Best Dendrite Poems
Being stuck is how I learned I am a cartoonist,
A poet, a writer, a painter.
Being stuck is what makes me
Seek something new that will interest me.
I know when my brain needs something new.
Her dendrites are crying for another language,
vocabulary words, new methods of painting.
I know I must feed her, so she can be the most
creative happy fun-loving dancing self she can be.
This is when I begin learning something new.
I do not care what it is - racquetball, paintball, Harry Potter,
something I did not know about yesterday. To loosen her and
allow her to be the best she can be. I either pick up a book
about something I have never learned or I pick up a hobby. If I have a broken ankle, I click on the History Channel to feed my dendrite highway and retain enthusiasm.
Categories:
dendrite, education, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
There are goldfish swimming in the recesses of my dendrite pool.
They are flashing their tails and being ever so cool.
I am trying to ignore them, thinking they might go away.
Trixie is laughing, for they very much want to play.
Okay. I say, just for a second or two,
Then frankly, I have a bit of work to do.
The fish are sassy, funny and smart.
They laugh and include themselves in my art.
I am drawing them now as they splash and they wiggle.
They have enormous gold eyes, these fish that so giggle.
These goldfish have taken me hostage today in my mind.
I guess a poem about them would to myself be a bit kind.
So here, goldfish. Here you go, a poem about you.
I have drawn you a canvas and given you fish food too.
Here you go, goldfish. Wait. You want to be king?
There is somebody already there. Okay. You want to sing?
They are singing a song now, serenading themselves and me too.
There is nothing like goldfish, Fish One and Fish Two.
They are smiling so wide, their gills waving and flapping.
I cannot help but be amused, and now they are clapping.
Categories:
dendrite, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
It began as an idea.
Hopped up on my dendrite highway.
Zoomed through my wide-open interstate and took me on a ride.
I was holding on as hard as I could.
A smile turned into a flat out worldwide laugh.
Idea one turned herself into upside down girl,
Flatulent gorilla, chameleon on a stick.
A poem? A canvas? A play? A book?
A novel? Possibilities overtook me
And threw me into a soft nap.
Ideas do this to me sometime.
To percolate prettily while I sleep.
I never color inside the box,
Because I do not see a box,
I always see a diamond or a star.
My hazel eyes on the prize, I took out my favorite glitzy paints and began to devour myself.
On a canvas, on the wall.
Drew the brush swiftly onto the wall and down onto the floor.
Never stopping, happily, zanily out of control, abnormal to some,
Completely normal to me.
Beginning once again to create what will become a teensy bit of me...
Fully into the
Kingdom of “be yourself” which my dancy, prancy muse and I will leave
In my wake at my wake.
Furiously creating a non-final me.
Written 12-14-2019 Contest: Creativity in Visual Arts
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Categories:
dendrite, creation,
Form:
Free verse
The poison parrot is repulsed by me, hates my art, laughs at my poems.
sneers when I enter my imaginary world, pokes fun at it.
She throws roadblocks into my mood zone,
destroys my great ideas as fast as they enter my dendrite alley.
You think you are something! Ha! She laughs. You are less than nothing.
No one will like that. It is too sassy, too bright, too snotty, too tall, too snarly.
She snips away at me, chopping little pieces off, as I try not to cry.
You are an idiot! She yells at me, her favorite pastime.
Poison Parrot managed to hold me down, away from myself, for years.
She held me hostage in a prison I helped her build; I cowered in a scared way.
Until I met Savior Boy. Savior Boy did not know about Poison Parrot, for when
I was around him, I was confident, witty, sassy, fun,
out-going and memorably lovely.
He let me do his homework, and he received good grades,
praising me to high heaven.
The closer we became. the more self-assured I became,
assertive genius oozed out of me.
Poison Parrot was fearful now, she saw she was losing her grip.
She began yelling louder than ever.
“You are an idiot! You are worthless! You are a loser!”
I stopped hearing her. Savior Boy’s love and respect helped me
to clip her wings, and tape her beak.
By the time our children arrived, I had re-invented my self-talk.
I was now being talked to by Sophie,
a dynamic, self-assured, marvelous pixie queen who
believed in herself, and everyone else.
I released Poison Parrot and let her limp away,
saving no face at all, after Sophie arrived.
Plucking the Poison Parrot Number 156
Written: 1-6-2019 Sponsor: Maureen McGreavy
Categories:
dendrite, self,
Form:
Free verse
Poems creep in like spiders, capturing me in web so fair.
Poems slip in like mice, sticky traps holding them in place.
Poems prance in like majorettes, throwing batons in the air.
Sci-Fi dances around in my muse’s brain, taking all the space.
Poems twirl around my dendrite highway, waking me up.
Poems shake me off the bed, landing me squarely on the floor.
I hear the last line, and I think “was that word buttercup?”
Poems laugh at my consternation, their humor I deplore.
Poems slide by on the wings of undiscovered pretty galaxies.
They jump into my head at restaurants when I cannot find a pin.
Poems dive bomb my bed at night, witch-like in their hex-ease.
They throw themselves at me in bathrooms; I simply cannot win.
I do the best I can though, amusing poems in ways I do not dream.
They throw down words I have never heard, and so I look them up.
Poems own me, taking me hostage in a pretty hostage stream.
Did you hear that? I have to know. Was that word buttercup?
Categories:
dendrite, poems, poetess, poetry, poets,
Form:
Rhyme
never are two alike.
wafting to and fro with gentle breeze,
a dancing ballerina the twirling flake,
motion with vicissitude it sings,
the vapor, the crystal performs.
in costume white appears its shape,
dendrite, needle, plates, and branches,
as stars afloat the midnight sky,
its nuclei the symmetry hexagon.
adrift in sea of air so cold,
the atmosphere burst forth like springs,
down the river of wind it flows,
the flake aglow, the moon it makes.
the perching flake atop the branch,
a tree its home a flake does nest,
with noonday sunshine sure to come,
the snow, the flake, will be no more.
Categories:
dendrite, december, moon, poetry, snow,
Form:
Free verse
Amateur poetry season is over, move closer, its wisdoms time for disclosure,
The takeover, sober, waging raging kosher words….….. Transferred,
ABC’s with wise syntax, heard and dispersed to the brains synapse,
Jumping the gaps, from axon to dendrite with inner insight, so go write,
From higher heights, beyond the clouds drop eloquent lines departing with tips, they exist composing manuscripts,
Intrigued observers are given apprenticeships, those with zero fatigue before the apocalypse,
Deciphered divinely and discharged upon earth from moving lips,
Simpleminded unknowledgeable critic’s quick to judge, too much neurotransmitter sludge,
Rather like a Gold Rush, traveling promptly to these passages emplacement,
Filed rhymes in the uncorrupted minds location, layman’s trivial mentation left in the basement,
Inspired statements forever, the fewest few only believe, however,
Feuds with biology of belief disbelievers, conceive intellectual transgressors,
Exercising self with better endeavors, adapting to intelligence, apt genius’s,
Dextrous minds equipped with germinating seeds ridding the phoenix and exiting this world’s nexus,
Those in line are next, complex thoughts impart light to their neocortex with quantum sight and emotional arousal,
A causal relationship with special inspiration, a skill at ease for those with understanding psyches.
Quincy Mac
Date Written: 28.5.2016
Categories:
dendrite, allegory, fantasy, magic, meaningful,
Form:
Free verse
to animate imagination
I chose cashmere, apricot, opal and platinum
soul’s command center smiled
puddles of ideas came swiftly
I discarded them
Tossing them into the stream of nowhere
tantalizing whiskey wishes played in my dendrite field
I tossed these tidbits and trinkets aside
Sycamore stem of consciousness rolled her eyes
I slapped a mean name tag on her trunk
Dendrite field used its largest pinkest eraser
We began anew
My spirit guides began playing with the ignition switch
My muse slapped me upside the head
When is it our turn? She asked me.
I truly had no answer.
Categories:
dendrite, art, muse,
Form:
Free verse
She was a force to be reckoned with, outgoing, delightfully assertive, powerful, well-respected.
Her business was human resources.
She was the company expert. We could not have functioned without her.
She matched people to careers as smoothly as seven minute icing goes onto a cake.
She had a reputation as the go-to-person for any and every relationship dilemma we could throw her way, and we threw them all to her.
She caught them and laughed, making mincemeat of them.
She was loving and caring, a brick in the company.
She kept things together.
She kept the peace,
She kept dendrite records that made the paper ones look feeble.
She would do anything to help you, and with the most positive attitude in the world.
She enthusiastically restored hope in people who felt helpless.
She taught people how to be resilient.
She never burdened us with her problems.
She did not talk about herself.
She left them at home.
With her gun,
And her
Bullets
And her
Plans.
A woman
Alone.
Not even
A cat.
She thought we could easily replace her,
But she was dead wrong.
Categories:
dendrite, suicide,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Even now, Pigeons stool surprised
while ensconced in dovecote
whose twittering translated as coo coo not bright
asper Icarus aiming for mythic cull magic did excite
popularized notion to take winged flight
And for twenty first century mortal to wax poetic
this January 2018 bitterly, brutally day and night
Stymied sans principle
contradicted laws of Physics
soaring to limitless height
Away from temporal axon light
Into the infinite cosmic dendrite
Realization to soar above heavenly vault
spectacular sight
Brainchild of anonymous genius minds
left stratospheric legacy
To witness awesome might
break away, sans gravity
tacit Obeisance acknowledged
this hundred year plus anniversary
Aero planes success got off the ground
Pardon saying may come across as trite
More than a century elapsed
since machines first attempt to remain aloft
Man made invention glittered silvery white
Beauty, grace and poetry in motion
excises Luddite trace
Despite countless fatal crashes
Tragedy to those loved ones lost in fiery plight
Invisible ethereal essences dwell
and hover some place
Occupy a netherworld housed
with fellow nymph and sprite
Return to Earth to deliver miracles
and prevent near disasters
Although many a skeptic
may ascribe phenomena to luck despite
Angelic visage impossible to dispute quite.
Categories:
dendrite, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Epic
Hey! What is that room?
This?
Child nods head.
This is the teachers’ lounge.
What’s that?
Lightbulb goes off in my devious dendrite factory.
“A wonderful place for teachers.”
Can I see?
“No.”
Why not?
“You might tell.”
High interest now. Seven is intrigued. “I won’t! What you got in there?”
“You mean besides our PS4, bowling alley, and the Jacuzzi?”
His big brown child eyes pop even bigger.
“No FAIR!” he says.
In reality it is such
A drab, unappealing
place, I rarely
Put my toe in there.
It is just a place to
Refrigerate my lunch.
Categories:
dendrite, funny, teacher,
Form:
Free verse
Soften heart.
With strong emotion of love where your heart like teak wooded softened.
Soften heart.
Keep passion to sooth sweet charms to bend.
Love can invite heart not to disgrace.
Soften heart as passionate.
Love addicts me to attract by any means.
Heart now softens.
With pleasant environment my love is in your heart.
Now love onward can be deposit in your heart so fast.
Do not deprecate.
Cold Breeze flows to your heart.
Now love attached both like dendrite.
Love is now not mortal.
Love is in our heart runs like sorrel.
Saroj khan[sakha]
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Categories:
dendrite, devotion, heart, heart, love,
Form:
Verse
my carnivore self is displayed out in the open
I tear a bovine’s tendons and muscle with gusto
my teeth coming up red and bloody;
it is the human way, is it not?
my mouth, throat and gullet gulp away,
unaware of the undigested meat already in my colon.
I plan an organized kindness parade, not caring about cows
Or pigs, unless I am anticipating bacon and pork roast.
I seek direction from no one; feeling all-powerful.
I am a carnivore, am I not? This is validation enough.
My cologne is a combo of unrecognizable floral mixes.
I look pretty, therefore, my killing ways can be forgiven.
Later today I can do a bit of wind surfing or fall off my skates.
My concentration is no longer on my food, but on life.
Why am I never satisfied? Where does my depression originate?
My dendrite stream never realizes I am picking up on animal psyche.
In a subconscious way, my body is reacting to their misery.
When they get brain smashed, so they can be carved into steaks.
I lick my lips, enjoying Heinz 57, wishing I can figure out what is wrong.
My soul knows, but cannot share it with me on this plane.
Will I understand post death when I see my own cadaver?
Will my corpse make me realize how uncivilized meat eating is?
Will I be depressed as I head toward heaven?
Or will I be heading to a lower place?
Categories:
dendrite, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Narrative
On Saint John’s night
Full moon shines on with its eerie light
The ancient nymphs dance with delight
The flower of fern small and unassuming will sprite
Yet something is in the flower above which nymphs take flight
Some kind of mysterious deep light
Something that if in one’s hand it is one can’t help to gaze up at stars into the night
The flower caries second sight
The senses it will excite
But one can’t sleep until dawns light
That is the only way divination to macrocosm will bring the inner sight
The all Seeing Eye macrocosmic future ghostwrite
The destiny is pushed further and so is birthright
Switching with macrocosm all levels are beyond infinite in their fight
All nonlinearly beyond expanse at the base as imbued macrocosm shines bright
The beyond destiny will always be beyond as in imbued macrocosm future will dendrite
Categories:
dendrite, fantasy,
Form:
Rhyme
Bursts Of Creativity...
Asper myself tend
to occur late at night,
or early morn 'o follow
wing day unbeknownst
despite acute insight
how, when, where, why...
ideas swarm and bite
inspiration doth alight
try as I might to
coax, anchor right,
burning candlebox at
both ends during midnight
oil, and pry open hermetically airtight
noggin, where my poetic
(side) juices glommed up tight
blew silly blackened, and barbed
as though cold anthracite
ash coal lest futile effort
fueling mental cogs synaps (snaps),
sans each axon and dendrite,
and damn pinwheeling frenzied
writer's block won't budge,
no matter intense aghast fright
regarding drawing nothing,
but blank screen, an unpleasant sight
which activates greater fright
concentration stoppers appetite
to satiate agile literary skill
invoked with all mum might
encountering severe
resistance along well worn
nicked, pitted, rutted...
central processing unit abysmal sight
core cratered tracks analogous trite
other places blasted as if by dynamite
nanobot size infrastructure blight
hmm... huff frayed
to admit fifty plus shades
of grey pock marked beltway abustle
with at least bajillion
self important cosmopolite
avast friggin buzzfeed contrasted with bevy
of heavily rowdy, yet polite
sumo wrestlers exuding
spongy dimpled cellulite,
nonetheless grueling effort experienced
with craven half starved diabolical spite
undermining, jackknifing,
dogging... literary endeavor to expedite
satisfactory pièce de résistance flight
of fancy, though challenged
every step of the way,
once ambition fired up...at twilight
as mortal passion
unstoppable to complete
crafting daily poem
kindled with emotional lignite!
Categories:
dendrite, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Rhyme