Best Periods Poems
Every month, I loose blood.
My , abdomen, every part of my body - gives me pain..
For days.. I cry, I hardly move.
I'm a woman that owns a complicated body.
that bleeds and breasts that are hard to carry..
But does that matter?
when from my an infant comes
and when my breasts give milk and warmth.
Every pain comes to its minimal
then grows beautiful
when it comes to know its significance.
I share every part of my body,
giving its everything
..to such an extent,
that my body remains not mine
it shares its owner.
THE 12 ANNO-DUODECIMALISATION PERIODS
Wintric time is now slippopherous and the slithey snowlerimon
Is experiented with the newly-arrived vernality in the air.
His triple anno-duodecimalisation period is in terminfication
Which has megaramifications and blerious implifications bare
For the floracious and faunacious spread of life-and-growthicity
The next few anno-duodecimalisation periods will encertain
The success of the seminal vesicles of herbatorial and floribundial growthity
And the ground-coveration will soon be overspread with leavy-fruitain.
Treedonry, tall and gloribundant shall castigate their shadowsmith
Across meadowfields so mertile and bloductive. Soon the triple
Anno-duodecimalisation of the pre-wintric time will proviso us with
All the beautiflic and delicioned harverted produce from our farmliple:
Making us readified for the oncoming wintric time, a periodontary
Of slippopherous and slithey snowlerimon, coldpainly beyond comparicary.
Every month, I loose blood.
My , abdomen, every part of my body - gives me pain..
For days.. I cry, I hardly move.
I'm a woman that owns a complicated body.
that bleeds and breasts that are hard to carry..
But does that matter?
when from my an infant comes
and when my breasts give milk and warmth.
Every pain comes to its minimal
then grows beautiful
when it comes to know its significance.
I share every part of my body,
giving its everything
..to such an extent,
that my body remains not mine
it shares its owner.
A white spot in the clouds,
a sunflower heavy with seed,
grass too long, should I mow it,
and a blackbird’s wing colours red,
limps on the path and if heavier
crisp snail shells would echo each skip.
Draco, the tomcat eyes me pleased:
only the blackbird bleeds to death.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Periods Of Time
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: May/2015
Time
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Final •. •. •. •. •. •. •. •. •. •. •. •. •.
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•. •. Closure •. •. •. •. •. •. •. •.•.
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•. •. •. •. •. •. •. Stop •. •. •. •. •. •.
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What would life be without periods (?)
Waking up face slanted sideways while my body is lifeless, my mind walks & wanders while wondering why my heart beats slower than the rhythm of the regular. No English teacher could possibly profess this unfamiliar vernacular without being lectured through the lesson of the fear of being forgotten. We’ve lost sight of things, but that’s okay,
because we all lose sight of things sometimes.
like misplacing your keys somewhere within youre own house;; you know they’re not lost, but having access to life’s open & closed doors is much easier with the clanging of assurance in your hands.
Low periods & dull moments can drain us of the energy that keeps us going, but let us not stop for the ocean & the moon still sing. Give me a hard slap on the face with the force of a lightning bolt too powerful for Zeus himself to handle with the hands that hold my heart. Wake me up.
Periods are way better than commas.
They stable thy reader's breath,
Furthermore,they save thy writer's ink
after Poetry is a Recited Art, by Brian Strand
i am a written not a talking work
and were i there with you to speak this piece
i’d do it as you wish no extra grease
but the medium is wrote that’s it’s quirk
Victor Borge his name i’ll give it’s mark
makes humour of the topic we caprice
my opinion is the fun does not decrease
by giving poems their lurches and a smirk
Ah! See here how, with my punctuation,
I guide your eye, move the rhythm of my
words. A pause, at a natural junction,
Is given you by clever notation—
Don’t be so quick to slander and decry
the period and comma’s vital function.
have you ever grappled with despair
not in imagery, symbolism or portrayal.
I mean, have you ever felt the elevator drop
the watery weakness that extenuates breath
a depth of fatigue that makes lying on the floor a burden
an aching pounding in your chest,
the broken-glass dryness in your throat
the gritty ache in your eyes
that makes you want to close them forever?
Struggle no more, leaden limbs,
free the weary weight.
Eyes that struggle, release the light.
The body begs to no more fight.
In a blur of sluggish thought,
I whisper sleep's sweet name.
The will has dropped.
The yearning stopped.
I’ll rest on that distant shore.
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Songs for this:
Nessun Dorma by Sarah Brightman
Caruso (Live at "Pavarotti International" Charity Gala Concert, Modena 1992) by Luciano Pavarotti, Aldo Sisilli
Pie Jesu by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Sarah Brightman & Paul Miles-Kingston
In periods of misfortunes Man on his knees God implores for his suffering to confine
When prosperity comes and all goes fine Man seldom remembers to thank the divine
© Demetrios Trifiatis
06 August 2018
ODE oars outlook
Provoking poet's prowess
Quaggy QUEEN's quills
Reign
Amen!
I’m drinking a martini
communing with my phone.
I’m in a bad mood
and clearly, I want to be alone.
Peter (my bf) and I came to this fine restaurant on purpose
- when I’m surly, I seek luxury
The deep warm hues of mahogany,
the chandelier facets of Baccarat glassware,
- that turn a martini into a galaxy of glitter -
the whispered, opulent luster of Christofle silver,
and the high-reflective white of 100% Irish linen
sooth me - we’re here about every 28 days.
The cocktail and the atmosphere are starting to work.
Martinis are high gravity and I’m starting to feel the spin.
You can't drown demons with alcohol, they can swim,
but you CAN seek a little anosognosia.
A stock, 30-ish man, thick wavy hair, open collar
and a suit stuffed with overconfidence
is suddenly at my table, lavishing me with
questionable, over-reaching compliments.
Do I appear wanting of some calculated,
and algorithmic pickup line?
Am I just available for anybody?
I respect the hustle,
but my patience is at absolute zero
I can’t just give him an eye roll
I have to say something.
I want to say, “stop [you know] bothering me.”
but I pour on the impulse control.
“I have a boyfriend,” I say,
it’s the simplest sentence I can spare
and after a moment, it works and he leaves.
Seconds later Peter returns
he’d stepped outside for a phone call.
“How YOU DOin’?” he asked in a fake accent.
I shrug, he knows my climate.
I don’t have to pretend anything with Peter.
“Where are we on the menu?” He tacks.
I answer in the non-sequitur,
“I miss Yale’s creole fish sandwiches.
- I was mad about them.”
Peter updoged, “Apple spice ring cakes.”
(a seasonal Yale dining hall favorite)
and we say ‘mmmmm’ in unison.
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Songs for this:
A Change Will Do You Good by Sheryl Crow
WAP (Lounge Version) by Richard Cheese [E] [E] [E]
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About the song WAP (above) - If you listen to RAP music,
you know the lyrics are explicit (direct and funny) trash.
WAP takes typical rap lyrics and puts them in lounge singer
format - where they stand out hilariously.
I posted a New short story - "Flowers" - it was 483 characters to long for here.
It's under short stories it's called: "New Year's and strip clubs"
Here's a partial URL - you can't post a URL here (there are so many rules)
www.poetrysoup.com/short_stories/flowers_11899
sometimes i howl at every palpitation of your heartbeat
sometimes i growl at every word that you do not hear due to cell phone asbestos
i cringe when you put things in places where cannot find it
i binge when you build a wall between you and the affection in which i crave
when all colors fused
i remember the waterfalls when they were creamy
when all juices blended
i remember the rolling hills when they were dreamy
the aftermath of the beforehand merges in between because they can
the innovations and relations inspire many due to the unique form of elation
the chaos dissipates and the birds chirp to that song by bobby day
it makes me want to slide to the left and push all negativity to the right of dismay
another days goes by and i am dizzy from wonder and awe
how lovely it would be if i could suck the cherry flavored part of life through a straw
i guess i'll go to my office now and skinnydip in the plastic bubbles of my imagination
until my friends acscend from the pen again, i'll continue to reluctantly sin until i win
One room; two time periods
As unresembling
The bright, dull mood-splashed, splotched
Walls, what echo in.