"redressed" poems
reverence in poetry. everything to every person.
reader claims they can a necessary skill for
uncover the reverence. successful hypothecating and
in the scripts that (buying)poetry-creation outta nothing,
life straight hands me, tell them what thy want to hear,
for collection & correction, and they’ll call you laureate,
secretarial transcribing, instead of good listener
binding, typo correction or just a keen observer-fakir
mundane are the tasks, just take what they give ya,
that’s all them muses ask, dress it like Joseph in a
don’t interfere, taken what’s given, coat of many colors,
bow, curtsy, show respect, don’t let on your plagiarism
treat its aspects/instincts correctly is all them, redressed legally
you’re just the pass through agent, true you, gotta be smart about it,
patient for no payment expected, variant spellings, swinging verbs,
be our adherent, not our truant, be discreet, they’ll call your script
we appoint don’t disappoint, a real keeper and give love or sun,
accept our patent, render legit mucho poem emojis accoladeya
as for this reverence thinge devil in a blue dress, walk the streets
if I do my job ok, on any day, grabbing snatches of overhearings,
any poem could save a life, pressed into a single tunic, you think,
if I get the commas placed, he a genius, knows my thinking,
just right, the periods period, exactly, what a great poet and
while obeying the speed limit con/hu-man par excellent
them muses so **** pleased even fool muses, too full themselves,
by this true confession released, muses who think we stink and
and self deprecation, couldn’t do it without them
they call me reverend, great pretenders by stealing
imagine them silly folk, everything in everybody and
calling a big fat liar. all thieves and cape riders,
reverend, duh, the end original liars, pants on fire
before midnight and after 3:20am April 7~8, two oh nineteen
any message you send becomes my intellectual property, fool....
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
the world is full of emptiness
how so you may inquire?
the following dissertation
shall give you an insight
as to the emptiness
that is around our globe
stay seated in your arms chairs
and at your computer screens
these words shall reveal the story
for all of you to glean
in Third World countries
not a bite of food to eat
yet in Western countries they waste it
and throw it on the streets
it is said there is plenty
of food on the planet for all
but starving millions
wait for a meager crumb to fall
here the evidence
placed in front of you
and it doesn't make
for a kindhearted view
were there to be a little
sharing and fairness
the great emptiness
may well be redressed
on our planet the picture
will remain thus
and this salient tale
is a wake up call to each of us
the rabid feasting
in rich nations is really quite obscene
while those in Third World countries
live with bellies poorly mean
take a moment to ruminate
on what has been said
as you butter
your daily portion of bread
Epilogue
those who have not a mouthful
isn't it profane
the world is full of emptiness
as this dissertation has explained
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
dinner Greenport-side, watching the shuffling ferries do
their sworn duty, a back ‘n forth wearisome toll,
while we sip a rose and a PBR, respectively and with respect
no enthusiasm afterward for anything but an early off to bed,
and slip into pj’s asap
me in my knackered wholly Hanes fundie knickers,
no thinking required
but she
retires, re-attires in a summery combo,
a gray sweat t-shirt and green and white
plaid pj pants
which she is unawares are my favorites
cause they lop off fifty years,
a teenage woman re-incarnate recreated
cause her figure now womanly full,
better than then
morning awake l, a disturbance of the peace,
recall a snuggling a wake up hug,
and her bottoms conspicuously
gone missing
over break fast I inquire
over yogurt and berries and a
smoked mozzarella omelette,
what happened to those plaid bottoms?
assuming I was innocent of any transgressions
as best I could recall
with a sheepish childlike grin,
that made look like she was twenty again,
to match the now yoga toned body,
she confesses:
forgot to tie the bowstrings
and they slipped down to my ankles
blessed and cursed I thought!
too much of a gentleman to take advantage,
AND my situational awareness was slipping badly,
but when a poem comes across,
ready and pre-writ,
I’m still young enough to grab aholt of it
and never let go
6/23/18
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 2:42 PM UTC
when that hopefully ecofriendly R.I.P becomes my final home
whether bios urn
or spirit seed
or any trendy tree from corpse to copse,
from dust to leaves
or better than
a crematorial commode --for fresher air and fuel for brighter flames
transplanted into other selves
redressed in mushroom spore-suit
seeded with the genes of generations hence and past,
piercing veils to fruit above again,
a mycophile to the last--
i will have lived with growth in mind,
that firm amorphous
ground opining green
to kindly live and die in kind
foment another view,
encompass monumental evanesce
supernal tablets branching neo-dolmen ethernexusnets beyond the r00ts
barking technoshaman psychic rings about a fiberoptic rosey,
perhaps a sappier refrain for finer silica domains
to sing along and echo Dryads doting long ago,
in threaded tones the make-remaking fold
of earthenborn rekindled kin of stars
decided to invent to cater otherworldly themes
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
The smell of ink and abandonment lingered in the air as I stepped inside the room we had scarred. Dust has found a home at last - a place where all your faults were accepted and my hope was never questioned. This is where we hold our entire world. This is where each second lasts everlastingly. This is where forever lives.
Tissues slept on the floor like confetti for my return mixed with crippled promises you have dropped and forgotten.The bedsheet lay awake, exhausted, weary, heaving the sigh you exhaled in a lock room - the smell of your desire, of my frustration, of our longing, of my name. I wonder if they had kept your heartbeat. I wonder if I could have it back.
I wonder if I could have you back.
The silence had preserved every single thing you have uttered - every word a bar, each sentence another lock. Your voice hanged themselves on the cobwebs, the cobwebs had consumed the space and you had filled me with wishes, longing and regrets. I have never expected you to say hello again. I certainly never shall. You never did. You never will.
We slept in our mask and redressed in denial.
Forever is still etched on the atmosphere. I can feel you touching the small of my back, paving your way through my spine, reaching your way to where the burnt maps, love letters, crumpled clothes and drawn out nights were. I can feel you possessing my nape. I can hear you whispering my name. I can see you piercing the night. Why do always you have to be so wonderful?
The scars you have etched on my skin breathe like stars on the pillows you have wounded. They glowed longingly for that smell of yours they’re acquianted with. They stood beyond eternity. The inteminable look in your eyes before you sleep had tampered the wallpapers - the audience of those nights we own, when everything was forgotten, including the world. The story of what if and what could have been filled the space between us - never allowing my arms to cling around your neck, never wanting you to kiss my ear, shielding you to find us on the swell between my *******
The clock had stopped working.
At least it won’t steal my time.
Maybe I can sleep tonight.
Maybe we can be infinite.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
A poet, an artist, (with little restraint)
Penciled words on his canvas, saw no use for paint,
Crafted words into pictures; Visions out loud.
Of most of his work, was exceedingly proud.
Unfettered, unbounded, his huge canvas at wait
He brandished his pencil and began to create.
Desiring a masterpiece, appealing to all
Pride prompted his excess, preceded his fall
Trapped in a vortex, surrounded by words,
Shared them with others to see if they heard.
The public was skeptic, and reflected the same
His confidence shattered; His ability shamed
He had written with passion, as if possessed
But the silence of critics left him redressed.
“Who is it says everyone cannot be pleased?
Off with their heads! Get them down on their knees!”
He drew a sharp sword, surrendered a laugh,
Sliced his canvas to shreds, cut his pencil in half.
“I’ve heard your silence, the first version *****
Sharpened his pencil, wrote ‘Surrounded Redux. ’
PwL 4/20/15
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
and ninety-nine ******* ain't one of them
I handle payments to child support
and visit all 25 of them when i can
I see my probation officer regular
got one box chevy with twenty fours
an old cadillac redressed
into low ridin' elegance
silk sheets and 60 inch telly
in all my rooms
I got cookin' skills
turnin' powder into chunks o' rock
make more money than my dad saw
in he's whole life
got ******* sweatin' me But
one prob
worries me
I got no future
cause eventually
I gonna catch a cap or a felony
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:01 AM UTC
Janet snarled at me,
As I redressed her with bloodless clothes,
Those eyes could **** but for unknown reasons,
They denied me release.
Not looking upon her with a single eye,
It was a hideous sight,
Washed her clean of nightmares,
Worn outside her skull,
Beside a waterwheel followed by no one,
Except my guilt.
I tainted once heavenly waves,
Of prosperity that flowed between hands,
Sticking not an inch up my arms,
I was denied awareness of that difference between,
Surface temperature and groundwater.
Because I had to do what she needed,
Not what she wanted,
Janet pressed that silence,
That stole her voice, replaced by primal utterings,
To my unafraid throat.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
The Bride which was its essence unto woman, the
Bridegroom which was its essence unto man--the
Living Epithalamium.
Generational rings slipped on and off the earth...
whose lives lived, and to be lived amongst the
manifold induction to creaturesque contention.
Championed, as to be made in the Image that
allows All--and of that All as it shone upon this
earth...the Bride and Bridegroom emerged from
that blinding Light.
...Partake of this your earth, a still unshakable
inner voice implored, for you would not be, nor
this earth, were it not for my longing that you
should partake of it.
You are fruitful, so how shall you not go forth
and be therefore.
This life has neither floor nor ceiling, what is down
is up, and up...down--that is so ye may be chastened
by the ineffable...Living Epithalamium.
Love, were it not--pit against for hatred's sake...
as if in your time I stood opposed in my own--we
could and should tire of such time...as to relent our
time to one another, thus be rid of it.
Transfixed...thy face--resolute as to crumble stone...
wed be as you are, and ever shall be...so loved One...
by the Living Epithalamium.
Thou art an open Wound dressed and redressed...
delivered thereby.
How so of many a time, and no time to dearly depart
from that Wound...were question, question enough...
O Living Epithalamium.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
So I've lost the battle
maybe lost the war
seems like there's nothing
left fighting for
got my head in the sand
say: "it's too late man"
no i don't—see,
I don't understand
is all just a mess
just a worthless wreck
nothing's going right
It can't be redressed
falling falling
can't fly on burning wings
falling falling
dark angel sings
a thousand nightmares quoting ravens in my head
a thousand monsters beneath my bed
a wayward heart wandering forever
cant there be peace, rest, ever?
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 12:30 AM UTC
Hanging in the summer silence....
Nothing.
A tiny mouse of the sky passes by.
Snatching midges in full flight.
The presence of a late summer night.
Bonfire crackling.
The aura of brightness.
Dead wood redressed.
The fire dances.
A little like an evening witch.
Wearing melting nets.
Chunks of old wood.
No use anymore.
Burning to perfection.
Ashes.
Eyelashes of dead-end wood.
Heart of the evening.
All well.
It's good.
The fire dies.
The bat retreats.
See you again tiny chap.
Same time.
Same place.
Maybe next week.
(c)Livvi
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
The rain has stopped falling,
and the sun no longer shines.
Can broken hearts
truly be mended?
perhaps, on the other side.
The joke bears the retelling.
You didn't cry alone.
Your suffering is ended.
In song you still go on.
May the loser finally win
May your sorrows be redressed.
May broken hearts be rendered whole
May your tears be dried at last.
( Robin Gibbs, RIP)
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 1:34 PM UTC
I'm swinging.
As the autumn leaves chase each other on the dark pavement of this chilled night,
I'm swinging.
I'm glancing around at what I can and noticing no one is out, just me and the leaves.
I'm swinging.
Replaying the last argument I had in my head over and over.
I'm swinging.
I glance at the moon in hope of some sense of company but I'm left with nothing but empty loneliness.
I'm swinging.
I thought once I got to this point I should be somewhere else, feel something else... But
I'm swinging.
My body runs cold and my eyes won't shut.
I'm swinging.
No mobility and no sense of warmth.
I'm swinging.
I realize now that there is no end.
I'm swinging.
The sun arises and the people shuffle out of their warm homes.
I'm swinging.
I'm eventually cut down, I see everyone's reactions and their fake tears. But why do I still feel like
I'm swinging.
I'm redressed and pampered up but I still feel as if
I'm swinging.
The horror as they glue my eyes closed, knowing the only thing I will see for eternity is the back of them.
I'm swinging.
I hear the hushed voices above me, all pretending to have had such a great life with me in it.
I'm swinging.
I hear the shut of my coffin and being rolled into the back of the hearse.
I'm swinging.
I feel the swing of them lowering me in the ground on which pounds of dirt will hide this pointless expensive coffin.
I'm swinging.
And here I am. Alone with my thoughts, the one thing that drove me to this point, the one thing I found I'll never escape, and I'm still swinging.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
I’m astounded, not bounded, confounded, dumbfounded,
Hounded and grounded and surrounded by words.
A Poet 10W:
An artist with a universal canvas, using words as paint.
Ballads, rhythmic fun
Joyful song, Cries of despair
All kinds of poems.
A wordsmith from way far away
Convinced the crowd he had nothing to say;
“My current work does not show it,
But I would be a great poet
If my words would get out of my way.”
Who is there that has not (after wine and a woman) thought himself Shakespeare?
Desirous of her continuing affections, composed a sonnet recounting her beauty and proclaiming his eternal love…………………….
“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall………………..”
A poet, an artist with little restraint
Penned words on his canvas,
Saw no use for paint,
Bent those words into pictures
Visions out loud
Of most of his work, was exceedingly proud.
But the public was skeptic
And reflected the same
His confidence shattered
His ability shamed
Still he wrote with a passion
As if possessed
To silence his critics
Until each was redressed.
“Who is it says everyone cannot be pleased?
Off with your heads! Get down on your knees!”
He drew a sharp sword, surrendered a laugh
Sliced his canvas to shreds, cut his pencil in half.
“I’ll be the judge of what I want to say,”
Sheathed pencil and sword, then walked away.
PwL 4/18/15
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
.....the love showed up...
..mocking at my door..
...scratching imperfections...
..into the paint..
...till my senses jarred...
..and the manor with which I viewed this world..
...was declared
(feast in maw)
"Dealt with"
I battered open the door
And let in
An overwhelming nutritional excess....
.....refeeted in this way
I was handed all this :
The damage was
a Rinth of Life
when all I wanted
was a page to unfold
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC
obim,
the most beautiful thing about loving you
are the things i learn about love;
how it can be synonym for wings
and how loving the right woman
was a metaphor for flying, higher
than all the hurdles that used to be a blockade
igosirim na ihu n’anya bu ije
you taught me that love was a journey
and one with purpose
so that it explained a reason
for holding on to life
when difficulties scatter all over
like question marks on a blank sheet
the love we shared became the answer
that explained the destination
at the end of the obscure roads that life was
obim, loving you made me into a philosopher
that searched for optimism
in the unlikeliest of places which turned out
to be the most beautiful
because everything becomes beautiful around you
and when we are out together at night,
I see the face of hope, redressed
in the twinkle stars far up in the sky
when we walk around the parks in the evening,
I perceive music in the chirping of crickets
when we hold hands as we walked together
and you press mine, I feel myself melting into you
it is not that the problems of life go away
sometimes, they come knocking on my door
dressed in their intimidating doses
then I remember, it is you who shares this path with me
and that love is a synonym for wings
and loving you, a metaphor for flying past hurdles
so I fasten my seatbelts and fly
obim, loving you is a safe journey through these rough roads.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 6:34 PM UTC
and so the continually pained
redressed, sawn-off are fingers
to halt the clutch of things
not ours -- pure in the hour of
restlessness, all oblivious/
and no such mechanism as dream when
our tides harbor at shore,
paled and on bent knees wryly
seeking plenitude hours compressed
in uncollected days, in here was uttered
its rapture of light displaying its luminosity
of absence, this is what they said it would
be but did not come to be, seen only
at a distance coming to intimate terms with
pilgrims of shadowed cities bearing no
names. our nakedness to its promise
do so sing, nothing else but move to
its beat, alive are we but not too long,
this interlocutor, for now
we dig our hands in mud and face the sun.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC
We are the lucky ones
We get to tell our story
With all our guts
And it's glory
When you have taken everything
And there isn't any more to give
It's time to forgive
Forget the effect
I want special effects
Not pyrotechnics
When you have taken anything
And all that's left
Is distress
Various states of undress
Haven't redressed the balance
It becomes a challenge
And you think you can't manage
To emerge from the dream
The silent screams
As you crawl along the floor once more
It's hard to ignore
When you have taken the something
The essence of me
Because you wanted to see
How far you could take
It was a mistake
To underestimate
Just how much you thought I could lose
You take what I give
Once upon a time
It was willingly free
I paid too higher price
When you want nothing more
and I'm replaced
With another face
I'm toe to toe with my reflection
Which direction
As I look over my shoulder
Am I really wiser as I get older
When my everything was nothing
More than something to discard
Is honesty so hard
The anything left to say
Will wait for another day
My depiction of the situation
Isn't a fairytale it isn't fiction
As I pick up the pieces
I know where it leads to
I'm stronger
Who knew what was to come
Time will stitch up the scars
As I look up to the stars
I thank my luck
My story
Well it's just begun
I'm not just anyone
I'm everything something
Someone.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
Dull and grey
What has become of you
Lying face down, not a care anymore
Stripped of pride and redressed cheaply
So much passion and truth
Gone, taken in your youth
Go on and listen to your pendulum
Go on to your Annabel lee
Rest now, man in the street
Dec 15, 2024
Dec 15, 2024 at 12:11 AM UTC
we are all liars.
in the endless combat battle of our internal infernal eternal
wills,
we lie-kid-delude ourselves with futuristic promises,
false pretenses,
oaths and rosy predictions
in bold and bareface thoughts,
all lies, as they pass from the conscious
to the part of the brain where
guilt is stored and storied
our success leads to extensions,
the big white lies we tell others
from shame, or kindness,
and trip so easy off our moistened,
tongue licked lips, that we are continually
amazed
by our ease telling
lies.
I read the words **factual liberty” in the “newspaper of record,”(1)
regarding some political figures who oft
do tell short and tall tales
with great frequency, are
feel free by taking
“factual liberty”
and so
my
heart
skips a beat:
hostages released,
lies well dressed
and redressed
in prom attire lies well
dressed poems birthed
for the arbiters of
worldwide
propriety,
have granted me
life and the
pursui of happiness,
and most importantly
liberty, from those terrorizing
the
factuals
Sun~Day
Jun9
2024
8:55AM
_in my hometown~
Jun 9, 2024
Jun 9, 2024 at 8:57 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
How can we address
Things we don’t express
And think nevertheless
They will be redressed
Why should we assume
In a smokeless back room
Talk will then resume
As to how to close the wound
****** has returned
Because we haven’t learned
But now look who’s concerned
Now that the table’s turned
It’s creating quite a scare
Because it’s everywhere
In the suburbs they’re in prayer
Over who the Lord should spare
Go to college
Then go broke
And that’s not just a joke
There’s no mirrors or no smoke
It’s a sad reality
And I’m sure you would agree
Much to the banker’s glee
It’s affected you and me
Now there is no middle class
It’s regulated to our past
See it vanished much too fast
It’s either rich or poor by contrast
When conservative do what they does
Nothing stays the way it was
And perhaps that’s just becuz
They’ve put the past on pause
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
We part but meet daily
In everything that moves
The caterpillar and the cranefly
The fairies with dainty shoes
So what I laid out for you
In times of greatest best
Will always be before
As you get redressed
Don't look in the mirror
You will not find me there
But in the books I've chosen
And plant pots here and there
I sleep with the dollies
The ones from long ago
And all those you gave me
With your love to show.
To My lovely family
Love Mary ***
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 8:16 AM UTC