Best Esque Poems
Slowly
ever so slowly
overcome with emotion
building up ever so effortlessly
inside
passions burning ever so swiftly
reside
deep in my heart
sweet smells of your luscious gateau
roam free
a slight breeze blows in your hazel hair
enhancing your essence
enticing me
slowly
ever so slowly
I wrap my arms around your
aphrodite-esque waist
squeezing ever so slightly
whispering
"love me"
Categories:
esque, love,
Form:
Free verse
I’ve distanced myself
I didn’t mean to
Didn’t set out to do it
An unconscious act of the mind
For self preservation
My visits went to once a week
Sunday dinners that once lasted for hours
Became shorter and shorter
Until now its get in
Get it cooked
Clean it up
Visit
And we’re out
Occasionally circumstances would
Happen and one would be missed
Oh well I’ll go during the week
Sometimes I did
Sometimes I didn’t
Today my heart cried to be near you
I entered the home and immediately
Settled my mood into the atmosphere
Funeral home-esque for lack of a better description
I speak in hushed tones
Slow my movements
And quiet my spirit
You want something
Oh thank you give me a job
What do you need???? Anything
I’ll gladly do anything
So many things hurt you now
You who were so tough reduced to such pain
Questions, answers, questions, answers
Over and over and over
This is the part I know
I’ve practiced this so many times before
You speak and in mid sentence you cry
Have I seen my sister,,you can’t remember
Ever seeing my sister, have you seen her
Yes mom remember mom
My answers are calm
Almost rehearsed
Repeated
Sterile
You look searching in my eyes
Yours, sunken, confused,
Pained, with a depth of sadness
I haven’t seen before
I look away.
I meet all the needs you’ve asked of me
I pat you, hug you, pray with you
I look at my brother, the saint
He’s tired, worn, sad
I leave, I’m OUT
I drive
How’d I get here
How long have I been driving
The sky so desperately gray
Muted tones of nothingness
The air feels so heavy
Like a shroud encompassing me
Choking me
The river runs beside me
It rages from the wind
There’s no stopping its power
It’s dark and gloomy and brown
And suits my mood
I try to pray
HOW DO I PRAY
Do I pray for healing,
Health, life, death
Joy, maybe peace
I cry out to you
I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PRAY
I look to the sky and see
The smallest spot of the most beautiful sapphire blue
In a sea of nothing
And I cry
Categories:
esque, confusion, depression, devotion, loss,
Form:
Free verse
I see three doors before me.
The one to the left is blue, a beautiful lupis blue
with ornate lacework in its center.
Parisian-esque, it looks likes an entrance to adventure
and inspires me with its sophistication.
I imagine inside the rooms beyond that door
exotic curios on shelves along the walls
or tables heaped with charming little treasures.
My muse’s curiosity is sparked!
The middle door I see is that of a welcoming house.
Beneath two large rectangles of decorative glass
hangs a straw wreath adorned with festive flowers.
A friendly-looking white lab sits in front of this door
and on each side of it on the old-fashioned porch
are two pots of pretty geraniums.
I imagine beyond this door friends and family
gathered around the kitchen table
finishing Mom’s delicious apple pie
and preparing to break open a pack of cards
or sit beside their fireplace, playing charades
or perhaps singing along to a guitar.
The part of me that longs for warmth of family
lingers at this door.
The last door I spy
much farther away and surrounded by trees
is a light green door blending in with nature,
unadorned and not as high as the first two doors.
Were it a bit smaller and round, it could almost be
the door to a hobbit’s cottage.
A bower of vines spreads around it
covering the brown bricks of the house,
and a short cobblestone pathway leads upward
to this simple but interesting door.
I know that if I open it and wander in,
solitude will surely greet me, a solitude so sweet
that when I shut the door behind me,
I’ll leave behind the stresses of my life.
I will have entered another world
where I can rest and meditate. . .
perchance to write.
I look back at the first door, imagining the thrill
of discovery. Its charming blue entices me.
Then I return my gaze to the second door
from which warmth and empathy exude.
I redirect my gaze to the third door. . .
Which do I want more?
New experiences? Intimacy? Peacefulness?
Creative inspiration could reside behind all three.
Which one do I choose?
Which one would YOU choose?
March 28, 2017
for the Doors Contest of Anthony Biaanco
Categories:
esque, metaphor,
Form:
Prose
A Hindenburg-Esque explosion
Say goodbye to rationality
While all the daily trespassers Scream!
"OH THE INSANITY!!!!"
I sleep with sinners
Weep with the saints
I'm twice the fossil
Three times the oil
Slick as an unlit candlestick
Hid the wick
Burn twice as bright
Burn twice as fast
If it's not to much to ask
Please don't touch
I plan to last
You spend your lives
Looking for a light
The brighter
The better
While you
Were playing with fire
The wolves
Made the cellular decision
To develop night vision
Some worms
Who make their home
In the ground
Have it in their genome
To have eyes
Big surprise
They said no
We'll live off of pure sound
Ah the simple solutions
You prefer a crutch
To evolution
Let me explain more
In the abyss
Above the ocean floor
The fish use light
To lure in the prey
Others use it to confuse
The predator
So they can get away
Why do fish
That live in the absence of light
Even have eyes
Plato was wrong
All things are swallowed
In madness
Death is just the path
Given to the stubborn
Given my level
Of insanity
I'll live forever
I'm too crafty
Developed invisibility
Nothing will catch me
Nor know when I come
Or where I go
Unless I need an alibi
Seriously though
Why do those fish
Have eyes
Categories:
esque, bible, faith, hilarious,
Form:
Blitz
Poetry is my insanity
Poetry is my insanity,
sparks collected on flat mirrored walls,
frantic phrases floating
in a spectrum’s pulsating palette,
picturing Dali-esque icicle melted webs
and chromatic landscapes
blurring in the distance
Dancing to the demented sounds
of brain cells singing, Zappa inspired
A cappella rhythmic compositions,
ringing monotone echoes
in between Jupiter and the ghosts
counting off beat pendulum swings
on fingers and toes
Words with eyes, they see, they stare
they blink, they close,
wandering attic crawl spaces
casting neon shadows,
illuminating ideas
passed on to the next pair
lashing out as another retreats
Pulling on my heart,
squeezing every last thought of love,
oozing in blacklight ink, day-glo sunrises
of roach clip offerings on psychedelic posters,
depicting ceramic moons
fluttering midst crayon heavens
eating stardust candy…
Poetry is my insanity
and it is driving me crazy…
in the best possible way
Categories:
esque, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Slowly
ever so slowly
overcome with emotion
building up ever so quickly
inside
passions burning ever so quickly
reside
deep in my heart
sweet smells of your luscious gateau
roam free
a slight breeze blows in your hazel hair
enhancing your essence
enticing me
slowly
ever so slowly
I wrap my arms around your
aphrodite-esque waist
squeezing ever so slightly
whispering
"Make love to me"
Categories:
esque, love,
Form:
Free verse
Oh, finely feathered fellow
with plumage of green and yellow,
your Houdini-esque abilities
and astounding circus-like agilities
make my flabby jowls drop with surprise
at how easily your hooked beak can prise
any dwarf-sized opening in your cage,
to open so easily, under your gauge.
Your stuffed, fat, feathered body can
fit through anything. Yes, I'm a fan.
Your squeaky, squawky, shrill talking
lets me know my efforts you're mocking
as I try to burglar proof your cage
as you shriek at me in indignant rage.
You really should hope that I succeed
because if I don't, the cat you'll feed.
04/04/2013
~~~ for Suzanne's Synathroesmic Cat contest ~~~
Categories:
esque, humorous, pets, cat, me,
Form:
Couplet
It started off simple enough - a peck on the cheek.
(nothing tantalizing by any means)
But then she did that delicious something
... that made my whole body weak.
And before any could protest,
with their carefully organized rebuttals,
all Common Sense ran for the hills,
but I was already at the peak
with knees still eager for the bend,
and eyes on high alert
for her nature's next flirt.
A well-made umbrella (just in case)
when my Curvaceous Cinderella cascades
with her rain of buttons
(Mr. Frankie S. never would have guessed
this kind of monsoon)
... and everything just begins to bloom
in vibrant color.
When she does that delicious something
it is like none other.
And my inner being just melts;
an ice cream cone
on a summer sidewalk sugar streams
trailing wherever they may,
as ants find their natural attraction,
a similar thing takes place
with an altogether different kind of animal.
And I'm absolutely gung-ho
to wherever it may go.
When she does that special something,
and the Seraphim of old begin to sing,
it's like a gaggle of goosebumps flooding the surface area
honking their satisfaction;
saliva-esque rivers to nourish a barren wasteland.
Life has sprung deliciously anew
in my surprising thoughts of you.
She takes me by the hand
to the precipice of my prudishness
as a light evening breeze (her whispering tease)
upsets my balance -
and victory over vertigo - I jump
into everything
into nothing
When she does
that delicious something.
Categories:
esque, beauty, desire, emotions, heaven,
Form:
Romanticism
ered, just like I would be if I ever found myself in Gossip Girl’s contrived version of New York
City’s upper east
side on a (b)lust
ery day and I saw prettily-pressed preppy clothes clinging to the perfect pie
l (skin in Spanish. Duh. Who doesn’t (k)now
that?) of Chuck
Bass, the hottest fictional character ever to grace a fashion-forward, self-destructive-lifestyle-
glamorizing teenage
soap opera. Granted, frost
bite has a better personality than Chuck Bass, but ahh… sigh…he still drives me loca.
There. That digression has kept me from going completely loca
but don’t think my unrequited lust
for Chuck Bass has in any way diminished my unrequited lust for a pseudo-intellectual Frost/
Nixon movie discussion party. Ha! I jest. Of course I mean for a frosted sugar cookie. So
let’s ditch this piece of
pie,
go searching for a sugar cookie, and end this Chuck
Palahniuk-esque multiple personality disorder now.
Don’t worry. This won’t take long. I’ve got an (echo)loca(tion) ability for sugar cookies like
bats have for bugs.
“What about the pie?”
you ask, “We can’t just waste it because of your irrational lust(y) cravings.” I know you’re
right so I strike a
compromise. While you’re lacing up your Chuck
Taylors, I patiently allow the waitress to box up the pie as a possible post-frosted sugar
cookie supplement, even
though if we had abandoned the pie, I’d be bathed in beautiful frosted sugar cookie-ness by
now.
Categories:
esque, me,
Form:
Sestina
Once upon a time we used to say this rhyme;
Piss **** corruptiion snot, 29 assholes
tied in a knot, yah rah lizard ****,
fffuuuuuccccckkkkk!
God bless the 60's
college generation and the pre ne anderthal
anticommuno anticonservative anticrass
conspired 50's post war catlickco/protestco/religico/allinco
class ignopostco dontknowco genreo class of procreastino
letitbeso, statisquo esque. Lest it be known that the willful winds of youthful change blow out
be on their way to counter angst the powers that supposed to be.
Frank, Tony, Bing, Johnny, Dean, Bobby, Elvis and Sammy rose to to heights
of us universal but languished in antiquity when all was superficial.
Stay in within the realm that is true and the music that it
heralds is more than blue. Topic is keen and u know what I mean,
as it all in the family regardless of poverty and greed. Look
deep inside to the entrails u behold and garner yr questhoods as they're
expressed in your guy goods. I am sick of people who hide in their shame, whose only desire is to gain all from illfame. I speak from someone just side of white trash
who was given free knowledge and knows that is quite rash!. College initially
was out of my reach, but from my friends go for it, it's not what we preach.
Paperwork aplenty and lines unforgiving I pleaded, posed, placed until my
schedule was on target. Never before did I know such obeyance, to all before me regardless of surveyance. I did what I was told and was told what I did until both seemed the same. IU hater is when people say this is/was the best thing I ever did in my life. Really? What about the things/places/people to come in to share yr life. Age is a withering wonder of the things that from which u have experienced, learned, then applied to unfamiliar future u have remaining; in all this, is someone, anyone paying the least attention to what u r trying to say? And yes to date and I am sorry to say but have come to believe is just the way it is that, "Youth is wasted on the young". Love u and miss me in the final equation of the generational shift of things to come.
Categories:
esque, culture, depression, education, society,
Form:
Free verse
Voltaire-esque lyric
vague allusions, fragrant truth
metaphoric thoughts
Categories:
esque, introspection
Form:
Haiku
Emo-esque tales of Razors slitting the cord
My spirit is tainted like an Ouija board
Arching Daemons summoned my name,
at the belly of Hell's burning wave.
In tune with the wind's shrieking fame,
The Moon was hung on my dampened grave
as a portrait of pain and despair.
Hand-held by Death's debonair,
A heart once cantered on Biblical lies
Cherubian Daemons that my soul now defies.
"For my song may not be gospel, yet
feared in life and Death.
I am one whom none reject
I'll always be there- Till your final breath."
"Aw, Stop claiming your life is over,
for it has but begun.
Starry nights; a pearly shore to Her
even though the noose is tightly strung..."
Categories:
esque, anxiety, death, depression, emo,
Form:
Rhyme
Look how far we've come! What would have taken months of perilous voyage now just takes hours of mundane leisure. At your fingertips lies countless options of entertainment: music, movies, games.
But looking out the window I can't help but bob my head to ELO's Mr. Blue Sky (why indeed did you hide away so long, Mr. Blue?). Wouldn't it be hilarious if my flight neighbor woke up and saw my Jay-Leno-esque head and NO ear buds? Each time I notice her stretching out her arms I wonder; is she yawning or reaching for the call button? "Yes, ma'am, there's a horribly spastic man sitting next to me. Could you kindly ask him to stop or at least transfer him to another seat?". Wouldn't that be something? It's not all that unlikely though. I'm surprised they don't boot me off right now. "And we at Delta would like to wish you a very safe and pleasant swim! Coffee or tea?".
Sure would save time just wearing a giant button that said that. It'd also give those poor girl's facial muscles a break. Just HOW many hours are spent wearing that plastered on smile?
Originally the Wright Brothers experimented with the idea of flying, simply for convenient's sake, and relentless human curiosity. Imagine if I were to trade places with one of them right now. I wonder what he'd think of the lady, near the front, indulging in a ginger ale. "Well at least they have good drinks on this flight!". It's hard to fathom what Mr. Wright might say...
NOTE: This came to me while on my flight back to the states...
Categories:
esque, funny, introspection,
Form:
Narrative
waterfall from skies compete with my thoughts
must be doing something else,
yet here I am,
Here. I am.
Again.
Why do I keep coming back here?!?
A mental shake,
as I chastise myself
I shouldn't be here, don't belong here anymore.
Most likely, I never did, just pushed myself in this place.
But I feel like a homing pigeon,
where this is the only place I know
that I can be and not be.
Where I can hide and expose myself at the same time.
With repercussions? Maybe.
I sit in my own corner and immerse myself
in the chatter, the laughter, and other matters
Nobody really notices me,
but that's ok.
I'm getting used to it.
I guess I keep coming back here
for that sense of familiarity, of a somewhat home,
for the memories.
Of myself in happier times,
of a chapter in my life that I have written
yet somehow botched up. Badly, so badly
that the words are all swimming in their own tears
Oozing ink, drowning.
But it shouldn't surprise me anymore?
This is me?
Of course I will always somehow manage to mess things up.
Some ways more than the others,
'my-esque' askewness
For some, that chapter in my life
is of course negligible. An erasable footnote perhaps?
It hurts, but we all have our own worlds,
where you may not be as important to others
as you thought, as you wanted to be.
There I went, pushing myself again,
only to be pushed away with a
thousand mile barrier of silence.
All along, being dust in that corner.
I gulp a bucket of tears,
because I will not deny it--
how much it hurts. Still.
But like what I say,
have to get used to it.
My hands are cold,
and I wipe snot from my nose,
a dainty trickle of snot, but snot nonetheless,
have had my snot-in-sheets phase,
so this is progress, that trickle.
1234, my clock says,
12345678910, I count to myself
collecting, breathing slowly
needles in my feet and shivering
Gosh, can I get any more pathetic?!
Yes, I have and I bet I will still be so.
No, this is not a pity-me thing,
more like a slap-myself thing
So I can look back, read this
and say to myself:
Others have it harder than you,
yet they stand,
I'm here sitting,
yet others stand.
...
the sky is still drumming the earth with water
and my eyes are threatening to do a duet. Again.
I chide myself, Enough now.
For my bags under my eyes are already so smooth, too deep
Too weathered and soaked for a year.
----> 'slap-myself thing', remember??
Remember.
Categories:
esque, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
We lucky people with ADD,
Sometimes seeming not-all-there, mais oui,
At catastrophe, leave folks in awe,
With our Arc-de-Triomphe-esque sangfroid.
Categories:
esque, french, hero,
Form:
Rhyme