Best Miming Poems
When life parades a fine line
between alienation and rationality,
internal intruders of the soul shroud spotlights.
In my dreams
I'm playing charades with the grim reaper.
surrounded by selfish acts from satanic spirits.
Featherless angels of twilight need tender pearls,
as gifts from the elusive self-centred sun,
when a jealous mercenary moon manipulates murkiness.
Sometimes,
all I have is my shadow and me,
but it abandons me in times of darkness,
leaving me at the mercy of nature's invisible imitations.
Behind forgotten frozen gates of winter,
static stars have shunned black hearted skies,
refusing to flicker in their metallic beams.
I've become a nemesis
to the empathy of the elements,
personifying mimicking,
miming onyx coated raindrops,
sprinkling dust storms
with freckled shades of crimson.
Destiny drifts in wayward winds
towards contrasting crossroads,
hoping for soothing golden arms of dawn to uncloak
defrosting hearts with rainbow rays of gleaming light.
If the universe reversed its selfless role,
would some still be lost chasing clusters
within silhouettes of a waning crescent,
graphically illustrating illusions whilst crystal gazing?
Beyond where our fingers can sketch reality.
ignorance is consumed in our own
bubbles filled with hollowness,
reluctant to see the weariness
of the grey winged nebula.
Symphony of seasons are temporary like emotions.
Harmony harbours in harvesting heirloom roses,
among gossamer meadows of compassionate butterflies.
Colours of Earth's fabric never falter in a cocoon mind
resembling an eclipse's ebony and ivory tones.
Categories:
miming, analogy, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
Thoughts that thrive on scattered dreams
shoot through the mind like laser beams
Hunger echoes a hollow song
Voices merge, intestines long
Lips are dry, and tongues are parched
Memories are pressed and starched
No miming board can take the heat
Hot irons that scorch the hands and feet.
Cold days flow into brackish nights
on borrowed hopes and collared pride
Answers wrapped in braided woes
Crushed, then scattered by angry toes
Worry stalks in cleated shoes
It leaves a track of pallid blue
Just when it seems to reach the rise
It folds then doubles up in size.
Categories:
miming, confusion, introspection,
Form:
Couplet
A wooden porch looks old like Grammy’s chair
That rocks us of fables, miming her voice;
While a neighbor spoofs wolf legends, beware!
Under the moonlight dim, sweet hours rejoice.
How evening’s ray now settles on the ground
While urban traffic booms, only to impose
On our chalet shading youth’s prints around;
A moment when life blossomed like a rose.
Enchanted House for Nayda Ivette Negron
and Brian's Select 8
Categories:
miming, house, memory,
Form:
Quatrain
your eyes close …
mine stay open, bewitched
my lips move soft along your cheek -
a sublime dermal journey
from nape to mouth
I brush yours with mine, as if
miming a sigh
and they part ... slowly ... sweetly
I pull back, slightly, then press again,
tender …
our lips fit … perfectly
the way my fingers fill the spaces
in yours - the way our
bodies merge like buttery heaven …
tongues touch and dance
twisting, loving, playing ... exploring
I taste, then tickle your teeth
running my tip along their
clean smoothness, as a stick atop
a white picket fence
(or fingers across piano keys)
seeking every corner ... every flavor
I savor each delectable nuance
that your pretty cheeks hide -
the wonderment of saucy spices
guarded by that dazzled smile
for me alone …
craving, you share the tang of mine -
remnants of your nectar still
clinging like honey …
it all mixes and swirls with
our sugary tongues -
a delicious delight …
a few stray strands of your platinum
herbal tresses caught between …
relenting to my fantasies
and the electric sensations that
flood my core -
our mouths devouring, hot
my eyes finally close
and I plunge your depths
lost in you ...
in our HUNGER.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Completely Your Choice (21) Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Pick F, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Love Is The Answer" Poetry Contest, Lu Loo, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Completely Your Choice 21, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
miming, appreciation, kiss, love, passion,
Form:
Free verse
Our breath is paled by the October moon—
I'm miming prints with her glance on glass;
But by window magic, don't we all swoon
To this season's world so barred and so blast.
I'm cloudy like the clouds, behind her pain—
Her light— end of trees' blush— leaves cast
Down, fall into my dangling veins.
Will she chip out there sometime soon,
Than fain be subtle— for playing eye games—
From repeat romance, she's no hypocrite.
She is all but their working boon,
But sometimes— their understood innocence.
Her silent voice out from my screams, croons—
Our breath is paled by the October moon.
Categories:
miming, autumn, color, earth, introspection,
Form:
Terza Rima
Xenoglossy
I learnt the language of silence
She declares
Miming is painful for the little girl
So that her eyes moves to the rhythm of xenoglossy- Silence
“Peace!” She declares as her eyes gloss over the leaves of the fall.
Pastel shades and spilling beans.
Of course she has no words for spilling beans and pastel shades.
Miracles do happen- the rhythm of xenoglossy
The language acquired without teaching
Visits the deaf girl
So that she feels the silent words in her bones and often in her skin
Not on her tongue.
Writing is too painful for her little hands
Reading impossible. Her green gaze is held
Permanently on the fluttering of the wings
Then a smile on her pursed lips.
Xenoglossy- bona fide kind
Beneath the xenoglossy of her own.
Categories:
miming, absence, allusion, appreciation, beauty,
Form:
Prose Poetry
When did business ethics
find roots in science
rather than re-connecting
humane re-ligion?
Thereby exempting,
divorcing,
earning a merely fair
and acceptable free economic pass
to continue extraction
exploitation
to build corporate empires
divorced from religion's incorporated
GoldenRule win/win ethics,
Including
family fair play
of sacrificially co-redemptive moral values
on altars of messianic
bodhisattva sacred smoke
and self/other co-reflective mirrors
Meming little everyday issue miming,
like don't neglect our long-term health care planet,
Like take care of our homes
and local communities
so we, together,
can continue keeping each Other
healthy and safe.
How alarmingly Old Indigenous School
it feels to interdependently belong
to green matriarchal
DNA regenerative systemic roots
of habitual healthy instincts
Sensory and sexual
re-connecting
re-ligioning
vocational secularized sacred employments
In cooperative wise gratitude
for MotherEarth's naturally enspirited
enlightened
empowering regenerative
ecofeminist
green graced bowing attitude
Positive
and cooperative
nonzero-emergent
polycultural
WinEgo to Win EcoSystemic health/wealth climates
of resilient integrity
Rooted in sacred Right hemispheres
and cooperatively regifted
in co-empathic secular co-arisings
Heaven's Light uprising brings
and rebrings,
turns
and returns day
and night
Earth's health-powered
ReSalvific ClimateJustice
Which, to my left hemisphere,
is all about careful autonomous control
and scrupulously quantitative best
NonZeroSum cooperatively owned emergence
toward inclusive multicultural planning
for WholeEarth health/wealth
optimization
To which my right hemisphere responds
looking for healthier four-square lyrical fond
of some things hoping for a miraculous beat,
comfortable with seasonal reasoned rhythms repeat
not quite so hopelessly white patterned arches
resting on male privileged marches
Busyness roots in monetized science
thereby left hemisphere exempting artistic
everyday eco-political experience
from GoldenRule expiring
Win/Win re-connecting
re-ligioning EarthDay
natural/spiritual cooperative
co-invested polyculturing ethics.
Categories:
miming, business, health, integrity, religion,
Form:
Political Verse
The displayed of the moon
With half pale eye
Is as a person closed one eye
Delightful breeze makes
The leaves to waft
Miming with their tiny branches
Fingers,left and right
Back and front
As the crows lure the night
To fell with their sonorous vent
Is as a grouped of people carring out
Acrobatic foxtrot
The quiet of the night
Leaves giving thanks to orb of the night
For brighten the night
Categories:
miming, allegory, emotions, encouraging, moon,
Form:
Rhyme
Now that I have gotten that over with,
Being straightforward as a piss-ant on fire,
Telling you it just is what it is,
That behind all the frizz,
Is a beardless fake whose heraldic bearings
Are the arms of a sickly snake,
And that all this derogatory self-derision is decisively the result
Of a disease smitten assault by a prodigal bug
Whose virility is known to create sterility of poetic taste-
Oh what a waste to find oneself in such a caste,
Outcast in a landless mire of sea,
Where there is no Sea king to lead back to land,
Where seeking leads not to seeing
But only to being the miserly plot written by this poetasters hand-
Now, to repeat, that I have gotten that over with,
I can really try,
Once and for all,
To really get it over with.
Like really really real.
So here it is,
In medias res,
The big ordeal:
Merde! Merde!
J’ai oublié on this very day,
To have taken my ressurectine,
The nectar which this fool requires with some dismay
To not forget his pointless points.
Where is my medicine Edison?
Where is my pill?
How shall I cart this over the hill?
O’sir,
Dear sir,
For in the middle of this rabid petri dish of sheer excitement,
Close to moiety’s shribble,
With voice shrill,
Ready to take aim and avoid all shame,
I was, I was, I was, I swear
Almost there,
But alas,
I am,
Now out of gas,
With nothing more to gain,
A timid loveless swain,
A witless poet with no further words to amass,
A neutered puppy in a jungle,
Without a rumble,
To stumble upon just the right word,
To close off looking less like a turd,
Then this early morning bird,
Preferably one day,
Could theoretically mumble.
Did I mention that between finding Absolute Knowledge,
And miming Absolute Knowledge,
I would like to find myself snuggly ensconced in the arms,
Of not only Winnie the Pooh,
But surely Yogi Berra too?
Categories:
miming, humor,
Form:
Free verse
I’m a real mellow fellow and my rhymes cause sedation
Flow so sick you gotta give it medication
Knowledge so wholesome that it drives meditation
My rhymes are in all 50 states making up the whole nation
But let’s stick it quick to my man with the tricks
It’s me Papi Mario always acting so slick
If my raps were a candle Mario would be the wick
He would light up my face cuz this the life he’d pick
He writes so many poems you’d think he’s Dr. Seuss
He’s got so many tales you’d call him Mother Goose
And his precision so tight it’ll never be loose
He’s the Maine attraction when he’s the streetwalkin’ Moose
So lemme spit this fire like a dragon in the castle
My lines like the DMV always lookin’ like a hassle
We can go down south if ya wanna wrassle
But I ain’t holdin’ back I’m known to be an a**hole
But I love my uncle and all his rhymin’
Catch him forever in blue jeans like Neil Diamond
He can be silent with stripes when his lyrics are miming
But like an anachronism he ain’t gotta worry ‘bout the timing
So lemme sign off it’s been Gucci while it lasted
I’ll see you Christmas Eve while the party gettin’ blasted
This ain’t the first of the raps but nor is it the last bid
You might be the first on the mic but I surely ain’t the last kid
Categories:
miming, art, rap,
Form:
Free verse
An illusion of euphoric freedom,
a bubble that encloses them from all sides
and they float in it awed by its iridescence.
Swirling rainbow images could be seen on its layer,
miming untold tales of enchantment
with each lurching bounce as it levitates higher.
When actually it is a death trap,
a spell that isolates them from reality
and soon they succumb to destructive compulsion.
Itches of dark temptation lead to scary scars;
more they scratch, worst the wounds become.
By the time the bubble bursts, they are already dead.
Date: 05/01/2018
Categories:
miming, addiction, drug,
Form:
Free verse
If music were but, mere dreams
What a bitter sorrowful waste this would be
Thus shadows, and to play a note
A meager reminder of a world without hope
Nexus of the heart blacker than grayer
Taste, loveless sapor than savor
Flowers wilt and will not, then they wither die
Laughter ends forthwith when only moments survive
Unmoving, undefining, joyous tears unwept, and never drying
Nor celebrations of song and dance relive or reviving
Simple songbirds mimic miming melancholy silent
Winds untheraputic cease, trees untickled lie dormant
That’s why I'm grateful for musical spiritual gifts
Through melodies, how Christ inspires and uplifts
Yes, if music were but, mere dreams
Then all of us sleepwalkers, a soul nonexistent, zombies in another reality
Categories:
miming, hope, imagination, music, music,
Form:
Rhyme
Polar Bear's Snowball in Hell
there's ten polar bears sitting on an iceberg
a few hundred years from now
their big brave eyes scared, resigned
conspicuously looking out at the horizon
proud once, now sad
the setting sun quickly vanishing, ominous
their lasting sun shine, darkening
their days numbered
with condemned walls closing in
the writing sad
coming to fruition
ice rotten
life is in the balance
teetering, hopelessly
the ten polar bear's noses sniff the air
like the once proud captain of the titanic
the dots connected
doom
reality sinking in, we're sinking
the iceberg keeps floating
ten hearts beating out of control
like the wayward passengers of the titanic
all around the rising sea
the iceberg, like a tomb, like the titanic
species of fish, seals, walruses, penguins
belly up on the surface
eyes looking straight up to the skies, dead
lips miming as if to ask why
the ten polar's bears heart pound harder
tears welling in their eyes
the iceberg quickly melting
the last clutches of their indigenous lands
now a snowball in hell
their kingdom gone
the gates to the other side creaking in
two million years or so of polar bear's evolution
wiped out, soon
giving way to man's ignorance
the effects of global warming
the Antarctica a once vast wonderland
for not
for the impending death of the ten polar bears
and a species
... die in vain
11/20/17
POLAR BEARS - Poetry Contest
Categories:
miming, animal, dark, death, nature,
Form:
Free verse
It's another mild day and the sky glows white
The air is still and cool as the midday light
Admirers giggle, perhaps at a young caller
One hunches over, the other stands taller
They don't look wealthy, yet they don't look poor
Perhaps trusted servants, but what can't they ignore?
They've taken jolly notice, as if on a whim
Of a miming youth who should be pruning a limb
Posted at the window the younger one peers
At this croaking lad, flattered by what she hears
Hunching near the potato patch across the way
He waves in a fluster with a few word words to say
He's glances side to side, behind the wall, stepping back
Emerging again from a passageway's crack
Between the tool shed and the gardener's house
He sneaks with the startle and twitch of a mouse
She remains calm, though tickled by his manner
For he might as well wear a bright purple banner
The older woman chuckles in faint squeaks
Hidden by the shutter around which she peeks
The younger one looks quite near seventeen
With floating white sleeves rolled up yet clean
Her girlish neckline, cut wide and low,
Displays to her suitor how well she can sew
Her hair is tucked with a bow on one side
Her grin is reserved with her eyes opened wide
Could her silly boy still have his pruners in hand?
Is he skilled with the saw and tilling the land?
Two women at a window, quite content
Is this how many of their moments this day are spent?
Categories:
miming, art, friendship, funny, happiness,
Form:
Couplet
Le Squirrel Sat For Le Painter
His canvass set
And oils based,
He zeroed onto her providence.
His lips miming
Rhode Island here
Big Apples there.
She scowled her impatience.
Her eyes dismissing his.
Although,
Him noting her dark chocolates,
Sweet looking,
Cloaked as balls of fire,
And a posture gorgeous and erect.
And so was he.
She was a beauty
And a beast ...
As levity was short on her,
But long on him.
If only she would give in
It would make for better strokes,
A better potrait.
Thus ill fated
In his mind,
This potrait sat on thin ice.
Little squirrels jumping in,
Ski jumping off her nose.
Swoosh!
Another one.
Swoosh!
The third missed.
Crash landing on her lap,
Smiling.
A caricature off and galloping.
His horse neighing in absentee.
Seeds of a lampoon sprouting.
His mind jumping
To conclusions.
He raced.
The potrait moaned.
He dabbled a little oil here,
A little oil there.
A pinch of rouge
On her cheeks and lips,
And highlighting a reflection
In her pupils.
Chocolates never looked so bitter.
He finished with sparkles
In her hair, flaming.
He paused,
Adding a little depth
and gradation to her forehead,
pointed and blunt,
like a squirrel posing at his party.
After all she was.
For hues,a reddish brown, and swirls,
No mistaking that of Le Squirrel.
He had a little ways to go
And a lifetime of laughter.
He added squirrels jetting
From her mouth and ears.
And that bushy tail,
He thought
Wiser of not making
Her into a **** star
His mind thinking,
her seated, the bushy tail
jetting up between her thighs.
No.
Upon realization,
her eyes squinting at the portrait
in disbelief,
Le Squirrel screamed.
The shrill heard around town,
Making the artist rise.
connie pachecho
8/31/17
Inspired to write this poem after reading entries
to the Artwork-Poetry Contest
Categories:
miming, art, betrayal, parody,
Form:
Personification