Bevel Poems | Examples

Pause for thought

I can feel my tendons contort
The sickening crunch of bones breakage
The skin across my face pulling to a snout
My lips ripping apart as razored enamel
adorns a snap
Can’t stand
Beneath me legs bevel lowering me earthward

I can taste it’s iron on the back of my tongue
My stomach grimaces in tongues of twisters
Left need so far back
My ears ripping into points
Every rustle edible on the nights hum 

My screams no longer have a trace of humanity
Snarling spits and swirls of froth
Just highlights in the slit eyed shape I must become

Dismantled Rainbow

Fragile resolve aspires 
to capture the residual rainbow, 
weaves the lattice of life 
with spectral ribbons,
turns into a self-destructive 
psychosis syndrome
that fails to fling 
the insane illusion 
in the cloud of dreams,
for it has hypnotic leverage 
on the mind, 
mangled by 
s   t   o   r   m.

Wedged by the splitting bevel 
of slashing time,
the frail fragments of failure 
get lacerated from life,
scatter on the path
to the rainbow, 
yet untraveled, 
meanders marooned
in debris of derelict dreams,
disappear down the deep sinkhole 
of dusky oblivion. 

In lucent mystique mind,
transmuting thoughts 
flash on
ebony emotions.
Absolved of self-qualm
psychic crystal sparkles 
in sense stars’ aurora flare,
traces the prime trajectory
from the cosmic soul’s 
nebulous abyss,
within.

In the mesmeric meadow
of the inner topography, 
seraphic shadows dance mystified
with gorgeous sequined glitter 
of the sensuous stardust 
in the tune of
buoyant bliss.
The discernment mindscape 
makes the montage 
of the existential rainbow,
d  i  s  m  a  n  t  l  e  d.

Stand-N-Soak

Docked your own can it tote-n-land home
Locked unknown antidote to amp the mode 
Clamped-n-sewn your stamp will show 
Plan it slow in a long tramp you know
Boat the load and camp your stow
Go for broke to brand a glow
Sold your joke now stand-n-soak
Hold folk accountable and count your table
Don't poke a mountable route make a staple
Flow on ropes tight like cable
Low-n-behold a dangle blame angle
Won't hold me-n-strangle in a shame shamble
That’ll level the bevel playing field left disheveled
Hips shoveled as his groveled  
It’s bliss behold miss molted 
Changes skin manages kin 
Estranges them bandages again 
Rearranges agendas to gain
Free ranges attendance scars remain
Eerie chances dependence hard refrain 
Flee dances of steep step stances 
Weep wept lands won’t weaken plans 
We keep kept cans to seep sunken strands

Play It Backwards

If you really want to know, play it backwards
Put the record on, the Beatles or the Byrds
An act you may find seemingly absurd
A hidden message fail safe, I’m assured

Is Paul really here and on the level
Did a stairway to heaven lead you to the devil
Check each record groove and bevel
In redundant curiosities I revel

Did you find yourself in a sudden trance
In a prompt unusual circumstance
Perhaps then it’s more than chance
Of what began as music and a dance

A bit of messaging subliminal
Some entertaining and minimal
Others verging on being criminal
Few for the mind, almost medicinal

You won’t hear the message at their live show
Only between your own wall and window
For the secret put the record on and turn it slow
And play it backwards, if you really want to know

Oral Sex In Nigeria

A French walked into Nigeria with it,
Straight to Rose flower Hotel you can’t quit;
The Man’s Partner: Her Cleanest prostitute
At negotiating prices The Astute
And because he was dying for it ‘shrewd,’ 
Over her cruel price did not dare brood…

Hotel Material and Four Figures high, 
Not caring it might White Guy leave dry: 
And it’s not about thrusts, mere plain licks;
A flesh-close tongue mimicking wavy sticks

One might say a woman meaning to rob,
After some French had her sold The Job;
All to The Glory of Hardworking Satan
And bound to be bad to Prophet Nathan… 

And for six hours White French at work
Just after Bottle forfeited its cork;
Doubly Satisfied Eve moans a “Don’t pay…”
“But be sure you’re here without fail next day!”
All The sagacity of The Devil
Out to make Straight Lines of Life bevel.

The Rudiments of Wings

The wings of dream soar high 
to capture the rainbow rapture,
wrapped with chromatic charisma,
weave the tapestry of seraphic life 
with the hued ribbons of passion,
design the elemental latent lattice  
of self-seeking fervent syndrome 
that fails to force out fantasy haze, 
lurking behind the cloud of delusion,
for it has hypnotic leverage of trance
to blow my mind away in the wind.

Wedged by the splitting bevel 
of the slashing time of reality,
the frail fragments of failed entity, 
I feel framed for the irresolute life,
dispersed deranged on the path,
fading in the horizon of nowhere, 
not yet leading to the rainbow
that lies dismantled in the debris,
disappearing in the deep dark sky. 

Aspiring to retrieve the derelict dreams,
I configure the rudiments of wings to fly.

___________________

February 18, 2022
For Brian Strand's Premier Choice No 1188 Contest

What Can I Say

I don't really p[ay with fire
It just slurps at skin until
it takes what it needs
burns until i feel
looking at an upside down clock
in the bevel of a spoon
playing peek-a-boo
with the clouds and moon
soon just a backward noose
Hangi
-------n
-------g to the truth
we are ird

Completing Alignment

all she ever wanted to be was one with herself
and yet here she was disunited and fragmented
seeking what seemed out of harmonious reach

heart choked in a stranglehold of noosed reason
razor wire punctured her emotions and feelings
rational distortion shackled a delusion of truth

I just want to hold you safe and keep you insane
better the bevel you know than a slope you do not
a few abrasions won’t ache but passion will hurt

the mind banned foreign intrusion by sentiments
dangled a carrot of undefeated logic and thoughts
undermined every effort to feel emote and sense

it took great supremacy battles and mental afflictions
for her to raise a heart shaped brain from the dead
but her new union with Self defeated all loneliness

01rd March 2021

I Would Float

When we’re dancing around
Can’t keep my feet down
They barely touch the ground
As we move to the sounds 
I have such fun with you
My thoughts go askew
Good thing you are level
For I’m walking a bevel
And holding on tight 
With all of my might
If not I would float
And I’m afraid I would gloat
So excited to see
Me dancing with thee

Written 01/09/21 - 12:24 PM

In the Lightless Black

So i am going to explain this poem first
What kind of poem would Jack the Ripper write
so here goes

oh the white of light
on slivered knife as bone is met
Bathe in warm pumped blood
Beauty as i watch a person stop
Slink my ink
in the lightless black
How long have i been
lost in inspirations
breathe
cold blood taste of ironed fillings
You are now my art
my attempt
not perfect yet
something not missing
but i must
as moons bevel
limps cobblestone alleyways
My darkness
say it to me
come

Just a thought

I Think There Is a Piece Missing

A spoons not dangerous
i have heard
But in its bevel
in its curve
lies your eyeball
globe and nerve
Can't you see
with the one i left
Struggle and scream
bite your tongue
well the parts i stuffed
back in your mouth
stuck your eye brows
above your lips
weird moustache
but somehow it fits
sewed both ears
to make a butterfly shape
is it that a smile
that the scalpel made
My doctor advised some
time ago a hobby would be good
Started a jigsaw
and your the bits

Diagnosis-Psychosis Illusions

in my psychosis;
leverage diagnosis;
fragment minds hurting;
~
I bevel my watch
ruined vagrant derelict
my resolution
~
just to do nothing;
mind and soul in this sinkhole;
tarnish illusion;

diagnosis-PSYCHOSIS ILLUSIONS

6/12/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.

Tweaked

I dove boldly in to my psychosis
this gave me a kind of leverage
a tiny fragment of sanity
shiny bevel of edginess to my personality
so vulnerable, derelict, unloved
my resolution, a thought will blossom
explode in to this dark world
kill all the demons that ride on people’s backs
I see them clinging to people 
I see them feeding on people 
I see them, in the sinkhole
that ugly beautiful place, I visit sometimes
delusion or illusion
too scary, we need more love and kindness in the world
I’m swimming back to the top now

Entry to Eight word challenge poetry competition
Written 08.06.2019
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann

Broken

A permanent state of psychosis-
Floating in a pool of your illusion
Mentally a constant intrusion
Desire and loneliness committing collusion
I lament
While claiming the shattered pieces of our love -
Every fragment
Carrying the weight of sentiment
Incapable of balancing the existing leverage
Predicament tough to swallow like a hot beverage
Now regressed to this new constrict
Absence causes the feeling of derelict
My emotions now leaning at a bevel
The sinkhole in my heart carrying tears to fill a pool of any level...

In Diagnosis of Psychosis

in diagnosis of psychosis, his pincer glasses reddening his nose,
the professor’s leverage - his certificate upon his office wall - the know-it-all.

a fragment of his time spent examining inky blots - the bevel of distortions of a picasso-like mind. he derided himself for thinking his patient as a derelict, given his own raggedy suit, long scraggly beard. He tap..tap...taps his pen, thunking it against his papers...tap, tap, tap to the annoyance of this...ahem, derelict. 

“I must find a resolution to your illness. This panic you feel when you step into my office,” he can never bring himself to look the stranger in the eye.

with the vortex of a sinkhole, his innards drop out, when the derelict calls out,

“Times up!”

in conclusion of his illusion until next week, he thinks to himself,
‘next time we show up clean cut. that will fool him.’ he takes the blots with him.

he must know the answers for next time. the derelict must be locked up and he must be set free.

6/11/2019
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Kai Neumann

*My original is 14 lines. Please don’t hold it against me if the poem runs longer on PS.

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