Best Pin Poems
Swirl me, twirl me, spin me ‘round
My eyes are covered, subject not found.
Direct me here, then block me there
Smiles and snickers; won’t give a care.
Hates me, baits me, friend or foe
I stop to listen but never know.
Frizzy, dizzy, can’t find the beast
Removing blind, tail’s pinned on me!
I remember fondly the summer when I was nine
Catching minnows in the creek was my favorite pastime
Except I called then pin fish, I had quirky names for things
As well as bizarre behaviour, year before, obsessed with swings
Decked out in my rubber boots with a bucket in each hand
My desire to capture them day after day, I did not understand
For hours upon hours I catch as many I could, then set them free
To the top of the hill I trudge to a natural spring nestled under a tree
After taking a drink from the purest water I ever sprung from this earth
I overturn the bucket, maybe in my young mind, I was giving them rebirth
For these little minnows, it must have been a harrowing event
Or an adventure of a lifetime, for to harm was never my intent
Then off to home I go to have a bowl of long strokes aka chicken noodle soup
Giving my pin fish time to travel down hill and once again regroup
The next day I would wake up eager and a pin fishing I would go
I bet those minnows were happy when them I finally did outgrow
My hands hold the bars
I’m a good prisoner
Hoping to be let out for good behaviour
Head down
not meeting my jailers eyes
At night when the lights are off
When the moon is in the sky
When men cough and moan in the darkness
I reach through the bars towards the stars
My finger traces that golden orb
My mind explores pin pricks of silver
Traveling light years in mere seconds
no longer held by concrete and steel
When my jailers look at me
They don’t realize that I am a free man
Only my body is held in this place
Where a man’s thoughts travel
there resides his soul
Men are held in many prisons
Expectations
Past traumas
Loveless marriages
Addictions
Regrets
They think
“If I hold onto the bars
keep my head down
Perhaps I’ll get out early for good behaviour?”
All the while not realizing that when they face a mirror
they are looking into their jailer’s eyes.
Writing with a pin,
I know it is wrong.
Writing with a pin,
Blood is being drawn.
Writing with a pin,
My skin's burning and searing.
Writing with a pin,
It's wrong, but it has a satisfying feeling.
Persuade by time
Intuitions run blind
Neon driven dreams
Dandelion sew seams
Recognize the breeze
Opal shaped moon
Pesuaded bloom
?
The heavens, speckled with small dots of light
Sometimes shooting as they pass through the night
Many pin pricks scattered throughout the sky
Allows spent prowess to pound way up high
I delight in the show of sparkling stars
All blasts a form shining beyond, so far
Master of the lights is the humble moon
Covers its fair share of beams like a tune
Harmony, the light of the sky exists
Coexisting with a warmth that’s betwixt
Once the sky is clear, twinkling pebbles rock
A glow so perfect, there’s never a block
The warmth of the sky comes down to the Earth
Beauty and fondness illustrates the birth…
Of the speckled tiny dotted heaven
The greatest of numbers, number seven
Fathered the smiles off of people’s faces
The light arrives and then blesses with grace
The moon escapes, brings with it all its light
Stars all align with randomness tonight
Russell Sivey
unashamedly
she flirts with the moon
skinny dipping
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Short Form Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Placed 1st
Pin the tail on the
Donkey, OOOps, what was that! Pin
the tail on the cat!
A. Green
As Halloween approached,
a middle-age redhead,
working in a coffee shop,
boldly wore a spider pin.
It had a massive body
of ruby-colored glass,
and was, in subdued lighting,
as striking as her smile.
In that one adornment
of child-like abandon,
she loaned me a key
to a fluid dimension--
a sweet, hidden wellspring,
expansive, when tapped,
of all possibilities,
where young may be old,
and old may be young
where in the mortal struggle
against prosaic prudence
and tired perspectives,
bewitchment can prevail--
a phoenix from ashes--
in magical resiliency,
wondrous, warm, and winking.
You can’t pin me down
I will slip away from your fingers
For I am a free thinker.
Ideas, I accumulate
My imagination is flamed
By my tots untamed.
You can’t pin me down
Today, I will bake cakes
Tomorrow, the books of Aristotle awaits
Then a conversation about planets and galaxies omniscient.
With my offspring.
You can’t pin me down
I am neither a poet of conventional order
Nor my writs are there to conform
I will challenge the ideas fixed
Through my stories and wit.
You can’t pin me down
For I am a wife and a mother first
Yet I will still challenge the dogmas, hatred and bigotry
Through my writs and wit.
* Slightly tongue in cheek write :)
I'm very thin,
Like a pin,
Why medicine?
She was a tiny angel of a woman
mindlessly moving, in a chemical faze
her heart baracaded, tormented
from her long, lonely days
while dancing on the edge of a pin.
Dreaming images with her feet, twirling
oblivious on a pole,
trying to live a shoddy role
stripped of dignity, ripped of grace
imposed upon her lifeless soul
Her teardrops falling, slowly slipping,
silently dripping, leaving behind
their clear, salty trace
as they slide down her cheeks,
like icy blue, watery veins
on her tear, stained face
She dances mindlessly
from one seedy cloud to another
in faded memories blurred by her past
Through hazy, watery depths she bleeds
tying to quench a thirst so deep
in her hemorrhaged, sedated heart,
so worn, so torn,
by her dreams that did not last
As she slides down the pole~
she floats in a hazy, igneous swirl
of aqueous diluted anesthesia.
Demons eat and devour through
her darkened descent of amnesia
Painful depths that turn and twist
in her hazy, muddled reality
of unspeakable memories
that cannot exist,
lest they drive her deeper....
to a shattered demise
Her childhood dreams
stripped cruelly of their parts,
allowing her mind to wander
in an unconscious state of grace
from hungry teeth marks
left on her innocent, delicate skin
Cheap neon lights bathed
the trashy, shoddy floors
that smell of stale cigarettes
and booze in seedy, darkened bars
Dangerous, dingy, low rent neighborhoods,
leased by lurking, slovenly men
who try and grope her every move.
She sits on a bar stool
sipping amber, colored water
from a dirty, shot glass
waiting for drunk, greasy men
to approach, handing her
their rumpled, grimy cash.
Two dollars a dance~
to the tune of one weary, old song.
Or ten dollars an hour
to some bleary eyed man
for an endless moment
she'll dutifully belong.
Shadowy features, biting at her heels
Unnamed creatures
gripping, ripping her heart
into clawed, broken shreds of steel
from many wounds that cannot heal
One sad morning,
the headlines of the daily news
printed one more obituary
of a life badly abused.
Her parents were sent
a note from the club
that said:
"Your daughter used to work here,
will you please stop by....
and pick up her clothes and shoes?"
Balls At a Bowling Pin
A big leaguer he had always been;
Liked throwing balls at a bowling pin;
Which game played can be confusing,
Whether you are winning or losing;
Will neither play either game again.
Jim Horn
Our Paradise Advise—My Sweetest Love!
My sweetest love hearest thou reverently my advice
My advice is to leave now for our home—in paradise.
Paradise blooming with rainbows and tasty red cherries
Cherries, delicious mangoes, and bright sweet berries.
Berries with our cottage in the midst with a skylight
Skylight, gingerbread, and sunset—await us at twilight.
Twilight and misting rain for showers on our lawn
Lawn where we sing sweet songs with birds at dawn.
Dawn where firefly’s lights soothing sweet moods
Moods with ravens bringing us nice nourishing food.
Food while sparrows build our soft resting nest
Resting nest, my dear love—my darling, my sweetest.
Sweetest we will wish upon the mellow shining stars,
Stars shining above us—where we shall not be far!
Author’s Notes: The “Linking Pin Sonnet” ending lines join with the same beginning word of the next line consecutively to the end of the sonnet. It has fourteen lines as each sonnet does. The “Linking Pin Sonnet” has a rhyming scheme of AABB CCDD EEFF GG. Each quatrain stanza has four line of two rhyming couplets, and the poem ends with a rhyming couplet. The “Linking Pin Sonnet” was created by Dr. Joseph S. Spence, Sr. (Me), January 15, 2017, while studying English literature, creative writing, the African Diaspora, and poetry, at the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee, after studying twenty different sonnet forms and styles from different poets. There are multiple examples in my most recent 9th poetry book, “Sincerely Speaking Spiritually,” published February 18, 2020, on the link to Amazon.com below! https://www.amazon.com/Joseph-S-Spence-Sr/e/B0855CYRPS?ref_=dbs_p_ebk_r00_abau_000000.
i am a woman
tell me what is that
sometimes i feel
i'm too thin
too tall
too plain
and too fat
i am a woman
where's the holy grail
will you still love me
the next day
and the next
when i'm old
when i'm frail?
i am a woman
where's my sister in this game
and when i feel like
a complete
incomplete
obsolete low down shame
i am a woman
not your object to claim
you don't tell me
i'm too thin
too fat
not good enough or anything like that
for every blemish and hair on my face
every curve on my body
is a part of me
makes me real
makes me chase
away those of you
bound and determined
to beat me
defeat me
with precision
with haste
I am a woman
let's just leave it at that
i am what i am
too thin
too tall
too plain
and too fat