"reinvented" poems
Upper East Side
The Hamptons
Aspen, Colorado
The plastic people
Follow each other
Moving in herds
Like cattle to the
Slaughter
Drifting
Floating
Shifting focus
From one charity event
To another
Whatever’s trendy
Whatever’s fashionable
Whatever’s happ’ning
Whatever’s the need
Tainted new artists
Society’s rejects
The film-maker who fits in with
The flavor of the month
The disease or the cause
That captures the moment
Stigmas overlooked
Deformities relieved
By one hyper exertion
By one pseudo good deed
Changing bedrooms
Changing partners
New alliances
Noblesse oblige
Mrs. Astor’s
Four hundred
Reinvented forever
Reinvented with fervor
On the edge
Of hypocrisy
Keeping up with the Jones’s
Maintaining the houses
Paris, Rome, Cote du Jura
Malibu, Palm Beach
Couture fashion
Madison, Rodeo
Worth avenues united
Avenues of the liege
Location, location, location
The right address unspoken
Dinner in the right places
Sporting events to be seen
Three martini luncheons
Halcion evenings
Business is business
Where money’s retrieved
Look to plastic people
For fashionable guidance
No matter the moment
No matter the need
Remember to catch them
While jetting to Santa Barbara
Saint Maarten, San Troupe
San Marco, warp speed
They live in their milieu
Can’t function outside it
Can’t follow a shadow
That others believe
It’s easy to find them
They leave behind footprints
But barely a mem’ry
Or singular creed
Other than finding
The latest in fashion
The latest persona
Or new plastic breed
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:19 AM UTC
a tornado from the blue
of unleashed amatory instincts,
with a Kamasutra mind
in full play, from the center,
more inventive than the original;
your sudden appearance
in my orbit, after a while,
for this intervention extraordinary
had splendid consequences.
hell, one never could have asked for more!
Making me passionate
beyond my tolerable limits
with violence fashioned as love bites,
wild play of nails on skin expanses,
and other salacious techniques
were as ever, your optionals--
worked on me like never before
I reinvented myself
as a natural in the art of
complete merger-
the yoga of mind and body
the perfected art of Eros,
exactly the way you envisaged
the waves still madly erupt
for you to take care,
which ever way you like.
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 11:07 AM UTC
Not as eloquent
as a fountain pen,
not as artistic
as a sketching pencil,
not even as bright as a magic marker,
but one smart cookie to your kids.
We have cool names like
Cotton Candy, Manatee,
Razzmatazz and Inchworm,
and are non-toxic sticks of joy
to those little imaginations.
Yes, we sometimes look like
clumps of colored wax
smashed into tissue paper,
and we do break easily
or lose our wrappers at the drop of a hat,
then get tossed in a bag
or worse, become homeless.
And horror of horrors!
We’re reinvented as candles
or reheated into twisted zombies
of our former selves.
And neither do our achievements
reside in a museum or gallery,
why they're not even framed
and proudly displayed on a wall.
No, they're slapped on ***** refrigerators
and kept there by plastic alphabet
magnets that loosely spell
such mundane things
as ‘milk’, ‘cheese’ or ‘daddy is dumb,'
until they fall to the floor
or end up in the trash.
But hey man,
give us a break!
This is our plight,
it’s a harsh existence!
Perhaps we should organize,
form a union for children’s
writing and drawing utensils,
and thus ensure equality
for us crayons?
We realize, more than likely,
this poem's title will cause
some backlash by those
who insist it be called
‘Return of the Crayon,’
because we 'happy sticks', you see,
supposedly don’t take revenge.
Nonetheless, we stand by it.
It is what it is!
Your children love us
and so should you!
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 4:18 PM UTC
I've spent so long trying
To forget each cringeworthy day
My mistakes & decisions
Took so long to go away
I've been a million different things
A million different times
I've done so many different things
Committed many crimes
I've changed my personality
And reinvented who I am
I don't recognise myself
I'm amazed that others can
I try not to talk about
The crazy times back then
The drama, the men, the music
The life of way back when
And now the people left behind
The good within the bad
In passing on the past
I lost out on what I had
This rolling stone has stopped at last
Ready to retrace her track
I think they've forgotten now...
Is it too late to go back?
Nov 24, 2009
Nov 24, 2009 at 3:24 AM UTC
she comes home in the middle of the night
and i help her take her shoes off.
she can't walk in heels,
but in the glow of the night life,
she becomes someone else.
for once
in her life
she is
no one
but herself.
and a boy will buy her a drink,
take her home.
but she is so gone,
because even when she is with him,
she is thinking of a lost boy.
she is thinking of a boy in a coffee shop, smoking all his problems away.
a boy with dreams when they met,
that slowly faded into ash and dust,
nothing now but hazy memories.
she can still remember his eyes,
blue and bright.
now,
they are so dark
she can't even tell their color.
they could be black
and she wouldn't
even
know.
every day, they said "get over him"
every day, they said "he is nothing but trouble"
every day, they said "he will only break your heart"
every day, she said "you don't know him like i do"
and then, after, they said "i told you so"
and she said "you don't know him like i did"
so even when he is kissing her shoulder and i am in the other room,
counting the creaks of the bed
she is thinking of the summer they fell in love.
maybe it was his i-don't-give-a-shit attitude,
maybe it was the attraction of rebellion,
but he changed everything
and she swore she'd never been so in love.
and then, when it was over,
when all the caps that they'd thrown into the air were all cleaned up by the janitor,
we went to new york city
and she reinvented herself.
she packed up one box,
and got the hell out of that town.
she hasn't missed one thing that she left behind,
didn't regret one moment,
except for him.
and so, when they were done,
he put his clothes back on
and left her there in her own bed, lonelier than before.
i had to go in and place the advil on the table,
for the hangover the next morning,
that would be there just like the sureness of the sun rising.
and i was the one
who tucked her in at night
while she was passed out,
and mumbling his name.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
I can howl in words but
I say it gently instead, no, fiercely,
first to myself and to him and to her
to you if necessary and to them
for as long as it takes
why and how and what
how come and when and what for
how is my mind, I ask even the wind
this is what I usually play on repeat
why these thoughts images feelings
sensations movements words and deeds
everything is together but not always apparent
cause we are trapped inside the curvature of mind
evolving in tunnels unexcavated trenches
breaking loose on wider routes only when there is time
our thought trapped on certain orbits of habit
on the available energetic level at one time
the same way as our well behaved atoms spin their wonder
the same way as everything is evolving into its waterfall
imagination is the way I play with myself,
with you and them and the world
for destroying the habit of seeing hearing interpreting
we play language games everytime
we don't use the right thoughts for emerging bulshit
straightforward bullets deepening confusions
deceptions limitations judging&comparing
seduction of half truths and easy routes
or inventing enemies
so ask questions get answers
ask the same questions get other answers
I allow my mind to flow in unknown spaces
only because I learn from those
who attempt true learning
I am really forced to listen rather carefully
to the music of thinking
but about this in another poem
for now I'm listening to these feelings
and it might get unbearable
to recognize the disintegration of the night
information everywhere you look
you can wear your thoughts as your shoelace
or you can envision perhaps this poliphony of meaning
cause thought is no other than a form of relating everything to everything else
there are crystals of meaning cause we need more facets
they need to be smashed and reinvented
don't be afraid the riverbed will stay pretty much the same
it's fine to know what you know and there
is so much that we don't
we are not innocent creatures in not knowing
only sometimes perhaps
we need to listen to our deeper thoughts
who is the dancer who is the dance
what about this pain, always this pain
I don't know if you know
that turns the marriage of body&mind into
the marriage of heaven&hell,
as Blake put it
some don't believe in the Gulag of the mind
so the fate of the unconscious is to repeat itself
when it is just the psychoanalytic bulshit
they don't need they don't care they protest against
you see there is also this sweet sweet desire for not knowing
perhaps I am waiting for my mind
your mind/the collective mind
to embrace me
to embrace you
to embrace itself
Jan 16, 2023
Jan 16, 2023 at 2:17 PM UTC
i’ve always been on a
mission to reinvent myself
a mission expressed through
spreadsheets, guitars
powerpoints, paintbrushes
fabric, calculator buttons
bright colors of yarn
coffee and flowers
smiles at strangers
and always words
here and there
then and again
i’ve found myself satisfied
with who i found myself
to be at the end
of the week
i thought things were
on the upswing
thought that i had
almost made it
for two months this year
i was satisfied
with fifty six hour work weeks
and the bright blue blanket
forming under my fingers
the feeling of hope
brewing when i looked in
my bank account and thought
about him
about the home
that wasn’t ours yet but
would be soon
and then it began
to crumble
a brick or two at
a time until a whole
piece of the picture
tumbled out
and my weeks were reduced
to thirty five hours and
a crippling sense of
impending disaster
even though everything else
was still looking up
now that i have a
bit of extra time i find
myself low on motivation
and wondering
if it’s time to build
a new version of myself
but i’ve reinvented myself
so many times
i don’t have the energy
to do it again
i just want to
exist
just want to fall
asleep in bed at the
end of the day and
not wake up in the morning
wanting to sleep
for the rest of the day
to enjoy moving
my body
the way the
seasons change
and how the stars
look at night
i’ve always been good
at staying
you just keep doing
what you’ve been doing
let your routines pull
you along with them
but now i’m learning
the art of leaving
and i’m finding its not
as hard as i thought it was
in fact you might
even think
of it as almost
freeing
the leaving
behind of what’s
gotten too
familiar
the option to
reinvent
past leavings
have hurt
left me reeling
on cold floors
fighting to get air
into my lungs
but this time
the leaving is
quiet
barely noticeable
in the chilly
morning dew
as i let myself
slip away
under the gray sky
that hasn’t yet
realized it’s hanging
over a lost town
and i don’t feel pain
only the slightest
twinge of
bittersweet nostalgia
i’m not going
to reinvent myself
this time
i’m going to
exist
and somewhere
along the line
i think maybe
it’s myself
that i’ll find
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 12:29 AM UTC
she gathered a smile
so beautifully,
so absorbingly,
so effortlessly, painted;
like the modern Monalisa
reinvented.
And for a blooming while-
I felt time suffocating
on my laps;
Whilst my hopes
of us
ran down the slopes
of lust
and burst
into a dawning flame
again-
like the first
time
my lips, hugged
hers.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
Bed sheets impregnated with her essence.
Towels dripping the sweetness of her skin.
Wild thoughts invading my subtle thinking.
Her scent still lingering in my senses and my soul.
A fleeting heartbeat was skipped the moment our eyes met.
All reality vanished as distance disappeared.
Poetry struck me as I chose my words carefully.
A smile was virtously drawn on her face when I held her hand.
The world conspired for us to meet then.
Not before. Not after.
Just at the right moment.
We pushed fate away as it pulled us back to its path.
We lost ourselves in each other in just the blink of an eye.
A voice so heavenly angels should be jealous.
A mind so priviledged she understands me whole.
Her eyes so pure and lively even diamonds are just stones.
Her sweet embrace so warm she could reignite the sun.
Love has been reinvented, and now it wears her name.
Beautiful turns ugly whenever she's around.
If perfection's bound to gods, then she must be a goddess,
and I'd worship only her for her blessings are all mine.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
I'm chained to this system,
To these rules and regulations,
A constant spiral of the same sights,
Forced artificial happiness,
Recycled reinvented pleasures.
These comforts can only numb the aches,
Until dark skies and cold weather,
Expose my wounds to the wind.
Lack of materials, lack of all,
Keep me trapped in dizzy frustrations,
Fantasising new sensations and places,
Knowing the happy, coloured blurs will sharpen their lens,
And reveal their familiar, colourless forms.
Sitting on my fixed space of land,
Still rooting for the next month to win me over,
For the next week to triumph against the last,
I tug at my tired chains,
Hoping to God there's that there more than this.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I heard the news
And it was numbing
Cuz so few of us
Saw it coming
The icon had
A sad homecoming
To a funeral dirge
And muffled drumming
Bowie dead at 69
Yet again reinvented
Read the headline
Now he belongs
To the annals of time
The rarest of treasures
You will find
It’s so sad that he’s crossed the line
I can’t imagine
Where to start
Was he an artist,
Or was he art?
A master of
The record chart
From Paris France
To Germany’s Stuttgart
And now the world
Must say farewell
To the clanging of
A cathedral’s bell
But he left music
To compel
Those of us
Who wished him well
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC
once upon a time,
she alighted
on atlas' shoulder
and softly
told him a story.
as he unfolded
his path going
west, she unfolded
words, tracing the
east, for the sun to rise,
and then she sighed
and he held her, made
her his night sky
- heaviness of light,
folded heart.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
Repugnant talks
The vile gestures
Wrecking naivety
Plightful conditions
Hand on heart
Veiling from ache
Perfection reinvented
Sour mouth
Dark eyes
Cruel words
Throat wrenching
Teary eyed
Strong will.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
reinvented....time and time again until it lost its sanctity
just like saying the word- love- broken from overuse by lesser men
keeping composure in the worst and losing it in the best
you asked for this side of the fence
you chose it
you love it in a sick way
it is now time to reinvent the reinvention
and instead of trying your very hardest, weak one
you will become
all the poems you draw your power from
all the strange daydreams that championed your thoughts until they were melted in the forge of complacency
as a reinvented man cowardice has no place
in any form
self control is most painful when you cant see why you are controlling yourself.
but you shall
and you know why
and you will never ever forget.
and then when you find for yourself the answer to why you act this way
you will have the peace of mind enough to communicate with others about it wont you?
don't forget
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 2:48 PM UTC
In the instant a second presented itself
It dissolved, shrunk to the second...past
Out, gone.....a single thought could not be reinvented
For it was a second too late to squeeze the beginnings
With elementary mood breakers
Could the second have been different, thereby
Creating the onset of a brand new colour pallet
Drifting off, a direction lost to us, unable to pick
Up the tracking device of the rudamtary subliminal
Message, distorted by sleeping particles stored
Latently....dulled to the jazz tones of deaf ears
Identification slaves fired, packed up and rolled out
Partners squabbling, second '2'.... demise
Precious seconds lost, creating 3rd and 4th second
Lapses, prisoners of the past, what was and is no longer
Do we grasp the very second, conscious of the sound of
‘NOW’, cleansing our minds eye, rinsing our field of vision
The seconds may escape, existing in fornever land
Damaged as they trip and stumble in their two legged
Race to the realm of nowhere, continually stepping out of
Time with themselves, soaking up the spoils of
‘None of their business' lifestyles, dallying
In the lanes of borrowed lives, unrecognising
The empty shell of their own............
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 7:02 AM UTC
Column by column the legions' feet
march disciplined down Watling Street,
followed by rumbling carts and grumbling
stragglers leaving villas crumbling.
To Rome to save the imperial home,
making Britain an enterprise zone
for Saxons, Vikings, Celts and Angles,
savage battles and local wrangles.
Weeds weave tapestry around a tomb.
Dust encrusts a silent Roman room.
Mosaics stare at the rotted roof.
Painted plaster falls, jigsaw proof.
Perhaps when shopping centres fail,
and motor cars no more prevail,
when wattle homes are reinvented,
then thinking time will be augmented.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
It was a curve I was traversing
All the while I kept on cursing.
On the way to be someone they would love
Ignoring the grey clouds above.
In an instant the bubble popped
My armor dropped.
I had poured my heart out
But they still thought I was screaming loud.
I couldn’t hear my voice
Because it got subdued in the noise.
There I stood alone
Heard a crack in my bone.
I thought I was crumbling
But I turned around and started running
It was a curve I was traversing
It did not seem new
They used to fake-sing my praises
Now they talk about me in closed rooms.
I saw the sky turning blue.
They didn’t believe me then
They don’t believe me now
I reinvented myself
But still it wasn’t enough somehow.
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 2:10 PM UTC
Remember the days when our shoes were stolen by the earth.
And false Truths could only be read
On purple stained Popsicle sticks.
When we were willingly kidnapped by the
antihero's of our Fantasy.
And Stockholm Syndrome devoured us whole.
When false prophets graffitied their wisdom onto bathroom stalls.
While we washed our religions down the sink.
And our purpose along with it.
When the letters of every books pages flowed into us
Like a torrenting river we struggled to make sense of
But reinvented us all the same.
When we didn't believe a friends last words
Could be spoken through a mouth in the neck.
And the whisper we'd hear would fall victim to our failing memories.
When we met the loves our lives everyday of the passing decade.
How our hearts shattered into countless parts.
Yet we loved through the pieces of it all the same.
Perhaps these recollections have faded.
Perhaps they still reside here.
Or are mixed in with catalogs of fiction,
So that we can learn to make sense of all these things.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Didn't sleep again and I'm not referring to the meandering standings between One and the Nothing.
Can't feel that pain anymore since my head decided to bash into a wall making a numbsickle out of my frontal corridor.
Reality decided to sneak a peek using one handed greased quick release dropping shock haunting timepieces at my door.
Now down for the wide surge forging realization through pores reinvented from ancestral necessity making us One all encompassing.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
There is nothing left to say. You declared with audacity how I was an impediment. I recollected how pitiable I was, desperate for nothing, because it wouldn't, it didn't alter anything. So enamored was I with you, I relinquished half of myself to appease you. The superior parts of me I surrendered willingly to you, as I permitted myself to become illicitly compliant in the scheme of deceiving myself. I believed the half-truths, the falsehoods, and the empty promises. You made a wreck of me, exposing me to such debasingly immoral things. I thought I could trust you after everything we shared. I never knew such passions; I never felt such care. How was I to know none of it was genuine?
Time has elapsed, and I have healed. I have moved on, not as swiftly as you, and it didn't take another to get me here. So, the emails, the texts, the contacting my family needs to cease. It doesn't matter if I'm single. What mattered was that I had so much fight in me to save us I was a willing participant, my own collateral damage when it came to you. I allowed so much and pleaded for so long for you to see me, to love me as I did you. Like you once used to. The fool I played, for it wasn't love at all. It wasn't even lust; it was mere 'usage.' I contorted myself to fit into your world. I reinvented myself to a lower self in place of the worldly woman I once was. I infringed on my intellect and played dumb, forever the fool, all for you. And it still wasn't enough. You told me I was too strong, too independent, and so I diminished myself. My integrity be ****** I lowered my standards and discarded my boundaries to please you. All for what? For you to do exactly what I implored you not to do: to toy with me, to lie and deceive, to harm and torture, to manipulate and abuse. And even then, it wasn't enough. I was never enough.
No matter now. I have healed myself, and I have moved on. How wonderful it is to see I am nowhere near where I used to be, and the me I am today you'll never get close to. So, for all the attempts at contacting me and wanting to talk, I must let it be known I have nothing left to say!
Dec 30, 2024
Dec 30, 2024 at 7:37 AM UTC
I spent awhile
In a honey-barbeque
Chicken salad of
Cynicism.
And then one day
Instead of Frank
I was no longer Bryan
But a better version of my Mondays.
Or was it the
Lesser form a
Thursday takes
When you're alone?
I have a desire
Shaded in the glow
Of a stained glass
Display an hour away.
A wish, shrouded in
These filmy layers
Of forgotten words
And remembered sayings.
To be half of one
And twice of me
So I stopped seeing stars
And dropped the peace-sign for a dash.
Reinvented myself
To break all molds
And here I stand, slightly
More intact, I'm back.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 4:51 PM UTC
Something you may not know about me is that I do not sleep well with other people. It's always a very broken, restless sleep and I wake tired and I dislike the first thing I have to do in the morning be to talk to someone.
The reason you don't know this is because it doesn't happen with you. In fact, I sleep better with you. I fall asleep easier and I actually stay asleep and when I wake up I love having you in my arms to press close to and say good morning. This is new to me. But it feels right.
Something you may not know about me is that I've had my heart broken before. Yes, I've loved before, throwing myself into it the first time and ending up with a terrible aching heart that took years to heal.
The reason you don't know this is because now that I'm with you, it's like my heart has never known that hurt. I feel like I'm new to love again, ready to give my all and not knowing what I'm getting myself into it but enjoying every bit of it. This is almost scary to me. But I'm grateful.
Something you may not know about me is when I'm alone, I think of myself as a quiet person. I prefer to be on my own with just my silent words for company, I like calm and stillness.
The reason you don't know this is because I can't shut up around you. I speak like the words will be erased if I don't get them into the air, like I will collapse if I can't make you understand. I just want you to know me. And I laugh loudly and freely with you, because there's a joy I need to express. This is unsettling to me. But I like that I can do it with you.
Something you may not know about me is I have said "I love you" to many people. I love easily and openly, when given the chance to poke out of my shell.
The reason you don't know this is because when I say I love you to you, it's like the first time. The words taste fresh and sincere on my tongue, like they've been reinvented just for you.
This is new to me. But it feels right.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
Like Henry I swayed my sword upon
White pages but dark without wisdom
Attacking the palace of Palestine
And contravening the head of the bishop
I crowned myself the unborn emperor.
I rode the chariot of the sun
The moon being my abstract driver
Drawing out stars into constellation of demons
So that I can chalk them out one new moon night
And become the marshal of Constantine laws.
Here on my pages I made god’s descend
Make love to live forms like never before
I have solved the mysteries before and after birth
But nothing is reinvented and remained as they were
Not buried this time but surfacing like clouds that will rain.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 6:33 AM UTC