Best Clamped Poems
Laughing, dancing, having the time of her life,
Faerie Fun went from mushroom house to toadstool cottage,
Spreading joy,
Playing with everyone
In a kind and pleasant way.
There was going to be no sadness
In Faerie Forest today if she could help it.
It is up to me, she said.
I am the catalyst for happiness today.
She ate breakfast with the Nymph family,
And they laughed about silly stuff,
But no people.
She watched Lila Leprechaun’s Lilliput dance,
And she clapped and clapped while
Mama Leprechaun took care of the
Unhappy baby. Baby calm. All is well.
Faerie Fun was soon skipping
Up the walk to the most challenging
House of all.
Change your attitude! She warned herself.
Change your attitude!
Her jaw was clamped tightly shut now, and she
Was already filled with dread.
Pixie Dust! Her internal voice yelled. NOW!
The sparkly particles surrounded her, and settled down all over her, calming her instantly, and
Changing her attitude from not-so-great to wonderful.
Before she left Grump-Eater’s house, he gave her a long, lingering hug. No one gets me like you, he said.
Progress at last.
Sometimes it is simply a matter of us changing our attitude.
Categories:
clamped, 3rd grade, 4th grade,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Little houses deep asleep
In beds with down pillows
people are
in wooden miniature houses
dogs are
on couches cats are
(not in their dedicated sleeping
places no they don't)
I sleep in far away places
in cold beds no duvet
fingers clamped in soil
Return to me what was taken
for granted, this home
all that was stolen, return
Return to me flowers
with butterflies and bees
and honey sunlight poems
From little houses fast asleep
birds fly
spread their wings
and lift on wind
fill the sky
a dark cloud
for blind eyes
sombre screams
to deaf ears
So many words
misunderstood
***
July 27, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Categories:
clamped, anger, metaphor, poetry, words,
Form:
Free verse
DEVOURING PRESENCE -- REPOST
' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '
gray as it may sound, i pluck
a morsel of star's daring light,
this is where i want to be... in a
stretch of spontaneous rhythm with
my wired body clamped from the noise
and haze of days' pages, pulling me into
puppet strings of gods who never
knew the magic of human sensibilities.
if trees can entwine with their
own lemon leaves so so sweetly,
and hummingbirds hug the breeze in
a stretch of flight luring a neutral
night, i must be at the center of
my constellation tiptoeing
upon grasses with a lick of wine
on the neck and a pirouette of some
whirl of a dance.. i go thirsty
for the fluid rawness of my need
to simply be.
all rights reserved
©
``` P.D's featured poem of the week contest
```
` ` `featured poem on soup : 20 march 2011 ` ` `
nette onclaud
Categories:
clamped, life, passion
Form:
Free verse
Half eaten hearts
pump on three surviving parts,
Loyalty, Lust, and Longing,
thump thump thump,
I was your secret crush
you were my finest rush,
put Poetry in my veins like victory ongoing,
placed your loneliness in a casket of flames,
our language so lustful, demolishing civilized chains,
touching so trustful that asking permission would be aweful,
team work more natural than rhythm to rhyme, a new breed of Angel,
clutching uncharted romance rough & rude we jump,
Strange how we sew, rip and stich the fabric of our worlds,
I can see your constellation in my dreams Luv,
a glimmer for every kiss you clamped on my confident lips,
I told you that my love can be the richest food on earth,
I understand now, that your love is stronger than diamonds,
I already miss you more than my heart can count,
my tears do not fall, suspended in the lock of a love saga,
Lets split the loot babe,
parchments & prizes of Love's plunder we'll divide fairly,
raise up anchors from Passion's Port,
slap and smother each other one more time,
blow on pearls together,
throwing them in this tempestuous sea for Luck,
breathing honest devotion in your ear,
whenever you need me I'll be there,
flag flying fast to you, cannons cursing for your care,
your final stare, the softest I've ever seen -
J.A.B.
Categories:
clamped, devotion,
Form:
Free verse
Hail from top of birth birch tree,
A birdie sings merrily;
Prancing to and fro on each branch,
Pink, yellow, white flowers on its beak are clamped;
Yearning everyone’s on the floor to dance.
Birdie, birdie, may I follow you?
Is there anything I wanna do?
Responses are: Cheerpee, Cheerpee, Cheer ye join me!
Today is Someone’s Very Special Day.
Hooray! Let’s give a blast!
Don’t delay. Let’s now start (conducting)
Aloud! Let’s sing with bunch of loving birthday wishes
You, my dearest friend may have lots of joy, good health, more success!
Happy Birthday and God Bless!
Written: Oct. 7, 2017 12.30 pm
– My loving greetings to our dearest poet and friend, my poetic Sis-Bff Linda. Hope you’ll have the chance to read my poems.
This is also to greet all my loving poetic friends whose birthday is October. Hugs and cheers!
Categories:
clamped, birthday,
Form:
Acrostic
Pardoned through the postmortem black
The green air like gas driving through
The dense flakes laid on my head.
My body lay heavy with the sunken Red Sea.
My clearness clear all eyes, I feel nothing now,
Not the vivacious flashes of a Summer Lady
Nor the rowdy screams of children at funerals.
My body lay cold, cold as a ferret’s nose,
I could hear it scream through pale October.
And all I remember in the weary twilight:
The seat belt clamped against my silent heart
My body threw itself from the vigor of metals,
Your hell widens to the flush of my form
And I felt my psyche evaporate in the clear air
Flashes of red and blue tango perfumery against the senseless black.
And all I remember in the weary twilight
Was a slim light calling my concealed name… I answered.
The red and blue steadily vanished in the blackness.
I watch my numb body lay flat on silver
Piecing together the weary twilight of red and blue
And shutting doors, though dead stiff, it was nothing new.
Categories:
clamped, death, emotions, farewell, funeral,
Form:
Free verse
CHARLIE'S CARTOON CHARACTERS
Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a far away land, in the land where Charlie lived, there was a group of cartoon characters who felt as though they were the greatest thing to come along since sliced bread was put on the market. They were truly a curious bunch of characters who could be seen on any given day careening down the thoroughfare on their coveted tricycles causing people to scatter for fear of being crushed by these cavorting crazies who carelessly chose to clutter up the sidewalkway and the crosswalk while practically choking with laughter.
From the other side of town, there came a handsome, muscled up soon to be champion of the people because he had come to clean up this careening group of cartoon characters and put Charlie in his place. This champion's name was Clint, as in Eastwood, but even more impressive. He came into town on his cherished red, white, and blue skateboard. Clint was on a crusade. Yes, he was certainly charismatic and rather charming with his crooked little curved lip smile and the cheroot cigar clamped tightly between his crystalline teeth. Well, his very appearance was enough to convince Charlie and his gang of cohorts to seek a change of scenery and move to an entirely different city. Clint never even had to get off of his skateboard except to convince a certain little campus cutie that he was to become her cherished companion and settle down in a clean little cabin on the corner of Clint Avenue and Colleen Boulevard. Yes, that is what the town folks named that location. Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention that the little campus cutie was named Colleen. She and Clint are the proud parents of Curtis, Catherine, Constance, and two classy little girls named Jan and Andrea. They all live happily in Cunningham, Colorado. Cunningham is a little place named after a poet, Tom Cunningham. Tom and another noted poet named Bob Hinshaw help Clint maintain law and order as they sit around thinking up stuff to write for folks to read when they don't have anything better to do.
13 November 2018
For the contest sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
Categories:
clamped, character, children, funny, marriage,
Form:
Free verse
It was her kitchen, her family, and my newly-married man, and I aimed to please her by properly being fed.
With a smile and a swish, “We have butterscotch pudding pie for dessert!” My brand spanking new mother-in-law said.
Her excitement had no knowledge of the instant memory of horribleness that leaped instantly to my own quickly confused head.
I tried to take an invisible pretend bite while the family all watched, eagerly waiting but my traitorous mouth played dead.
Tears filled my eyes, as I was unnaturally smothered with the sad, angry hurt of my long-ago favorite butterscotch pie.
The feelings came so damned fast, I could not stop them at all or even slow them down, and they surrounded me, and made me cry.
When I was eleven, my family of origin was in the kitchen, laughing, and playing, and goofing around.
When the phone rang, I was asked to get it, because it was wire-attached to the wall, and I was the closest to the retched sound.
I had never heard my mother wail or keen until that day, certainly never heard her yell, “DICK!” or fall without any game to play.
Our big Dad jumped up faster than we had ever seen, grabbed rag-doll Mom before she hit the kitchen counter in a not so great way.
We all turned pure white, which was odd because we were usually pink. Fascinated, yet, hungry, I took my first bite, and heard the words “Mom is dead, and Dad’s dead too.”
We kids started shaking, sad and scared. Grandma and Grandpa were our king and queen. When things calmed down in a second or two that damned butterscotch pie tasted like glue.
Everyone wailed wild-eyed, faces red. The cousins came, and we huddled together and cried and screamed how great it was sob, sob, that they both went to heaven.
Yes, I know that was many years ago but when my feelings took my body over loud and clear, they clamped my mouth tightly shut, because I was back to 11.
Categories:
clamped, feelings,
Form:
Rhyme
Deep within the highland mists, white heather, bright adorning,
I last beheld those flaring eyes, though tender as the borning.
I'd gone a-hiking, early snow, 'midst headland slopes and fells -
Their lullabies e'er sang to me - far flung from towns and dells.
She haunted castle ruins there, made home its ravaged posts,
And spun her ballet in its bones, round-towers dark as ghosts.
That chilled All-Hallows Eve, I slept within its crumbling seams,
And woke to moon and her above, clothed soft in just its beams.
Oh, never did I swim one soul 'twas sweet and broad as she,
Like plunging deep in starlight, and drowning 'midst that sea.
The whitest heather ever known could not, like her, entrance,
No swirling of the swiftest stream would match her lover's dance.
I saw my breath by moonlight, yet none came from her form,
And while a frost was growing thick, I'd never felt as warm.
Thus as we reached crescendo, I clamped tight both my eyes,
Then opened them to find her gone ... no moon, just barren skies.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Halloween Moon" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
clamped, fantasy, passion, spiritual,
Form:
Couplet
elbow to elbow no room to breathe
in this place i once thought an escape
missing her more each day
and each passing moment
brown children with vaseline
greased scalps peer expectantly
at this strange newcomer
vampire handsome and strange intellect
my weakness must be apparent
fore they trust me
dancing with the devil isn't a tango
it's a tangle
our innocence ensnared
like a scared fragile rabbit
pulse racing
silken brown fur clamped
between iron rusty jaws
moving like the blood of the hare
between each strand of hair
i avoid their queries of life
after the dance
Categories:
clamped, introspection, life
Form:
Free verse
As he shuffled toward me I cringed.
Ripped clothes and shoes with flapping soles had alerted me.
I could actually see his sunken cheeks and lips clamped tight.
What was he thinking?
Me, dressed just so. Fancy hair, eyes aglow.
What was he thinking?
My purse clenched tightly.
Do I cross to the other side?
What was he thinking?
Suddenly it came to me,
flooding both my mind and my heart.
I am so very sorry.
I almost forgot that you are as human as I.
I am so sorry.
One thing for sure, apparently you are the stronger one.
I am sure I could not live the life you must.
What was I thinking?
Categories:
clamped, anti bullying, care, discrimination,
Form:
Free verse
pressed ...
kind as a criminal
your cold kisses clamped shut -
like a thousand stiff arms
they walled me in ...
I was your dirigible, soaring
promises made in passion and dreaming
(my horrid err)
the slender ropes you clung to
braided with expectation
pulling ...
pulling ...
pulling ...
hope, rusted by your
greedy weep
and the shine of love turned to
weight like iron -
you would give your
breaths, all, to keep me from the stars,
and I would waste those
precious wonders ...
to keep you from your
breaths.
Categories:
clamped, analogy, imagery, love, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
How long are eight minutes
it's centuries-old
rusted chains
clamped to throats
whips burn-in flesh
criss-cross scars
Bodies tossed overboard
spoiled cargo
sold commodities
left hanging on trees
fresh scents
for the dogs to chase
Bones of the dead
buried beneath slave walls
after crows
have plucked out their eyes
The death of eight hundred thousand
the price of the word freedom
whispered in the North
never spoken in the South
left to vanish
in blood-soaked battlegrounds
Spit on, beaten, go away
no votes allowed
not this water fountain
not this restaurant
not this seat
How long are eight minutes
long enough to end injustice
long enough to break the racial divide
long enough for a brave heart to have acted
long enough a cruel heart grew in its cruelty
long enough not to breathe
long enough to murder, unconcerned
long enough for understanding to be born
long enough to finally be heard
6/7/20
inspired by Richard's contest
not for contest
Categories:
clamped, america, change, cry, discrimination,
Form:
Free verse
Santa stood in the warehouse
Full of nearly empty shelves
Last night they’d been ram raided
By a bunch of discontented elves
Recently infiltrated and recruited
Into an association of packing staff
Whose ideas and demands and wants
Caused Santa to cynically laugh.
He could have held out for longer
That much was very clear
But the clever blighters
Had subverted his reindeer
To make matters even worse
Pushing poor Santa to the edge
The blighters had gone and clamped
His only working sledge
Only thirty days to Christmas
He knew of no other way
Than to meet their demands
For increased shift working pay
He’d do what it took
To bring things back on track
And ensure he had enough
To fill his mammoth sack
He reached for the Gordon’s
For one last large stiff gin
Then went to arbitration
With a forced and fixed grin
Categories:
clamped, christmas, fun, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Ever had those moments when you were convinced--
no, make that Definite,
that everything was going your way?
Map in hand, destination in sight
then only to be horrified
that you suddenly
didn't know how to read the map?
That the compass doesn't work,
that you misinterpreted the signs?
So you are left with nothing.
Stuck in a place
between the now and the future--
Which is basically nowhere at all.
Asking for directions is pointless,
because the people you ask
are as clueless as you are--
wandering in their own vicious circles;
of rings getting tangled, untangled,
clashing then finally collapsing
into unlinkable chains
A conundrum, really.
Imagine this map as a perfect puzzle image,
shattered into a million jagged pieces in midair--
and they lie suspended there,
floating, painstakingly taking forever
to fall--- to--- the......... ground
You try to catch them, but are hesitant,
because the pieces are so sharp, angry
leaving you with bleeding cuts all over
and yet if you fail to do so, and they hit the ground
they shatter once again,
as dust
Impossible task, really.
Crying does you no good,
since tears mixed with that dust--
well, you are only left with mud
So what's one left with?
Instinct.
Sheer gut.
And you can only hope and pray
that you don't make a wrong turn this time.
Completely thrown off course,
you follow what you think is right.
Collect yourself,
read the signs again
and walk on.
Might take you days, even years
but at least you still tried,
refusing to just stand still,
waiting for the paths to show you the way.
You pave those paths yourself,
without trampling on ants
and maybe one day
you'd suddenly find yourself
in front of that lockless door
that was meant for you alone.
It is clamped shut though,
and will only open when it sees you.
This is that door that actually leads to the
place you've been searching for all along.
It doesn't have any locks at all
simply because
You are the key.
07072011328p357
Categories:
clamped, introspection, life
Form:
Free verse