CDF -Caspar David Friedrich
an artist so enigmatically slick
His pics use the compositional device Rückenfigur *
positioned as a foreground poseur
(*a figure seen entirely from behind)
There’s a monster
under my bed
She said
Impossible to conster
Outside her head,
Its dialect was Fred!
Rabid poseur,
A kind word it pled
Love me instead
Of unicorns and teddy bears
That stuff and nonsense
Will desert you in the end
And only I will ever be your friend!
Soft marches
spawn bravado
and cavalier soldier
He who scoffs
at distant gunfire
to meet its fury
Untested untried
untempered
his blade of little worth
As conflict preys
on the folly
— of the paper lion
(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)
Quietly it happens, as it
Undermines the artist,
Erasing anonymously
Exactly what the writer had said.
Ridiculous, pusillanimous poseurs.
Me a zombie?
Never!
Just a viral doofus poseur,
Brainiac and hacker on the loose tapping into other genie lamps,
Wireless Stikbot floater skipping ID challenge.
Hurdles that authenticate saliva from a silicone palate.
Trojan horse webber getting kicks from pop up photos and their tick box phasers.
Magic putty slideshows arfe my fix,
Overlapping gotchas in the cryptic mainframe,
zapped on sight.
Cookies nerd obsessive, parasitic nibbler on limitless net feeds,
Humanoid, human void,
vacuum mouse pad tracker ball bane.
Foxy email phisser,
wolf amid the Wiki swathes at random,
memory never full.
Sabouteur who pinpoints rootkit channels,
silently installing gridlock pixels deep freeze.
But I am not a robot,
just some micro chip app monger, macro chip on shoulder and those other parts designed by desktop surgeons,
sideline sci-fi wise guy not so wise,
hi-tech buff illusion in a hall of mirrors dash into the ether.
Me this CoderDojo mass encryption tangle,
blue moon barcode surfer, Janus-faced,
mutant bit part player who has somehow lost his byte!
Written January Twenty First Twenty Twenty
In social media one of
the biggest concerns is the love
to prove I'm different from rest;
All to feel, I'm just better than
any guy, won't share my game plan;
Trying hard, all to be impressed.
Want to show best, to make them feel
I'm distinct, like an ideal;
to poseur them my hidden charm.
But, does such acts really work?
Being rare may backfire, mightn't spark.
Probably won't succeed, it'll harm.
Just conform, don't exaggerate;
To be au fait, on thoughts stay firm.
Prosthetic language can never fix
a Poems broken joints
Only inspiration can set
the break for sure
Crutches and canes to prop up verse
severely disappoint
Perception falling on its face
—a crippled lost poseur
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)
Here is total nonsense in a verse,
It's about the scourge of the burbs,
A silly tale of Lady Bonkerley,
A femme always dressed in Regency,
Draping clothes her poseur finery,
And her boyfriend, a bossy bully,
They pranced around so merrily,
But wait, they were mere fictionaries,
I guess that's why we're writers, you and me,
It's all in our heads, you see,
Lady Bonkerley was only imaginary!!!
Ted Cruz
the implausible poseur distorting others' views
try a few of his own
see him preen for those selfies with gullibles half grown.
Tender smile fumes, the vanished touch of yore
Against midnight scream, passion in folklore
Tether thy gaily words. Not a tear loss
Arise ye heads, looked thence before at toss.
Silence posit as means for foe deceit.
Norm thath mandate knees ‘till poseur forfeit;
Smash across bloody, unknown one gallant
Niggle on trust which n’vr malevolent.
Flee and austere, meek wolves escape shameless,
Fight outside pride, hope tributes when helpless.
Oh! Might destroy peace nurtured humble eye;
Obscure fate hung after teary goodbye.
Untold misery haunts. Short lived supper
Unfold all plots. We died unseen pauper.
A river you're bound to be
found in
The rope you're bound to be
hanged in
The noose beckons you swinging
A blabe of malice slits your
throat.
Store-bought attitude and spit
You're a just sugar-coated piece
of sh.it
You're so unreal it's evident
A goddamn insult to the rest of
us.
You seek to be a rebel
But you just have greed
The pit of your being
Long lost and forgotten
You can tell the same lie a
thousand more times
But it won't get anymore true
So close your eyes once more
and once believe
That they all still believe in you
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