"fallible" poems
Selfies,
I can smell the desperation,
from here.
odors of worry;
rippling anxities of uncertainity.
two dimensional,
instantaneous impressions,
pixelated presentations,
and
Teenage frustrations.
up tilted camera.
held against the light,
Illuminating eyes ,
and eradicating spots.
that looks like a good one.
Vicarious representation;
of how good
one could look,
fallible and hopeful.
big bosomed dame
showcasing blessed cleavage,
pulsating the adolescent
bulges.
delivered to
metal passenger,
thereafter shown
among peers.
networked to unknown.
Friends who'd never
met eye,
or
touched skin,
or
even spoke.
self conscious
cropping of images.
fat and fearful.
wasted hours,
dying for love.
False dream of
captivating the messes with her selfie.
The very ugliness
of impressions.
Oh, how shallow we've became.
The denial
of the impact of aesthetics.
laughable,
torrents of judgement
Skinny,
fat,
ugly,
behold their desperate eyes behind the selfie.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
I am so sorry.
For every time I hurt you..
For every cruel word I’ve ever said to you..
For not seeing what you needed most..
For not being kind to you as much as everyone else..
For every tear you have wasted..
For every time I stepped on your heart..
For every time I didn’t believe in you..
For every time I didn’t listen to you.
I am so sorry.
For ripping you apart..
For destroying the beautiful things in you..
For always making you pay the price..
And I apologise for all the wrongdoings I caused you!
Forgive this fallible human that is you.
I am so sorry.
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 8:21 PM UTC
instead of being intertwined we’re the farthest we’ve ever been
i chose to look within
you always chose the life of sin
i stopped trying to be perfect and had to partake
i too wanna eat and have my cake
what was once golden has turned to rust
i understand why they say nothing lasts forever
cause everything is so mother ******* fallible
i had no choice but to pick up the pieces all by my lonesome and gained confidence with each step and each breath
what once felt heavy is now being forgotten
oh how lovely life can be when you forget
thank you for breaking my heart because i would’ve never had the strength to let you go
each event which you performed against me pushed me further and further away
from the love i kept in my heart for you
it seems to have disappeared and i can’t find it these days
i still believe in love
i still feel the warmth and always hope for the best
life is just a test
it’s sifting and then we’re blessed
this will be the last poem i ever write about you
i might’ve misconstrued the motion
i promise to write about a new love from here on out
just disregard this notion
Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 7:52 PM UTC
He promises her he will be true to her forever.
As they seal their covenant with golden bands.
But he is only a man.
Imperfect and fallible.
Empty words and broken promises.
He promises her he will be her friend forever.
They will write and call and share life together.
She thinks he will always care about her.
But he is only a man.
Imperfect and fallible.
Empty words and broken promises.
He promises her that His love for her
is Eternal and Unchanging.
That she is forgiven,
and His precious gem.
He promises He will never leave
or forsake her.
For she is His child,
and He is her Father.
He is God.
Perfect and Loving.
Who keeps His Word
and fulfills His Promises.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
Today I decided gold was my favorite color
I think that says something about the many ways I have finally begun to really accept myself
Because why not decide that I am allowed to own something so fine as my favorite?
gold in the way that I am always trying to be a reflection for the world, of that sun shining down on me
gold in the way that I have finally accepted that my body is not an apology
that my body is not a prize
not to be plated over your pillars
to be seen truly as an earthy miracle
I am golden, not your gold medal
like the element
I require 2000 degrees of your effort to get me boiling, and I take no shame in that
and like the element
I am malleable, but hardly fallible
in my 20 years of life there have been things that have tried to break me, to pound me down until i shattered under their forces.
I will bend and adapt to all spaces
I will keep reflecting that gold light to the eyes that scan with bad intentions
I have dug so deep for this
Made of a fluid fused in the core of the world
Emergence of scalding rock
This is my birth
A fire-y eruption
Searing in the style of my favorite color
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
Summer nights melt into summer days.
A daze.
Amazed, at how our Neverland became something fallible.
When we were young and innocence pulsed through our veins,
words were light and the air hummed with electricity-
Cotton candy clouds over a watercolor sky.
We were wild things.
The ocean left its mark with kisses in our hair.
Marsh mud, like war paint, adorned our bodies.
Our bodies, like molded ivory.
You braided flowers in my hair,
told me to remember Neverland forever.
I need my Neverland now more than ever.
Summer nights melted into Autumn, Spring,
Rinse, Repeat.
I blink, and stand here at eighteen,
left breathless at the rate
my childhood did evaporate.
There’s still flowers in my hair.
My body, still ivory.
My mind, lost.
Those firefly nights without a care became something quite different.
A witness to the world we destroy-
A martyr of my own breed.
I want. I need,
to tell you.
If you find yourself in Neverland,
never return.
For this world, it hurts like a broken bone.
We collect our things and call it home,
and our left to envy,
the youth and their Neverland.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
Fallible, shocked to find myself low
I did not believe my descent could be so
Don't I live with magical dispensation
My life being subject to my blithe creation !
I thought I was living outside the mass rules
Sadly I see I'm asleep with the fools.
Slowly I rise, weeping thanks and distress
Paying dear price for my stubbornness
Making amends to body and spirit
My arrogance gone ? I think not, but fear it !
Humility wakened, Immortality slashed
Continuing reasons to feel so abashed.
What are the steps I must now be ascending ?
Practice beginner mind now never ending.
Sacred illusions are found to be crumbling
Retreat to the silence , relief from the rumbling
Raising my gaze though I'm used to head bowed
Trembling aside, now refuse to stay cowed.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 7:27 AM UTC
A nameless helmsman
Whose fallible hands
Duty calls to act god like
Guiding a ship of life
Off the coast of Newfoundland
Through a night of blue white ice halls,
Until their combined Neptune fate
Entombs nearly all
To an eternal Atlantic floor
Of dark and frigid sea.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 8:18 AM UTC
Fountain of youth runs in his veins,
The man who lives in Sycamore Keep.
His circadian clock had come to a halt,
Rather than rejoice, he sullenly weeps.
You would think that immortality is
The pinnacle of human existence,
All the time in the world and not a
Single malady to be of any resistance.
Yet there he sulks, the ageless man,
Cauterized by the turn of each century,
As loved ones breathe their last and
Become a parcel of his fractured memory.
But that is just the shell of his woes,
For even with all knowledge amassed,
He’s utterly aghast with the state of the
World unwilling to learn from the past.
Every crook and cranny explored,
Every experience well savored,
Now monotony for millennia to come,
His longing to live has ebbed and wavered.
I was told by the man of Sycamore Keep
That immortality is a curse so alluring.
Indeed, a hundred cultivated years is
Much better than hollow eons securing.
But sir, think of all the riches you’ve accrued
And mastery of all science and philosophies.
Who wouldn’t want to have the time to mark
The world and purge it from all its atrocities.
Say no more, interrupted the ageless man,
I applaud your idealism and optimistic delusion,
But you’re missing one essential element --
Even as immortals, we’d still be only human.
And to be human, is to be fallible. Let’s just say
That immortal fallibility will engender no good.
It'd be best to truncate our lifespan for the
Sake of our survival, yes truncate we should.
And that’s all I heard from the man of Sycamore Keep,
Who went on his way to his millennial weep.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC
these games 2010 vancouver olympics are about performance under tremendous pressure more than they are about sport our expectations destroy us how do athletes possibly in training their entire lives cope with cameras nationalism corporate media mania? these distinguished people fallible humans with frail emotions doubts superstitions insecurities just like everyone else sustain skill phenomenal precision how do they sleep at night? carry on relationships with spouses family friends? endure eminent separateness loneliness? do gold medal winners become bloated rock stars conceited movie stars overpaid professional athletes? do losers become life’s could have been a contender drunk in obscurity casualties? what price in human terms these games? hey when joannie rochette hit ice prayer to mom i cried love watching sports this gorgeous display of human talent yet wonder about underlying meaning consequence sports or spectacle?
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 8:23 PM UTC
Shipwrecked heart
Sea of betrayals
Misconceived idioms,
Blindly enslaved.
Was it really worth it anyway?
Fighting with hope; a lost battle.
Fallible carcasses on a wooden platter.
Poisonous Ivy in my veins;
silent heartbeat bursting into flames.
Time is a thief,
buried beneath the sea.
Was it really worth the wait?
Fighting for love; a lost cause.
Permeable holes in an empty cup.
Troubling nature, impatient thoughts.
Infected,
Standing aloof.
Leveled indifference,
taciturn blind goof.
Lost chance; misleading poker glance.
Arms twisted, magnificent ache.
Ashes corroding the mechanical brain.
Bloodbath,
besieged wound.
Abrasive torture,
revealing the truth.
Cursed fortune; insensitive to pain.
Piercing a bullet through the soul,
expressed disdain.
Adamant rapture
with no return.
Imprisoned belief
with no more fire to burn.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
She wants a spark that isn’t there,
that never was, but always burned.
Routine remains in comfort where
love should reside. Two hearts once frost
are made warm when one, and only
joined together when separate.
This truth is implanted to a
girl who is as broken as the lives
she’s left behind. Intentions are
fueled by the hope of a road cleared
ahead of the fallible thick-
et their feet fall on now. Toes are
scarred from entangled roots scattered
the width of the path. To stray is
to stay on course, she says to him.
The fill of a thrill from a chase
already deemed triumphant ball-
oons his wings. He soars in the sky
to rival the eagle. Though ev-
en she cannot ignore the threat
of temptation. Indirect in-
iquities thrive in the life of
the one who began this feat by
fault of suppressed ignorance now
made alive. Infidelity
envelopes their lackluster rel-
ation. They wonder if there ev-
er was anything there at all. A
friendly companionship confused
as love? What is love but a con-
nection between friends. His protests
fall on deaf ears. She has felt the
flames, and they are warm. Their paths are
clear, but not as predicted. In-
to the sunset they walk, between
them another heart, more cold than
the one they shared.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
she warned me she was a handful
thank God I have two hands
I couldn't unhook her bra with one
she apologized
the first time I saw her naked
she said sorry for every stretch mark
said she hated her thighs,
*******
hips
I kissed them all until it hurt my lips
and every place between
tried to make her love her body like I did
she apologized
as I watched her dress again
she wore vulnerability like an orange jumpsuit,
a bit too square for her structure,
I apologized
for knowing she is not as untouchable as she likes to think
her body,
as tattered and fallible as the heart clinging to it
is touchable
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
When I feel sick,
I don’t understand
all the complex details
of medical-science,
so I have to trust a doctor
to cure me;
but I trust with trepidation
because doctors are human
and so unomniscient and fallible;
I do my best
to apprise myself
of the medical-science
about my health-condition
so I do not have to blindly-rely
on the doctor,
and so I can make wise choices
about my healthcare
to optimise my health, joy and happiness.
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 4:07 AM UTC
Satanic anthems are bold, as they carry their message across undefined boundaries where infinity spreads her wanton features across the generations of history.
Boston reminds me of my historical roots, where Anglican tragedy submits her fornications in submissive rebellion.
With this in mind, let us use our fallible wills to travel together, across astral vistas where timeless plantations of hallucinogenic acceptance join hands around the mistress of the dark and her tantalising secretions.
Can we please communicate into the depths of the dawn in our debaucheries?
Feel the rhythm of unspeakable energies, as the pulse ripples through your eternal lusts.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
An unexpected virus came
Diabolically and odiously.
Sniffles like missiles;
We will cough
Green-brown phlegm
And seaweed;
Eyes itch with sweat;
Throats sound guttural warnings;
Muscles ache from making
The sign of the cross in European monasteries;
The tentacles are spreading, grasping, holding hard;
A boy lies face down on the firewall
Like a tethered goat,
Invasive, infectious and deadly.
The body politik has been exposed,
Vulnerable and fallible.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
In the window of the pet shop
four small faces, lost.
Their owners, sick with worry,
want them found at any cost.
A quad of treasured family pets
roaming wild and free,
unmindful of the panic
they’re causing back in Leigh.
A sausage dog called Mini,
sleek and burnished dark.
She’s likely got a little voice
that is more squeak than bark.
Tinks: a sturdy Staffie,
with a plea on Facebook
praying for his safe return
his people beg you “have a look”
“in your sheds and garages,
or in the kids' playhouse.
You never know who could be there
‘cos he’s quiet as a mouse”.
A grumpy Border Terrier,
Underbitten, rough of coat
“Bill: a much loved dog, we miss him”
in shaky letters wrote.
And, last of all, would you believe
Someone’s lost their tortoise!
He’s been in the family since ‘77
(let’s hope he isn’t corpus).
For pets are no mere mortals,
nor fallible as we.
They’re up there on a pedestal,
in anthropomorphic fantasy.
Then one day they disappear,
our soppy hearts turn wretched.
No stick to throw, and if we did
none to go and fetch it.
On centre stage of family life
entangled in our tribe.
No separateness of species,
always by our side.
So if you’re there, or round about
And you should chance to see
Mini, Tinks or Billy
or a tortoise in his mid-thirties.
Tell the little pet shop -
it’s better late than never -
to mend an aching, wretched heart
who thought their best friend gone forever.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
Do you know what it's like
to feel the limits of time
against your heart
to rest in a fallible place
seeing clearly the last grain of sand fall
declaring the moment
the end of hope to carry out a mission
a vision
from decisions
you refused to make
steps you refused to take
'i love you's'
you failed to say
or even whisper
have your eyes ever looked in a mirror
and seen such a glare
D I S A P P O I N T M E N T
from missing an appointment
filled with blossoming orange and fuschia gladiolas
and even some in full bloom
with nectar at their center too saccharine even for a bee's tongue
i wanted to taste you.
and instead of using my index finger to scoop up your essence
i let fear paralyze the progression
and it's much deeper than even kryptonite to superman
i mean it's more like Christopher Reeve
still
yet aging
not able to go backward
only to face what lies ahead
Now i'm sleeping
left dreaming
of all the NOW infinite IMpossibilities
my eyes looking out
while traveling over the deep sea of self apologies
for never trying to even hold your hand
Oh how i wish i could flip this hourglass back to when i was 10...
and fearless of
rejection.
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 9:54 AM UTC
1139
Her sovereign People
Nature knows as well
And is as fond of signifying
As if fallible—
1.8k
If you cracked open my skull,
(and discerned past the alarming indirect realism
Featuring a ****** cerebrospinal fluid-y cranium,
Hewed and fractured crudely
And gushing like a cascade),
You'd unearth a disturbing array of mechanisms,
Filed, packaged, and manufactured,
Well intentioned lies and repulsive judgement,
Distressing reality and optimism open to ridicule
Self-interested altruism and desperate defenses,
An assortment of fallible hope and fallacious despair,
All nearing a point
Of sudden, piercing tragedy.
For I, too,
Am devoid of worth and life,
I, too, have done nothing
Worth life's light
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
I’ve never become low on my graveside attendance,
Victim , victim they call me, the moments I’ve been facing are abysmal,
Your voice, mellifluous, makes my world lucid, just like a blissful carnival
You fade away, so far away, in the shades of grey,
These black petals, merely dead, have witnessed a fray
Victim, an element of my soul, enshrouded in a stack of mud, in a desolated place,
My roots are too feeble to read that case
A fragmented mind, my hampered cognition, pictures you in the pleasing attires,
All I know are just my futile desires
Victim, they call me, when I visit your house, and grab those dispersed roses
A few letters garnished, just to seize my reaction,
Almighty has deceived me with his bitter, yet innocent abduction
Your warm breath, ventures me, like a spellbound,
Snivels, ****** tears, soaked up in the soil, I tend to hound
Victim, I’m a victim of my encapsulated love,
A victim of irrational fears, fallible against my taken vows
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC
We found a new world,
yesterday.
Ordained with holy numbers
and d-a-s-h-e-s-
by modern priests in
blanket
white
cloth.
Pious, singularly
unromantic men.
Reaching for this sphere
it is into an unnamed sea
amid unmounted peaks
I shall fall,
a willfully disobedient
boy who drowned
with a hunger
that surpassed
all worldly sustenance.
Though perhaps it’s for the best
I’ll never walk its corrugated
G a s e o u s
surface,
for an epoch of chastity
would be corrupt
by my abrasive soles, my cutting
words, my fallible conscience
and mortal skin.
600 light-years?
I’ll save us both the effort.
©Thomas Gabriel
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 12:43 PM UTC
since the first pop use of the phrase
window of opportunity
(was it Bush or Stargate SG-1?)
politicians big and small
corrupt and incorruptible
fallible and infallible
have all bombarded
the media – on radio, in their blogs
and personal sites
newspapers and journals and broadcasts
and through any speech
they get a chance to make
with that ready phrase:
window of opportunity
Oh, turn on the radio
as you drive maybe
and some glum Finance Minister whispers:
* …grab the window of opportunity…*
read the papers and some plump Minister of Health says:
…we must grab this window of opportunity…
Oh, whole speeches in the English Language now
are bullet-ridden with that cliche
and of course the financial planners
and educators
and doctors and even unimaginative lovers
they have all jumped in
into this window of opportunity
till I’m so irritated and angry now
that if I hear one more eminent personality say:
window of opportunity
Oh, the next time – just one more time –
if I hear anyone use that phrase
window of opportunity
I’m going to send in contract window cleaners
and they’ll grab the window-of-opportunity-user by the collar
and throw them out through the window
and clean the window after –
and I’ll assure you,
those contract window cleaners
will not miss that window of opportunity!
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 8:36 PM UTC
Yes, we are part of the united States of America.
And yes, it is important to be proud
Of where you live and come from.
But it doesn't matter
how united we are.
We will always be divided some way.
But that's okay.
Because we still work together.
We're still human.
I know you're probably sick of me
Saying that word.
But the fact is, we can't be proud
Of where we live, where we come from.
We can't make social change
Until we're proud to be what we are.
Beautiful, fallible humans.
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 8:33 PM UTC
Marked, said to be,
I'm losing you, slowly,
but surely.
Fallible, it seems.
Love lost, unforeseen.
Tell me, now,
not knowing, differently.
Horizon line, in all is bent.
Hand imprint on sand.
Tears sent out to sea.
Captain this ship.
Its capsize was meant,
to be.
Fire works,
as an opposing element.
Overhead, wind sweeps the air.
Pulling apart; distressed, the flare.
Beautiful is the night, at its darkest shade.
All is still, beckoning for a whisper.
Then the deck overflows with heat.
Bodies never felt are touched,
communication brought with it,
a raid.
One can only hope to keep dignity.
When people panic, you see their true colors.
The Captain rests with his ship.
The others, have others.
Do you remember drowning?
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 7:24 PM UTC