"foible" poems
You’ll find them in all such establishments,
(Be they graceful small-town former Victorian homes,
Or cinderblock edifices mindful of some campus multi-faith center)
Sitting in the basement, cheek-to-jowl
With moldering burial records and banking statements,
Yellowed newspaper clippings, faded prayer cards
Small squared-off boxes hastily tabbed together,
Ostensibly temporary containers which have acquired
An unintended and wholly unwelcome permanence.
The whys and wherefores of their subterranean placement
A mixed bag of foible and outright foolishness:
Unresolvable squabbles concerning possession and burial,
Families that skipped out on the bill, leaving mom behind,
Cases of outright not giving a good-goddamn.
And so they remain, in lieu of repatriation and redemption,
To sit for something akin to perpetuity in some cases
(Members of the profession resolute in their respect
For the dignity of life,
Though their sincerity enjoys less unanimity)
While others wait for mass burial
Once legal niceties have been satisfied,
While still others, in care of firms not so scrupulous
About crossing their t’s and dotting their i’s,
Are flung, albeit somewhat surreptitiously, out the back door,
The remains to take flight if the grass is dry and the wind is brisk,
Otherwise to be left to the vagaries
Of curious birds and creped soles.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
**Topsy and Turvy, hassled and harried
jostled among a jungle of jumble,
so busy they beavered, in search of a bauble
upon all the shelves, so deftly they delved,
... within the lair of the piffling frippary.
They ambled and rambled, so giddy they gambolled
and sought for that trivial trinket or trifle,
they rummaged and rifled, their eagerness stifled,
through struggle, they strived, from nine until five,
... within the lair of the piffling frippary.
Staunch but stressed, their zest so hard pressed
for until discovered, found and recovered,
they muttered and spluttered, and audibly uttered
within the lair of the piffling frippary,
... persuing that piece of paltry frivolity.
Now flagging, they floundered, not finding the foible
in shambles they rambled, revealing reluctance,
and ceding, conceding, they threw in the towel
on trembling, tottering knees they now tumbled,
... out of the lair, of the piffling frippary.
... ... ...**
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 10:42 AM UTC
Sailing the mystic omnipresent seas,
on a craft made of dragonfly's wings.
Tacking across the magical breeze,
caused by songs that the sirens sing.
Weathered and worn by infinite tides,
holding lines made of eternal foible.
The warrior's blade like a rudder she rides,
in a sheath made of filigreed sable.
Virulent flow of futurity's pandemic,
vibrant waters fertile subtle surreal.
Ephemeral beings translucent endemic,
purveys omnipresent augur's appeal.
The starlit sky imbues waterfall's mist,
myriad creatures seek eternity's mantra.
Vivid delineations of artistry's gist,
seeking virile omnipotent yantra.
Celestial heights where eagles traverse,
soaring and gliding we learn to fly.
Must life be terminal we say of terse,
whilst composing music to make angels sigh.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
Ever since I was, Me,
This particular me
I was told;
I cried and whimpered-
I cried and Whimpered,
as I came out of womb,
still in wail, still in snivel,
I was staggered,
in utter astound, and amazement;
For absolutely no reason,
I Sniveled,
and sniveled that day,
into the madness I was in,
out of universe, into parallel whim,
I wondered,
I wondered:
Am I dead into my bones,
Where is the world, I have known,
The world, I have known for for 9 months-
or am I just a door, opened into storms,
May be it was for today, for few moments,
the Ill be gone !
Or, May be I was reincarnated into days,
of games leading to this game;
or was I just a foible,
dependent to layers,
of layers,
expanded into life's flare;
I was staggered,
in utter astound, and amazement;
For absolutely no reason,
I cried and whimpered,
as I came out of womb,
still in wail, still in snivel,
I was staggered,
in utter astound, and amazement;
For absolutely no reason,
Peace,
Peace,
Yes, Peace, all peace,
Love
Love,
Yes Love, all love,
Harmony,
Dear Harmony,
All Harmony,
Then again,
I jump down the lanes of memories,
She says,
Are you done trumping?
Aren't you late for working?
Aren't you late for life, this real life?
Then slowly,
I go mad,
By and by,
I am Mad,
into today and tomorrows,
anxious;
into emotions and fears;
.
Covered by joys and tears;
.
Eroded into feelings,
.
leading unto her being,
.
So,
it again becomes a helpless game,
where,
I cry and whimper
And there she is,
after all this while,
she seems to be in my dreams,
or in her dreams,
where she wail, and snivel !
Glued into her memories,
her eyes, to mine,
distant aero-plane into her abstain,
not much of caring,
yet, in her cosmic sharing;
repairing myself, into her un-caring,
tunneling a way, into sharing;
that love, that peace
that harmony;
Mommy,
in her tummy, had her, as baby, where a cell grew into body;
in some hide and seek, in melancholy
a bit sloppy, a bit swampy;
into dancing infinity,
along, my pace in her infinity-
my safari, in her serenity;
like some birds, singing songs,
of wordless hums,
just some gongs,
in shores, in her floor,
a flower out of spores,
her songs,
silent applause,
of this bird, who explores,
into the space-less, horizons
that thunderbolts,
B O O M
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
Sailing the mystic omnipresent seas,
on a craft made of dragonfly's wings.
Tacking across the magical breeze,
caused by songs that the sirens sing.
Weathered and worn by infinite tides,
holding lines made of eternal foible.
The warrior's blade like a rudder she rides,
in a sheath made of filigreed sable.
Virulent flow of futurity's pandemic,
vibrant waters fertile subtle surreal.
Ephemeral beings translucent endemic,
purveys omnipresent augur's appeal.
The starlit sky imbues waterfall's mist,
myriad creatures seek eternity's mantra.
Vivid delineations of artistry's gist,
seeking virile omnipotent yantra.
Celestial heights where eagles traverse,
soaring and gliding we learn to fly.
Must life be terminal we say of terse,
whilst composing music to make angels sigh.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
Why must
you
pick
out every little
foible
I possess when
I am more
than just
a flaw
but
a
person who
actually exists
and matters.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 12:39 PM UTC
Melancholia
is not mine
but a fruit that I chew upon
slowly at first
nippling the bud at the tip
******* the juice from the tip
baby,
just
a little bite
creating trenches
in skin, tiny crooked marks,
the footprints of the biter,
the mark of treasure hidden.
And you look so tangerine sour,
baby, doesn't matter
it's a dream of my own
mine only
and i'll watch as
salvia lingers off your skin
slathering upon the constellations on that that is lanky and pure
and the hairy forestation of your past discretions
stretching wide from fingertip to fingertop
see x marks the spot
that bitemark there--
is the foible my strength.
bootlegged and stolen through
a many tear ago.
just hoping to find
moon craters and lagan lollies
once again.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
a foible fixer
polished white pond rock, no splash
i wobble and sob
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC
You hope that university will answer all of life’s questions, but nope.
I don’t know, I.
There was a guy who’d been hanging around outside our residence lately. Too consistently. At first, I thought he was someone’s friend but he’s always alone. He wasn’t doing anything or bothering my roommates, but that asymmetry set off my alarms.
He looked at me once (which I suppose isn’t a crime), I think, it was quick - a blink of sharp curiosity. I mentioned it to Charles who took his picture. The next morning he said the guy’s a legit student who has no criminal record, so maybe I’m all wrong.
Every girl’s encountered a creep or two before. They’re seemingly everywhere, as if mandated by law, like auto insurance. Most girls develop a sixth sense, a creep-dar. Nowadays, creeps have a new name, “incel” ("involuntary celibate") and they’re a recognized, online subculture. Next, they’ll have a coat of arms proclaiming, “We Would if We Could.” It’s as if awkwardness, a normal human foible, has been distilled into something dangerous.
Although the campus looks like a garden or a perfectly manicured ‘stepford’ park, we joke that it’s really a locked-down, patrolled, surveilled compound, with guards, cameras and card-key access to everything. Which, I suppose, is all to the good.
Our creeper wasn’t there Friday, and he wasn’t there today, so maybe he was nothing.
I don’t know, 2.
I was in Sunny’s room. We were going shopping in a few. There was a little pink book on her bed - a diary!! I’d never seen it before and it was open, about three-quarters of the way. She too-casually moved to scoop it up, like the neglected book of a sorcerer.
My GOSSIP-dar Alerted like a class bell. “Hmm” I hummed, head-tilted, then I laughingly lunged for the book.
Sunny’s eyes went wide for 3-billionths of a second and she snapped it up with the speed of a striking cobra, “That’s MINE” she said, rigid with seriousness.
“What’s going ON?!” I asked, but she shoved it into her night table.
Another mystery!
‘Sleeping dogs,’ I thought to myself.
Apr 10, 2023
Apr 10, 2023 at 2:38 PM UTC
Sailing the mystic omnipresent seas,
on a craft made of dragonfly's wings.
Tacking across the magical breeze,
caused by songs that the sirens sing.
Weathered and worn by infinite tides,
holding lines made of eternal foible.
The warrior's blade like a rudder she rides,
in a sheath made of filigreed sable.
Virulent flow of futurity's pandemic,
vibrant waters fertile subtle surreal.
Ephemeral beings translucent endemic,
purveys omnipresent augur's appeal.
The starlit sky imbues waterfall's mist,
myriad creatures seek eternity's mantra.
Vivid delineations of artistry's gist,
seeking virile omnipotent yantra.
Celestial heights where eagles traverse,
soaring and gliding we learn to fly.
Must life be terminal we say of terse,
whilst composing music to make angels sigh.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 6:03 PM UTC
I want reverence and paradise.
I attest to formerly
Conspiring to become a sage.
Chastise me you might,
But observe the foible,
It is not idiosyncratic of me.
Sages are misinterpreted by many
As models to be emulated
For the sake of love and happiness.
The real sage is the seasoning
To be incorporated from
Rebel Truth's fecund message.
You, the seasonal visitor,
Let go of your habitual luggage,
And traverse the transit.
Originally written 9/27/11
Revised 10/21/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
His last memory was my cold shoulder, as I with ease severed our bonds
Tears embraced the pain filled face, and nightmarish shrieks took ahold of me
Each step was strenuous, a colossal amount of weight
And it was not as though my body could not move, but that my heart was unwilling to leave
Why does it always rain on those who deserve the sun? Such is a question that has no answer
Perhaps if I filled myself with suppositions a bit longer, it would soon become natural
Regret swarmed my mind and thoughts, I could do nothing but ponder what could have been different
Under the blazing sun, on the smooth warm green grass that hugs us both
The calm delicate face of his hand asks mine for a kiss, and grasp one another tenderly, bashfully sharing warmth
Hazel orbs directed at my own, seemingly pouring inside sweet endearment
Of course, we were not the only stars in the sky, another match made in heaven were joyful right along with us
The blazing sun had duet with he moons, and in the finale the role of spotlight was handed to the moon
As it twirled onto the center the sun cast a spell of light making the moon a star to be seen by all
He lied their imperfect revealing every foible, the thick, viscous blackness oozing out his heart
And surely, I am no better on the inside, sorrow rolling on my cheeks, immortal wickedness enslaving me
Yet a lovely pair sprouted their feathery wings and flew towards us only to perch on us
One drew a smile and unease lifted itself from my shoulders
T’was an exquisite blissful night, and dreamy desires filled my mind
‘Could our love be as beautiful as the moon and the sun’s?’ one whispered
No, it cannot my imperfection will make sure of that
How I adore you who investigates my heart and still intends to come closer, but the closer you are the more we hurt, simply the act of smiling at another can trouble you for days
Being friendly with an old friend summons insecurity and jealousy, and suddenly endearment is no longer sweet
For I’ve cut the both of us too deeply with my selfish love, tis so cruel I always want what I cannot have
My last memory was his hand reaching out to me and his pleading face, as I in tears severed our bonds
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
The inveterate stump splits
sere flakes of tree-bark
falling upon the frigid grass
wet from rainclouds
settling in the yard.
A wedge placed in a foible
metal rusted from years of use
a crack running
down weathered outer layers
to a hollow center
filled with refuse.
I am handed the axe
I feel its weight
suitable for the work
the old man has begun
whose grey hands
can no longer complete.
We pick up the pieces, his back groans and clicks
rain continues to pelt my hood
I mention Thoreau
He just stares
with indifference to the gloom
my boots are soaked with the mud of the day
I put the tools in the shed for another time.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
She’s erudite
And mellifluous
While I’m foible-filled
And moribund
She is everything I try to be
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 6:23 AM UTC
Good artists borrow
Great artists steal
A Picasso quote
I look in the mirror
I see myself
And yet I paint
With Picasso strokes
Picasso lines
Picasso designs
Am I possessed
By Picasso?
Do I have to dress
Like Picasso?
Evolution
Survival of the fittest
Am I only a part of the
Picasso food chain?
Does Picasso reach out,
A brush in hand,
Stroking a canvass
‘Til I understand?
Am I an emissary,
A foible for his art?
Do I face stagnation?
Do I play a part?
But no small parts
Only small actors
I retrace my steps
I look again in the mirror
I find my reality
Picasso is dead
And I live on
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
Sailing the mystic omnipresent seas,
on a craft made of dragonfly's wings.
Tacking across the magical breeze,
caused by songs that the sirens sing.
Weathered and worn by infinite tides,
holding lines made of eternal foible.
The warrior's blade like a rudder she rides,
in a sheath made of filigreed sable.
Virulent flow of futurity's pandemic,
vibrant waters fertile subtle surreal.
Ephemeral beings translucent endemic,
purveys omnipresent augur's appeal.
The starlit sky imbues waterfall's mist,
myriad creatures seek eternity's mantra.
Vivid delineations of artistry's gist,
seeking virile omnipotent yantra.
Celestial heights where eagles traverse,
soaring and gliding we learn to fly.
Must life be terminal we say of terse,
whilst composing music to make angels sigh.
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 12:56 PM UTC
Devils of saintly virtues?
Or a saint of sin?
Who is evil or good?
Who bestowed such titles?
A boisterous ***** baron?
Ordained by dour dukes?
Spilled blood to pave a road?
Does your honor sunder and erode?
Was it virtuous to shove innocents?
To put them under lock and key?
Saintly, to make them fear?
Courage, to turn a blind eye?
Is it a sin to feed the starving enemy?
A devil to help a dying foreigner breath?
Bereave their suffering?
To feel guilt when malnourished prisoners beg for feed?
What makes you so noble?
Foible flags, and an adorable mantra?
A little training makes it right?
Maybe you know it does not,
Paving roads with bones and blood?
Did you join to fire a gun?
To retrieve bullets from inside of someone?
To stand for your flag and defend?
Does a medal wash away those sins?
All forgiven because you won?
Bombs dropped and humanity undone,
Another chapter in the book of justification,
Titled, ‘War is Hell’
The history of death, peace unsung,
Souls seized, leaders appeased,
From rot, money and disease,
Waiting for battle under south side trees,
What makes you better then them?
Education? A uniform?
Signing your life away to conform?
What if your not as noble as you seem?
Noble intentions in a hellish scene,
In total might, what if neither is right?
A hired killer of a higher power,
Atrocities in the name of swell intentions,
Killing for Lord Benton, or General Jenkins,
Does what you read make you mad?
Or sad?
Will war ravished ruffians take pity?
Is it wrong if they slaughter and **** your life?
Everyone in it?
Will your god founded, blessed flag save you?
Maybe they are right,
After all,
You did it to them first,
Suddenly it’s wrong? No chalking up to war is hell?
Maybe you’re lost,
Maybe notches on your gun makes you proud of past,
Maybe feel lied to, in a cloud,
Or maybe you’re a demonic psychopath,
The history of Saints is usually tattered with sin,
Passing volatile judgements upon men,
Devils usually do what they are asked,
Whether or not it should come to pass,
After all,
It was conflict that caused Edens fall,
Do you care if you’re right or wrong?
You, mercenary of the flag?
When is wrong, right?
Right, wrong?
Call you hero and sing your song,
Will history see it like you?
After all,
Stonewall made innocent civilians fall,
Regarded hero,
Instructed by a drunk,
Who are you?
What makes you so great?
Why are you right?
Why are you wrong?
In the end, I don’t care if you think,
Or ask yourself stated questions,
That’s not my biz,
Simply put...
It is what it is..
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
sing sighs softly
o' wind
i walk with you
and i regard myself
(and how shall i regard myself?)
am i you?
do i flick or flutter?
without lips your whispers
are like incessant draping
fibers looser than tighter.
o' wind then,
answer me
are you again me?
or perhaps am i you?
you are like seas
bashful and incredible
you fold and buckle
seamless reams of
fingerless hands
you are barely muscles
and whole glancing
infinities.
of me, is there some
quality, that is you?
or do i remain a
simple foible?
a little meekness?
or am i(like you almost)
terrible and beautiful?
(well you don't say
a thing so i'll do this:
i'll **** my timid notion
and my diminutive weak
body will die too and oceans
of laughter will pile a crisp
tumult from my breast and
i'll yoke darkness to my shoulders
and i'll cram out into fathomless
tiny space every inch and dash of me
and i'll be beautiful like you O' WIND
i'll be beautiful like your dreadful glorious heave)
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 6:01 AM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He had left for work that morning: like any other morning
I was off from work that day: somehow that day felt different
The baby was in daycare,
Something kept nagging at my subconscious
But deep down it was there
Nagging away
I felt like crying, yet I wasn’t sad.
I collected my school books and I put them away in my backpack
Sometimes when we take a warm shower
Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart.
I knew about the other woman: but didn’t want to believe
How many times could a person repeat the same lie over and over
he said that he was out late playing a games of dominoes with the guys
I guess after that long shower that afternoon
my alters must have taken over: it was getting close to the hour
For me to leave for my evening classes
I did what had to be done. I called him and asked
What time he plan on picking up the baby from daycare
I put away my keys and I put my backpack out of sight
And made my way into the large closet and waited
For the suspect to come home
I became an intruder: in my own home
I remember the clicking of keys as he opened the door
My heart was pounding fast: however my mind was sharper than ever
His daily routine, he opened the icebox and took out a snack
before coming into the bedroom and turning on the television
he sat down on his favorite chair,
then he made the phone called
That call was the beginning of everything
Lawyers, Judges, family court
And most of all the ending of my happiness,
Words I that I wish I had never have heard from those
Lying lips
The silence in the closet: my pounding heart
I heard him said to her
“Hello honey how was your day”?
With that sweet tenderness in his voice
My heart drop to floor as I ease drop on the conversation
I remember coming out of that closet like a crazy woman
and knock the ******* out with the night light
There’s so many way to catch a cheater.
I boldly caught one.
My foible kicks in:
because no sin like this is never ever forgiven
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
I remembered the Sequoia
I haven't forgotten
I remembered the Acacia
I haven't forgotten
I remembered
I'm seeing Amaranth
I'm seeing Allure
I'm seeing Aragon
I'm seeing Azure
Aurora
I felt the mist
I tasted the fog
I drank the dew
I heard the rain
resurrect
I know the hum
I know the beat
I know the rythm
I know the sound
Orchestral
Winter is warming
Summer is overated
Autumn is serene
Fall is saddening
I feel
This ambience is tranquil
Sometimes horrifying
This atmosphere is pacific
Sometimes petrifying
The sensation of being solus
The sensation of being unloved
The sensation of being foible
Me.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
No matter how or what you write
A myth, a melodrama or a mystery,
About your life or a dreadful night
In a poem, a song or a short story.
Write in a manner to evoke pathos
And in matter to mirror a tragedy,
Establish a sincere sense of ethos
Whether you write a satire or a comedy.
Either try to provoke a hearty laughter
Or to elicit a feeling of warm sorrow,
Steer them stealthily to a myth buster
Or promise them of a better tomorrow.
Write an epic, an elegy or a pastoral
With a sublime, visionary imagination,
A ballad, an ode or even a doggerel
Of a dramatic event or a silly situation.
Perceive the pulse and tone of the people,
The image, the rhythm and the sound,
The habit, custom, creed and the foible,
Develop the theme with metaphors abound.
The essence of life belongs to poetry,
It is an ever enriching avocation
Where purity of love overcomes bigotry
Where reality juxtaposes with imagination.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
Amour, tu es trop fort, trop foible est ma Raison
Pour soustenir le camp d'un si rude adversaire.
Va, badine Raison, tu te laisses desfaire :
Dez le premier assaut on te meine en prison.
Je veux, pour secourir mon chef demy-grison,
Non la Philosophie ou les Loix : au contraire
Je veux ce deux fois nay, ce Thebain, ce Bon-pere,
Lequel me servira d'une contrepoison.
Il ne faut qu'un mortel un immortel assaille.
Mais si je prens un jour cest Indien pour moy,
Amour, tant sois tu fort, tu perdras la bataille,
Ayant ensemble un homme et un Dieu contre toy.
La Raison contre Amour ne peut chose qui vaille :
Il faut contre un grand Prince opposer un grand Roy.
601
When the stars did tumble
And the moon it failed to rise
Ever I will remember
The sadness in your eyes
I knew not how I hurt you
What foible lay exposed
I knew no resurrection
Lay in a poet’s prose
Emotions like a river
Its water flows untamed
Wash over every feeling
Till nothingness remained
Reflecting in the darkness
As angers shadow fell
Embers cooled and darkened
Till my rage, it did dispel
I lay here in the darkness
Looking to the skies
Ever I will remember
The sadness in your eyes
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 9:41 AM UTC
An ill found everywhere
especially prevalent in society's
higher echelons
but the lower folk are not free
from its effects
do as I say
not as I do
perhaps its simply
a human foible
and no cure is available
aside from awareness
like so many woes.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC