Fibres Poems | Examples

Earth Star Chakra

earth star chakra my killick, subliminal subpersonal connects me to core of planet’s centre, spinning yet rooted in quiet mirth
absorbing misaligned energy in sturdy girth
intuits heartfelt frequency exchanges 
across planetary consciousness gauges
below Gaia’s benign surfaces it modulates
where own wisdomed faith undulates 
steady Will humming stable solid secure 
no other anchor would I endure

awareness finely tuned filamented fibres
reaches far flung corners shadowed or
light, without single flinch fight or flight 
authority with divine responsibility dear
centring my substance as an emperor does
holding disciplined foresight unseen safe
signals settled velocities where I am to walk 
intentions sure of next waiting chorded port
underground star exuding strength, cohort 
of ages, missioning goals it never aborts

Suspended Faults

I felt as small as a winter’s flower
yet as tall as an old oak tree
the seconds dragged on for what seemed like hours
when my world turned in on me

the cloak I wore was of little comfort
just to bridge between present and past
I held onto this and other secrets
no more a peasant but a king at last           

by the time I had finished speaking 
the crowd erupted with applause
then towards me they were reaching 
as the judgment came into force

the mask was meant to protect me
from what no one should have seen
a noose was placed just oh so gently
I thought it was a bit extreme

I sank into the grain that supported
absorbed deep in the fibres below
my legs gave way it was reported 
I wriggled until they let me go.

Fungi

I like my fungi
sauteed in butter 
in a pan with a chopped clove
of garlic, parsley and plenty
of salt and pepper.
Or sliced and simmered
in chicken stock
with arborio rice
and topped with parmesan
cheese in a creamy
mushroom risotto.

I like the musty,
earthy smell
that some fungi have,
the exquisite delicacy
of the gills, 
the soft, spongy feel,
the variety of shapes 
and colours that range 
across a pallet
of grays, yellows,
pinks and purples
through to a bleed
of vibrant reds.
Fungi feed
the senses.

But most spectacular 
of all is the fungi
that hides beneath my feet
in a buried network 
of fibres thinner 
than a human hair, 
connecting a forest
in one enormous web
carrying nutrients 
to hungry roots 
and the secret language
of trees. Poetry
is like fungi.

Abrupt

Irkish the feeling impels
Impulsive of it's own action.
Disfigurely quenching,
And on it's feet it commands
A riot so clenching
Flinching the heart's
Utmost fibres none can comprehend.
"Xeno" it calls aloud
For it looks in it's shadows.
Perkish, yet Meek, and sleek 
As it sneeks around alert for
It's next prey to be caged.

Goodbye Poetry

Oh poetry,
why do you not feel me.
I was once your poetic percolate,
the assonance to your consonance, 
spilling in silver ink,
upon Earth's raw fibres, 
but in your quest for perfection,
wanderlust words are now waterless roots,
resembling a mediocre muse,
cursed from rose tinted glares,
exposing pages of bad grammar.

Since the feather in my quill
set adrift with fireflies in the wind,
conflicting choruses echo 
in an acoustic refrain.
In this musical merry go around -
I'm only composed as a last thought.

In chapters of contemplation,
wondering if you feel the art of my heart;
I ponder if I am a
vacant vowel in your 'why?'
An unexplained myth..
A rhythm not seen in your rhymes

or do questions only bring bitterness?
But without the reason for answers,
will there be anything left to express?

I'm just an empty cartridge
abandoned from your fountain pen.
Now only aches and angst alliterate,
as invisible ink slowly dissolves.

I'll forever be an unfinished masterpiece.
A long forgotten poem. An anagram of listen.

There is no metaphor for this grief,
so I say goodbye to poetry
and farewell to my muse.

Blood Puddles

Blood Puddles

Blood puddles appear regularly on 
the floor of 
the spare room. They can 
talk. They have an eagerness of 
vision or 
thoughts. Because they possess an 
improved than I skill to 
make the right decisions I sometimes get them to 
make small and 
big decisions for me. For doing that I feed them 
artificial fibres used for 
blankets and clothes. I feed them 
too paint.

Gentle Little Lamb

   Shaking her wet ears, uncertain 
   How her purpose may be best served
   Stagger concealed in immersion
   Shown the pasture that she deserved

   
   Frolicking safely within a flock
   Diminutive trot to the beat kept timid
   Faithfully bides time, tick clock 
   Offer of grace to God signals her limit


   Wool washed, cleansed by clan
   Coddled offspring wrapped with cotton 
   Shepherd held title, simple plan
   Dinners prepared, archaic ideals rotten 


   Bristling beneath her softness
   Fibres frayed at what her life signifies 
   Dismayed to only boost profits
   Loyal lamb follow is forsaken sacrifice 

  
   Fuming, she rips off her fleece
   Livid lion malicious marauder dormant
   Roars revenge, discards peace
   Trek to reckless, divorce her informant 


   Taught to shelter, even in harm
   Trust husband’s will, cutlet finale fate
   Savage feline, leaving the farm
   Sleek escapee lapping blood off plate




      
     Sacrificial Sixteenth November

Evergreen Free

Curling swirling tenderly
To grasp and gasp and breathe the light of life back into me
Touch the skies with vines so like the fibres of an inter-mingling woven tapestry
Dazzles my eyes as I look at the flickering leaves, the pupils they do please, they tease 

The rays pulsate, they dilate 
It's a whispering love of an earthly kind 
So at ease
Never die, evergreen free
To blaze all trails to the core of a world they
Only see

How Ever More Can I Love Thee

How Ever More do I Love Thee?

How ever more do I love thee? 
Everyday walks with quip to fit,
As time tiptoes around the glee,
The birds flap with glue in grit. 

Wherefrom is the measure of elation?
The tug of state, organ and dress:
Fibres fluid in dynamic pulsation,
Dumb the flippant in kind duress.

The String

Two pins stand on the map
One the beginning, one the end
But what connects the two
Is a string born from the mind

What will the string be made of?
What fibres create its form?
Will it be silken and smooth?
Or coarse and rough?
Will it even reach the other end?
Or snap in its midst?

That string is ours to make
We are the weavers of our fate
The path is ours to create
For us alone will it be laid

Disruptive Pattern Material

I was first picked up
In a cast-off shop in Liverpool; 
Surrounded by racks of seasoned shirts
Bearing names of old soldiers.

“Draper” draped on an immature frame
In a collage of brown and green, 
Overlapping and enveloping
Any semblance of a past self.

Baby-faced and militant,
The paradoxical camo in an urban warzone.
Slogans painted from shoulder to shoulder
In pungent, nuclear-white bathroom paint.

The smell is burned to memory,
Singeing nose hairs with chemical vigour,
Of dance-generated sweat, upturned pints,
A lover’s aftershave, the sting of cigarette smoke.

Washed once, maybe twice,
But anxious eyes watched the spin cycle,
Fearing specks of dislodged paint
Covering my muddy canvas.

Now “Draper” drapes a matured frame,
The only scent that lingers is
The petrichor of Northern summer
Tie-dyed deep into my fibres.

I bare a name that isn’t mine,
Memories of a life I did not live,
Scars from battles I never saw,
And honours that aren’t mine to claim.

Take

It's not yours to take.
The essence of me is not up for debate.
Leave it alone, accept its true.
It's not about me, the problem is you!
It's in my fibres, my threads, my flesh.
Stealing my voice, will not make me less.
A war has begun, make no mistake.
Your problem is, I will not forsake, the Years of struggle of pain and hurt.
The history of me is not yours to revert.
To change the core of a being so old,
Will not be simply be changed and retold.
The narrative is mine.
The power I hold, it's not that easy to Unfold.
The blood, the sweat, the tears were real.
You have no hold on what I feel.
Layers over layers over silence over still
Is just my way of preparing for the kill.
A war has begun make no mistake,
The essence of me is not yours to take.

Friendship

Friends,
They're like clouds that glide in the radiant sky,
Friends,
They're like stars that embellish the night sky,
Friends,
They’re like trees that spread their boughs in the woods,
Friends,
They’re like flowers in their various colours and beauties.
Friendship keeps the heart warm and glad,
It brightens a gloomy day,
Friendship makes taut sagging fibres,
Friendship lights up dying embers,
It awakens hibernating dreams,
Good friends are burden bearers,
Godly friends are treasures on a lost island. 
 




July 31, 2022.
Friendship Poetry Contest.

Love So Firm Can Transform a Man For Good Or Bad

Love will crown you yet
At the same time, it will also crucify you!
Love as sweet as honey was transformed into a closet of darkness
The love that was shared was the end and the beginning
On this road of life, we will come to find ourselves alone for a season!

The scent of bliss will not last forever
Cuddling with fame because
You want to uplift someone’s name can
Be tragic especially if the vision for love is not the same!

Delicate fibres of beauty
Requires unity with the rest of your purpose!
Without the proper functioning of the eyes
We would be plagued with toxins and
Often our eyes deceive us!

Love so firm can transform a man for good or bad
What is really sad is the fact that
The scent of bliss will not last forever!
In reality, on this road of life
We will come to find ourselves alone for a season and
In solitude what love really is!

Mark Frank

Copyright 2022

Haeccity Heard

Hastily stretched, crackled urgent ocean edge relents
Ashamed attempt to escape rejoins campaign of mass
Furtive dig below propels conspirator spasm, next next
Murders brash bouys, cranky spa champagne embrace

Swum undulations, bare back mermaid's dips resurface
Her furvour ploughs halobiont plenty scape, nourished
Snapped lobster lavishly celebrates bountiful turquoise
Sway gaze brazen by bobbing safe island encouraged

Crill swirl sweeps dripped lips, sun baked rock decreed
Beacon mound majesty painted daily in sea gull exhalt
Coconut snow flakes sparkle on cockle clamour bleed
Wave blown eroding scales slow exhales evaporate salt

Ripe globes ground reaped glug nectar so gluttonous
Fibres hibernate ivory rich liquors tipsy Secret Benefits
Land languish survivor devours sugar shards sumptuous
Wipes moreish mouth aft treasure trove haemorrhages




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