Best Needling Poems
Happy pumpkins
Apple dumplings
Licorice sticks
Lollipops to lick
Owls hooting
Witches looting
Emerald city dreams
Every Halloween
Needling together fun things
She was weaving a silken tapestry with long silver threads
and golden memories from her life that hadn't yet faded
Drizzles of sorrow fell with every loving stitch taken
until the storm became a deluge, leaving her feeling jaded
She rose from the prick of needling work, leaving it forsaken
Walked to shed the weight of despair in her garden beds
but petals from withered jasmine were scattered around
blowing about in the wind, and some lying on the ground
Only one was left, its stem holding tight to the bloom
She smiled but dared not to touch the perfumed beauty
Humans discolor the purity of innocent flower heads
Ink flowed from pen to paper, her reminiscing took flight
Reflections of loss that no beating heart can e're restore
She wrote of Spring and a future that once seemed bright
of Summer days when love was hers to have and hold
Lines of the cusping of Autumn, and snow in Winter's cold
Times when she'd built a fire, burning deep inside her soul
She paused when visions began pooling in her weary eyes
Dropped the pen recording verses of remorse and grief
and blamed time, the thief who stole from her, loves once borne
then torn from her and still she grieves when remembering
when she'd worn her wounded heart on bloodied sleeves
EXCHANGING DREAMS
two old men
with retirement’s eyes
exchange dreams
on a bench,
growing tendrils of old age…
as night becomes dim
they recline
like curled sleeves wrinkling,
memories
recycled
on phonograph's needling tunes
crossing young regions
poetic form:shadorma
©
* The Shadorma is a short Spanish form, of six unrhymed lines.
As a syllabic poem, it has a strict number of syllables per line:
3 - 5 - 3 - 3 - 7 - 5
For Broken Wing
Any Poem Not For A Contest, Ever
8/15/2011
I've heard words falling from lips like petals
My poems praised like dead heroes
For unbequeathed solacies
And sometimes a genius ask me where
Do the words from come from
Like drops of blood to stain a memory
I smile
Repress the bloom of agony
And wished if only they know
Every word is every drop me
Nothing to waste
Of images
Needling through the story like a cloth
A tapestry of my pain,
Things lost that I never celebrated
Things I cannot reclaim
Haunting me from an undead past
Love burried
Rumbling for a ressurection
Just to kiss the moon again.
Drop by drop
The water falls from green leaves
That cannot drink the diamonds of their diadem
Taste it, without the salt of sea or blood
Heaven writes it poem in a flood
And I am the sea, I catch them all
The sorrows of the world brooding in me
To peel your clothes away
And touch the delicacy of your skin
Like memories touch
The portals of a pregnant day.
Once in a while I am a man
A card will come
RSVP lettered in gold upon silk
I show my face
Beside the blue of sea, a palm leftover
From the struggles with the storm.
Once in a while
I write nothing but a tear
For the broken spell I had on you
And wish like a poem
I could stain your heart with love.
And her voice is the tingle of upbeat blues,
the winsome rap amid my heavy footsteps, past 2 am...
She holds my hand as I’d never wake up
after twilight, drinking to the end of a broken bottle,
How those arms cuddle me like my hair
isn't filthy , avoiding normal showers that
I can’t put this body to rest, to rest;
howling about a compulsive urge needling within a mind
which impairs an otherwise peaceful life with her :
Disappearing into bars and gaming clubs ,
and more bars to silence my fears
so I can’t hear the jeers of ghosts on the
walls, within each pulse-beat, through her embrace
… through it all,
She smiles calmly ignoring the stench of alcohol
in - out breaths, regardless of my absence
from quality time I am unable to keep.
… Still,
I can’t honor myself the same way that
she does... as though I never yelled, argued,
or told her to go lose herself beneath cold moonlight,
while kicking the door without atonement--
She loves me unequivocably as if I can find the gentleness
of one day when I can CHANGE.
Brainstorm Contest of John Hamilton
10/21/2018
-------------
Compulsive-obsessive behavior is a mental dysfunction including explosive anger , desire for alcohol, gambling, others. The onset of impulsivity can be thought of as seeking a small, short -term gain at the expense of a large, long term loss.
* The author was moved to write this as part of her presentation in a psycho-spiritual workshop she facilitated.
You capture me with your radiant smile
Hearty bold laugh impassive and vexing
Little grey hairs in your barely there beard
Needling your chocolate chin for years
Your artistic style and fashion sense
In a suit that could pay purple rent
Of course you write and to my delight
You include me in the story of your life
A clamorous stream of jar fly voices punctuates the dusky air,
their timbale orchestra madly vibrating raucous sound.
Hand brushing hand, we stand in the garden’s waning light,
where fall’s pungent, spicy extracts flick from curling dry-leaf tongues,
needling tears that veil your tender gaze.
We are burning the nightshade garden, clearing summer’s fading feast,
our fires lanterns on a hallowed meadow eve;
sharp scented, sinewy tomato plants pitched to hungry flames hiss like snakes,
the stray fruits sizzling, then exploding in bursts of juicy seed.
You lean toward me and shadowed silhouettes twine together like old vines.
Copyright, September 15, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
ode to be the bigger person
to see the stupidity in another’s ways &
to decide on the route of complete indifference
before giving them the satisfaction
of getting into a little spat which might
drain precious seconds, hours, days, weeks, months &
unfortunately for some,
years,
from one’s life.
ode to the bigger person who looks in the eyes of
the mundane &
sees that the kick that will be granted them
from simply staying in the ring without any cause but to
fight for the sake,
to dig & dig & dig
with no real motive beyond self-gratification &
no evidence of any reason for the skirmish to begin with,
will simply thrill them to no end &
to halt it all with one clean swoop,
ignoring the pleas for conflict &
ignoring the need for attention.
ode to the bigger person
who when walking away from an idiot
who will not stop needling,
simply chalks it up to experience &
takes pride in their own actions,
for the bigger person knows that
their own personal high ground
is one that cannot be shaken &
with each moronic conflict averted
comes a strength great enough
to keep on through the infinite struggle.
Tortoise layers grow
Spider sideways and implode
Needling the way home
Sunshine undulates across verdant plain
casting dark shadows ushering twilight zone
ringing athwart tree trunks
invigorating, joyously kickstarting,
and plenti revitalizing
bountiful nature buzzfeeding
vim, vinegar and *****
caressing, massaging, and palpating with
soundlessness inducing bub bully giddy,
and sudsy spongy schmaltzy
harmonic livingsocial kerplunk
also intoxicating this perk o' late
ting teetotaler, no longer ginger
who doth oft times ale
with melancholic funk,
whereat imbibing nectar
of the Gods with fulfillment
temporarily quicken ends euphoric,
albeit 'pon firm meant soberly drunk.
Ah...nothing more uplifting
than (Anita Bryant raisin eyebrows)
plugging sunkist orange treat,
this sensate being privy,
sans front row seat
agog at orchestral, festival, viz
choral paean courtesy sweet
flora and fauna feat
bequeathed to Mother Earth,
a requiem pulsating with heartbeat
pitch perfect exultation
glorifying spring days soon obsolete
ethereal, ideal, and
sensational tonic to gin
prestidigitation, qua
natural psychological helpmeet
pleasant distraction with intent to read
temporarily placating, needling craving
for Pete sakes daily
fix this news junkie,
trembling when complete
awareness he doth accrete,
where quite glum, how
civilization didst mistreat
planet, hence feeling downbeat,
especially haunting ghosts of
Native Americans drumbeat
signal harbinger debacle
i.e. environmental doomsday
soon fated extinction
sealed and complete
inexorably inching closer to reality
necessitating superman to defeat
global warming rendering vast swaths
uninhabitable as Gaia global
temperature packs tremendous heat!
Winter brims
over bouldered ground
above Rostrevor.
Louring skies meld
blue lough to green forest.
Needling wind keens
through raftered bones,
once homes,
hewn from ancient granite.
Mourne claims her own,
over and over,
defeating generations.
Hasp and staple,
galvanised against the sleekit mist,
defend rude-lintelled doors.
Who comes?
Only ghosts of emigrants,
wraiths of mountainy men
whose quick selves
coaxed poor life
from pale, barren hills
above Rostrevor.
(presumably still alive
predicated on rumored sightings dive
ving fast as blazing saddles,
her blitzkrieg,
nothing but a blurry beehive.)
Swifter than Usain
(lightening) Bolt
Eden Liat
(thine eldest daughter,
a mixed hybrid breed
greyhound and whippet)
leaves in the dust
topnotch any racehorse
prompting speculation,
she harkens, and begat
from a long line,
sans award
(at trough feed ding),
many a cooly
winning super naturally
infused awk worded Colt
surpassing (with a flash,
plus even sub track ting
considerable handi
capped add halt
ting delay), thine
prestigious, princess,
and prodigious exalt
ting marathon running
smart lee zipping
as a whip lash heiress,
thru no fault
in the stars
of her astrological designs
oft times humbly declines
adulation, benediction, dedication
and deferentially finds
reasons amazingly, gracefully,
and mannerly deflects
self imposed grueling practices,
that she quickly grinds
into pulverized powder,
any high top custom made
high tech lines
brand name
threadbare sneakers saved
with countless
trophies that aligns
storied (and stuffed
animal bedecked)
bookshelf, even gag
me with a spoon
humor tinged competitions,
faux rotten tum ate oh
(John Heinz)
seeded "ketchup with me"
hash-tag game
opened to all kinds
of village people, including
some barenaked ladies,
where flashy Mainliners
dressed to the nines
(essentially for sound
garden variety public,
who generally favor squash),
that crop up during
Indian Summer salad days
punctuates the warm air,
where one after
another lover doth appear
oak kay embracing ephemeral
pseudo sappy romance
spine tingling
as sharp needling pines.
Murmur no things
or strings of sounds...
Could not care less
more-ish whispers
were Wicked
Whips of Words-
Weighted.
Tongue- lashing sharp
fork- tine Torture.
Cat-0-nine-one-one-tales...
Thirty-nine...
Forty-less-one
thrashing...
thrashing...
Thrashing...!
P
l
u
m
b
l
i
Cut, then
Spliced
r
a
m
aught - 0 - matic -ally
u
t
t
e
s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d and s-t-r-u-n-g out
taut ~O~ill~O~gee~call
sayings S-P-L-A-Y-E-D out.
Taught NO one
any thing
new
Knew hear-say-
Say! Did you hear THAT???
(Did YOU know...?)
? :-0 ? :-o ? :-0 ?
Oh Oh...
Tongues plaited and tied
Gutless intentions
Implied
Allied...
Bound between mongers
pitted
unpitying
Pitbulls against distraught,
double-bind on-slaughter
pale-faced pugilism
mimics
Mummery and mimed thoughts
~acted~out~
played O-U-T
OUCH!
Bought into
Hearts wrung out
bloodless
Bloody hands wringing
in Delight-
Delighted!
de-lighted...
Delight-Full?
Murmur nothing
need less>>>>>>
Need less to say
" it" @ All.
Hot of the press,
hot air blows
seeds of doubts
s-OW-n n-OW!
Profuse Grrrrr- OW-th
Hot-head heed-less
not Grrrrr- OW-n up.
Groans are unmouthed
sounds
sown shut :-
No more hurt
Feelings
Hidden
Humiliation's humus
Not humorous.
Hideous "justice"
bids
Blurts be bought
at a price-
Caught out
Pulled-up-Pule
short-circuits
short-changed
~my~O~my
~chained~
~thrashing~it~out.
thrashed...thrashed....Thrashed!
within an inch
~~ ~~~'~ ~~~~...
nihil -is-tic
parsitic
Tick-Tacky-Town
Game of noughts.
Game of cross thoughts..x-O
Game's off-
Colour two- tone
Voice
Not "giving lip"-
Zipped~~~
:-O gains nil
By Mouth.
:- naught -:
nada
null
X
void
O
14-07-2017~Aqua Marine.
Ink,
you haunt
ghastly night
like tangled web ~
needling my fingers on blank of pages:
Knotted lines dangle through mind’s labyrinth
until words pour ~
from cracked quill
spilling
blots
Broken Wings’ Form T Contest
~ Double Tetractys, 2nd stanza inverted
8/23/2017
O.D.'d
major retrospective, devoted to his life's work
was he ordinary man, or something of a quirk
looking back at pale-lit gallery resumé
was he prophetic genius or just overworked
Obsessive destructive, objective destiny,
some type of truth, some sense of decay
Obvious or oblivious - epiphany or enemy
needling the hurt - holding the dismay
the doubt, the scag, the arm on the john
the heart-stopping truth of addiction upon
the famous, the obscure, the horse ride unsure
the only way to go is up - or down forgone
there's a line, a long one, from way past
of human souls searching to take away pain
hookah'd, needled, and bottled to outlast
and escape life's sorrows to live again
© Goode Guy 2014-02-04
http://www.npr.org/2014/02/03/270874316/police-investigate-death-of-actor-philip-seymour-hoffman
http://www.npr.org/2014/02/03/271064728/on-philip-seymour-hoffman-and-his-many-appearances