Inspired by “Poems and Poets” by Anne Winter
“For once in my life,
I want to be a poem” — Anne Winter
If I were a poem
could my poem be a poet?
If such could be done
who besides me would know it?
If my poem—as a poet—wrote something new
could I as a poem be the other poem too?
Or would I simply exist on a document list
along with other poems that coexist?
(As a poem I would be …)
Living on the edge of poetry forms’ parameters
Running ever changing rapids of trochees and iambs
Line dancing varied rhythms of iambic pentameters
da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM ad infinitum
Dancing two-step footles with the poem of my dreams
Braving slalom ski runs of Klein’s Vase Verse
Climbing lofty peaks of Heroic Crown of Crowns
Then doing it all over again in reverse
(I do have a poetic license you know …)
I think of such thoughts from time to time
when my muse is confused and obtuse
Especially when finding it hard to rhyme
my head flooded with thoughts most abstruse
What would it take for me to be a poem
vice versa my poem to be poet?
The very next time my muse starts to roam
I’ll try to find out—don’t you know it!
Elusive, quick, a wisp of spectral smoke,
you, as a twinge that flickers in the eye,
haunt the corners of sight; you mystify
perception—such the awe you so evoke.
Arcane, abstruse, veiled in a phantom cloak,
you, as a fleeting shadow passing by,
confuse the intellect; you do defy
detection—all instincts you ill provoke.
In those moments, when(briefly)you appear
as a fast flash,—only to flitter from
reality,—a momentary zap
in a surging current,(you’re hard to hear,)—
yea in those moments, left behind, struck dumb,
I wonder mutely,—“have I made you up?”
Early afternoon trip all day
out on crystalline, mirror lake.
the delicate surface that shatters,
when I plunge off old dock
crafted in clay orange beach,
where I can see the shadow
of leaves kaleidoscope
in the white sunlight
below the water, diving to
abstruse gatherings
of perhaps wizards or
some society from long time ago,
or society that kills wizards
from long time ago.
I return for air,
the day has passed
the tangerine haze of
golden sun settles
on the canvas of the lake
music surrounds the scene
lovingly whispered,
lulling songs,
in themselves serene.
Harrowed heart
Abstruse abstract art
Canvas concealed
.
i wanna write
'bout be'n
thuh police officer
the preacher
pilot
prune pitter
well
maybe not
thuh prune pitter
but this scop iz
neither
but
i'm thuh poet
thuh photographer
and thuh
paramour
thus
write i must
'bout thuh femininez
and ourn
ambiguous
arcane
abstruse
bliss
Indiscriminate bombardment will flow
with endless pigmented possibilities;
A cross of Penelope pop-socks and indigo;
Abstruse, the two primary colors;
It must be that brush of butterfly effect
the wild one pulled from under the covers;
Intangible to all but the one who strokes
the canvas with bubbling neon flames;
A smeared showpiece each drop stokes;
Quilted texture of poodle-prairie red
dances with lines of earthy caveman;
Stimulated Muse taunted, empowered;
Passion-ridden poppy colored hands
leave only the most elegant stain;
That backsplash born of bold badlands;
Lush hues of whimsical rain pour out
exiting the smallest tube on the table;
Children’s daydreams fall from it’s spout;
Behind perfectionism a child will lurk,
screaming at you to relax and have fun;
Who cares if it is pristine or patchwork?
Apologists Are Too Funny
Apologists have been saying for 2000 years,
Jesus will return, you can dry your tears.
But they have always been making this claim,
About the truth of Christianity’s fame.
They always fabricate a ridiculous excuse,
That’s always been considered abstruse.
But Jesus said that some wouldn’t die,
Before he returns from his home in the sky.
He was wrong and no one cares,
That it didn’t happen and their heirs,
Just keep on believing no matter the year.
These foolish souls have so much fear,
That they might be wrong and their god is a hoax.
So they keep on believing, stupid folks.
So for millennia, there’s little change,
When they offer their answers, they are unchanged.
But they’re always quick to tell you you’re wrong.
That their beliefs will always be strong.
They cannot debate and accept the fact,
And refuse to accept the failed contract.
If any other religion claimed the same,
They would say it is false and lame.
Fools and obnoxious they always become.
A waste of time, they’re just plain dumb.
I rise when gilded starlight still replete the skies
Never have I beckoned hours of abstruse sleeping
I hear elegiac trills as a lone nightingale cries,
evoking memories that conjure tears of weeping
In halcyon moments before the paling of dawn
I contemplate my sentiments in tranquil solitude
Before the world awakens with an unstifled yawn,
the moon, sun, and I rendezvous; tryst in interlude
When velvet darkness fades to soft aurorean glints,
there, upon the horizon is painted a nuanced murk
Colors of daybreak; a blended mural in pastel tints,
created by a grand Artisan's hand, the Master's work
I adored your shape as a bottle of red wine,
But, close to spirit, you are the larger words and straight lines,
Thus crashing between logic and sense,
Whereas you, have been sold your soul to dark side.
There’s a commoner who cried to the cruel nature,
Who doesn’t appreciate the hunk’s armature,
Behold the truth, of the words, from the madman
Who talks with the tense of being mature:
“Being mature, is turning the mirrors
Into the windows.”
I been not to hesitated to searching truth,
As I look at the abstruse words of a tooth,
You never learn how to baulk or fend off the climature.
Alas, my fellow arch-pessimist,
Whom hither the gray zone, thither the lebensgefahr.
Agitators ambush America
anger attacks, abstruse
acquaintances and adversaries acrid
absolutism acolytes abrading
abrogate acrimony
America, arise altogether
amend, amend
The wide stretch,
dry and sterile
lay vast
before our eyes.
In the moonlit night,
it glowed white.
We felt,
as if lost,
in a
land abstruse.
Fury masked
before us so calm!
Here's an uncanny song
heard,
only in silence!
Dec.11.2022
Writing Challenge – Yalto Form Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
~ Placed Third~
Entered For Brian Strand's Contest
Chest pain grips as anxiety fills the room
Or cornered I grasp a resting broom
Neck pain lingers and feelings of doom
Sadness at times fills the house with gloom
Exercising left long ago, enter old age woes
Quadragenarian no more~ whoa!!
Upset stomach, feeling overwhelmed
Energetic no more at forced helmed
No motivation, they've cooked my goose
Change in every part of my body, thoughts abstruse
Emotions ready to explode, anger and irritability
Social withdrawal on downhill side of durability
When a person goes their own way, the choices they make will always have consequences which can sometimes lead to stress with the end results of the above problems.
Staying by the sea, now at sunset
With the light slowly fading into greyness
And the waters lying quiet
A peace fills me as never before
Dismal fears barred entry into the soul
Mind freed of all disquietude.
Through the soft whisper of waves,
A low sweet melody finds its way.
Listening to the gentle sibilance of the sea,
A new insight suddenly dawns on me~
None but we are to blame
For all our angry bickering
With all swirls and whirls underneath,
Is an abstruse calm in the deep.
In this continuum of flux
Is a permanence – abiding and perpetual.
Staying by the sea at sunset
With its still waters glimmering in twilight
And the stray clouds straggling in the sky,
My soul undulates with the slow rhythm of waves
And in me fills a calm submerging all vexations
And breaks a light, luminous and clear
A glimpse of a scintillating radiance – ethereal!
July.22.2022
Submitted for 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile.9.Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mark Toney
Ebony braids, moon misplaced
Indigo inferno flames
Speckled iris, abstract face
Drowsy eyes, acrylic paint
Haunted ash tree, trailing bleak
Torrid patchwork women faint
Pigeons perch on scribbled lines
Chanting fire petals dance,
Abstruse art, bewildered mind
emblazon the biosphere
abstruse blue, shire green
shaken out of the shadows
fire opal, daystar yellow
every color under the sun
embodying the labyrinthine canvas
10/25/2021
BITE SIZE POEM no24
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