Best Siphoning Poems
What smug pseudomorph
inhabits my reflection,
adroitly mimicking my
every manner and expression,
mercilessly mocking me
with flawless simulation?
She is the great pretender;
a master counterfeiter;
a furtive opportunist;
a thieving imitator.
She is a soul-sucking demon
of the gravest degree;
a brazen parasite
feeding on health and ingeny,
pillaging my youth
with savage gleam and glee;
siphoning my precious hollow
of vitality.
Time ticks across my aging face
while our eyes lock in defiance,
and in the end, my spurious friend
will demand my full compliance.
So, with a twinkling eye I wink
at my mirrored facade,
acknowledging this fearsome foe
with a playful nod.
Respectfully reciprocal,
she gestures back to me in kind,
and we part as esteemed enemies,
to my last breath resigned.
---------------------- "Word Nerds" (like me)...
************Please Have Fun & Read VERY Closely:)***********
now and again
a word
sneakily obscure
approaches the fog in me
screams its name
suddenly
apropos adverbs appear
clearly
startling
perplexing
precarious adjectives
slick little nouns
caught hiding
beyond babbling brooks
sent to exile
defiling crooks
"pro"fessional nouns
jailed
beneath eight parts of speech
preposition'ed
pre'fixed subjects
elusive predicates
slithering suffix'ation
turn-ing key
delicately
through holes
freeing vocabulary
trapped
within prison walls
synonyms
pen bars
filled in the past
participles
plagued
like Job's tedious job
of siphoning
deciphering
homographs from heteronyms
words never mind...
they wind the mind
gliding
in the wind...
A contracted seafarer...concerning no servile rank,
kept e'er involved watch...away from menial daily tasks top deck,
while steadfast wary of...the diligent taskmaster's whip.
A dawn swift gust...brushes the ship from a rocky pillar,
duly rallies from rest...aids calamitous bellows from crow's nest,
witnessed by crew...rose an angel disguised with devil horns.
Seawater laps feverishly...against ship's wooden hull,
as panic over breed minds...once sturdy legs go feebly about,
cascading thoughts grips privately...every man for himself.
Another abrupt action...frees a churning sea expounds,
and an opening hole...devouring anything within its midst,
as desperation consumes...a ship has long met its doom.
A lone selfless soul of limited else...moved past the lost,
and hastily clutched a burdened javelin...and hoist it upwards,
with his petitioned combined strength...released the deadly blow.
Her dying scream...was drowned out by restored happy voices,
and a wealth of well-wishes and praises...honoring accolades,
as lone eyes of a humble sort...gaze a siphoning pass.
The truth was concealed with many branches
Entangled on a trellis of deceit ,
The anger reflecting inked blots on weeds
As I cruised alone through evening’s approach...
To bid his disguise hidden like veiled twigs
Crumbling, withering in this labyrinth
Till the pretense of fidelity glared;
Siphoning a love untrue, root to bough...
How my heart sullen as dusk tumbled on,
Into a maze where a breeze folded its wings,
Its cry echoing my black homily
That in a daze I recalled his footsteps...
Yet, each step I trailed became ashen clay ;
His distorted ploy stirring a flamed rage
Where old leaves fall in the bleak of moonlight.
Lewis Rayne's Contest
Emotional Anger, hurt, rage
Submitted 12/1/2017
Tenacious ichor tells entire construction
Divulges puerile battles during idle procedure
Relic compiling spotlight show seduction
Library ivory tower truth siphoning beseecher
Adapted lady adorns princely throne
Padlock hammocks tween valuable threads
Warm cove cocoon moors love's loan
Imbibing cover only, for information dreads
Mould folded within her novel costume
Pacifying massage, limbs lubricated levitate
Elephant keratin tusk thrusts impromptu
Smudge of shame fades chalk dust archaic
- Fifth September
Fabricating Sculptor
as midnight strikes
Count Dracula
sweeps across the floor
his piercing onyx eyes
locked on his prey
executes with artful grace
his macabre dance seduction
in one captivating swoop
charming the panting victim
she offers it up
as he sinks his teeth
siphoning from the porcelain neck
her ruby essence
AP: 3rd place 2020
You are tragedy incarnate.
You're the whisper to the sky
That tore the world asunder
And you didn't need to try
Absolute opacity
at maximum capacity
Fill your mind up endlessly
With all the never meant to be
Wretched be this parasitic tag along you hide.
That filth you feed is evil, and it's time it ing died.
Betrothed be to misery, In confidant confide.
Hells nowhere you chose to be, It's always there inside.
Welcome. I find you're here again.
Funny how I catch you creeping back in now and then.
Used to be you'd stay as long as I cared not to care.
Now that I look back I left a lot of myself there.
The weight of all this emptiness, alleviates the (w)hole.
Now the mind is paralysed, it must destroy the soul.
Siphoning your entity to nurture the abyss.
Taking away everything to only give you this.
Seas are awfully rough, I hope the maelstrom abides.
The swift and gentle bliss, of her chaotic tides.
She will sooner drown me than she shift a single drop.
But the journey isn't over cause the journey doesn't stop.
Careful! I'm only here to help.
I saw that you were wounded, thought I'd nurse you back to health.
You're not captured.
Though it seems I've been myself.
Have some things that you might need.
Guess just time if nothing else..
Perhaps you'll share some with me?
We'll keep it for ourselves.
You are mercy here incarnate
You're the whisper at our side
That lulled the world to slumber
So you didn't need to hide
HARVEST TIME
There are no roots to see, not with our eyes,
that stretch from earth, umbilically below;
not even to the sun, to realize,
but there must be a chord we do not know;
Are we not on a fruit, still ripening?
Perhaps we are the nectar from the tree,
Awaiting harvest time's great siphoning
When all are ripened; it's our time to be.
And we will be plucked from the path we're on
Around the sun, into a vat and pressed;
The vintage of Apopolictic Dawn,
Revealing vast unknowns, we've never guessed.
Then all our stuff of non-sense; all we thought,
Ferments into the past, already bought.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
******************** "Word Nerds" (like me)... ************
**************Please Have Fun & Read VERY Closely:)***********
Now and again
a word
sneakily obscure
approaches the fog in me
screams its name suddenly
Apropos adverbs appear
clearly
startling
perplexing
precarious adjectives
slick little nouns
caught hiding
beyond babbling brooks
sent to exile
defiling crooks
"pro"fessional nouns
jailed beneath eight parts of speech.
Preposition-ed
pre-fixed subjects
elusive predicates
slithering suffix-ation
turn-ing key
delicately
through holes
freeing vocabulary
trapped
within prison cells
synonyms
pen bars
filled in
the past participles.
Plagued
like Job's tedious job of
siphoning
deciphering
homographs from heteronyms.
Words never mind!
they wind the mind gliding in the wind...
Blind obedience is slavery.
Freedom siphoning governments count on your blind obedience.
I was just doing my job.
It's not my fault I maim and, murder.
My personal ethics and, morals disappear as I am blindly obedient.
Anxiety can fuel a person with imaginations created from the darkest corners of the mind, overwhelming them with the negativities of the unknown.
It is in those moments where it’s critical to take a step back and remember to breathe, to exhale the toxics fumes of what is known as anxiety.
Thoughts of the uncertain tomorrows will only drain you of today’s strength,
reducing your functioning capabilities in the present moment whilst siphoning away your optimism.
Anxiety by itself is nothing but a simple concern about the uncontrollable future;
it is our reaction to anxiety that is poisonously damaging to our psyche, entrapping us in a toxic cloud of helplessness.
Thus, alleviation from anxiety is necessary in order for us to optimize our functioning capabilities for today’s responsibilities.
Concerns and worries about the future will always exist but becoming overly fixated on them is what hinders our ability to be productive in the present moment.
File away your worries about situations that are not under your control and focus your mind and energy towards the worries that can be addressed presently.
It is only after you begin to chip away the outer layers of an onion that you will ultimately be able to target the core.
Make the most of what today brings by using today’s strength to target today’s problem and leave tomorrow’s struggle for the tomorrow you;
you are doing the best you can today and today…
you are productive.
By: Johnny K. Wong
Lines and Lines
I live, I die for lines,
not the nose siphoning
mind blowing
heart racing kind.
I live, I die
for ink-injected
comely designed lines
the heart fluttering kind.
Kathy Collins
HARVEST TIME
There are no roots to see, not with our eyes,
that stretch from earth, umbilically below;
not even to the sun, to realize,
but there must be a chord we do not know;
Are we not on a fruit, still ripening?
Perhaps we are the nectar from the tree,
Awaiting harvest time's great siphoning
When all are ripened; it's our time to be.
And we will be plucked from the path we're on
Around the sun, into a vat and pressed;
The vintage of Apopolictic Dawn,
Revealing vast unknowns, we've never guessed.
Then all our stuff of non-sense; all we thought,
Ferments into the past, already bought.
© Ron Wilson Arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Batteries Not Included
They sit – idle memories – languishing
crusted filth - a city’s weeping gutters.
Detritus of fast food disposal clings
to scentless bloodied thorns of tear soaked rose,
future maple trees sailing sewer bound,
adrift on a city’s polluted dreams.
Yellow lights a-swirl on oil slickened streets
highlight a scrawny stalking alley cat
sad mime back arched on a red brick facade.
Cold shush of tires on icy pavement
hissing at the joy of dancing snowflakes,
chilled chatter of recycling’s shopping carts.
Barrier reefs of soft restaurant lights
deflect the silent hardness of the night.
Wet dogs shiver in the blue cell phone light,
taut leashes battling absent owners
check for “Pee-mail” on “Face Book” fire hydrants.
Puddles torment the feet of passersby,
tempting the feet of children and adults
dampening the spirits of the homeless.
Gutters, siphoning off a city’s soul,
seeking salvation from a moonless night
in search of a coldly distant sunrise.
12/27/2016
submitted to – Form – B – Poetry Contest
To tell or not to tell
that is the question.
If it is better
to take up arms
against tycoons
siphoning blood
from pension funds
or to endure
the wrath of numbers
set on arguing:
To thyself be true
two and two is four
without added
000,000,000,000
Santa Claus bonuses!
Ignoramus adding fives
subtracting nines
to cover up crimes.
Shredding numbers
into the trash
hiding cash,
Pulling number
out of the hat.
Three and three is nine?
Poor numbers
bare to the bones
as unequivocal in truth
as in lying
unlimited by culture
undiminished by time
universal and immortal
can’t be minced
sweetened or doubled
to camouflage a lie.
Ah, if words were like numbers!
Would I be a writer?
First Place Winner in Oliver Mckeithan Contest: The Bard's Birthday-4/28/25