Best Precipitously Poems


Flippin' Infestation Alliteration

Similar sounds and letter alliteration are literally leaping and precipitously punctuating the 
perforated pages of my mired, muddled mind.. 
     Making mental maps for future fun in meditation mired muse, meticulously masks the 
real reasons I rise from my favorite fluffy floral flecked futon.
     It seems somehow strange but my favorite finely fitted floral flecked futon is infested full 
of flippin’ fleas. I feel flabbergasted!
     It could be the culprits causing this consternation are cats coming into the corridor 
constantly carrying the creepy critters in. Crap!
     We’ll have to hurriedly heave the whole heaping kit and caboodle of carnivorous cats into 
a crate and fumigate the frolicking fun loving finicky felines. Fine!
      Fortunately, I’m finished..…….finally.

Premium Member The Dawn

The Sun rises...

I know the supposed science 
of light,
bips and wavy lines of
pulsed propagation

like a heart

like emotions~ 

how human feelings start
and stop, the forward/backward of time -- 
the morning news
our repeated proclamations 

stagnation and regressive 
signatures, announced and printed 
shouted over electronic airways
man’s modern-day gazettes

dawn’s transparent lush
on my face,
I admire and study – 
the brushwork of gleams~ 
patterns of my traveled summits
and depressions indented

zebra primrose blossoming, in short
what love created such marvelous
striations? Say ye a God~ surely even
the moron
in glaring absence of other proof
would not guess less?

Him/Her? Our Blessed Hermaphrodite
of sentient-being creating, of morphing-realms
unending evolving

salacious advances of life mating, 
entangling, imparting fond mysteries --  
lips of roses unfurling, curling, inviting
nearer breaths for uninhibited exploration – 

such exposure awakens and sleeps
yet we sense beyond-maturity

delve the wizard behind the curtain

all us Dorothys

trying to find a true way home
imaginable, at least a steady firmament though we
slip precipitously – My thought, to dust, clean and change

the sheets, as a new warmth attempts to re-freshen 

recover nature’s veiled cycles our nightly often deeply
staining retreats
© Joe Dimino  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member We Are the Watchers

We Are The Watchers

by Stark Hunter


Into the breach the multitudes surge,
Into the crushing breakers and
Beyond the sucking mindless tides,
Down down into the whirring, rushing confluence,
Precipitously we fall and slide,
Tenuously and tragically we slip.
We are the watchers of the wasted!
We are the watchers of the dancing dead! 
We have seen them bring in the living.
We have silently closed our eyes to their madness.
We are the watchers of the delirious and of the distressed.
Falling, falling trying to seize a toehold,
Trying to stop desperately this inevitable plunge,
This meshing melting plummet,
This fatal succumbing to hate and ignorance,
This downward drowning into the watery abyss of anarchy,
This insane enveloping
This resounding de-evolution into one massive heartbreak.
We are the human machine!
That lurches and stalls in the swell, 
Spewing bloody angst 
And the sooty smoke of smothering fear.
We are the star climbers!
The mountain gazers!
We are the watchers of the wasted.
We are the watchers of the diseased.
We have seen them bring in the living
We have seen the fires of Armageddon!
Burning burning furiously in the firmament,
And we have heard the crescendoing cries of the forgotten.
We are  the watchers of the wasted!
We are the watchers of the dancing dead!


Pacing My Head

A mind keeps racing 
around the clock
Tic laughs historically 
watching me chase toc
It’s time for rest
but thoughts won't stop 
Head tells self go take a nap
stat to finish defiantly stubborn 
Dusk promise west setting
moon will twinkle above glowing 
Dawn swears east rising 
sunrays all radiate beyond shining 
Can’t help that failure
actually fears success
Numbness relieving stress
unable to relax comfortably 
Send an insist sincerely
lay down or pay dearly
More than likely he's right 
probably best to take his advice 
Body's weak physique grows old
craving attention ignoring affection
Never hurry any decision 
listen first understand completely 
Ask immediately answer own question 
is my poem insight useful or worthless
A point is having a good reason 
why even try staying awake writing 
Believing guilt far past betrayal 
world wispers nate hears just give up
Eyes regardless will not close
persistently prefer remaining wide open
Sweat filled pillow dripping 
oddly cold when wet while saturated 
Energy overwhelmed extreme exhaustion 
eradicating normal logical thinking 
Life's been overtaken consumed by doubt
depression provoking nonstop narcolepsy
Absolutely lost precipitously irritated 
slightly becoming impatiently aggravated 
Obviously confused oblivious feeling crazy
induces lucid delusional sleep deprivation 
Deprive mind taught sanity's overrated 
lunacy's final destination full blown insomnia

Love: the Deathly and Delicate

Like the sight of Dandelions at an open venerate sepulcher.
Of the ardent touch, precipitously hailing two other's semblances to erudite tacit merit.
Voracious of the petal's vocation.
Voracious of the petal, so insatiably, so securely vulnerable, does she... does she not...
Delicate, denoted as such an inane, yet so gravely a significant.
© Me Me  Create an image from this poem.

Burn After Reading


Proceed no further, please ... 
this Rorschach ink will give you nightmares
Horrifying images everyday in the world you dare don’t see,
terrible things that will make you so soul scared
But, the voice coming from the neon screen
says take a tempting peek
Subliminal whispering: ain’t you glad
it’s somebody else and not you
Frail bodies starving in an adobe abode,
mercenary rats screaming: fire in the hole!
Frightened refugees on a raging river roulette run,
domestic terrorists waving mail-order automatic guns
Patronizing politicians preening:
it’ll be alright, citizen Everyone ...
Let the courage of the flag innoculate the nuclear flu fear
in your patriotic daughters and sons
Inanimate ambling ...
Wooden Pinocchios dancing on a puppet master string,
snorting nose candy and Jack Daniel lying 
Incoherent rambling ...
Plastic preachers doing their 24/7 televangelical begging,
fork tongue lisping and viper hissing
The apocalyptic scenarios that you read — 
crumbling civilization,
fungi global hope on a mushroom bleed
A spinning green marble tilted 23 degrees,
but the Fahrenheit fear 
is ever crimson rising precipitously
Burn this ghetto prose in your head
after you read what is said:
Grateful dead is a better off peace instead,
than daily waking 
with the mortal challenge
of eking 
a gladiator living


A Performance

A Performance

Bricks lay down precipitously low under the layered rain
Between the cracks drops gather wet then wash away
On nights glitter, lights pour out, dim and gentle
An observer seen on high, a roof top and small man lean over low
An unusual occurrence like a performance comes about 
Below, evolved, a place is picked out to mark the spot
The destination is the ground with people waiting, watching
Storm warnings thunder, lightning scratches weary eyes
Who cares which way the wind blows now
He goes over without a sound
When all is said and done the audience applauds
Rain continues down, cleans up the street 
People retreat into the recesses, cracks
Back under the rocks from where they came from

An Image of Netherworld Envisioned By Mister Misanthrope

Deep within Earthen bowels
immensely distant from sheltering sky
amidst a thick fog enveloped landscape
with here and there a projected
craggy, derelict chasm

precipitously crooked 
rocky claws pointing toward
an infinitely wide yawning abyss
dwelt kindred spirits 

comprising soul asylum
where grateful dead (albeit marked,
via weathered tomb stones) 
hermetically sealed
once vibrant corporeal mortals
betook their eternal slumber.

One among their number
included a misanthrope
who sported long straggly hair
bushy eyebrows shield

ding cold eyes of steel
straggly bearded clammy chin
in tandem with a hairy body
which when alive (long time ago)

upheld upon unshod feet, a severely
hunchbacked cretin
Within dense pitch-black terrain
(Mother Nature enlisting

a menagerie of life forms
accustomed to hellish environment)
awash with unrecognizable
alien sights and sounds

mollycoddling bewitching warlocks,
mailer daemons, trolling trojan horses
imps of the pervert chieftains, fiery
long and fostered Golems

who called underworld
their private demesne
also alluded to Marcy's playground
holding hostage Alice in Chains

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
The Beastie Boys, Culture Club
The Human League, and
Village People a Crowded House

Emitting wisps of ethereal matter
appearing a small medium at large
chat snap ping, flickr ring 
indeed joyus minions
exalting piety good and plenti.

Prone ounce sing proud purgatory
promoting protean phantasmagoria
hideous hulu hoop dancing holograms
highly distorted grotesque
silent 10,000 maniacs screaming 
sinister semblance to banshees
slithering across escarpment.

Echoing one end of universe to the other
putting to shame initial big bang 
ranking as a mere whimper
that original primordial blast

which cosmological exploits 
generated heavenly sphere instantaneously
comparison viz Krakatoa times Googleplex 
essentially reduced to insignificance
albeit on the analogous tinker toy 
premised conjectures of brilliant minds

could gander feeble educated guesses
asper extraordinary natural phenomena 
mortal mankind could never approximate
as belligerent threats punctuated,
 
via nuclear warfare
merely rates as a flickr 
amidst uber kindle snap chat ting
tinder blinks, extinguishes, 
snuffs out one lowly 
Beatle browed bipedal simian.

Premium Member Mountain Climbers

High limestone cliffs rise precipitously
Teetering chunks carved by cruel winds
Tempt adrenaline junkies who clutch
The crevice, inching their bodies upward
Toward the barren flats easily accessed
By steps carved for more cautious souls
Who come to enjoy the canyon below.
Some bring along a picnic lunch basket
For there are no conveniences in the wild
Country where mountain-climbers risk
Their lives to reach an easily-accessible
Summit...but where is the thrill in that?

HONORABLE MENTION
written August 3, 2021
"The Last Mountain" Poetry Contest
All Poetry, October 15, 2021

Premium Member Abandoning Doubt

On the banks of your life
Doubt fixing you offshore
A gripping beast never quits feeding
On dreams hungry for more

To ask yourself questions
Are they answers you know
Always precipitously trying to learn
You justify with the flow

Will you see your opening
Pushing your given chance
Do the beasts raptly glower into you
Or escape a second glance

Whenever you travel alone
How will you pull through
Who has mind to deftly prognosticate
Just what a beast will do

Seeing beyond your corner
Most importantly learning
You discover the ideas of everything
What above life may bring
© ... Gigno  Create an image from this poem.

Emotional Reparations To Eden Liat Part Deux

yours truly of course trolling, try
ying to stay afloat sigh
ying with forlorn resignation
     as the air supply
precipitously abba salute lee 
decreased, thru challenge
     hang IP course
     to bridge (yar

     suspended animus) bee
tween das father,
     and first born daughter,
     this papa analogously stranded
     amidst the imagined
     raging river Kwai
clinging stubby phalanges
     pinned tingled, pinched,

     numbed gnarled slip
     eerily gripping, clinging,
     and aching fingerhut toes
     did severely cramp
'pon glacial parental frieze,
     plus notepad kept
     in shirt pocket
     ocean spray got damp

fortunately, these digitized
     with binary stamp
portfolio of poems
     didst dry by lamp
light, nsync with external

     hard drive secured
     multi media stored data
     from this scamp
purring adventurer of amp
     pull lat hood, 
     the high seas across
     world wide web, I did tramp.

Explication

My water comes from the sky
And flows deep in subterranean dark
I fell through layers of stone with porous heart
To use me
To drink of me
You must come with bucket leashed to hand
Sit precipitously on my edge
And keep it dry always against a slip
When you hang over
To let your string down where you dig the ground
You cannot drink of me without sweat
I cleanse you of salt impurites
That you may know the clean
And taste the fresh
Flow of meanings on a dry brain
I go deep
To bring buriied things gushing out
My pearls from my wounded mouth
I am the last anomie
Mounting a flag on your dream

Days

Days

We are taught to number our days
Wishing always that laughter stays
Life then is beautiful and we rejoice
Make it last if we had that choice
Love and laughter go hand in hand
Dancing singing strike up the band
Exuberant thoughts our minds assail
Negatives swiftly conceal behind a veil

Like a sudden shower of relentless rain
Precipitously our world’s in acute pain
Mirth and joy swiftly turned to grief
Death the last enemy came in like a thief
Young and vibrant another life cut short
Amidst the pain and agony answers sought
Some asked the question does Jesus care
Precious memory he came and met you there
Sorely and profoundly missed in so many ways
Through grace teach us to number our days

Desolate Garden

Desolate garden
spring fades precipitously
petals flee with wind

September

The beans are still green
but the corn stalks have begun to brown 
I watch the first leaves fall lazily from an elm tree to the ground
I’ll soon find frost on my windshield in the morning 
when I leave for work at seven
the sky as dark as it was when I went to bed the night before
With each cycle of the seasons I witness 
time develops a lead foot accelerating precipitously
speeding like a race car driver trying to win the pole position
towards the day of my demise
It seems I was only just joyfully noticing those very same leaves
unfurling verdant from their buds under cerulean blue skies
a warm spring breeze chasing away the chill
Festoons of flowers blooming like colorful candy 
Bees buzzing busily about them
Birds returning from their southern sojourn chirping cheerfully
as the world around me awakened once again
The embers of summer cool in September
Soon all will sleep soundly under covers of snow and clouds of grey
I will weather another winter wrapped in blankets in my room
fingers of icy air seeping in around my window
attempting to stay warm as I write what few will ever read
and talk to the walls and the portraits of a prince that hang upon them
asking what they think of my latest poem or play
though I know they’ll never say

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