"trappings" poems
Even at my age,
I see mountainous lands in the sky,
Languishing among towering clouds,
A lofty empire, lost kingdoms,
Perhaps a strange magical realm,
Thriving with dwarves and giants,
Maidens in towers awaiting rescue,
Where lone horse warriors wander,
Maybe observing us, far below.
Must be a poetic creative thing,
Or simply the child deep within,
Viewing through the eyes of the man,
Dreaming ancient days of long ago,
When the child yearned to be grown,
To know all there is to know,
Never appreciating escapism,
The chance to drift within time,
Ponder upon distant, aerial, worlds.
Or maybe I’m just a dreamer,
That and nothing more, hmm,
Telling myself, I am a poet,
A procrastinating creative spirit,
In love with the trappings of art,
The child asleep within wisdom,
Languishing among towering clouds,
I see mountainous lands in the sky,
Even at my age.
©Paul M Chafer 2015
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 5:08 AM UTC
if life were more about,
trading baseball cards,
riding roller coasters,
staying out past
curfew
we would be
friends for
life
But life
is more about
ego
pride
*******
you became someones
to me, because of no ones
important to either
one now
so just like
marbles and hardwood floors,
the right thing to say at the time,
things
get
lost.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 6:29 PM UTC
Before his teen age
turns the pages he dies
a life through years
of neglect for the frail
bony frame drowsy feet
dark sunken eyes
wandering the street
craving white pure
pleasures and dreams
sores moon crater arms
tributaries of ****
star marks parched skin
dry bloodied screams
of glorious pills injecting
intoxicated stuffs
forbidden fruits
trappings of worldly heaven
addictive octane ecstasy
tiger terminator of
a young man flourishing
now depleted sad
youth corrupted by a love
pursued but lost
eyes vacant trailed tears
pleading please forgive
me mom and dad
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
You said, "I love you."
I hear your echoes even now;
Although our love has fallen. Down
With the trappings of human sentiment.
Who needs LOVE, anyway? Not
I.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
Here is were it all begins
Now a life time to unfold
A future lies deep within
And stories will be told.
Your road it will be rocky
You will face those stormy seas
There'll be times you will be happy
And times down on your knees.
You will find that life's a journey
You'll get lost along the way
But your not alone there's many
Who get back on track again.
So put on that suit of armour
It's a dangerous world out there
Beware of all the trappings
Their are pitfalls everywhere.
Don't look back you have a future
And hope is what you need
Your life will be your teacher
And lessons will be learned indeed.
You will find that new horrizon
It is there behind the door
That door will surely widen
And the world it will be yours.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
I'm making a pub pilgrimage,
A malted Mecca trip;
I'm leaving all I love at home
Crusading with the Picts.
I'll be alone with all my thoughts,
It's what must needs be done,
To keep the demons off.
Publicans meet me on the steps,
On Sundays by the side;
This trip of three thousand miles
May **** should I survive.
My altar's elbow worn,
The finest oaken wood;
I'll climb the stairs on knees,
Hear bells, raise cups of cheer.
There's games of chance,
Some romance,
With songs and several fools;
It has trappings of Canterbury
In pubs all called O'Tooles.
There's Highland mead,
And broken bread,
With harps from inner rooms,
I'll have dispirited spirits
And revel inside tombs.
My cave awaits on my return,
It's dark and hard and cold;
But I know the light's within my sight,
If I move this granite stone.
I'll bring with me a scapula
To make those visions stop,
The relics that I sought,
Those demons of a sot.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
Already the month
of August 2018,
May never become
a je June'm
(Forget-me-not)
time of year,
especially for nouveau
homeless and,
penniless residents,
(now more like worrier),
who reside in the
(burnt to a crisp)
Golden State where,
towering uncontrollable
wild fire infernos veer
really did tax mental,
physical, and spiritual
oye vey iz mare (to
the bajillion power
of Google Plex) their
heirlooms, mementos,
and trappings of
das kapital lifestyle
went up in smoke,
which tragedy didst seer
the eyes (yes, iz traumatic,
but also the air)
looms with toxic
particulate matter,
though concerned former
propertied owners
(now ashen faced)
as utter grief doth rear
a scorched (bumping) ugly head,
yet the onset of Autumn,
(and the main
purport of this poem)
(oh my dog, that twill be
in approximately three weeks,
when Eastern Orthodox Church
denotes beginning of ecclesiastical
annum mull house
for straight or queer
(these times opening
doors to LGBT, or GLBT
(an initialism that
stands for lesbian,
gay, bisexual, and transgender),
nonetheless history
replete with app pear
chock full of factoids such as:
September (Latin septem,
"seven") with near
exhaustive steeped in
pagan glory of antiquity.
Ancient Roman observances
for September include:
Ludi Romani, originally celebrated
September 12 - September 14,
later extended to
September 5 to September 19.
In 1st century BC, an extra day added
in honor of deified
Julius Caesar on 4 September.
Epulum Jovis held: September 13.
Ludi Triumphales held: September 18–22.
Septimontium celebrated September, and
December 11 on later calendars
September called "harvest month"
in Charlemagne's calendar.
September corresponds partly to
Fructidor and partly to Vendémiaire
of first French republic.
On Usenet, September 1993
(Eternal September) never ended.
September called Herbstmonat,
harvest month, in Switzerland.
The Anglo-Saxons called
month Gerstmonath,
barley month, that crop
then usually harvested.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
Christmas died with Santa Clause
when I reached a certain age.
The magic revealed as scam,
the wonder now an act
maintained for the sake of form.
This descended, in my teens,
into outright distaste -
all the trappings
a failed attempt
to light a lost wonderland;
a decorated tree
incongruous and distasteful
as a chimp in a suit.
Anger waned,
disinterest set in,
and I merely wished to avoid it all.
But through your eyes
a miracle occurs:
Papa Noel, mistaking his season,
makes an Easter of Christmas
by rising triumphant.
A tinsel star becomes a true Polaris
and love,
for anybody's sake,
is everything.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 5:28 AM UTC
The poleax of Paroket
a pietersite soul sheath
the head which is not,
keening like a red horse
between two lions
slaying men and peace
with the hymns of ascent,
swatting humanities darkness
thrilling the sword of Michael;
First Cause , sweeping the graveyard
dust garden of Magna Mater touting
predicant trappings of the etheric
revenant a self compassing
mandala who is all right side invoked
By laudible Yahwistic nutation.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 2:13 PM UTC
tempting trappings glow
ghostly garments flow
hair winds bright like sunshine ropes
in my velvet dreams
sequel skin as I grin
stops only if I wait
gentle limbs with no end
churn a heart of clay
within, without
beneath, about
outside in, inside doubt
behind the breach
roundabout route
beyond my reach, right way out
seasoned strangers
inner part dark
destined dangers
apart from spark
flurried passions molt
storied bastions bolt
fire blinds light like fog eats smoke
in my velvet dreams
© Jason Cole
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
We drift through the moments
Of silence in our flickering thoughts
Who are we then?
Brief lapses of lost identities
With none of the trappings of personality
Lies the mind tells itself drop and fall away
Folded up memories cleared
To allow the blank shuffling
Faraway stares unfocused on the present
Drifting moments of silence in flickering thoughts
cc111411
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 12:07 AM UTC
With every growth there is a deep struggle. The soul has to advance spiritually by reshaping itself. It slowly strips away layers of the internal trappings of our life, be it physical or emotional. In doing so, we mold ourselves back into the shape of a stronger human being
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 11:38 PM UTC
All I want is to be naked
I wish to be vulnerable
I'm encased in a web of emotive calamity
Trapped in cold stone and empty waves
Locked in materialism,
Social apathy suffocates me
I need air...
From the womb of modernity,
Claustrophobia is born
I gasp
I need to feel free...
I need to be held...
I need to be exposed...
This musty cell of modern depravity,
Vanity,
Pride,
Self-seeking,
Commercialism,
Disregard,
Apathy,
Greed,
Hate...
It chokes me with the foul stench of death
The scent that tells me darkness falls
I can see no virtue in this prison
A veil is pulled upon me,
And I'm engulfed in merciless dissociation
I need to drink crisp waters
From the fountain of harmony
I need to be caressed
In the warm ***** of compassion
I need to soar
On the vigorous gales of freedom
I need to be...naked
Strip me of possession,
Unravel my desires,
Hold me in your arms,
And let us be naked together!
Cast off allure of material treasure,
Come embrace your human pleasure!
Somewhere outside this dark room
Over the stone walls that encompass us,
There is a light that sings to me
I can break the walls and burn the bridge,
Cast aside the past of ego
And lead us to a world of dreams
Would you follow me?
Would you break the shackles of your possession?
Cast aside the love of things,
Replace it with the things of love?
Have we drifted so far apart as a people
That we have no room to breathe?
I think not.
This prison of emotive distress,
This cage of idiosyncratic routine,
This lockdown hysteria of need,
It's merely a base from which to start
The distance between us all
Only leaves room for us to grow
I can see the walls break down,
The old facades are wearing thin,
And I'm peeling away the trappings
Of things I thought I knew
But knew I never truly wanted
With them, walls will break
With them falls the cage
And through the coming of the things I see so clear
Like love and peace and harmony
Nakedness and connectivity
(No need for greed,
No need for possession)
I can see the walls tear down
And with their fall I know it's coming:
The day where all are free to fly.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
**Baggage within
trappings of illusions,
love packed away
in neat little compartments
gathering cobwebs at
makeshift improvisations,
dusting intermittently
if by chance a light
should shine,
never wholly untangling
the snare
mid a labyrinth of
transparent entrapment,
as violin strings continue
to unlatch the same old key**
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
*a child-heartbeat has such power
to sway ideas
and turn the tide
hence -
show adult-folly*
1.
emperor bays the crowd
to flatter
invisible trappings
of grandeur and prowess
2.
when blind to the obvious
talk is no good
*och, man
just freaking forget it*
(what good is talk... when the COMMON voice is not heard?
... when yet another child-heartbeat is lost?)
S T, 5 sept
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
Horatio Alger is whispering his stories in my sleeping ear
painting me as a lowly street urchin
who conquers adversities and moral wildernesses
with only my wit, determination, and guts
and he is painting me as a phoenix of the new world
rising from ashes of banality and
the naturalized familial trappings of my past
a dirt road in the socioeconomic desert
carved out with care by the hands of forefathers I will never know
but Mr. Alger died a long while ago
and the sun inevitably rises
shattering the stained glass story of my rags turned riches
now the big men upstairs
jot me down as numbers on a chart
of consumption trends of millennials
Go to college
they say
make something of yourself
they say
you are all too entitled
they say
What went wrong
they say without a hint of contradiction
I am not equipped to say if the story of humanity
is a cycle or a downwards spiral
I am not equipped to say
that it is the job of every generation
to ensure that they clear the debris
from the path of their progeny
but I say it anyway
everybody want’s a trophy
because we were raised to believe that
everybody deserves a trophy
In the same breath they expect us
to take the puritanical mantle of the breadwinner
the frayed saddle of the noble western outlaw
the lethally honed sword of the entrepreneur
the martyr making cross of the socially conscious family man
and then wonder why we so willingly
give ourselves over to the currents
of apathy and passivity and masochistic narcissism
giving us guns and bullets with no idea how to shoot them
so instead we turn them into sculptures of modern art
and scream to the empty heavens
for just a hint of recognition
I can’t decide if history will forget us
or memorize the lyrics of our collective heart beats
but I have decided
to wake up from my American Dream
have decided
to forge my own reality
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
A long trailer
In a sombre forest
Two young boys creep
Through a long corridor
One blond and fair
The other is sometimes mistaken
For an immigrant from India
The floor is sticky and smells
From spilt pink lemondae
Scooby Doo cries out from the TV
"Jeepers Creepers it's the Creeper!"
The two boys watch wide eyed
Scooby's antics and Shaggy's
Immense appetite
They giggle and scream
In delight
As a ghostly axe misses Scooby
By a hair
The movie is over and it's time to go
It's dark out, scarily dark
They laugh nervously
But jump into the large truck
Both clad in the trappings
Of young explorers:
***** sweat pants
T shirts with wolves
Hair bleached by the sun
Skin dark and freckled
Finger nails ***** from building forts
And muddy shoes from testing
If river banks are as solid as they look.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
He could not see
What was under his nose
So he plated the thorns
On the Phrygian rose
And there she sat
Barbs glittered - not gilded
Impaled on her spit
Of aureate anvils.
And the pissy-beds
In their plain yellow trappings
Fathometer blips
On a bed of green wrapping
Their ******** halos
Trudged underfoot
As he ground them to mince
In the threads of his boots.
He could only love
What he couldn’t have
What lay free at his feet
Was too common a salve.
But it’s hard to love
What is hard to hold
Thorns will draw blood
Even if covered in gold.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
Don't squander loneliness.
Can be your greatest ally:
be an alien,
be a witness,
be an outsider,
an on looker,
just don't squander your loneliness-
your greatest ally against human trappings.
In fairness, she won't keep you warm at night.
Her icy whisper can make you dance.
Which in turn will keep you warm.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:51 AM UTC
You're building up a palace
For the world to see
How great you are
But do they know how loud the echo
In your walls.... is outdone
By the echo in your soul?
All pretty things to fill your life
And make you feel so useful
But yet, your day is dark and grey
And you still feel so blue
Oh, the echo in your soul.
Refrain
Why don't you stop....
Why don't you-ooh stop?
And tend your heart
Oh, feed your mind
And fill up your soul, oh
With beauty that
Cannot..... be seen.
It's easier to see your faith by showing
But then you're stuck in a rut
You'd surely nev-er-er leave
Outdone by the echo in your soul
The echo in your life
The echo in your smile
Oh, the echo-oh.... in your words.
It's harder for you to totally live your truth
For, it's not how you LOOK, but HOW you look
Take off the trappings and reveal
And see who you really are
See what you really are
See what you have become!
And now you're feeling all alone in a crowded room
You try to sound intelligent yet make no sense
Your stilted humour is outdone
By the echo-oh....in your soul.
Star Toucher, 26 March 2013
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
I'm so heavy.
In my body and soul sits
an entity housed hostel.
****** trappings and clotted beats pulse
past, and hang in ragged disarray.
This entity sits humble, patiently waiting beat down
any hint of emotional compromise harbored in the heart
and made logical in the mind.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 2:12 PM UTC
Yes I saw the truth in the hillside freeway
In the grilled cheese sandwich
for sale on Ebay
With tortillas and butter they called me a ******
Because I saw the truth in the eyes of another
Who decided to feed me a line of such rapture
That captured my stature of pragmatic backed banter
Gathered the trappings disbanded, I could map out the standard
Wanting the pattern, the vibrancy frequented
Masking the latency, the reader obsequious
Addressing the nuance, ignoring complacency
Significance amplified, convinced of this elevated
Power to axiom, entropy celebrated
Wax to a fault with a message converted
While the layers of encryption serve to hold this position
A raw disposition, hoping to see beyond this decision
I can't see beyond the scope of the eye with conviction.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC
Stamp down on the trappings of work and corporation
As so much country clay at a swinging gate
Ignore the protestations
You do not trespass
Look out instead at new fields
In a new light
And in a new day
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 10:02 AM UTC
Grasping vagrancy in one's child
Most simplistic act is not
Fractured maternal heart bleeds wild
Suffered soul the abyss caught
Crucible ever prevails fraught
Futile remedy ailment breeds
Posturing all heedless things
Neglecting primal earthly needs
Harsh inebriant trappings
Averse entirely lucid pleads
Clamping malady straining chest
Wakeful blackness vanished days
Clutched slight suckling babe at my breast
Cast tears enduring malaise
Reflection of having caressed
Tragic sustinence chosen vile
Sighted resolves not to see
Relentless self imposed exile
Indifferent to love me
Offer life to capture a smile
Grasping vagrancy in one's child
Cognizant of special spot
An alternative to beguiled
Alter processes of thought
I am needing to know she fought
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC