Best Laminate Poems
I dream that tonight I am a raccoon
And it is here in this body that I store the notion
That my sadness will last forever,
In the treasury of unclaimed awareness,
Where pits of the peaches could never re-sprout...
I dig deep into the indent of a Denver ravine,
Gnaw knee-high into the hollow ridges of hominids and their homelands,
Belly-wade in bottomless mud waters west of wherever they don’t go, though
Lurid in my languor now, I laminate my slick turf onto Continental limestone slabs
And, then, all-at-once, at noon, just like that,
I call it a day.
A tired little raccoon
Can’t bear without a rest
Through the midday...
I arise as the coon falls under.
Reclaiming Human Sorrow, my Wrong-Headed Brother,
Waxing thunderously, now, in the mind’s cluttered cage
In this day of coffee and chit-chat and left-turns,
I’ll dream tonight I am a raccoon.
So that we may both get out and roam.
Achieve greatness by running a race.
Break sound barriers- just go to outer space!
Climb a mountain to get a good workout.
Deliver a speech- you'll probably have to shout...
Earn some money by helping clean up.
Film a video where you put on makeup.
Graduate college, online, of course!!!
Hire for the future; build a great workforce!
Improvise a sketch and perform it for all.
Just watch a sad movie, and prepare to bawl.
Kidnap an animal, then keep it for yourself...
Laminate bookmarks and organize your bookshelf!
Make some yummy cookies, brownies, or a cake.
Nestle in; watch a show where all they do is bake.
Optimize your storage; start with the dresser...
Poke around a bit to find some hidden treasure!
Qualify for a job, or just peek at the website...
Read some poems; mine are sure to excite!!!
Sleep all day, then pull an all-nighter.
Take some time to become a songwriter!
Unfold some origami, and then fold it back again.
Vandalize something, if you can't, just plan when...
Wander around, and pretend you're mist.
X-out something on your bucket list.
Yammer on about your favorite subject.
Zip your zipper obsessively- jeez... are you occupied yet????
"A silenced tongue weighs heavy against the soul," quote by poet.
I sit amongst a single light,
light illuminating a hand-built oaken desk,
desk with pictures of the past lay out randomly around me,
whilst I hear the whoosh of her oxygen machine droning on—
breathing life into her failing lungs.
Drowning in overwhelming emotions,
I seek an outlet to release control from my quietly weeping heartquakes.
Opening the drawer, I reach for a piece of aged parchment paper,
resting beside an unused fountain pen.
Wiping the tears from my ears,
I begin to scribble with fire-tipped ferocity.
As the rain starts to descend, sliding down my window,
a dam breaks in my psyche—words pour forth,
releasing tortured moments long dormant beneath countless masks.
One by one, they slip, shattering to the laminate floor,
releasing the marionette strings from my breaking back.
Against her wishes, I enter my stinging words into contests—
rejection followed by acceptance, followed by rejection once again.
But with every acceptance, her voice ~ not quite silent ~ not quite kind ~ disapproval grows quieter,
until it shrinks into nothing but a mere blip,
lost among endless affirmations.Affirmations that, with each win, chip at the rusted chains
encasing my silenced cage.
And even within the confines of the losses,
I've been rekindled in faith
that a voice once stolen will sing again.
*heartquakes ~ inner conflict, vulnerability, emotional storm within, grief..
Oh sweet, sweet anonymity
Through the pressing crowds you’re calling me
Along the streets in city parks
Your presence waits by day or dark.
Just as the judge is passing law
As in so many times before
On parking offence or minor crime
On occasion a case that makes a national headline
The same hand takes the tea maid’s cup
Or swings a club on the Sunday golf match
As famous singers walk the stage
Of what matter is its matter made?
Plywood sheet or glass laminate
The "greatest moments" are a blip
On lifetimes stage where fortune sits
As greater life is lived unsung
Of no recorded note or age
A bar to life’s great tearing pace.
Yes,, somewhere waits for you and me
That sweet sweet anonymity.
A girl with hair like golden down
Is smiling in a country town
Her eyes are soft, her spirit strong
She knows truth, love and easy songs.
She makes up a house where people meet
And lives are crossed so bitter sweet
From kindergarten to university
She sees continuity
And containment of the life she loves
White picket fence and a cote of turtle doves.
© Joe Maverick 26-07-2010
Picture of you
in my heart
Face of you
I don't part
In my heart
I write your name
In your heart
I call your name
Picture of you
I have so strong
Smile of you
I miss so long
In my heart
I sing and dance
All my heart
I skip no chance
Every time you come down
My heart beats up and down
Everytime you say "hello" or "hi"
My blood drifts so high
On a grassland we tripped
and hipped,
Rolling over like candlesticks
Down the mangrove we dropped
and dipped
Laughing over our broken lips
We see each other bleeding
Yet weary and giggling
Leaning on each other's back
Clinging to each other without a tack
Picture of you
I laminate
In my heart
I don't hesitate
Then you took my picture too
In your heart
You engrave so true
I am thankful;
That my life was blessed,
For the very best,
By yours-
I know of your trials;
The great depression,
This is my session,
To let you know,
I may not be,
Ready to go,
You’ll understand,
You’ll take my hand,
I hear of my dad-
Makin that bottle rocket,
He was so out of pocket,
When it busted open my aunt’s thigh,
And you can’t explain why,
Your father left those ones and wine,
But you insist we find,
It-
And ****,
I took you for granted,
When I angrily ranted,
Over such petty things;
Those gypsy rings,
This special memory,
And what you’ve said to me,
Will always stay,
I’ll never stray,
In my remembrance,
All those Estee Lauder scents,
And each time you put your two cents,
In-
How you always wanted ME to win;
B-I-N-G-O;
I think you outta know,
This changed my life,
Though debilitating strife,
It’s washed me,
Guided me;
To the right location,
My imagination,
Run wild with-
Images of,
You above;
In a perfumed garden,
My heart hardens,
When I realize,
Never again crystallized,
In front of me,
Will you be-
I’m missin you,
It’s too true,
But you would be proud,
Your shout would pierce loud,
Seeing where I am now,
You were my treasured pal,
No more-
And I’m on the floor,
Mourning on the laminate-
In front of your corpse-
But I’m thankful;
Because I’ve been blessed with,
Your angelic presence.
The Swan King.
Fine fibre lashes flicker, flutter.
Sailing trance-like on warm reflected glass,
Royal icing sculpture, still Lily-White feathers.
Ripples giggling, Dragon Flies dipping,
Sticklebacks cha-cha clumsily within own shadows.
as pulsing circles steady...peaceful.
Lilac Water-lilies whirl-curl open,
as perfumes whoosh! Midges hypnotic.
Verdant reeds stand stiff, honouring dawn’s yellow-zest ribbons,
as a frozen Butterfly poses for flight.
‘S’ curved, sparkling neck, full-stop onyx pupils,
he glance-glares at a Mallard trio...
olive flecked necks scuba dive in shell-pink wellies,
then line-dance...
’One-two, one web forward,
two-three, one web back.
four-five shake booty!’
Rainbow Trout ker-plop leap in this shrine-still lake,
mountains laminate into silver firewater.
As a billion tiny stars come together enhancing wizard–white plumage
the Swan Queen follows his webbed tracks.
Wisps of twirling mist creep in gentle hush,
lovers serenely drift beneath skies of solar-blue,
on bluish-wine water, saturated in Heaven–leaking light,
a fading fairytale vanishes into Moonlight’s magical veiled silk voile.
Her mysterious smile!
Spoke revolting silence’s bile
Prior to chewing her file
Magnificent eyes
Though eyeshades exiled brief style
What words did she store in sigh?!
Tranquilly resting
Soft poems she grasps quickly
Portraying warm monarchy
Her choka poems knew who!?
Her signature revealed two
Fingers are syllables’ queue
Mona Lisa heard
Thunders laminate trajet
Dehiscing Alps behind her
Rivers grow at once
Meadows steam in an instance
Melting flexible substance
The French bridge slithers
TGV rushing jewels
Challenging wind’s high fevers
Steaming beach can bleach
Baking landscapes and seaweed
Stampeding music beneath
Is the collider
Baking tears six feet under?
Shown at left elbow’s corner
If you look at the
Print one foot far… turn over
See… falling dizzy comet?
Where did she go to?
Riding her chariot’s furrow?
To church? Her hands’ prayer fold
Her wedding ring is
Cherished with great love for him
Their children behind singing
Page 1 of 6
By: Nadia F. Shahwan - April 2009. Note: This is an innocent discovery of the Mona Lisa's
beauty.
IF YOU MOURN FOR ME, MOURN HAPPY
He sat on the laminate floor reading poems he had written years ago
He read them and asked himself did I really write these?
He was surprised the poems were that good
After all these years, they’re still good and relevant, he said to himself
Though he had been published in a few magazines many years ago
he was never considered to be at the top rung of the list of poets
The more he read his poems the more his tears flowed
memories flooded his mind of his ill-fated expectations
But Life is what it is
only passing out a few genius tags in any field
when looking for glory in any artistic endeavor
leaving your ego at the entrance of the work room is critical
Mindful that all work is only as good as the artist’s diligence
It’s the work that’s ultimately important he told himself
In his youth he looked for the payoff and waited for glory but
unable to comprehend Life's vagaries, expectation died losing the dream
Later, in understanding those truths
Reality became more evident
He had gotten old and wiser
But not necessarily smarter
Adulthood might have shown up sooner with patience
but comprehending the end times are around the corner
is like knowing the rent is due and the landlord will kick you out
or when a good musician disappears in the ether of a killer addiction
Or like God’s benevolent hands around your throat
with happy Satan laughing in your face
or the pathetic smile we display when remembering
the man that was and the words he wrote as an old man
Today if by chance you see me lying dead you may mourn for me
let your feelings go as a bluesman lets go into the blues
a lesson in acceptance and surrender
So if you mourn me, mourn happy.
I pray to God that it will be a brighter day;
I want his warmth to clothe me day after day
Someday, the sun will erase all of my doubts
and push away the clouds…
I want to be a positive schoolboy – but the clouds
Cover me like mesmerizing, despondent shrouds
I want to be a positive youngster – I need to stay
True to my unaccomplished goals everyday
Lord, I know life has its ups and downs – but, I must keep a steady pace…
I want to develop a stable mentality with no trace of pity
Lord, I know life gets problematic in the long run – I FEAR I might fall on my face
I just want to be content – I want my dreams to become a reality
I'll be loving you forever…
for you’re the last thing on my mind before I go to sleep at night
I’ll take a moment just to ponder…
About you and our time together – thinking about you restores hope, joy and might
our love is wholesome and so much more…
our love will grow on forevermore…
our love is real and it’s a great deal…
our love is beyond measure and it’s totally real…
Our Love is oh so surreal
You melt my anguish away…
Our love can heal a broken heart
You cherish me in the month of May
You blow away winter’s dismay
I pray to God for a more optimistic mindset…
Hopefully it doesn’t result in forfeits
Push away the gray…and laminate it with a striking sunset,
I’m drowning in his inclement, rainy regrets
I’ll make sure to embrace competition…
for you're my reason I run the extra mile, winning honor and applauds
I’ll take a moment to pursue my ambition...
Of being with you always and forever – I fear I might lose all of my odds
With you…your heart isn’t pumping with vile frauds
Every single second spent with you…
Makes my spirit soar anew...
I never experienced such surreal love
Our love flourishes rapidly from up above
I’m sick with a love flu *cough* *cough*
For the first time
since the end of Summer,
Mr. Nobody wears his socks to bed,
a sad admission that
things were going to get worse.
Can't count on the
warmth of mother nature's breast
to keep his mammalian nature intact.
When he wears his socks
and he pulls the thin duvet and the
extra purple woven Dacron blanket
up over himself he feels
warm enough to sleep.
The cat, Missy, who sleeps on his bed
wants to go out. This is Mr. Nobody's worse fear,
like a fear of urination
a fear that keeps him from resting.
Mr. Nobody throws off the blankets, rises,
swings his legs over the side of the bed
and rests his feet on the cold wood laminate floor.
He shuffles to the door
Missy follows.
Opening the back door, he feels
the dread of the betrayal.
Missy scoots out.
Now, before he can sleep, Mr. Nobody has to remember
to find her and let her in again, realizing now that
William, the male cat had been let out earlier.
He will have to recover them both.
Mr. Nobody doesn’t know why he cares so much
about the discomforts of the cats.
He doesn't know if they suffer the terrors
of the failing pact with nature as much as he,
probably they do not.
Mr. Nobody returns to bed, pulls the cover-sandwich package
over his legs then over his chest. He rests,
planning to rise in an hour to go out and find the cats.
Mr. Nobody is certain that when he calls the cats
after an obligatory time
they will agree to follow him,
almost as if they know what's
good for them.
I hid
Bricks formed into a patchwork ochre cuboid
The planet
One side in unforgiving chill
And the other
Nauseating dry light
I hid
To avoid a swollen face
And sores on my head
No desire to become an eighties horror victim
To counter the boxed equinox cool
I tanned water
Released refined stimulants
And lactic secretions
The shadows were faded but still shields
Even at their stretched translucent corners
But a spiced wind tricked
And whetted a need for wetness
Plastic clashed and rolled
On the seared and warped laminate
Toes thumped
A T-Rex charge
To the kitchen
We, however, spoke of banal
Boring, grown up tediousness
Spent leaves rustled in black
A stained spoon
Rattled and ricocheted
To bleed on steel
My weathered pale lips pressed
And did a series of tiny sips
In the shrunken extension
I reengaged the exchange
And contrived
A blueprint for the next 168 hours
Then IT happened
I felt flesh tickle
On his palms and patellas.
Just in plain white pants.
One peck.
On top of my right foot.
"What are you doing?"
"You told me. That in some
Places people kiss each
Others feet to show them.
That.
They love them.
And.
I.
I LOVE YOU."
My chest felt hollow
And my legs felt magnetised
Consecrated by a toddler
I hesitated mid inhalation
And descended to pray
A spine formed a low bridge
As I kissed both of his soft feet
Twice
It was one of the greatest gifts I ever received
All I could say was
"Thank You"
I squeezed his
Naked chest
I was washed by a lobster pigment
And in three seconds a blink away from a tear
Laminate
Plastic covered up definitions lip with profound mastic.
Layered lamella formed single filed lines separating life from death;
Held onto by paper thin adhesions.
Besides bungling up a perfectly fine bollix,
Laminate single handedly took arms up touching innocency.
Scrolls of past things are looked less upon;
By inclinations vestal eye, seen glimpsing beyond chaste.
Blind alley virtual figment reality innocuously engulfed—
Suppressed complimentary service accepts multiplied donators;
Final offers pickled debacle is utter intrinsic debasement.
One lamination, under God, with liberty and justice; For all…
| Laminate | IrOniC ZiNc 12-13-15 12:59am (ct)
A flea in a bag is not akin to a farmers market on a window sill but wide angled mirrors breathe many a basket bomb into a woven template if a footstool. Perching by a bathroom crevasse one ponders the many insecurities of a passing flying snail. For to shell is not to show. And shelter is decorated in a mindfully placed swirl. Bracket not a bucket. And brake no gear. It is an impossible wonder of a mile long coin that enters the golden highway at a junction aforementioned in a style magazine. Oh fabulous the floors will be nice and clean today for the mops are arriving in great multitude on many landing strips of lino,carpet, and laminate flooring too. A pretty cat sighs. For intrusive interrupted snoozing is not pleasant for a snoring meow. But mowing an eleven acre lawn is best performed with a five centimetre pair of scissors. Hahahahah silvery shrouds seeking secrecy hahahahaha moon painted boil xxxxx fastidiousness Z
Form:
after tea.
head for bed.
ok, no kitchen lights this time.
to the side comes a doorway.
a silhouette draws up in the moonlit curtains
like a Himalayan spine.
patient monster.
no negotiating.
glimpse of ghost skin.
it lurches
rotten avocado with boar bristles.
and then only the heating panel, the dryer, the bathroom door.
and you feel for the hall light.
turn it on.
feel a pathos churning.
near your bed.
cross to the left past the window.
mouselike scratching on the laminate, past the window, behind red curtains
a lump of face like a turkey stuffed in pantyhose,
half-lit, in your room.
clothing black snakeskin on tofu underbelly.
mind your gun.
head to the side of the bed to get the gun.
remember that you have no bullets.
you just never got around to it.