Best Pointer Poems
(16/03/2013)
I’ve tangled my pointer with my hair
While looking up to gaze on the smiling sun
Over hundred times,
On a bench,
Waiting for your presence
I’ve become boredom conqueror
And unearthed those buried stones under
After I’ve had enough of my android,
On a bench,
You’re still not here
I’ve sent the sun home
And kissed the clouds goodbye
I’ve lost my spirit
And sighed out my stupidity,
Off that bench,
You’re a disappointment
Categories:
pointer, on writing and words,
Form:
Free verse
Asleep before the head hits the pillow
Head filled with vivid colors swirling, amassing, mixing outside the lines
Transgressions grow skyward like a bean stalk becoming a giant
Worries wander aimlessly like a cat in the night looking for a spoon
Hurts pound again, and again, first a drumstick then a sledge hammer
The kaleidoscope of confusion rotates ever faster, bed spins counter
Places cannot be escaped
Faces stare as if clothes have been robbed
Running, Flying, Drowning, Suffocating, Garbling Words, Can’t Breath,
Slow Motion, Falling, Insatiable Hunger, Unquenchable Thirst, Blood Stained, Shouting
Loaded Down, Frantically Searching Pockets, Hidden Underneath, Forgotten
Fear. All fears. Nothing but fear. Afraid. Regret. Worry. I didn’t. I really did!
Each day we pack our pockets. Cram our purses. Load our backpacks
Hang needless objects and things around our necks, over our shoulders, in the crux of our elbows, on our belts
Grip suitcases. Carry stuffed plastic grocery bags on each knuckle. Waddling to the side of the bed before crashing head on
Unknowingly still pinching the key between our left thumb and pointer finger
Hitting the bed with a massive crash
every part of the day strewn around the room like a devastating mid air explosion of a 747 littering debris, miles and miles of destruction, charred remnants, unidentifiable and randomly placed objects, out of place, disfigured, often never found
Before your head hits the pillow
Drop the things you picked up today
Take a load off
Free yourself of your burdens
Neatly set everything aside
On second thought, just pile it and let it lay where it falls
Drop your yoke
Sit down on the foot of the bed with God
Hand Him the things you still cling within sweating red fists
Briefly Examen your day
Fall asleep on His shoulder
He will gently lay your head on the pillow, loft your feet off the floor, and tuck you in.
Let Him carry your burdens, lighten your load, unpack, empty your pockets, wash your laundry, even sort and match the socks.
Travel to sleep lightly and peacefully dreaming of a new day
carrying nothing but what is truly needed.
Categories:
pointer, anxiety, confusion, dream, peace,
Form:
Free verse
SILENT ROOSTERS SLEEP
Dads don’t sleep. They drive over-packed cars, and sip coffee from a thermos cup. Kids in backseat mull over grandma’s home ~ roosters never move, cuckoo clock never quits, and grandma’s always at the door, waiting. Front passenger divvies out cheerios and chips. The turnpike yawns with well-worn pitstops. All seats salivate for grandma’s homemade coffee cake. “Are we there yet?” echoes, bounces, plays with the driver’s nerves. Dads get revenge, transforming the auto into a tour bus. Pointer finger flashes toward a birthplace, a high school, and a park, and finally a hearth in the suburbs of Depew.
silent roosters sleep
moonlight auto unpacks dawn
crowing door exhales
7/14/2017
Haibun Form
Categories:
pointer, family, memory, travel,
Form:
Haibun
Distant space departing realms of conscious warmth
Voicing reason to an end within the persons hearth
A fire with pit to poke and prod dissolving spirit
Harmed retreated into a place where safe
The Avatar a being that searched far beyond limited view
Star that gazed a return to the night in day
Avatar that watches from the darkness kept at edges bay
Deep under a surface of skin flushed heat
A spirit that flees instead of the fight to escape
Soaring the magnitude of magnetic divines
An Avatar without wings that carelessly takes flight
Hovering not high not low always an even around
This lumen of light that is profoundly weighted
Shining use of a rise up from the depths of body down
The Avatar does speak to encourage the voice of sound
Direction of the pointer towards the feeling of no despair
A spiritual intertwining of the beings loving care
Body of vapored essence that is temporarily filled
By the choices lead through the heart that is felt
Releasing pressures built long lasted to with stand and resist
Temptation of the Avatars love that was heaven sent
'Avatar Entry' Contest Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Categories:
pointer, blessing, creation, faith, fate,
Form:
Free verse
I declare today
That my body is my body.
No government entity, private citizen,
Or business public or private
Has any rights
Or permission to use,
Abuse,
Regulate,
Deregulate,
Confiscate
Obliterate,
My body.
Law makers and religious shakers
I petition no takers.
My appendages are mine
I choose their destiny
I choose their function
Their purpose
I choose.
I enter no contract
I obay no edict
My flesh is mine
I enter in consensual unions
Without compromise
Without permission
From the state
From the clergy
From any finger pointer or tongue wager.
I declare today
From a starting point of now
Until my end
That my body is my body
I will defend my flesh
My growth
My every carbon
From those who wish to dominate
Regulate
Seek to enlist the state
I am not a part of any collective thought
Nor am I unionized by fear
That wilfully drives to steer
Anything that can be bought
By sanction, or divinity, or code.
I declare today, all days
That my body is not yours
No one shall limit
My abuse or use or purpose
I will not obey
I so declare today.
Categories:
pointer, political,
Form:
Easter 2
Easter Dresses Unremembered
I bought a new dress, no not for Easter,
Though it started my mind to wandering,
To Easters ago, ago.
Wandering like a pointer finding
Just the right light to illuminate,
The memories I wanted so.
Mother always saw to it I had
A special dress to go to church,
Where are those dresses now?
I want recollections of the treasures she made me
Sewing with rick rack and silky bands,
But they are gone, now gone!
Gone are my dress-up remembrances,
But not her sweet hands of love,
Aging is so cruel, you know.
But I do remember her deeds and her face,
The love that filled her fingers, and
I’ll be content with that grace.
Easter 3
I believed in Santa Claus
Long after most kids do.
I willed him with my strongest mind,
I willed him to be true.
But the Easter Bunny? Come on, come on,
A rabbit laying colored eggs?
Maybe I thought that when I was three,
But not with longer legs.
My mother played the game, bless her heart;
With an Easter basket surprise;
Decorated, colored hard-boiled eggs,
And that grass we couldn’t abide.
She didn’t want to burst the bunny bubble,
Though she needn’t have ever bothered,
I love her for her subterfuge,
And her undying love for her daughters.
Categories:
pointer, nostalgia,
Form:
There’s something about my love for my daughter,
maybe it’s all the lessons I have taught her.
Her bubbly smiles and ways only youth can display,
her growing independence, she’s too old to play.
Yes, there have been many times I have fought her,
but she shines like the constellations in array.
The angels danced when Ella Rose was born in sweetness,
now I shall confess she is my one true completeness.
A simplistic love we share with trust without obligation,
for I am so grateful for her God-given creation,
even though sometimes she wallows in discreteness,
I have full confidence she will show me appreciation.
As an infant she laughed at everything in sight,
those big brown doe eyes made everything all right.
Toddler years arrived with sassy days indeed,
but of course, me and her daddy met her every need.
For she is my saving grace, my eternal light,
I was born to give her roots as God planted the seed.
Her daddy will watch out for boys during puppy love,
as she will fall in deep with a boy she dreamed of.
Sincere adoration and complete devoted affection,
we share a bond beyond compare, a rare connection
she tells me girly secrets and when push comes to shove,
she is flawless to me even through imperfection.
She’s an aria of a melody with absolute splendor,
she can make a three pointer, yet so elegantly tender.
Her gifts of drawing and painting are excellent,
for she is my magnificence and has been heaven sent.
When she cries little girl tears on my knees I surrender,
trying everything in my power to heal her discontent.
I never knew a love could be so strong without romance,
and I am so grateful God gave me a second chance.
See I had a baby before her that gained angel wings,
now I have a sweet daughter and loveliness she sings.
There’s nothing like watching her graciously dance,
and oh, knowing she writes of such silly things.
I shall exalt Ella every day and nourish her necessities,
and show her my love and compassion shall never cease.
38 lines total
Non Romantic Love Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet
April 5, 2018
Categories:
pointer, daughter, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Spelling, syllable count, vanity, too simple, Simon! Be prolific, cruel, smart, up to par, above the bar, fit for the stage. Tap, tap, tap…
—by poet
The Prismatic Self
See the wooden stage, markers for my feet, bright lights, great expectations, critical analysis. Curtains will open any minute as my words make an entrance. Will my opening lyrics draw a crowd? Who will be in attendance? The theater’s not likely sold out.
Backstage, the sponsors, who are they? ATTENTION! As if a teacher wields a pointer, tapping at my feet. Will the audience throw erasers?
On the palm of my hand, the rules - perhaps strict, but I’m not in fear of a stickler. Trained by the nuns in love and hate knuckles.*
Lots of rules, I might have to practice the act for quite a bit longer. I practice in my dressing room, trying on outfit after outfit - those flouncy forms or something simple and succinct.
Am I a people pleaser? Do I perform at the pleasure of the King or Queen? Or am I my own worst critic?
Yes! Yes! Yes! No!
I desire to be seen but I will yield. There is something more important than being the lead. Still, I must confess, I must run back to my little box, mime my tears, dread my limitations, take a breath and when I am ready - take a bow.
At the onset, I must build my own backdrop, backstory, be vague and understood. I run my lines quickly, slowly, go over them again and again, even as I recite them freely, as a monoku or Shakespearian sonnet; or get even more elaborate.
I labor over each word, its placement, its meaning. I don’t care! I do care! I must feel it practically perfect; though I will let it go. Eventually, it will be a comedy of errors, erroneously erupting past the stage, in the rubber hands of cause and effect. The sponsor’s Marlboro ashes fall on it, without understanding my heartfelt meaning; my wings clipped as I await the list…the dreaded and dreadful list. Most surprised when I am the cream, alone - floating at the top.
**Fastbreast, blushing, aghast, euphoric. That sponsor is exact. I do not grow prideful. I do glow. The tip of the iceberg shows, all other words sunken, below. In leotards, the ships pass by, having a look - one clips itself.
*conceit
**Fastbreast - heart beating rapidly (Neologism)
Categories:
pointer, angst, confidence, introspection, writing,
Form:
Free verse
Three days in - three days of school - and it’s like I never left.
In school, you can get oversaturated with screens. I like books.
They have a sense of permanence, they don’t glare back at you,
and I want something physical I can grip, markup and push off
the bed onto the floor when I get over it.
After three days of class, I’m asking (no one in particular), "Are we there yet?"
I can speed-read if I have a pointer - I use cocktail picks (swizzle sticks?) - you know, the little olive skewers you get in a martini? I have a collection from all over the world.
If I go to a bar and they have nice swizzle sticks, I’ll gather a few up. “What are you DOing,” Karen, (Lisa’s mom) asked me as I scarfed up several from patron’s empty glasses at the elegant, Refinery Rooftop bar in Manhattan.
“I have a TON of reading to do,” I explained, helpfully.
“Don’t even ask,” Lisa shrugged, rolling her eyes, when her mom looked confused.
The trick to speed reading is your eyes (and brain) pickup more than you realize and people tend to pronounce things, in their minds, as they read, which REALLY slows you down. So, you swivel the pointer down the page, following the pointer with your eyes, and Walla!
You can’t do THAT with a computer screen. You need a book, and when you have 2 or 3 hundred pages (or more) a night to read, you can’t just hold your breath and refuse - like a seven-year-old - can you? Seriously, I mean, can we? I’m asking - though it’s probably a little late (senior year).
Now, of course, not just any appetizer toothpick or fruit pick will do - the selection process can be rather byzantine. They must be a certain length, about 2 inches longer than my finger, so my hand doesn’t block the text, and square ones are the easiest to grip. Finally, if they have a little arrow-point on the tip? Well, that’s true love.
The problem is, I can get a little intense when reading and they tend to break. When my roommates hear me exclaim, “God DAMN it!” At 2am. They usually know why.
.
.
A song for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
Categories:
pointer, homework, school, student,
Form:
Free verse
doodle
poodle
beagle
regal ?
pointer
join her?
bulldog
bullfrog?
bird-dog
wears togs?
shepherd
peppered?
robust
adjust?
perfect
pet picked
you bet
asset
We found a female rat terrier/chihuahua mix, six years old. We have her on trial for two weeks to see if she will fit.
Categories:
pointer, pets,
Form:
Footle
Resignation registration affiliation with
Other companies.
Instigation not fun to see.
Outstanding subtleties
Nature's nourishing NECTAR needed
Surround sounds astounds naturally
Imagination imagery MAGICAL ecstasy
These are the tides that ATTRACT my attention
More poetry, arbitration prevents LITIGATION
Character assassination
Needless argumentation
CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTEOUS affirmation
Wasted human nature
Three pointer shots in the last seconds of
The game.
These are the situations that make me
Believe what ever will be will be
The sick the healthy
The convicted WRETCHED the corrected
The movers shakers the claim stakers
The rich the poor
Side by side
Tempestuous tempting tides
STRIDE after stride
Opposite dreams at the ROOT of the NECTAR TREE
Categories:
pointer, dream, tree,
Form:
Alliteration
I have two favorite sports.
On a stage and the b.ball court!
That's right, I'm a basketball player.
A bonafide rhyme slayer!
I can shoot a three-pointer
and give a defending player whiplash!
I'm a shooting guard
Like Steve Nash.
A spoken word poet
in a demented rage.
I like the spotlight.
When I take the stage.
These are the sports I'm good at.
On the stage or basketball court, I'm trained for combat!
*Note for "Brian Strands" contest "Sports Mad"
Categories:
pointer, fantasy, inspirational, sportsbasketball, spoken
Form:
Free verse
At some point you are going to need to impress more than a few friends with some burnt toast. I used to have an old, heavy-gauge chrome-plated toaster with a dial to adjust doneness from 1-5. I took a Sharpie and scribed a 6 at the extreme. The pointer doesn’t actually go there, but it is useful for indicating my intent. It works better than the 5 setting which merely chars the surface. But 6 chars it darn near all the way through, enlarging the pore structure to retain even more melted butter. You gotta be cautious not to overuse that feature because it’ll burn the toaster, as in overheating the thermostat and melting the whispy wires. No more toast for you. Back at the store they were quick to figure out your attempt to exceed the capacity and the clearly worded statement in the ownership contract will be pointed out to you, that glamorous document with the curly-Q decorations making it supremely authentic like a stock certificate from the 1960’s. They replaced my toaster once, but the second and third times I only got a stern look of reproach. The manufacturer has black listed me through my credit card so now all my toaster purchases are cash only.
Categories:
pointer, food,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Late September the hills ring with bellows
as stags roar their challenges with gusto
collecting up the does into large herds
ready to give battle to the very death.
Walkers be wary as you too are an intruder
many have been pierced by their sharp antlers
The nine pointer in his full prime paws in anger
this is his land he is master of all he peruses.
No tolerance for the young contender
they briefly spar and the youngster flees
it is not yet his time maybe in a year or two.
The master stag bellows out his triumph.
A rustle in the undergrowth, and a loud crash
heralds the arrival of another stag in his prime
they meet with a ground shaking crash of antlers
locked in mortal combat they fight for hours.
The ground ripped up and red with their blood
they struggled back and forth, neither yielding
The challenger now weakened gives ground
as with a final clash he turns and limps off.
The master roars out his victory of this day,
gathering up his does takes them to water.
It will be his sperm this year that is carried on
His fawns that will rollick and frolic the meadows
Categories:
pointer, nature, september,
Form:
Personification
The first time our lips shared a kiss
Was even better than first time I shot a 3 pointer and didn’t miss.
I can’t help but smile when I picture your beautiful face,
Believe me when I say no one can ever take your place.
A piece of my heart is yours, I believe it’s corazon in Spanish,
But this is my worry, that my feelings for you may never vanish.
Whenever I have the chance to make a wish upon a star,
I wish for you, because I feel I’m so close, yet so far…
Maybe it’s because of expectations I just can’t meet,
Maybe it’s because of my spirituality, although I feel that aspect of life is right at my feet,
Maybe if I was Puerto Rican with 40-inch arms,
I can never be Puerto Rican, but maybe I can grow some guns if I finally set the alarms.
Maybe if I was someone with an engineer job who you can take home to mom,
But my ambitions are growing, so much so that it’s hard for me to keep calm.
Whenever I have the chance to make a wish upon a star,
I wish for you, because I feel I’m so close, yet so far…
I love you as my best friend, but also love you in that other way,
So sorry I have complicated things so much, but is it possible one day I can still call you bae?
Deep down I know the answer, but a part of me still wants to hold faith and hope,
I would to do anything to catch the girl of my dreams, man that would be so dope.
Even if not with you in the end, I am still thankful for this experience of being in love,
Ever since it happened, I still can’t help but thank the man above…
Categories:
pointer, i love you, love,
Form:
Free verse