Dioramas poems on Hello Poetry

iamtheavatar Apr 2016

We are all hypocrites,
passionate on
crime, ***, and drama

We are all hypocrites,
building our
two-dimensional dioramas

We think fast,
our half-witted brains
conniving

We talk fast,
our foolproof tongues
praising

We love to hate others,
and bask in the glory
of their demise

We hate to love our brothers,
for all our speeches
are mem'rized

Stepping stones from naivety
Our vainglorious insanity
Romanticizing reality

The hand that
feeds us
is our enemy

When will this stop?

**iamthe_avatar ©2016

Note to self.

#drama #reality #people #hypocrites #*** #politics #hypocrisy #crime #enemy #vainglory

Beryl Starkovic May 2014

collective collaboration

Dreams that collide in collective collaborations,
merging mercifully into identical imaginations.
In sporadic unspecified dioramas of decoration,
seemingly devoid of light, yet full of illumination.

Winds that billow in bellows of blue balderdash,
that hides these vague souls in the elephant grass,
as white horses run for an unconsecrated pass;
I sit sipping lightning from a small green flask.

I cannot see beyond this collision of cataracts,
sitting in a puddle of Alzheimer's and absent facts,
hard to predict parlor tricks' and posthumous pacts,
metamorphosis of those we ****** on, lies intact.

Veins constricted from catastrophes and contradictions,
synapses sinewed by audacious biannual addictions,
misdemeanors of malicious misnomers and maledictions,
breathing in the beneficent bleating of benedictions.

Dreams that collide in collective collaborations,
merging mercifully into identical imaginations.
In sporadic unspecified dioramas of decoration,
seemingly devoid of light, yet full of illumination

karol stefan olesiak Oct 2012

We are Shadows

We are shadows.
You awoke me from a dream.
Observing silhouettes in the pavement,
moonlight visits us.
Black chalk outlines
fading into each other.
Penetrated by light,
separated.
Splitting our suffering in two,
never mending.
Sweet juices of forever trickling in-between,
separating our togetherness.

When I think of your sweet lips,
sleeping and dreaming of tomorrow,
I visit and try to tell you I am sorry.
Truth is not relevant to love.
Truth is obsessive,
full of agenda.
Truth is beautiful.
Beauty is false.

We shadow each other.
It is a game.
We are a puppet show,
strings and cloth,
dioramas,
perceived depth, and fake sunsets.

zebra Mar 2019

The Marrying Kind

you need each other
like a vampires needs blood

you've always loved her ***
those long legs

unexpected arguments
the word no
fantasies of make up ***
make up ***

late night sneaking farts
off spring

springing

debt and drudgery
till half dead
weight gain from a sagging liver
and retching love

labyrinth's of desire and anger
divorce; the sword of Damocles
a mad hatter
Zyklon B shower

seeing stupid through her eyes
my face like a vitrine of broken masks
the way she looks in floppy slippers
or dressed up in black and pearls

snoring with a gaping mouth
of floating spirits in intricate patterns
of darkness made of nothing

making believe your with someone else
*** fantasies I've never spoken of
in sultry dioramas of glistening leg shows
mosaic starred
baiting unguent nights

on my knees again
eating thorns
and she is more adorable than the rumba

a hot arsonist setting me on fire
canopy of flowers
golden apples and blood
pouring down shade sun and rain

decades of the same sentences
and the same dead sea silences
in claustrophobic tangles
of devotion

seeing who dies first
or left desolate;
with a legacy
of gnawing remembrance
that chew moth to cloth
lantern of vapors; weeping

it beats the hell out of being alone
at the end
I go back to the beginning

the marrying kind

Seán Mac Falls Jan 2013

Haiku (knowing)

Streams under mountains,
Dioramas in crested waves,
I was never born.

Michael Apr 2015

Extinguished

Uttered wishes don’t come true.
There’s a breach of contract
in the act of saying what you want.

It’s the reason we’ve never reached world peace.
Every pageant queen sliding it out
between clenched white teeth, ruining the
surprise before she blows out the candle.

We’ve mined out wishes from the earth
and put them out on display;
dioramas marked
“a hope for a better tomorrow”
Mason jars full of eyelashes
just longing to be blown
to the wind, dandelion free.

How can we ever expect anything
but the decay of our future?

It’s all boiled down to this singular wish –
a sideways stare at this candlestick,
and no matter how nimble,
no matter how quick,
whatever we think before the blow,
won’t change what we know about tomorrow.

Once we make a wish,
There’s no more room for light.

#wishes #confessional

Inkveined Feb 2019

Untitled

I want to write a poem
But I’m not a poet anymore
I can’t breathe words and turn them into dioramas that people look at and admire
I can barely read without getting tired of seeing words
What is going on
I could only live in words before
But now I want to live in life
Now I want to breathe crisp air
And I’m greedy for the trees
I want to go and splash in puddles
Which I’ve done before
But in a different way
Not because it’s something nice to do
But because I want to enjoy the water before it goes back up
It’ll come down again
And my moods will fall too
But I’m here and I’m looking
For anything
Anywhere
Inside my own story
That I don’t have to rely on my own pen
To find.

Jason Jan 2021

Once

Darkened dioramas seen through fading sight,
Wistful shadows of tormented light.

Twilight sifting through waking dreams,
Leaving me bare and clutching at seams.

We once flew on high with spirits of air,
We made light with the sun without a care.

Now I live only at night, sleeping through life,
Disgusted by struggle and sickened by strife.

Living for death but only dying my hair,
Heaven cancelled for the rain in the air.

So I gather my strength and I wish for the power to heal,
But when I give her my heart she says the magic just steals.

I've traded my eyes for a vision of sight,
And traded my soul for a photo of light.

#sadness #grief #depression #1997 #myouniverse #222

— The End —