Best Play Second Fiddle Poems

Joy of living should pulsate in your veins like blood
Joyous time is when spring laughs, expectations fulfilled
Creation of self delusion is boundless
You discover insecurity and...

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I put my faith in what I can't see
Because I want to be all that I can be
Yet the pain I feel is truly real
And...

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EVERYONE KNOWS

Everybody knew that the earth was flat
There were lots of bumps so not flat as all that
Though ships seemed to sink out of sight...

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Here’s a starry poem one might call ekphrastic
about an exploding fireball fantastic
from a ‘nova’, imaged with time-lapse clarity,
all the more remarkable for the rarity
of tracking...

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~Heart opens, Legs close~

If only 'lover' of nowadays could actualize 
What real love is and not that type they play second fiddle to.
If they could...

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Trump's Voice and Its Tone

Do you think this is what Paul Ryan is saying?

Could tell By Trump's loud voice and tone
Sure wish that he would...

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The shadows playing with the silvery beams,
In devils' imagination her dreams,
Lifted veils and her heart aches for a kiss,
Demon's bride besieged in her nuptial bliss.

Heavy...

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A Second to Work

With a hand that ostensibly 
Caresses a fingerboard and bow gently,

Yet really holds with force,
Holds with vim and plays with vigor
The strings...

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I smoked a cigarrette today!

 I sat all by myself nd thot abt hw we cud ever be..
 You see- 
 I was intoxicated by...

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Orange streaks across the horizon
and supple reds sloppily dot
like stars in a naked sky.

Browns are all engulfing now.
A hungry wolf, 
steadily eating up the page.

Yellow...

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I once knew a teacher who occasionally used the word ‘fiddle'.  If perhaps he deemed something untrue or irrelevant; or if annoyed by students...

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When I’m in the middle
Of fixing a decent meal
I can’t be made to piddle
I usually have things to peal

When I’m in the middle
Of getting ready...

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Written By:  D. Collins 11/2/20


I don't want you anymore.  I can't touch you anymore.
You're not my Goddess anymore, and so far from pure.
You...

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You were the runt of the litter 
Both sweet and bitter
With pretty blonde hair 
Without a care
Yet painfully aware 

That being born in the middle...

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Figuratively Speaking... a compendium

I’m having slugs for dinner
Twelve dozen on toast
Some people turn their nose up
Apparently that’s gross

I’m joining metal plates
Using heat to make them...

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