"fibbing" poems
im a self describing a self
a face on a liquid surface
a plasticity
a brain
a three pound infinity
always remodeling itself
and making new copies
a copy
of
a copy
of
a copy
a massive accumulation of copies
each a slight distortion
from it's original eminence
a history of minute alterations
all subtle deceptions
my so-called reality
a memory
of
a memory
of
a memory
a repetition pouring the self out
self corrupting the self
until it is somebody else
a fibbing shifty double-dealing soft machine
trying to remain intact
it's signature
a disjunctured awareness
my cells talk **** about each other
i'm more microbes than human
every synaptic light of the divine casting a shadowed past
a devil to the true origin
a mangled remembering
my pillar of reality
spirit from matter
not the other way around
i no longer recognize myself
am i human
or perhaps a robot
an alien
a walk in
that left the original inhabitant
disembodied
to wander perplexed in a netherworld
lost and crying
or, just a bad copy
of
a copy
of
a copy
of
a co
py
of
a
a
co
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
Stars shine on in a night sky so black
you can see the truth.
What is that light but an interruption
to progress so blinding
the sun blushes–
as if another light vandalized
our ever darkening sky.
Closing out on reality,
opening up to ideals,
it’s the rays piercing through the layers
and the yea-sayers nodding
off to sleep in a darkness so deep.
When the genius strips off the latent,
flexes its manifest intelligence,
and puts down thoughts
that flare into the darkness.
No effort from a sun fibbing eternal.
The end might come but the hand
who writes eternity can’t see
the end coming.
Who are the geniuses
expelling the light
and who are the receivers
not likely to admit their stupor
for fear of fantastic phantasms.
Fleeing from their folly,
straying into strange, insipid
serials, unending, not rerunning–
only growing obese with weight
Of chances not spent.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:35 AM UTC
Spent my hard earned money buying stuff I seen on commercials
with two singers claiming all they use was the stuff I bought to fix faces.
Both them women got to be telling fibs if they said a little bit of
skin fixer works good did not work and used full bottle and nothing.
I googled them womens pictures and seen how they faces look bad
and messed up and both got blotchy skin and look real tired in pictures.
Seen all them commercials with them woman I am talking about
saying all they used was that stuff but saying did not work on me.
I would be fibbing if I posted I thought those women are pretty
in google search pictures of them without tons of makeup I see on their faces.
No make up do make them look like not so good as women called plain Jane.
Simple telling when women ain't plenty made up or they not wearing skin fixer
when they got them dark circles and darker spots like some pictures I seen when I google.
We got a few women looking very pretty cause they got that natural beauty.
I not grandma old but I got crows feet and cracking lines on my face.
I been trying making up my face with gobs of crap and went to expert at store
where rich folks shop and I know I did not look good like she lied to me
telling me I looked good but that mirror in that store showed me truth.
No more making up this face cause I was born to be what I am not pretty.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:01 AM UTC
Out on the path, I wait for her
my friend who’s just for me.
We play and sing and laugh a lot,
though no-one else can see.
You call her imaginary,
but she’s real and best of all,
she’s made a solemn promise
to be here when I call.
My mum says she’s not really there,
though the truth is mum don’t know
the fun me and my friend have had
or the places that we go.
We get lost in the forest
and fly up to the stars,
then sit upon the rooftops
throwing jelly beans at cars.
We’ve dug up buried treasure
and stared Blackbeard in the face.
And we’ve ridden Pegasus
to see the earth from space.
If you think I may be fibbing,
I’ll tell you it’s no lie -
to say we’ve seen most everything,
my secret friend and I.
But now the time is ticking,
she’s never usually late.
But here I am still waiting
sitting by the gate.
I feel the world revolving
as seasons come and go.
I never thought she wouldn’t come,
but perhaps I finally know.
That secret friends are mortal
and don’t last forever,
but I’m quite sure I won’t forget
the times we spent together.
I think I hear the clock indoors
chiming half past four.
The day has almost passed without her,
I’m not so little anymore.
But, just as I turn to go inside,
I hear the squeaking gate
“I’m so sorry,” my friend cries
“I didn’t mean to be this late”!
The world turns again to greet the moon
and my friend and I shall roam,
weaving in and out of dreams
making memories our own.
So, grown-ups if you’re finding,
modern life hard to survive,
wait a while, by the gate
you never know who may arrive.
Though you may not have seen them
for about a hundred years,
secret friends remain with us
and help allay our fears
that we all grow old and crinkly
and forget how to dance and laugh
just have a little patience
and pause there on the path.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
I know that they all like to say that nice guys finish last.
But this really is far from true.
Most nice guys really will end up finishing first.
It just may happen to them well after they want it to.
But it may be to your advantage, that way.
You’ll get to meet people at their best, some would say.
When you get to finish first, first, you will miss out on a lot.
The people whose prime is early in life are generally not the best.
I know that it is really hard to think that you’ll have to wait.
There is not a single person who enjoys waiting.
But it really is in your favor to wait for a little while.
You can meet yourself before meeting other people.
And you have to be crazy to think that there aren’t others who are lonely.
Sometimes the nice girls think they’re in last place, too.
Nice guys think that they have to change.
Nice guys, please do us all a favor, never change.
The world can use a lot of people like you.
We need some people we can be proud of.
See, you think you’re a problem because her parents would like you.
Give it a few years, and that will be what she wants.
I meet this nice guy once and really liked him.
But, as you’d like to guess, I didn’t date him.
I’m even certain that we were flirting for a little bit.
Yet, I did not wish to date him.
I suppose you can call me a hypocrite right now.
I would be lying if I said you’re completely wrong.
But never did I say that nice guys would always win.
All I recall saying is that they wouldn’t finish last.
Because, if I’m being frank here, they cannot be last.
Last is reserved for those whom you don’t desire in the slightest.
And I can attest to always wanting someone nice.
I can admit that I will always want someone who is kind.
And you’re wondering why I didn’t date what I wanted.
As luck would have it, I knew he was too good for me.
He may have actually gotten a different message on that.
I’d be fibbing if I said that I told him that.
He just thinks that I only want him as a friend.
He thinks that was all I ever thought of him as.
He is not entirely wrong, honestly, he’s not.
Dating friends is something that complicates things; so I won’t date them.
But he doesn’t know that I was willing to break that rule.
I would go against all I stand for, just for a nice guy.
Sure, I would then somehow ruin things, but it would be nice while it lasted.
But I could never think of hurting someone so dearly, not when he gave his all.
Nice guys don’t finish last because no one wants them.
Nice guys finish last because everyone wants them.
Nice guys win in the end because others have gathered up their courage.
When we can be real with them, then they can win.
Nice guys finish later because we like them so much.
We are scared to hurt them and it causes us to hurt them more.
We can never win when it comes to people.
No matter what you do, someone will get hurt.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
Don’t you dare ask me that question,
I beg of you, stop looking at me.
All of you stop!
Just leave me be.
I couldn’t even if I wanted to,
I’m not mean
I’m not crazy
How dare you say that I’m selfish,
I’m trying my best but can’t you see?
Clearly it’s killing me.
There is no shame in my honest silence,
Unlike the provocative lies you spew
Day after day
Pretending that you are good,
Fibbing that you’re okay.
I don’t lie like that,
Completely invisible when I lie flat,
Talk to me,
Set me free,
For I am she,
She with no name,
No chance of fame,
When you speak the tears will flow,
I promise this is not a show.
All the horror stories that I hear,
What is audible,
And being noticed,
THAT is my one true fear.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
Missing the person who gave me my strength
My thirst for life
My humour
My laugh
Missing the person who showed me unconditional love
To think outside the box
To laugh at myself
To smile in bad times
Missing the person who told me never give up
Walk tall
Chin up
Rubber **** to be attached
Missing the person who gained respect from all that knew her
Font of all knowledge
Who could set anyone on the right path
Who’s cwtches made all feel awesome
Missing the person who knew me better than I do
Who knew I’d put water in her whisky
Knew I was fibbing even on the telephone
Was there no matter what
Missing the person I called Mam xxxxx
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 3:12 PM UTC
We wore these SADDLE OXFORDS until our feet grew long.
They'd be passed down..and they were exceptionally strong.
Never has another shoe ever lasted so long.
Cannot wait til "Easter" to get new ones black and shiny
With buttons or a buckle, or a cute little bow.
By xmas a nice pair of boots were good to go.
Durability and warmth were the style you would get.
Cry all you want - Santa was not kidding.
Said: " all you get are those boots,because all year you've been fibbing".
- That's the day I Kicked Santa to the curb.
Started selling"GREETING CARDS" I was not perturbed.
Bought my own shoes, never again to be disturbed.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
This Apocalypse Summer
has really got me down,
but then I'm up running
through what is left of town.
I never got to swim the backstroke
before Brunswick Basin bled
Lake Olympia from amidst her oak,
before Deer Creek went dead.
*The streets'll burn, the bodies break
and the blood washed away by beer.
The streets burned, bodies broke
and we're still here.*
Shadow people wander the sidewalk,
been here since the bombs dropped.
Never got no noisy television,
just watch the streets and shadows in them.
I'm pushing up just like daisies
and pulling them up for fun.
Convinced that I'm going crazy
from the trips that I get on.
*Jane says she cannot get it:
"something hidden...back when children."
You're always looking for the road
where we used to drink too drunk,
where you look to have again
what we had so long ago.*
Do you feel it coming?
on Earth His will be done.
Collapse a long time coming—
still nothing new under the sun.
Summer is for the living.
That's a bubble-bursted, sun-dried reason.
It's the end or I am fibbing,
still live up the rest of the season.
*First came the flood then spilled blood.
Had anyone caught on of that to come
you know we'd never have let it begun.
But it had:
got you, your mother, and dad.
Surely there was nothing we could do
but hunker down, get a job, and rue
the day they brought us into
the Old World and buried the New.*
I hear tell that downriver
the water gets warmer;
I hear tell that valley below us's
a hotter n' hell, body-ridden bowl of dust.
—
I hear tell that upriver
the trout they run thicker,
the water cooler, air smoother, and **** sticks thinner.
I wanna flee up that river
but I'm not that good a swimmer.
How do we know?
We think we're smart,
in fact we're geniuses.
But we're still sitting
and can't stop talking about...
This Apocalypse Summer
has really got me down,
but then I'm up running
through what is left of town.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 1:20 AM UTC
I'm not fibbing,
when I say I need a defibrillator
to restart my heart
and close my jaw
that jaw-dropped to the ground
and left my head heavy
and my lungs breathless
all because,
I saw you in red.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
My grandpa who eats steamed sweet potatoes on foothills textured in green rice patties
dreamt up a tall brick house with a black iron gate
barbwires sprung around the tips of the entrance to keep out thieves
right now he wonders how long he can keep fibbing to my mother—
their rotten hut at the end of the massive foothill, not fleeting
monsoons come early, swells the ground till it gave
a landslide takes four people and a child
that day, red stars hung above Tiananmen square gates
grounded bones came in sacks, white cement hauled by green skin trucks
My grandpa who loves sweet potatoes constructs an ivory wall.
after the revolution, the sun peeks out in montages
peering through the smoke
gunpowder stuck to the tank tire roads
black heads roll off yellow tar dirt into a pit
My grandpa gives his best friend one thousand yuan—
visas for my mother and grandma,
His best friend disappears,
writes my grandpa
an apology and, leaves him a large white sack of uncooked sweet potatoes
light tan, severs in half and plops down on the lumpy cutting board,
dusty orange inners, grandpa tosses them in the boiling water
and later, while gnawing down,
he pretends they are oranges for once
Grandpa, who’s kneeling on our dried front yard with a worn out copper pail
waters the salty earth slowly until it sprouts sugar canes
chops one down, breaks it in half, the sun beats
peering through palm leaves
a viridescent river of silk and pale honey
my small three year arms grab a hand full
sliced by grandpa into pieces neatly placed
in a blue flowered ceramic bowl
years later, I chop a stalk down and chew until
English becomes a second language again
and in my twenties, I grab a hand full
sliced my mom into pieces, places them in a weaved basket
made of reinforced bamboo
I put it in front of my grandpa’s grave
in Fujian on the foggy mountainside of a small retirement town.
The edge of the South China coast covered in a thick plastic smog,
I sit on a stone eating sweet cold potatoes with my grandpa facing outland,
a red kneeing sun, barely visible past the trees
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
intent and hell bent,
to escape and to pretend.
that all's well,
and nothing else.
i pause to run,
and simply because there's no fun.
to say i am not sad,
and it isn't all that bad.
but seriously,
as i sprint furiously,
who am i kidding,
if i am not fibbing.
it's all pretense,
and it's my only defense.
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 8:41 AM UTC
It's all in the technique, they say
But if you have the desire
If you have the drive
That's the easy part.
Yet still,
Execution is key.
Let us use an example
Fibbing about your whereabouts?
Know your audience
Know what they want to hear
Know what they will believe
And how much they will believe.
Details make a scarlet deception ivory
They truly create the white lie
It becomes obvious if you are too vague.
Trust me, I know.
Look them dead in the eye
Don't laugh, but don't be too serious.
Just think about what you would say
Under normal circumstances.
If you get this far,
I pose a question of irony to you.
Why would you trust me?
After all,
I am a liar.
It's all the same,
To lie to you.
To lie to him
To lie with me.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
Look at you
So easily lying and fibbing
Like a naturalist
It makes me cringe every time you
Tell that same lie
Over and over and over again
"You did well"
"You are amazing"
"I like you a lot"
My only option is to smile with my
Broken teeth and bleeding gums
Ravaged by the bones I have been cracking on
"Stop lying to me"
I try and scream but absolutely nothing comes out
Why?
Because I have gotten so used to the
Shattered glass of untruths that
The crunch of it underfoot and the zap
Of it in my skin has completely gone
Away
So all I can think is
My, What Big Lies You Have
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
You call me a *****
You say you want me to die in a ditch
Well I don't know what I did
Love towards me was forbid
I shut you out
You never shut your mouth
My wrists are bleeding
My heart is screaming
But you you just stand there watching
I'm tearing down
I'm leaving town
I don't know who I am
But whoever I am your not a fan
I'm never good enough
I'm packing my stuff
No stay you scream and plead
Then you turn around and hit me
You call me a ****
Compare me to a mutt
Now you wonder why I overdose once a
day
My life is filled with hate
But the hate is like a drug
One feeling of warm fuzzy hug
The drug is the hug that bring me to tears and hopes no one ever comes near
I need to get myself away from here
I struggle with my own problems
To half to take care of you on top of them is like a dog caring for its owner
I guess I'm like a dog no wait you might say I'm a bit lower
So here is my apology no wait just kidding
I think I was just fibbing
I should thank you in stead
Thanks for trying to hit me in the head
Thanks for making me scream for making my wrists bleed for watching me die then just adding to the pain by cutting up my emotions with your lies
Yeah you were always sly until you walk right up and said ok ***** it's time for you to die
I just laughed and said no girl it's been you messing with my head
Sorry ***** but I'm already dead
That night I took too many pills now I was in for the ****
I hopped right into my car drove to the train tracks
Ready to be attacked
This next rhyme is an effing fact
If the ***** ain't got her dog
She is gonna disappear in the fog
The shadow that's been killing me for years
Oh lucky me the train is almost here
Grown near for my last stop
Laying on the tracks
The train threw a little honk
Then I felt it
I was nothing but a memory
Come puppy sit
But ***** don't you know I can play dead too watch me your bond to loose.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 9:49 PM UTC
***You've been in my heart,
for five years long.
I'd accepted the fact -
that we didn't belong.
The stars then decided,
to give us a try.
They gave us new wings -
to see how we'd fly.
The problem with flying,
if you have two wings.
They must both work equal -
to achieve greater things.
Both wings need to want,
the same final goal.
Or else one will tire -
and give up the toll.
But your wing was wounded,
and healing took time.
I believed love invincible -
and your love strong as mine.
How foolish I was being.
My heart lying to me.
'Twas fibbing when it made me think -
that love could set you free.
I do believe you love me,
though not enough for you,
to cast off all your shackles -
and do what you must do.
It hurts to be with someone,
that runs away from real,
and rather numbs lifes' blessings -
than allow himself to feel.
I'm clearly not the person,
thats meant to be for you.
'Cause if I was it wouldn't be -
so difficult to do.
In this life I hope you find,
the person that's for you.
And maybe she will show you things -
that I had tried to do.
Love's not about projecting pain,
'cause you are feeling small.
Those are the times you should reach out -
and let me break your fall.
I do believe our love is rare,
and written in the sky.
It's probably that the time aint right -
it's not our time to fly.
Make no mistake, love of my life,
I know we meant to be.
If not this life, then in the next -
we'll be as one, you'll see.***
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 3:18 PM UTC
<>
reversed a verse from “Like a Rolling Stone;
~complements to Mr. B. Dylan, a Nobel man~
you, me, hear what you’re hearing, feeling it,
you, me, hear what you’re thinking, feeling that,
regenerating, excising, pinching a single word of Bobby’s
lyricizing, knowing, you’ve just handbag-snatched a poem full.
the rolling stone sings of next meal scrounging,
he’s talking to you, knowing you, you customizing
his lyrics modifying-jiggering, for your purposeful brain,
emotional crazed notions, your monsanto seed of needs and strains.
*nah, I’m fibbing, polite-ly lying,
like clover waves springing up
overnight after a night’s soaking,
raining, picking up hints, misdirections, clues,
*** poem titles dripping from my glassy eyes!
des idées for the next poem, the one, in the garden hereafter,
now called thereafter, all arriving in tranches, backyard bunches,
just to write down the titles fast enough, sometimes, trouble,
oft easy, sometimes rough, but always a fast rush jiggling job.*
yeah, I’m liking that word, scrounging,
got character, internal noises aclashing,
so I’m scrounging
while lounging , it’s so ******* easy,
it’s getting borrowed till you! steal
it out from under me,
like an ill reputed
good poet should...
P.S. don’t keep me waiting!
let the scrounging commencin’
tw36
Jun 22, 2020
Jun 22, 2020 at 4:38 PM UTC
Elbows
Knees
keep you
Bendy
And when someone tells you
' I bent over backwards'
and they are not an act in a circus
Just know they are big white lie fibbing.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
i don't know much about the moon
for half of it is always hidden
and i envy the stars that can peer at the scars on the other side of where i'm sitting
i can't say much about the tides
that fall victim to your tug
but i can observe that with every fibbing word
the sounding sea has had enough
- l.f.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
Love, you told me once that
Butterflies don’t lie
So I knew I was in love
The moment I met your eyes
Love, you told me once that
You can’t solve all my problems
But I knew you were fibbing because
Standing next to you, the hurt is forgotten
Love, you told me once that
You want my arms around you
But I knew you were just kidding because
You were gone before I could hold you
Love, you told me once that
You don’t always think when you talk
So I knew you didn’t want me,
Yet I still sold you my heart.
Love, I’ll tell you once that
I love you so **** much.
Love, I’ll tell you twice,
Three or four times if you want.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 7:56 PM UTC
Just floating along
Like the words to a song
I'm on Cloud Nine
It's gotta be a sign
That it's time to start living
No more fibbing
After all we've done
We can have fun
Laughing, crying, going crazy,
Spending all day just being lazy
It doesn't seem possible
When it was completely impossible
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 5:14 PM UTC
Impending rain through the gut rut strain
A letter stamped and ready to gain
Impending media menaces straight on through
A touch of pepper was what she wanted to know
A listen of the booth towards the man's moon lit
Whistle for the sinister because we all got sisters
Either you hear me
Or you ain't got nothing to say
Good night to the morning because I ain't trying to see you
We used to be something but things got boring
Bent post cards meant everything she meant to lie
Cut another piece of that fibbing apple pie
A showman knows when the audience is rolling
They breathe it in and know when it stinks
Thanks for the lot but smother me another time
I got some reasons I ain't feeling fine
Puking out the nonsense so I don't walk it off
Curb stump near me so I can start to bear it
A silly **** bump near the ever clear rear
Wishing for the fear to leave me every night dear
Dawn break sticks near my window right about now
Eye rubbing madness for the cook that boils sadness
Cash for me with my woman far away
Round this corner I think I might have my stay
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 10:17 PM UTC
Who shall find intermittent song?
...of reason wrong ...of time so lent
Who could position themselves to be
... lark in tree? ... one heaven sent?
Audacity to find in peace of mind
... words so kind ... yet ever untrue
Convince me now of lies so bold
... so very cold ... never more undue
Lie to me till eminent death
... with sweet breath ... in toiled rest
Sing to me great love accolade
... make fine charade ... fibbing best
Do this in pity, I shall bequeath
... a laurel wreath ... a poet's song
Precious days numbered in ways
... testament blaze ... schooling wrong
Consider final pathetic beseeching
... it's own bequeathing ... riled begging
Harden heart to own such phrases
... this last lying day .. is mild *******
... it won't hold on without you
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
Fabricated Moon
If only I'd seen it soon
Fibbing. Dance. I swoon.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 2:04 AM UTC
lies
fake words
that
you wish were true
deception
bending the truth
with
ulterior motives
fibbing
small lies you say
to
help your life
truth
said most often
but
never noticed
*the truth is always present
the lies are just more prominent
noticed more widely
cared about more greatly*
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 8:50 PM UTC