Some time ago
One or the few of human beings
Had figured to create a crepe
Before
They were hunting birds
And covering their bodies with no feathers
In clay
…
Produce the GUILLOTINE
….
And throwing those birds in fire
They figured clay is hardened by the this
And this resulted in cookware introduction
With what
The boiled foods appeared in Mankind
Due very basic eating the desire
This finding
This the finding
This the very finding
You were supposed to found
Being by then by nothing stupid really bound
The Garlic can be prophylactic or the medicinal
Stupidity against the modern world there is no vaccina
Some time ago
The humans were drawing scenes of hunt on caves the stones
Today they want that everything is digitized
Researchers, wankers, users of the phone
We reckon shall be greatly minimized
And then in land or the prior the agriculture
We won't be buying the imported the the fruit
For price exceeding any sane the bound
These centimeters are these way converted proper to the foot
Kay had her lips done
We tried not to make fun
She looks like Daisy Duck
I would not have paid a buck
Her lips walk a foot ahead
Protruding centimeters from her head
Her face is abnormal in every way
I try not to smile as I pass her every day
dark is the morning dark is my phone with aliens rushing our border
i watch these vermin with contempt
i take my eyes off at 8am sharp
the commute is only an hour but a good first impression i will attempt
i bought the new phone today
it’s 0.5 centimeters bigger and even has another camera to survey
i stopped by the restaurant because its payday
the cashier’s wage is pitiful and yet they obey
that restaurant is slick with oil in the night
tomorrow the donkeys wake up to the styx
it's just the usual politics
though no darker than the previous night
some donkeys have houses, some half detached
some donkeys work carts, some clack away at keyboards
all sleepy
but passionate enough to wage wars for pigs in hordes
our fat shadow casts a melatonin over them
honing an crepuscule covert with its shape
sluggishly, one eye scans for solidarity
satisfied with the turbulence over the landscape
What a cameo in the hot harmattan eve !
Sweet soursop scents marinated with the haze
And all the other ones impasse in my qui vive .
Words became satisfying minting juice ,
Black with currents ,mingled bittersweet after
Soft like lush ripe and delicious in undying truth .
But In this colorful world of pines and apples ,
With the sour and the dapples between the toil
We will weather the rains and dry foggy nights .
In all laughter and of youthful lovers delight ,
Not of science of apples falling for clues
Nor of religion with the doom preceding the bite .
But with all hope hope from a trampled rose ,
Earnestly rooting for the hazelnuts
Swinging between the canes of sugars and beats.
As it touches the ground like a whispered prayer,
With heaven's own sacramental wine
Wholesome and pristine “
Five centimeters beneath the dangling papayas ,
under a starry night gaze with splendor
Can you see how vividly the moonlight scrawls the pomegranate.
Beneath moist soils with seeded holes !
Hold your grounds your sprouting melon
So here’s to your juice you amazing Tangelo
Hold your grounds with bunches of love .
I grew up with inches, yards, miles, and feet.
I knew the difference, it was easy, and neat.
But today I am far behind in the dust because
Metric scale is what the new math does.
Millimeters, centimeters, cha cha cha.
Pencil thickness is about one centimeter. Rah Rah Rah.
Ten Millimeters is one centimeter, reminds me of cents to a dollar.
I may be catching on, so I stand up and holler.
One hundred thousand centimeters is a kilometer, friend.
One hundred centimeters is a meter, did you know that, Uncle Ben?
Millimeters, centimeters, cha cha cha.
Paper thickness is way less than a centimeter. Rah Rah Rah.
Now I think of my recipes. Did they change the tablespoon too?
Do I have to worry about cups, pints, and gallons for my glue?
I used to know my measurements, but everything is new.
Don’t even show me the rest of the new math. It is a boo hoo.
She took the soup can of heartbreak off the shelf.
Tore it open with her teeth, they were jagged anyway.
No one was here to stop her, and she felt satisfied.
A mouse with a handful of unhappiness ran over her bare foot.
Just what I needed today to complete myself, she thought.
Her farsighted cat pounced on her big toe, tearing it up.
Missing the mouse by at least ten centimeters.
What else can happen? She wondered.
A jar of worst day ever fell off a top shelf
Crushing her and the cat.
I see no evil in the
Mortise and tenon and in the thin
Red line Mao traced in a
Thousand or more
Platitudes still
Posing deftly in old
Wuhan.
Just a while ago I did glimpse a
Twinkle in the
Delicate curl of a child’s
Lip and in the
Tender.
Millions of centimeters away the French, in
Perfect nonchalance,
Pause, as stock markets
Nip and tuck to
Languid sips of cool cool
Wine.
-Jeff Troyer
April 2020
I
Ego is not real
II
Ego is necessary, images we have of ourselves, but it is like a measure as are inches, centimeters, kilograms, and longitudes.
III
You cut other things with tools, though you measure the length with another tool. Try cutting cheese with a Line of Longitude!
IV Our mistake is to treat the ego as another of our physical organs. It is NOT even that real (do you see your eyes, bite your own teeth?)
Come closer, the canvas collapsed
This clairvoyant contains no confidence
Constant creative calamity clouds his clarity, continuously complicating his collective
From conscientious to cataleptic
Cooped up, closed off in his cranium
Centuries and centimeters continue and contort, constantly trying to keep count; counting the clicks of his center clock
A creator, now a captive; cut off from his countless colors- his core gets colder and colder
The conscious consensus has been cleaved, captured in his comatose cocoon
His chi calls out to consult
Without complaint or coercion, he is calm in his current conundrum
Conjuring a circumventing counter to this circumstantial change
Comfortable in his corporeal cathedral, catapulted through his cerebral cosmos
His life cannot cease
After seeing my tulips
starting to grow 'neath the snow,
they went into hibernation
they won't die, have a chance to grow.
They've been up about five centimeters
since January or February,
but the sudden snow this month
has got them a little wary.
I'm glad they didn't come up further
I would have lost them for sure,
the cold slowed down the growing time
maybe through Spring, they'll endure.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Mar.29/2016
We got snow almost two weeks ago and my tulips got buried. I was hoping they weren't going to die, especially after last year. I had one about ten centimeters high and the heavy snow killed it. We're supposed to get a couple centimeters of snow sometime tonight.
She would, she says incensed, leave one, in an instant, would
go miles to the east, miles and miles away from one,
where one would never, ever "darken her door again".
And she would, she says, her eyes filling suddenly with tears,
"go there for good, never, ever to return, so help [her] God"!
Her "there" is only centimeters away on any road map,
but inside one's breaking heart her "there" might as well be a
million light years away.
I dressed myself this winter’s night
In coat with hood, and gloves and scarf,
Winter boots and sweater warm
And safety glasses too.
Snowflakes were falling, piling up
In snow drifts high in my driveway,
Around my apartment door
And in my walkway too.
The forecast called for fifteen or,
In centimeters, maybe more
Of snow accumulations
To fall throughout this night.
I'd dressed myself for battle and
Into the night I pushed myself
Out my door into the snow
With shovel in my hands
Half to my knees snow drifts had piled;
Thank God it was a light snow though.
In an hour I‘d conquered it
And cleared my driveway out.
In half that time my walkway I
Had shoveled free of snow also-
And stood back admiring what
I and my shovel did.
W.C.Hull © 2017-Jan 15-953-E
WINTER MAGIC
Winter bites at the heels of November,
A stronger lead up I can’t remember.
Snow is piling up in centimeters,
Wind speaks in iambic pentameter.
A tiara trees triumphantly wear,
Starlings by the flock do come here to stare.
The North is full of impractical weather,
With the Solstice comes new snowy feathers.
Darkness brings a calm and being alone
I slip on December, chilled to the bone,
Embrace the magic in curtains of light.
In that quiet moment of second sight,
‘Neath Aldebaran and the silver Moon
I bow to the spirits, feel my heart swoon.
Dec 28/2016
GOLDEN MOMENT
Come closer my darling
Zero centimeters apart
Squeeze me hard hold me tight
Let's get lost in the feeling
Shh shh no word please
Restrict your mind from running around
Stop thinking
Just flow with the feeling
Close your eyes
Allow me the pleasure
Of gnawing ravenously
At the honey dripping from your lips
I've wanted this for a long time
Let me feel your heartbeat
Let's indulge in the enchantment golden
I'm feeling the heat
Don't stop Don't stop
I swear I will die if it ends here
Let's take it all the way
I want it all now
Come on dance to the beat
There is no looking back
Let's explore this world
I know you want it too
Sunshine flowers fairies residency established nifty pixies paradoxically complexed; termed nocturnal.
Gnomes way my magic mushroom.
In my magic garden,
You see.
Fairies coloring gnomes playing hide-n-go-seek—Why I wicker baskets lined organic paper sheathe.
Basking sunshine only stones throw away from mush made verdure.
Mushrooms of dark purple magic record inches tall/divided merely centimeters width multitude.
Cultivation combined dehydration, supremest eruct seismic expansion.
Enlargement capacity mental trance gigantic, titanic moNSTR0SIty
Comparably selfish in reality are minuscule.
The other hand's on specially unique by human normalcy size.
What we refer common little people
And
Little folk know how to party!
In my mushroom liturgy,
Trouble makes err shine sun upon may magistrate.
Fairies/pixies, even gnomes agree do little periled peeps throw one bright stoned look.
Beg your party mention not did how way cook?
6-26-16
Sub Categories
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.