Exteriors Poems | Examples

Writings of a storm cold

Writings of a storm cold 

The house gently 
Creaks
From icy winds pressing against
Exteriors whilst slipping 
Through
Small inconsistencies.
Sleet dances against window panes.
Piling glass against glass,
Particulates of infinite possibilities. 
Fractals dancing down, 
Tap dancing on rooftops.
I sit at kitchen table, 
Bundled from the cold.
My only friend and partner, a
Dancing flame from candle
Casting shadows upon the walls. 
Words scratching valleys and 
Mountains across vast white expanse.
Scratching eloquence..
Moving still.
Plumes of billowy 
exhale
surround my head 
Like a haloed angel.
Tonalities of gray, from white to 
A Dark and shadowy blackness. 
Reaching out,
Ever growing,
Like the reach of sea creatures lost beneath vast depths.
Here I sit,
Staged against the cold.
A storm of ice,
From liquids fallen from skies with stories 
Told. 
I am their conductor.
Dance for me of wind,
Whisper in mine ear. 
Settle still o house of moaning temperance 
Against a northernly wind. 
All the while my quill to 
Parchment 
Sliding out visions painted by verbiage.

Back in My Homeland

   Like a man possessed we fight
     'neath cool exteriors
   a raging fire burns, day and night

   We have nowhere to turn
     no matter how we yearn
   to parlez vous francais or habla ingles

   Never quite accepted
     by the whole world rejected
    All our efforts reproved
     ever on the move ... 

   I squirm and fidget
     'cos I never quite fit in
   Now, back in Israel 
     with God I dwell

   I know who and what I am
     back in my homeland

We Look Up At the Family of Tracery Architecture

We Look Up At The Family Of Tracery Architecture

Tracery architecture began seeing the light
From the Gothic Age on it gained its birthright 
Its beauty spread left and right, day and night
In the stoneware dividing the glass with all its might
It took shape in the rising windows to a viewer's delight
The molds and shapes symmetrical and out of sight
Where the decorative patterns do please the eye and incite 
With grooves, twirls, and colors holding the window tight
Many a cathedral today share its passage and sprite
Like an acquired custom, blessing, and rite
That duly accentuates the interiors and exteriors flight
Where the parishioners do see more than the rays of daylight 

1/28/23

TRACERY Poetry Contest

Sponsor-Julia Ward

Con Carnage

Mere husks remain,
unnaturally strewn,
lying by the dozens
on a red-soaked field.
Once stoutly girded,
masking fiery resolve
underneath unassuming
exteriors, naught but the
faintest hints linger,
sad siren calls to
former greatness.

Parents Love

Did your father really know you loved him
Even though it was never said before?
Do you think he’d ever think otherwise
Or that you couldn’t love him more?
He may be gone now from your eyes
But, in your heart he still remains
Did your father really know you loved him?
Yes, and he loved you just the same

Did your mother really know you loved her
Even though you never said words true?
Do you think she didn’t see past exteriors
To truly see that love in you?
She may be gone now from this world
And as an angel flies high above
Did your mother really know you loved her?
She saw nothing from you but your love

If at times you feel that years flew by
And you never really did enough
You feel you never said the words
Or even knew, just how to love
The fact is, now, what so remains
Is that they always truly knew
What you carried in your heart
Was the same love held for you.

Press Conference

Calm, composed exteriors
   Belie agenda-driven minds

Words painstakingly chosen
   Cover well-padded behinds

Stay Curious In An Open Form

perspectives,
                   &beyond first impressions
moving images
            notions,
                       found objects
             refracting light
restless
shifting
silhouettes
             incomplete structure
             recesses in exteriors
             informal
                     at
                      scaled
                        angles
or a 
      complete whole   

nothing visible
            pointless to 
                   speculate
the lines of hopelessness
     in a
           downward
                  spiral

the emotive aspects
        of a sense of place
everchanging
            beyond telling
a special time
         of intense interest
an intimate presence
                       unspoken
in a dedicated space

reflective profiles
     circles in  spectrums
                       of colour
distinctive
        explorations
acquisitions of
               legacies
all 
    motivations
      of a
           creative influence
upon
      the curious heart

Trust

Optimism lays the foundation,

~ whereto, ~

there are no exteriors that exist.


Date:06/12/2019

Shell

Exteriors varied.
Different colors,
different
shapes,
different
sizes.
Each unique.
Each
a universe 
unto itself.
What
emanates 
from 
within?
What can 
be known
about the
core?
How does
the shell 
move?
How does
the shell
communicate?
What makes
it tick?
A ghost.
There is a
ghost within.
A ghost in
the shell.
The ghost,
invisible.
Cannot be
seen, it
is there
but, cannot 
be located.
The ghost
motivates,
brings the
shell to life. 
Communicates,
interacts and
creates.
The ghost
makes things 
happen.
The world
is full of
shells.
The world
is full 
of ghosts.
When the core
ceases to
exist, the
invisible 
remains
invisible.
Where it
goes?
Nobody knows

Beautiful Slammed Boxes

I caught you looking 
In what world ?
Please 
Even if you where the last person on earth 
In reality 
You would still be to good for me 
And Yet
I would still slam you down 
Because shallow is pretty 
Outside to in
And flawless skin
And shinny hair
Don't care
For the less fare
When make up cases 
Paint a picture 
Of mask's indifferent 
To anything but the face
Of camouflaged exteriors 
The world won't let in
Because differences 
Be the sin
Of Love
In beautiful boxes

Walls Beyond Walls

Wall beyond wall,wall beyond wall
walls beyond walls still much more
like canopies and canopies to each other.

No squares,no triangles
no hetero-morphed non-symmetric structures,
only spheres with illusive and ever spreading outer
can approach them in match.For,even zeros
can contain them if needed and they can even
drag on zeros like fairly heavy loads.

Pure and pretext less pain
is the only ink to ascribe them,
and is the only currency of exchange
to know loss or gain.

Only interiors and exteriors they denote,
only revolving or making to revolve round
they promote.To get rid of bare embarrassment
you put another wall outside.To escape the same 
from within, you just try to hide in the hole
that can be bored in the centre.

No substance,no tangible really
is the structure of the apparent border,
experience instead retards and sticks you
again on still another wall like a poster.
For wall-less postures almost need some floor.

Trust

Trust is like blood pressure. It's silent, vital to good health, and if abused it can be deadly. It takes a betrayal before you realize the real currency in the world is not money, it's trust. We are trusted because of our way of being, not because of our polished exteriors or our expertly crafted communications, but of character.

Blind Sighted

Brief moments allow for the full effect
Lacking ability and means to even begin to prepare
The only way to fight back is to reflect
And reminded with hearts, there comes never a spare

With said insights, still unable to disconnect
Such a seamless match, can be nothing but rare
Hard exteriors and guards put up even struggle to protect
And if cause becomes lost, we are all too aware

Rush of emotion, attempt to deflect
Each battle leaving conditions much worse for the wear
Choosing not to anticipate what is clear and should expect
Faith that neither exempt hinder the want to go anywhere

Remaining wits are vital, leave nothing to collect
Far from certain with an end unseen, blinded from glare 
Found in vulnerable position seems incorrect
Blinded by love ceases all care 

For choices none less than of the highest respect
Is to risk both entities being stripped bare 
Experience showing how detrimental a hit so direct
Making it through a dream worth enough to dare

Ungrateful

I got a fetish for neglecting things that I should cherish.
Once I realize its true value, those moments have already perished.

Who's at fault when our time becomes essence-less?
When we begin to question our coexistence.
How do we make each moment resemble something of elegance?
Time must be at our mercy because time is merciless.

Forgive my sins and all my sins that may become friends. 
The time I have left only depends.
Many circumstances. Moments left up to chances.
I surrender to pessimistic thoughts on multiple occasions.
Only make moves when motivation is provided by mental persuasion.

Or when exteriors give me a motive.
Sometimes I fail to see the reason for the worth of pursuance.
Coagulated thoughts then become a nuisance.
Time never waits, so I watch time with prudence.
So maybe my time can be continued, rather than in conclusion.

Across the Way

Seven half-naked men gather around the table
For a meal that is to me only foreign
They speak in tones of joy
Tones nearly obscure to my ears
But oh, so near
My eyes avert from my glance
Picking up a dish from the sink 
I scrub the grime away
The laughter grows in a masculine crescendo   
And the tone is nourished into vibrancy
My curiosity is but a dull pan
Awaiting a wash and rinse
Stuck into the sticky filth of envy
I envy the joyous expression
Yet I welcome insipid depression
Happiness and content so far from me
But merely. . .across the way

No embarrassment of their exteriors
By far their lives feel superior
The language they speak is nothing to me
But tones and emotion I can never reach
Oh, how far you are
The motivation; the nourished vibrancy
From me you are clean
As the guck collects within
Somehow I cannot hide from the light of their words
The distant, alien joy
My sense of inner unity is so coy
Compared to these gathered strangers—my neighbors
The brotherhood—that I can only discreetly witness
I can only pick myself up
Like this lonely, dirty cup
And glance at the seven half-naked men 
Across the way

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