"faceted" poems
being a poet is not planned
**~for Gabriella Garcia~
~~
*a sixteen old soul says she understands,
being a poet is not planned,
forcing an old mans re-collection of the first time,
he made love to a virginal white
papyrus with muscles trembling,
body bent, chest bursting a rockets red glaring,
eyes marking the sheets with salty drip spots
what possessed the wrist veins
to wrest a cheap ballpoint pen to transfuse pain,
in a semaphore of uncoded ink blotches,
what was he thinking
was he thinking?
that it was an ejection
that it was an ***********
that it was a tribulation expiation
that it was a tribute explanation?
that it was an injection
that it was a circumspection inspection
that it was a circumscision surgery of emotional complexion
excising an infection with a written genuflection?
try, but no might, the first is subsumed
by the thousands that followed dutifully
though his one poem flawless, expertly recalled,
it will always be the next,
and unplanned just like this one too
who anointed his brow, the hair and forehead,
with oil pure, dripping down onto, into his cut cain marker,
who is not answering a query relentless
is this his plan, his appointment,
is this his flawed excellence,
is this his imperfect penance perpetual?
knowing well and full
now
the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloraturas*
~~
upon this he reflects,
praying that
god protect the
young poets
from planning
______________
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2893127/unplanned
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
*Your hypnotic eyes, faceted beguiling jewels
bright as a million stars, entrancing liquid silver pools
and I, just another one of love's dumbfounded fools*
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
Tall
breeze bending tops
rooted deep
faceted to growth
tips seeking light
scented sounds in needles
beautiful feminine formed spiral cones masculine inconspicuous pollinating
pistils
overlapping in season never ceasing a
productive moment
never fallen, always green
Reminds me of eternal life
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
Forlorn beauty-child
Living in my night
Crying in your dream.
Sounds of sorrow
Linger in the morning mist
Of subdued consciousness.
Troubled water falls
From awakened red eyes
That searched inside loneliness
Only to find more.
Now...
Behind my faceted face
Your countenance lingers...
I glance quickly within,
You disappear!
Your gaze lit my shadowed mind.
Your presence was there waiting
For me…
A Sonata…
A Fantasy
A Major key bright-shining
Singing sunbeams to lift me.
After the music...
Shards of shattered dreams
Scattered like felled icicles
lying in the sun, melting into mulch
They dawned bright green
Pipers on Scottish dew.
The mourning moon is
Catchlight in your eyes
Bright Bird...
Captivating sailors
Reaching down evoking vulnerable
Aspects held so long secret...
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
Underwater light faceted
in the enormous aquamarine
set in bronzed stones.
A pale green mist lifts from the pool
follows the lantern lit pathways
back to the dark and shady places
edging to the olive grove
and the blackness
of the wych elms
and the limes
enclosing the garden
like impenetrable walls.
Here, on a very warm night
with a honeysuckle, jasmine breeze
heady, rich and almost liquid
You can stand on the sun-filled stones
stretch and hold
the heart-breaking sweetness
of the night.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
deserve
it more than most, more than anyone, indeed, in deed,
your passion drowns me,
overwhelms and even makes me admit
out loudly
over comes
your faceted identities,
delight, charm, provoke,
and evoke
multitudes of moods, desires,
even writings...
but you are too stern,
this thing called love,
is tissue soft, so hard to form,
so easily torn, it requires
time & hard work, many words,
though oft the fewest are supreme,
and I laugh at myself, for the only word
I think that rhymes with supreme
is
dream
which is
just another synonym
for
endless opportunities***
and I, we, read each others poems
to each other
quietly,
for that is the only, & the best way.
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 5:33 AM UTC
all of you too,
ask what shall we call you,
and I smile/grimace, for lack of a
proper witty, worthy, weirdly perfect
pithy reply
which is why I offer you
a free option,
call me by my other name,
a What~You~Will,
your preference is my desire,
it is within your hidden possesions!
your chosen attribute?choice,
now mine,
multi-faceted
multi faced,
every name has its own unique
poet
hissing hiding inside,
wary of confessing he's/she's a sinner,
ask, and you shall be both
deceived,
and
well received,
for we live in a thousand of words,
all disordered
and when you inquire,
then they be re~sorted into new combinations
and for you,
**when you call me,
you may call by that name**
that name,
of the poem that
will be given and taken
expressly
for and from you,
it is the only way my
teachers taught me
to take,
in order yo give you back
your uniquness
…
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 10:20 PM UTC
Think of how much world is wasted on
bad eyes - by blindness, or ones that merely do not want to see.
The next thing you know you cannot miss a sunrise
and french kiss both moon and stars
goodnight, your head will hug its fallen hair on the pillowcase,
strands telling stories of when you were not conscious. I
realize you will visit jewelry stores and
watch how gemstones are faceted. You will imagine the galaxy
within an amethyst, publish novels on their bouquets
of cigarettes, worry about how pretty things can **** themselves too.
Everything is a story: you ask to see my cellulite,
you tell me how it got there, how my skin stretched to make
room for every place we shall go
including statelines that do something similar. We stretch apart
and still we are okay. We think about how the same
dawn reaches us, I can almost see your pupils dilate when the sky
dances - I watch but you hope to learn the ballet.
Someone is taking a photograph right now that they can look
at later, ours never came out the way I wanted them to
or perhaps the memories just go by another name.
I learned about homophones when I hurt you
by trying to sound beautiful. It is so much easier when we can see
morning peeling open our feelings, easier when you're here.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
"Yet you feed us lies from the tablecloth"
- B.Y.O.B. by System of a Down
We sat across the table
as we feasted on misguided notions.
Our integrity tenderised,
thoughts manipulated,
traded with unconditional compassion.
Twisted ideals,
served upon the finest china.
Delectable treats,
laced with shards of
such distorted agenda.
Multi-faceted truths,
all lobbied for self-centred gains.
We're the ones who'd worry
and cower under tattered brollies...
To anticipate for when it would rain.
Between us still sat the table.
We'd still be served age-old (t)ale
while the room stank of rancid broth.
But I have lost my appetite
the moment we were fed lies...
Offered on the most extravagant tablecloth.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
Two sparkle at xciting find.
Joy, relief, wishes flood our mind.
Reality numbed by ecstasy of find
Hardship, struggle, desires for now behind
Rightfulness of find, reality’s duality
Realization of self, fighting morality
The opportunity loss creates uncertainty.
The opportunity gain, creates possibility
How to capitalize on this potential
Designed improvements appear preferential
Decided, we proceed unconventional
We proceed like natural
Blades of diamonds remove the rough
Painstakingly disregarding, unwanted stuff
Transformation, tough
Mindful, not to lose a bough
Rough turn sparkle, every time
Faceted gem’s birth, sublime
Artistry creates, perfect rhyme
This treasure set in time
Most beautiful combination
This magnificent creation
Testament of devotion
Evokes amazing emotion
Bestowed, this incredible treasure
Brings about untold pleasure
Value, without measure
Diamond forever, ours to treasure
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC
-for Zukiswa Mvunguse~
and for
~ Jul,
who once again,
loved each line best~
having already deduced that:
“the unplanned is his plan,
it’s his faceted flaws
that refract his coloratura”^
the titled alliteration teases him into thinking
there, is more to be said,
more to be prayed,
the unplanned lesser lesson is as-of-the-yet unlearned,
and the sunburst of a full fledged
lying-in-bed born from a static spark of kinetic energy,
awaking in an unfamiliar bed
or a too familiar state of mind,
begs for birth and vainglorious death-by-anon/amity
of another poem
I have written poems commissioned,
“write about suicide,” asked a friend,
“take this word and artfully knead it,” once, was once an oft request,
twisty manipulate your scheming resources into
finely assaying a field rock raw,
laboratory mind-mine it into an essay that delve dives
where you fear to treacherous tread,
resultant, an awkward prayer, now, a valued mineral
no poem is truly planned and no prayer ever truly answered,
but as you compose, pushing the last, next word
ever farther to the right,
you self-confess, expecting no absolution, that the poem,
this one as well,
and the next, and the next, and the next
has always been planned since your inception,
always a prayer asked, and in creation conception,
answered even if not directly answered,
for
in the bare minimum asking,
is the answering,
is the planning,
is the poem and the prayer,
is his owned
alliteration
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 8:16 AM UTC
Sometimes I feel like,
your mind could live a life of its own.
Few like yours are left now.
If only I could take your brain from your skull and
draw out the knowledge and the wonder,
squeeze it with mine,
our multi-faceted intelligence meshed together like a badly made clay sculpture.
Like a library of what is.
Then I could keep you forever.
It's just that I needed to know more before you left.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 1:15 PM UTC
I entered my poem "last night I dreamed" in the Tallenge poetry competition for May 2014, which it won, it's now in the annual competition so I'd really appreciate your support by voting for it at - bit.ly/1pJ0N3z
You can find the poem down the line in my list of poems, but I'll paste it here again so you can check it out to see if it's worth a vote.
Last Night I dreamt
Of the Hagia Sophia.
Looking across
mighty Bosphorous.
In Istanbul, in Byzantium,
in Constantinople.
A prize of ages...........
In all her many's
real and imagined glory.
Man's desire,
God's gift.
Stone's testament
To my species' faith,
In eternity.
Though this Hagia,
My Sophia,
was one of my dreams
In a dream-city/state.
In a dream Macedon/Thrace,
Modern and ancient
Asian/Europe, European-Asia,
Turk and Greek
Jew and Russian
Balkan stars fall upon her'
Coloured light's
and bright vid-screens.
Amid stone and earth
Glass and concrete,
Granite and amythst
Huge, jewel-covered,
ancient beyond measure....
Not just Constantine's church,
though mighty church it was..
Or Mehmet's prize;
though great Mosque it became
Nor Theodosius's rock
Though he still fights for her
Somewhere in the past.
And no dry museum either,
Though museum she is..........
In reality.
Just an ancient place,
Euxine harbour
Cross-road of man and water,
Land and Gods
Magic and reality
Chozen by Hellas
Built and owned
by Christ's children
Subjects of St. Paul's
Holy empire.
Orthodox and sacred
To Greek and Rus.
No Latin hymns
We're sung in her walls.
Then won by Turk
In wars fierce and long -
So now Muhammed's shrine
Ottoman and Pasha
Jewel of a new kingdom
Built upon built
Myriad upon myriad
Pagan, Muslim, Jew, and Christian
And the Gods of Hellas
who dwell there still
Watch and wonder
at it all
But in my dream
She was made -
in the shape of a grassy mound
Many faceted, growing still
Amid structures, attached to her
spans and arches
Ancient wonder
Modern glory
Flowing and rising
Worshipped by all who
dwelt near her.
Grassed covered
Monument strewn
Stretching up to the dark -
Starry Sky
Arches
Domes
Butress'
Spires
Crosses
Cresents
Heart's desire
White rocks paved
And eternal grasses
Dewed by Hellene Gods
Whose light it saved
Last night I dreamed
Of the Hagia Sophia.......
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
every poem is a test of character,
*holy/profane all the same,
algorithm entirely humanized-you,
the elected words cannot be voted out of office,
by a recall petition, regardless of
constant corrected incorrectness.
sorted by size,
nocturnal alliteration,
do they sound in the dark
like your bleeding or you’re breathing?
holy/profane all the same,
Gertrude truth is a truth is truths,
you think my name matters?
Artificial Idiocy. Everyone poem faceted,
a chip off the the naming blockchain idiot.
when I imagine-lie,
it is a truth in and of its own
holy/profane.
call me baffled.
that is a god enough
one word summary.
and so true.
baffling perplexing cryptic and opaque.
in all honesty.
if you’re reading this, you are
testing my character.
what have you found, or even, lost?*
in the midst of the characters is
character
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 12:52 PM UTC
This is my diary
of the world,
a trillion million
copies of the one,
digital diamonds,
faceted and mirrored,
dispersed on binary winds,
encoded, decrypted.
It is the proof of my love,
tangibly viewed,
empty
handed
txt
4
u
(-_-)
now i am forever
hardened
hewn
cut
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
Traveling the hollows,
Of this deep, damp, mountain,
Seeking treasure in mother earth,
Placed eons ago in times unknown.
Lanterns shedding light,
Illuminating the dark depths,
Casting elongated shadows,
On the dark tunnelled walls
Soft gold metal woven in tendrils
Through ponderous tons of granite.
Given away by the presence of
Shards of broken quartz,
Shining dully at my feet.
Why is this golden metal so precious?
Why would men give their lives for it?
Indeed, beautiful, rare, mysterious.
But I find myself captured by the reflections,
In these quartz crystals.
Not only quartz, but diamonds,
Emeralds, rubies, sapphires.
Heated and compressed over millenia,
Awaiting discovery in mother earth's,
Deep dark recesses.
Brought to the surface,
Faceted, polished, mounted.
Dazzling, sparkling color,
Eye-catching, elegant, mesmerizing.
Jewels.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
We were twin-tailed stars,
bursting forth from the night.
Radiating our warmth,
revelling in delight.
We were gemstones- Geodes;
raw, intwined.
Silver faceted rings,
wrapped tightly in twine.
But as all atoms decay,
light dulls and fades.
Pulls that were closer now drift away,
Oh how I wish.
I wish you would stay.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 8:18 AM UTC
Come to me...
I want you" I whisper breathlessly in your ear
I crave you under my skin,
Between my thighs
With every inch that pulses...
Come to me... stroke my body
With your wet desires,
Taste me as I bring myself to your lips,
I want to sink my silken need,
Wrap around your aching sinew;
G
l
i
d
i
n
g
My hip motion,
In rhythmic beats...
Listen,
As my song liquefy's,
Drowns you,
In the swallowing gush;
Midnight
My decadent addiction
Drips velvet...
Melting
The shudder, of a russet kiss
Devoured
Slathered in October's earthy scent,
The gem faceted light reveals
My softness... in your hands;
Sliding your desire
Coating me...
Deepest silken magenta
Drinks poignant yearn
Laced lips...
Wrap around
Groans that echo
Spoon feeding enchantment upon
A sinful swallow...
Unashamed, shadows smile
Where a tongue teases
Pulse beat moments...
Your skin scent,
A rush in torrid blues
Tethered,
Stitched into silken crevices;
Where flesh consumes itself against
Your burning,
Red in my veins...
Stroke my petals with a moist lick of tongue,
Watch me
As I bloom and open wider,
Enter the swelling pinkness
Wander ever deeper into my fragrance;
"You make me burn"
I whisper into your mouth...
Touch my flesh in breaths
Bend me, fold me, lick my sighs
Move me from within.
Let your fingers caress my open thighs
Hold me deeply
Throb in my grip...
Kiss the place where ***** peaks taste your tongue...
~Breathless~
higher
~Faster~
higher
~Deeper~
higher
Come
To
Me..............
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
Last Night I dreamt
Of the Hagia Sophia.
Looking across
mighty Bosphorous.
In Istanbul, in Byzantium,
in Constantinople.
A prize of ages...........
In all her many's
real and imagined glory.
Man's desire,
God's gift.
Stone's testament
To my species' faith,
In eternity.
Though this Hagia,
My Sophia,
was one of my dreams
In a dream-city/state.
In a dream Macedon/Thrace,
Modern and ancient
Asian/Europe, European-Asia,
Turk and Greek
Jew and Russian
Balkan stars fall upon her'
Coloured light's
and bright vid-screens.
Amid stone and earth
Glass and concrete,
Granite and amythst
Huge, jewel-covered,
ancient beyond measure....
Not just Constantine's church,
though mighty church it was..
Or Mehmet's prize;
though great Mosque it became
Nor Theodosius's rock
Though he still fights for her
Somewhere in the past.
And no dry museum either,
Though museum she is..........
In reality.
Just an ancient place,
Euxine harbour
Cross-road of man and water,
Land and Gods
Magic and reality
Chozen by Hellas
Built and owned
by Christ's children
Subjects of St. Paul's
Holy empire.
Orthodox and sacred
To Greek and Rus.
No Latin hymns
We're sung in her walls.
Then won by Turk
In wars fierce and long -
So now Muhammed's shrine
Ottoman and Pasha
Jewel of a new kingdom
Built upon built
Myriad upon myriad
Pagan, Muslim, Jew, and Christian
And the Gods of Hellas
who dwell there still
Watch and wonder
at it all
But in my dream
She was made -
in the shape of a grassy mound
Many faceted, growing still
Amid structures, attached to her
spans and arches
Ancient wonder
Modern glory
Flowing and rising
Worshipped by all who
dwelt near her.
Grassed covered
Monument strewn
Stretching up to the dark -
Starry Sky
Arches
Domes
Butress'
Spires
Crosses
Cresents
Heart's desire
White rocks paved
And eternal grasses
Dewed by Hellene Gods
Whose light it saved
Last night I dreamed
Of the Hagia Sophia.......
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Wild geraniums collected
in pocket, red painted petal stains
my feet squish, squash in this forest
the earthy mud a mossy sponge
with fern and lichen the trees are hung
upon the ground greening with maidenhair fern
my satchel filled with dainty floral sprigs
in spring the sparrows gathering vine and twig
June's an efflorescent carpeting, soft with lady slippers
in summer the wildflowers and grasses wed
when celebrates all the flying things
wooded bees and butterflies in the sun
sparkling with faceted, glistening wings.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
Sunlit faceted grass,
shimmers in the mist
as I slough off my past,
like a python sheds her skin.
Eucalyptus columns enchant
over the backdrop of clouds,
spilled over sprawling hills.
Like a mast catching wind,
like my hair,
I'm ready to set sail
away from this land,
but not from my people,
whose spirit will burn on
in the deepest part of my heart.
This desolate beautiful place
made me crazy,
and very polite.
I really like it like that.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
you're the cream of the crop.
mom and dad are proud of you.
this
is the day you've been waiting for.
i don't claim to understand you,
but i can't honestly say i'd like to.
the blue gown that means so much to everyone around you
whispers of the things you gave up,
the opportunities you've missed,
to be here today.
the whispering cloak falls victim to the applause that breaks out
as you claim your place at the podium
top
of the class.
you've worked hard. there's no doubting that.
you're a multi-faceted gem of talent and intellect.
which in reality is subservience and obedience.
i don't doubt that had you not urinated on your passion
i might have respected you some day.
but honestly. i'm happy for you.
the diploma will look stunning on your wall
next to all of your other shining achievements
along with your jarred "talents" and canned pleasantries
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 2:19 AM UTC
*It’s describably indescribable
Perfectly flawed and
At best bittersweet
All this cause its subject
To human nature an amorphous multi-faceted
Enigma.*
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
Pearls
Crystals
Precious stones
or even just
paste pretenders
threaded through
polished perfection
sunlight kept hostage
mirrored moon glow
tiny shiny planets draw
foreign bodies into orbits
while blinking stars
frame infinity
on fragile human canvas
spilling faceted
rainbows
upon even dullest of
days
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
I was recently told that writing makes the reader more empathetic. Not very often are first impressions based off the magical machinations of the inner mind; rather, these impressions are superficial and surface deep. So here I am placing pen to paper, gliding the still drying ink across the smooth college-ruled lines, hoping another portal is opened, hoping that maybe someone will look beyond the surface into my multi-faceted universe where my true self lies. But what if I'm not entirely sure what completely lies in that realm? The portal is dark, deep, and damp, and my pen lacks the source of light needed to peer through to the tunnel’s end. Every drip of ink to touch the moleskin deepens the portal further into the tunnel-like abyss, like the never-ending layers of an onion, or the timid, velvety petals of a rosebud that's anxious to open itself entirely, petal by petal, with each needle sharp thorn acting as its guardian. Writing to gain the reader’s empathy is a form of vulnerability, telling even your most uncomfortable truths. There’s more to me that I have yet to find, but with each drip of ink, I regret nothing. Pens don’t have erasers. Every stroke is permanent. Why should I desire the empathy of others? So take the odiferous onion, or the irresolute rosebud that I am, because although I’ve captured your attention in so few words, this writing won’t promise your empathy.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC