I loved my make up today
My yellow concealer blended mighty well
At least it didn't turn out gray
Don't forget to draw water from the well
I kissed his fist so hard today
I smiled as I touched my bleeding lip
I admired the color in the mirror
I begged the heavens for this day
His artwork has no error
At least he touched me
ME
I won't forget to draw water from the well
The green and purple looked good today
I'm thinking of having the pattern tatted
Stencil huh
My mother chased me away
I don't think she liked the tattoo idea
As long as I remain the perfect canvas
I will draw water from the well
Without Allegiance War Defeats Itself
Thousand Oaks California hate speech and hate crime
In passenger seat of crime as war
"Do you want my ex change"
Driving away from store front
Attempt of beauty in cowardly defeat from racist feminine face of propaganda.
In America
As American
What was not your families crime in creation of you
Identify yourself formally
Thus production as matter in universal law prevents how?
Unfinished student a financial crime of origin.
Jericho's Ballad in Walls waits for stencil?
Courageous hatred waits in your god given talents
I'm open for business except Sundays from nine to nine.
I have a 5-Star rating from the BBB because my work is very fine!
I specialize in tailoring garbage bags for we folks who were so named,
By a doddering old geezer in the White House who ought to be ashamed!
You must provide your own 30-gallon bag which usually comes in black;
I'll form fit it and for an extra fee will stencil MAGA in huge letters on the back.
Five bucks is the cost or if a vet or a senior a 5 percent discount I'll advance.
You'll find it very appropriate wear at rallies or any other such circumstance!
Day slides away unspoken
Over the timeless hill
Dark oak and ash
Stencil the fading light
Black flickers of roost-bound rooks
Imprint the low sky’s cushion clouds
While half a world away
God’s turning Earth unfurls
Another’s bright Antipodean dawn.
I love sitting outside as the daylight fades, witnessing the departure of another day – a day never to be experienced again.
In 2003 at Llansadwrn in Wales, found me coming to grips with the awesome truth that I was on a vast globe which was forever turning, exactly as God designed!
People say, when there's a will, there's a way
But this way will only lead me astray
Without you everything annoys me again
The faint sound of people I hear when my music stops
I don't want them to exist, you changed a pessimist
Your ideologies are your utensils
My existence was your stencil
I feel you reach in me, rearranging
Organizing, correcting, taking
I don't like it but if its what you want
I'll live with it in the hope that one day it will be exchanging
I'm not perfect, but I could be for you
I'm not a poet, but you're still my muse
My ink filled pages, our relationship's ambages
You sliced into me and I'm hiding the cut
It's all for you and you're so unaware
As long as you're fine you don't even care
Destroy me from inside out
Watching with blurry eyes
You were my Fomalhaut
You blurred the line of lies
Here we go with a New Year’s resolution
Deciding to make a change or start over
Forever arriving at the same conclusion
Were you intoxicated and now sober
Even if we design it or stamp it into a stencil
Take an oath that we will see it to the end
Never write it down in black ink but in pencil
Waste a whole year but still seeking to extend
Not bringing it to fruition with an impulsive pledge
Most declarations or expectations fall by the wayside
In a month, if we start, we will push it over the edge
It may be outlandish, but we can say at least we tried
when case came to close
Trump lied with long nose that grows
guilty we suppose
my poems may be crude
rather than having been rude
you became unglued
could be contagious
always was advantageous
also courageous
perfect particle
of arousing article
read at sabbatical
drawn with utensil
prepared a Christmas stencil
done with a pencil
on face found a mole
which became my greatest goal
take another pole
when germs are villain
need to take penicillin
when to are willing
when we were squirming
met someone with much vermin
a gorgeous German
here is what you get
Horn haiku has been better yet
me be best should let
Thoughts can be blurry and empty.
paper on an easel, a whirlpool on a sheet
letting emotions explode into poetry,
explores the realm of cryptical and mystery
Crafting verbal art saps one's inventiveness.
I wrapped my body with a tattered velarium.
My shades can't even pass the litmus trial.
I stand without ignominy.
I am the one who folded my halcyon tripod.
My soul is the painting on this easel.
without a brush or ink, an oil drawing of intrinsic
all sins are conveyed aloud in this triptych.
It is a work of inner gloom, a magnum opus.
Drawing by the moon on a quiet beach
A painter stencil is bolstered on a pedestal.
Sea whispers reverberate in the sky.
The cosmic shyness sound
In this bewildering blend of noises and spirits.
A winter tree's naked singing may be heard.
With shades of gray, it is jubilation.
4th place contest winner
Written: February 16, 2023
Premier Choice No 1188 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
My homies that don't know me from the outside in
And wherever home is I feel outside in
I feel inside out
Wide open and shut
I keep silent but inside me i am screaming aloud
I keep trying to learn me how to figure me out
Why do they stencil always try to figure me out
Let me sink to the bottom
Then they try to finger me out
Sometimes the world feels scaled down like a figurine house
And I'm a real boy
Or perhaps the houses chew toy
Now I know why they keep swallowing then spitting me out
Yes, I am never about
Yes I am hiding out loud
To my homies that don't know me from the inside out
Lest I be guilty of grossest negligence
I feel like I must put in my own two cents
As I watch and evaluate strong evidence
We owe a debt of gratitude to Mike Pence.
I know, I know, he’s not even a Democrat
But on Jan 6th he knew where he was at
He stuck by the Constitution and all that,
As I see it, it takes courage to stand pat.
If Pence had listened to Donald J. Trump
Asked how high and been ready to jump
On our democracy, he’d’ve taken a dump
We’d’ve never recovered from the lump.
I’m pleased to know some have principle
Not willing to turn their back on sensible
And will defy their unscrupulous principal
I want more cut from a Mike Pence stencil.
Bravo to a politician I thought was a toady,
Wasn’t an a**-kissing Donald Trump roadie.
Though her life span was less than a week,
The Pink Lady of Malibu was a glorious sight,
Never to be forgotten by anyone who was lucky enough to see her
The daring escapade spanned six months
Timing her final foray on the cliff to coincide with the full moon
On October 31st, 1966, seemingly overnight
there appeared on the sheer cliff wall
above the Malibu Canyon tunnel
a 60-foot-tall painting of a nude woman
gamboling freely with her black hair flowing behind her
and a fistful of yellow lilies
No one knew who had created this guerrilla artwork
but scandalized Los Angeles County officials
Fearing traffic congestion and looky-loo accidents
They had decided she couldn't stay
House paint and a giant stencil to accomplish the artwork
The paint had soaked into the porous rock
Finding it impossible to remove her
The county ended up covering the Pink Lady in beige paint
Such waste of pen,
if your only subject
self-centered men;
Such waste of pencil,
if vain women the
stencil, patterns and
frames of your poetry –
her many loves
and woe-it-try!
And if Nature
and her creatures
are your features...
Why God only first
and last? – a few words
before rest, and a brief
recital upon rising....
Remain silent until it's time
to love again
Finger touches and tongue tips
dance again
Rain drops coursing leaf veins
I want to stencil my name
all over your anatomy
as if I never had before
Magnified insight
finding new ways to envelop
your light
Soul shavings on bad days
don't need it all
the tiniest portion of you
will do
Sometimes my poetry needs
time for you to seep into
my vocabulary
to understand that perfect ground
you fall upon.
It sits on the pantry shelf where it's always been
The old blue bread box made of tin
with faded white letters B R E A D stencil on
for some reason of it I am fond
It no longer stores loafs or buns
It now holds things forgotten
A dish towel whose pattern was pretty and fun
A rubber glove in case we found the other one
Some rubber bands and bread ties too
and don't forget that bottle of old wood glue
The timer that doesn't time
a baby spoon I think was mine
A candlestick and yellow lighter
A recipe for holiday apple cider
Old refrigerator magnets that don't stick
An half empty jar of Vicks
That old squirt gun that always leaked
A Tootsie Roll we forever keep
Why we keep the bread box I don't know
But I am glad it's there if just to show
some things other think are useless and old
are the treasured memories of us they hold
Despite June’s tempest, I relish life’s grace
My eyes marking the stencil of ripped trees
A yesterday which draws me to embrace ;
The comfort of kin amidst storm’s reprise.
For Gregory R Barden's Rithimus Divisa 5 Contest
Excerpt from the poem Woodland of My Youth
Dated 4/04,2018
Resubmitted 9/5/2020
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