Best Albumen Poems
Eternal granite, crystalline scree, agates, boulders, rise
to hills, towering tors,* mutinous mountains, endlessly growing
rising, lifted, then toppled by the fiery rebirth of draconic lava**
Like the cracked shell of an avian egg***/ **** both molten yolk
and watery albumen mark the passage of time, the swings
of the multiverse, they pacify Charon’s passage on the Styx
Seen and unseen the arched openings spiral, poled in ten
dimensions by exigent mathematical quandaries, branching
boles boldly rooting in islands of primordial I, chained
screeching***** shadows infer larger beings who manhandle
the infinite construct of finite man
*Alliteration Repetition of consonant sounds [
** Hyperbole A figure of speech involving exaggeration.
*** Assonance The repetition of similar vowel sounds [A vian, A gg]
**** Simile A figure of speech involving a comparison between unlike
things using like, as, or as though.
*****Onomatopoeia a word that imitates the sound it represents
The sunrise was like a fertilized egg
golden of yolk and flecked with blood,
it crowed to the mist filled morn.
It ran over the hillside frying the vegetation.
The brilliant white albumen flowed
into the vague gray day.
The egg itself blushed at the flattery
extending pseudo pods of white
like rays outward against
the steel gray of the frying pan
it's yolk congealed a burgeoning
like the celestial eye of Ra.
Signature
Append the seal on the opening glee
Of performance agog with clapping drums,
The cylindrical bell calling to spirituous mundi
Screaming flew about in the air;
Perched on ears
And pecked on fertile hearts,
Consider not the frightened feet
Aching at commencement,
Wind to experiment, explore and applied
The agility in acrobatic anger
Of stretching sweating flesh,
Rhythmical muscles drawn vein taut
To the last drop of dew,
Hoofs prancing, prancing and prancing!
Ejaculating on the polished wood
With a millionth impregnated marbles spread tentacles,
Atomic spermatozoa bombast the uterus
Colonized the ovary and eke out
Inside, the embryonic yokes;
Suspended by clear albumen,
Fetal poles march strength with fallopian tubes,
Cavity swallowed them into humid sac
Plush pollen grains into zygotes
Springing anew buds in May,
Conceive earthlings with several asking branches
A lot of libraries;
A particular slanted eyeball
Began rumbling belch, lightening guffaw and thundering hiccup,
Tugging at umbilical chords,
Breathe knocking placenta on the head
And efflux out of the duress,
Spectra Butterflies flagging multi-coloured limbs
Faculty spiraling, twirling and tossing on elastic trunk,
Laser flashing touches swam in oceanic atmosphere,
Eager ritual leap of the gods,
Dagger usher out from scabbard
Plunge into dimple ample
Tip oozes indigo gore,
Sources of springing magenta
Began the back and forth stabbing,
Scribbling on the whitish flesh
Ink on tones of barks, bereft,
Spat spittle connived, reed shook together
Vein drawn to bursting,
Adaptation to suit thumb and forefinger
Pour the concoction, pour on the root.
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,
sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone
prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self
failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.
Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths
measuring mor'n 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...
smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping
zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,
oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene
synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.
Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,
one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing
into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,
maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach
ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.
The sun, going about her daily chores,
glimpses a new star in the sky,
one smaller than herself,
yet strangely familiar.
Used to catching her image first in puddles,
then growing larger in lakes,
she at first only sees a stranger,
then catches herself
spread in the moon's reflection
across thousands of miles of sky.
Hypnotized by the beauty
of this strange new view of herself,
she can't ignore it,
sneaking looks time after time;
she can't take her eyes off herself.
Daily, as the moon moves about in the sky,
the sun catches tantalizing glimpses
of herself from multiple angles.
By then, the sun imagines herself to have
the moon's full attention,
claiming it as her mirror.
Like Snow White's wicked stepmother,
the sun asks this mirror repeatedly,
methodically, almost hypnotically,
"Who is the fairest of them all?"
The moon answers all questions
obliquely,
bringing the sun back time and again,
puppet on a string
seeking a definitive answer.
By day, the moon untangles
its strings of moonlight,
puts out its nets.
Their dialog moves sideways;
the sun's questions, always direct,
glance off the moon;
the moon's answers slip around behind it
as the sun tries to get a better look
at what the moon might be saying.
Who was created in whose image?
Which came first,
the chicken, the egg, or the yolk,
small sun caught up in the quicksilver lies
of albumen?
Finding acquaintance with women
has put me on a wild-goose chase,
making my mind so water-logged
with gross and unbearable lack of confidence.
Your presence has cancelled these memories
and caused me into an acute Amnesia,
remarkably stimulating me
to attempt an emotional brinkmanship.
You are the center of my personal project
but I end up being the research specimen.
Your first impression goes contrary
to your personality brochure.
My heart has toiled to be different,
coming close with rhythms of a calypso.
Your humble attention
is a good converter of wishful thinking
to reality, witnessed by the consensus
of hormones emanating from both sides
and evident by the glamorous
book-length positivity from your visage.
Having you face to face alone is a huge vicissitude
a body so much younger than the mind,
preserved like a hidden albumen in boiled egg
and your nude when covered in silky blankets
presents like newly made shawama.
I am in love with you, my sunshine,
vouchsafe your heart to me please.
I’m not ambivalent; I’ve long given you my keys
and to another, my life isn’t capacious
so accept my blank cheque, sign and cement this blessing
stamped with my loyalty, faithfulness and love.
There once was a poet named Neumann
whose bile went as white as albumen.
He emailed a missive,
his ire derisive,
attempting to yoke fellow humans.
His target would not come to heel,
so then it became an ordeal.
Disguised as a contest,
he tried a new conquest;
to poets he made his appeal.
“Go public,” he thought to himself,
“and make the responses my wealth.
Solicit opinions;
Make poets my minions
to injure his confidence’s health.”
“I’ll leverage my feeble position,
a mathematical-poet magician;
They’ll write what I want,
and hopefully blunt,
because it’s the contest description.”
“To him it will seem that I’ve won,
with many usurping the one;
I hope he’s not clever.
I hope that he never
decides to stick to his guns!”
Now, what was this kvetching about?
What was it that made Neumann pout?
Contests galore!
Each day more and more!
From one he neglected to out;
I haven’t a clue who he means.
No monopoly here, that I’ve seen.
The contests are fine
(too slow, in my mind).
Not terribly sure what to gleen.
The authors will choose who they wish
from this bowl of colorful fish
that swim in the soup
and go loop di loop
when one of us says they’re delish!
As far as the soup going cold,
and quality starting to mold.
It’s never been great,
not now, or of late.
A handful are more than so-so.
It’s all about writing for fun
and passing the time with a hum.
Now, more than ever
with Covid and Bad Weather,
our lines are more than their sum.
So give this poor sponsor a break;
there’s really no damage at stake.
We’re all having fun.
Let bygones be bygones;
enjoy the contests you make.
Monopoly Contest
Sponsor Kai Michael Neumann
4/12/2020
...Look, Ma, I'm flying!
When fat, stoned Humpty Dumpty tumbled off that high wall,
He was laughing so hard he scarcely noticed the fall.
He cracked his shell, I'm assumin'
'cause out leaked his albumen and most of his cholesterol.
By some fluke he survived, though more dead than alive,
And his bulb was beginning to dim.
When the king's men inspected,
They found him too disconnected to be resurrected,
And the chance that he'd make it was slim.
What started out to be fun, if you'll pardon the pun,
Turned out that the blame, and the "yolk", were on him.
crackin' eggs into
clean glass mixing bowl, beating....
clear albumen drips
housewife observes scene
as light reflects on egg whites....
senryu in there?
we are the egg they are the knife
the egg shell
like the body
the egg white albumen
like the spirit
the egg yolk like the soul
all others lies in between
so is the connection of humans
to the universe through spirituality
and beyond
is a pity now
we live in a world
where intelligent humans
punish the body
with there knives of
inflation depression panic
and brutality
it affects the weak
and destroy there
true spirit to confusion
the knives of our
officials cut out
our zeal of being
to a destruction
of a hard repair
when it hits
the soul
like to the
egg yolks
we realise
they are nothing
but empty liers
See the full moon's bright eye,
Use her as guide.
Imagine her sclera, pupil, and iris
Capture in colors you see fitting on a clear evening.
Cut out her yellow yolk of an egg
Reveal just albumen as if to mix in potent drink.
Look at the moon, it is a silver balloon
Suspended high up in space.
Feel the moon, it is a heavy ball
It is holding a patient's leg in traction.
*
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,
sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone
prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self
failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.
Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths
measuring morin 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...
smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping
zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,
oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene
synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.
Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,
one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing
into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,
maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach
ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.
I'm hounded by a strange curiosity
about kids, parents, about humanity
in glitzy, affluent centers of urbanity
where children are rare in the vicinity;
backseats of expensive vans and cars
don't have kids licking chocolate bars,
limo windows show beribboned cats
or huge and tiny dogs all wearing hats
going to saunas and clinics for pets
to see psychiatrists and doting vets,
or hire lawyers on pet's life insurance
and entitlement to fabulous inheritance;
you pamper pets like they're truly human,
you mistake the eggshell for the albumen,
I reckon you won't believe me, a hillbilly,
but without kids you just don't have family !
Modern democracy
Think of an egg hollow it out drink its albumen and yolk
the empty shell cracks easily and we call it democracy
and free expression which is subjected to unwritten laws.
You can call Trump a son of the devil, but not wish him
hanged, like Mussolini, was hung.
You will be subject to a sensor and put in a cell for a night,
democracy is a schoolyard with high walls if rules
are following the power to be will smile benightedly, you are
a useful idiot and they shower you will see the illusion
of richness if you play their game.
The world is now a fascist state, and they spy on you in shops
or in the street and what you say on the phone is recorded
because if you think and turn they will lose credibility,
followed by a revolution that will set you free providing
they do not infiltrate and snatch your power base away.
Soft-shelled things by their sources laid
On spots assuring them no raid:
In my poultry picked up by maid,
With care handled or her upbraid
“Boiled or Omelets but with bread,
For my breakfast do as I’ve said!”
I’d quip: Mirror Image of Earth!
As birds live, we’ll record no dearth,
In shape completely the oval -
All Eggs and The Earth are global….
Egg-laying time the hen cackles,
With man’s presence: rising hackles!
Snakes wouldn’t want you to come near;
Once you do, for your heels I fear,
That of Powerful Eagle rare:
Sure, The Eagle won’t seekers spare!
The glad choice of some shrines and gods;
Extend them and they’ll drop their rods;
You won’t again be hit like pods;
From then a life of happy nods…
When dropped or found on the ground: eggs
Time to carefully drag one’s legs;
Why each week in my abdomen?
Not its yolk liked: it’s Albumen.