Confound Poems | Examples

YOU'RE NO FRIEND OF MINE

YOU’RE NO FRIEND OF MINE 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh scale! You’re no friend of mine
     a constant reminder of the weight I desire
You whisper secrets in my unwilling ear,
     of all that's lacking, a never-ending quest for perfection.
Your numbers dance upon your face so bright,
     a dizzying maze of digits that confound and confuse.
I resist your grasp, your hold so tight,
     for in your depths, I see only an endless fight.
I see a battle to conform, to fit the mold,
      to sacrifice my soul, my heart, my internal gold.
Oh, scale you’re no friend of mine, I cry,
     for you’re cold and calculating with your digital truth.
You ignore the beauty of imperfection, the charm of flaws,
     the uniqueness that makes my spirit unique.
You see only the surface, not my heart,
     a shallow reflection of my beauty within.
Oh, scale! You’re no friend of mine.

Invoking grace

latent muted newfound observations, quests raging
bemuse our heart and confound the mind 
maverick ego is at play again
inducing cravings we must leave behind

beguiled, confused, depraved ego feels guilty
such pangs of conscience usher dawn
entering silence the ripples cease
betwixt bliss beat’s rise we are reborn 

prayerfully quiet radiant soul tames umbrage
deeming thought forms as but illusion
thus by doing nothing at all
flame of our innocence exits delusion

delightful empowering favours God Himself infuses 
bliss magnetism cascading in feeble form
on choosing to shed our resistance 
heart’s swept away in love’s benign storm

Historical Paint in Town

Exploration!
Confound?
In your exit!
Out myself?
"While Lancaster assumes the role"
News and filming
My first conviction times, bold.
Losing renewal values
Abundantcy people on a crime
I'm sure of that much
When I'm in the business transaction, okay and your going?
Off the call.
It ends in you called yourself back, I'm fine.

Freedom from film in French
Just getting to france takes hello's!

Ahoy!

French Prisoners

Kevin and the Irish actress stay put

Get Lara's the news

Lara's in the system, finally.

Check!

Your message was sent successfully. Thanks

Juliet Society

People as Friends and kettles?

"My things as you."
People as Friends and kettles?
"My things as you."
The witness deprived 
Absorbent in deny
How in interchange 
Are we spoken
Misleading waste
Papers as snakes
Only in cuisines
Last, hander of things
Gone in time
Decade of take
Sales of ink
And all town
How to announce 
Tone?
And all are tow'n

Being towed in the time
 Time of all Involved as microcosm In discussion from?


Fearing reprimand of ink as letters ?
Allowing incorrect Consistent sing 
the blind justices repeal?
 Confound surrender?

Your not printing the article 
Your afraid of reading 
And the "free" cost! 
Remains are extensive

The times grow small inside of earths journals

My sistas
A good woman once prevailed 
Yet as her eyes sight the abandonment vessel
Reluctant wrath hatred vision
Prometheus googles
Declare upon the abomination 
This place the unaffected

Doing

We do things we love

Do things we hate -- 

One, for affection:

and the other, for fiend
necessity, like~ executions
and wars…

Maybe better, not to confound
the two – maybe better, more
and less we do?!

Something Left Over

It must have been made
and rejected
in times grinding gears –
a knobby irregularity,
a leftover of smelt and dross.

This is all there is
a gobbet of oven clinker,
but behind it I sense cracked teeth,
soot seared across burnt eyeglasses,
blackened bones,
for after the gas came the flames.

Here it is,
a fragment long convulsed
from its own incineration,
an irregular rake-off, smithereens
dragged across a blind stone floor.

This tittle of slag once had to fit something
the rough rim of an iron door perhaps
behind which an old furnace
still cools in faraway minds.
A ferrous chip chiseled from a gulag,
or a souvenir from an SS campfire meet.

There is always something left
after the unthinkable,
always some spicule of irregularity,
detritus to explain or confound
as we toss it back into the fire again.

Love or hate

How Long a wait will my weak feet endure?
For many years On your snub I still wail.
Yet Veils of lies don’t cover your allure;
Your Elegance I still cannot but hail.

Your words Often fail to convey passion,
Your heart Remains closed off to compassion,
Since you Heave out too little in response,
Within the Arcade of hatred you ensconce.

With Time, you confound me more with your love,
Though Elusive, it descends from above.

Tell

Tell Your wind
no need to roar,

my own need
push enough --

Tell Your Sun
high at its zenith,
no need for excess
gleamith -- 

Confound further
my soul
saying, for you, no
love to be found,

in painted sky
on textured ground -- 

If love, for me, not near 
nor far-apart – Why, Dear Lord!~
gave You this poet 

a beating heart?

Orbs of Multiplication

Orbs of Multiplication
Villanelle

They spin in stillness, glowing without sound
A rhythm bred from ancient breath and light
The orbs emerge where quiet truths are found

From void to voice, their pulses wheel around
Invisible, yet birthing second sight
They spin in stillness, glowing without sound

No measure binds the math that keeps them bound
They bloom between what’s wrong and what feels right
The orbs emerge where quiet truths are found

In spiral logic, silence is profound
And wisdom burns in geometric flight
They spin in stillness, glowing without sound

Beyond all form, where sacred laws confound
They multiply in luminous delight
The orbs emerge where quiet truths are found

Now write this truth in symbol, curve, and sound
A dream ignites in crystalline midnight
They spin in stillness, glowing without sound
The orbs emerge where quiet truths are found

To My Justin

To My Justin

In the garden of my heart, I’ve wandered wide,  
Through paths of many men, I sought a guide.  
With dreams of Mr. Right, I danced in the night,  
But each time I was wrong, lost in the light.  

Yet here you stand, my prince, my knight,  
In your arms, I’ve found my truest delight.  
You’re the hero of my story, the calm in my storm,  
With you, my love, I’ve finally found my form.  

Without you, dear Justin, I’d drift and I’d sway,  
You’re the anchor that keeps my fears at bay.  
Though you drive me to madness, with quirks that confound,  
In the chaos of love, it’s you I have found.  

One moment I’m fuming, wanting to choke,  
Then laughter erupts, and I’m wrapped in your cloak.  
You see through my layers, my heart laid bare,  
In a world full of noise, you’re the breath of fresh air.  

So here’s to you, my love, on this special day,  
With every heartbeat, I cherish you more in every way.  
For in this wild journey, you’re my guiding star,  
Happy birthday, my darling, my love, my czar.  

Forever yours,  
Odette aka Laurie

Verity

Verity
Miracle Man
1/9/2025

Political truth is often perceived to come,
from the politicians lips the story last passed.
But If lips were moving there is a rule of thumb,
that he must be lying or just feeling outclassed.

Most Politicians are guilty of pollution,
they contaminate the air with unwanted sound.
I’d suggest term limits as starting solution,
giving another a chance for sheep to confound.

To Thine Own Self

"To thine own self
be true..." ~
Many a lunatic have mouthed
these words.  
              
Problem is, there are two selves~
our Lesser and Higher:

The Lesser, that which we
assume daily; and the Higher
which is an eternal elevation
unreachable -- here we have to
settle, like with horseshoes, close
and closer, but only God is the 
Perfect Ringer!  
                   To be one's self,
a perfected self, as God sees us
and challenges us to rise to daily, 
is to be less personal, in an earthly 
ego sense, and more magnanimous
in a pure loving sense. 
                    God is a 
community...of all that is, and all
that can ever be. To separate ourselves
from God, mentally and spiritually,
is to be an Independent Destroyer -- 

Satan's Fall...was his wrong step.
Into oblivion....
-------------------------------------------
Not to confound nor confuse:

Communism, is not Community.

And Socialism, is not Social....

God's Community is, total independence
from sin.

Freckled Finish

Tripped the electricity in the forest,
tumbled to a faceplate on the ground;
The shock raised the pulse in my wrist;

A storybook vision may confound,
star-crossed sits doomed to diminish;
Ground yourself in nature’s mound;

Let yourself revive and replenish,
kiss all the petals of a wildflower;
Renew your freckled faded finish;

Bathe within a rumbling rain-shower,
untamed fuels an aura of power.

He Who Would -

He who would valiant be ’gainst hair disaster
Let hair hold constantly, though winds blow faster
There’s no discouragement shall make his hair relent
His first avowed intent to be in Brylcreem

Who would be going round with bad hair stories
Do cyclones then confound - wind strength the more is
No hair shall then take flight, though it’s a giant fight
His hair stays good and right by wearing Brylcreem

Since Lord he must defend his hair with spirit
He knows that wind you send, he shall not fear it
Some toupee’s flee away, he’ll fear not that today
He’ll labour night and day to be in Brylcreem

The Last New Poets

We are the body heat
of an endangered species,
the shattered hammer and forge
of an archaic workshop.
Gone are the rhymes and chimes,
gone all reason to be,
gone the prophet, saint or devil,
now we drive
to the far side of a town,
one we have never visited,
just to scratch upon a nameless wall.
Words confound us,
spellbound we tinker
with the Daedalian keys,
sprockets and gears
of an incalculable machine,
not seeking answers,
nor questioning why,
but only how.

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