Dreary, for a thought-posture!
Bearing not up to reason
Falls in on itself.
That wall of hatred, defies
Beauty, its source. Hence to crush
In spirit, the self.
As when out, late walking
Blackness confronting
Face-moulded, mime whose response
Ugliness does bring.
Having pulled back in shock
Screamed, scaring a flock
That screwed up, so horrified
What in place does lock.
Instinctual! As both share
What is of it bare:
Whose appeal, would otherwise
The Divine declare.
How I wish I had a hawk’s far stare
or eyes more agéd than my face.
I do not have a mountain man’s hair
to lend me gravity, solemnity and grace.
I cannot grow a beard, full nor long,
to add wisdom to my plain looks;
my voice, though exotic, cannot hold a song.
I am made for radio, but with a sound for books.
When I tell people I am a poet, they say,
with their eyes, if not with their tongue:
‘you look as common as an everyday day
and your mouth sounds like an everyman’s son.’
Yet I am a poet - before God, before men,
and I’d rather look wrong, but do right with my pen.
And if there’s nothing left to come back to ...
shall we wander the aimless wasteland
as ghosts
along with the other extinctic creatures.
A barren planet of our making:
literally, Hell on Earth.
So, let us pray the Lord’s prayer
for a little intervention.
A little “on Earth as it is in Heaven.”
would be nice.
It’s been a while.
Why do so many not have enough
for their most basic needs
While others have more
than they can ever spend
They can’t take it with them in the end
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Do you remember saying you love me,
Cuddling till we fell asleep in eachothers arms. laughing our hearts out, getting eachother gifts everyweek. I know the answer to that,it's no because all the ugliness we have had covers every single good thing about us. You shoudnt let the ugliness, cover all the goodnes. but you do
It's like you think you can't let things get ugly even a little bit, or it will run away from you.
well clothed and fed
the ill bred boor
is dead within
Beautiful is not so pretty
for those who only see defects
ugliness is not so horrible
when seen attentively and willingly
It’s a parasite’s world.
The worm of laziness
Clogging the mind,
Ego refusing change.
It’s a parasite’s world,
Seeping through one’s blood and breath.
Adoption, adaptation to change, an uphill task.
Ignorance, dark, deep, masquerading ugliness.
It’s a parasite’s world---
Where dependence is practice.
And excuses-- strategy, to design.
Deadlines met feverishly by others.
It’s a parasite’s world,
Where type of work affect quality.
Where comparison and perks galore
Stifling freedom, to create with responsibility.
It’s a parasite’s world,
Where, those who do and are willing
Get busted with jargon of abuse.
Euphemisms learnt and articulated.
It’s a parasite’s world
Where fear is fed with horror.
Where incompatibility and incompetency
Rule one’s hidden strength and power.
It's a parasite's world
where love lavishes in luxury
and 'Basic Instinct' given prowess
Suck out life from the 'highest of all species'.
No one is perfect
Everyone has their story
nothing is pretty
‘I’m okay, you’re okay’ is a mask in the land of pretend.
Hide your face and how it twists into such an ugly thing,
How it wrinkles and fades into what none could call beauty.
Hide your skin and the odd colours that bloom beneath it
Like flowers.
You age like flowers do – beauty ebbing away as they crumple,
Ready to become dust again.
‘I’m okay, you’re okay’, you claim. Okay, but nothing better.
You have the odd ailment everyone suffers from, but you never see it portrayed,
It hurts until you realise that the most beautiful thing in life
Is finding beauty in places society cannot, or will not, or shall not.
Remove your mask, and be the first in this glossy magazine world,
In this world of models and secrets and plastic flowers
To cease pretending that you are not beautiful
When you have been all along.
Repost:
Dedicated to Nette Onclaud, a great poet who alas stopped posting on Poetry Soup on 4 November 2020. A dear friend whom I truly miss.
She really did it, bought a kitschy,
a repulsive ornate vase,
Thank God, the cat broke it.
We believe in good things easily
But hard to confide in bad ones,
(Beauty tells us the jovial story
But often it throws the dark rays
Into our smiling face.)
We know if the flowers
Bloom, they must give sweet fragrance
To the air, but we often forget
Some are odorless. Some flowers which
Bloom beyond our vision are full
Of sweet nectar but we don't care of them.
Oh dear, if we believe in beauty blindly,
Why we can't seek the latent essence
Of ugliness opening our big eyes?
An Ugliness of Winter Winds
David J Walker
Cold as the old north wind
may blow
Temperatures
well below
The freezing points of heaven
or hell
the tide swells without
contrition
the moon rises without
permission
snow sneers
as winter veers
well beyond a
path of tears
March winds bring an ugliness
To winter
We wear shoes
To protect our feet
Have to please them
With the right size
To keep healthy
To be comfortable
Go all the ways to please them
They will in return
Walk faster
With more stable steps
With more beautiful posture
Moreover some people may
Go further to please eyes
Hiding ugliness and handicaps
Building confidence
Showing off
Capturing admiration
And finally slaved their own selves
Hurting their feet
Forgetting to please
Their own hearts
Their inner souls
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