Dissembling Poems | Examples

Rose Blooms in Spring

She turns sixteen one cold December clime
He strings dissembling lover’s thorns so girthed
The sprouts of pristine virtue split by crime
The core is sore, this shriveled Rose is birthed
Though frigid Rose, she seeks to now resorb
In her befuddled plight, she mopes the night
Unless she grips the dim celestine orb,
This missy won’t discern the course to light
For limpid routes unveil the flourished trees
The cue this Rose reckoned to spring to growth
With flower buds resurging strong in breeze
The core once sore is now in timely blowth
She’s now eighteen one blissful, springy morn
Before the world, this blossomed Rose is born

A Path Fraught With Fear

A path fraught with fear
    craven cowardice
  trembling, dissembling unsettling

  Hovering high above the highest hill
    beyond Imagination's borders
  Out of reach, out of touch, unaligned

   Hope's lost highway hesitant
     arriving ahead of time
   illusions intricate, impotent
     'Home' - why do we delay

Lampoon the Form

Will liberty ring out again
beneath the cries of human rights
can freedom's name survive,
dissembling and lies
Will duty from its prison flee
throw off its shackled memory
is respect just a word
spoken,but never heard
How long,how long 'til I becomes thee ?
when when will ego bend the knee
the victim is not me
my friend my friend  it's we.

Who rings this bell of liberty
truly woke sounds  our culture's death knell.

The Master of Disguise

Meet the man of the hour,
The scourge of the town.
Born atop an ivory tower,
But cast all others down.

Daddy went from rags to riches,
By the sweat of labor's back.
Was inherited by young britches,
After suffering a heart attack.

Up he climbed the social ladder,
To rub elbows with the gentry.
Every day grew a little madder,
After denying him his entry.

With empty soul and ego full,
Bought counsel fraught with sin.
Selfishly then used his pull,
To bribe some to let him in.

Once inside, he forged a plan;
As the Master of Disguise.
Corrupting every thought of man,
With a cunning set of lies.

Perpetuated on the daily news,
The seed of doubt had spread.
Convincing many of his views,
Is how dissembling was bred.

Now a Nation's torn apart,
You can still hear his laughter.
The Richter scale is off the chart,
No telling what else he's after.

Woke and Freedom's Voice

Will liberty ring out again
beneath the cries of human rights
can freedom's name survive,
dissembling and lies
Will duty from its prison flee
throw off its shackled memory
is respect just a word
spoken,but never heard
How long,how long 'til I becomes thee ?
when when will ego bend the knee
the victim is not me
my friend my friend  it's we.

Who rings this bell of liberty
truly woke sounds  our culture's death knell.




| Year Posted 2010

Dissembling Offerings

He never brooked a lie that couldn’t be spoken
Spiffed up with a good spit shine
Tin promise made was a buffalo wooden token
Re-tale sale, it ain’t worth a dime
From Niagra Falls to the debt edge of Hoboken
Every creditor had to wait in line
Trust placed on a cash glass ceiling got broken
China dolls loved the crash chime

Tone deaf to the truth, to some it don’t matter
Baby rattlers crying in a viper din
Mad Hatters talking a walk up the dirt ladder
Judas tears, a dissembling offering
With a flick of the tongues, cluck of the clatter
Some like the taste of tawdry lying

On October 11

On October 11
By Valerie Odom
Jan 31, 2017

On October 11
You’ll finally receive the news
That
I’ve been waiting to tell you my whole life
No it’s not a phase
I apologize for dissembling my true spirit

I do not care if you don’t accept me
I do not care if you leave me
Because the only person who has my word is me
Me gusta las chicas
If you don’t get it by now
Google it
October 11

I will always be true
But you do not ask
Me these things
I am in need of
C’s not D’s
B’s not P’s
Not some random letters but censored meanings
A reverse like my poem

I apologize for dissembling my true spirit
No it’s not a phase
I’ve been waiting to tell you my whole life
That
You’ll finally receive the news
On October 11

Losing My Memory

LOSING  MY MEMORY 


Factual material
In dissembling separate realms
Different lots at an auction sale
Of a lifetime
Purchased with precious time
Time  wasted ; 
Now with instinct feelings
All disassembled
And greater than the separate parts.
 
Jumbled in the lumber room of memory
Lots of material  -
And volumes are increasingly
Missing from my shelves.
I know I had them once
But they’re gone :
Sometimes in the illogic of sleep
They return momentarily.

Daniel's Answer To the King, Briton Riviere

Gov'ners were jealous and zealous the satraps - 
One had received uncalled-for promotion.
With design to malign, these guys enacted
a divine trap for this fella's devotions. 

"Accept this new law," they said, "Except to you, 
O Great King, no petitions can be uttered."
A crusade to degrade, they watched Dan's window,
As he stepped up and prayed, boldly un-shuttered.

Their wily ruse worked and while he was kneeling,
they trotted off to the king and tattled.
Daniel was content to be pent up with lions, 
but King Darius spent the night rattled.

Unarmed and unharmed, Dan stayed with the beasts.
In the morning, the king raced to the hole.
The lions in a daze; sudden praise he spoke,    
"I'm amazed, God has delivered you whole." 

Hear futile complaints among brutal beasts;
Officials are punished with fear and trembling.
They take a fair turn in the lair as ordered
God takes care of revenge for dissembling.

(dissembling means misleading)

based on the account in Daniel 6:1-24
to accompany the painting by Briton Riviere, Daniel's Answer to the King, 
it seems Daniel continues to pray to his God inside the lion's den

The House of the Hanged Man

Abandoned house isolated with cracked walls
Aberration emerging forth from the natural terrain
Red and black roofs of the village nearby almost seeming a beacon of civilisation

The wood boarded lower rotting windows and barred doors
Faded moth eaten curtains a cynical beauty of zephyred gossamer
The time long years doing their gentle but remorseless work 

Inside the house light denied world now given to insects and rodents
Left to do nothing but eat and all gone now consume just themselves
Wintertime wind whistles and rain seeps in through gaps

Kept once a garden dissembling now in its own fertility
Nature kindly putting forth hated nettles burrs and docks
By lack of care a garden that is there now seeming to wildness

What now is there left of a man what was there ever
But everything unnatural now reduced to its former glory
Outside the lovely wild garden flowers

The reds of Foxglove Ragged Robin and sweet Herb-Robert
Bright suns yellow the Lesser Celandine and Creeping Buttercup
Butterflies alighting on blue Willow Gentian and Large Venus Looking Glass

The Spritual Hurricane's Eye

Temporal vision is all temporary wise, leading,
deceiving, so let be open the pupil of my spiritual eye.
Surpassing, deception, dissembling & diatribe.
Lose the misunderstandings inherent in the clouding
conspiring passing play, of life’s speeding day by night
nocturnal wise ways.
Light surpassing time & circumstance,
grant me leave, grant me space in light waves to journey
with their nuanced dance through the passes of time,
looming all round over bluffs,
and the parting of ways.
let the eye of true insight enrapture me in pure delight.

©Joe Maverick 5-02-2011

For Rick Parise's contest.

An Epitaph

Will liberty ring out again,
beneath the cries of human rights
can freedom's name survive,
dissembling and lies;
Will duty from its prison flee
throw off its shackled memory,
is respect just a word,
spoken,but never heard:
How long,how long 'til I becomes thee ?
when ,when, will ego bend the knee,
the victim is not me
my friend,my friend,it's we.

Who rings this bell of liberty
truly sounds,our culture's death knell.

Sincere

Sincere in my feelings and words
Honest in my gesture and temperment
Biased in my judgements, one of my many flaws
Direct with my tone to be heard

Heard are the lies I have been told
The ones that led me astray all those years
Though I've managed to sift through the dissembling
To watch my own story unfold

Unfold before me destiny
Please, I beg of you, let your plan be known
I beseech to know what lays in store for my heart
For my mishaps have been many

Many times i find myself here
In a state of perpetual question
As my impatience grows, my resolve just lessens
It's hard to remain as sincere

In Which We Burn

Time is the fire in which we burn,
ripples of lava on inner landscapes,
eddies and swirls which twist
and turn.

Kerosene progress burns me now,
I feel 
the pain of sweet conflagration
dead cold and real.
Hypnotic the effect, I embrace
it’s dissolution,
dissembling before a mind’s eye mirror crack’d,
denied absolution.

Reminiscing on the snow-queen wife I knew,
awaiting her fascist husband’s demise;
I see her alabaster skin and feel
the succulent texture of
her tongue in my head;
even now I shiver and drown in her eyes.

A scent of burnt toast 
in the kitchen
(she slowly licked butter from her fingers),
a Machiavellian aroma
of stale coffee and strawberry perfume,
even now it hangs, kicking dead air,
it lingers.

Time it slow burns me
from frost-bitten toes on up;
I still want her and need her
as the air I breathe;
her haunting aura feeds
the flames and this fire
it sears;
time flame-throwers my existence
for what feels like years;
if only I could cry
I would shed
ashen tears
for the torch which guttered and died
at the click of her manicured fingers.

The Nihilist - Two: a Prayer To the Ancients

Knee-bones sunk in wet twilight soil,
  Welded hands in pagan prayer,
Stones sacrificial once draped in blood
  And ghosts of what was slaughtered there.
Hear the beseeching winds of time
  Carry the words from lips a-trembling,
Usher the arcane dichotomy aloft,
  Ciphers of thought from a mind dissembling.
When all of faith and hope expire
  Along with the dogma of Christian sons,
Primitive pharmacy, druidic roots
  Hurl prayers unto the ancient ones.
Hear, oh keepers of the stones,
  Sentinels of the charnel ground,
Return to me the source of grief,
  Return her to me unbound.
Lightning cracked and thunder drummed,
  The old gods awoke, reconceived,
A prayer to the ancients, fire and bone,
  By their black souls received…

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