Best Indexed Poems
Brighter than a fall bonfire but with the chill of ice,
the winter sun haloes a gray and barren woodland;
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a florescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol’s merging.
Trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk,
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers do not block the sharpened spears of screaming light.
The winter sun, indexed, and palmed, scratches the face of I.
Within a dakened room beneath a pall, behind hides blue veins,
near comatose, I sigh, the light, the light, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014
Categories:
indexed, pain,
Form:
Free verse
This book of botanical images
in sepia depict the petals, veins, leaves
of exotic plants. Listed alphabetically are illustrations
with a reader's favorites’ marked with string;
carefully indexed, scientific, dun-drab
they conceal the dream of translucent petals,
leaves that reflect green light, adaptive roots.
In idle fancy, a dreamlike flower unfolds
upright from the page.
Suzanne Delaney
Categories:
indexed, beauty, flower, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
tap of nails, slide wood, pull drapes
stains loiter in round mug shapes
water sipped, books stack, words leap
hush wizened pages, neighbors sleep
journals, confessionals, down or up
old cartridge spills, pens horde in cup
shackled hands, lungs breathe, heart drums
an empty tissue box, lamp hums
Try, stay busy, must forget
One more read, she might regret
mordacious night, she wakes from sleep
her bursting thoughts alone must keep
pack nightstand, smooth trifle snags
slip his book in its carry-on bag
His words elicit songs in ear
from his masterpiece, held dear
open drawer, last book in pile
bottom of the heap, exiled
giving in, she dares to rest
his hard cover on her chest
remove jacket, ne’er oppress
dust off passion and caress
thumb his chapters, breathe him in
recite his name and notes again
too much cologne, too much sweat
open pages, fan her breast
She knows he does not write for her
emotions shatter, dreams endure
she scribbles margins in duress
between his lines, her discontent
the nightstand drawer hides her distress
she’s indexed under “o”, obsessed
Written 4/4/17 for Eight Word Challenge Contest
Categories:
indexed, books, crush, longing, night,
Form:
Rhyme
"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." - Anaïs Nin
a world of mine - the world of me
it's all the world i'll ever see
the only world that's spinning free
one world i'll ever have and be
but oh how grand could i but flee
this frame of dirge cacophony
to wend a song or two (or three)
a softer strain - another key
of life where sharp and flat agree
where they and i and you ...
are we ...
well i can dream, yes i can dream
if i but shut my eyes ...
~
Impulse, enter
Senses and sensation
Stirred with an indexed intent
All one dark, filtered aberration
A distorted lens of chaos and care
Carnal portions, meant holy
Divine, meant irreverent
I sit upon the marble, blue ... twirl
Views change, but perspective is a cold mute
Blinded by my vatic eyes alone
Cursed to but one sill ...
Shattered.
~ 9th Place ~ in the "She Inspires Series - AN" Poetry Contest, Maureen McGreavy, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
indexed, analogy, introspection, life, world,
Form:
Free verse
My Dance of Poetry
When my soul and I dance in accord,
Then and only then
Will I be able to write my poetry.
I cannot get more than I give!
Yes, I comprehend the world is indexed
aselfish place,
Where to be number one muddles all
minds,
And we forget love is more than just
being kind.
To see we bless another soul, is indeed
a noble goal.
Gratitude for this gift of poetry comes
from God.
It's really not our own doing, I realize
that sounds so totally odd!
Staying true, writing my very best
That's all God asks~ it s a noble quest.
We write down our words, we think
They are terrific.
Others look at them as nothing more
Than a traffic ticket.
This is my personal mountain to climb.
To keep on going, even though, this eats
my whole day.
I'm not here for self-aggrandizement,
But to support others on our mutual-
soul trip.
Panagiota Romios
4/23/2019
1:40pm PST
Categories:
indexed, inspiration, poetess,
Form:
Free verse
Ho-hum, another war lost
We should have won
Our new partner for peace ~ the Taliban
Ho-hum, a new school year
First semester's curriculum
Learn whom to FEAR
Ho-hum, we're going all-electric
While 'Mr. Green President'
Begs Russia ~ Pump more oil! Protet us!
Ho-hum, California burns
The no-win solution
Gavin Newsome returns
Ho-hum, Chicago's locked down
No, it's not Covid
It's a murderous town
Ho-hum, soaring inflation
I can still sleep ~ My paycheck's
Indexed to tax machinations
Ho-hum, another day closer
To beckoning the invading hoardes
Come over ~ Here are the keys ~ Take over
Categories:
indexed, america, change, chicago, world,
Form:
Rhyme
Let me drape upon you a written robe,
beautifully indexed on your tablet.
My! you look divine,
off we go to dine on literary flavours and liquid verse.
A five chapter meal we just published.
This evening with you was a stunning essay read like a swift summary.
Narrating your life’s novel,
I record and archive,
citing the volume of your smile,
punctuating the exclamation of your eyes.
May I undress you with my pen,
printing kisses on your pamphlet lips.
Nonfiction foreplay is the order of the day
with teasing stanzas and touching tomes.
Your skin the clear scroll,
we edit with rhetoric as I explore the fiction of your passage.
The lexicon of your moans, would a fine manuscript make.
This plot you will review then quote.
You descend from that last paragraph,
this memory shelved high in your canon.
My pen has woven for you a silk word blanket;
as you lay on my journal pillow;
wrapping you in the epigraph of my affection.
Categories:
indexed, desire, writing,
Form:
Free verse
Brighter than a fall bonfire, but with the chill of ice,
the Winter sun haloes the gray and barren woodland,
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a fluorescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings--
to the horizon.
How it hurt my eyes.
Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol merging:
trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, welt the dusk--
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.
How it hurt my mind.
Splayed fingers block, the sharpened spears of screaming fright.
The Winter sun, indexed, palmed, scratches, the face of I.
Within a lightless room a pall hides blue veins, near comatose,
brazen: the light, the light-- I sigh, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death both hurt.
art by JulieG350
First Published by Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 - 2014
Categories:
indexed, pain,
Form:
Free verse
MY TEENAGE CRUSH
A_Certain_Nii
Ere half a score and three in this sapien space
Eyed a destination that would take me there
Very noble and widely embraced by the numbers
I set out well in the name of getting there.
The fondness nurtured for my then would be love
Surpassed the trial and error date I'm assaying with my now.
I indexed any endeavour in clamouring for that tomorrow
All I could in my veins I hesitated not.
The cushioning due me I never gained
The route to the root was never cleared
Roadblocks swamped my way; perils periplused my yearn.
My skin close destination, now too far.
Now with a deflected fire in my belly;
Grounded in the need to move on
Keeping it cool as a man; a man who has to live
Settling with a love I hate.
Click on the link to read and comment on other poems by A_Certain_Nii www.ayipoetgh.wordpress.com Like our page 'AyipoetGh' on Facebook
Categories:
indexed, africa,
Form:
ABC
Every reason equates to both the truth or curtains.
Within the visible light of mind, unveil the blurriness or shade it for certain.
Emotions are as true as the hands that caress it.
The speech that moulds it and the yearning to believe it.
Yet this world seems as corrupt as the mind who sees it.
The darkness that envelops the thought, was taught and trained.
Unknowingly and guided by hands that only crave Power.
Dig in deep in the dissolution of thoughts and bind it with the warmth of Heart's embrace.
Shed the layers of forced ideas and institution and break free the shackles of this illusion.
Or brace the smoke of despair that entrapped the lungs and leave life gasping for air.
Just to survive or let die in hopes that this hardship and lies are forgotten with death.
Released from the burden of life's grasp.
The choke of life that threatens all in a single minute wraith.
That will forever alter our destiny and our path.
Do you know how I got these scars?
I was broken and battered.
Not by swords wielding battles.
No armies that conquered.
Just mere words and pictures that keeps me in shackles.
Every moment, a distinct invention of a monster.
Invoked into my being by images of societal ruptures.
Creating me into something unholy, those taunters.
Like a carcass, advertise me as meat for vultures.
I felt I was branded with faults, discarded by burning.
I felt I was tainted with salt, distasteful and disconcerting,
I feel I am as they visioned me to be, obese, ugly and demeaning.
I felt I was. I feel I am. Believing thus revealing.
Unknown and invisible, I hexed this insecurity.
Unwise and inaudible, perplexed within me.
Unfair and implausible, indexed unworthy.
Until no end, this forbids me to be a part of society.
Do you know how I got these scars?
Categories:
indexed, life,
Form:
A note to poets yet to be
No matter what their age is
They've indexed me as World War Two
But what's a scouser lad to do?
With all those bloody sages?
To develop the ability
To speak into eternity
And not be heard' s demeaning
It's not just finding words that rhyme
with syllables in metered time
one has to have a meaning
To give to those in later years
To make their eyes o'er flow
With tears of sentimental empathetic leaning
It doesn't have to beat it home
To keep repeating in a tome
With weight too late to ponder
It only has to make them peer
Through time to see a moment clear
To stare with your eyes yonder
To show a simple memory of what was here for you and me
A rushing stream, a vivid dream. A rose in prose depicted
But chiefly briefly try to say your message to a friend
Emotions free a trifle fey, and true blue to the end
So polish your vocabul'ry, and pay your syntax just to be
Remembered in eternity
Come combat time with words that rhyme
And when you're bent in blind intent
Or lost in thought and sorely spent
Just read and heed these thoughts I've sent
To you my friend through time
Categories:
indexed, work, words, time,
Form:
Rhyme
as things speed up
at an ever faster clip
they're ready to interrupt
my mind's day nondescript
to mark my thoughts - every tiny blip
and keep them cross-indexed
in a clouded database
kept in the current context
never to be erased
their potential to be raised
and analyze my standard deviation
modeled with statistical certainty
from the belled median population
with a quartered sense of urgency
of sole life's complete transparency
what part of me is mine alone?
can I keep my dreams to myself?
I don't want my soul to be cloned,
duplicated on the data shelf
to increase capitalism's wealth
now every helix of my being
every nuance of my movement
everything's stored just in case
there's a need to erase and replicate
start me all over, guaranteeing
that, like heaven, I'll always exist
on Earthly stored mirror reflection
transcending my own transcendentalist
to be sliced into conic sections
and see if both parts can coexist
partitioned into their own zones
mirror, mirror on the net, let us make a little bet
they'll make me better with a clone
to never give worry or fear or threat
how good can become better an' better an' yet
the supplications for more and more given
ever increasing the prophets standard
inside the chip a much livelier livin'
hooking me to be pimped and pandered
leaving me left in today just hammered
my soul duplicated - my mind and body too
click to agree to fine print, installation is free
downloading too many selves to look through
to know if there ever even was, a real me
turning high aspirations to the lowest degree - money
© Goode Guy 2012-07-17
Categories:
indexed, computer-internet, introspection, life, me,
Form:
Rhyme
The image of her face embedded in my mind
The sound of her voice indexed into my brain
The smell of her perfume
The feel of her embrace
The tenderness of her kisses
Those eyes inflamed with life
Memories of her
A few silly messages she sent me
Words of nonsense
Words that bring forth smiles
A small note where she wrote my name
Dotted with hearts
Evidence?
That she likes me too
I keep it hidden in a small box and look at it
When the darkness brings her presence to me
I turn on my lamp and reassure myself
That yes she thinks of me
Yes she likes me
Dreams are good because of her
Pictures of us
I picture us
I like us
She's my daydreams my dreams my endless thoughts streams
I think of her
When were together the earth stands still
The sun shines for us
The moon and stars glow for us
The world is good
When we are apart loneliness mocks my heart
And doubt seeps into my mind
I think of her all the time
Yet I wonder
I wonder
I wonder if she ever thinks of me?
Categories:
indexed, desire, feelings, i love
Form:
Free verse
I was having a dialog
with my inner shock collar
a present from my fairy godmother
who had trimmed the hedge
into leafy mammals with teeth
ready to protect the perimeter
and as sure as incisors segue to molars
they tore loose from their leashes
and got into a backwoods shootout
with my photosynthetic gene pool
naturally they haven't told me yet
if this is a suicide mission
or a symphony of implications
making up for the rib dog years
darkness fell like tank treads
Fairy Godmother had a gun to my head
the phone rang louder than usual
it was my mob connected uncle
Benny Tarfingers from Roofer's Local 911
we'll be happy to fix your little problem
for a small consideration went the voice
I gladly gave them both eyes
they now see what I see
so the joke was on them ha ha
Benny wanted me to tell all of you
hep cats and hepatic kittens
the Devil made him do it
that's why he's the Devil eh
faith can blind God bless you
my shock collar jolted the **** out of me
for overlooking far too many clues
I caught on quick and started screaming
something between 110 and 220
since all is a multiply indexed display
and I had to stop censoring my perceptions
well that diagram got him mad
so I followed with a quick trim
our weed eaters were an ineluctable force
seemed to do the trick
playback being the payback
and burnt the collar to a crisp
requiring a rapid tactical egress
wrapped in the fabled Cloak of Naiveté
good work went godmother Godzilla
you must have strayed far to find this
the solution is to try comparing notes
with people who compare notes
and a pleasant sentimental mood
settled over the land
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Categories:
indexed, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
When the sky goes black,
And the clouds, less gay,
The sun hides, shining from the back;
Jesus is always my stay.
Tho' life be grim, or vexed,
Nothing can foil His plan.
In Christ is my future indexed,
Starting me each day with a flan.
The Lord's never scarce to save.
Nearest when my strength is gone.
He lends a hand or a stave,
And lets my cares withdrawn.
Jesus is never asleep in the stern
When my boat jolts in the storm.
Categories:
indexed, spiritual
Form:
Rhyme