"faultless" poems
Remember that guy,
Yea the one who I said made me feel all this love inside;
Well he ******* lied,
He played with my mind,
I should of known after seeing several bad signs;
Never did I ever think he would or could do that to me,
He ******* cheating on me,
He thought I wouldn't see;
I'm too smart to not have found out,
He thought I would believe his words without a doubt?
Nah my intuition
is far beyond his cognition;
So I got up and did better,
To not value me is something I won't except, never;
So **** his love,
**** all those fake hugs;
They mean nothing now,
What he did to me was ******* foul;
I have no losses,
because in this situation I was faultless;
I just hope I'm not having his baby,
Because to have two ******* pregnant now that ***** crazy;
It's too bad
he lost the best life he could of had;
As for me I'm unbreakable,
And he's now erasable.
-E.G
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 11:53 PM UTC
Flying bloom to bloom,
but no mere dance this faultless path.
You favour puple,
so it seems.
Clover, thistle, orchid, no dream-like drift this bustling march.
In each quick kiss no flower touched twice,
no frantic frenzy,
"keep on, keep on" your gentle buzzing seems to say.
Until, pushing through an orchids sweet embrace,
head buried in the blooms,
Your tiny heart
quietly
ceases
to beat...
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
they're spotless, no room for human flaws here.
with faultless sense of selves and fragile attributes
are silver stars, whose homes are cold glittered spotlights
pressured, battered and bruised. look away dear, they're "fine"
they're fine, scared and composed until the next plot twist
rarely, ever so rarely - a perfect one slips
a miscalculation on a regular day
phenomena, wasn't supposed to be that way
perfectionism drove them faultlessly insane
when the known consistent road, shatters to eggshells
"ever so rarely", they reason to the mirrors
with guilt mixing in the blood of walking in fear
inner madness unleashing, black swans reappearing
the wrongs, how cruel that it doesn't let them go on
"this is only once in a blue moon", they echo
deep breathes, clutching close, the past's panic they can't let go
Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 11:46 AM UTC
how sad to be misunderstood
to be evicted from life
to have the full tenure
of a torrid human existence
gesture horribly at you
in faultless reputation
like that of a rancid rage
over a lost trinket
or to be quarantined
while fingerless skin scolds
and noiseless voices are raised
in a donated generosity of savage ignorance
striving to make copious amends
in vain efforts to regrettable
slow acting poison that boils the mind
oh how sad to be misunderstood
such varicose viciousness
oh it’s sad quite sad to be misunderstood
to live through and inoculated hour glass
giving limitless time to a wildfire of idiocy
and when your breath speaks they laugh
black laughter that shatters wet umbilical truths
shudders
knowledge gestures to smoking nostrils
oh how sad, how sad it is to be misunderstood
to be drenched in the rain but not get wet
in which antiquity rests with its
mythologised stupendous ill effects
getting vivid shadows massed all around
oh how sad it is to be misunderstood
until dactylic, hexameter, elegance
completes and slithering syllables
by their antiquity focus a shuddering shriek
that sends an exploding heart through your chest
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
A cloudless night like this
Can set the spirit soaring:
After a tiring day
The clockwork spectacle is
Impressive in a slightly boring
Eighteenth-century way.
It soothed adolescence a lot
To meet so shameless a stare;
The things I did could not
Be so shocking as they said
If that would still be there
After the shocked were dead
Now, unready to die
Bur already at the stage
When one starts to resent the young,
I am glad those points in the sky
May also be counted among
The creatures of middle-age.
It's cosier thinking of night
As more an Old People's Home
Than a shed for a faultless machine,
That the red pre-Cambrian light
Is gone like Imperial Rome
Or myself at seventeen.
Yet however much we may like
The stoic manner in which
The classical authors wrote,
Only the young and rich
Have the nerve or the figure to strike
The lacrimae rerum note.
For the present stalks abroad
Like the past and its wronged again
Whimper and are ignored,
And the truth cannot be hid;
Somebody chose their pain,
What needn't have happened did.
Occurring this very night
By no established rule,
Some event may already have hurled
Its first little No at the right
Of the laws we accept to school
Our post-diluvian world:
But the stars burn on overhead,
Unconscious of final ends,
As I walk home to bed,
Asking what judgment waits
My person, all my friends,
And these United States.
3.9k
Dream ,
after dream ,
caught me dreaming
I dressed reality
in dreams
As flesh and skin
on bone
And my only crime
was never beyond
skin deep
"In silence I listened to the sounds of silence"
"I fumbled futility and it fell on a field as faultless as sin"
"Perfection was mine to make and along the way to lose"
"Anguish was the name of every moment we remember , regret his brother"
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
nothing flights these skies tonite
nothing burns above our heads
or crackles in the air
or glows in the houses about us
as we pace the cool and empty
the alleys and the meatless streets
and the clean scaleless cobbles
carry our patternless birch-bare feet
a sail less nite
but a kite to the imagination
a bringer of new
lighter beings
osmosis
through our faultless immigration
Previously published [Show Thieves 2010 : An Anthology Of Contemporary Montreal Poetry - 8TH HOUSE PUBLISHING]
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
I feel the cold ..the cold within
fightin ,biting..a painless din
creeping slowly yet full of speed
the coldness claws ..my feet retreat
Mind so full of emptyness ..yet spinning ,grasping
faultless youth
hurt inside ..the mad old fool
itching for the real truth
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 2:41 AM UTC
I carry your laugh with me for miles.
I carry it through space and time itself.
It’s perched on my shoulders,
comfortable,
tranquil,
and seemingly perfect.
It makes me feel alive,
looping around my ears to hang like antique earrings
and following me everywhere I go.
Your laughter reminds me of a child
who has just gone to Disneyland
and cannot fathom all the joy and wonder surrounding him.
I carry your laugh with me for miles.
I carry it through space and time itself.
It’s balanced on my head,
leisurely,
calming,
and undeniably faultless.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
The gods has blessed me with thee
Ajoke,the only daughter of moremi
Meet me at twilight,
Let the stars gaze at us all night
The sweetness of your lips is
More intoxicating than an in-tact
Palm-wine.
The deities has made you mine
Your beauty is picturesque
My beauteous Ajoke
With a mythic foxy appearance
Even the birds fall into trance
Your beauty is statuesque
Your aesthetic qualities is grand
Blessed with fancible dimples
Your skin is allergic to wrinkles
The space in-between my fingers is
Where yours fit perfectly
Ajoke my faultless muse.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 8:18 AM UTC
Motorcycles are fickle things
fleeting as fairies with whizzing wings
don't always work when you want them to
sometimes faultless sometimes poo
mended mine again today
set fire to it as well but hey,
it goes again and kinda smiles
waiting for the happy miles
we do together in the sun
this winters frost has been no fun
My men's bits froze to popcorn size
don't ride in the snow, so say the wise
so wee and slow it won't go quick
been so cold it's made me sick
but got no licence for my car
and my bike though slow gets me quite far
got the car test coming soon
easier to touch the moon
worry so if I will pass
maybe I should offer up my ***
do the examiner ****** favours
or pray to the lord my only saviour
Hmmm my **** is not so cute,
and prayer is such a selfish route
I'll settle for a mournful wail
when the examiner tells me "Jeremy.. FAIL!"
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 9:02 AM UTC
You’re like a storm.
But in the best and most beautiful way.
The kind of storm that happens all of a sudden on the most average of days.
You’re like a hurricane coming into my life and tearing away the ugly grey buildings and leaving only the green freedom to overgrow my heart again.
Like a thunderstorm that pours out love filled raindrops to fill my soul and grow back the childlike happiness that's slowly been deprived of its pure ecstasy.
Like the tsunami-sized tidal waves that wash away my lost ambitions and filthiness.
A blizzard that whitewashes my view with your unmistakable perfection and pulchritude.
The flash flood that appeared into my life at the snap of a finger and since that death-defyingly moment my love for you has only grown.
You’re the faultless storm that has taken my heart, life, and soul into steady hands and locked them all within yourself.
Since then, I’ve never looked back and never will.
You’re the perfect storm.
~S.C. Kelley
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
In every world you unveil the memories
To remember our deepest longings,
The fortunate accident to grown old
With another soul faultless for you.
The unaccustomed feeling is pure
To disillusion the hate reality,
The empty soul is yet somewhere
Passionate enough to awaken life.
Go get it from the holy basil
Spotless enough to compromise!
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
Prologue: People have their own sneezes and that is surely fine, but you need these top-notch instructions for a faultless sneeze. I will instruct you on the fine art of how to make everyone in the room feel badly for not saying "Bless you!" You will find the results of your new sneeze to be utterly awesome. People will enjoy hearing you sneeze and wonder how you perfected such a basic human function. You will love your "after" sneeze and wonder how you could ever live with your "before" sneeze. Be an "after" and stay an "after!"
STEP 1: Start by breathing heavily. Gasp for air, inhale deeply. Don't make your peers think you are merely snorfling. Don't make them think you're some kind of schmuck. You want to sneeze like royalty. Take in that breath and inhale proudly.
STEP 2: Rise a little, maybe even stand up, to open up the lungs.
STEP 3: Let it loose, make it loud and sneeze with gusto. Make your sneeze noticeable to otherwise oblivious teachers who only notice wrong answers and very obvious text messaging during class time. Make your sneeze a TRUE distraction.
STEP 4 : Before anyone says a thing, bless yourself as if no one is there, as if you were in your room all alone int he dark of the shadows where the sound of the bed creaking scares you half to death. Where the thing under your bed says means things to you while you try to drift off to sleep--where loneliness and death meet and...sorry. I got carried away. To recap step four, talk to yourself. Refer to suggestions below*.
STEP 5: If no one speaks, begin to cry. Moan and wail. Wonder aloud why no one takes the moment to wish you well in your time of need.
IN CONCLUSION: If none of this works to gain you attention, the blow me down and call me Sally. It's time to choose new classmates. By golly, they must be the most putrid thing any baby spit up if they don't' stop for a second and wish you a very bless-ed life from here on out.
*SUGGESTIONS BELOW:
"Achoo! Excuse me, bless me."
"Hachoooo! Gesundheit."
"Achew! Bless my soul."
Warning: Sneezes have been known to spread disease. Sneeze responsibly!
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
I live in a divided country
Brainwashed by anti-propaganda
The rich hate the poor
The poor could do without the rich
Rural life would be simpler
But the temptations of the city are inhaled
By lungs that die every knock on the window
It's understood
An agreement between the person sitting in the car
And the poor boy begging for alms
I lift my hands and look at it
Front and back
My lines have become undefined
Like a spirit about to escape the atmosphere of earth but pulled back by a force
There's a glitch
My mind is in bits
My vision goes in and out of focus
My stare dead
I feel myself disappearing
And in my place
A richer, cooler, collected person arises
From the ashes
I read my face in the car mirror and see shadows that spell out "Good Girl"
There is a face in the window
What the beggar sees is what he is not
What I see is what I have
Now I open the window and give him alms
What am I giving?
What does the poor receive?
A blast of air-conditioning
A smile of good-intentions
A pitiful amount
On the poor's young hands
I am not giving him what he wants
"I want so many things"
He gets so little
Poor little middle to upper class people
Comparing themselves to everyone
The middle child of the country
I'm rich, I have nothing until I have you
having enough of everything
Is not enough anyway
Possessed by the world
Demons in our ears
Our money is our poverty.
There is a hive that is being built in us
To set our body to work
To work in the Factory of Death
The line of my hands are losing definition
I escaped my conscience
At least in this moment
I am a faultless woman
I want to love my country
My life is a lie
Poverty kills dreams
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
The pattern on the underside confused
By snarl and tangle, jumbled, twisting knot.
Its warp and woof constructed without thought
It seems: the flawless linen now infused
With spots of wreckage--perfect weave abused.
“A waste of thread,” I cry, upset, distraught,
And try to pluck the mess now sewn in taut,
Then see the Eye that watches me, amused--
Whose Hand now turns the underside to light.
Amazed, I view a matchless, pristine shawl,
Embroidered dosser, interlaced with shine
That stirs me as I contemplate the sight
Of faultless weft, undamaged after all.
Eternity alone discerns design.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
this is a poem about happiness.
this is also a poem about how great life is, see? here's a metaphor
comparing nature to the faultless
form of a pedastalized lover,
here's a description of the
effect of changes in air pressure
and localized temperature
fluctuations
on physical matter in a given area.
here's a bland truism that
anybody can relate to.
here's a couple rhyming stanzas
about the ethereal shifting of
connecting threads which
cause all life to dance upon
the cosmic stage like food poisoned marionettes.
here's an ode to the wrinkles of
my ******** and
the bits of fuzz that occasionally
find their home in my *****
here's a sonette to the drop outs
doing better than me
here's a dirge for the businessman
that hangs himself
and a jubilee for his widow
who earns nothing off his death
because he left his entire estate
to his catamite.
I'm writing a symphony in color,
notes of fermenting wood
dogshit and coffin dust.
the violas swoop and drone
the piccolos trill fast enough
to excise your gastrointestinal system
the barotone sax wheezes
and the timpani drum rumbles
(the flutes sit motionless because
**** flutes)
the pianists fingers are bleeding
hes banging with stumps now
his face contorted in ecstatic glee
as if the face of god has parted
the clouds just to scrape his gums
clean with his dietous ****
and lo faint is the whisper
which climbs and slithers
between the
false,
bash upon life with both hands.
here is life here is death
let me show your life
let me breathe your wretching
like squandered
like roots in the soil,
paint your everlasting cave drawing
in the face of your kitchen
and dance around a fire
let the embers lick your heels
til pagan viciousness overtakes
your quivering form.
gasp it in
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
I like the way my feet look
against the blue sky;
Effortless, and gentle, and faultless.
Walking through blue I find
that the end of summer,
it tastes like fall.
With wind in my face,
cinnamon in the air,
I am free.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 2:11 PM UTC
To many people of the world, Africa is often seen
Through a narrow lens, a filtered screen
As a place of poverty, starvation and disease
Of famine, drought, and misery
But this is only one side of the story
Most people say this out of ignorance, I’m sorry
Africa is a land of great diversity
Of vibrant cultures, of ancient traditions
Of beauty, of art, of peace
Yes, we have our challenges, it's true
But we are a people of strength, of resilience, of hope
From Algeria in the north, where ancient ruins abound
To Zimbabwe in the south, where Victoria Falls resound
Senegal is where the vibrant West African culture comes alive
And in Seychelles, the archipelago's beaches and nature are a perfect vibe
Sierra Leone has the beautiful beaches of Freetown
While Egypt has the Pyramids and other awe-inspiring sculptures
Mauritius is a paradise island, with virg*n beaches and luxury resorts
From the rainforests of the
Congo to the beaches of Cape Town
From Bijilo Forest Park in the Gambia
To the Kragga Kamma Game Reserve in South Africa
From Ghana to Nigeria, who regularly argue over which country
Makes the best Jollof, fufu and afrobeat
But the bond is as close as Arnold Schwarzenegger and guns – big guns
Look at Africa with a broader lens
And behold, you find the flawlessly faultless
The continent of countries, of tribes, of peoples
Each with its own history, its own voice, its own dreams
Its own richness of traditions, the diversity of their languages
And the beauty of their cultures
Let us dismiss the delusions
Of a continent that is backward, primitive, and poor
For Africa is a land of great potential
Of food that is spicy, soulful and sweet
Dance that is enthusiastic, energetic, and expressive
Where the earth is rich with resources untold
In doing so, we will break down the barriers
And create a world that is truly inclusive
For Africa is not a place of darkness
But a place of light, of hope, of opportunity
Africa is not a place of pity
But a place of power and pride
We are the children of a proud continent
Where the sun rises and sets with a sizzling splendor
Making it a place where every day is summer
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
He tunes his piano
She ties her pointés.
He sits on his stool
She takes center-stage.
He plays the opening note
The spotlight flashes on her.
He can only hear the crowd's loud cheers
She can only see eyes upon her regal body.
He glues his eyes to his sheets
She fixes her mind upon her movements.
His fingers move mechanically along the keys
Her limbs sway to the tune of precise timing.
He has played this score hundreds of times
She has rehearsed her steps to faultless perfection.
He lets his memory guide his fingers
She lets her limbs free to do their own work.
He steals a glance at her
She opens her ears to lilting melody.
Those sheets of notes cease to exist;
He's busy composing his heart's birdsong.
She is no longer a puppet in the audience's hands
Her soul leaps joyfully towards new-found release.
She is his music
and he's her dance.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
First in bombastic burst of a scent,
Colours from these winds heaven had sent.
A lift in my head with these winds in your hair;
Our old magic (trickless) springs a hatless hare,
Faultless as firmament spins a perfect rose.
Colours that can thin any illusion, in our music rose-
Whirling where euphony may curse thorns and pains.
Worst is how these colours stain clear window panes,
Where darkness had deftly set how fire rules awe!
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
*A faultless poem
inkless, without erasures
written in fixed glances
in agreement
a matchless pact
Each verse, a touch
a breath, a gaze
suddenly, their storm
unleashed
ink runs intense
crimson hearts bleed
bodies collapse
their surrender writes an end
a kiss
their thirst, a perpetual desire
to rewrite with fault
they call it a draft
and find a blank page*
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 10:48 PM UTC
Birthed from perfect unknown void,
Crescendos of unific silence
And a ****** ear reflecting,
A Gift between Two Brothers discontent
Interweaves them now and evermore
In fraternal ******* to a nondual realm.
A lightning seed of thought between two darks,
One light enough to fade the cosmic frown,
To be reborn in strife eternal,
And set the Cycle hastening to a Muse.
His flickering strands dehiscing essence,
The perfect fracture in a faultless whole,
It brings to bear the Change supernal:
The Triple Sequence timely folding,
Unfolds the Rhapsody of Seasons:
Wind, Sea and Earth alighting
Origins of Fire churning dim:
Clear rippling of finality forgotten,
New pressing through into existence,
Her gaze a creature to its own illumination
Renewed, with steaming boundaries... ragged breath:
Living sparks to contemplate the Stars,
And Satyr forward lustful genesis.
The hidden sun plays throughout the wood
A fragant melody of Light held fast,
Of Shadow pregnant and yearning
Bursting forth in spray of life subdued,
Laid low by Rhythmic pulse
And Timeless sea of tempoed mystery.
The hoard takes form, enraged--
A battle-morning's thralling mist of
Early spirits condensate to cling...
That vast blank anticenter dares to mock
With bated fragile brandishings, the
Violent frame of peace-horizons
Stepping out of step, Undeath whining
For a loss of Truth continual. Yet
Hope is wheeling her neoteric self
Upon that sovereign evanescence
Web-like spinning still, a prior sense,
A transfinite faultline of life yet unborn,
Of death still unwrought and wrought again
In hues of growth, and dreams of change,
Waiting silently for Books of Song.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 3:11 PM UTC
More than a cloudless sky filled with falling stars
More than a sunny day while driving in my car
More than standing at the tip of a waterfall mist
Perhaps, even more than my very first kiss,
You’re still more amazing than any of this
Out of everything beautiful, you the top list
More than the sight of a haloed full moon
More than a great date not ending too soon
More than a cool breeze on a hot, sandy coast
Maybe more than giving the perfect wedding toast
Thoughts of having you bring me even more hope
Enough so for me to discard my telescope
I know I’ve found my star I was searching for
Confident I’m the water my flower’s thirsting for
You feel better than relief from an open sore
Your sound is superior to a faultless music score
I can’t imagine you not filling my every thought
You’re everything that anyone has ever sought
You mean more than anything I’ve ever bought
Some would dispose of you without knowing the cost
I’m so glad I’m not them; I know greatness when I see it
A king is only a king once the queen has been seated
Yeah, I know my place, but I won’t remind you of yours
Though, I will remind you of what our future has in store
Our destination can be whatever we think it should
We can discover countries or explore our backwoods
Whichever course we choose, as long as it’s together,
It’s still perfect enough that only heaven could be better
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC