"exposes" poems
The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole --
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.
Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.
He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue --
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.
His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.
Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.
15.4k
Thin and transluscent
Fabricated sheet
Clumsy piece
Tickling with every groove
Of the winter's breeze.
Its flow was a mirror of her aura
Of her external beauty
Of how fierce she was
Every time she exposes her curves.
Her fake smile was a frown
She was tore apart from her soul
For who she was
A manequin by herself.
(7/2/14 @xirlleelang)
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Wide open are your arms
the sun is a small paintbrush
every daybreak it draws
exposes you as new as ever!
The surges in the billows
blow out swimming clouds
across the globe.
No they don’t splash out to
the starry thrillers on the sky
they all are a dwarf bunch
draws down to you kind Moon:
Down to earth on the ground
spares the heap for all
for the day for the noon.
Then you are there too
far afar, where is nothing
but you the lotus in bloom
on uncharted water.
Who can describe it better
everyone is lost for words!
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 10:11 PM UTC
Your voice seems black and white
But it's the voice that enters my heart
Becomes alive
And exposes itself to a world of colour
That neither of us knew existed.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Was it an illusion?
Words that trigger an attraction
A reply that lays a connection
Was it an illusion?
A look that exposes a sensation
A whisper that defines an emotion
Was it an illusion?
A touch that pushes a button
A kiss that captures a moment
Is it an illusion?
To transform words into reality
To turn moments into eternity
It is an illusion
When words are lost in silence
When affection is met with fear
When All is subsumed in memories
Whilst memories may fade
The illusion remains
We hope for those moments again
Poets love the illusion
Though Cynics judge us weak
We shall silence their mocking speak
Thank goodness for poets
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
The first thinkers were poets
Naming Mother Earth
Beginning symbolic thinking
Of nature, death and birth
Though themes are often repeated
Love, Beauty and God
Poetry in the guise of Religion
A prophet or a fraud
The poet resurrects the Primitive
Through allegory and similes
Disarming the unknown like explorers
Sublime Prophets and Visionaries
They must lay bare those treasured images
That must be expressed
Unraveling and revealing the sounds
At each soul’s behest
Encompassing the entire Cosmos
So lyrical the beat
The poet’s excitement flows outward
Laid at the Reader’s feet
So original, individual
She won’t examine or explain
Letting go the festering feelings
Disturbances in her brain
He exposes his dark, wounded psyche
Just to release and express
Such capacity to see and compare
Hyperbole at its best
I love, I hate, I suffer
A special dance in rhythm and rhyme
The poet as a buffer
Lessening the pain and sting of time
Laden with symbol and feelings
She gives you sweet relief
From something urgent, revealing
Confusion to belief
Through a cinematic kind of seeing
The poet purges to transform
By leaping through Alice’s looking glass
She never was one to conform
Quite intolerant of convention
Just like The Mad Hatter
His passions immune to all logic
In syncopated patter
Jamming up the poet’s mind
Struggling for expression
Seeking order out of chaos
An infantile regression
Cleaving to his imaginary world
The poet breaks out into words
Creating sound paintings to be unfurled
So his own agony is blurred
She succumbs to storms of passion
With instinctive techniques
Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion
Out of hand flows mystique
The poet mines from his unconscious
The Reader is not blind
For every single line and symbol
Means something to the mind
Causing an inner liberation
Enlightenment or flight
It is a matter of life and death
When darkness turns to light.
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
I once found that,
Elusive, 'silent blip',
It was deep inside,
Hiding all the time,
Lying in my mind,
As I lie to myself,
What a fool I am.
On realization,
It pops, vanishes,
The feeling remains,
Demons, those emotions,
Haunting, wracking, savaging,
Biting at the soul,
Hacking me to death.
Please, give it back,
That inner-silence,
I’m sorry, so sorry,
I was young, stupid,
Welcomed seduction,
Now though, older,
Wisdom exposes truth.
No going back,
Nope, one bite only,
When passion screams,
We hear nothing else,
We choose not to hear,
I once found that,
Elusive, 'silent blip'.
Goodbye everybody.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
I wish I could run with you
in your silent packs
I have done my share of howling
a prisoner of this sluggish, two legged species
that cannot chase down prey
or take flight, without the crafted creations
of others,
I can, if I wade warily through
waves of wind, and time,
dance with you,
on moon grazed prairies
but only until the sun cracks the dawn
and exposes me, for the vain actor I am
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
*I'm too fixated in each moment -
Each moment feels so intense,
I'm lost
On the dark side of the moon,
And nothing here has any warmth,
Worth or substance ~
Nothing here makes any sense.
Even my own shadow has left me.
The Monsters, still lurking
In the darkness,
Have stolen all of my hopes
And dreams away,
I can hear the wolves,
They are hauntingly howling -
There's nowhere safe that I can run to,
On this, here, dark, dreary day.
There will be no stars
To light up the pitch-black night-skies,
They have already fallen,
Just like the Angels
That I once loved and knew,
Everything that I once held onto
As sacred, has been molested -
I've been abandoned, once again;
Hell, again, I am being forced
To walk through.
Alone, I was born and raised,
Only my pain has been consistent-
It has held my hand
Throughout my entire life.
At some point, somehow,
I stupidly gave birth
To expectations,
Luckily, I woke up
And divorced reality,
Hence becoming solitude's
Dedicated and loving wife.
On the dark side of the moon
Compassion, loyalty and trust
Are nonexistent.
Evil dwells in almost every man
And woman,
Each with his or her own agenda,
Each with his or her own selfish plan.
Saviors do not exist,
Superheroes all wear masks,
Unconditional love is but an illusion,
Here, I revert to relying solely
On the harshness of reality,
For, the truth, it always exposes
And unmasks.
The dark side of the moon
Is a very lonely, isolating place,
In which to dwell,
There is no sunshine,
No stars or Angels -
The only light visible
Comes from the flames
Of the evildoers'
Raging fiery hell!
Placed here against my will,
No lush green valley in sight,
Taken away
From the divinity of nature,
I was cruelly robbed
Of my radiant life-giving daylight.
Doomed for being too real,
Too open and too honest,
Doomed for loving too much.
Doomed for believing in superheroes,
Doomed for allowing a human
To become my crutch.
Doomed for being too empathetic,
Doomed for being too sincere.
Doomed for being too kind
And too generous,
I'm doomed, abandoned here.
I blame only myself
For allowing my intuitive awareness
And intelligence to fade away
Like the stars that once adorned
Every exquisite night-sky,
I blame only myself
For not using the blessed insight
Of my third eye.
I'm too fixated in each moment,
Each moment feels so intense,
I'm too passionate about life
To give up and remain imprisoned
On the dark side of the moon...
But I'm too emotionally weak
And disappointed to jump the fence.
By Lady R.F. (C)2018*
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 12:27 AM UTC
A common reflection
exposes a section
of a section.
Mirror Friction
reveals
Mere Fiction
Your selfish selfies
are always ready, never messy.
A pocket mirror, antenna included
is a perfect filter, flaws excluded.
"Am I the fairest of them all?"
You ask daily.
*"I like you
more than most things in this world."*
"That's too bad", you say.
"I was looking for likes (plural)"
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
I dropped by my favorite place today, released another exhausted breath. My pants were bulging out and the fat kept me stretched out. I hate that feeling. My stomach turned into billowy waves of expectant marks, pinning through my outer skin. I hate that feeling. When I sit, my thigh provokes every nerve in my body. If she has thoughts, she'll be a demon whispering through the wind. My unkempt hair is spinning around like gravity does not exist. Somehow, I failed to sigh out the black smoke forming all over my body. My skin, when pinched, is like soft straps that cannot be withdrawn from their owner. My skin is like the skin of my ancestor—it keeps stretching widely, tirelessly, and unprovoked. My heart is tightening its grasp on me. God, please help me! My eyes! I swallowed all my tears away, but my reflection still reflects the dark hue of the moon. When it is sad, the moon exposes his true nature, just like rolled down skins on my neck. My hands go from gently holding my heart out of my chest to weighing the weight of my body. If I let out my thick heart, my body would be lighter and my skin would be a plethora of scars and clay. If I abandon thee and such a calloused body, art will find me beautiful, and that is one of the moon's other sides. It's thick and uncooked. The heavens may not forsake an insecure moon, but a woman hates her reflection when the moonlight lights on her flesh. "Mirror, mirror on the wall..." I called and they did not answer. I froze in my seat and waited until the sun bloomed and dried my tears. Yet I still could not breathe. I went into the sea and swam with the lonely whales. The sun reflected on the waters. I reached letter fourteen, but it was written by someone else. The ambience of the calm ocean washed over me. I released a breathy sigh, and the light went to take me.
Feb 1, 2022
Feb 1, 2022 at 1:28 PM UTC
i begin to arise
looking over into your gaze
so that i can feel you
breathless and shaken
with joy in your eyes
thirst overtaking the impulse
to feel how strong this love is
rubbing your skin
exposes the warm static throughout
im left without air
asphyxiating for pleasure
head rushing
groaning your name
please keep going
you keep our skin vibrating
and purging the toxicity of the world from us
taking in only me
you can feel my pulse
radiate from your sacral place
with you gushing out
like the words it takes to tell you
that i love you
and want to fill the empty spaces within
for a moment
i feel like we’ve become one
our bodies sing
heavenly tones echo within the confines of this home
with archangels watching over
as we fulfill our celestial fate
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 11:30 AM UTC
We know the word.
It's applied to many things.
We disagree to it use.
Simply, we acting the nature of being a human being.
Just because siblings doesn't get along.
It doesn't mean they are dysfunctional.
This just the so call experts speaking.
We all know doctors doesn't agree.
So, how can they apply this tag dysfunctional to anyone?
We could say it were a purpose of God.
To see, how we adjust to our conflicts concerning love.
We saw Cain and Abel have disagreement.
And know how that conclusion ended.
Even family that pretends to get along.
Usually exposes they were fronting all along.
We see this constantly in the news.
Where politicians not even kin to one another?
Seems to act like sisters, mothers, fathers, and brothers.
And this includes aunts and uncles too.
So, are they dysfunctional too?
Because they see things in a different light.
Experts, say it is.
We common sense people just say, it's life.
We not suppose to agree on everything in life.
Once, a word makes it into our vocabulary.
Then people starts using it.
As a every day saying
You dysfunctional.
I'm dysfunctional.
When in truth.
We just being us.
We know the way to love.
We just refuse to show it.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
*Eyes of an owl, I observe
My stare intense, yet calm
I see through illusion, deceit
I see right through you
& know you instantly
I see your true self
Your weaknesses
Your strengths
I see in what you hide so dearly
But in the eyes of an owl
I lift the veil you have placed
It exposes you
Eyes of an owl, I have*
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 2:21 AM UTC
Dar Al-Hekma University hosted its second fashion show on Sunday that featured the work of its second batch of fashion design undergraduates.
The event, titled “Luminosity” was held under the auspices of Princess Reem **** Muhammad Al-Faisal. President of the university Dr. Suhair Hassan Al-Qurashi said: “Providing such events to our students before graduation exposes them to industry leaders of their prospective industries and gives them a head start in their careers.
“Dar Al-Hekma University’s students stand out because of the combination of their high caliber and the opportunities the university provides for them.”
Along with industry leaders, families of participating students attended. The event started with an opening speech by the department chair for the fashion design program Dina Kattan, who then introduced the sophomore and junior students’ work.
Afterward, models wearing three-piece collection garments designed by senior students scheduled to graduate this year took the stage and were graded by four judges.
Kattan said: “I am so proud of the work my students presented today; they worked really hard and they deserve a big hand. “Everyone was impressed with the level of creativity and attention to detail they demonstrated.”
The judges were Batool Jamjoom, businesswoman in the fashion industry and manager and owner of Jamjoom Fashion House; Amra Alabdalilsharif, director of the innovation and visual merchandising department at Rubaiyyat; Dalal Al-Hasan, a fashion designer; and Aram Kabbani, Dar Al-Hekma alumna and fashion stylist.
The grades students received during the fashion show will form part of their final grade. One of the students whose designs were featured at the show, Zahar Algain, said her collection was inspired by Mexican artist Frida Kahlo.
“Studying fashion has altered my perspective. I view fashion, in the same way that I view life; it’s a matter of balance and proportions.
“My interest in avant-garde fashion has led me to believe in using creativity to solve difficult situations. Algain’s collection was meant to blur the line between art and fashion.
“It is inspired by Frida Kahlo but with a fictional twist. “The story behind my collection is a daydream, a magical love story, an artwork; it is splattered with Frida’s colorful soul and spirit.”
Following this women only event, Dar Al-Hekma is organizing a one-day fashion design exhibition on Tuesday, which is open to all. The event starts from 7 p.m.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
on your birthday
I wrote a letter comprised
of all that I adored;
words articulated in strikethroughs
and barrelled with smiley faces
to disguise my evident
addiction to your smile
--to your happiness.
and although I value your happiness
the letter remains at the bottom
of my computer
untouched, unsent
because my heart is already
shred to pieces, and the thought
of you dismissing
the words I poured myself in
is unbearable.
words;
they never articulated properly
although I pride myself a writer;
I addressed situations I overanalysed
over countless nights of lost sleep,
where your mouth dropped,
your eyes lowered
your breath grew heavier after
another brutal attack from my unaffectionate
words.
I noted little things;
conflicts within yourself
and wrote about them,
my remedy a simple melody
contrasting the bitter tunes
spat at you, through widened eyes
and curled lips.
That letter is unsent
because it exposes too much
about how often I think
dream
feel
about you.
while I say very little
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 5:11 AM UTC
step one.
you close your eyes.
you close them tight.
then you press your palms
against your
closed eyelids,
until
you start seeing red spots that remind you
of a song you wrote
for someone so long ago.
that someone doesn't matter anymore,
not really, so eventually,
neither will he.
step two.
you wear a nightgown.
the one with the lacy v neck, the one
that exposes your thighs,
the one with the vintage roses.
you wear it to bed to remind yourself
that you don't have to wear his attention
like a perfume
to feel ****
step three.
you listen to those songs.
you know which ones.
you listen to them and sing or rap along
until your throat is sore, until
your chest hurts. do it
until you don't know why you're crying,
then write a song about why
you are crying,
so that when you look back,
you can see that it doesn't matter.
heartache fades.
step four.
dive into a body of water in only
your under garments.
force yourself
to swim,
no matter how much
you want
to drown.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
Everyday’s affliction with what we know is missing
Countless moments wishing that fishing was as simple as whistling
Remembering that willows wither in winters un-warmed
and wandering wonders willfully repose when rivaled against ripening woes
Come closer potential memories of exposes’
Clothes skydiving with expectations of faceplanting into the floor
Lady classifications disguise the actions depicting a *****
Heaping hopefuls cascade over glistening gazes that persuade the perilous to lay dormant
Come closer to the oops
That second guess in the back of your head that taps the shoulder and says go
That same go that was an initial no and now corruption has spidered the criteria
It seems the cat may have found the trick to the ball of yarn
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
The air hangs heavy today
After last nights banging of the drum
Its strobe light pyrotechnics
The awe inspiring deluge
That washed even criminality from the streets
The old horse-chestnut tree who's shade I often steal
Proudly exposes its now swollen spiky fruit
We sigh together, this old friend and I
Another summer will soon come to pass
Let us drink its final rays
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
She makes herself present when you need her most,
not to boast, but this tasty delight will treat you well as she continues to host.
She doesn’t give herself away too much,
**** if it was up to me I’d cop more than a touch;
A squeeze, a whole late night session, to indulge in her taste of imperfections,
Eat her up til I obtain a dental infection.
Not my intention, but her silhouette alone breeds thoughts of sin,
what I would give, to have her all to myself, wouldn’t know where to begin.
Undress her slowly as she teases me,
And repeatedly, she teaches me to treat her with care and show some decency.
But I can’t concentrate, she has my mind in a figure-four,
I'm a carnivore, but she exposes her flesh and I want more and more.
Its all been done before, but in this moment I’m in bliss,
I reminisce, as I write this, and continue to lick her residue off my lips.
She brings so much variety, all of them eyeing me,
Which will I give into as I inspect each of them quietly.
Sometimes she comes bittersweet, sometimes she’s a freak,
But most of the time she’s in a bad mood cuz I just wana beat, or rather eat.
Our relationship is never bland, she always keeps it fresh and new,
If it gets monotonous she won’t even hesitate to bring a friend or two.
She keeps my hands full, and that’s no easy achievement,
But she brings so much to the table its hard to not fiend it.
My favorite color on her, has to be green, not to be obscene,
But I’d tear her up as if though she was in a different team, knowwhatimean?
And after that delight there wouldn’t be much of her left,
Not to be greedy but Im not sharing until I know there’s more to come next.
If not, I’m vexed, I mean, I’m not addicted but I wouldn’t mind another round,
That’s not being spoiled I just want to know what other delights could be found.
Don’t be selfish and sadden me,
give me a taste so I can eat you up casually.
Oh miss candy, you’re just too fancy,
let me get a grip and I’ll put you on the walls like Bansky.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
141
Some, too fragile for winter winds
The thoughtful grave encloses—
Tenderly tucking them in from frost
Before their feet are cold.
Never the treasures in her nest
The cautious grave exposes,
Building where schoolboy dare not look,
And sportsman is not bold.
This covert have all the children
Early aged, and often cold,
Sparrow, unnoticed by the Father—
Lambs for whom time had not a fold.
2.9k
I want to know you
The way a meandering river peruses the Earth
As it twists endlessly toward the sea,
Touching everything it can,
Yet in no hurry to arrive.
Whisper to me just how you want to feel, the way
The ocean exposes all the secrets
Of the universe, one by one, with
Each crashing wave onto white sand.
Just speak to me how you like to laugh, like
The ebullient summer's downpours joke with kids
And parents alike as they puddle together with glee,
Splashing through eternity.
Call out to me how you desire love, just as a
Waterfall delves deep down into the pool, creating a rainbow,
continuing its unending journey, rushing sometimes, but often, simply enjoying the rhythm of its perpetual renewal, coming again as a comfortable river.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
Place a camera upon a person.
They either act like an idiot.
Or a person with common sense.
It exposes us and the truth.
We pose.
But we can't fool.
A camera can tell a lot about you.
We act.
We pretend.
Until that visionary tool shows the real you.
The camera.
Where many people hides from?
Ask many who has been on the run?
Sooner or later.
You'll come forward.
When you are exposed.
Cause it mirror many sectors of us.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
The poets became the underwear sale men
They tried to sell their poems to the optimist
Whereas an Queen of African Pop singer exposes her body on stage
While belting out loud outrageous lyrics, because she was a crowd pleaser
Long poems, short poems
Old century poets, modern contemporary poets
We all have the right to sermonize your words into magical dust,
The contemporary poets stood on the balcony reciting,
Some onlookers’ claps and some Jarred
Today’s youth is being waste away faster than their elders
Chanting, raving ranting rapping lyrics from the balcony
making a mockery of the old century poetic poets
The poets became the underwear sale men
as they tried to sell their poems to the optimist
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC
That lasting life change
So deep, so heart felt?
How is it born?
That deep inner knowing
A place of understanding
Connected to what Is
Divine within each of us?
As we work together to understand truth
What lies within each of us and directs us
To the deepest desired connections
Of our intertwined hearts?
Is this within?
The unfolding Inner most being
A Higher Spiritual Self?
The Spiritual Man
The Spiritual Woman
Who's purpose exposes
Our strengths and weaknesses
With expected and unexpected gifts?
As our weaknesses bring
Us to our knees
Lamenting our life's challenges
Crying out our broking hearts
Evaluating the known and unknown
How do we begin to move along
The Way Home?!
Do we go into the unknown shadow of darkness
Only to shriek and back away?
Or do we chose to allow courage
To accept our steps into it's presence?
In spite of our fears
Will we allow courage
To forge our greatest strengths?
As steal within the bellowing fires?
And if we allow resolve
Will we find deeper wisdom and truth
Beating within the sacred chambers of our hearts?
The opening is before us.
If you place a hand on the door
Open it wide!
It was then!
He stepped into the shadow of
His own darkness…..
Finding himself alone
He reached his hand back
Toward hers.
Stepping into her own shadow
She grasped his outstretched hand
Pulling, supporting, anchoring together
Both facing the Light...
From within their own
Shadows of darkness
Holding fast,
They began their journey together.
Step by step
Line up on line
Precept upon precept.....
May 20, 2022
May 20, 2022 at 5:51 PM UTC