I know the best
poetry is
suppose to live in
broken love,
death, regret,
and fear of facing
another tomorrow.
Those things
that drag emotion
across the heart,
or stab
you in the brain,
with
pain and
sorrow.
But has there ever been a poet
that’s not known
such tragedy,
has no knowledge of heartbreak,
been hurt or wronged
because he didn't fit a mold.
Whose stomach
is always full,
never had to
sleep in the cold.
One that has loved
without regret
never had to beg
or borrow.
Call me a
presenter of possibilities
mediator of metaphor
encourager of exaggerations
implementor of imagination
or facilitator of fakery
but
I am no poet
Brainwashed temporary insanity? Onset triggers
caused by traumatic experiences, illusions?
Crashing tumultuous waves similar like the sea
bounds one's mind thinking strategies. Brainwashed
Downloads of someone else's expectations, decision
making, Cloudy reasoning unable to process with no
options, trust compromised by familiar faces. Brainwashed
State of one's mind a mental hypnosis by recognized
faces betrayals and fakery.. Brainwashed
Deep impressions played like a game of chess double
crossed all for fun and games. Brainwashed
affective
as reality wanes in the face of artifice
none can ever prove any claimed origin
neurons gently touching can never suspect
that what is felt will be the same as is seen
yet such challenge remains the last hope
when there is a purpose behind fakery
whatever the message, emotion is there
that can’t be ignored or easily dismissed
there may be design at work with metaphor
but the words will persist beyond memory
and still shall affect the heart as well as brain
I can be a wretched fake, in private, intimate performance.
I’m an actress capable of imitating spontaneous pleasure -
by tricks of hesitation, convulsive vocal play and postures.
A mimicry undetectable to an immediate spectator.
Aww, thank you, I’ll sigh, as if leaving a good party.
“I’ve got a lot of homework to do,” I’ll add, a minute later.
To clear the stage.
ALCHEMY
You don’t believe in magic, well do you
And think all that fantastic fakery is true
A special insight to cards that one picks
Suspended logic, yet they are but tricks
With a beautiful assistant there’s a bond
Who disappears when you wave a wand
You see it was there, and now it’s gone
Yet certainly leaves much to think upon
An audience might gasp with admiration
When acknowledging the prestidigitation
The routine of pulling rabbits from a hat
And wonder just how could they do that
I tell you nothing that you will see is real
They’re just entertainers, what’s the deal
And it’s love when our two hearts engage
More than some act performed on stage
But with us it’s something special I know
This is magic and has nowhere else to go
Bamboozled was is worth the energy and efforts for matters of
the heart? was it just an illusion? A game of hocus-pocus mislead
to believe that someone's intentions were true or was it just a
act only to be taken for a ride for fakery, infidelity, and personal
gain. Bamboozled
Wishing upon a star my Romeo, Juliet why do you remain afar?
wanting you, needing you only to discover a mistaken belief that
you continue to elude the questions at hand causing emotional
damage, and cruel treatment. Bamboozled finally, confidence
built up within her and she rediscovered that she wasn't a victim
but a survivor.
out of nowhere
awaits shaded,
visions, for those
with fairish perception,
purged of fakery and
symbolic falsehoods.
my chapters in
history tout no
shadows but my own
even my jaded version
a bronzed patina.
more comforting times
than present express
stanzas of times in
seasons –
times to embrace
times for refrain
times to purpose
peace as we stand
on the edge of time
turn, turn, turn
O God!
Without you,
This world of ours
Has turned
Into a great well
Without wall
And everything is toppling
Before the great call.
O God!
Every time is almost no time
We are made to fall down
Without ever having
lived enough by the golden rule
to rise up to it and recall.
From trap to trap
We are made to move all
And then suddenly fall
Because of every squall.
Green leaves from trees
Are quickly fading and falling
In the forest of every obstacle and pitfall.
O God!
How I wish
I could dispel
With your help
The fakery
Embracing every face and every call.
How I wish
I could hold tight
To your good rope
To hopefully come out
Alive again and kicking
And rejoice the sight
Of every bird, garden and waterfall.
Chokri Omri
(Regueb city, May 2021)
tin voice pleading
magic lost
version of self on the edge of drought
fakery
like a bin of plastic fruit
maybe buy livability
maybe find the stinging centre of body
whatever floats to the top of thinking
making purchases of white stuff in half lit alleys
that peel back growth
swaddled in needing
injecting junk into the night
how to find a mate dismantled?
dark eyes eroded
that brim like black coffee to its rim
a look for something that must be had
in gibberish leaps of high
flares of addiction
that smell like an animal skinned
poisoned air of white powder
that charts the touch between us
Poem composed: April 22, 2021
Revised: April 25, 2021
Contest: Open Poetry 3
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
Follow me son to Lady Liberty
Beset by wolves she struggles on
Our wounded pride lays her reeling
Absent her, our endless seeking better days are pointless
By fakery they left her quartered
Offended they aim to render her helpless
Yet the slightest sliver of light from her lamp
Ignites our inward drive to seek her form
Above persistent calls for anarchy, she breathes through us
Against a world of famine, she feeds us
From determination to dissolve, she holds us
Until toward brotherly love, she moulds us
So truth, her triumphant beacon lights the world
“America is, and always will be, a shining city on a hill.”
- Ronald Reagan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lR8BaGbOoL8
A twine of hope is worth more then a thousand strings of doubt
an open door more precious then , "the knock on wood" design
A lucky rabbit foot, a four leaf clover, just trinkets to amuse,
but a prayer on the lips can ease the soul & give a heart restore
One act of kindness is more real then the fakery and flattery of sly
and one good deed more valuable then a sedentary talk of good
Often love is grasped with fiery hands of lust and eyes of blind,
when all it needs is an ounce of grace, and time to grow;
Too late we learn the meaning of success and I for one confess
a yarn of truth is worth far more then tomorrows idle promise
honesty is a gleaning cup so who needs a fluted glass of bluff
when one straight talk is valued at the price of gold and myrrh
A twine of hope can be wrapped around your finger as reminder
and its better then a thousand "told you so " from a proud achiever
humble thyself when it comes to helping others never be deskbound
sharing poetry with you like this, is the greatest treasure I found …
This is to the Man child, indeed, how you have grown. When are you going to learn to drop the masks you wear and really come into your own?
To think that no one sees past these. That your true self can hide away. What are you afraid of? Words mean nothing when fake smiles are put on display.
When you awaken and seek as to what is true.
Its seems that the material things, riches, possessions are all that matter to you.
You stopped listening to what really matters. Ignored that voice of guidance that speaks to you inside.
Entering a period now where you will be tested. Which morals will you turn away?
So you can keep your smiles, things and fakery. When will you become a big boy?
Maybe one day.
The signs you will receive may be unnerving.
Theres no running away from what is yet to come.
Be prepared to walk through fire. It is time now..son.
Drop the masks they no longer serve you.
Your being called to serve.
A purpose that you may not have planned.
It will be better than the numbing emptiness that is currently at hand.
Wake up man child. Remember the dream.
In a gold miner’s camp shiny pyrite
Showing a metallic excellence
Prettier than the real thing
Oohs and ahhs are all around
Pyrite shared happily
Revealed at last
Losing her lore
Fakery
Untrue
Gold
Lone
Pyrite
Angel’s rock
Optimism
Exuding with hope
Has her own properties
Miner’s camp comes back to life
A gorgeous stone is this pyrite?
Appreciated for herself now
Compared to no other rock or metal
*Image of Santa Clause, Charlie Calvin by Giphy.
The Glass Orb
In an e'er thus oft agitated contorted crystalline world,
Unconsciously being tinseled by the energies that transpire,
Flurries of fakery enshroud the encircled glassful menagerie.
Indifferent minions from habit, obey the traumatic turbulence,
Revolving in every-which-way of an inescapable no bars prism.
Liquefied mirage a wintry desert of horned camels and pine dates.
Nevertheless, calming ceremoniously exhibits, abruptly emerge.
Ambiguity surrenders gracefully, necessitating the delusion,
There exists a well-treasured keepsake immortalized in a globe.
Adoringly exposed glittering peepers to overindulge in disbelief,
As a seasonal passage liberates a once boxed stored wonderment.
2019 November 25
*1st Place*
A Brian Strand 4 to 14 line
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2021 August 08
*1st Place*
Stuck in a Christmas Globe
~~Bobby May: Judged 2019 December 12
The Deep fake era is upon us
?Every thing is fake these days?Everything is a fraud ?Prepare for the deep fake world
Fakery, fraud, and falsehoods abound
All artfully done
Killing the last shred of human decency left
Everything is a deep fake
these days
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