MOMENTOUS DIMENSIONS-:-
idealistic
concentrated
conclusions
symbolized
sensibility
in a VISUAL CULTURE
essential
generic
culture
sympathetically
treated
in EXPLORATION OF THE IRRATIONAL
metaphysically
experienced
memories
bizarrely
expressed
(30.4.75: the USA abandons its ally, South Vietnam:
Darwin Judge is the last American to die in Saigon)
Don't ever tell me this was dignified.
I never want to hear of heads held high,
of brothers-in-arms, or marching out with pride.
Just take the pain. It's how it was. Don't lie.
On Wednesday April thirtieth, we ran.
We scurried from the post we should defend,
abandoning the flag, the 'wife', the plan.
We scrambled out, and didn't take our friends.
They washed up all around us, thick as kelp.
To linger here was worse than death. They knew.
Whom else but us could they beseech for help?
We climbed aboard without them. Off we flew.
"White Christmas" played bizarrely, over again,
and big white guys with guns backed from the line
where squatted cooks and cleaners, handymen.
Our time had come to go. This was the sign.
We were their only hope. But, on the sly,
(John Wayne we weren't. Not even Dennis Hopper.)
so no-one would wise up, we - Semper Fi -
snuck sheepishly aboard the final chopper.
Southern Rata (is a stunning Kiwi Tree)
Red or scarlet harlots instead...a bucolic frolic..
Tranches spread as if bulbous branches have gorgeously bled..
Overpowering flowering towers glimmer…fanciful fairytale shimmers showering...
Such vim...swim on a whim..sprouting on an outing from their pouting wooden limb....
A delight..refining..shining bright.. defining.. these bizarrely beautifully gnarly trees...
Crimson collage..insisting snarling tendril darlings..timber tentacles twisting…a magical mirage....
Marooned yet cocooned in a festooned lagoon...wouldn't barter anything…
To swoon at the miracle..spectacular boon of Southern Rata ...
Billy, the biographee
bought Bette, his biographer
A beautiful blue biosatellite
But the blue beast’s biosensors
breached biotechnical buffoonery
by behaving bizarrely and biting
Betty, the biographer’s bottom.
Bet Billy’s biography won’t be as
brilliant by and by.
Early on, ere the grassy knoll gathers momentum
huddled shivering against the ground, stemless tops
of yellow dot the lawns of the old neighborhood, signaling
winter's demise without shouting Spring too loudly...
In a wink or a blink of an eye, these wild buttons
mushroom, spreading far and wide, usurping
the green mantle of my lawn, stems now shooting forth
twisting and turning at jagged angles, bizarrely...
at times, wild undergrowth barging into a (civilized) urban plot
when poof! their signature yellow smiles vanish, dispersed into
puff balls, architectural marvels, wind-scattered seeds, ubiquitous
but not before my inner child picks out a lovely bouquet
for my saintly mother
April 07, 2019
Entry in DANDELIONS contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Autumn's moon truly radiant and full
in a stippled and rapture blue sailcloth
of inward bliss. How fragile is the troth
in nature's errs that's hurled into the pull?
Alter of light dramatize trembling leaves
drifting throughout on the gravel below.
Shadows cast across the ground in repose.
Silence surge as darkness draws, heed for thieves.
Snappish breeze spring up slicing through darkness.
Wet mist and fever dew glimmer and press
earth's unturned heart yet bizarrely ageless.
Then, gently kiss in soft fading stillness.
Winters day lull in early calm slumber,
veiling life into a frosted wonder.
2/26/2019
al·ter
verb
change or cause to change in character or composition, typically in a comparatively small but significant way.
Have you ever witnessed a real UFO?
Those things with lights in the night sky;
Moving bizarrely around?
Unidentified crafts
Perhaps they are some
Angels that are
Playing games
In the
Sky?
There's this break room—
Where I work, of course—
That holds three microwaves,
one refrigerator, a stove,
and two vending machines.
All cannot be younger than
Five years at the earliest.
This break room is tiled
But rather dirty despite
Monthly scrubbing and mopping.
I and my coworkers—
Most Guatemalans and
Salvadorans, but there is a
Single Mexican—eat here,
Our bags of chips, fruits,
microwavable nonperishables—;
A couple of ladies
Cook tortillas upon the stovetop.
The chairs are either plastic
Or metal, but, bizarrely,
There's a comfy-looking
Cushioned seat and even
A varnished, wooden swivel.
The makeup is makeshift,
This break room. And,
Along one of the sills of
The big windows at the far
End, are empty glass salt
And pepper shakers. The
Salt shaker's glass design
Features vertical lines,
The ridges comfortable in
Your hand. The pepper shaker
Carries horizontal lines.
They've been there since I
First began work, never
Holding any spices themselves.
there's a bewildering flow
of muddled elements
a midst an enduring glow
of befuddled contents
a character emerges
with a mystifying physique
and bizarrely foolish urges
amplified by the artist's technique
thrust into a shocking story line
sent on an insane mission
to accomplish something divine
and fulfill the writer's vision
the anatomy of this character
clashes with the background
creating an extravagant disaster
unlike any ever found
in the mystical land of story time
within the magical universe
of rhythm and rhyme
oh so tragic is this verse
On a blue mystic land
I landed bizarrely tonight
Fancied silhouettes and blue moon
Sparkling night, glowing in white
Witnessed, dark and tranquil earth
Blessed by illumination of full moon
That night still was dark, albeit I repeat,
It was blessed by full moon’s boon
Shadows of birds flew by under this starlit sky
Spellbinding howls of wolves reached my sensation
As if a blue devil pulled my soul
In the bewitching blueness of gratification
Numbing my grief-stricken soul
And pulling me out of worldly pleasures
There I was in the full moonlit sky
Mesmerized by nature’s unearthly treasures
The sand is pouring soo fast.
I feel incredibly entombed.
I yearn to break the hours surrounding me,
the way I got that wound.
And even though, I am all alone,
in the dark, in the estranged, I am free.
The blackened tree is healing,
and timidly I'm becoming me.
So when you wonder why your advances are startling,
perplexing, and bizarrely sweet.
Understand that this hesitance reeks of the hopeful.
The dreams, that a dreamer doth seek.
And then, unexpectantly, you looked on me.
In the way that a hungry girl fasts.
And my body weeps as it always should have,
I am, but the sweating glass.
The staccato stammering of bass guitars
punctuated the flash of strobe lights.
Limitless vistas of black and gray;
smothering the crowd in ghoulish poses.
Framed, as if frozen, in a glow of acid white.
Some stagger, their movements mimicking,
the rigors of death or birth?
Others jerk puppet like
upon invisible, randomly clipped, strings.
And, as the music grinds to a halt,
driven by the apocalyptic pace of the Disc Jockey,
and the hard scratching sound of synthesizers;
the charmed, trance dancers disperse;
swallowed whole by the shadows.
*St. Vitus's dance was a social phenomenon
that occurred primarily in mainland Europe
between the 14th and 18th centuries;
it involved groups of people, sometimes thousands at a time,
who danced uncontrollably and bizarrely.
Men, women, and children would dance
through the streets of towns or cities,
sometimes foaming at the mouth
until they collapsed from fatigue....and the beat goes on....
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.