Attenuated Poems | Examples

spark quickly the rise

Spark quickly the rise, 
Dilating dark with glitter stars of cats eyes.
A language we sausage use. 
Clumsy myths attenuated 
With parachutes of feelings mapped; 
Syncopated copiously. 

A door opening those parts explored, for instance.
Snail trails of shiny slime on wet pavement;
Mirrors looking backwards, 
Entwining organs through time. 

Primarily another path 
That leads me back to you.

AS IT WAS

I want to rewind and not change,
Stay and hold on to the days when your name felt like home.
When our conversations were not careful,
When love wasn't something to be attenuated,
But something that simply was.

I'm surviving the silence you left behind,
Trying to fill the gaps with memories,
Tricking myself, saying time can walk backward,
Can undo the unraveling, and can stitch ourselves whole again.

This is not war but absence,
Not betrayal but distance,
Not anger but the quiet ache of being left behind.

I don't know where to place this longing,
The pain to return to the place that no longer exists.
But if love was once real, does it still echo?
And if I reach for you, will I only find empty air?

What’s It All About Alfie?

Arrows, what are they good for?
In an embodied dungeon very near to
my molested liver
arrows pile up, bundles of barbs,
each one a love letter
that missed its mark.
Some older ones
still drip an attenuated poison 
from their blunted tips.
Yes, love can be cruel
but it is rarely accurate.
It lives only to maim you
until you know how to live
with yet deeper wounds,
those piercing near misses
lodged between heart
and hope.

Unfiltered Echo

   Important happenstances continue to echo
   in future life also.
    Might be attenuated in pitch
    reduced in slow decay.
    being filtered with passage of time

    My Dad was my Idol, Philosopher and Guide
    to inspire, instruct, direct and protect me.
    His advices continuously echo in my mind
    on same strength without losing intensity .
    
     'Echo Filtering Reality' at least failed in this aspect 
     I strictly follow all his instructions 
      throughout my life till date.
      His blessings and affection showering me 
       all along echoing in my soul, just unfiltered.
       The voices of my Dad to echo in my ears
       not fading with Time but guarding me at every step.

skoolwear

Leeza, Lisa’s 14-year-old little sister, is anxious about the first day of school. She didn’t tell me that, I’m not sure 14-year-olds talk anymore.

Now that I’m almost 21, I can roll my eyes, like everyone else, and say, “Teenagers.”

Leeza’s a jingli, all-angles, taller than I am (when did THAT happen),
redhead who’s fast becoming a Lisa-like beauty.

School starts, for her, in 11 days and every piece of clothing she owns is draped across the furniture in her room, or the floor, as she organizes her skool outfits.

There’s a pile of rejected apparel in one corner - the outcasts -
and a stack of magazine cutouts showing the clothes she plans to buy.

I wondered into her room that afternoon and she watched
me suspiciously, like I might steal her nonexistent baby.

“These might go together,” I said, holding up a top and skirt as a combo.
She winced, involuntarily, as if exposed to something distasteful.

Apparently, I’m getting old and my teen-taste is attenuated or worse yet - past its expiration date.
.
.
A song for this:
Houdini by Eminem [E]

Winters Cutting Edge

The porch-potted have attenuated
into stick insects.
Geraniums are hallowed be dark moons,
Fragility turns to desiccation.

The red tin watering can
is iced over by a fallen sun.

Of a sudden, a yawning dawn
freezes, is pinned
to a fixed grimace.

Unlock the front door,
push a grudging frosted screen.

Slipper bound toes shrink back,
blood drops through ice holes
in arterial walls.

Tropical fruits uneaten,
beds unmade and cooling,
cat hiding under a throw rug,
just its tail flicking a weather warning.

Slap and lock the door,
ignore the creaking porch
as it were a gutted grave.

Upon a kitchen wall
eyes trace a diminishing light,

a trace that once was a warming ray,
now has congealed into a fingerbone
of yesterday.

Dinnertime Stories - Revised

Cast of shadows, courtesy of candle,
Light fading unfolds the same tale at dusk.
Soliloquized retellings of scandal,
Lengthy but worthy, as faults to unhusk.

Memories gone cold, my table setting,
Echoing attenuated laughter.
Plates piled high with the feasts of forgetting,
Still doleful hungers linger thereafter.

The flickering cloister of flames confer,
Enkindling solace in the solitude.
Tacit acceptance, no protest to stir,
Away from the noise, alone without brood.

Resigned, I dine on the remnants of day,
Umbral asylum, narrative decay.

An Attenuated Tree Branch

An attenuated tree branch reaches out to its drowning shadow in the inert millpond.

(23 Syllables)

Personification is a poetic device and not a poetic form, hence me labeling this 'prose poetry'.

At My Leisure

At my leisure I strolled through post-college life
    worked smart by day, partook of pleasure at night

  One morning woke up on the back side of the hill
    my dreams unattainable, attenuated my will

  Never tested my mettle, never once even dared
    stretch my arms out to Him, make my life over with prayer

My Fate

Asleep with abandoned hope and abated pride,
The attenuated sound of my breath hurts,
Barren opportunities painted my path...
Like a cruel artist with no benignant pity.

Alive in a dead man's mood,
And suffering from chronic dereliction,
What is the cloying sweetness of education without a job?
Could the government be a misanthrope or a culinary myrmidons?

They have silenced my deep-toned lamentations and dreams,
In a dewy coolness of the rayless hours,
I'm drown in my own tears and pain,
With a blurred and uncertain future.

If I die while trying and crying to survive,
Embalm me with a salve,
Burn my corpse at night,
Spray my ashes on a sea,
At dawn, send me away to my people with a lullaby.

Never the Twain

Sweetness
Be at the end of the road alone
Offering myself to the stars
When it's your voice
I will love to be home
And you know me,
I'll laugh out of nervous
Energy
And you'll laugh too
And we're gonna kiss
And god will lift our chins up
And welcome us his children
The attenuated breath will flee the throat
As we escape into his night
At exactly the same moment
Before the wings cleave us apart
And we float like loose Astronauts
Into the vast otherness
And part.

My Wheelchair

The day my life changed in one moment 
 just one cursed moment, time betrayed  
 An injury they said would now never heal 
 a quadriplegic ,waist down you're dead.
 vibrant colors blurred into onyx darkness 
 crippled and chained , I lay, caged in bed
 in a dark ocean of helpless emptiness 
 sinks a heavy sack, but floats suffocated 
 squirmy eyes lift a burden , is it pity I see?
 my warped desires , waiting to get rusted. 

 In sky of mind, fantasy of broken wings 
 adieu O snowfields, where once I danced.
 adamant heart behind a ribcage pounds, 
 gazing windows with glossy barren eyes.
 numbed screams fade in garbled speech,
 in my soundproof tavern, no will to live
 but tears attenuated , I slowly  prepare
 Bon Voyage,  attuned to my wheelchair. 



29th March 2020

Sponsor	Caren Krutsinger
Contest Name	The Day My Life Went Whacko

Elephant

Possessed of grace
You delight & enchant
Awe-inspiring
Elephant
with your elegance
supreme sentient
For you, we hymn & marvel
at your superior intelligence
Yet, it is evident
& in direct reference
to our negligence
Our decadence
sets precedence
Our dollars fund your terrorists

Exploited elephant
beast of burden, bated
Your magnificence
Your splendor
…attenuated
Tourist degenerates
…terror
…torment
All for our arrogance
& irreverence
Our all encompassing wretchedness
To hold captive such gloriousness
To enslave your majesty
your excellence
Your nobility stolen by our hideousness
Lament
The elephant

Assuming My Role In the Diorama

I awake with the question "Am I like my predecessor?"
Automated and fabricated to slave for the oppressor
I join the procession yet I am an orbate transgressor
Dissipated and attenuated with no clear successor 

Then I drift into much more lofty domains
With greater rewards yet more precarious terrain
A place where answers can not quite be explained 
Where the mind is confounded but the spirit ascertains

Then I shower and shave; I sigh and greet the day
Will it be my chagrin or triumph I put on display?
In my head I have a tempest, in my heart a bouquet
I must choose which one to portray, which one to obey

Haywire Ghetto

Haywire ghetto, lingering corpses, malingering sunshine,
Malignant malediction, staccato with disseminating stench,
Portending: ichor, insipid blood and wenches.

Juxtaposition of aphotic with aphotic; incognizant iniquity.

Noxious oxygen, attenuated jasper, jejune jardiniere:
Zion.

Smoke: implicative cornice,
Sherry or vitriol?
Ours, a world, that feigns polo in alcohol!!

-Pin Dew (30/04/2017)

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