Best Prickled Poems

On the south-western side of the old mission school,
near the corner of First Street,  where blackberries grew
a field claimed by youngsters was crosshatched with tracks.
It was riddled by gophers and, nettled with fox-tails
and the children's bare feet had constructed thin trails,
cupping deep paths that...

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There it was gazing up – radiant – 
radiating kaleidoscope silver green;
sharp with life, ready and expectant.

Spreading its claim, pressing out the grass,
was a thistle born from last year's seed unseen.
From where had it blown here to outclass

the perennials of the turf? Its time
now come...

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My head has known a thousand rests;
it has floated on feathered softness,
and silk curlicued with a silken tress;
been prickled by the grass of a meadow,
under a hung menagerie of clouds. 
Into rumpled sheets of sand it has pressed, 
and the sleepy valleys of maidens’ breasts....

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deranged snapshots of reality
full-moon's analytical quagmires
conceptualizing archetypes, 
creating art of duplications
venturing prickled duplicity,
slapped me bout sideways
insinuated tacklin' romance, 
uncompromising twist since
you thought me a maniacal *****
took a spin on the wily horizons
landed horizontal 'tween thighs
'twas a wee prick of somethin'
naught patter of heartbeats,
whitewashed the lunacy...

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I killed my friend,
I never wanted,
Do not see me cruel,
I did it for love.
We both ran naked
Under this influential shower.
No one uncoupled his lips
Against this faint madness,
We were indebted,
Either had to earn the prize.


It was shiny,
Elegant!
Burnt cold,
Polished gold.
Oh no!
I couldn't bear it,
Bear to see his...

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It's Poppies, poppies o'er the land,
stuck fast to collars; prickled hands.
Blood red, emblazoned, filled with pride,
A poppies heart shall never hide!


Poppies, poppies; our best, our brave,
The fallen ones we could not save.
Instead, they marched ahead to cheers,
We love them always, shedding tears.


Poppies, poppies, share our...

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There was once a lady called Ms Jack
Who lived near a grass region called Tack.
When prickled by the grasses
On her way with her glasses.
She let down her glasses and her Jack.



 
For Andrea's "Show Me The Funny" Contest....

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dear Judge
if you were me, would you do what I did

because of the roots of my hair
some shadowy gulf gods got hold of me
and they laughed while they held me
in the howling fjord where my grandfather
once mopped their bathrooms and my father became
himself Satan’s Cheerleader...

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LATE AUGUST

It’s late August    with Labor Day on my mind
Something sharp and indistinct is in the air
I sense it all along my prickled skin
My forehead    in my hair

Kids would seem to play more frantically    as though...

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The corridor is darkly invasive
usurpation knows not where it steers,
my nightgown caught on wildfire, 
ending was indubitably a flimsy inferno
dreaming phantasma went up in smoke
i was flying naked in my captured head,
blissfully feverish in comfortable suffering
chose not to wake as you prickled slumber,
whilst functionally violaceous...

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It is so hard to let go of love,
lovingly.

It sharks, 
unpeels more gut more quickly
than reel or reeler ever lost
in all those years of lazy inches
in and out:
casting,
winding in and playing out,
hardly fishing, rarely catching
anything
from the deepness out of sight,
hardly ever losing . . .
anything.

Blisters...

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The sheriff had a visitor who growled like thunder,
a rabid dog, teeth bared trying to tear him asunder.
She howled that he'd attacked a member of her pack
Saying Mark was the aggressor and giving him flack.

She told him he'd listened to those who are wrong
then called...

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Shivers all over the atmosphere
Fevered by a bizarre spirit
Enrobbed in a shroud of grey, hovering
In the dry weird hemisphere
Within the graveyard curtain of mist
And lurking behind the skeletal frames of trees!

Have you too seen the ghost?
Or have you not felt it when it appears?
There it...

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Alone the hunter-
walked through the frozen tundra.
His will a plunder.


The tireless snow-
Beat harder at his prowess.
Just to let him know.


He will not survive.
Fate now bore his destiny.
For life he would strive.


He fought to a crawl,
he was a hefty burden,
glaring through his shawl.

He would have to...

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thumb tacked , tackled some say by the thumb,
  a
 bullied pencil pusher sitting upright at mid afternoon.  
so thin his ergonomic spinal robot as he leans back 
in his plastic office chair.

peering around the corner, around the darkened tan
 hedges of the...

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