Best Squiggly Poems
Ah, the fortitude of a circle
the circular wisdom
of spring to summer fall to winter
the spinning wheel’s twist of threads -
at once both self-reliant and reliant
my soul to embryo seed to seedling
the mettle it takes for the genesis;
for my poppy pod to wake and break
a tiny speck of matter a fleck of duality unleashed
I surrender my dormancy to the earth -
roots reach deep like pale squiggly fingers
..for my kernel was laid to rest to bustle to life..
while my headstrong head pushes up through the soil
I come to be.. like a new idea taking shape
a physical being grounded
while seeking the realm of the Sun
the source of spirit as essential
as the dark womb from which I emerge
with a heart budding with the universe from nothing
I sprout as a sprig from a rounded grain
conceived in a gold-dusted flurry of furry buzz..
a bumblebee's dalliance with the center of a whorl
a mote of pollen so mite-like -- but
m i g h t y
in purpose potential and power
woven together in the art of creation
wind-driven autumn rains and sips of melted snow
..mother’s milk during the passage of time..
sweetly feeds the gentle needs for my tender birth
daystar’s dabble-dance with shadows
charm the chill from the cradle of the garden floor -
warm ginger dapples flit to find me between
canopy gaps in swish and sway..
mini-spots mirroring the disk of the Sun reminds me;
the image of what I’ll become
when my solar heart shines in a petal-chalice of flame..
rapture stirs the layers of humus
penetrating my essence with a ripening
stoking my fortitude to fulfill my destiny
to break free of that which holds me down
and reach ever higher inspired by a promise;
the golden circle of solace.. the bull's-eye in the sky
whose glow does kiss and grow my soul -
my inner space of bright sure to blaze
in a blossom cup’s confinement
my soul to embryo seed to seedling
sown to assure my flowering
my earthy ascension fulfills Nature’s cycle of nativity;
above the loam I rise to unfurl
and lift my airy leaves’ uncurl up high
in praise of the light
as the end of a gray season curves
into the festive yellow equinox of resurgence
The poetry priestess Dawood
Donned her Bowler ,as only she could .
But a bad Irish breeze
Jellied her knees .
Still her squiggly scarf wrapped her GOOD !!!!
Crawling along the sidewalk,
his tiny legs wiggling along
with his wriggling, squiggly body,
he creeps me out!
If he survives the elements
or the stampede of hard-soled monster feet
upon his too-soft squishy body,
he will perform a disappearing act!
Spewing sticky strands
from glands near his mouth,
he twists himself into an ugly shell
hidden and hanging from a common twig.
Shedding skin, he slowly reveals
his chrysalis self.
At last,
his inner beauty, that rare beauty in disguise,
will have changed before our amazed eyes
into the colorful radiant wings
of a splendid butterfly!
Written Jan. 4, 2016 and pretty much my only free verse so far this year!
My mind a project of hesitation;
draw an oval maze of meditation.
Enter penciled lines, make them squiggly,
then paint it yellow for Mr. Wigley.
Squeeze a few lemons for it’s sometimes sour,
then let it dry for half an hour.
Stick here and there some golden stars,
before you inscribe my memoirs.
Use a hole punch or glue on swiss cheese;
for between my ears, sometimes a breeze.
Last, but not least, cover with cotton;
for the time it's fuzzy and things forgotten.
Then tear it all up, this art you’ve designed,
because suddenly Hon, I’ve changed my mind.
Written: 2/25/18
Contest: Mind the Wet Paint
Host: Viv Wigley
Skinny-dipping with you is a thrill
For a man who is over the hill
But just one squiggly squirm
From a small dangling worm
And a fish will dart in for the kill!
A Sperm Whale with a mouthful of krill
Can swallow more than you ever will
Only octopus arms
Could adore all your charms
But for you, this is only a drill
30.VII.19
(as per Jan's request, written for
Tania Kitchin's Two Sea-themed Limerick poetry contest)
Syllables Per Line: 9 9 6 6 9 0 9 9 6 6 9
Total # Syllables: 78
The sun blowtorches its way into the water,
fragments, and the bottom is an aqua sky
webbed by white-hot lightning.
Here and there, legs hang like halved mannequins
disappearing into a squiggly-bright ceiling,
through which you can make out
the slurred shape of a poolside palm tree.
The deep, guttural grooon-grooon of
the water’s stomach growling is all you hear,
dredging up a similar sound from your subconscious,
last heard while you were immersed, long ago,
in another fluid world.
The water suddenly internal-combusts
in a tangle of arms and legs,
flailing in a fizz of a million tiny bubbles,
some kid having just somersaulted into the blue.
Soon, another’s face splashes down before you,
slightly albino in the shining water,
bug-eyed with silvered goggles
like a child alien from a waterless planet
discovering buoyancy.
Then you realize it’s your own kid,
wobbling from side to side,
toothy, hair waving like smoke
as he dog-paddles away.
You come up for air, breaching the surface like a
graceless dolphin,
and clarity hits your ears,
a momentarily soundless din.
You can already feel your skin heating up
in the blast furnace above water,
confusing because there are beads
running down your face and neck, cold.
You suck a lungful of air and push yourself under again,
but not before catching a glimpse of your wife
drowse-browsing a magazine on her sun lounger,
and the two umbrellas,
the big one shading the miniature one
stuck in the snowy slush of your pina colada.
The waves slide over the shore
Leaving tiny, squiggly trails
The moon and sun battle for the sky
And the big, bright moon prevails.
The beach is shrouded in darkness
Dimmly lit by only one light
That dances through the undertow
Marching its way through the plight.
A stencil of gray laces the sky
Creating a vision of death
Slowly overcoming the shore
'Til it takes its last breath.
The ocean itself which had once held
So much life in its depths
Has become drowned in its own contents
It is meeting its own death.
A storm lashes its way
Solmnly across the sky
To make room for what will unleash
That will cause the very moon to cry.
Dancing and waltzing across the shore,
The moon sadly turns away
She can't bear to see her ocean like this
And witness it going astray.
With one, final, swift motion,
She casts her love out to sea
The love she held deeply for her ocean
The world, and all her countries.
She makes her way back to where she belongs
And lets the sun take over the sky
I didn't, in all my years,
Think I would ever see the moon cry.
But she shed those tears so bravely
And dried them so nonchalant
She turned and made her way back to the sky
Like it was something she could never want.
The moon had lost the battle
And, defeated, began to fade away
Then the sun began to dance, too
To celebrate a brand-new day.
One for you kiddies out there!
Have you hugged a llama today
Or a bunny or a kangaroo
You'll feel all squiggly and giggly inside
And a bit rumpity bumpity too
Not only will you feel all squiggly inside
But these guys will be wearing a grin
They sure like receiving those huggeroonies
You'll notice their tails start to spin
So if you spy a sad looking teddy
Or a kitten with eyes full of tears
Tell them you love 'em and hold 'em tight
You'll chase away all of their fears
Tonight when Mommy tucks you in
And gives you a big snuffily kiss
Remember the lonely animals out there
Blow them a kiss and don't miss
There's a moral here but I haven't found it
Maybe it's hiding under a chair
Hugging llamas and other poor creatures
Will really show that you care
© Jack Ellison 2013
Post coitum omne animal triste est,
sive gallus et mulier*
Yes, no cockerel who rules the cackling roost
Will stomach slander from Latin master;
But who will stand aside and let the ghost
Of hints slur old motherhood’s register.
Manhood must of needs hang its head in pain
After all the sweat and toil in loins of love;
After millions of squiggly soldiers in vain
Drop their lean tails at the egg wall alcove.
Only the fool who dares call woman’s bluff
Shall learn hard way positions in bedstead;
Virile pride will sink in the depths of fluff
While smooth gym-trained muscles rage instead.
As they say hereabouts sur le vieil Continent
La différence, Mon Sieur: lip’s shade content.
· * “After the sexual encounter every animal is
grief-stricken,
excepting the cock and the woman.”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005-2012. From the collection:
Poems Omega Plus, 2005. Rev. 2012.
You are the stuff my culinary dreams are made of.
Unending shapes and sizes.
From skinny linguini to the rounded orecchiette
and squiggly fusilli.
As my tongue tastes morsels of your saucy tubular goodness,
I compose a rhyme of the ancient marinara to atone
for my over-the-top pasta love.
Stuffed, plain, buttered. Swimming in Sunday sauce.
The tastiest were those plain whites I pilfered from the pot
before nonna caught me. Whack! with the wooden spoon.
It’s rumored my very first uttering was mangia – an oft-heard word
spoken by mama as she attempted to feed me.
“You’re going to turn into a rigatoni
if you don’t eat something else,” she implored.
Ha! If I were a rigatoni, we’d be cugini.
I only liked you, beautiful al dente you.
And semolina only, please. I accept no impastas!
You’ve been with me through thick and thin,
mostly thick ... around my hips.
Late night comfort snack,
midday bowl of depression-busting goodness.
The breakfast of strong Italian women!
You are Sophia Loren’s guilty pleasure.
Mine, too. With the emphasis on pleasure.
One bite and I am transported back to childhood.
Visions of homemade pasta drying on pristine
white flour sack towels tantalize my taste buds.
You, dear pasta, are la bomba.
My love for you is unending, until we all farfalle down.
Sister Josephine, our neighborhood nun.
No longer fit for ministry;
although she’s quit the nunnery,
she sits at our day camp nursery.
Go Jo uses every amp of energy
so as to champion or otherwise dampen
the spirit of grit in our scamps.
Sister Josephine, power shavers couldn’t stun.
Noise is born in my son.
Enjoying his horn on the run
from morn till night with the sun,
Boy Roy is fun, delightfully won.
Toys are Sprite cans, squiggly egg whites,
old cobs of corn and badly worn kites.
Sister Josephine, our savior you’d want.
Nursing their aches and their sprains,
reversing the stakes in their games,
she takes on blessing their brains.
Interspersed with pain, her tests will train,
coerce and arrest their thoughts with some stress.
Her heart makes and breaks their quests.
Sister Josephine showers favors - on good done.
Rhyming Words:
Stanza one:
no, although, Go, Jo, so
fit, quit, sits, spirit, grit
ministry, nunnery, nursery, every, energy
camp, amp, champion, dampen, scamps
Stanza two:
noise, enjoying, Boy, Roy, toys
born, horn, morn, corn, worn
son, run, sun, fun, won
night, delight, Sprite, whites, kites
Stanza three:
nursing, reversing, inter/spersed, coerce
aches, stakes, takes, makes, breaks
sprains, games, brains, pain, train
blessing, tests, arrest, stress, quests
Random rhymes in the the single lines:
our, power, showers
(neighborhood), (shavers could), (savior you'd), (favors/good)
nun, stun, want, done
Unmeant meanings
Words keep watch
their eyes in the empty spaces
fingers feel their unformed faces
Can words mean what they were not meant for all by
theirnonselves
even if they come clothed in nonentity
cuneiforms hieroglyphics ideophonograms
strokes signs signals sounds shapes silences squiggles squares squirms suctions squirts scuds screams squelches screeches screams or sickening sobs
words sum up fix errant thoughts
speak for all
though in tongues without jousting knights
errancy will not lead to errantry
Only the blind conceive their shape form posture
the staid but rumbunctious music of stilled hieroglyphs
the pliability of ideograms caressed down rice paper
their squiggly strands
the self-effacing hand-and-foot maidens
of matronly phrases
some leaning awry
the calligrapher’s trembling hand
all all straining upright
the custodians of invested stock
foot-stools of pouting poets
the sum-total of coveted currencies
exchanged stock variables
Who would be hurt knifes himself
with meaningless words
who would laugh
breaks out into song
the sing-song stress and accent of vowels round and strong
learns wayward steadfastness
with his words
with words
with the word
with the world of wonder in
always willing and wilful words
April 23, 1997
From the privately-pub. coll. (re-worked 2016): longhand notes (a binding of poems), Paris: 1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
"Breakfast for two"
Callie the cat
climbed the cypress
curious for something to eat.
Benny the bird
perched on a branch
just a claw out of Callies reach.
Benny the bird
spied a round worm
snaking along the ground.
Few a-ground
went Benny the bird
and chowed the yummy thing down.
Now Benny the bird
sat licking his beak
enjoying his morning treat,
while Callie the cat
planned the attack
for too her morning treat;
Well Benny the bird
no longer around,
to see mornings a-new
For the squiggly round worm
that became a treat
was also breakfast for two...
Maybe Mom
In the first few weeks my brain is formed.
And in your womb, my heart is warmed.
My arms and legs are stretching out.
I am a baby, without a doubt.
I have fingers and tiny toes.
And a pretty cute, button nose!
My eyes, mouth and squiggly ears:
Are in there place, yet you have fears.
MAYBE, I am a big surprise.
You’re not ready for lullabies.
MAYBE, you’ve been hurt really bad.
I am sorry, that you are feeling sad!
MAYBE, you just don’t have much money.
And cannot see, that the sun in sunny!
Maybe, its something that the doctor said.
And for my life, you do dread!
MAYBE, you just don’t understand.
My whole life, God has planned!
He trusts you will bring forth my life.
He knows your heart, and your strife!
He wants to help you make it through.
But if you end my life, you’ll still be blue!
I realize someone gave you a choice,
So I beg of you: please heed my voice!
I want to breathe in the ocean air.
I want to hear you say a prayer.
I want to know what it means to live.
MAYBE MOM, my life you’ll give?
Stacey Brown 1-22-14
Written on the anniversary of Rowe vs. Wade
Have you hugged a llama today
Or a bunny or a kangaroo
You'll feel all squiggly and giggly inside
And a bit rumpity bumpity too
Not only will you feel all squiggly inside
But these guys will be wearing a grin
They sure like receiving those huggeroonies
You'll notice their tails start to spin
So if you spy a sad looking teddy
Or a kitten with eyes full of tears
Tell them you love 'em and hold 'em tight
You'll chase away all of their fears
Tonight when Mommy tucks you in
And gives you a big snuffily kiss
Remember the lonely animals out there
Blow them a kiss and don't miss
There's a moral here but haven't found it yet
Maybe it's hiding under a chair
By hugging llamas and other poor creatures
You'll skip down life's thoroughfare