Best Compressing Poems
Dancing with delusions, sparks of hellfire
Course through my lugubrious quill pen.
Distorted words igniting fear,
Anxiety fills crevices,
Encircling, silencing,
Asphyxiating.
Walls closing in,
Compressing.
Hope fades,
Doom.
Dread
Runs cold.
Veins poisoned,
Sanity slips
Unmercifully.
The angels are mimicked.
Light dimming, darkness descends
As demons mingle with the dead.
Apocalyptic skies crack open
To wash away all that you held sacred.
Categories:
compressing, death, gothic, imagery, metaphor,
Form:
Etheree
Once upon a time... a child celebrated
Colorful lights of Crackers...
Fluorescence of Fireworks.
The black powder bonfires in sky
Illuminated his darkness ..
Sprinkling showers of acoustic pops.
And then...
Demons ignited black powder to enslave his mind.
His cranium was detonated with guns and bullets.
Blitz of Bombs ticked his reverberating Time.
His black powder infested blue vest
Now singed and scorched..
A belt of Bioluminescence garlanded his waist.
How smart he looked.. ready to blow up the Cafe.
Aha! That Black Coffee Powder
Was Exploding Love of Joy
Aha! That Black Gun Powder
Was Imploding Hate of Joy.
Soon there will be...
Scarlet blood spilling in smouldering slag.
Broken Glass and Bodies in pulverized roofs.
Screams of Resurrect Dreams...
He hears a faint whisper..'Son, please don't die'..
But wasn't he a Martyr.....a Superstar?
A Black Hole full of Black Powder...Near and Far...
The Supernova* waited.... to be a Dead Star...
*A Supernova Black Hole is an astronomical concept: They form when a very massive star (at least 25 times heavier than our Sun) runs out of nuclear fuel. The star then explodes as a supernova. A black hole is born when an object becomes unable to withstand the compressing force of its own gravity.
Dated 14th November,2018.
Submitted to the Black Powder Poetry Contest
Sponsor Anthony Slausen.
PLACED FIRST IN CONTEST
Categories:
compressing, celebration, child, fear, hero,
Form:
Free verse
The brain is an incredibly efficient computer
Compressing trillions of bytes of information,
Registering every impression we encounter,
Analyzing concepts from formation to causation.
Compressing trillions of bytes of information
In milliseconds without hesitation, unrelentingly,
Analyzing concepts from formation to causation
Remarkably, it even functions unconsciously.
In milliseconds without hesitation, unrelentingly,
It processes the continual intake of our senses
Remarkably, it even functions unconsciously,
Outlining proposals, formulating our defenses.
It processes the continual intake of our senses,
All while regulating our involuntary responses
Outlines our proposals, formulates our defenses
Even evaluating the most complicated nuances.
All while regulating our involuntary responses
Registering every impression we encounter,
Even evaluating the most complicated nuances
The brain is an incredibly efficient computer.
Written May 9, 2022
Categories:
compressing, body, computer,
Form:
Pantoum
theres no escape
from this place i learned 2 hate
this black hole in need of a nite lite
2 scatter the shadows compressing my consciousness
into little hard balls of lost moments
time stolen
molten madness peering through my brain
seeking entrance
into
making me feel
out of
Categories:
compressing,
Form:
Free verse
TIME CATCHING
©Alfreda Williamson, 6/29/12
Spring’s first day . . .
blustery, blowing,
as cold as
Winter’s first blast.
Until . . .
as hot as, blazing,
relentless,
Summer’s sun.
Then . . .
as I stood in,
the midst of the seasons.
I felt it,
ever so softly, almost imperceptibly,
a brushing against my cheek,
a landing on my bare feet,
that I almost could not feel.
Just,
one, tiny,
yellow leaf,
that I saw in my mind’s eye . . .
frantically, decidedly,
swirling speedily to the ground,
as if heralding,
Autumn.
____________________
TIME, catching up to itself.
SEASONS, catching up to themselves,
All at once . . .
time’s flying,
compressing,
Winding up.
Categories:
compressing, mystery,
Form:
Prose Poetry
contemplating
old age...
compressing
the passage of time
in a streak of light
---------------------
© 29th April 2017
Categories:
compressing, age, time,
Form:
Tanka
The Animal In The Cage
Locked in a cage
Steel bars of my own making
The floor lined with the bodies of those who came before
Alongside the bones of those who conspired to harm me
My fingers claw in desperation
Ripping the flesh from the ends
Exposing claws lost eons ago through evolution
My teeth tear into the metal filing my mouth with orange powder
Powder that corrodes my throat making it impossible to talk
Impossible to scream or plead for my life
Alas, the more I try to escape the smaller the cage becomes
Compressing my hopes and dreams
Shrinking any spirit or soul I may have left.
Why would be owner of the cage treat me so?
Men, women and children walk by my cage
Pointing and laughing at the animal trying to escape
They must know the pain I am in
Maybe they can see past the hatred I feel
Maybe they can see the torture it in my eyes
All they have to do is look
Maybe if just one person looked and saw the real me
One bar would fade and I would be released
Maybe I could be human again
If only just one person took the time
The time to see that the animal before them was a man
If just…
Categories:
compressing, angstanimal, animal,
Form:
Free verse
Traveling through the jaded discourse
With bartered pen and little remorse
Brandishing sharpened scalpel; tour de force
Unabashedly seeking all texts from lexicon to divorce
Developing underlying themes to alter the broader context
Freely abridging each verse to establish the pretext
Isolating each stanza to create a subtext
Inferring connotations to establish a hypertext
Disassociating words to broker more inflection
Delinking phrases building new bridges for reflection
Deconstructing patterns to sculpt out a new direction
Decoding mores and values to foster introspection
Voiding punctuation; compressing verses to scuttle metric time
Extrapolating dominant motifs to devalue the inculcating paradigm
Decoupling dissonant accents to deflower the sublime
Erasing phonetic schemes; disbanding symetrical order; decelerating rhyme
Categories:
compressing, on writing and words
Form:
Rhyme
"shhhhh.....shissssssh"
"be quiet"...whispered
"Can you hear that?"
.
.
"What is that sound?"
Is it far...a faraway
train whistle lonesome
from song of mainline?
Is it the soft ting
of the tea kettle
cooling on the stove,
bending it's metal?
"What is that sound?"
It is the slow creak
of old wooden chairs
as mortise and tenon
slowly adjust, torqued
to a shifting weight.
Could be a mantle
clock tiptoe ticking
away Sunday afternoon.
Why don't they make
digital clocks tick?
Is it that catlike scratch
of the Autumn branch
gently scraping the window?
"What is that sound?"
It is the hushed hum
of computer fan lulling
a digital brain.
The Venetian blinds
rhythmically tap half-open
double-hung windows.
The vibrating whir
of some electric motor
compressing or orbiting
the periodic table.
Mountains of Quaking Aspen
leaves relaxing the winds.
When is alone welcome
and when is it forlorn?
The weight of near silence,
light as the dust that
floats the sunlit room,
or heavy as a cardiac
anvil under ancient
spreading Chestnut tree.
Did the bell toll at
the village church,
ringing all comers
to awake momentarily, or
was that just tinnitus?
Unable to open eyes,
sounds belie surroundings
and alone might be
fallacy or welcome.
Deceptive senses afoot
in the stirrup, and hammer
tapping anvil might only
be a mindful dream.
© Goode Guy 2011-06-13
Categories:
compressing, imagination, introspection, life, mystery,
Form:
Free verse
I have stories in my heart I want to tell
Some of people in paradise and others in hell
I know all the characters in my stories well
Some perish, while some are saved by the bell
The characters are just you and me in print
Described perfectly by thousands of words on ink
They maybe imagined, made up names and identities
But they are just like us, our situations and realities
Like God running the world and carrying out his plans
I forge words and create stories with twists and turns
Where paradise gets lost and hell breaks loose
Where no one can escape the blues
I am an artist; words are my paint as I sit and sketch
The reflection of humanity’s maddening stench
Brightly captured line after line on A4 paper canvas
Like a conductor I swing my fingers and make the alphabet dance
Heartbreaks all over and death in the end
In imagination as in reality, its hard to find a friend
Every man for himself and every woman abused
Even if you are Oprah or the queen, you still get used
Words are fun to merge, into sentences to tell tales
Compressing into pages, explaining why happiness fails
Dreams shattered in a tunnel, like the princess of Wales
People spreading viruses in beds and electronic mails
Like a chef I mix words as if they are ingredients
Cooking up manuscripts that have no recipients
I compose the truth in exaggerated prose
Enough to steal Shakespeare's glory, from right under his nose
My characters may not be close to fame just yet
But they have more grit, than Romeo and Juliet
More complex than Shakespeare's Macbeth
Best laid plans, matters of life and death
An unedited anthology of human tragedies
An underground bible of life’s vanities
With chapters and passages for my eyes only
Hopefully to one day inspire and comfort the lonely
When that day comes maybe I will be famous
But for now, I am unpublished anonymous
Categories:
compressing, future,
Form:
Rhyme
Tumor
Growth in the heart
Right atrium chamber
Compressing tricuspid's valve flap
Scary
Categories:
compressing, health,
Form:
Cinquain
Running cracks of lead flaked paint, spiders across the front door like a grandfather's
forehead.
Its hinges squeal from years of inattention and forgotten maintenance
Floor boards moan a song of dismemberment and forgotten age
While musty gloom thickens the air – inhibiting, restricting, compressing breaths
Entrance ways lead to hallways which culminate and connect enclosed spaces,
hovering in an atmosphere of haunt and mourn
Conversations linger, echoing within walls of dine and feast
settings arranged from ritual –
two plates,
two bowls,
two cups,
two knives,
two spoons,
two forks,
two napkins,
two chairs,
with only voice and ephemeral trace.
Twisted unleveled stairs, escalate to second stories
letters to love and hate cover ancient mourning boards.
Segmented space divides the infant from maturation.
Cracked spine, chipped rails, exposing the wooden crib core
Superficial angst and rage characterizing the infant's facade,
yet delicate love exposed in clean white linens pressed and laid in perfection
sets the bedding stage for stuffed bears and embroidered blankies
Toppled bookcase defecates bound knowledge across adult wooden bed frame
disheveling sheets, rugs, and right angles,
its half fallen posture exposes entrance way to hidden passages.
Between walls, moving slow as not to catch thread to exposed nail, pipe, or wire
shoulders grazing support beams, pace entranced by flattening florescence bulbed ceilings
Each step enclosing space tighter and tighter
Climax turns to anticlimax as exit opens to
a hermetic cell of textural paint echoing skin blotched and boiled.
Surrounding walls of tattered gold, ulcer red and puss filled purple,
each based with blotched skin.?Encircles full length mirror exposing views of deceased
discomfort –
Black glass glows within frame of ornate wood
spiking and curling with baroque transcendence
Reflecting back a ghost of future deceased persona.
Categories:
compressing, artlove, space,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Like a character in a Dr Seuss book
I play the New Years “Push Me Pull You” game
Daily I stretch stubborn limbs
Into pretzel-like shapes
Hoping to mitigate nature’s downward force
I beg my legs to carry me with a ballerina’s lightness
Instead I’m gratified to lumber like an elephant
But just as surely
Gravity returns each night
Tightening my joints’ screws
Pulling my tendons’ strings
Compressing my spine's vertebrae
Ignoring my pleas
To just stay where I put them
Hips refuse to do my bidding
I say, “Swivel!”.
They reply with a half-hearted twist
Like opening a tin with a rusty can opener
They creak and protest
Surrendering minimally to my commands
I pray for rubber-band arms
As I reach behind to unzip
I receive a lock-jaw response
Elbows protrude in disjointed positions
Instead of a ballerina’s plie
My legs respond with twisted screams of agony
My neck once had backward eyes that inspired terror
In kids afraid of being discovered
Now it is straight-jacketed into a forward position
Like a soldier in a parade line
Afraid to get called-out by the commander
Don’t push us too far my muscles yell
Aches and pains too terrible to imagine
Will be your rewards
If you overextend.
Categories:
compressing, body, humor, new year,
Form:
Free verse
Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt
raised you as a monument
to his empire, and why shouldn’t he.
From humble beginnings his art was
monopoly. He understood the art in craft,
it seems, for grand indeed you are. You
never belonged to him though, not
for a minute. You are touched by the handprints
of the thousands of souls who have built you:
ditch diggers and rock breakers, immigrants with picks,
sand-hogs and men off the reservation who walk in the wind.
Carpenters and engineers, plasterers and track men,
free men from the south and young men off farms
along the Erie Line from Chicago. You are oiled
with their sweat your memory holds their faces.
You have grown with progress, made adjustments.
In application you are a multi-chambered bellows,
you are the compressing and expanding cacophony of the accordionist,
you are the venturi effect. A pair of lungs. A beating heart;
pulling and pumping in all directions the flowing
blood-life of our nation. Beneath your dome of stars
you blanket the needy. Lovers rendezvous under your all-seeing
four-eyed clock: keeper of centuries with its secret
spiral staircase optical nerve. See’er of millions,
taking an imprint of each. Living. Breathing. Alive.
Categories:
compressing, america, history,
Form:
Free verse
Students at Work
See them work!
Studious looks,
Buried in books,
Leaflets flipping,
Binders snapping,
Pencils tapping,
Textbooks slamming,
Nick-knacks toppling,
Back-packs rummaging,
Noses rubbing,
Nail nibbling,
knees flapping,
Foreheads scrunching,
Eyebrows rising,
Lips compressing,
Faces scowling,
Chins supported,
Tongues catapulting,
Coughs echoes,
Work Accomplished!
Categories:
compressing, school
Form: