Best Dissect Poems
"I love my teacher."
"I have a great teacher."
"My teacher is super."
"My teacher's so cool."
These words are music to a teacher's ears,
Exactly what parents and administrators want to hear.
Yet what do they mean? How are they earned?
Are they related to learning? Or are we unconcerned?
"My teacher gives us tons of extra recess every day."
"Mine lets us cheat on quizzes and not make us pay."
"My teacher accepts papers copied from the Internet."
"Mine goes to casinos at nights and places big-money bets!"
Back in the day, teachers were strict.
We got away with nothing; they knew all our tricks.
And the classroom was quieter than a night in Grant's tomb;
They really knew how to keep order in a room.
The homework was ample, not one or two samples,
And the next day we had to solve all her examples.
Her quizzes and tests required voluminous reading,
And woe to the poor student whom she caught cheating!
We truly hated our teachers; we hated their guts.
We threw darts at their pictures and that kind of stuff.
Yet later in life we could hold an intelligent conversation.
And write a clear report, full of fact-based innovation.
We could dissect a frog; comprehend the periodic table;
Parse a sentence, and make a speech about Hamlet or Cain and Abel.
So next time your kid tells you, "My teacher's so cool."
Ask next what he or she's learning in school!
"Butterfly Lust"
Oh sweet and tender butterfly,
how colorful your dance
centered in Earth's naked sky.
Beneath daylights over-cast,
I'm your audience laying about
the green purified grass.
Come sweet and tender butterfly,
land low to the reach of thy lips
with your wings spread wide.
Three yards and a cloud of dust,
I dissect all your desires
borne from the outset of lust.
Oh sweet and tender butterfly,
how colorful our dance
now centered in Earth's naked sky.
Pace, G
INK-U-SCRIPT
11-1-19
I have been bruised, a wounded love,
trampled by uncaring wrong;
a joke, he laughs and turns away; his disgust
blatantly displayed. I offer God's shalom.
Neglected, a young wife disowned;
he the undisputed ruler of his realm.
His harsh commands hurled from his throne,
cutting and cruel. God grant him calm.
I dare not hate the bitter rod
he wields upon my shattered soul, nor react,
for it has hastened me toward God,
a mystery only experience can dissect.
I yield to providence, a jeweled grace,
that bids me kiss my persecutor's face.
Copyright, 9-2-2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Poetry,they will dissect you
ignoring poet's bleeding heart,
a judgement today for you too,
poetry, they will dissect you!
So many knives to cut you through
a bleeding heart will fall apart.
Poetry they will dissect you
ignoring poet's bleeding heart!
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Contest-TRIOLET
Form-TRIOLET : A French verse form. Its rhyme scheme is ABaAabAB and all lines are in iambic tetrameter; the first, fourth and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines, thereby making the initial and final couplets identical as well. The features of the Triolet are: 8 lines. Two rhymes. 5 of the 8 lines are repeated or refrain lines. First line repeats at the 4th and 7th lines. Second line repeats at the 8th line. Rhyme scheme (where an upper-case letter indicates the appearance of an identical line, while a lower-case letter indicates a rhyme with each line designated by the same lower-case or upper-case letter)
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Lurking in fuzzy leftovers is seen
A quivering, crawling hairball of green
A florescent prune
Or cheese from the moon
Gurgles gastric, plastic alien spleen
The miser squire requires gluts of caffeine
To dissect this science project's gangrene
Harpoon on a spoon
Zoom to the saloon
Lunch ladies' supreme mystery cuisine.
3/15/19
For Green Humor contest
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
Maybe we're all cabinets of wonder.
Maybe we all have cubbies and shelves.
Cubbies where we stash things,
And shelves where we display things.
Things we adore and things we despise.
Things of happy times and things of not so happy things.
You can never know a cabinet,
Until you open it.
You can never know until,
You dissect it.
Screw by screw,
Board by board.
Until you can take it apart and put it back together,
With your eyes closed and your hands tied behind your back.
You can never know until,
You've searched the cubbies and shelves.
Knowing everything by heart.
Memorizing every sadness,
Every smile,
Every unimportant detail.
See it's kinda like that old saying.
"You can never judge a book by it's cover"
You can never judge a person by who they are on the outside.
Maybe we are all people waiting for someone to open us up.
To search through our cabinets.
To dissect us.
Many people will open you up take what they want,
And leave.
But don't dismay,
For many people will search and scour,
Long forgetting what they opened you up for.
They will get enchanted by your cubbies and shelves.
They will seek out false bottoms and secret compartments.
Leading to deeper things,
Long forgotten.
For they will be the person,
To take you apart.
But when you are put back together,
You'll notice things.
Things like the sadness,
Doesn't seem so sad anymore.
The unimportant details have become,
So much more than you ever thought they could be.
And when you're put back together,
You will be stronger.
You're scratches and dents no longer take up your life.
All because someone cared enough to open your life up.
To find the answer to why you are the way you are.
Because,
Maybe,
We're all cabinets of wonder.
All the fingers wait
raised, spread
and the flexes start
the bends
the creeps and crawls
All the fruit laid before you
the knife cuts
uncovers concealed
scents and flesh
All the linen,
folded in crisp creases
your all-seeing eye
unwraps ruthlessly
one crumb grounded
in one corner
one drop of red
One snowflake carries
so many crystals
inifinitely perfect
They disappear
before you decide to dissect
they don't fear the sharp
but the time
it takes
to slice
***
July 18, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
The puppet pranced
The strings frayed
A jackass brayed
As poppin’ hoppys
Sat and rose
In ballet dance
Of well browned nose
Applause and “clapture”
of Stockholm rapture
A mocking strut
Of failing stature
Overseers jaundiced eyes
Pundits seeking pulitz prize
Dissect the metaphoric frog
Wash it down with pints of grog
Amidst the spin of liars din
They shout pick me let’s ride again
Update quickly twitter feeds
Sating lustful twitter needs
Condense a two hour monologue
Into a twenty-five word blog
Check the facts, don’t be a chump
It’s just another “word soup” dump
John G. Lawless
©2/8/2023
Sausage and custard and ice cream with mustard
Chocolate coated Kentucky Fried Bustard
Whipped cream with mushrooms or frogspawn on toast
These are the foods that an ogre likes most
Volcanic craters and baths full of gators
A pantry thats choc full of gagged and bound waiters
sleeping on bones in a pterosaurs nest
These are the places an ogre likes best
Eyeballs and elbows, the odd severed nose
Ankles and legs and a number of toes
Earlobes and kidneys and hearts to dissect
Things that an ogre just loves to collect
Teeth that are bleeding and eyes that are red
Skin like the skin of somebody that’s dead
One missing ear and a hole in the throat
And chomping raw meat from the leg of a goat
So now that you have him laid clear in your head
The image you see is of someone to dread
For sometimes the truth is a pain in the neck
And ogres in real life are nothing like Shrek
Stop analysing
No need to dissect
Stop labelling
No names just accept
Stop obsessing
No need to overreact
Stop complicating
Keep simple and intact
since when did you care about what your parents wanted,
their trembling hands clutching dusty photo albums,
dreams for you etched in whispers,
like the fine print on a warranty you never read.
smart, they said,
smart enough to untangle the wires,
but never the knots in your chest.
immortal—they wanted you invincible,
a timepiece that slowed down
only for holidays and funerals,
never noticing that your hours burned faster than theirs.
abstinence, they prayed,
as if purity were a shield
against the sharp teeth of the world,
but science taught you
the chemistry of craving,
the physics of loneliness,
the biology of need.
they wanted you science-oriented,
but you learned to dissect their dreams,
and the heart, you found,
was just another organ
pumping blood
into someone else's expectations.
So since when did you care?
you don't.
you never did.
broke and trying to raise two kid's
before age twenty.
May i thank for the Honor
To be free on this site
To be allowed to express
Our mind and its write
We do unto others
As they do unto us
They allow us to write
No deliberation for crass
A lovely poet who wrote his mind
Its his to applaud
And for us to be kind
Read and dissect
As we interpret his say
Poets like Raul
Are here every day
So what ever he writes
On any given day
His freedom to express
In his own way
His feelings and thoughts
Are entirely his say
" Hail to Raul Moreno "
H e y y e a h
Won’t you join me tonight
L e t s
a c t cra zy
R u n from my nightmares, hiding inside me
Dissect my thoughts
Hold me to them
Don’t let me crawl out from under them
I’m frighten f r o m my illusion’s
S t r a p me down
Before I r u n away
Roll me down
To the crazy floor
Toss me out and run away
Don’t look back
I’m acting crazy
A DREAM
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A wisp of smoke, a phantom limb,
the dream dissolves, a sugar cube in rain.
Gone.
Morning light bleeds in,
erasing landscapes built of moon-dust.
A fiction, spun in the quiet dark.
But then, a shard remains.
A glint caught in the corner of your eye.
A swan's cry,
impossibly clear,
reverberates,
caught in the hollow of your chest.
It returns, unbidden, unwelcome,
a landscape
of tilted angles and knowing eyes.
You stand there, powerless,
caught in its gaze,
a stranger in a familiar place.
Inclined to wonder,
to dissect and trace,
the questions remain
bewilderment etched upon your face~
What did it mean?
What does it mean?
Where could you be tonight, Sinatra?
Love and Marriage
Love and Marriage
A chant I heard reverberate
As far away as the length of the waves
I rode indisposed
When I was bound
To a remote island
Named Buyukada
The permanent content of what you mean
Transcends me the moment I kiss your lips
And I know that meaning is produced
Only in an unexpectedly rambunctious union
Succinctly, I dissect everything
Looking for generic terms I left
Back somewhere in Kadikoy
At nine o’clock sharp near the theater
Where I heard a beautiful young voice
Lamenting Istanbul in operatic tempos
Barbarossa Hayreddin Pasha
Fatih Sultan Mehmet
Jalal al-Din Rumi
All proceeded towards Istanbul again
Alas! Nothing remains the same
Everything is only revisited once again
Even the empty sunflower fields of Kutahya
Detach yourself, postmodern Kerouac,
From the vicissitudes of a stuporous life
Isolate yourself from mundane places
Where nothing transcends the ephemeral
I know that I will meet a deadline
Just because life manifests itself
Unintentionally in those experiences I weave
I thought my days could end
On a ship to Prince’s Island bound
Alas, a Russian girl took me aside
To recount her Icelandic memories
To a dismembered Moorish heart