Layers and layers of lifeless brick
KEEPS EVERYTHING OUT!
Emotional poster boards of doubt
Envious fiberglass green never seen
Yuletide Carols warped around my energy
Merry and full of acrylic sh!t-
Hand full of putty maintains the makeup on my face
Arts and crafts display my inner fancy grace
Heavy installed Sheetrock so easily replaced
Tough paint chips away silently through the night
Rigid boards transform into fragile crystal light
The greatest illusion blinding reality
Smooth Tiger Skin, texture of orange simple peel
Beautiful mud swirl, L'Oreal.
Gypsum soft enough you want to touch
Dark walls of a thousand words
A plasterboard of discordant grey notes
Blots and clots of ink, enslave my skin
Colorless drywall, resilient to your charms
Printed designs of cleverly decorated lipstick
Morbid shadows underneath the ceiling veil
A double coat of Pacific Waterproof Blue-
Printing bags from -- YESTERDAY!
Plastered wounds of cement dry and roughens along the edge
A human-made barrier, not even God comes in.
by;PD
A transitory phenomenon, a grand adulation of opulent desire,
Seeking mirth of heaven on earth, passions ablaze ignite fire,
A destination sought after; pleasure is aim of its cherished theme,
Yet, it ends in vexation and vanity~ it is an illusion, not a dream.
Ephemeral as fog of dawn, as fleeting rainbow on fuchsia arc,
As flirtatious infatuation of sunset~ a splendor before dark,
A fantasy preceding a nightmare~ the reign of pleasure is short;
Alike amber hopes of morn, stygian clouds shroud and thwart.
Follies seeking triumphs eternal, are defeated as failings vain,
Juxta-positioning on feelings of joy, anguish blaring of pain,
Resembling a lunar cycle~ phases of life that wax and wane,
Rising with ambitions of full moon, yet, retreating in disdain.
Authentic is goodwill of divine, presiding over grandeur of life,
Counterfeit are feelings of joy that detour into angst of strife;
Permanent is the flame of heart, lit with sapient, inner light,
Vacuous is search for spurious delight, futile is its phony plight.
Transient pleasure does not yield, if happiness is ultimate goal,
Pursuits mundane, ordinary, fail to satiate enlightened soul;
Contentment can be achieved, despite the ecstasy vanity stole,
In lasting inner peace and harmony, aspirations virtuous extol.
What things does one possess
at journey's end?
What bits and bobs? What trivial tripe?
Please, do tell, what is the hype?
For should I recall anything at all
of trinkets obtained in memory's shawl,
it would be the warmth of a companion's smile;
his hand in mine, while on this earth for a while.
The tickle of a tide brushing against tiny toes,
while the whisper in the wind, tells me all she knows.
Should I gaze at gems, pearls, rubies, emeralds--
Forsake the wisdom of the solid for the beauty of the temporal?
Should I throw caution to the wind, like seeds for the birds,
or stick to what I know - the solemnity of the written word.
Of trinkets obtained in memory's shawl,
be there anything at all worthy of my recall?
Happiness, Peace, Love and Joy -
these remained to be my one and only lot.
These intangible things more valuable by far
than gold and silver ingots.
At journey's end I stopped to ponder,
in the cloudless starlit night,
about the heavens and her wonder;
I was struck by sudden insight:
the lightness of the moon
suspended in air,
and the weight of a mere thought
that put it there.
There lives a silent evil deep within
Which once was locked inside Pandora's box
Now said to be the "father of all sin"
And one's denial is it's paradox
Abiding in us all, though well disguised
Once caused an angel's fall from God's sweet grace
When there are times it goes unrecognized
A mirror will reveal it's hiding place
Yet even in admitting it exists
We yearn to feel that superficial glow
For deeds of man which crumble in time's mist
Then feed the fire that burns self-serving souls
It often hides as false humility
But ash and dust know not of vanity
by Daniel Turner
July 29, 1890
Colored daubs and swatches
crave artist’s practiced hand.
Justice, nearly blind, yet watches—
unwrought art upon a stand.
Regard the brushes in a row—
the palettes and the sponges.
Genius maimed by status quo,
vain a hope that fate expunges.
Guttered myriad lifelong dreams—
in desperate ruination.
Fading now the piteous screams
of self-inflicted termination.
Time Passes
Abruptly then adoring praise—
contrived their sudden expertise.
Rude cabal who would appraise—
byzantine their guileful sleaze.
Each masterpiece a servant
of craven yearn and greed.
Bang the gavel, swift and fervent;
sate purveyors’ inveterate need.
Justice now is truly blind;
vanished those She would impute.
His final piece is left unsigned;
and undisclosed, for now She’s mute.
4th Place: I Love Rock and Roll
Inspired by Don McLean's song, Starry Starry Night
Fancy feast
In my best china dish
How she loves to be finicky
Wearing nothing but
Her pretty pink rhinestone collar
As she tiptoes across the room
Slinky and sleek
With a regal air
Ignoring silly bipeds
Life is grand
Prancing around
She owns the place
Published in The Amateur Poets Magazine, Spring 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on September 12, 2018 for contest SEPTEMBER 2018 PREMIERE sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
and on September 1, 2018 for contest PERSONIFICATION OF A PET, WILD ANIMAL OR INSECT sponsored by TANIA KITCHIN
1.
they say everything here is
somewhere in the middle of the road
where names get bleached and keys forget about their doors
and there is something we should dig our coated nails into;
the layers of regret and anger
that our mothers tell us to peel off
2.
but the sun bakes us too hard and rancid
laying down on styrofoam mattresses
where someone pokes their thumbs through the plastic
watching nothing but empty bubbles reflecting
and life is faded, glossy pages of a magazine
with a worn bar stool with cigarette burns thrown in between
3.
and we all carry this restless, tormented beauty
that gets up and leaves
as soon as they say
it will settle down
© Gry W Christensen
Double Chained Sonnets, Nature's Beauty, Our Vanity So Shames
(1.)
Nature's Beauty, Our Vanity So Shames
Nature, deepest hues set to color life
life its temptations, bringing moral strife
strife, its agony he can not ignore
ignores, so doing denies, all the more.
More as he himself, huge treasure demands
demands as if Heaven, heeds such commands
commands that show his darkest of dark lust
lust he reasons as reward that is just.
Just as he thinks his life is to control
control using, to his honor extol
extol false virtue, truth rightly denies
denies as into great fits, he then flies!
Nature's beauty, our vanity so shames
Shames man's, so shamelessly set, wicked games!
Robert J. Lindley,
Chained sonnet, ten syllable rhyming verse
perfect 100 words..
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables:: 140
Total # Words:::::: 100
(2.)
Music, Could We Live Sweet Life Without It
Music, its gifts serenades, so rewards
rewards we, wanting to be famous bards
bards that struggle for magnificent words
words to all mankind, singing as songbirds.
Songbirds singing their music truly sweet
sweet to, in Life stir, man's tender heartbeats
heartbeats racing strong as soft glow showers
showers, as if from heaven's high bowers!
Bowers above, that set angels to sing
sing to mortal man, to greater joy bring
bring in deep beauty of music's treasures,
treasures, as one of Art's greatest pleasures!
Music, could we live sweet life without it?
It that oft sends, darkness back to dark pits.
Robert J. Lindley,
Chained sonnet, ten syllable rhyming verse
perfect 100 words..
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables:::140
Total # Words:::::::100
I have come here to confess my deepest shame
Your wit, I admit, I more than admire-
It wakes me, it shakes, me, sets my brain on fire
I long to claim your fame, under my name
Your indelible intricacy I yearn to master
I strive for your heights in increasing pain
But all futile, this folly of inferior gain
No matter how fast I write, you write faster
Now you skip away as I struggle for breath
My purse is empty; you haven't spent a penny
Where is the end of this contemptible envy?
When my best is bested - what is left?
10/17/18
NOT for 'Seven Deadly Sins' contest.
He's in love with his own image
He believes that he's a king
And punishing women
Is his favorite thing
He thinks he's really special
Entitled , above the law
But I can see right through him
and all his ugly flaws
Nothing will ever stop him
From taking whatever he can get
Leaving you heartbroken
And living with regret
He don't care if he has hurt you
He don't have a heart to hide
Everything is all about him
If he ever said he loved you, then he lied
Without mercy he will use you
And not lose an ounce of sleep
Then tell you it's all your fault
The reason that he cheats
Warping what is real
Cutting you down to size
He won't miss a beat
And he'll revel in your cries
Relentlessly he WILL abuse you
Crushing your very soul
So you'll never love again
That's his only goal
He wants to know you suffer
It feeds his egocentric mind
Giving him your energy
While you slowly die
Then he's got you where he wants you
And the torment begins again
Til he's twisted everything inside you
Completely f@#k!ng up your head
i g n o r a n c e,
a contagious disease
turning specks of stars to stones,
burning bridges of life,
locked with names
engraved in gold and glitter,
leaving a s k y of sorrow
filled with ashes,
singing haunting lullabies
to the grieving galaxies,
as if there is no
space in the city of the clueless,
where walls are painted
with black diamond tears.
O watercolor forests,
where the moon sails above
trees of tranquility~
every raven has a nest to rest
when cold is the wintry eye,
roaming through dark alleys
where twilight sighs,
reverberates, and colors rise,
awakening hibernating rivers~
free-flowing like fine wine.
and here I weave
heartbeats with herbs of h o p e,
longing to waltz through
a sphere that sees
beyond
skin and i n k ...
You and I,
letting go of foolishness,
no longer spectators of actors,
dressed for a
carnival of chaos.
I am not your
defined nightmare,
echoing paranoia.
I am the silhouette of sunsets,
shaped in clover green,
signs of p e a c e.
I serenade for the weak,
with lyrics of love
amidst a choir of integrity.
see me as I am~
I am more than
the tale within narratives
you’ve long been taught…
illuminate your eclipsed soul
with sparks of
c o m p a s s i o n,
erasing egoistic stains
pulsating within veins of vanity,
for I breathe lilac and lavender,
drizzling from a lantern-filled horizon,
like jasmine raindrops
t w i r l i n g and s w i r l i n g
in tune to the rose rhapsody
of symphonic serenity.
Yet
silence
is the dialect
that speaks~
to sins that dwell within insensitive soils,
pushing roots to
s w e l l
in musical delirium.
Clearly, my cat loves
Sound of her claws on
The floor, click-clicking;
Scratch-click-scurry-click;
Going on all night.
Except for when
She’s manicured
Her needle-like
Claws, her great pride.
Her whetstones,
Furniture
And carpets.
Outside
She’ll need
claws.
I can see
a beautiful soul
lies within me.
Therefore,
no mirror
can reflect
who I really am.
For Giorgio Veneto's contest - "Laconic Verse"
SWIMMING UPSTREAM
It seems I always
swim upstream
against the current.
re-creating struggles
of conflicting contradictions
and unsweetened scripts
at odds with others
in deeds and words
a emotional dissonance
played out over a lifetime.
banged and buffered hard
against the onflow;
prevailing opposites rush
to assail my efforts
intent on wearing me down
scraping, scarring, challenging
calling me out with
harsh ridicule and doubt
why must I cause stirred sediments
to muddy, blind and bewilder me
blurring reason so that
what is seen as truth
often becomes mixed
with drama and ambivalence?
how righteous is the direction
of this timeless stream?
shall I swim with it or against it?
go one way or the other;
does it really matter?
I cannot give up
I cannot relent...
this is who I am
a person searching
for kindred spirits
to swim backward
with me
against the current.
to find some direction,
some marker that guides
this hurrier to a another plane
of purposeful existence.
SYNOPSIS
I think most people at some time are contrarian.
Some from the start; others in their teens.
Some all through their life.
I can't remember being otherwise.
In retrospect, am I really that different
or do I use it an excuse
to be noticed? Perhaps both.
CAK 10-13-12013
a memorial in time
bring it down
bring it down
a testament to bravery
bring it down
bring it down
a witness to chivalry
bring it down
bring it down
a monumental beauty
bring it down
bring it down
a statue turned gargoyle
bring it down
bring it down
I'll bring it down
this monument of words
this epic work of art
with hammer and chisel
with my bare hands
with my fingers torn
with my heart worn
I'll bring it down
I'll bring it down
Down to the ground
This abhorrent thing
grotesquely formed
no longer adorned
this thing of shame
remnant of the game
I'll bring it down
I'll pulverize stone
Only dust will remain
of what I disdain
washed away in the rain
of the tears
That you brought down....
Eileen Manassian