Best Pseudonym Poems
Life, as a pseudonym,
Drags its shadow's shadow, which snarls
Itself around traffic cones and
Streetlamps, tearing at its skin
With deliberate intimacy
To alarm light witnessed
Only through strained peripheral vision.
A lace-stitched veil
Slips through sidewalk cracks,
Unisolated windows,
Cataract smooth eyes.
The flesh of the matter invades
Such as the Red Death
In living color--Vibrant
Cadavers speak the language of Love:
Mortality;
It slides over possessive nouns, sticky
As salivation,
Push and rattle and harbor themselves against
Warm, wet cavities eroded
In the backside of actualities
Sweet Tooth.
Authentic miasma, honest illness.
Any footprints discarded in covers of dust
In which Fear has been recognized
Yield into thoughts by persuasion
Of waves.
Harpoon Loouey - Pseudonym Pen Bukowski
although just a pint size Notre Dame
hunched quarter back
with rock solid state frame
Pen (short for pennilessness),
a generic cents less game
some dime a dozen
day late dollar short left lame
leg quarter back
reminisced to the regular name
mass a chew sitz
bay thing ghosts of shame
full gory days his
unbridled victories on the grid
iron, what he lacked in stature,
he more than hid
as stealth weapon
compensated as air tight lid,
when getting hold of pigskin
grasped for dear life
after he instantaneously
morphed into octopus squid
as his tentacled suction-cupped fingers
dug into the thick
leather as if going
on whale'n expedition
after he did slick
his harpoon, this smirking,
eponymous, notorious,
and villainous sea sunned
marine monster (he proudly and quick
lee happily posed atop cetaceous creature
moments prior to prick
king the infamous Moby Dick,
which briny deep exploits landed him a gig
as one super (albeit pint sized) athlete,
plus adept at performing an Irish jig,
whence (by George) his polymath
"Twinkle Toes" Shaw man ship agility
spread be yon male pig
former and latter noms de plumes
hash-tagged, and etched
on his tombstone after 'til rig
or tenon mortise peri wig
gulled last living breath of salty air
after exhausting simony lick kits bare
meanwhile, forever refining
blubbering profane words crystal clear
aware that his demise could occur,
perhaps during exploit far out to sea
with salty water everywhere,
thus this thick raunchivist
Like water falling over a crest
A swift rapid descent into a black hole
The paradox known as my life
Disguised as a pseudonym plunging
Ever deeper into a swirling
Of emotions into depths unknown
Cascading over cliffs at ever greater speed
Feeling out of control
Coalescing into a bottomless pit
The sheerness of the sides
Ever sharper the deeper I fall
Leaving no way out
Holding my breath
For the inevitable free fall
Into a chasm of darkness
Is this my destiny or fate
Or just another nightmare among many
That I will endure
Until...
Andreas Simic©
A talent
that outlived
passing fame-
hidden beneath
her lover's name.
Tribute to Mary Evans ie George Eliot
master bait catching fear
some skipper known in whirled wide webbed
under water world,
cuz rumor did hear
auld his death defying exploits infiltrated
into the most remotely secluded lair
asper rugged crunchy captain
who didst dare
the devil with dirty deeds
done dirt cheap, which flair
subjected suffered gross distortion
due to optical glare
pandemonium ensued, sans each small hair
along backbone viz zit ting spinal tap vie
tall hetty to rise
a flickr ring shutterfly
more years than anyone could reckon, even Pi
Tha Gore Ass, hence
mystery fed legends,
any rhyme or reason asper
ruddy faced weather beaten
expert, who sailed every square inch
of the globe well nigh
cutting down to size mythologized
outrageous Leviathan sized monster
mashing machine with jaws of steel
that did wonders for the tourist industry the my
tee buck reared, snorted, twittered no lie
as truth told by Ishmael,
whom aye did befriend
(said galley hand decked the halls,
of christened ship Pequod),
who strongly attest didst descend,
despite incontestable stance,
sans supposition,
aye aver Captain Ahab
DID NOT perish at sea,
thus, his privateer life
did not meet a cruel end,
but believe his doppelganger incognito
body double electric reincarnation fiend
actually said peg legged swash
buckling adventurer of the high seas,
that saline mosh pit - by gosh
(hee...hee...hee
how blimey lame such archaic balderdash
(anyway...i gotta hunch), ghost
of spirited sailor lives incognito,
here at 2 highland manor
a this bucolic schwenksville,
pennsylvania enclave.
There is power in a name and with my name my abilities amplify,
An alter ego of sorts I don,
To help paint my true self across a page,
A second destiny,
I choose my fate once again,
Or should I say they choose their own fate for the first time,
I am a poltergeist crafting the words on behalf of my significant other,
Two worlds I don’t wish to collide just yet,
Therefore, one must remain the shadow,
Identity shrouded in secret,
I could be male, female, non-binary,
No system can pin me down,
Since I’m neither a 0 or a 1,
Chromosomes; X and Y, don’t apply here,
Those letters are only useful when I’m coordinating my reasons why “X marks the spot” on these treasures of words gifted as a poem,
I am my writer’s puppeteer,
The only irony…
Is that I create freely,
No strings attached.
My name, William A Cleator, sounds like a stuffed shirt to me,
but Billy TheKidster sounds like a lot more fun possibly.
Dear unknown sage who writes with grace,
I flip each page and live fond trace.
Your words inspire a prompting quest,
There is a fire that floods firm zest.
Each wordplay verse springs a firm light,
I now observe true magic bright.
Upon the whim of wit and form,
There hurls a theme beyond mere norm.
Lines breeze and wave in tragic seas,
As if to save what comes to be.
Lines gather round images here,
Find common ground to fund sure spheres.
Words cast ideas to greet wordplay,
Sweet moments cheer, sad feelings stray.
A picture zooms within my view,
I now make room for trials that cue.
Shades and tints flow in afterglow,
A timely hint echoes to show.
The pathway leads to garden tryst,
I stop to heed, sort that and this.
Waves rise and fall like sweet and gall,
True sense recalls, memory stalls.
Dear writer show, the unknown sphere,
Pulse flavours flow, right movement cheer.
Leon Enriquez
07 Apr 2014
Singapore
his passion
self taught, no degree, very insecure
he does it anyway
his pseudonym
surname of who makes the art
he likes the most
his life
could be cut shorter, could happen
he waits a chance