Best Pivoted Poems
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtpPcmLKRFU Dancing Bird
Yesterday, I saw a shadow dart across my keyboard.
When I turned to look outside the window,
I spied upon a sparrow playing in the sun.
He was dancing in dramatic fashion
Across the shrubbery that was his home.
I could tell it was a male by his markings.
He was busy with his boasting, and proud.
No longer a fledge, he fluffed his feathers
To parade his prowess to all that might adore him.
Then, he pivoted into a pirouette, and pranced
Most skillfully across the length of a branch
And launched himself into flight.
Today, the sounds of birds cackling and chirping
Inside the shrubbery drew me to the window.
I could see three sparrows engaging in some fun and frolic.
Perhaps it was some flirtatious mating ceremony.
While most sparrows do look alike,
I’m sure that one of them was the dancing bird
I’d seen the day before. I watched briefly and smiled,
Remembering my own courtship and rivals
Who would fancy my choice as their own.
I returned to the monitor and before I could begin
My work, there was a loud thud upon the glass.
I gazed outside and there upon the ground was a small hawk
Clutching the dancer in his talons.
Tomorrow, this bird will not dance.
He will not sing or court another.
And as sparrows are many,
I will no doubt find another to enjoy from this vantage.
I chide myself for failing to warn him of the danger.
I was too busy with my own enjoyment to notice.
Now, I close my eyes and reconstruct those moments
As I attempt to resurrect the dancing bird,
And preserve him....forever.
Zorro swings and Zorro falls,
sadly landed on someones balls
excommunicated from the mall,
for gross protracted screaming.
Zorro on the crutch of one,
slapped down by a redneck nun,
pivoted crutch to plonking run,
so bad he must be dreaming?
Springing for his horse so black,
drop kicked his oolies slack,
glad it wasn't a donkey Jack,
the Z man enterprising.
Don Johnson 6-aug-11
"A Spiritual Sojourn"
sheer white wings pivoted dreaming soul to pure Throne of Grace
captivated by pink cotton candy clouds to gaze beauty
a spiritual sojourn encompassed taste of Divine Love.
*For Rick Parise SIJO.
My abecedarian fingers
Numb to their recalculations and lexicons
I brush slimly my thumb through each
And clasp myself in fives or nines
It sinks its full weight like an equivocate clasp
One gaucherie to an eldritch comeuppance
A padlock lip nimble and pivoted like sickness
Delicate but ultimately dependent upon timing
The human stomach is a pendulum
I feel mine pulse as cynosure cascaded
I cherish extemporaneous occurances
Empyrean palisades and medications
I collect as a dictator my tintinnabulations
Of etiolated tchotchke and clamp my fistful
Stumpside in the rivulet, Adamic clay bathes
Of my clasping reconnaissance of fives and nines.
I never challenged the obtrusive skies
Nor destituted the benevolent earth
With tender warmth I sensed the whole
When each stone became endeared to soul.
Held voices in many hands
Sang with the birds in branched trees
Wielded the weapon of poesy pivoted
Against enslavement of spirit for free.
Held garlanded emotions in fingers
Explored only could but a few
Imbued with rattlings of centred self
Tenemented by saddlings of new
Clasping forces drenched in dance
Lighting mirths in a universe of chance.
Our fifteenth year, you and I
If we were married, the ‘crystal’ mile
And oh, we have had our highs, breaking up lunchtime fights
Breaking down novels line by line
Translating Shakespeare to Spanish
for those nonverbal in this language
Dulcet quatrains melted into rounded syllables, thick on my tongue
Still we manage to tease out delicate images
And the consolation of a paycheck educators receive
Not enough to ease the mirage of beach
Allure of waves and palm trees
In rude January (the ultimate schoolyard bully)
You and I have chaperoned this prom, attended this play
Coached this race, given chase to elusive grades
Counted victories in syllables
Pivoted around yawning youths, heads down
or kids attempting to find favor with last minute Starbucks gifts
And still we sit in sweet September
Whole and hopeful, rested, restored
Once again to go around this playground called high school
2/1/19
When the world was youthful
spiderwebs sang as they were spun.
Language was woven in the air
as accents of winds and trees
conveyed by an eloquent sky.
Untrammeled meadows annunciated
upon the lips of dens and burrows
scooped by shrew, mole, and vole.
Fresh bathed daisies signed a speech
as they swayed,
buttercups birthed calligraphy’s of sunlight.
Giddy rills gave voice to fritillaries
that flew to the sun or moon.
Words were idioms painted upon
the melodious leafage
of the up-risen and rising.
Then that shaggy brat
the primordial ape it grunted forth,
translating its gripey gut
through the clack of a creaky tongue.
Guttural and gregarious
it learned to babble and
belch an oral discordance.
It yapped and yawped,
yawped and yapped
until a spoken language
verbosely pivoted to prolix
polluting the very airy air.
Then it was
that a nascent poet boldly stood
rhyming would with could
until even the dumbest of his tribe
understood
and cheered him fit to bust
while the green grown world
with all its idiomatic kin
lost the will to express
as before
for the fluent earth again.
A shaggy dog espied a graceful cat
She arched her back, he fell flat
on his jowls, she pivoted - nose up
His paws akimbo, Shaggy arfed
Wait, dear cat, I can explain that
But Graceful didn't miss a stride
After all, she had her pride
Who needs a mangy mutt who falls
she thought, a dame like me must be bought
Now Shaggy may be clumsy, but he's not deaf
He heard Graceful mewing under her breath
She loves me sure, Shaggy felt
His tender heart, her icy exterior would melt
So Shaggy scrambled after her, closing in fast
When he drew close, she turned around at last
It was then that he saw Graceful's face up close
"Adios," he cried
~ Her whiskers were caespitose
Go. Go, already. The father told his son
He bit his lip, clenched his fist
The son did not see the father’s pain
Go, Go, already. His heart, racing madly
The son pivoted awkwardly
~ he quickly walked away
You did not love the sceptred sunshine
You loved the summer’s undiluted sun
Which in the end took its bitter revenge
In depriving you of your saline serenity
Into the depths of crazed pivoted symphony.
Rest assured in your diverted quickened steps
That nobody loved the soul within your crest
The crazed straw hat topping your yellow hair
Your red beard drenched in the crowds, a fear
It was enough to drive the crazy sickened mob
For a revenge on your enflamed tortured throb.
Children will mock you
Citizen will lock you
Women will scorn you
People will disown you.
Dawning clouds and rustling winds
Broken strokes of the lemon rinds
Vermillioned lamps amid ochred yellows
Cobalt blues of the sulphured mellows
Embittered flowers in the wasted vase
Vibratory landscapes in twisted grass
Pavement cafes under the starry skies
Purpled deeds in hallucinatory nights.
With colour and the light
And amid a creative start
An explosion within your soul
And a bullet in your heart.
DROWNED
Drowned in the mirror
Where reflected image stirs
The features of my face
Pivoted in depths of nights.
Rivers in the flow
Shipwrecked in sand
Purposeful dark dreams
Shadows chasing a song
In satiated amorous hands.
Taking heed in glories of earth
A passing images held by wrist
Dedicated firstly to passing wind
And then to the gathering mist.
A poem is a poem, what else could be real?
It is there, all in all, and nothing more to steer.
Today I went to live
In a poem chalked of chimes
To taste some reveries in situ
I sought to find in hidden rhyme.
A heart throbbing
With anguished strain
Fire lit by some heated
Embers in the sooty brain.
Piercing with the mind
To observe and let pose
A spider gliding
Gossamer web of its dreams
Framed in a pivoted repose.
A house for habitation
Woven out of itself
Stretched in a triangle
Contemplating for
Other dimension
Beyond rational aims
Of living and dying.
Tribute to Maradona
TO SKY HIGH
Small structure in five feet five frame
flashed in fabulous fame.
Little Argentinian Golden Boy
Bullish, buoyant, graceful with eyes angelic,
Rustic, over confident, playing magic.
Appeared an exceptional footballer
Nonparallel on strut and swagger
with tangled disarranged hair.
Careful yet without care.
mesmerizing spectators.
Promising skill on challenge of arrogance.
Strong sturdy solid sense of balance
pivoted on self-belief.
His real relief
to sky ball high playing on loops of eyes
with magic of swift feet showing miracle.
Public was marveled on blink less glance.
Excitement, emotions to enhance, not perchance.
Sometimes tagged by adverse label
as Sport’s misguided rebel
or misdirected: Full of flaws,
violating norms and laws.
Fair-fine or foul play,
Right or wrong! Useless to say.
Legitimate or illicit! No way.
Maradona, World Celebrity
charmed populace with same intensity.
Extremely impatient cocky,
Yet He was the STOCKY
NUMBER TEN
reaching heaven.
Beyond football ground crossing cheekiness
Maradona proved his splendid sunniness.
Amazing talented player touching excellence.
Left too early the high heroic spirit.
An athletic genius touching summit.
12/01/20
First Place
'Obituary Maradona' Contest by Mohan Chutani
Poetry in Motion
Contest by Matt Caliri
How often do shadows cry
And if they do
This means like us
they feel to
How often do whereabouts
dispose of their founders
The emptied hands pivoted gruesome
To only expire before you lose them
This is why my eyes cry
Late night movies
Midnight hours, how do you spend them
When letters feel “ no need to reply”
To where do we send them
A curious mind in eye sight
A figure taunted
The difference in people is
“Don’t let your personality dye”
Flesh wounds appear the same
Determination’s found in change
Could you spare me some change
A course of new events
Hand prints on the face of cement
Try not to take life out of context
“I’ll be home soon”
Read his final text
History is somewhat of a vex
Sort of a temporary fix
A day, a age, that some of us miss
How do you become a person
Or exhibit the features of everyday people
Minus the wars, the battles, the ether
Trouble awaits
For those of us who refute
Similar choices brought
About in this place of being
Bloggers are subsequent to ignorance
Just the lack of reading
Express’s the true meaning of being for real
The objective to live and protect yourself
Minus the kill
Sometimes glory comes as a steal
Did you think love was beautiful
Black coffee, cigarette buds
A raspy voice
from a figurine with seductive cuticles
A slice of pie
Banana’s and caramel
On top of our lie
Apart of me is fiction
And some of you is true
A journal
Do you commit yourself to unfulfilled comments
Did you dust your hands off
Wash your face
and forget to accept the necessary compliments
If I’m shady
then you weren’t around
Too far gone, dancing in the sun
Musically
you love the violin
Sympathetically
you can’t sing without the gin
The brightly warm golden glow
from the a flamed small ebony
wick of a beige wax candle
Flickers aimlessly as the base is undauntedly uplifted by its wood
carved handle...
As I try to steadily transport it across the darkened room,
there is a sudden flurry
Extinguishing my single source of light
which caused my visual center to become blurry
Panic-stricken, my weakened
legs strode eastwardly back
towards the knee-high
mahogany end table
Searching desperately for dry matches to reignite the flame
in the tiny corner of the gable
As God's heavenly tears boldly precipitated through foggy
patches upon the bruised earth
In complete stillness, I listened as the rains permeated
through the decayed eaves of the hearth
Upon instance of relighting the died-out flame, I slowly
pivoted towards the exit of the dimly lit attic room
This room holds a prosperous family epoch once surrounded by
opulent possessions; and has since been overcome by gloom
As I quickly inserted my splintered forefinger through the empty doorknob hole of the decomposed wooden closet door
Many contented memories flood my mind of the photo albums
and objects kept herein representing our family core
When the squeaking rusted door hinges separated
from the discolored crackled-plaster structure, I seized the chance
To pass through the thickly-
spun spider webs and multitude of dust particles that
over-whelmed my initial glance
After thoroughly examining the concealed musty remnants,
my small veiny cold- blooded right hand forced
the aged door shut
Closing a minuscule portion of
my family's past, leaving it to
weather the storms ahead that
will engulf our summer hut