Best Animation Poems
Over x steps we will plot
after y steps up to site.
This is the way we create a body.
This is the beginning and this is end.
One spot along outer curve after spot.
Over time we create form.
After time we create line.
This is learned by measured formula.
This is practiced by sending number sets.
One set pairs after another set more.
Over experience cone,
over our learning of bell,
this formula drives known ideal form.
This complexity makes simplified art.
One art connected to others in web.
Over our creation art,
over web to all connects,
this numeric nature brought to new life.
This mental game in time represents us.
One ciphers. One plots. One imagines.
Timeless steps time and again.
Animates our life and time.
10/13/2018
Sponsored by : Emile Pinet
It's cold over here
Where hearts pump icicles,
Decelerated from normal time wrinkles.
I sit here
Trying to unthaw my mind.
In order to wonder if I exist in time
I never succeed.
I am suspended.
A pig flew over,
And the fat lady sang.
I managed to press "Unpause"
On this game.
The superball sprang
An animated bounce
An energetic ocean
From a simply lifeless ounce.
But time must continue.
The speed must decrease.
And all the lil' sparks here have ceased.
The sloths here get tickets
And man are they slow.
I'd gladly leave
If I had somewhere to go.
When all else has ended,
I remain,
Suspended.
She brushed after
every meal
scrubbed every
fruit.
She had copious
concerns
re contamination
but had a blind spot
when she ate cadavers
of animals
deprived of animation
Animation I grew up with,
Bride of fantasy stories.
Comedy with action I watch,
Death of worries I snatch.
Earth of penitence is
Fist of imagination I sense.
Girdle of suffocation, I sike
Hinterland of minds, I hike.
Insatiable finds take off
Juggernaut of marvels thereof.
Kommandatura with style,
Love of sequels I file.
Mysteries of lifestyle are not farfetched,
Nincompoops play unwretched.
Over and under a replay of streams --
Posthumously acclaimed.
Quondam penners survived,
Reminiscences of sets --
Sets of scenes and takes,
Travesty of the reclaimed.
Up, up and away
Victory not far away.
Wonders of life in a bucket
Xanadu of strife in a socket.
Yabadabadoo!
Zen of life.
The cold wind cuts through like sharp swords
The quest for shelter reveals closed doors
When will the pain end and the world see the thaw of spring
When will the birds begin to sing
Life has come to a standstill in this tundra frozen
Leaves clinging to trees in desperation
Winds blowing mercilessly and howling with glee
Watching near corpses of animals flee
Icicles like knives looking for an opportunity to strike
To pierce hearts with their sharp spikes
Even blood doesn't flow in this sub-zero world
It just freezes in the wounds like a story untold
Summer will arrive as surely as there is day after night
But what about those who have lost the fight
What is the best that can happen after the winter does go
Maybe the blood in the wounds will begin to flow
Ty Tot Ty Taw Tay Tater Tat
Ty Tid! Ty Tid!
Ty Taw Tay Tater Tat!
if you feed it, then
it will continue to grow --
litter on the ground.
Today's film's
animation
provides bodacious
consolation
future world of
syberpunk
grue dream of future
change
with affulenza
manifestations
young generation
chillax
For contest:
Sponsored by: Debbie
Guzzi
The animal thing inside:
My half-brother,
was unsettling me.
Over the sunset I watch
the drawing procession
carrying the dead body of a tiger.
The light is fading. The stripes
were becoming a myth. The
guest was ready to depart.
I am holding the molten lava
in an urn. In the black sky
a satellite burns to undo the grief.
There is no death, no stopping.
A face pressed between the leaves
of a book smiles.
You come back to me in rains.
I call you by cinders dancing
in the mirror of whistling time.
Satish Verma
You say Life is rough
O tell me what makes it tough;
If not of your idiosyncrasy
Life is a rock of intricacy
Room of animation and stagnation
Those must be tasted as abnegation
Yes, even the opulent must travel through
So live it madly or sweetly
And sing it silently or loudly.
Life is dark mode's light
It shines when lit
And overshadows the dark parts
Should you lust for Life's fancies
You'll end up calling it hard
If you spite its idle games that pad
It'll be all right.
Life is a message
And you are the very prophet of your life
Strive, therefore, to preach it to the world with charity
Of worthiness and integrity
For your star to scintillate brightly.
The choice of Life lies where it's courtesy.
From out of the lacustrine,dense tract, green
Lining the silent mossy forlorn lake keen ,
Came out leaping and hopping,a fat frog ;
He landed and stopped on a reedy clog ,
As he saw the Chameleon on a stem frail ,
Gripping fast the rush with its prehensile tail ,
Croaking and flicking his tongue around,
To relish one and all the insects found ;
He made his own way on the rich moss,
And back and forth on the spread-over grass ;
His acrobatics envied and enraged the rival
Watching silently with rolling eyes since arrival .
The crestfallen had missed his chance thrice
And retracted to sit still like frozen ice -
Having lost to the place his colour and stance ;
Thrill and anxiety did the crux spell enchnce ;
A surly serpent suddenly sprang,as if to mock
Hissing , out of the crevice beneath a rock ;
It was a measured move -a prize catch ;
The victim was more a meal than a match ,
And went in neatly with a suppressed wail ;
The avenged lizard quirked and muttered his hail :
Pride goes pouncing and swooping before a fall ,
Thus to end up with a whimper, defeat and all.
Superman, Batman, and Spiderman
you too. I have a burning question
about what you guys do.
You save the world from evil am I
correct?....
And in doing so you've gained the
worlds respect.
But that's not my question before
you interject...
Its just that I've noticed somethings
that you guys neglect
Who will save you when its all said
and done?
You must know every battle can't be
won?
When you die will your legacy live
on?
Do any of you even have sons?
My interrogation here is almost
done
If you won't answer those questions
please answer this one..........
Are the tight body suits necessary or
do you wear them for
don’t call him a baby...
don’t make fun of his tears...
his soul’s tender —
he runs and hides,
under a chromatic beanbag
with a dark emotional spectrum.
when he returns to play Sleeping Queens,* he
sniffles, wipes tears on his sleeve (and yours)
“You hurt my feelings.”
you find yourself not unlike the Road Runner**
sailing off a cliff —
suspended in animation.
the reward of leaning in,
hearing what this little soul has to say,
realizing your fool mistake,
this time taking the time
to explain what his limited mind
can take,
then you hug the stuffings
out of the little ruffian***
but only if you can catch him.
10/24/2019
*Card Game
**Cartoon
***Here ruffian is used as a term of endearment
Boohoo is bidding for Boo-Boo
But Yogi’s not seeking a deal,
He’s scanning the park for a picnic
Looking forward to his evening meal.
Warner Brothers deny their involvement
So investors are kept in the dark,
But rumours are spreading ’round Bedrock
And the restrooms of Jellystone Park.
Boohoo is bidding for Boo-Boo,
It’s becoming a sought-after brand;
For Yogi it’s deeply upsetting
And he’s drawing a line in the sand.
This fetish for gobbling-up trademarks
Is addictive - a turbulent torrent,
So the trustees of Hanna-Barbera
Have rescinded Mister Ranger’s warrant.
Boohoo is loving the limelight,
Printing posters to boast of expansion.
Directors are driving round Dorset
Seeking out an available mansion.
Animated heroes fall silent,
Suppressing their deep-seated rage,
They’ve vowed to stop buying new costumes,
Thought bubbles stay blank on the page.
Snagglepuss is sacking his agent
Whose alibi soon fell to pieces,
Wacky Races have cancelled two meetings
Though Mister Jinks is still chasing meeces.
Huckleberry Hound is blue in the face,
So upset that he’s leaving his kennel tea.
Boohoo’s directors have not thought this through,
Analysts think they’ll soon pay a penalty.
Now Matalan, Primark and Peacocks
Are struggling hard to pay rates,
They see this young upstart named Boohoo
Just sealing competitors’ fates.
The Jetsons are locked in a hangar
Refusing to talk to the press,
While Cindy is comforting Yogi
Because bears aren’t accustomed to stress.
Just how many trademarks are needed
To cater for everyone’s tastes?
With so many trend-setters in lockdown
Periodically measuring waists.
The Jellystone team is downhearted
When they note that admissions are down,
With Boohoo now trashing their legacy
It’s the first time they’ve seen Muttley frown!
Yes, Boohoo is bidding for Boo-Boo,
It’s becoming a sought-after brand;
For Yogi it’s deeply upsetting
And the prospects for fashion seem bland.
The girl has reached the terminal
with rogue cancer cells creeping in the lung,
the pain pulsates in the writhing body
with the last rhythm of the swan song.
The distant drowsy eyes decline to close
lest the final sleep comes uncalled,
takes away the wonderful world from her.
The feeble breath tells the tortured lung :
Don’t give up yet, let’s fight together
until the journey ends at the edge of hope.
Losing the battle she tells her mother :
Keep me in the coldest chamber,
freeze me with all my dreams,
the way you kept me in the womb with care,
till they find the cure for cancer.
I will then return from the depth of cold
and live again in this beautiful world.
May 27, 2019