Best Cubical Poems
Morning Shower
This morning I have carefully slumbered into the bathroom to start the shower
Groggy and tired I turn the control counterclockwise to a satisfying temperature
I step inside the cubical and shiver with the initial shock of water pouring on me
My body starts to melt as the warmth covers me like a warm blanket
Worries and agendas come seeping through the shower tiles like unavoidable green monsters
Clouds of steam give a ferocious roar and the mischievous scoundrels scamper off into hiding,
Knowing that they will return once again
I’m taken to some place new
A beach with sand white as snow and the sun’s rays kissing every inch of my skin;
With the sounds of a soothing melody and a reggae beat off in the distance
I don’t recall the song but find myself knowing every word and sing along,
As my mood is calmed and contented
He, She, they, them, their or choices .
I wonder if your world is round or maybe not because probably your mind is cubical , you are a dice, it is as similar as the dice given as an example of cube , a cube which is closed , has defined corners and one measurement perhaps it would have been better if we could deter to these bold and times old Indian fonts of sterotyped examples and ask for more pentagons and circles which were ***** , just like me .
You love explaining area and mensuration with examples of a gender entangled bangle , a match box that dosent match me , and an unwise dice but little did you realise that you have yourself become a box of typical undynamic identities , closed and formalised with prejudiced formulas of measurement .
So I want to switch your camera from portrait view to a panoramic view to notice that I am a decagon , difficult to the vocabulary of a polygon and unacceptable to the category of human.
Maybe I know that now you are old enough and you've learned about this ***** trans decagon like me but still when you hear about polygons and humans , your answers are straight line segments of triangles & squares and straight people whose gender binary is fair , well unfair to the notions of identity which remains undefined for not just me but also you swinging between choices of being extremely feminine on some days and masculine on others .
You see the problem with this arrangement is confusion of building a glass wall of hatred for people we find strange to our little knowledge of normal , so we assume them to be an abnormal comfort smelter , stone pelter , destined to give us a discomforting experience of flawed birth , flawed to our little knowledge of what's correct .
Them , their , he , She , her aren't identities but preferred pronouns which is a very basic question out of our mean calculative binary syllabus , but a question meant to be inculcated in our cubical boxed syllabus because earth is round and endless and so are my choices .
He sits in the bus cubical
dressed in tattered clothes,
he holds a Coke bottle
filled with something I don't know.
I can see the pain
that hides behind his eyes,
nowhere to go
the street is his home tonight.
His hair is all matted
doesn't look like it was brushed,
a scruffy beard on his face
passersby never made a fuss.
His hands are all dirty
his face is too,
he sits there peacefully
as there is nothing else to do.
My heart goes out to him
as he is homeless beyond compare,
it hurts my soul
just to see him sitting there.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Apr.20/2005
Whatever happens when days counted as weeks?
And years counted as astrological countdowns
What ever happened to disco rap battling drums?
On streets filled graffiti and sand castles
Whatever happens to shoes with no laces?
And bras with no straps
Backpack ladybugs with taps
Bell bottoms Montreal
Sweden Russia Columbia streets
Backward aimed down guns strictly meant for
Cisco band operative thieves
Whatever happens to justice stringing down a cubical wall?
Hanged down gavels London has fall
Lint brushed suits and gated Citadels
Bells ring time church broken pulpits spill
What ever happened to make up brushing Mack trucks?
Highway in France
Long stroking discipline Chinese to Japan
Whatever happened to words screaming off a page?
Sandy still beat breathing cells covered backward again
What happened to life metaphoric acronym?
Made fun of stage left to mend
Jokes to tell anchors to sail
What happened to the decrease in operating jail to sale?
What happened man made fictional crap
Backsliding genocide and presidents’ mysteriously vanish
What happened is told with a story that has no end?
Stopped up water turned brown cased in a sprite river bend
What happened what happened if the time was not set?
It will be broken and told to lie up a case with no Chef
No knife no swords
The word would not be told
What happen to happen?
Happen has caught a cold!
More than a vacation, a vocation
In the field of tranquility you
Search the Caribbean blue
Sensation or mental refuge
White sandy beaches wet
Peaches in drinks collect
Making the experience perfectly
Sweet, worthy as a bodily
Treat. Club nights, escapes
In lantern light vases
Erases memories of work
And the Jerk in Apartment
24B. you are lovely, true
Disconnection from Kansas
Dorothy, pitchfork my ass!
And to heck with Toto too, I like cats,
Bat-monkey bellhops serving champagne
On balcony restaurants under starry
Safari-scene coca bean cabanas.
Your hammock sways, snapping
Shirt stays as rays of sunlight brook
Your book and cook toes
That glow from wearing
Black shoes. No swearing,
Sweating, connecting flights
To sit here and there, eating
On the go in slow traffic, lights
And horns blearing in through
Hotel windows. Without AC
You see a sea on your desk
In your messed up cluster
Schmuck of yucky tapestry
Adorning cubical rat
Mazes. In code and number
Each node and blunder, busses
Screeching breaks on lakes
Of concrete. meat sickles
Tickle the fancy of Metro
Nancy’s claiming amnesty
From male mannerisms
As aneurisms claim hardy
Workaholic espresso toting
Suits late for some meeting.
Welcome to Pleasure Island
Were your wildest dreams
Are you, making love to
Models, crack dealing to stay
Away from the hustle, bustle, bubble
Muscle-man tan left sleeve down world.
Colors brilliantly hue the rising
Set down let down, it all really is
A biz of romance looking askance
At boom box beats from street
Thugs in Timberland boots
That choose to use time
As a crime enterprise
Of lies. But you aren’t there
You’re there in bikini underwear
On the water in your Caribbean
You picture frame from a last
Trip that wasn’t drug induced :)
As we lay here in our bed, somewhat like two strangers force to share the last hotel room at
Mary K convention. At the morning table I try to hide behind my paper, trying as hard as I
can to avoid an even modest conversation.
As she stands at the stove and begins to slam cabinet doors in attempt raise some friction
between us. I swallow down my last sip of coffee and grabbed my briefcase in attempt to
avoid her sublime actions of frustrations. Doors slam as my tires peel off into the distance,
as I felt her hawk like stare penetrating my bumper as I pressed my foot even harder to the
pedal, as I attempted to lose her in the focus of my review mirror.
Finally arriving at work nearly an hour early, my cubical soon becomes my sanctuary away
from my marital aggravations at home. Once I began to settle into my desk, I soon release a
sigh of relaxation. With each task completed…I soon began watching the big clock on the
office wall as it just keeps on ticking. As I finally leave for the day and get into
my car and with each turn of my wheel which brings me closer to my home…As I start to
dread the very thought of having to turn that door knob.
This place use to be my sanctuary away from this cold world and life’s little disappointments.
Once inside, I drop my briefcase by the door…In a hurried rush to get up the upstairs before
she realizes I'm home. This is not how I believed a marriage should be, yet I participate in
these games of charade. Each of us too scared to end this game. So we both lie here in our
sour bed of shame.
Encased in the spheres were hideous creatures of biblical account
Eight legs with a scorpion sting that made you spew your guts out
The spheres raced along a few inches off the ground
As they harvested the humans that ran riot all around
The creature would sting them then wrap them up tight
I could not tell if people were disintegrated or beamed aboard as they were zapped with a bright light
We watched from the window trembling with fear
As the creatures claimed their victims, they were drawing nearer.
I hid my son and my wife in a large metal bin,
But the creature in the sphere found them there in.
Believe me I tried to fight with all that I had,
But my hands passed through the sphere, the last thing I heard was my son screaming Dad!
I woke up in a cubical, I could not move,
As a creature approached wearing a mask and a hood.
Encased in a sphere it cut open my abdomen and chest,
Removed my stomach and lungs, closed me up without a scar or a rip in my vest.
I thought this is it, we here for spare parts,
But I didn’t die and noticed I had two hearts.
The cubical rotated until I was facing the floor,
There were millions of us laying side by side as these creatures came into the ship that didn’t seem to have a door.
The ship was transparent as we all could look out,
Helpless as they harvested others fearfully running about.
Then the ships suddenly took off as there was a massive explosion,
The governments used nuclear bombs to destroy the enemies that caused this commotion.
Earth was destroyed by a massive nuclear attack,
That was the last thing I saw before I found myself laying on my back.
The emotions, the thoughts of my wife and my sons,
Their face amiss in my mind, my mind screamed for the loss of my loved ones.
Then I fell asleep just as the ship entered a black hole,
I felt all that I know, that I love, die in my soul.
From a boy of seven
As i grew through the years
In the back of my mind
That constant fear
Memories of my brother
Been knocked down
Brought nightmares and horrors
In memory drown
Adult life reached
Kids born and growing
But when that Wednesday came
Past memory showing
The call that i dreaded
Had come that day
Your son's been knocked down
On his bike, as he played
In my office at work
I fell to my knees
Thinking back to those angels
Release him please
Hospital i reach
Tears in my eyes
Now I'm the father
History cries
Cubical entered
And the sight i see
Is my son Liam
Crying for me
I got knocked off my bike
I have a hole in my leg
As i thought of the angels
Who heard what i said
Crying like my father
At his sons hospital bed
" Dedicated to the angels who released my son that Wednesday "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/me.php
My eyes are glazed over like krispy krèmes.
How long can one person stare at the same screen?
My feet are limb like a long air plane ride.
How long can one person sit idly by?
My ears like potatoes, mash, all the sounds together
How long can one person listen as the noise gets duller and duller?
My fingers repeatedly work like an assemble line.
How long can one person type the same thing waiting for the stop sign?
My mind is full of gloomy clouds in the sky.
How long can one person sit here and mentally die?
My life is just passing me by as if toothpaste out of the tube.
How long can one person site in this cube?
Here I am, rotting in a place they call bliss
Soaked in an emptiness
To see reality did things as it pleased
Here I am, stroking my messiness
Fettered in additional story
Soaked in an emptiness
My brain is hurricane, but no, it's not about history
As I close my eyes, commotion freeze in yellow dim
Fettered in additional story
This black cubical is the most crowded rim
Claustrophobic fills the cavity in a mysterious way
As I close my eyes, commotion freeze in yellow dim
Words may decay in ages and ended stray
My soul longing for the love that never been full
Claustrophobic fills the cavity in a mysterious way
Shadow wade above the ambiguity whirlpool
My soul longing for the love that never been full
Here I am, rotting in a place they call bliss
To see reality did things as it pleased
Locked, the fourth floor’s doored cubical
Inside the ghosts are lined up saying ‘hi’
Never is there goodbye: no living/leavin’
Did fear entrap? Is it power of the mind?
And who is to say, within, is not Nirvana...
Long roads taken, to nothing at all...
Entangled internals that never flee...
Eternity so vast; a door shut, finite.
(9/7/20: '05 Beneteau 373; KKMI)
we r at the picasso exhibition
i love him studied him
the naked art now
here
going through periods
blue pink delving into
cubical geometry
of figures violins
my heart is leaping with
joy
gigantic voluptuous
art on marie teres
crying sharp vagina of
dora
they were cracking jokes
we were beginning to finish
my heart is full and i was weeping
they asked me
who is picasso
your father?
i cried harder
Solemn Confinement---
Encapsulated confined into the space of the Hidden spears
What in the world do you do and why must you have fears
Solemn Confinement
Downtrodden in atmosphere of environmental galaxies
And disappear totally in solitary confinement plexieties
Solemn Confinement
Solemn confinement Quantum physical cubical boxes yet glean
Lipstick Italian Mary Jean astronomical environmentally unclean
Solemn Confinement
Dreamer of many a thing ethnika
Overthrower of the ancient Kings
Solemn Confinement
Automatic conversion missiles that are anointed
Anointed for destruction rings toast launch appointed
For destruction corrugated conclusions of cosmic intrusions
Disillusion in great confusion nuclear fusion box rediffusion
And constant reminder
Solemn confinement
1/5/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Oblong,
curved,
rectangular,
squared,
circular,
spherical,
hexagonal,
cubical,
and traingular,
these were and several others,
the shapes,
of millions,
of partitions in my memory,
I was looking to fit ideas of shapes similar,
but fits were far and wide,
I needed to stock likes and alikes,
but all lay strewn,
harried and troubled,
I had to admit,
that I had an unfurnished mind.
Broken, dark, alone.
Confined in cubical prison.
All expression has been sucked away,
leaving a hollow shell.
As hunger starts to take over,
your given table scraps.
Only to prolong the suffering,
to slowly wither away.
In the beginning you scramble about,
searching for inevitable failure.
Barred, boxed in forever,
no means of departure allowed.
Slowly motivation dies,
and you return to remaining still,
and wonder throughout the only thing left,
the flowing imagination in your mind.
In your corner of the world
you think of happiness and joy,
yet unreachable in the present.
You mourn for eternity.
Delusion slowly sets in,
hopeful sighting becomes fictional imagination,
leading to madness,
and emotional corruption.
Slowly you grow more rigid,
building to the climax.
Searching for with all will put forward,
for an escape route.
Finally, the answer is found,
only one way is possible
to escape positive loss of sanity,
losing all wits whatsoever.
You must accomplish a feat,
to great for mere mortal.
Guided assistance is given,
and you open the door.
And step out into the world.