"fakery" poems
Old Cowboys, forts and shootouts
Black for bad and White for good
With a spinning canvas background
And cactus cutouts made of wood
The desert sits behind them
Fifty yards away at most
The heroes don't ride horses
They sip drinks and sit and boast
About their celluloid adventures
singing songs all dressed in white
While behind them in the background
The stunt men do it right
A canvas background rotates
Through valleys, hills and streams
While the hero rides his deck chair
And the director yells and screams
Central casting fills the tribes out
With Italians, and made up stock
While our hero stops an avalanche
Of fake paper covered rocks
Cardboard Cut out Cactus
And heroes smiling in the sun
Most have never seen a cowpoke
Let alone shot off a gun
But, it's magic when it's finished
the dusters up there on the screen
All the fakery and snake oil
Are all hidden, never seen
The white hats beat the black hats
The hero sings and gets the girl
And the background on the spindle
Is still spinning, watch it whirl
A celluloid adventure
Cowboys no where close to what they were
But..watch the next show for a nickel
And don't forget your spurs!!!
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
whispers the stubbly face of the old grandpa,
or I'll blow fierce little airs all over your rigidly
pretending-to-be-asleeping cute little facey,
then tickle your kissable little
lips
and make farty noises
for the rest of the day
she, irresistibly, bursts out laughing
like the roaring lioness she be,
whose cubs might be threatened,
and laughingly squeals, oh poppy!
it's all your fault, you grumpy old poet,
you made me put the *** in my
peej's!
and how his son,
the father,
on permanent overwatch,
growls below annoyingly,
"great,
now we'll be late,"
and
threatens to tell the
attractive single second grade teacher,
upon whom
he has a semi-secret crushing,
to which
we two devils scream out,
"oh please, oh please"
knowing she will find it quite
charming, and maybe even him,
tooing,
the single attractive father-man
who, could be ripe for a
twoing
><
and poppy twinkles,
thinking that no
matter what you
call it,
that thing,
is all-around and
in~between us while
he changes the young lady's
sheeting
Sep 18, 2025
Sep 18, 2025 at 2:31 PM UTC
It’s the damndest thing when attentions focused
on one thing beget the focus of another
Like the rooster crowing the sunlight
in the cold, ungrateful weather,
My eyes scan the ups and downs
of those digital stand-ins for those I’ve known
Seeing mistakes, my own and in others,
Seeing perfection, in other’s imperfect successes,
wantonly rubbed in my eyes
As I springboard from the travails of those
with whom I may never vocalize my adoration
I drop out of the air of a life far from mine,
I see mention of a passed on spirit
Who I truly adored,
no digital fakery of half-true fables necessary
to express my love for the ideals implanted in me
by such a tongue so supplicant to the truths in that vast ether
where I used to swim in the light,
never thinking of the dark climes below.
What choice do I have on an accidental evening like tonight?
I no longer can mask disinterest for other’s soaring narratives
when my true care has been discovered,
been pried away from that dark corner of the airborne pool so ethereal.
My care, my pride have been torn asunder,
by a mere errant glance on a mere sideways mention
Of a massive, earthly idol, who, if only for a stanza of years
held my full gaze with hopeful smiles and ecstatic promise
for bright futures now gone into grey pastures.
I lay here an imposter in authentic skin
if only for the sight of words on screens,
with scant meaning in between.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
I am trying to blend,
In a word filled with the opressed,
Distressed, and self-obsessed.
It leaves me a little depressed.
Authenticity is hard to come by.
Everyone is medicated.
Facades often created.
The fakery I have always hated.
I don’t belong.
All they see is skin.
Doesn’t matter what’s within.
Could care less where I’ve been.
Show me something below the surface.
Give me something more.
Let your feelings out til’ your throat is sore.
Be real, that’s all I ask for.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC
Maybe your mothers and fathers do not know right from wrong
Maybe those that birth you cannot tell real from unreal
The apples do not fall far from the trees that we know all along
So no surprise when off-springs and all fall into the reel
Unable to decipher the lost and damaged from their midst adorn
My mother washed me in truth, honesty, sincerity and real love
That's the only path that graces the soul and makes humanity
So all my life I know what's real, true, honest from all else above
You walk your path and serve your gods in all their profanity
Your festered minds and putrid brains is not like mine thereof
In superficial abodes, your falseness lies fakery has confused you
No truth or honesty exists all around only deceits and raw fear
You rot from the inside and feed from poison not breastmilk too
from start you're ****** your brains from chemicals they rear
Spooks with semblance no substance, serving satan them born fools
I know what's real what's true what's honest and sincere or not
That is me from real bosoms raised in edifying values not falsity
Come in thousands you stink from a mile off satan demons squat
Sincerity truthfulness if erred makes amends not sit discordantly
Real Humanity embraces love and peace not mortal duels that's fact
From negativity you drink in darkness lies your bread and joy
miseries and fears you seek to share cause your souls lies in pain
In cancerous fears you scheme and plot your ****** evils ploys
Cause it destroys you to see goodness whilst your souls' in chain
Weak corrupted dark and damaged subjugated to lucifers noise
Gnarled old wrinkled before your years you envy my young looks
Borne of inner joy and unafraid pious calm pathetics spit zombie
Too sick to know a clear conscience never pines or fears like crooks
Pure and noble emotions caters no dirt or negativities like loonies
Dignity and integrity offers granite to malevolent duds and hooks
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
**I
Am
Hello's
Resident Messiah
Come nestle at my feet
Pay credence to my musings
Incorporate my heat
For I will lead you to the
Holy Land
Where only poets dwell
And
Maybe in the future
Like my ego
Yours will swell
Swell with self importance
Swell with fakery
With love
One collective consciousness
That
We can all be so
Proud
Of
. . .**
*What a crock of **** *
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 1:24 AM UTC
the devil's dominion!....what is that, really-----it is the watered down version----it is the simplistic version------the idea that what you want is "something there" (or "here")-----------
something that you "can be given"--that you can help others "also receive"
-----------------
escape!
into the angelic night
where raggedy children seek
the fullest feeling
of blessedness
---------------
love!--------(the depth of the meditative state)----false prophets teach that you can"skim the surface" and find grace
in blind devotional group worship of master or guru or whatever the name is that is in vogue today--------don't go there!-----stay
within the total dignity of the human race ----the dignity required if you'd find and create----peace
--------------
the devil with the beguiling smile! the devil with the sham wisdom or KNOWLEDGE!....the devil who offers you a free pass thru the world unto a blighted and shameful "eternity!"
-----------
small the child crying and calling
hungry the abused mother and father
wild the mystic warrior
joyous in his pure intentions
FREE!
above all else.....free
flee from the falsity
the fakery
the "easy way!"
write your name soft and true
tell your own story
of MAN
and be home
again
---
thank you
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 2:55 PM UTC
He took issue with the small gestures in life. The birthday message from a friend not seen in a decade, the idol chit chat that filled the cafe's, cinema's and other such places, proclaiming them fraudulent unthinking habit, a motion with no true sentiment and in return the followers of such social constructs took issue with him - or worse, pitied him.
He despised most human interaction because of this. Often being told that he 'rubbed people up the wrong way' or was 'too antagonistic' He just saw this as another excuse to expel him from the group (whatever that group was) All because he didn't partake in the usual social etiquette and fakery of the masses- this view only led to him being mocked further and neatly labelled as a stroppy, teenage rebel. His thoughts and voice cut down with replies of "Aaah stop feeling sorry for yourself!" "Stop going on about it!" " You're soo negative!" Because in all honesty nobody wants to be around a down in the dumps, killjoy, party pooper right?
He could find no solace in the little things nor understanding in the greater questions of life, so he drifted along. Bitter onlooker to a species so separate from his own. Desperate to somehow integrate into their ranks but convincing himself that such thoughts were mere acts of desperation.
And he was a desperate young man, desperate and despairing at his separation from the world and all others in it. Yet admittance to such feeling would rarely depart his form. No, he would mock and ogle at them from afar.
He would rather be Outcast than Cast Out.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
You are not perfect, but
you are you,
If people can't appreciate, then,
😭😢 BOHO, BOHO, 😢😭
If they don't want to get with you,
then they can go get a clue,
they are the one's that are tripping, and
looking like big ole fools,
YOU SHOULDN'T EVEN GIVE A ****
Let them know, WHO'S YOU BELONG TO,
LET THEM KNOW WHO'S YOU ARE???
IS WHAT YOU SHOULD REALLY DO😉
Here you are just seeking,
the world for PERFECTION,
Of a world FULL of FAKERY, because
of you,
you GET THE REJECTION
People don't like you, because
of WHO'S YOU REALLY ARE!!!
THEY TREAT YOU LIKE TRASH, BUT
IN REALTY YOU ARE SPARKLING STAR ✨️
THEY ARE AFRAID OF YOUR LIGHT,
THEY KNOW EXACTLY WHO'S YOU ARE,
YOU HAVE HAD YOUR IN'S AND OUT'S,
THROUGH LIFE YOU HAVE COME VERY FAR!!!
THEY CAN'T STAND BEING AROUND YOU,
BECAUSE YOU HAVE SUCH A BRIGHT GLOW!!!,
YOU LIGHT UP LIKE A GLOW WORM
YOU PRETTY MUCH STEAL THE SHOW,
So, Be Thankful for your Journey,
Be Gracious, and Don't feel Blue,
******* those that will decline, and
Continue just being you!!
B.R.
Date: 9/13/2025
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:16 PM UTC
She scrapes her scalp with the metal teeth
That promised to bring her beauty,
Then destroys
Each ringlet of pulchritude with burning tongues of fakery.
She slaps orange liquid on to her pale face,
Desperately disguising every perfect imperfection.
Darkening her sight and reddening her speech,
She puts up the barriers to prevent
Her emotions from revealing themselves.
Squeezing into pieces of bright cloth that accentuate her figure,
She smiles at her superficial curves.
Staring vainly into the mirror,
She grins.
Because she no longer resembles herself.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
When people are people
It's the strangest thing to see
Because people are rarely
Who they pretend to be
Friends soon become your enemy
Smiles don their faces wide
They will profess to be walking
Fornent to God's side
The trickery and fakery
The beguiled full of charm
The only thing they want to do
Is cause you painful harm
The sweetness and the light they shine
Predatory as seen
A flick of a knife in moonlight
Quickly turns vulturine
If they seem too good to be true
It's no wonder, I say
Time will present that truth forthright
In a startling display
They garner an overdue curse
A soul ache deathless slay
So I'll take dogs over people
True friends in every way
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 5:22 AM UTC
I can be a wretched fake, in private, intimate performance.
I’m an actress capable of imitating spontaneous pleasure -
by tricks of hesitation, convulsive vocal play and postures.
A mimicry undetectable to an immediate spectator.
"Aww, thank you", I’ll sigh, as if leaving a good party.
“I’ve got a lot of homework to do,” I’ll add, a minute later.
To clear the stage.
Feb 14, 2024
Feb 14, 2024 at 10:18 PM UTC
a new poem (words, words, words but another drug), bolt upright, uplight, reattach yourself to the liquid of the music,
soothe the irritation, slowdown the shaking hand,
give god or his creatures, the nocturnes and sonatas,
a chance to restore the pounding of the chest to a leveling
equanimity
to no avail, the sleep angels have fled from the
forest fires in the chest, and the helicopters must quench
with the commence of dropping clouds of wet words,
when, when will I be released from a life that has no
easements
words, words, words but another drug, a habit that gives
everything but a temporary state, every poem nothing but
another her, another lady puncture in my restless body,
another juncture, where all your choices are the way of
error
the high will last, shorter each one, but the track will exist
for all the time, a token of human foolishness, the more is
the inevitability of the ending, writ, drawn a little closer,
and comes with a hand written spongy-apology begging for
existing
in his notes, motes, dust mites of titles, single verses,
elegies, essays half written, passing thots claiming to
want to be wannabes, this appears and it's a perfect
ending
there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable
man in his perfect certainty, never was, nevermore, n'ere will be never, and one poet walks a razor's edge, that is his three tenses struggling for mutual coexistence, one of
a calming beauty, a dark glory, a perfect closing, choosing
a final solution, a belief in relief, that simultaneously
engraves, erases, and
equates
another new poem fissures to the surface, and the palpable
is a magician's illusion, a trick, a feat of dismemberment,
an excise of a piece, a drink, a Tennessee whiskey of him,
an emission that never gains remission status, all this fakery,
a new poem (words, words, words but another drug),
excellent, worthless and self-
effacing
{|||}
3:48am-5:46am
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 5:56 AM UTC
Kinda fainted Friday nite,
De doctor, he come, he say,
"Son you done
give us a genuine affright."
De doctor, he come, he say,
"Son, it's the end o' day,
Get your **** in bed straightaway"
"Here's what you be needing:
twelve tablets of hourly salting, no halting
eight hours bed rest, no dreaming,
four gallons o' tap water, drinking,
no stopping,
***"and for god's sakery,
cease and desist from
this writing,
poetry nonsense fakery."***
Weakly, I protested,
"My poems are the waste products,
the excretions of salt water tears,
a thousand years in the making,
dreams foretelling and retelling events disturbing.
If not removed, disinterred by their inscribing,
these poisonous emotions,
shall surely cause once more
my fainting and falling demotion."
He frowned, de doctor, he was perturbed,
his medical thinking cap was for sure disturbed!
With sighs that made my heart to be a stirring ,
De doctor, he come, he say,
held forth as following, quiet murmuring:
"Here is my prescription:
if you musting,
but with strict limitations it be enforcing:
*No more than four po-ems
De doctor permit to be writ*
per hour."
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC
Why I ever lamented
your advertisement
in the NY Times
Your sickly look, it's she you took
swept off her feet
I know how it feels
Found her again on the internet
while you were desperate
In Haifa, a million miles away from English without an accent
You hunted her down
A clown you are
She, editing dime novels by candlelight
manufacturing romance for the racks of Walmart
Next to the car mags and tattoo girls are those things
women read
gotta make a living somehow
So she can fill in the spaces between your attention
with her imagination, stoked daily from corporate romantication
She can live in her bubble world and see what she wants
eternally and think it's real
So she's better for you than me
because your love isn't real, never was, never will be
Both of you from the land of fake nobility
Prep schools and Ivies that lead to jobs
in sparkly NYC lobbies and decaf mochachinozeenos
with a side of 100 calorie pastry
Before dinner at the Italian restaurant
where you can show you are loved and love
And you, with your fakery
You shallowness, can collect your trust check
And work just a little, and blow the cold coals of her love once
in awhile to get the corporate machinations again in her head
to spin a fantasy romance
I'll look for it at Walmart.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
**** "romance"
**** flowers
**** the minutes
**** the hours
**** the greedy
**** the smug
**** the lonely
**** the loved
**** the gorgeous
**** the ugly
You never meant
that much to me
**** Cupid
**** lust
**** fakery
**** trust
**** Hallmark
**** affection
**** guilt
**** expectation
**** devotion
**** foreplay
But most of all —
**** VALENTINE'S DAY
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
Did I tell you how I prayed
on knees before the morning came
and listened to by bells that rang in mighty decibels
and fell to crush and stay my uttered syllables.
Where in the singing of the psalms did blood appear to flow from palms
and calm this torture
played out as a platform game on X box three or was it me
who could not grasp the significance
of an abeyance I would deign make
what if fakery was the order of the day and would then the bells ring out to say in sixteen chimes or as many times as I could bear
Would the lines that led to crucifixion day be written any other way?
Did those legionnaires despair
or on the darkened unlit stairs did they rejoice at choices made?
And we fade as thus we shine and in another time we'll do it,did it been there and bit by bit we bid this happening to reoccur
so we the unfit,unloved,unwashed,unholy,outcast ones can join in and share
the melancholy felt by those the ones who knelt before the cross
in the loss of things
or in the losing and the grief it brings another lonely bell rings out
with heartfelt pleas and once again I'm on my knees
and giving thanks for these the moments when the light has flashed
and bells have crashed to smother me with talk of other times
the chimes
the chimes
and would there ever be the time to hear them all before the call was sent
Did I not rend the air with blasphemy and would he see the truth behind the curses that I spat into the gutters
when in utter abject poverty
blinded by those who could only see
the misery and not the man?
I wonder if that was in his plan to make the beggars saints and vice versa
or could it have ever been the plan to make a man who felt so bad
that man who knelt would go quite mad
and wrap into a bundle tight
to trundle off with head down in the night.
I kneel before the altar
altered irrevocably
I don't need to see what others see
I now see me in my many faults
for I have walked and talked deep within the vaults of introspection
and selected only those the pieces suitable for my inspections of my soul
and now the hole there was is filled
and stilled the raging mind
and stilled the storm and tempest
instilling what is best and disregarding all the rest
I go to take my rest
and am at peace.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
Chicken Little has been cloned
And here we are!!!
----
Disguising ourselves as humans
We rut around like pigs
As we hunt for nookie!
--
And
In maudlin words of infinite hypocrisy
We write of our fakery unto the world!!
---
LOVE POEMS!
..
When I read them it feels like I'm being puked upon!
--
Loveless love!
Joyless ***
Absolutely no compassion!
--
Drone airplanes up ahead !
But all the Chicken Littles
Do not see
Staring into fantacy worlds
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
Hopery, changery, stranger-than-strangery
tip the good vicar your hat—
as he sits with Obama, the global Gautama
indulging in neighborly chat.
Popery, popery, changery-hopery
grant the old Pontiff his wish.
Then summon a bishop to season and dish up
a kettle of catechized fish.
Changery, hopery—swing from the ropery,
garnish the Vatican stew.
The Cardinals compassed, the media rumpused
the Protestants joined in, too…
Fakery, changery, safety in dangery
lack of direction was lost
as it became clear that no concord was near
and the threshold of lunacy crossed.
Changery-hopery, soap-on-a-ropery,
buy the Obama a beer.
Let the Lord’s liberation enlighten our nation
as forums and quorums get queer.
Hopery, changery, babe-in-a-mangery
hail the immaculate mess;
until limbo is purged and repentance is urged
and the canonized con-men confess.
Babilo-mockery, roll with the rockery
kiss the pontificate ring;
til’ the old Argentinian wax Constantinian
causing Gods angels to sing.
Jiggery-pokery fooling the folkery
monkery second to none…
what was once sacrilegious is now a religious
conventional focus of fun.
Papacy, lunacy piping the tunacy
Father goose mothered the egg –
but it cracked in the nest while the stupefied West
lit a match to a gunpowder keg.
Yessiree/nopery—smoking the dopery
opiates dulling the masses
who bow genuflecting, with candles reflecting
the shine of their Latinate *****
Fakery funkery, pachyderm trunkery
hierophants never forget
but the clown and his trainer cut loose the restrainer
and cancelled the circus’s debt.
Piggery, smokery, tighten the chokery
offer the refugees bacon;
their mullahs may howl with a slaughterhouse scowl
but the empire’s free for the takin’…
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
11 past midnight and you're still here
Through the looking glass you stood near
Like little Alice who fell in the hole
Falling down, your heart will never be whole
Hooded eyes reflected mine
As cold tears glisten and shine
What did you see in that broken mirror?
A look of candid happiness or pure terror?
We dreamt less, but we dreamt together
And only in our dreams we could see each other clearer
But such rendezvous will not last
When nighttime decided to end it so fast
We were not bound by that red string of fate
We are not even what they call as soulmate
For the two of us were just blinded by love
Which no matter what, we can't have
So through this delusion we can not succumb
Till we breath our last, we'll bring it to the tomb
Until Moirai took pity and give us a chance
Let's continue this endless fakery dance
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 6:29 PM UTC
In a cold universe of stars,
I am just one of them, ever bright
However, I am born to lose my light
and crash through the dome of somber skies
darkened by the star's perennial lie:
they have already gone silent.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
Paint my eyes with rich black kohl
Butterfly eyelashes
Heavy with fakery
My skin like porcelain;
Every freckle masked, every expression hidden
Lips stained scarlet
Doll-like and wide eyed
The emotion playing across my face carefully chosen
To make you believe what i will you to
I can keep every soul out, stay mint-condition, so to speak
Only if i pretend hard enough
Only if i am perfect
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
Somewhere, there is a poem in our heads
About, Love, life, politics, natural disasters,
Religion and conflicts controversial issues
Suddenly, here come the uprising wars in politics
Isis and The Donald Trumps of the world crusaders
Here, we are as citizens, once again, starting to feel down,
Trying to find beauty in life, throughout the fixation,
A balance of who’s right and who's wrong,
These Obsessions with tic, TAC, toe politicians.
Somewhere, there is poem, a poem in waiting,
waiting, waiting, waiting, and waiting,
Too many words, not enough ink for printing,
not enough folks who cares about such matters.
The up and down to natural disaster due to the
the tricks of trade in the political world of politics
the missing e-mail, the hidden birth certificates
the beauty Queen who gain weight,
what about the real issues, what about economy
War and famine, child molestation, bigotry and fakery..
Suddenly, here come the uprising wars in politics
Isis and The Donald Trumps of the world crusaders
Here we are as citizens, once again, starting to feel down.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 5:04 PM UTC
“Your only gonna get hurt in the end”
Warnings coming in from left and right
Pushing you back yet pulling you in
The tears start to pour
At a steady rate that won’t ever stop.
It started like a fairytale
Ended like a nightmare
The pain wounding you deep
And leaving a scar so large it may never heal
He digs and he digs
Blissfully unaware of what he is doing to you
Living in his own world with her
Yourself uninvited.
This is the story
It has been told time and time again
It all begins with a girl and ends with a guy
Everything planned out perfectly
The beginning is hopeful
Girl meets Guy
Girl likes Guy
Guy shows signs of having feelings for Girl.
The middle expands on this
It is long and uneventful
Simply there to give the reader an idea of what is supposed to happen next
And progressing through the emotions of young artists
Their medium- love.
Girl and Guy fall in love, get together
Girl+Guy=perfection
Girl=Happy
Guy=Happy
Everything seems as perfect as perfect can be
Of course that doesn’t happen.
Not exactly
Not at all.
Insert the ******
Where a twist appears
The Guy meets another girl, the Friend of the Girl
The Guy gets together with the Friend
And shows no remorse or regret
No signs at all of knowing what could have been
The Girl is left in the dust
Surrounded by nothing but cracked fragments of her own heart
And the happy faces of the Guy and the back stabbing Friend
Together.
The Girl is still there, her feelings still strong
She knows that she isn’t wanted in that way anymore
The Friend has made that clear enough, through her own backstabbing ways
The friendship that was is now laid to rest
As eye contact is avoided, smiles put on in fakery
Seats are swapped to accommodate the pain that the Girl feels
The only cure being avoidance.
The ending is woeful
As the girl backs away slowly
From what has and could have been
Armed only with a pen
As she eases her way back to the beginning of the cycle
Heart cold
Silence strong
Her story has only just begun.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC