Best Prehensile Poems
impatient lover
white prehensile phalanxes
smell of stale kisses
© RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
12 DECEMBER 2014
This rhyme may seem strange but each word's truly equal
Now Beetle's tale's done no need for a sequel.
They'd chat by the teazel of matters so lethal
Of sequels and prequels and justice so penal.
In fields green and fetal past signs with a decal
He'd meet Sheetal the Beadle who spoke of things fecal.
With eyes prehensile he'd spot every weevil
And warn all the people of dangers so evil.
This Beetle was legal though far from regal
He'd wheedle and wheeze with his diesel-powered treacle.
He found a gold needle a prize for his easel
And painted a weasel avoiding the measles.
Again there once was a beetle so feeble and small
Who lived in a steeple with people so tall^-^
And painted a weasel avoiding the measles
He found a gold needle a prize for his easel.
This Dung Beetle was again legal though far from regal
He'd wheedle and wheeze with his diesel-powered treacle
And warn all the people of dangers so evil
With eyes prehensile he'd spot every weevil
Again, he'd meet Sheetal the Beadle who spoke of more things fecal
In more fields green and fetal past signs with even more decals
Of sequels and prequels and justice so penal
They'd chat by the teazel of matters so lethal
NOW Beetle's tale's ended again no need for……….a sequel
His adventures were splendid each moment so……….regal.
This rhyme may seem strange but each word's truly equal
A lesson in language both _^_ playful and………. legal
The Dung Beetle though small had a heart brave and true
Proving size doesn't matter in all that we do.
Dear Miss Monkey Manners: I’m a Spider Monkey in need of your help,
Recently someone yanked my tail and I cried out with a yelp.
It may seem like a little thing to cry when someone pulls your tail,
Unless, of course, it’s mating season and you’re the alpha male.
All of the sudden this younger guy is getting more looks than me,
And there’s a lot of chatter going on all around the banana tree.
I recently overheard some talk about putting me out to pasture,
But with all the Jaguars around this place, a pasture would be disaster.
So tell me is there a way that I can continue to have fun?
Please send your answer right away before setting sun.
My poor, dear Spider friend, please take time tonight to watch the setting sun,
Then apply that sight to your alphaness and grab your prehensile tail and run.
Remember to keep the memories of all the girls you’ve had,
But perhaps it’s best to move along because what happens next is bad.
There will be a challenger who will have impressively aggressive displays
And he will not give a banana flip about stories of your glory days.
So let the girls remember you the way you used to be,
Instead of getting humiliated for all of the world to see.
Go find yourself a lonely tree because that where you belong now,
And if you think that life’s unfair, it’s better than being Jaguar chow.
Said Harvard to Bucky
we feel quite so lucky
your genius on campus
has caused quite a ruckus
but this time we're sure you're less mucky;
And yet we're not sure
which department could endure
your thesis exegetical
your wisdom eisegetical
of what is and is not we're less sure.
Perhaps you're a poet
and the last ego to know it,
you thought this was science
mixed up with con-science,
poetically versed to think and show it.
When Bucky writes meta-physical science
we read him as physical conscience
and that could be fine
it fits with his rhyme
of teleopathic resonance.
There once was a Fuller who prehended
a Special Case universe co-prehensile
Earth fractal embrace
wears polymathic face
as synergetic wisdom's eco-tensile.
Seahorses on see-saws prance, sashay and dance
gliding majestically under the sea.
No clip nor clop for this aquatic steed
for no legs adorn its knight-in-armour body.
Instead its fins keep these hippocampus poised
as they gambol gently and frolic about.
But of course it's a horse
with its tell-tale head and mane.
Ignore the odd prehensile tail
that some over-zealous strapper coiled.
It's a special horse for an undersea course
swirling and whirling silently
through seaweed strap slalom gates.
With no trot, nor canter, nor gallop, nor panting,
but with a leisurely pace in ambling gait,
like the painted horses on a merry-go-round,
the seahorse is forever poised,
in true dressage collection.
On life's easyrider days and nights
love plays a romping game.
On those more oppositionally challenging days,
and long anxious nights,
love is a hunt,
sometimes a passionate hunt,
special occasionally a compassionate hunt,
a mutual hunt
for truth about who is hunter
and who is hunted
and why
and when
and how do these co-arising functions transcend "or"
to gracefully meet in "and."
This primal function of love's synergetic force
hunts
like gravity.
Both parties,
all living entities,
hunt,
gravitate,
even those feeling hunted
haunted
stalked
fearful and anxious
competitively and unilaterally,
often in silos threatening despair.
We all search frantically for safe havens,
hidden from those hunting for our very self-identity,
our life,
or at least so it feels during those dissonant times.
What is a redemptive optimization strategy
for those hunting safe havens from death,
pursued by tyrannical lovers,
ego-identified life-sucking hunters?
When is it not an appropriate moment
to love the hunter,
the hunted,
and the hunt?
Is there a significant difference
between the romping love of fluid smooth days and nights
and the more strategic
logistical
personal
intimately co-prehensile
hunt for love transcending Ego-incarnate death?
Too seldom haunted hunted entities,
primally assuming cooperative investment
in our challenging rampant race
and pace of EarthTribal systems,
when a passionate challenge exhausts our smooth-skinned body,
and/or brain,
the hunted redemptively turn toward other hunters,
gratefully and mindfully inviting a wrestling-with match,
setting aside a wrestling-against death and fear match,
comprehending that compassioning our hunting love
always optimizes EarthTribe's regenerational future.
In love,
sometimes,
at least once,
it is my time to love loss,
to forgive away space and or time,
to redeem future spacetime
equivalently invested in me
birthing my original praxis of conception
as mutual reception--
eco-harmonic redemption.
“Thanksgiving’s Substance” (Internal rhyme)
T-hanks my soul for everlasting life, I am freed from mind’s strife,
H-eavenly Godly material, Love’s faith ethereal,
A-ngels appear as human flowers, they are of God’s powers
N-ever a thanksgiving cheer, without paranormal is clear,
K-ingships of which no strong winds, torments mustered of strife thus ends,
S-aving grace is thus evenly spaced, of Love’s happiness face,
G-iving honor not receiving, Love’s faith is in believing,
I-n core of a Godly being, is consciousness of seeing,
G-iving I am offering thanks, from love’s river of life’s banks,
I-n giving blessed gratitude, I shall give in multitude,
N-o more of storm clouds shall arise, as the illusion subsides,
G-od’s gift given all of Himself, reception is all that is left!
D-ocile of love’s complete bliss, by the Master Wisdom’s sweet kiss,
A-re illusions of prehensile self, as carnal mind I shelf,
Y-es, thanksgivings complete, as my new persona love I greet!
For Contest: Thankgiving Day
In Honor of Dane Ann smith Johnsen
Monkey
Prehensile tail
Jump, crack!
Crack crack
Branch cracks off, falls
Tail crush
Crush ugh
Monkey guys laugh
He sad
Sad she
Her eyes river
Tail bleeds
Bleeds heart
Monkey girls cry
Kiss Kiss
Kiss helps
When ass aches, burns
He dreams
Dreams girls
Crush on Pipi
Images
Images
Of bananas
Ripe plump
Plump smile
Say cheese flash on
Snap snap
Snapped ,sleep
Howled down by wife
Screech scream
Contest: Mussetle Train
Sponsor Richard Lamoureux
Poet: Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
Written on 19 December 2014
prehensile primate
swinging through the canopy
what a gripping tale
Hi-ku 2 contest 15/12/2020
Sponsored by Brian strand
Seahorses...Why?
Dear Mother Nature woke one day,
and looked around with a sly smile,
surveyed her Earth, both land, and sea,
then paused to think for quite a while.
She beamed with joy with her new plan,
to think outside the box, create
a wonder for her earthly seas...
a creature that would not equate.
Strange, tiny fish that swim upright,
sway like a plant that swirls and flails;
propel themselves by mini fins,
and anchor with prehensile tails.
With equine heads, extended snouts
to suck in plankton and shrimp brine;
and so unlike most normal fish,
no mouths or stomachs to define.
Must constantly eat food to keep
up energy, or they will die.
A gift that helps them spot their prey...
can steer their vision from each eye.
Romantic will their courtship be;
eight-hour dances, pairs will spin
close, side by side and joining tails;
then breeding offspring will begin.
Monogamous, some mate for life,*
and rarer too, the males bear young
from eggs embedded in their pouch
from which in time, babies are flung.
Dear Mother Nature laughs with joy!
Her new creation will defy
the rules for creatures of the sea...
for humans to...then question...why...
...come up with reasons for her plan...
not knowing, just...because she can.
Sandra M. Haight
~10th Place~
Premiere Contest: Seahorses
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Judged: 05/08/2018
*There are mixed commentaries on whether Seahorses really mate for life.
Some say yes, others say only some species do, others report that they
do not.
SEAHORSES
We ride ocean currents
We are small marine fish
With segmented bony armor
Such an upright posture, swish
A curled prehensile tail, a tubular snout
A head and neck suggestive of a horse
Mythical creature with horse's head and fish's tail
We are masters of disguise of sort
We camouflage game is on point
You may find us on a shrimp boat
We whom swim in groups are “frys” no joke
Our courtship begins with a daily dance
We gracefully swim together
As the little assassins of the sea at glance
When not courting we feed, as successful predatory killer's
We ride ocean currents
Hippocampus we are Sea Horses
4/26/18
Copyright © 2018
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
For Poetry Contest: SEAHORSES
Ground of Being,
Climate of All Becoming
horizon's here now moment
when MotherEarth
meets FatherSky
EcoSpirit bound solar fire heating air
warming crystal ice floating water
soaking absorbent soul of soil
rusting fractal minerals
decomposing eviL-ing flesh
regenerating Live-ing organic systems
open sets inform researching rhythms
percuss prehensile patterns
of octave colored sounds in songs
reconnecting mythic culture stories
reweaving co-grounded horizon long becoming,
Be longing nondual here/now
space/time
body/mind
natural/spiritual
justice/peace
universe/uniting
secular/sacred
reconnection.
Conservative View of taxation:
A prehensile grab
from an authoritarian patriarchal government
to steal from my short-term stockpile
of self-expansive cash.
Progressive View of taxation:
A GoldenRule government-issued invitation
to cooperatively invest in our shared short-term
and long-term health
and self-regulating safety
polyculturing future.
Moses challenged Conserving-Progressive FreedomPeople
to never forget
we have escaped the bonds of patriarchal plutocratic Egyptian grabbing
from our formerly enslaved Chosen Egos.
We are now both Governor and Governed,
cooperatively incorporated,
economically progressing our ego-conservationing
of democratic health and safety
ecopolitical outcomes.
Conservative View of health and safety:
Good for all,
but, when push comes to economic shove,
best for me to hoard
against an Egyptian militaristic day.
Progressive View of health and safety:
Of course we are always WinWin-only cooperative geopolitical players
of and for Earth's regenerativity.
So, we are happy to pay our taxes,
but we would be even happier if these would co-invest
Earth's climate health
and co-infested safety
EarthTribe's authentic health and compassion's global safety,
as Ego's bicameral co-empathic trust
in our GoldenRule cooperative
Exodus into our beloved Promised Land
of eco-political integrity.
Helios, open darkened shutters Night did seal;
Nyx's opaque, drawn shades one by one peel.
With prehensile fingers grip your enlightened quill,
Selene's pale orb with luminescent lines reel.
With gilded parasol twirl your flaming wheel,
Until enjoined sparks into tinted rays congeal.
In saffron waves, blanch horizon's, window seal.
On spindled beam, spin golden threads from creel,
Sheaves of golden flax span o'er ethereal hill.
Branching, with sonic beam pearly plains drill,
Until azure streams deep reservoir does fill.
With torch, burnt-orange meringue on puffy clouds spill,
then into earth's grainy purview with vigor steal.
With tempera, egg wash the Sky's blank stencil,
then with magnified lens illumine the scenic still.
Plunging downward, into denser troughs truncated waves swill.
Onto earth's jade footstool, solemnly kneel,
Drawing from vassal's, residual til.
Amber blades with brighter finish instill,
With waxy gloss the folio cover frill.
Masters of Trickery
alien ornithopters filled with pilgrims
gliding in under a full moon
foul smelling unwashed bumbling
hubcap jockeys from artless galaxies
firing bursts of compressed methane
in wanton hypnotic quantities
ended civilization as we know it
the survivors reel in stupor
the land is barren its people wail
our women masturbate exclusively
our men drool and **** themselves
except for a number of mathematicians
and barflies who did that anyhow
whoever said exile makes you smart
was a master of trickery and deceit
why did their science get them this far
then break down into useless tin
replacement parts are on the way
OK you can drive it just don't touch turbo
well he did and became one of the new gods
commanding the involuntary muscle groups
and the media of mass communication
Koko the hand sign gorilla was his High Priestess
Koko want play peek-a-boo
discovered anarchy all by herself
using those prehensile wiggly digits
to construct a portable explosive device
but potassium permanganate and peanut butter
must be mixed slow and her impatience
was set to fast so it went off in her face
leaving Koko beautiful as Venus
a miracle of chaotic reconstruction
when all she wanted for her head
was a tetrahedron
proving that existence is open source
the alien visit had been productive
many messages were left with us
could time have a center
asked the almond eyed pilot huffily
only huffy for him
was rip your head off
and didgeridoo down your windpipe
it looks like we all suffer from
gambler's syndrome
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/