Best Cylindrical Poems
Bello (hello)let me tell you about some Minions
Brightly covered single-cell organisms
Small yellow cylindrical creatures
With one eye and sometimes two
Not sure why . . .
Minions love to wear dungarees and goggles
Not sure why . . .
They live to serve, all they need is a leader
Their language is gibberish-fueled insanity
Like, we love you (tutaliloo ti amo)
Now there is this a group of Minions despicable
Minions of Anarchy . . .
A motorcycle gang of Minions
Roaring around on two wheels, zoooom
The leader is Clay, ugly (bananoninal!)
A one eye-master of destruction
His wife Gemma, la femme fatale
There is always a handsome hero
And his name is Jax, a blonde, one eyed Minion
Obviously quite insane and mentally disturbed
His wife, Tara, hate her (tatata-dala-tu)
And the other members of the group
Juice, Tigs, Opie, Kozit, Chibs, and Bobby
This despicable group are bad to the bone
Oh, not sure if Minions have bones . . .
Anyways, havoc and destruction follow them
But, I love (tutaliloo ti amo) their story, sorry (bi do)
what(po-ta !) you say of these bad boys
Oh, such depression and joy and family ties
Nothing is more important to them than family
Kiss, kiss, kiss (muak, muak, muak)
This is but one group of Minions
Like all who dwell in the world, there are many groups
Some good, some bad, and some just silly
Thank you (tank you)
Goodbye (poopayel)
Cheers (kanpal)
__________________________
February 19, 2016
Poetry/Free Verse/Minions of Anarchy
Copyright Protected, ID 16-759-322-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Minions
Sponsor, Silent One
Third Place
Sunrise shimmering on your hair
Strands rise and wavy like mane of a mare
Soft and silky when stretched
Preened like feathers, not wretched
Hair cylindrical or long and blonde
Or tailed-black hair, straightened and tanned
Your scent till evening that sends affectionate waves
Pet I adore with perfectionate craves...
You are mine!
Mountain Of Mango Ice-Cream
It seems ages since we were young and untamed, enjoying rural pleasures
Summers were long and mango ice-cream sessions a ritual in the evenings
A thin custard was made of fresh buffalo milk and mango pulp was added
A thin mango custard mother made which was cooled and poured in
A cylindrical container with a churner and she fixed it in a half wooden barrel
Dad hammered large ice blocks and we excitedly added handfuls of rock salt
Turn by turn we rotated the iron handle atop till hands tired as it became firmer
Mom knew exactly when it was done and sometimes she said a little more
We had our huge steel glasses to binge upon but envied the one who rotated more
The central rectangular churner that gathered the most to slurp upon was his
It was like a mountain of mango ice-cream before us and we never tired of it
We got many scoops piled over our glass brims which were spooned off magically
The mango ice-cream aroma was everywhere as we joked and sat around till late night
Sadly the mango ice-cream doesn't taste the same, it has lost its rural familial flavour
October 27, 2015
Contest: Trashed #3
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Electric shock.
And so were those
Winter days.
Hysterical, practical
And our supplements
To fight daily
Loneliness.
Mustard in her
Nails made shooting
in the Street far worse.
A cylindrical whirlwind
of your suitcase
as you're weight lifting
And I'm drinking and
So you are you and
We're passing out now.
I spilled my wine on
the bar. On purpose.
And I wished my father
Was there.
I love polygons even as they are irregular
Within the tangled space and time
Rich angles become decisive corners
Tricksters of a memory
It was tender congruency at first sight
Delightful and captivating solid cubes
Even as they drooped into prisms
As they vanished into hues of essence
They trembled at degrees of tender touch
Fear not trapeziums of death
Dread not time exhumed from a tomb
She falls in upright squarish
Die, pentagon, rest hexagonal pretty rod
Wither on decagon fading acuteness
Oval memory is with cylindrical insight
Beauty weeps bulkiness of the volume
A pile of dead branches lay on the ground,
Once proud, now forgotten and dead.
I drag them, with the tractor, off the side of the hill,
And dump them by the side of the shed.
Then the chainsaw comes out, all sharpened and shined,
Filled with black oil and fuel.
Two hours of chopping into cylindrical blocks,
This chainsaws a perfect wood tool.
And the axe and the splitter come out for a play,
And my back is beginning to tire.
Finally I have a pile of splintered up logs,
All ready to light a warm fire.
Finally I relax, staring into these flames,
Hypnotised by their whimsical charm.
And I'm happy and free, just a little bit sore,
A winter's day on the family farm.
As the sky turns from blue to grayish black
Lightning and thunder begin to attack
The clouds send down a never ending rain
People begin to run, not looking back
But the ones that did became struck with fear
A cylindrical force spinning so near
Leaving a path of total destruction
And that is when everything became clear
It's the wrath of a massive tornado
So violent there is no where to go
Homes demolished in the blink of an eye
Their worst nightmare, an unbeatable foe
They had lost the chance to evacuate
Now all they could do was sit back and wait
And watch natures monster take everything
Because the warning siren came too late!
I stoked every fire echoing into the mouth of arthritis?
A rhyming balm develops epileptic quasar fear?
If so, will he enter arbitration “Sold Out”?
Sleep wills She to cocoon beside you, Artemis?
Resplendent fallow flowers ecstasy coriander?
Do we sate the moons of Jupiter?
Funnel Now beyond we murks dilating clouds gyrating?
I need love like our drama needs psychosis?
You remind it to aero, dowager, misty care that casts off where?
Are they splicing cylindrical a lone fire there?
Will baby’s breath copula and inhale the death throes’ stare?
Does it resist and pre-exist and alter this “it's fair”?
She shall unwittingly play Duo, and I the tambourine savior?
Commit dune larks command speech donkey knives fine dream eyeing?
You know how to reveal this delicious Necronomicon?
For the efficient haven't need of heat?
That crack in her skull’s provisionally neat?
If only a soapy mouth were The Key to the ATM Machine?
Did they witness the machination of roses pinwheel like Gene Kelly?
Can a joke slit a garrulous throat?
Do somnolent cars fill up on dark shofars?
How do caravans we collate solace in that Field of Mine?
If they nod will it She while on this turn, southbound daffodil urn?
Are we fish Absalom?
Crib conspirators he marshes in poison?
Anachronic foils arsenic royales docile incomplete Iliad catacombs?
Burning salad oceans?
And if only he and this nickel could…fight?
Wishing jamboree sipped on this wood and night?
This toe of Talos—all that’s palindrome—he will ignite?
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.
Nothing was wrong with the leap;
It was made according to plan,
but the design was interrupted
by the abruptness of the plunge.
Maybe… there was a change of heart
somewhere in midair.
It is marked by a yelp of despair.
The sound of his pain bounces like a jax ball
from the walls of his cylindrical doom.
His every cry echoes like voices on St. Hilda’s square.
Each feeble movement, in his watery tomb,
vibrates like that old proverbial sound of the bongo.
He lie there; a bundle of pain,
and regret he didn’t measure the depth to his death.
The silence pinched the minute there,
while the little dirty-face angel argued his state elsewhere.
St. Hilda’s Memorial, the place of his death.
Under soft cotton covers he stole his last breath.
Carnelian robes permeate dreamtime landscapes
of parchment and prayer flag.
Smiling faces walk swiftly
through corridors of ancient walls
carved from living mountains,
spinning cylindrical wheels in their wake.
Patience of a thousand, thousand years,
we wait for peace.
Eagle feathers jounce
as soft moccasins dance heartbeat
on the prairie hair of Mother Earth.
Sacred sisters hold position in jingle dress rhythms
offering prayer pipes to their men,
who burn sweet grass as they fancy dance past.
Patience of a thousand, thousand years,
we wait for peace.
Hula dancers waft sea breeze
in the heat waves of Pele’s fire.
Warrior lines pace boundary between the worlds,
as molten lands part the waters
and oasis the humble in a paradise
where lei lines encircle life.
Patience of a thousand thousand years,
we wait for peace.
Condor circles as mountains spirits speak
telling stories of forever and ever.
Ancient peoples gather in raindrop mists
to nourish the living land
and feed the collective soul
the medicine of dreams.
Patience of a thousand, thousand years,
we wait for peace.
“Imagine all the people” sound waves and ipods
park bench hosts to afternoon drummers,
as momentum gathers
inner city gardeners and beekeepers
buzzing to the cyber shifts
of “sharing all the world”.
Patience of a thousand, thousand years
we wait for peace.
Cattails grow up out of my muck
taking root in the mire on my bottom
creeping along in my soft blue clay,
shooting up in long cylindrical spikes
with a velvety fruit, encouraging
red-winged black birds to nest, feed,
caw and quack, at times acting more like
a predator than prey, especially when
local toms creep around the high grass
on my banks, licking their chops, while
bogs of ancient trees decay, discoloring
stagnant water, where frogs, amphibians
and a variety of snakes find places to
burrow. Mosquito larva slip in among
slime and weeds, sparrows hazard making
nests in stumps and reeds protruding in the air
black, green, round and mud snakes lurk
in primal anticipation
of bird brain nest strategies,
although they have a preference for siren
salamanders and small amphibians.
Submerged and floating vegetation fill my shallow
waters, where muskrats and water voles survive
in a primitive atmosphere within shouting distance
of a twenty-first century mall.
I wander down the forest trails
the farmer collecting the last bales
golden brown they shine in the sun
the whirr of wings as birds escape the guns
The various gleaming colours of leaves
as spiraling down they twist and turn
the fields bare, stripped of their crops
now lay farrow resting until next spring
Some light snow at foot of trees sparkles
pristine and lovely against the Autumn browns
sullen yet glowing the grey skies attract me
as I stroll on down to the bubbling brook
Flashes of brilliance as the kingfisher passes
he hovers above a post then alights to fish
a silver shadow comes in sight, he watches
then in a blur he dives and catches a fish
Now all that's left behind are glistening ripples
spreading out far and wide in perfect cylindrical rings
watching them fade away as the water stills
becoming once more a mirror reflecting the azure skies
A massive pile of logs with scarlet toadstools scattered
the croak of a spotted frog as he takes a dive
yellow hammer is drilling away in the canopy
where verdant greens mix with red cedar leaves
The wonders awaiting at each step quite take my breath
a sly red fox disappearing through the emerald grasses
a roar and a crash of antlers as the fallow deer stags fight
their white spots shining as they spar back and forth
All this and birds singing with the pure joy of living
the rustles that abound all around me as I listen
the glorious golds, reds and browns surround me
as I stand in a clearing drinking all the beauty in
Written 08/12/2013
contest Autumns Breath
My mind dwells in a magical place of tranquillity
where I ride on carpets of love
my thoughts in spheres of wholesomeness
Cylindrical upright tunes echo through valleys of angelic light
Their high pitched praises as the gentle breeze from their motioned wings sooth my soul
A fever of utterances echo from my core
as lilac rays illuminate mountain tops and sky
how can I not love Divine Oneness of my Lord
He is the true love few realize that they need
Since before creation the flow of springs that entwined all beings
A sea of frequencies
My mind dwells in a magical place of tranquillity
where I ride the magic carpets of Divine Love
We are the strangest creatures...
those henchmen following the villains;
their urgent command we must obey,
a human brain we don't have as they!
Our shape is rather cylindrical,
our appearance is yellow or blue;
some have one eye, others two...
we are those minions so comical!
We set out to do unfair deeds,
deceiving people with promises,
" Vote for him, he's the best candidate! "
And speaking we shake hands...
hoping they'll go to the polls and vote!
It's such a campaign of despicable social hypocrisy,
we're limited in either intelligence or equality:
but what's in store for us, dumb robots?
They program us to their liking, afraid of riots;
and we keep on walking with happy hearts...
convincing folks to trust and believe in democracy!
Written on 2/24/2016