Scaffolding Poems | Examples

Perhaps I should pick up a hammer

Insidious is internalized inception
What's real with all these questions?
Feels like I missed my alarm and slept in
Broken legs but I still chase affection 
These walls are my blank expression
My mind is the home I'm trapped in
It's lonely inside an unfinished mansion

The sharp truth most people gaslight themselves and don't even realize it...
Have I detached so far from reality that my inner voice doesn't trust me?
Days go by while paralyzed in self-reflection 
Empty walls don't reflect growth they echo stagnation...
If my mind is a prison am I both the inmate and the warden?
Isn't an unfinished house just a finished ruin?

Perhaps I should pick up a hammer?
And stop admiring the scaffolding as architecture.

Before every line, I've written is a eulogy for a life never lived...

The Revealing

You see it coming through an opaque mirror,
first signs and last winks, a monstrous revealing
the marks of a construction worker with no blueprint
one who realizes that the edifice is crumbling
from within, the pearl rubbed raw shedding its
chalky dust. At last, you see a built-in purpose,
the apparent form
together with its transpiring apparition,
the grand design arriving in one revelation.
There are no monsters or angels, the brute was always
a shallow sketch of a dilapidation that had to be
drawn before your sight until you saw
hidden beneath the scaffolding of perception,
the beautiful unformed Creator
looking clearly through
your own eyes.

Here we go again

There will always be times where it seems that we are coming apart at the seams
Our patience wearing thin with stress once again seeping into our skin
Suddenly we're swallowed up in the moment even if we pretend not to show it
Sure we can try to keep it all bottled up, but eventually the volcano will erupt

This is when we need some extra scaffolding around our hearts, but where can we start?
Begin by remembering we've overcome similar obstacles in the past, even when they seemed so wide and vast
So while we worry things won't improve, rest assured this too shall pass and we'll fall back into the groove

abrupt adjournment

I stay stationary, collapsed, in a room unlike mine
I stay bare, as I wait for my thoughts to align
the bloodied hand continues it's repetitive round
soon the dust in this chamber will have me drowned

my scaffolding will be unveiled before I accept
this isn't a hallucination because I overslept
I cry, I kick, I bite, I scream
I weep, I hit, my eye's they stream

my feet move my carcass for the very first time
so back to my predecessor's cradle, I can climb
the circle of life I complete at one and seven
and I hope to have again before I witness heaven

my consciousness a station that's only channel is you
I theorised us as true, not our love debut
the favourable and dreadful constantly contending
no speculation was given to our feasible mending 

I crave to be livid and despise your existence
instead I sympathise and empathise and acknowledge our distance
your presence and aroma was a familiar setting
with your forthcoming absence it's you I'll be forgetting

formerly I was craving your presence and touch
now praying to avoid your glance and clutch
dreading to glimpse dreamy eyes turned devil
as our look will never again be that special

The Season of Truth

A cold wind.
Whatever was here has fled inside
or has curled up in a corner somewhere 
out of sight and gone to sleep.
Footpaths are tiled in the wet,
skeletal remains of leaves 
and tree trunks have begun to wear
their gray winter coat of lichen.

There is an honesty in the landscape,
the scaffolding that holds form 
together is no longer concealed 
by a camouflage of color, the eye
is confronted by what lies beneath. 
Cover withers away to bare ground,
the earth takes breath, bathes
in the chilly glow of a winter sun.

I also come to this place, 
to this stark season of truth 
and see myself stripped back
to the bones and sinews of me.
The wind blows through the same
vacant spaces, unpicks the pretense
to let a cold light shine through.
I don't like what I see.

Spring

The light is more present than it use to be.
Spiderweb hopes hang heavy with dew tears -
Resilient against the odds!
The frost finger fears: a threat still lurking
...in the darkness...
Tiny trust shoots tentatively test their way forth

Inhaling the air deeply; drinking it in:
Both crisp, cold and biting 
...but...
full of the butterfly kisses of the sun's rays.
The dancing of crane fly hopes
Can they really take off?

Standing at the edge of the river
The scaffolding of new enterprise lay ready.
I watch the ebb and flow echo in my soul,
Finally a rhythm that I can understand.
It might be alright.

Building Tension

Like a brick-by-brick castle unfolding. with scaffolding
Petals after petals of distress go on unfolding.
Feelings of hurt, ache, uncertainty, and anxiety
Like rust in iron, it pokes and corrodes my gaiety.

Is it my physique, which is ill within, that causes pain?
Is my psyche, like a parched, cracked earth, screaming to be sane?
Like a termite-eating piece of art, I crush and crumble.
On the rocks of my sadness and loneliness, I stumble.

Is my blood boiling like water at 100 degrees Celsius?
My fear, anger, and pessimism make me nefarious.
My unmet needs, relational plights, and suppressed powers
Have grown in my orchard of hearts, like cannabis flowers.

I should come out of tension, like chicks out of shredded shells.
I should, like a lotus, raise my head from these marshy wells.
I should allow the graces of the sole spirit to flow.
Like the lilies of wild fields, by divine glows, I must grow.

PassionFlower

                Tickle stamen dances with the dew.
Released, scent in the air,
fragranced sweetly K-new.

Bubble your brew of pheromone v-aperture

My attention from your look of capture  

Brook mirroring syndication of air
Vagrant incendiary caption of 
captivation sniff stare
Female patterns in holding 
Memories mansion room unfolding, 
scaffolding, molding
Fingering you to be most there

Ole Factory building, crescendo of 
harmonics produced gilding as eyes water in their Venused trap closing
in seduced dosaging (passaflora incarnata) 
carnal erotica 
mooning with purples and pinks, 
flash of ovary, seed, 
flirting with your dopamine, audacity

Memory

...that builds its scaffolding within
neuro-rivulets
brain tidy 
or caught in random whims
to form a sense of self

memory, where it resides
                with packed up boxes of old photos
sometimes in mistakes made
                     that rub me the wrong way
                     like the gray torn threads of frozen seams

no microscope needed
recalling
a spring of sprawling promises
in a stubbled field where lovers once cooed

memory tousled like skipping ropes abandoned 
or in your grandmother's hands craddling tea
fitting thoughts of tip-toed dancing
or childhood blips of snatching snowflakes
                                     on tongues and lashes

sometimes the shoes it wears are boots in war song blues
or slippers that breeze through rosebud dreams
                             sleighs down hills
                             and sugar apples at Halloween

beyond the frame of what has ceased
memories like rock yokes about our necks
                   or the morning bread on which to feast

First To Third Light In 30 Seconds

night yet clings
yet smothers the numb highway

breathe the wheel
sigh through the gears
wave-ride rubber after-shocks
follow the beam-eyed light
into the blossoming gray

adjusts to blacktop rapids
the sky is passing
it is now ahead of itself
convertible clouds weep dry tears

slip-slide the slick dark banks
with flickering wrists

A second light blooms

a small sun pastes itself onto distant white

a hooded bonnet shakes like a wet wolf
the horizon is now a mobile scaffolding

the whispering tread of a fast coming daylight
rushes into view, it snorts though a crystal vase
that the mind grips tightly

the roads blind ability
to avoid Niagara or the Grand Canyon
guides cold white knuckles

the drunk rocking of a back axle
warns you of a surfacing
unpaved parking lot

engine bones tick-over
articulate shuddering full stops
as they cough up stillness
here
at the end of
one half of a minute

and that is the third manifestation
of breathable light

Tales of the Bone

Skull where is your brain,
where inside this abandoned cave is your mind?
Did God leave you like this
your jaw open in that crazy grin
the wind echoing under your cracked dome?

There are fields of skulls, walls made of skulls
catacombs just for skulls
and still nobody has found you.
DNA and carbon dating may tell us
when you were
but your teeth chatter no tales now.

I look upon the scattered scaffolding
and wonder if your house
is now built high in a boneless heaven,
and if that house has an occupant -
a skull of starlight?

Yet are we not made of stardust even now
and are we waiting with baited breath
to depart these double barreled eye sockets
like bullets from a smoking bone-handled gun?

And will we enter the light
naked as hermit crabs into another shell
or must we lay here
slack-jawed and grimacing
blind even to the sky within us?

Work of Art

My curls are the frame of my temple, my curves an embellishment.
My skin smooth as silk.
My lips fill with contaminate cherries.
Your impenetrable eyes flow everywhere like torrents of sweet waters, rummaging in my past, crumbling hidden memories of unrequited loves.
My shoulders are scaffolding that support my rose garden, 
infested with thorns and apparently fragile and delightful ruins.
My belly and my hips the high road of life, 
and my strong legs tower with forbidden steps.
My body is a timeless architecture, where roots, 
scars and immense deserts 
transform it into what my unearthly essence has long resided, my temple.

Regret

time’s sands swirl
the spinners spin, our marionette lines
twisting and entwined
caught upon each other’s lives

loss now stains my mottled 
once proud face, scaffolding 
slack and slipping ever downward 
with fogged eyes failing in their folds

summer’s sun a distant memory
and winter’s icy doorway within reach;
so much I should have said, but
words failed, falling stillborn from my lips

immedicable wounds now fester, layered 
scars purple and puckered accuse
as I hum some dreary dirge 
to the beating wings of carrion birds

no refuge anymore for the damned
time a long way passed such redemption
I stand staring at that frozen hole
muttering prayers in an angry landscape

.. goodbye old friend

Japan Skytree

Japan Skytree 2080ft 

They began by digging down 
So two directions could be
built at once
Premade sections built on the 
ground 
Scaffolding added with
netting surround
to prevent anything falling down

Each section craned into position
Above the Load a gyroscope
preventing mid~air transition
Made of tubes angled for strength
Structural integrity
An architect's Dream 
The engineer's Mission

On reaching the top 2 cranes
to be lowered
from atop this ingenious free~standing Tower
smaller cranes hoisted to perform this function
Each crane smaller 'till all
were grounded

The last of which the final
stage
Dismantled and carried down
in an elevator
Such ingenuity is characteristic of 
Japanese engineering behaviour
Completed in a narrow triangled arena 
It stands
World Tallest Free~standing 
Communications Tower

The Death of Garden Flowers

They impregnate both water and soil
with their surrendering
as we do.

After the wilt
cadaverous blooms rattle their bones,
the desiccation a scaffolding,
the skeletal hollows a refrain
of a beauty more everlasting.

The wilting but a pouring prologue
to that last stand.
Sunlight feeds them
sunlight eats them,
shadows dream them
unto death, but it is a death
more beautiful than the sunlight
or any shade,

and when the dark green sludge comes
the reek is not of them,
but of our idea of life & death.

In that last silent exposure
the dead offer up their perfection
uncaring of any discerning eye.

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