"reflexion" poems
On Reflexion I have decided to buy that new Mirror!
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
Do you want a slice of cake,
might keep you going just for now.
But as you are not used to eating,
you have the hooves we'll keep the cow.
The modern world is dying younger,
unlike those in the poorer east.
Who die through lack of food and water,
we're dying because we're obese.
In this modern city arena,
it seems our portion is the more
free health and overwhelming safety
but we save that small slice for the poor.
The waste is massive, over burdened,
tons of food are chucked away.
As we stick to our sell by clearance
just think for what so many pray.
Do we need such a massive slice,
even half would fill our needs.
The west gets fat the east is wanting
scrubbing around for scraps and seeds.
So next time when feasting in McDonalds,
and washing down with large milkshake.
Try and see your own reflexion
and you'll see whom eats all the cake.
Before you leave that busy food-hall,
just have a quick look in the bin
and you will see the unholy waste,
perhaps you'll also see the sin.
The slicing of this planets cake
seems to be divided wrong.
So cut it into a fairer slices
and send it to where it belongs.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
She always burned her
Barbie dolls after she cut
All the hair of that plastic,
Magic perfect blonde ****
She was 11 and had just
Always hated how all
Her family and friends kept
On giving her a doll
That was perfect and had all
And she just couldn't see
The relevance and the elephant
In the room is insecurity
So at 11 she Cant see what she is
but what she is not
her imperfections made her check
If Barbies got what she got
But Barbie did not barbies
perky with both ***** and ****
Her legs don't grow hair
And she don't need cover up
And her short legs look
Nothing like barbies do
Even her *** and
Thighs are all proportioned too
Fit her spectacular body's frame
that frames her reflexion
with the blame to detain
what remained as complexion
Of her oily pimpled skin that
Is too fair and needs a tan
And living up to all that not to
Mention a corvette and a man
That's why Barbie hangs across
Her closet where her mom
Saw the Barbie dolls She hung
by the neck yelling what's wrong
butShe just masks how she
felt so a head doctor was
a psychiatrist who sighed
A bit but had sided with her cause
She was an ugly duckling herself
That Never grew to be pretty
But the city has no pitty for no
Pretty so best you be witty
And told her to keep with the
hate she now held for Barbie
and before She left the doctor said
**** a corvette get a Ferrari
So She left happy but hardly
Cured of her obsession
Over beauty and style,
With a classy shoe collection
But she is now only 11
And reassures herself that she
Is no barbie and would repeat
barbies not prettier than me, and
Til she believes it she still burns them
To hang them soar
Shows a mirror to the bald barbie so
She knows she's not pretty no more
See what its like to feel too short
as She cuts at the knee
She says" i can be more
like Barbie if she's more like me"
Wheres obese Barbie,
or Immigrant Barbie from far
Black haired or short haired Barbie
Who's bus pass is her car
How about welfare Barbie or
realistic Barbie anything but
A smooth long haired long legged
Perfect shaped ***** and ****
With Friggin hips child birth was
Not made for and why
She asks Can't barbie have flaws so
I can pause the feeling that I
Will fail before I try if I
Am expected to be
So beautiful and Barbie never talks
No wonder kens easy to please
the message seems look pretty and
Dont talks all u need
So she hangs them violently
but quietly wishing they would bleed
But as she gets older shell
Like herself more and won't dwell
That god didn't make her a Barbie
maybe hes not as good as matel.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
Beauty is only skin deep. And yet
deep enough to define a gender
a gender good for nothing
but what, eye candy
to be appealing
to those who can't have
what they want. Hypocrites
they criticize us for being fake
Telling beauty is only skin deep but
when situations reversed I would be
pretty and they would be hideous because
if we were judged without faces, what would
you possibly hold a candle too compared to us
who never had the benefit of looks to aid their
appeal, solely relying on what hides beneath
their own complexion. Reflexion in the mirror
being no aid to the likely ness of relationship
So tell me, where the hell do you get
off telling me that you know
whats below your
beautiful skin
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 8:51 PM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
mum's well intended tough upbringing ended in a two sided razor sharp sword
i am independent, intelligent, and successful
that same achievements cause me no shortage of frenemies
and a severe debilitating starvation for true friendship and love
men wont touch me with a 10 foot poll
both sexes make me out to be weird beyond the point of recognising there reflexion in me
imprisoned in a life i wanted, successful
with a incurable case of loneliness, i'm drowning out with food and bad poetry
this is my roaring twenties, hooray
cant wait for the next 80 years
going senile will be a blessing
no longer haunted by pain and unreached potential
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 1:10 PM UTC
It gets better, it gets better I hear them say
As I curl up in a corner wishing for this to end.
Keep it together, everything will be alright
I say to myself as grief and sorrow hold me tight.
You've come so far, don't give up now
I hear the whispers in my head screaming so loud.
Help, help I scream in the darkness as I drown
Waiting for help to be found.
Sadness.
I feel the warm touch of the light
And I see it clear as the day like a blind person who has been granted sight.
My skin starts to tear apart a loud noise sounding from a far
They're no longer screams but the beating of my heart.
I stand up from the corner and Toward the mirror my walking began.
As soon as I see the reflexion i begin to cry
There's a beautiful woman at the other side.
This is me, this is who I am
And for all those like me I will forever stand.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
Sometimes you need to look back
To see over your shoulder the past,
To remember what brought you luck
And what withered away so fast.
Sometimes you need to look foward
To see the paths that lays down,
To imagine your way even if it's hard
And to realise the happyness sound.
Sometimes you need to look in the mirror
To see your eyes and what's inside,
To learn what you became in life's scissors
And to face yourself with pride.
Sometimes you need to look at the one beside you
To know that he's the reflexion of yourself,
To feel the energy of the self truth
And to the voice of others to not be deaf.
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 3:06 AM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC
The scents
the smokes
the spices that singe to perfection
I see my reflexion
A tossing ocean of blues and greens
the glidings of an embassy
unbeknownst to the bright world
the sea. I see my ocean
the sands approach and
island girl climbs
from shimmering lights
bright as sun reflexions
off the water.
Long tresses with thistle
and grasses
she passes the palms
Bare ankles soft pedals
Of padded feet on sand and stone
Roam
Just enough and not too much
time and quiet and space and the roar of surrounding
Survive the fruits of
strength and the climb
the herbs
the healing
scents
smokes.
the spices.
Island
companions
and treetop
roofrock
sounds
of night
healing leaves
grasses
and herbs.
Sweet drips
of fruits
that uncurl
in prying
palms.
Seeded beauties
with beads
of sunset
pearls.
Shells of milky
rainbow and
clashing
slate
and the
kick back
fire sky
night side
beats.
The beats
of
roaming clouds.
En-route to
the buttermilk
moon.
Purple
Arabia of
the Horizon.
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
A wave of thought always encircles you,
A wave of yarn link to civic concern always involves you,
A hope for change always enforces you,
A longing for endeavouring cogent living always inspire you,
Your brashness for a transformation yields this long journey,
A journey for reflexion, inquest, elucidation and communication,
Communiqué for an unfailing thinking and for an effort for human wellbeing!
Now it is the time for us to continue this journey,
A journey of unfurling thought for rationality, fairness and equality!
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
I'm looking back across my life
at what i have lost or made.
I cant recall a single time
when fury paid
so i struggle to be patient
for i have reached a wise age.
Every speech in rage,
accompanied with it some kind of cage.
Every word
hurts in your angry moments.
So now i have learnt
to be calm and to relent
not in my restraining efforts to change,
but to realize
that once anger takes over
my reasoning flees.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
.
1
The charred rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
Dear world,
I understand I'm not the perfect
picture you paint in your mind
Let's be kind to the truth,
I Look at my reflexion,
something isn't right
Dear world,
I'm losing my youth
never had a connection
Day to day I face rejection,
You Say there's redemption
As I see this reflection of non-perfection
I Try getting along
But there is all these objections.
You echo
"I lost connection"
Well Connection was never lost,
That path was never crossed
See world,
I don't fall for your lies and deception
Saying this world is yours,
Well where's mines?
You say see its my world,
You must play by my rules
Well one day I'll say that too,
I will one day feel the same way
Maybe because,
I'll Get you caught up in tricks and lies,
Make you feel criminalized,
In my world,
You'll be victimized
You will be called uncivilized
You won't be the perfect picture
You painted in my mind.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
~~~
I'm watching the road to eternity
perhaps
I'm just basting cries
to the hopes of attracting a moonbeam
a reflection
within your eyes
A twisted path
from dawning time
that leads
through push and shove
A breeze that moans
through bows aloft
and swirls the dust of love
~
My footstep
stubbed a root
so gnarled
I tumbled
astray the path
Though I returned
to sacred ground
my fate so befell your wrath
~
I stand alone
amongst the weeds
where a Fragrant Rose
once bloomed
I cannot see
nor feel the warmth
within your heart
entombed
~
And still the years
creep past forever
dark shadows veil these skies
Your rose defies
a memory's tether
No reflection
within your eyes
~~~
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
You are a vital medicine to me,
A forever addicting drug on my brain.
You are wholesome,
You are psychotic,
Everything I don’t but do need.
A reflex is what I call you,
An immediate, involuntary response,
In any situation although
Not always wanted,
But appreciated yet hated in hindsight.
I often wonder,
In sleep deprived daydream,
If I supply an isolated but overwhelming
Suffocation in your changing mind,
Like you have so rudely overtaken mine.
Forget, forget, words of a man tortured by pain,
But you linger,
A lonely ***** begging for time,
Yet when you receive it, you only push
Your desires away.
You pushed me away and I can’t return,
But a memory is imprinted in the folds of my life.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
I'll see through every inch of doubt
I am the moon when the sun goes down
And ill reflect its shine its my life
I will define
I woke up today and felt my age for the first time
In both my mind and body
And my thoughts are less of fitting in
And more, more of being a better man
with just a simple pen
here's a reflexion of my empty soul
a piercing eye , a glance of cold
can this pen tell the untold
gaze at the portrait fear in that thought of freedom
scared of the holy tomorrow
am not ready to give up my sorrow
even if i leave, where would i go
And nothing quite so least as truth
i say though hate was why men breathe
cause I lived my role
love is the whole and more than all
angels an demons in love with my soul
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
I stare into their wandering eyes,
My history there in black and white lies.
Can I go back before this time?
Back when my life was numb and divine.
No mouth to speak, my heart is mute,
This mirror shows what I have learned,
This reflection of the bridges I have burned.
My sickness cut their spirits' root.
My youth propped up, upon a stage,
But freedom lay outside the cage.
The colors surged and blood ran hot,
Can I pay the price to be free of his thought?
Oh lights, oh lights, they blind, they burn,
This hopes' shining vision,
Just a faithless derision,
And my new found freedom still waits its turn.
The mirror shows all this to be true,
A life in the darkness ever fearful of you.
But the mirror cracked as my reflection ignites,
And even without words my electric heart can take flight.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 3:23 AM UTC
Her heart in ruins
The pain invisible
The enemy stares
From across the room
Eyes like fire
She watches her reflexion
Turn into oblivion
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 8:16 AM UTC
.
1
The scharrds rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
These are the confessions of a mad man.
Society has negated his reflexion of sanity.
Crystal clear depictions of his self thought
All that lingers is his wanting to be understood.
The confessions of a mad man may not be considered
His bound by the reality that he only understood
Staring through a microscopic realisation
But he knows that rough sands make smooth glass.
A mad mans confessions; most times overlooked.
I've viewed his notions and thoughts.
His interjections of a time, passed us by so long ago.
His pure nature and soul, unbound by what we consider society.
I've known a mad man who only wanted his confessions heard.
His guilt, he could no more carry, his shoulders all burdened by the past.
All he wanted was for people to hear,
The mistakes that were made by people before us.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC
Ach, Sarah über das Zeichen beim Dasein
Wie der gesammelten Wege eines Weges
Des goldenen Feldweges rein charme
Der warm tragenden Wände unter die Schatten
Die heißersehnte Erfassung
Wird die Freiheit des ewigen Raumes geben
Auf die Hand zur Leinwand des Antlitzes der Natur
Die Quellen der Submarine, der versteckte reine erste Mensch
Den Thron zu führen, das Flüstern nicht aufgezählt der Weisheit der Wehen
Der lebendige Anfang der schaffenden Zeit.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 12:09 AM UTC