"foley" poems
Snowy,foley,blowy,
Showery,flowery,bowery,
Hoppy,Croydon,droopy,
Breezy,sneezy,freeze.
And the twelve months.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 5:53 AM UTC
The Deerfield keeps me. My eyes follow the treeline testing my wit, tossing new exemplary corybantic lights. They zoom around me in hurried whirling motion. Then you appear. You can have my moon and my planets, my stars, and I haven't even spoken yet. In the midst of an earnest offering to the first of three heavy drinking boisterous uneasy types. I tell the stranger I'll drive him the, but what- .2 miles to his home- and your light exaserbates my speech.
Maybe you thought I'd go for your nose, but I'm after your breath. Rightly so, too many men have squandered much of the joy from being superfluously strangely with strangers. The drunk party exits screen left, and a new character, a Kennedy evolves from the shadows.
[This is where you begin conducting]
My thoughts brim with colors, patterns, shades, and hues. I paused to take in these profound chakras I thought had become the desiccate dusty footprints, walking around Foley's pond trying to find the best fishing hole through the rough and tangled undergrowth that consumed those hours of my life.
Your writing is far better than mine was at your age.
There is depth and richness in the vocabulary you choose.
Let me kidnap you for a day, present you with the places I like to let
My eyes gaze upon. Between the thatchwork of black and white and gray.
Where are my hands? The Earth is at my back, she begs me
To pry further, to know better the rejuvenating handy-work she
Has laid before me, and the noncom I mustn't reject either.
I cannot sleep. I wouldn't want to sleep if I could. I would reject it as I am. Drive until daylight casts morning into memory, I would recreate another
Fifty of exceptionally raw and indulgent exchanges. This is before the questions begin.
I inquiry myself to draw your story through the sparseness of details I ferociously gobbled up with excitement and profound wonder. I am absent in my own hours, and yet there is frothy balance, no bedevilments of the flesh, but even so we are only the skin and bone and makings of human. I commit to protect you from harm and show you beauty and humor amidst the chaos and crisis of life's evolution. It is your excruciating curiosity and lack of fear that draws me ever more near.
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
The game played no longer how it once was
No votes on new posts
don't check the trends
or check your own for views and comments
The substantive roaming data of broken WiFi connections
Mangle your jangling words, hide your swollen faces behind forced smiles, Rembrandt bastardisations or smeared oil paintings of the black soul(less) beasts that lurk in satiate tree shadows fawned over the lawnmower blue cycle rinse washed acid soaked daydream ***** slap nation
So you revere the works once read on poetical facsimile sites
only to smear words of younger wordsmith wrangled teen angst
and now in your age and ardor it seems advantageous to judge
But then that will leave you hollow inside
or in fact, you could jump from a tall building only to bounce off the concrete into a children's pool and drown there in three inches of **** coloured rain water
But so instead the workload decreases as your dementia bedpost nightmares
all come aflutter
The laced lily white throng of petal pinched patterns masks
the marked men on their dusty knees
There, watch how heads explode
or listen to foley artists rendering the lacquered finish of the watermelon headjuice
Make up words
or make up lies
Wear make-up daily, earn some prize
or don't
I don't care
idc
idk
Resemble rhyme or reason
Disassemble the times and season
Return to pejorative pretensions, rants in verse verse verse verse prose format and **** the rest
Or simply return to the old ways of playing the game
Upvote this, and maybe they'll take interest
Comment here
return one there
Use tags, hashtags, wash rags, fat slags, arm chair fat cats
But always separated by spaces, prettyblankspaces
No, I don't do slam poetry, I'm too white and not nearly rich enough to not care
Reassemble the times and season, maybe make sense of it
Maybe not
Just don't let them become a passing trend, please
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
the byproduct of the aesthetics of orthography gave us dyslexia (dis-* / negation and -lexia / lexicon), as if already apparent... because dislexia would not look as pretty; alt. meaning of dyslexia? unease with vocabulary, a trouble finding a personal vocabulary - i already mentioned that letters are vox circa (approximate vocalisation), even i make spelling mistakes at times... given dyslexia not dislexia / disease not dysease. (in the polish vox circa the pronunciation of y is like a baritone or bass, while pronunciation of i is like soprano or mezzo, i could give a kabbalistic anatomisation of the mouth for they are indeed very much aligned... but let's just stick to the opera metaphor).*
i trained my œsophagus like a
minor roman noble at a banquet,
now i can smoke and not take out the
**** foley puppet
whenever i want on an empty stomach
smoking the first cigarette and drinking
the first coffee of the morn,
ah christianity’s operating grace...
let’s categorise every pagan practice as
formidable ills,
have the reasons for the crucifixion
loosely knit with the lamb of god’s wool:
that’s two wool threads over my bare chest...
because, just because that new testament
story is so so tightly knit that you can
see the pearly gates with st. peter playing
outlaw cowboy’s quick-draw with the keys,
from havana (of all places) on earth.
poor isaiah, i rather remember you: considering
the fact that you were cut in half at
the abdomen of all equators.
in conclusion? the added diacritic marks
on this latin alphabet came due to the barbaric tongue tie
on the œ and æ... from these two manifestations
we were given é and ó among others,
i still think it’s chaotic, chiseled v,
otherwise papyrus u and the umlaut.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
You can't be strong all the time;
Sometimes it's okay to be weak
But I have a feeling
if you use less energy
trying to be strong,
you'll find you're already
stronger than you realize
And sometimes
strength isn't the answer
Sometimes
your small, soft hands
are exactly what's needed
by someone in pain
Maybe you're good enough
just as you are
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
Working hard is an art
Working hard is a duty
The call of duty that's Updated every day
It's obvious
If we want to eat the fruits of the garden of God
We've to work hard cause
Good things don't come from comfort zones
It's just like Food wars
passion and hard work
But no
Not at all should we be in speed
The kind of Need for speed with hot pursuit
The importance is the destination
How far you go NOT how fast you go
Surely the evil is there
You will believe you are in
Resident Evil mission
But trust me ; look not for monsters
Look for human monsters not to ****
but avoid and warn against
In my long run of life
I had to travel deserts i said to myself
O my God !! Desert Storm and they are all here Bradely - my spirit
Foley/ Sheerman - my soul
Conors - my body
Jones - my hard work
Even when i had crossed the desert ,
battles were not over , are we
in Battlefield till the end
And somebody told me better were in
Infinity war so far as we breathing
No End game
Life without Hard work
Motivation and
God's Courage
Is far more frightening than:
Thanos with the 6 Infinite stones ,or
Galactus at the peak of his Strength and Might.
Life is real
Everyday is now and gone
So let's act now and not
tomorrow
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 12:17 PM UTC
I should have been home
Like Blaze Foley sang in the song, I'm
A Texas boy who left for a little too long.
I arrived to an empty throne, with an empty bottle,
Tears in my eyes. I didn't even question why.
I understood the moment wasn't mine.
When you try to save someone's mind
You'll forget your's in time.
People can only save themselves and even if you fight like hell,
It doesn't matter what you tell,
They must independently become well.
I have wasted too much time and too much energy for anyone to see the good that was in me.
I promise, I'm good, I promise I love you, but for now it might not be above you. It won't change anything but at least you know.
I regret not being at home.
More than ever I regret being alone.
It seems to me the only way to free,
Is to be the good old boy I claim to be.
Keep drifting tree to tree and hope some lovely lady sees.
Forgets what she didn't know and remembers my inner glow.
But I'm keeping my fingers crossed, that one day I won't be lost.
I just hope that it isn't too high a cost.
So today I'll get up and play, maybe even crack a smile that won't go away.
I miss my old ways, what everyone used to say. A happy boy who cared too much. That's what I like to think. Now I'm drowning in my drink.
Well throw me a life jacket, and call me a shrink.
I'm getting back there, to who I was and want to be. If that means I have to be naive, then I'll be dumb and free, but never mean.
I will always be second to the people I care about, and I'll probably break my back trying to sort it all out.
They say hope is wasted on the hopeless, well what is the person who brings them their hope? Is he wasted, or is that his purpose. To be used up with no return. I guess we will find out, and I'll let you know before I'm ashes in an urn.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
Shadows on the walls
even in the prettiest shades
in the arch that stretches
from dawn to dusk;
I see the dark of day.
It is in moments such as these
where I need you the most
to read every single thing
I've ever wrote about you;
my words act as the horrors host.
This sense of
unrelenting security
is it truth or foley?
for it is hard
to teach me to run
if you dear
are only crawling
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
you're so used to being able to abuse whoever you want
that you've started abusing me
like you three are somehow above me
and I'm not a real person with feelings,
I'm just Maddie Foley
and I don't count or
something
and if I get mad when you treat me like ****
then 'whoa man we're just kidding'
and YOU get mad as if i dont have a right
to stand up for myself
and you think that 'that's just our sense of humor' is a good enough reason
to attack and abuse and control
and you don't even see that that's what it is
but if I get upset, I'm 'too emotionally involved'
no, you just don't want to put in the effort to fix yourselves
so you're going to keep abusing each other
and you're never going to address any issues
because you don't care enough
and emotional baggage is a huge no-no
'that's not what friends are for'
have you ever had friends?
oh, right. you've only got one, and your sister.
but I can't say anything because if I do
then there's obviously something wrong with me for not accepting and supporting your 'unique' type of friendship
because you've always wanted to be unique,
probably more than anything else,
and maybe love will fix the issue
but not if you despise the idea of love
and hate talking about it.
and maybe it DOES work for yall, but emotional unfulfillment
sure as hell doesn't work for anyone else
and unless you're willing to develop your character so you can actually
build more relationships than just one,
then you're gonna have a difficult time of it.
if you just search for people who will accept you for 100% who you are now, even at your worst personality,
and don't push you to be better, then you will find a very small percentage of friends.
Relationships need work.
they will never be instantly perfect.
but you don't want work, you just want
to hang out and not talk about issues or problems at all
you don't want to clear the air
you just want to exist, as emotionless and painless as possible
which is exactly what I don't want.
so I tread on and let it continue.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
isn't it strange
the names we give our pets?
the names they'll never know?
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
So, they took his life,
And what harm did James ever do?
Nothing at all; just a man, a good man,
Doing his job, reporting the truth.
Only some people, murderers, is the correct term,
Dislike that he did not share their beliefs.
Islamic fundamentalists are often that way inclined,
Seeing those who are not like themselves,
As disposable human waste,
So, they took his life.
James Foley R.I.P
© Paul M Chafer 2014
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
Barrack’s on vacation, playing golf by the sea,
but life keeps interrupting and wasting greens fees
Iraq is in flames and the country may fall,
Barrack steps calmly up and addresses his ball.
While ISIS is murdering Kurds by the bunch
Barrack’s on vacation and ordering lunch.
Israel is in trouble as Hamas wages war.
Barrack limits arms shipments and tallies his score.
Ferguson, Missouri suffers racial unrest,
while Barrack is debating which driver is best.
James Foley is dead, his throat has been cut.
Our President speaks, and then he makes a nice putt.
My colleagues rebuke me. “Don’t beat a dead horse!”
The President’s great, he’s staying the course.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 7:47 AM UTC
One More Kiss
by James Foley
So one more kiss and then it's over?
We'll say goodbye, goodbye forever?
Though each of us could find some other
Lover, we'd never rediscover
Those fiery hours that once were ours,
If our love ends, if it's all over.
But let our wanderlust recover:
Living to rove and loving roving,
Living to love and loving loving.
Couldn’t we set out, our hearts on fire
To reach the land of heart’s desire,
Where love won't end? It's never over?
Beyond blue seas we'd find new Floridas
Where panthers' eyes shine in the flowers.
Then go again: no bounds, no end.
Just go and go, and never know,
Like careless rivers, where we go:
In love forever, never over.
James Foley
[email protected]
www.beyondthewind.com
www.mywarlove.com
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC
Go into the woods
and tell your story
to the trees.
They are wise
standing in their folds of silence
among white crystals of rock
and dying limbs.
And they have time.
Time for the swaying of leaves,
the floating down,
the dust.
They have time for gathering
and holding the earth about their feet.
Do this.
It is something I have learned.
How they will bend down to you
softly.
They will bend down to you
and listen.
Laura Foley, from Poetry of Presence An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 3:43 PM UTC
This is
me,
standing before the crowded room, exhausted, uncertain, offbeat
the sound of applause at my name
the face of my friend as I
step forward
look around
and begin.
This is
looking out over a group of 600 high schoolers below me
taking in a breath and feeling it liven my lungs
feeling tall and powerful and free
and home.
This is
awards ceremonies at one in the morning
standing on a stage before 600 people, stepping forward
hugging the friend who watched me read, striding up again
to take the prize for my team --
my family.
This is
realizing that some time in the last six hours I have fallen in love
with my opponent
as he steps forward to claim his prize
This is
smiling so hard my face hurts and hugging strangers and feeling okay
This is
reading poetry for a room of strangers
This is
realizing that my voice has not failed me.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
I allow my eyes to roam where the clouds and hills meet
Far across the country is where my thoughts fleet
Somewhere in the distance my memories lie with you
As I sit here on Foley bench I wonder if you think of me too
There's something about this place beneath the 99 pine trees
I think I hear your voice beckoned by the breeze
I wonder where you are and I hope that you're alright
I hope that your happy and that your smiling again tonight.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
I’ve tried for a long time but I think I can’t win
I’d do it all better if I could do it a-gain
Wherever I’m going it’s the same place I been
Ain’t it a cold, cold world
Outside it was hot but inside I am cold
The eyes of the young met the eyes of the old
And what they were thinking I’ll never be told
Ain’t it a cold, cold world
Then an old lady asked me bout this new daylight time
I said it don’t matter and she said I don’t mind
Then the bus driver said you still owe me a dime
Ain’t it a cold, cold world
I can’t get no job and I can’t get no rest
I started out east and I ended up west
And I’m so glad to be here I’m sure, I would guess
Ain’t it a cold, cold world
I might have to leave you, I think’s what she said
Wish I could sleep ‘stead of tossing in bed
And I find myself thinking I’d be better off dead
Ain’t it a cold, cold world
Ain’t it a cold, cold world
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 6:22 AM UTC