Best Lampshades Poems
~Marionette Master~
All my dreams evolve around my wooden floor
Candles and clowns the show must go on
~~~~
The Moon slowly moves its way into my room
Dust pushes through my window making shadow puppets on my walls
The talent on my walls dance, scaring my sweet dreams away
No cradle-songs tonight
Dangling artisans’ fingertips scratching down my core
Exquisite observation, an alley down “Death Street.”
Panic rattles my bone,
Stuttering a taste of ma' ma' ma' mama' off my lips
Grandfather clock ticks with every pull of the string
Invisible jellyfish puppets swaying their feelers that sting my site
A superior skill eating away at my fear
I can’t breathe,
I can’t move,
It dangles!
What can I do?
Carved Marionette figures locked in my head
A game in which trickery and deception are the main events
Staged with an evil sinister mask, sanctioning my nightmares.
No one to rescue me from the danger of this bedside playground.
The puppeteer engages to provoke me with my own dolls.
A dramatic performance throttles my mind …….
I cannot come out from under my blanket,
I cannot run,
My hands cannot reach the circus print lampshades!
A shadow show played in slow motion!!!
Realizing the moon can pull a world of strings with its own light
***
Suddenly, boney fingers from the sunrise show me the way…
I look down until my toes touch the cold wooden floor
I creep and creep,
Then I flick on my lamp.
The purple walls swallowed the orgy drawing inspired by the mooned night
A huge diversity of graphic illusions of puppetry in my room vanishes in one click
Mother please no more Pinocchio in my lullabies! ;-)
Think of me as the eyes of late nightfall
crawl through a wafting sill
where lone moon cuddles dimmed glow
before she quietly slowly lays
herself on a cradle of clouds
as whistle of barn owl and incantations groans.
When dusk explodes into ash
upon fairways that lap,
think of me
mysteriously walking on the ledge
of our winding grassland
picking bluebells in wanderlust.
And when candles snuff the lampshades
think of me,
like the velvet skin of dusk fall
circling in a world of marbled thoughts
until you etch the back of my spine
to lullaby the sourness of truant dreams.
The stars play game-spy with the wind
rowing into a wave of dewy cruise;
I enter into your own lenses, a search light
that becomes the harbour of some peace
while echoes of unknown voices speak...
It is at this juncture when you, perhaps,
might think of me
lending a gentle taste of assurance
that the next hours will stir a brightened sun.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
contest 259 Brian Strand
Lampshades of beauty come in every shade
everyone should have one in their home
for when the moon refuses to cascade
inside your darkened room, then you alone
can light your inner world with glow and shine;
Bruise of night, ecchymosis of the soul
each fearful child of God should have their own
for when the stars refuse to spark, extol
within your living space, then you alone
can light your inner world with glow and shine;
Expensive trinkets I don't need my friend
for dearer still is inner light of heart
a lampshade is a blessing, a godsend
inside a darkened room, yes you alone
can light your inner world and make it shine.
Wearing a LAMPSHADE when I woke from this bed
All sorts of pounding still in my head
Need some grease
A HANGOVER release
Oh how I think I'd be better off dead
Buttery Corn Puffs are made up in heaven
Delicious and such melt in your mouth fun
I'm not really addicted I can stop any time
But must be held back at the point of a gun
Each night I bolt out of my bed screaming
“Where did you hide my Buttery Corn Puffs”
It's one of the few pleasures I have left in life
They'll soon have to take me away in cuffs
I dream of floating way up high on a cloud
Looking down on a soft yellow landscape
Corn Puffs stretching from horizon to horizon
With fairies and me wearing lampshades
Such a happy scenario of joy and frivolity
Those yellow Buttery Corn Puffs do evoke
To feel the great joy and total contentment
Before that final sad moment when I croak
If Buttery Corn Puffs are made up in heaven
When I cross over to that great unknown
Totally surrounded from horizon to horizon
Much better than a land of buttered scones
© Jack Ellison 2015
Trains run alight terminate on time like clockwork
never ending endless procession of precision conductors
the conducted walk down the line warped tracks of
cynically divided isles dead ends of ‘labour making free’
Evil strips uniformed confluence stripes and leather
Coated terrified collection production of space soap
horror lampshades shearing shorn haired tattoos the
undivided divide of power abomination horrid abnormal
‘normality’ represses guilt projected trans-re-and aggression
Evil does other in the guise of completed concentration
Concerted action blisters scorches screams cacophonies
children on father’s lap blue eyed dancing and laughing
kisses of love adoration cuddly dolls miniature life’s train
sets model schema roles toys games memories distraction
Evil giggles corporates shapes what past and future holds
Mothers craft homes happy families embrace posterity apple
pies devotion roast cinnamon cranberry turkeys tarts in ovens
pious allegiance compassion progress contrast splitting off piano
forte harmonious singing rejoicing at mantelpiece and altar
Evil mocks smouldering torches paradise’s apple deprivation
Juvenile followers of fashion compose indoctrinate compost
hail philosophy’s trampled ideology void of virtue meaning
distorted communion bread wine blind vision blind-sight vortex
trailing inscribing engraving present history timeless repetition
Evil tracks moribund humanity dignity degeneration and disgust
Unless we reflect examine investigate inside and around
us the smokescreens stacked ember ashes individual ‘Self’
universal pursuit of righteousness flames of denial denigrating
potential illuminate conscience honesty fallibilities blue prints
for darkness and unless we act and fight stand up and even then
Ubiquitous evil at this very moment will cast its seeds and shadows
will unbalanced fires raise their ugly head and minds and shoulders gas
and bullets terror grenades rockets mines warfare starving emaciation
lest we forget the prototypes the moulds automated conveyor belts evil
we can not abdicate responsibility for blatant murder of the human race
Auschwitz is everywhere and there is no hierarchy of evil
July 1st Independence Day (Canada)
outside
inventoried oval-stoned
cathedrals appealing
chiming crimes of passion
woke citronella
fog
hung in cement-hamocked snowdrifts
cloaked slow on slick-stained windowsides
tenement sheets
with the pomegranate notes
of rhythms unrhymed
while all the uptown laundromarts
rising up
from insomniac-scrambled sidewalks
corked-copper moon tumbling earthward
like a sweet
sweatshredded pennants
of sun-saliva silks on rain-dribbled cotton
then
cherry-flat footsteps lust-percussive
under shamble-wracked sills
pause and then pass on
momentarily appeased in time by
blued bars on fly-fouled panes
bell tower-balanced above
taverns abutting back alleyways of
need
by fireplace mantle-pieced nooses
of nylonic shirts and poly slacks
and musts dusted-down
past stockinged-lidded faux plastic lampshades
passed on past magnolia movements
of fingertips on muscle surfaces
in-side
defoliate-spun spinnakered islands
chocked choked
in passing lynched adhesion
ignoring nicotine-papered stripteasing walls
or scotch-spat skirtings
creeping pedestal for
a moulded tangerine ceiling stuccoed into sudden mute
breath
rinsed down a night-scented-taking-stock
split-mirrored motel door
they go lunging over greasy chapels of
grit-grained
breakfast jasmine-tea-stained mock vinyl rugs
squeaking cot now like some
concreted river bed's of slump
of stun-spurned wants broken down
consciousness half-considered
stirring
12/1/21
"Get a Grip"
It's fake or is legit
Get a grip
Live or quit
You either do or don't give a s***
It's all hit or miss
Being credible or illegitimate
Able to show and prove or another hypocrite
Biding time or lickety-split
Listen quick
Got some news, time I deliver it
One thing to be wise, but what good comes if you're a chicken s***
You'll get finessed by a little trick
Life comes with inherent risk
Not going according to any written script
Endlessly the minutes tick
Had to flip the script
And put aside any differences
For the time being, still adrift
Going through the thick of it
What a sad game
It's a damn shame
Giving people a bad name
Causing them to rampage
The starting point nearby several lampshades
Since day one
Friends and enemies I've made some
Only from within does change come
Regardless of how far we came from
Just stay true to who you are
At times, took it too far
Or set the new bar
And got a few scars
Effective
With the message
Becoming accepted
Or there is a war against it
Since last fall
Made an effort or didn't at all
Worked out well or ended up being a bad call
Continually getting blackballed
As of now or going back in history
Of course this all is bigger than me
Amid endless bigotry
And trickery
Success or failure as well as happiness or misery
Often competed
In order to get what was needed
Instead of remaining seated
Continually cheated
And mistreated
By those that are conceited
Getting heated
Far from feeling defeated
Still a mission to be completed
So that the same situation is never repeated
There was once a windowpane oyster
in the deep of an ocean's depth
wherein dwelt a treasured secret kept
An opaline sphere of salmon colored pink
born of a single grain of sand
a charm unseen within the oysters hand
Fish when you are at bottom's blue sea
and seek this lonely little shell
those times when heaven feels like hell
And when something gets 'neath the skin
and festers and sorely shows
remember the pearl an oyster grows
For from one tiny irritating grain of sand
(like that pebble in your shoe)
beauty can be fished from your troubles too
(April 8 2016)
* Windowpane, an oyster that is especially common in the Philippines and has a large flat somewhat pearly paper-thin shell prized for it's pearls and used for thousands of years especially by the Chinese as a substitute for glass windowpanes and in later times for lampshades and chandeliers.
We are the-
Unattainable
Lampshades--flickering
On and off-
In-and-out
With
And without.
--And her skin
Is all I can breathe.
I write in cartilage
Memoirs just to feel
Unfeeling.
But we love unfairly
Until digging nails
Into walls--
Becomes beautiful
We-the-unreachable.
Here we are in the village of Morristown, New Jersey.
It is September the sixth in the year of our Lord, 1833.
French immigrant Antoine LeBlanc went on a killing spree.
He took the lives of two rather prominent citizenry.
Antoine murdered Mr. and Mrs. Sayre, and their servant Phoebe.
The citizens of the town considered the deed so dastardly.
It only took twenty minutes for the decision of the jury.
With overwhelming evidence, the defendant was found guilty.
LeBlanc was afforded all the formalities of a fair hearing.
Judge Gabriel Ford handed down the sentence of death by hanging.
A crowd of about ten thousand are gathered in the public square.
Witnesses have come to see the execution from everywhere.
A rope around LeBlanc’s neck will propel him into the air.
Until he is dead, Antoine will be hanging in despair.
“That’s not enough”, cried some of the witnesses in their fears.
They wanted LeBlanc’s skin tanned and made into souvenirs.
Wallets, purses, lampshades, and book jackets were fashioned from his hide.
That is a gruesome fate that certainly cannot be denied.
Here is something else that I have to say:
Some of those relics of the infamous criminal still survive today.
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and the website of Weird N.J. for information I obtained to write this poem.
The Seasons heaven inspired Summer
Jousting feasting + dancing diversions
Love exquisite reflection in the mirror
Tinned soup shelves in the village store
wicked chocolate sauce nutty ice-cream
Crimson berries golden mountains blue
shadows unhinged white double doors
wide stairs tall fellow with a strong chin.
She came up to him and cleverly kissed
Fifties beatnik style polo necks corduroy
Feline supermodels prowl the catwalk
where fun and happiness are the rule.
Colorful passion ,friendship + intimacy.
Sharing wonderfully warm magical elixir
See roomfuls of naked women bathing.
A tribute to your beauty be immortalized
feel fantastically alive Queen Goddess.
Permission to kiss every inch of the body
Girlfriends dancing , whirling + stomping.
Plush velvet sofas lead light lampshades
Playing pieces of music body of a cello.
Tea-pots doilies darling babies parties
Fix the favorite feeling fabulous pleasure
Keep the juice alive flavour rhapsody.
Remember your gloriousness leisure.
Angelfish pillows, enjoy the nice things.
When Harry met Sally
He thought her just a friend
She drove him so so crazy
The car drive to begin
Over the hills and through the woods
They ventured on their way
It started off a lovely trip
With lots of things to say
Back then it might sense
Girl and boy do meet
Friends only nothing more
Isn't it so sweet?
I can't imagine now
Living in LA
Meeting a man one night
Next to hear him say....
You know my dear you must know
Your beautiful no doubt
I love you for your brains also
So why must you pout?
Let's just keep things friendly
I don't want to take you home
I haven't even thought of it
Let's stay in friendship zone.
Is this an alcoholic dream?
Did he really just drop that?
Oh I'm so glad I met you
Maybe I am fat?
What's wrong with me?
Am in a darkened sleep?
I start to panic then slap myself
Guess faith will take a leap.
Sally wouldn't dare
Bring those thoughts to mind
Harry , well he knew
He wasn't that blind.
Men and women can be friends
For real or fantasy
But breaking lampshades all while screaming
Is much more beneficial and carefree.
By Kristen Bruni
Under the Lampshades
You are hurriedly racing your crazy Cadillac,
looking to squeeze in more time at the yoga salon,
and have a relaxing conversation under a set of palm trees out back,
with sandwiches of desire mixed with sardines and mustard;
this person you are racing to is the one
who knows the right buttons to push.
Is it time for another epoch of stranded conveniences,
required by society as solemnly as a funeral with no body?
We know there is a hidden pain not felt,
not until a rain of shredding years find their progressions captured,
inside old rooms down hallways of musty time,
with apparitions of giggling girls walking back and forth,
looking for aroused embraces in the burning night,
Come with me now, is there no time for lazy hours under lampshades,
after we gather up red nectarines at the Uptown faire?
We can gaze at the old faces and wonder if they knew anything.
But inside this 1956 Cadillac we all knew where the flashlights were hidden,
And we all knew where the silver keys to the pink hearse were located.
Shh, don’t make a sound! Try not to make a clamor within these green tiles.
There are witch hazel bottles half full in the medicine cabinets, and
There are asbestos catchings in the dry rot, and ancient cobwebs made of beard,
Collapsing here with us in this dead basement of cement and lost whispers.
Shhh, she is tiptoeing down the creaky steps now wearing brown skin;
My breath is taken away as with all spirits ascending upward face-first.
I sit there and read the words as I'm sitting in
the car. "Objects in rearview mirror appear
closer than they are."
I laugh to myself as I sit and reminisce. I close
my eyes and think of a deeper meaning than this.
"This," what I referring to is the days of my
youth. I open my eyes; behold, a young boy I now
see in the rear-view.
It's me! Look how young and a bad little thing I
was! Mama is chasing me with the belt and whipping
me like she's smelling blood.
And oh what is this? I can now see grandma! She's
cooking my favorite, beans and rice. She yells out,
"Come and get it hon!"
I smile to myself and say, "Oh how I do miss her!
Because when she was alive we use to have so much
fun."
There is my cousin! With lampshades on our heads
we use to play. "One day you will sit back and
laugh at this," mama use to say.
look at me jumping off the house! I use to think
this was so much fun. I'm now saying to myself,
"Oh my, I was a dangerous son of a gun."
And there's the girl who stole my heart! She was
truly my first love. She was so beautiful looking
like an angel sent from above.
There I am telling "yo mama jokes" with a bunch
of my friends. Drinking like a school of fish, it
was the gin that made us sin!
Now I see me much older now. I see me at my wedding.
I was starting to make a family now and this was the
perfect setting.
My son is now born. He was such a beautiful boy. I
to make changes in my life, because my family was
now my joy.
The joy, pain, achievements and failures in of my
life is like turning the page. I sit back in amazement
of how I've come of age.
Again, looking in the rear-view but everything's gone
as I sit here in this car. What a deeper meaning now,
"Objects in rear-view mirror appear closer than they
are".