Best Meniscus Poems
Act 1: Earth
Water
Droplets fall to earth
Meniscus lens on the world -
Wellspring of life born
Air
Gaseous brew forms
Invisible elixir -
A breath of fresh air
Fire
Destructive, cleansing
But giver of warmth and light –
Fire’s dual perspective
Act 2: Plant
Leaf
Spring buds burst afresh
Summer leaves decay so soon –
Death lords over all
Palm
Giant grass not tree
These swaying centurions -
Lives must co-exist
Sunflower
Massed bright sunflowers
Heads turn in obedience -
Sun sets on their lives
Act 3: Animal
Slug
Slug saw juicy leaf
Raced to eat this rare delight!
Bird swooped, slug no more
Ant
Ants march home in line
Communal desire on show -
Nature's will prevails
Butterfly
Winged beauty flutters
Abstract painting on her back -
Looks often deceive
Act 4: Man
Crescent
Curvaceous glory
The home of wealthy leisure -
Rich built upon poor
Gaudi
Parabolic waves
Acknowledge natural forms -
Colour outlaws grey
Dubrovnik
Sun shines on pan tiles
The town's uniform new shell -
War scars fade slowly
Act 5: Machine – the final chapter
Computer
Bits, bytes, ones, zeros
So Charles and Ada conceive -
IT’s Pandora’s box
Robot
Man and beast replaced
Same task over and over -
Objective carnage
AI
Boolean bible
Artificial ignorance -
Logical ending
Postscript: Evolutionary finale
Obliteration
Human destruction of earth -
Annihilation
Poetry Soup Featured Poem: August 16, 2020
THE BUTTERFLY AND ME
Venus butterflies
tiptoe upon roses rise
playful in pirouette,
they tango
with the singing voice
of a clarinet...
Wouldn't this view
capture your eyes?
Swarm of honey fragrance
fans my cheeks and so my hair,
I turn around
and see a butterfly so flair.
I run, run
run to chase such butterfly with care
but pity, I missed
so I just stand and stare...
Kissing now,
the curves and swells
of the hibiscus
is a butterfly
that dance in ballet hush,
tickling the petals,
oh! they bend and blush--
won't these two wonders
make a sublime meniscus?
Tomorrow morning,
Do gaze at a butterfly
say hello or wave a hi
colorful they are
but they only live for awhile
Blessed, we are given years to live by
but as colorful as how butterfly paints the sky
Do we also brush the whole world with a rainbow smile?
_____________________________________________________________
© O.E. Guillermo
09:57 pm, January30, 2015
If I was part machine, a steampunk woman, or a steampunk dog, or a steampunk cat,
I would choose to have a machine heart, so I could be less soft.
So my feelings would not get hurt so easily, so I could
Stop crying inside when people get mean and mad,
Or a tsunami kills a bunch of innocents.
I would also choose machine eyes – big round soft brown ones,
Because of the floaties I have in my older green and hazel eyes.
Floaties could not get into steampunk eyes, right?
I would choose bendable, new steampunk machine knees.
They would jump and summersault and do cartwheels and
Other stuff I can no longer do after tearing my ACL and
Meniscus which never got fixed, because it happened
At work and Workman’s Comp told me at my age,
Surgery would not be smart.
They would call me Steampunk Annie, and I would
Run up and down alleys, saving people from the robbers,
And the drug pushers, and I would kick the drug pushers
In their petootsies and make them cry
Because they would not have steampunk eyes
Or anything. I would rock the Steampunk
World with sass and vim, and be
The super hero I know I can be!
A keyboard was on a typewriter or piano
Spankings were approved of, rarely condemned
Clothing was 'gay' --- brightly colored
They rolled up the sidewalks at 10 p.m.
We said 'heck' for 'hell' and 'darn' for 'damn'
Teachers were respected, never disparaged
Left-handed kids were forced to be righties
Death, not divorce, dissolved most marriages
A click usually meant a torn meniscus
Folks shopped in windows and stores
Cash was king; credit, irresponsible
TV dinners, unanimously deplored
Marathons had fewer than 100 entrants
Devices were mechanical, not electronic
Nobody I knew took showers, just baths
'Human' meant 100% being, not bionic
Everything written above is true
I swear that it is, doggone it!
I comprehend the days when rays do shine and Ra does set
When inner soul and façade connect, 24 hours in one day gave me breathe, that’s 1,440
seconds closer to death rather than oxygen left. Aspire to build that dream shape that
atmosphere, win a Nobel peace prize, become Man of the Year
Build homes in the smog inner city ghettoes, where blocks and countenance of lost souls
decay and rust, maybe spread poetry and love as well as a monumental philanthropist,
raise seeds that spread, root, bud fruit, then trees, then yield juice to saturate the Earth
with only sweet organic humanity
Turn impossible into “Can it be” then push shriveling raisons of doubt into the fathoms
of Davie Jones’s locker, to the depths of no man’s land where oxidation and sea level
pressure crush submarines into aluminum cans, cans where can’t conforms to can,
starve doubt and feed your faith, slow and steady wins the race, but more than
anything,, remember without tree-shaking fear, find that passion and equilibrium, killing
opposition and the antagonizing meniscus, swiftly remember that life through birth is not
a boomeranging discus, life never comes back so dream, execute, relax and become
life’s subtle screenplay until the script and its cast wilt into debris of cremated urns
holding dreams, aspirations, and the well worked remains of me.
So sad are days in this bitterness
and bitterest cold outside
Gone are friends and leaves
and grass.
The walls are mocking me, laughing
I can feel me hating me with a passion
This is one of those dark days
I see them at play
The demons who play hell
Casting doubts and leaving
agony in the wake of sunrise
Until this day and I rest again
We will bear it like shackles
dragging loud chains
I will listen to music that worsens it.
I'll drink to the pain, as Im numbing it
Jack Daniels is no friend of mine
just a confidant in the worst of times
There is no solace in this bottle
Only places to run and hide.
So today I hid from shadows and the sunshine
not letting one loom behind me
or the other sting my eyes
Contemplating and making sad compilations
mixing and blurring memories
blend them into one absolute emotion
I'll wallow in this today
Looking at a distorted reflection
it stares back from a whiskey meniscus
Johhny Cash murmured in the background
smoke wafts through, plumes like lengthy
ghost fingers
The sun will set on a day like this
It will creep back beyond the waterline
lighting clouds in surrealistic colors
Closure, comfort, and serenity seep in
This was one of those dark days
I grabbed it by the neck
and conquered it
Jack, Johnny, and Me...
The schools are all in a kickball game competition.
I thought we would be the first school to sign up.
We are the first at everything else, and I love kickball.
If I had not torn my meniscus and ACL and bruised my bone on the same day,
I would have been the first person to sign the non-liability waiver.
I sent an email explaining myself, to the organizer,
Feeling badly that I am not signing up.
Gosh, I used to love kickball. It was probably my favorite sport.
Fifty years ago.
They are having a hard time,
And I am tempted.
But my fear holds me back.
Today I stopped waiting.
I had promised distance.
I never break promises,
but this time,
it was survival.
I ranted a little,
accused a lot,
a disgusting manipulation,
for I must sew the seed,
the opposite of love.
So I am cut off,
I am hated,
and I have totally lost,
control, happiness, warmth,
but I am levelled.
Today I weigh a bit less,
and I move a bit quicker.
This day I cease hiding
from myself
and the truth I denied.
I am free now,
and I will rebuild.
My house will be bigger,
than even back then,
and it will boast a great Master.
My heart is white today,
it's blackness is gone.
My will serves as a ticket
toward the long journey ahead,
destination is justified and fluid.
Those that leave you,
make you a larger vessel.
Once emptied it will hunger
to be filled to it's brim,
with a gorgeous golden meniscus.
Do not run, do not shield,
for it is a valorous goal.
To know the pain you risk
and the robbing of the time,
preluded by hope and satisfaction.
So thank the lovers in a moment of clarity,
thank the thieves of hearts and memories,
think of them as salient and sweet.
For you are enriched and unburdened,
and you are ready to admit the light.
Rage at the dark,
Rant at the ravagers of souls,
but welcome them to the stage.
For to master the act,
one must first master the rehearsal.
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Seventeen
Of late the tepid cold only rebousse poil her coyness
Nowhere the slushy mud caked into strands of crunchiness
Even the over-mothering coots let their chicks roam all alone
Sand and soil slop in swishing puddles down her tress fullness
Darkness bloomed along her gamboling Riviera façade
Window-panes like so many cryptic poker-face cards invade
While amber-lit promenades reflect once debutante gaiety
Now swans sail in wanton jerks into the late evening jade
Cocky sea-gulls from far-off cascades spurn the land-locked lake
Screech and caw like white-crows and bully bread crumbs from swan beak
All over her borderless skirts droop stems and stalks fading downcast
And the froth and foam gather at the Prefecture’s northern gate
Was she ailing in the meniscus all summer to icy spring?
The promenade of choice girding the Prefecture like a sling
Stayed slammed and riveted with the gate gutter over-flowing
Some said ‘twas the asylum seekers broke into the building
To rob official stamps and cartes de sejour to gain false entry
Others less scrupulous thought Omar the culprit roaming free
Said some the Procureur made out a writ for his instant capture -
Abetted, said they, by the Resident Maid – our Bard sans country!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Meniscus, meniscus, my coffee is cool.
Little meniscus I'm nobody's fool.
Once you seemed warmer; held by my hand.
Then there's this draft from a Tim Horton's fan.
Might be the windows cooling me down.
Maybe the door rifting around.
Regretting my coffee; some see my frown.
Little meniscus my cold little crown.
Maybe I'm thirsty; maybe too cool.
Currents come at me; stealing my drool.
Little meniscus forgive what I said.
Now that I'm drinking and thirsting instead.
Little mensicus circling my cup.
Not rising over and burning this shmuck!
So sad are days in this bitterness
and bitterest cold outside
Gone are friends and leaves
and grass.
The walls are mocking me, laughing
I can feel me hating me with a passion
This is one of those dark days
I see them at play
The demons who play hell
Casting doubts and leaving
agony in the wake of sunrise
Until this day and I rest again
We will bear it like shackles
dragging loud chains
I will listen to music that worsens it.
I'll drink to the pain, as Im numbing it
Jack Daniels is no friend of mine
just a confidant in the worst of times
There is no solace in this bottle
Only places to run and hide.
So today I hid from shadows and the sunshine
not letting one loom behind me
or the other sting my eyes
Contemplating and making sad compilations
mixing and blurring memories
blend them into one absolute emotion
I'll wallow in this today
Looking at a distorted reflection
it stares back from a whiskey meniscus
Johhny Cash murmured in the background
smoke wafts through, plumes like lengthy
ghost fingers
The sun will set on a day like this
It will creep back beyond the waterline
lighting clouds in surrealistic colors
Closure, comfort, and serenity seep in
This was one of those dark days
I grabbed it by the neck
and conquered it
Jack, Johnny, and Me...
My first appointment for P.T.
(To help my torn-meniscus knee)
Had me arriving at the same
Time as another with my name.
She entered with a loud complaint –
The elevator was too quaint
And so she’d walked a flight of stairs,
But locked doors caught her unawares.
Annoyed at forms for filling out,
“I need a pen!” she then did shout.
I quietly observed the scene,
Then stood when someone called, “Ilene!”
“But I’m Ilene!” she did insist.
She glared at me, a little pissed.
The clerk, though, took it all in stride.
“You’re both Ilenes,” she clarified.
Our name’s not often spelled with “I.”
I’m sure, like me, she wondered why
Coincidence or maybe fate
Brought us together on this date.
It is my knee
It no longer is as it used to be
I used to be able to jog, bike, and run on cross country skis
Teach yoga for many years; do yoga on my own
Where ever I would go
In the mountains, on a plane, and every morning
As I got out of bed
Last time I did it on the beach, I could stand on one leg
As long as it would take to fix my gaze and my mind
At that pristine heavenly blue distant sky
My mind calm without a thought purified my soul
That all was a month ago
Since then due to my torn meniscus things have changed
The meniscus, a piece of rubber like tissue
Between the knee joints
Its function, to protect the knee bones
From rubbing each other off
For 70 years, this piece of tissue served me well
I never knew it even existed
But a month ago, on the left leg, with one single twist
I tore the left side of the meniscus
And this little two inch tear has changed many things
I have to keep the knee in a steady state
To let the meniscus heal itself
Not twisting, twiddling, pulling or stretching
Only hoping, that one day
The injured meniscus will heal itself
And thing will be as they used to be
Not less not more, just as they used to be.
(Naples Feb 15, 2015)
That was a year ago
My meniscus did heal on its own
I can now do whatever I want
But the wisdom of what happened a year ago
Is still with me, to prevent me from further injury
I am grateful that it is almost as it used to be.
(Naples, Dec 20, 2015)
old age can never get me I said
Putting on my roller skates
I don’t need a helmet I said.
Bam. Crack. Break. Smack.
guess I am not as young as I thought
No problem, a broken leg, big deal.
Not really, I assured myself.
I will heal in an hour or so.
Like when I was twenty
Three hours later my leg is bigger than my house
I have to live in the garage
until the swelling goes down
which takes a couple of weeks
old age will never catch up I said
I did a few jumps off the roof of the garage
breaking bones and tearing my meniscus
what are you trying to do? My children ask
she is just grandma, being grandma, said the grandchildren
now I have arthritis in both legs
shingles, and asthma.
they are following me around like crazy
has old finally caught up?
I sign up for hang gliding lessons.
10 parsnip street, thought carrot. Elongated places in wisdom curves. Aromatic spices on compounds and a dramatic twirl from a very energetic spoon whose primary existence is to perform backward flips at many dinner parties. Seal oneself in pastry then. Cavity of ionised fruit bake. Hoe to the garden of ovens. And spade in soup of pan. Wok sits dejected. It is neither a cabbage nor a bean sprout that will provide a wisdom glimmering glow. Portray not an apple dressed in tomato costume. Dance not a dipping dimmer switch in lakes of custard as yellow glows can be created from many hundreds of hue. Rays of sugar salted spaghetti strands in candlelit charm. Argue not a n oven baked pie with a patriotic turn. For as exact as one appears to be it is often wise to sip lollipops made from several flavours. Variety is formed from neither stagnation or monotony and thus perform arias in cinematic winds. Unveiling of the monotone voices speaking on lines with a C chord in duality of seven. Such dramatic diagrams. Shifting shaping scenarios saw seagulls skating. Dare you consume a clotted cream sandwich in a midnight sun bath surrounded by sculptured sand of deserts? Or be denied the freedom to dance bareback on stallions,dragons and unicorns? Talk not of six tailed erotically placed wind chimes. Such dilemma and movements should remain a hazard so place trail blazing warning lights upon a saddle then gallop with the easterly breeze. The true way through is the basic way out and lines are omitted in a free forming wave of original versions. Laughter from a prickly plant. Shards of glass expelled to exact velocity. And this is accompanied by movement,flow and change. Humming bird grinning in the turn tables of time. Moons moving movies minuscule meniscus moo models many. Managed. Mingling. *** towels in a town. *** fortifications ***.