First I draw the head
then a line
Next two arms
and some legs
Five fingers on each side
A smile
and eyes
Sometimes I add hair
or a nose
I draw them over
and over
Each different
Each unique
Some are really awful
and some are okay
Most are bland
but every once in a while
one becomes a masterpiece
A hooded black robe to the ground
Standing looking without a sound
Whose turn is it in their final fall
Waiting potently for their last call
Do you see the signs in the sky written
Or a scripture that was at home driven
I walk towards the setting sun
And can’t fail to see a world undone
Do I slip wanting truth known
Or does it matter I hear you groan
Wake up the world before it’s late
Remember the hooded figure waits.
© Paul Warren Poetry
you're attentive and say the right things
when you're good, you're very good
i wish i knew what needs to be said
what to say to set you ablaze
in order for you to light my fire
i don't want to tell you what i like
or worse tell you what i need
truth be be told, i'm not really sure and
i refuse to be responsible for putting words to it
in fact i want you to make the effort
to figure out what will please me
is that too much to ask?
i am reaching for the stars?
please make the effort to figure it out
it's in your best interest, that's no doubt
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Finger on the trigger
Death toll getting bigger
Desperate action required with vigor
What’s happening in our world….Go figure!
A beautiful time to sit with 'self.'
In this salient silence, you'll soon find your help
Alone, close, and unbothered
Quiet, away, and untethered
Silence the noise of your mind
Then welcome peace that's divine
When pain comes, it's okay to unwrap a cry
But don't dwell on it; just let it fly
When the ugly face of disappointment appears
Find solace, reflect, and then start again with no fears
When the clouds get dark and stout
It's okay to contemplate and sit it out
But when your lips crinkle and you start to pout
By all means, go figure it out
Bent reed in the wind,
Or a shadow to its form,
Duty's silent pull.
©bfa030225
Last of the figuratives the PRB
with great detail,colour&clarity
to the pre-Raphael' they did flee
classical quattrocento became their 'usp'
The Figure
The day ends
in a long drawn out sigh
as if done with the heat,
folding into the evening
to soothe where sunburn
has peeled back life
to a hurt.
The dry earth waits
for a few drops
of dew to fall
from trees.
Flying overhead
the dark silhouettes
of fruit bats
give a menace
to the skies,
they seem like angels
fleeing from hell.
This is the time
he emerges
from the shadows,
his course close to walls
as if trying to avoid
open ground.
Some have almost caught
a glimpse of his face
when rounding a corner,
head down, intent
to look away
and avoid a stare.
He appears featureless.
And yet all know him,
his shape filling
a familiar space
reserved for fear.
If you call out
he will never
answer but just
retreat further
into the night, deeper
into your mind.
Two beautiful young people
Dancing divine
The strength of the boy
Is incredible
How he handle his princess
Is superb
Light, flexible and strong bodies
Also intelligence to memorize dance steps
Excellent presentation
Voluptuous classy duo.
Yes, this is a dream
Such cool shapes with small waist
Fairy tale come true.
A bald eagle sports white hair and a craggy face
He’s admired and feared for his power and grace
Though when I see him next to a brown-hair
~ ‘baldy’ has even more fluff up there
righty tighty
lefty loosey
grip on gonads
gripe on choosie
***
The missing figure
The familiar figure I was dressing didn't sit
in the chair, at the shop, I had hired ready
for the funeral, when I after lunch walked
to the shop to get him dressed
I had bought hair in a gift shop, the type
many use and call it angel hair, white
and smooth and easy to glue on
I, on my way through the small park, had
noticed the man who spoke English with
He had a slight Liverpool accent, although
he was Portuguese, looked another way
when seeing me, that is, he looked at
the ducks in the park's pond.
Unsure of what to do, I sat down in the chair
the figure had sat on a dentist's chair
The closed shop must have belonged
to a former teeth practitioner.
In the large mirror opposite the chair
I saw myself, put the angle hair on my head
and saw the missing figure.
I look up to you
With the child in me,
A child that knows no wrong.
I look up to see some comfort somewhere,
that solely in wisdom belong.
They say that teachers are all, so very good.
So long as they can see the child;
That hides behind the glaring sun,
And senses no worth in chide.
That figures not what’s right or wrong
And basks in unreal pride.
Why do you take things that can be
Solved in a matter of time?
Why do you complain, times so often
With sometimes no reason nor rhyme?
Why don’t you see that the child in me
Is yet to grow as old,
As can be said to struggle for long
Well read and matured and bold?
I belong to you, do try understand.
Do please no laugh at my faults!
For the womb that gave me birth in time
Has the semblance with the one that's yours!
RIGOUR GO FIGURE
Faith
Belief
Acceptance
Or even hope
When logic runs out
Can be strong for many
Yet some are still undecided
As a brain demands more than a heart
But in the end, one’s trust may be enough
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