The Rented Veneer
They offered gifts
Nothing but rotten silk,
A cheap spectacle
Staged for the public eye.
Now, in the suffocating quiet,
I am forbidden to touch it.
I can only breathe,
And give it back.
whate'er the sun
hunts up the sky
is meant, as lace
to grace the eye
in dazzled dreams
that dance a-sea
and weep that fills
the rills and leas
for what light paints
in day's dear death
can gift one’s gaze
yet steal the breath
as eve’s dark bloom
thus burgeons, ours -
sweet butt’ry moons
… and silvered stars.
( for the “No 1256 New Poem Only” Poetry Contest, Brian strand, Judge/Sponsor )
Led by the nose, when will we learn
That not all leaders are sincere
Though heaven-sent they might appear
Our trust they trample in return
Then when their deeds reveal their game
Our freedom’s gone; heads hang in shame.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The flower wilting in the vase
Fades to grey tho' once so bright,
Beauty can but meet decay
Just as day gives in to night.
It's sweet veneer we look upon
Yet beauty dwells upon the cusp,
Given time 'tis all our fate
Given time... we are but dust.
Entry for
Writing Challenge - Decay - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France.
23/9/2020
We were perfect,
But I don't know what made it so.
Now we're a disaster,
And I don't know what happened.
And it's as if that perfectness never existed
Was never real
Just some sort of veneer from an old table that we were under the whole time
It looked pretty,
but it was just a cover.
That veneer chipped off
It exposed us
And now I'm sitting here, looking at the pieces, wondering how they ever fit together
And as much as I place that piece back on
Trying to re-imaging that perfect mirage
It just doesn't fit right anymore
It just sticks up, and I keep catching my thumb on it
Leaving cuts all over
So now that table is just pushed into the corner
The chipped side turned out of sight
Not spoken about
Forgotten about
Ruined
And all the unwanted knick knacks are placed on it
Weighing it down
And it's bending in the middle from all the weight
How much until it collapses?
Let us take off the veneer
the comforting illusion and cosy half-truth
blow out the candles
make a wish
say a prayer prepare for letdown
the purpose of poetry if rightly said
and of satire certainly said
is to strip off the veneer of comforting illusion and cosy half-truth
and our job as I see it is
up to you and me
I am wiser than religious folk
because neither of us know anything of the great or good
but they fancy they know something
as I do not know anything so I do not fancy to say so
Yet I appear to be wiser than them because I know what I do not know
In the dark I see you clearly
Images your hardly
Ever share with the world
Why be gentle in the dark
When others think you are hardened
That your emotions
Were extricated at birth
Two complete opposites
Gentle versus rough
Stone faced
With signs that if you smile
In the daylight
Your face might crack
I see you smile all the time
Behind closed doors
Behind the four walls
Almost like you are afraid
The world might see
The gem I have uncovered
It is a joy to see you laugh
To hear that giggle
I reckon it is about time
You show the world the gentle side of you
©152625072013
~the satin doll~
had voluptuous curves, grandeur,
~the satin doll~
with sultry voice and a sweet smile,
moved a president, it is clear,
Marilyn was childlike veneer,
~the satin doll.~
Weave a RONDOLET
For Nette
By John Moses Freeman
my facade has cracks
you chipping the smooth veneer
that used to protect
The Veneer
A smile
that just doesn't quite reach,
the teeth gleam,
while the eyes are dull and lifeless.
These are the veneers that fill our world.
We wander around,
cheerfully greeting our enemies.
Asking redundant questions
that we dont care about the answers to.
These are the veneers
that fill our world.
I'm gonna mean what I say.
I'm gonna say what I mean.
I'm gonna smile to my eyes.
Today's going to be different.
Tearing down the veneers,
that fill our world.
The thing about veneer is this:
It blinds to the truth,
Hides the real heart from sight
Whilst shining like topaz and gold.
The coating on a rotten tooth,
The glister on decaying wood,
The glaze on calorific cakes,
The healthy gleam in contact lens eyes.
The rosy sheen on those about to die of fever,
The cosmetic touch on week-old corpses,
The gloss of laughing lips superimposed on twisted rage,
The glow of fires on streams and rivers.
The thing about veneer is this:
It makes the real seem unreal,
Or the unreal seem real - whatever;
The sick seem well,
The evil seem good,
The mad seem sane
The abnormal seem, well, normal.
And the intrigue lies within
The way it is brushed on like a second skin,
So to reflect our pretend personas
To those who look upon us.
Whilst they do the same
To us who look upon them.
We all hide the madwoman in the attic,
But the question is:
Who has the maddest woman to hide?
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