Long Façade Poems
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I began life pure and guiltless,
a girl innocent and faultless;
as I grew my soul became flawed.
Oh, teach me to be stronger God !
My young soul began to have cracks,
it is full of fractures and gaps;
from pits of sorrow I have clawed.
Oh, teach me to be stronger God !
This life gone awry and amiss,
oh could you please, please press a kiss;
I am weary of this façade.
Oh, teach me to be stronger God !
Each day, moment I am falling,
I am damaged, broken, weeping;
from chains of the past I have crawled,
Oh, teach me to be stronger God !
But deep inside there is a strength,
in this faulty soul's depth and length;
I am weakness and strength, how odd.
Oh, teach me to be stronger God !
_______________________________
December 19, 2019
Poetry/Kyreille/Teach Me To Be Stronger God
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1`210-028-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to FFI Blog Series 41- Kyreille
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
Road work had been finished
for the winter on an asphalt strip
north of town near a nature preserve.
I said good-bye to the hotel owner
and he invited me back
although the town was a lifetime away
from my home. We shook hands.
The town wore its history well
with a façade of an old west town
complete with a jail and post office
on its main street, as if it wanted
to live that life again.
Picture postcards were sold in a drug store
to be packed away and taken home.
Gates of fences aligning themselves
on either side of a highway
spoke of the last cattle drive.
I realized this was the west
where cowboys lived and died.
Reflections stirred of how we gave of our lives
for our dreams and for the ones we loved.
Hasn’t it always been this way?
Sandhills loomed to my side as I drove
on a two-lane east to another town
where I could see another historic site
then get onto the interstate and drive
to the next assignment.
The sky above the open land was an ocean
as I drove east toward the sun.
As Friday ends in tumbling hours,
may the starlight kiss your lips while
I rest in the arms of dreams
unrefined...
I may not be with you in the flambe
of a gauzy night caved by dreary toil
but,
whisper a note for me as the breeze
sways a hammock
of an embrace fondled by the new moon.
I humble myself in your presence not,
still,
wait for me to disrobe this façade,
while you can, then…
remember days like other days,
when tokens of warmest joy begin
to unfurl this coiled silhouette
dug in a pile of cinder
while my eyes long for Saturday's glow:
and when the lamp post
of byways are streaked with our fonts' names,
where the brink of my dreams
awaken in your garden of misty eyes so green,
wait for me.
...............
Submitted for Brian's Choice F
Sometimes, when I run out of love and I’m feeling empty
That’s when I think that the whole world is against me
I go around town wearing an upside-down frown
Like a buffoon of a clown
I can’t put on a masquerade
If beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, I want a new face
Every time I cry, a bucket of tears my clown face erases
Volumes of liquid my body replaces
My life is an open book, a poignant story, an ongoing miniseries
If you read it or live it, it will leave you feeling eerie
I have created my own bubbles of troubles
No one can pop it
I row my own boat of pain
No one can rock it
I don’t want to end the puddle of misery I wallow in
I take great joy in the pity that I’m swallowed in
I rub it all over my body like lotion
If I choose, I could wash it away in one quick motion
Who’s normal in this society?
I don’t need a Ph. D. to diagnose me to see if I’m alright
It’s a mental and physical self-cleansing act to cry
So, if you see me in the streets with a smile and a tear
I might be feeling down but smiling ear to ear
This façade I present isn’t a new act to me
I’m not the author of this confusion
Trying to send me to an institution
I make my own choices
Me and all of my voices
They are the ones that reach out to me
And help me break down ideas and innuendos to the very last compound
Of what is considered normal in society
It is only an exaggerated afterthought of Parallels of Reality
quatrain, long measure
All things are vain, wrote Solomon,
wisest man on earth’s fertile sod.
All things are vain, that is unless
all things center around one God.
There’s a time to judge what man knows
though at times knowing brings us grief.
Pleasure has its lawful due place
but even joy wants some relief.
While great homes, rich foods satisfy,
wisdom may come during hard times.
Though man seeks God from his youth on,
he does not avoid some rough climbs.
Long life with a large family
aspiration worthy of thought,
meaningful – when blessed with love's hope
useless – when God's will is not sought.
A job is man’s key to esteem.
Ample wages balanced with rest
can be managed in countless ways
to do good – or better – or best.
Find the right time and the right place
to do all things under the sun.
Selfish living is a charade
dawn’s advent may find it undone.
Shine, bright Qoheleth, shed your light,
cast scorn on the futile façade.
The whole of life calls out to man
to fear and obey holy God.
*Qoheleth is the Hebrew word for the book of
Ecclesiastes, also translated the Preacher
written 28 March 2015
for Verlena's contest, Soulidified
Love Like a Sweater
by Odin Roark
The aged veteran sits idly
Upon rocker and barren porch
Remembering
Unlike a space suit
Its every fiber fit
By rigid standard
Unlike the starched khaki shirt
Its extremities forged firm as armor
Its pleats kept at attention
Unlike the dress blues
Symbolic of authority and command
Unyielding in its façade of glory
The sweater
Like love
Molds to behavior
Forever willing to comfort the flesh
And bring warmth to the heart
As passion's woven threads
Assimilate the wearer's hardships
Fear of frayed ends disappear
Accepting entwined living
Is not without accident and wear
Affection asks little in return
Needing only to be spared
The folding into a drawer
Of forgotten memories
Given care
The patience of love
Remains forever dedicated
Embracing any and all it touches
And like the tattered loyal sweater
Judges not the body
But dutifully complies
Abiding the ever shrinking collapse
Of life fully lived
The veteran rocks slowly to sleep
His sweater held close
I took a chance on you - even though it went against my black heart
I didn't realize it'd be rocky like this from the very start
I didn't know what I'd be getting into - I truly didn't care
I didn't realize until way later my actions would be getting into an electric chair
The many, many masks - yanked out of his closet doors
Lots of them he's used already - documented some unbelievable scores
Here I thought the first little southern boy I was with would be grand
I didn't suspect that my personality he hated that much and he couldn't stand
I didn't know his little body would be erupting with so much past hate
Like a professional manipulator - I didn't realize it until it was way too late
The façade he displayed - so pro - so unequivocally flawless
Acting like from the beginning he was my magical genie and he'd grant my wish
Like a mentally-ill cowboy genie was hidden within those Memphis trees
Stalking and creeping upon his prey - through those thick forest leaves
A southern accent - a fake southern cowboy smile
Saying I was just a booty-call - but he's stayed 7.5 years now awhile
He says he'll never trust another f--king b--ch
That is - unless she's spoiling him - in which case she's gotta be rich
The level of manipulation he possesses is none other than God-sent
But he fails to have acquired simple survival skills - like bills and rent
Raising himself in this Luciferian devilish light
Failing logic and common sense - like what's wrong and right
He wants me to love and be loved - but refuses to let me in
Although he ironically possesses every single one of the f--king 7 Deadly Sins
He loves the idea of wanting to "be in love with me"
However; if you watch him closely - he's genuinely clueless as you can see
short circuited and
the fuse of purpose keeps tripping
high voltage boredom
on auto pilot in slow motion
the roundabout is not a funny circus
currents alternate
directly challenge
polar opposition in contradiction of truth
‘it’s a beautiful day and you are in it’
thunder clouds bolt hail and torment
for no reason at all
five layers of clothes just to keep warm
a frosted swamp submerges reason
because it can and it will
webs of confusion crushes through ice
as if waiting for landslides and mud
so much is clear
lightening emboldens the scene
as water colours bleach the canvas
pierce through fabric dreams and anticipation
thin skinned the jester keeps smiling
an empty façade persona and mask
reaches out as a poet who writes
with frosted nib and inked consternation
lost for words founded in screamed silence
like her own meta-morphed metaphor
muck seems like a euphemism
warmed up in a microwave of sorrow
maybe she will walk to the beach today
watch breakers and tides
gather a sea shell
listen to what can be heard
when all else is quiet
24th January 2023
when her shadow cracked
fragments entered her mind
shards of false gold
pierced façade and persona
left her in pieces
splintered images and illusions
the mask had been held tight
a rope strangled the puppet
clown’s grimace incised
by strings of attachment
and forced assimilation
a mirage in the making
projection of fake courage
pied piper tune on the march
dissonant shrieking contour
silhouette of crushed empty words
with no choice left
she picked up the pieces
and timid surface tension
adhered to the task
of reconstructing a narrative
without othering
gendering
ab-normalising all rupture
when she looked at the mosaic
the patchwork montage
appeared more sustainable
self-sufficient and rewarding
as the sum of all parts
had been hidden in a whole
where the light needed to fill
crevices and fissures
and she began to accept
time lines and gaps
which assembled
the shape of outlines
of necessary change
12th August 2021
WOLVES IN SHEEP CLOTHINGS
Darkness cloaked in innocence’s guise,
Wolves in sheep clothing, cunning & wise.
They prowl & stalk, in shadows they hide.
Their masks never fades, their true selves denied.4
Wolves in sheep's clothing, so sly & discreet,
They roam in the shadows, with eyes full of deceit.
Their words are like honey, their smiles so benign,
But beneath their façade, lies a cunning design.8
Dear traveler, beware of their sweet lullabies,
For their gentle whispers are nothing but lies.
Their teeth are sharp, their hunger uncontained,
In woolen disguise, their wickedness feigned.¹²
They weave their illusions in subtle embrace
With gentle demeanor, a soft-spoken grace.
But beware, for their hearts are not meek,
These wolves sheep claded, so sly & oblique.¹6
Keep your eyes open, trust your gut's feeling,
For among the gentle, the wolves may be stealing.
But fear not, for the naked truth shall unfold,
The sheep-feigned wolves falsehoods be told.²°
Their deceit knows no bounds, their malice runs deep,
In the land of the innocent, they silently creep.²²
~~~~~~~~~~~
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©? 13th February 2024.