Clean Cut Poems

Disco Music-USPS Stamp

Disco Music

Strobe light looks like moon-sun.
Halo lights of red, blue, yellow, green.
He wears classic Saturday Night Fever white.
She has a white flower in her hair,
head and hips swivel;
one-strapped red dress.
He points with hands over head.
Ballroom floor bittersweet-blue.
Celebration of disco music.

I was dressed in strapless purple.
Burned my bra.
This stamp doesn’t nearly catch
the falderal - not the nasal and falsetto
of the Bee Gees, nor the confident swagger
of Tony Manero. I will survive,  my motto.

The couple on this stamp look too happy,
too peppy, maybe preppy, almost ‘50’s.

I remember the crowds, the loudness,
the vulnerability, the period; that Mom
had me ask Dad for money to go.
They let me. Strobe light shadows
of chiaroscuro amidst flashy night.
The stamp is too clean cut.

Jack O’Lantern Rides

            one hemisphere lit
         of split   
personality;
Jack O’Lantern rides,
spurring the midnight stallion.
Ichabod’s head spins ‘round,
             fear comes forth furiously,
           without time
         to catch his breath.
a clean cut,
detached from reality.
              eyes spinning
            within Crane’s inner space;
          a pumpkin smash.
was this his nemesis
or the devil himself?
               was Katrina worth this,
             his head laid upon
           the woodpile’s lap?
a dream perhaps?
another Van Winkle written off?
                furrows on forehead,
              pulp pulsing, scored;
            twenty years or so forth.
generations hear of the headless wanderer
only the lovelorn venture off
                 (and Brom Bones ascendants)
               descending into dreams, delusions
             or the stampede of midnight hoofs.
Katrina lit a candle in the window
She’ll never be a widow; just blind

Forevermore Bob And Wheel

Now fly,
show off gossamer wings;
Blessed with hunger am I,
brave with weatherproof strings; 
I aim for a bullseye;

Now write,
letters are alchemy;
Each reader can take flight,
learn you intimately;
My set glitches delight;

Ink flows 
from deep inside the gut;
Inhibition will close;
Setting free classy smut,
I mix in clean cut prose;

Words scream;
Cognizant of my soul
they hijack a daydream;
With pen, paint, or charcoal
take it to the extreme;

Lines dance,
walls crumble to freestyle
celebrating a stance;
My stanzas run a mile,
I always take a chance;

You soar
so high when you give in;
I’ve crashed and hit the floor 
and stood up forgiven;
I’ll write forevermore.

The Second Plane Has Hit

.
The Second Plane Has Hit
It’s a confirming statement 
Nobody saw the first plane
There is a puncture in wall 
A visible cut out of a plane 
But where is that  plane ?
Did it penetrate       Thru
The tower            Cutting 
Steel        And   Concrete
Drilling a hole like a punch
Plausible. Still is on the TV
Screaming News channels 
A Plane Has Hit  The WTC
But nobody saw that plane
Only A  punctured cut out -
On a steel n concrete tower
Clean cut out clear outlines
Tower is smoldering within
There is no soot on exterior
On screen enters into frame
A plane which is called 2nd
It hits the wall and explodes
Exploded parts then vanish;
Or do they melt in explosion
In either case there is doubt
2nd plane does not cut thru
As the unseen first one did !
1st punctures 2nd explodes
There is no trace of second
There is no trace of first too
Where are those people who
Were supposed to be in these planes

A Fire Ball Submerging

RED fire ball submerging,
we slip from the light
watching our shadows bloom.

A smoldering sphere,
not clean-cut, but badly drawn,
its REDNESS wobbles and fumes.
as it downs itself
still smoking a last shred of day.

For a few long moments Banshees
go silent.
Curious Giraffes stretch their necks
to sniff the freshly deceased,
as one by one
they black-out the flares
of self-rising spirits.

Another evening
in the zoological realms
of space.
The sun-swimmers flop on the beach
basking in the last RED drops.

Venus in her dressing-room,
is plugging-in her shine.
She adorns her gown
with fractals and sprinkles.
Mars goes in and out
of its dust filled hollowness,
seeking a deeper RED
to die within.

Skin still blistering with sandy itches
we head for home
ignoring the sighs of a leaking
and sullen surf.

A herd of colorful umbrellas
fold their pronged headgears
down into a dimmer,
more dusky RED decline.

Alone

Alone in the storm she wept
The trees around her swayed
As The frost in her soul crept
Closer until at last she was stayed

The rain drenching her heart
Till her last breath did she take
Only to cry out with a start
That God would not forsake

If only He would save
Her life again she would not take
A cold clean cut never again to crave
To him she could at last give her heartache

Out of the shadows a man did appear
To pick her up and dry all her tears
Shocked to see his eyes so sincere
She stood in embarrassment as he washed away the smears

Away from the pain of life you can walk
on one condition you must do
And it's a lot to see you'll be in shock
My death you must watch me go through

Upon a tree cut for shame
The punishment of all man kind
Will be the only blame
Please accept this with open mind

For my love for you is ever true
If you accept this I'll pay your debt
You'll see me rise and that's your cue
New life I've given you after this reset

Danielle S

Cooing Wooing

He parted his thin lips to speak but stuttered
and only broken sounds came from his breath.
He wanted to express his love but uttered
something that just scared his girl to death.

With every vain attempt the words he muttered
often sounded like the cooing of a dove
and with these bird sounds she became quite fluttered
much wanting to hear words of sincere love.

She whispered something softly in his timid ear
something that would cease his crazy coo.
In a silent smile he told her this he wanted to hear,
the clean, cut uttered words of “I love you.”

10/5/20

COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(29)
Sponsor:  Brian Strand

Surveying the Storm

variety of size, limbs
once helpless in the wind,
a haphazard torrent of leaves.
no pleasantries in rescind.

moss, plush with bouncy roots
tripartite surgery of bark,
sans clean cut.
ground level hallmark

apartments, at close inspection,
varmints inhabit an oak.
how do trees survive the dark
when susceptible to croak?

the yard with all its idiosyncrasies,
a social distancing playground
for a curious player of minecraft —
a five year old’s hardly earthbound.


4/17/2020

Cleaning and Dancing

Ok, you have some cleaning to do.
Put on the music and dance on through!
You may actually have a little fun.
When you can’t be outside enjoying the sun!
So clean and dance and carry on!
The chores will get done, like a clean cut lawn.
Then, when all is said and done and your beloved comes home,
The rest can be imagined in this poem! :)

Heidi Sands

10/14/19

Train Ride Decides

"Each day we assess,
What we will do best

Even if not a direct decision,
We are guided by our inner vision

Sculpted by time and events,
And our desire for happiness

To chose that which feels right,
And I’m not meaning to be trite

For its the obvious choice,
If satisfaction had a voice

But sometimes decisions are not clean cut, 
When personality’s and circumstances muck them up

Causing us to rethink or compromise,
For keeping the peace is also wise

A battle now, we chose not to fight,
Saving that for when the time is right

How then, can we appeal,
Without a pouting wail

Or temper tantrum to get our way,
For what we wanted today

Perhaps we need to understand,
The over reach of others demands

Wanting to claim some of me,
To prevent what I want to be

Each day “your” train leaves the “station”, 
Traveling to its “destination “

Who you invite to travel in that car,
Determines who you are

Your choice then, is the “Express”,
Straight to what you think is best

Or one that pauses at every stop,
Because that’s what someone else has thought 

How you travel in life is your decision, 
So remain true to your vision

My Wedding Day of Hallowed Rest

My wedding day of hallowed rest. My Lord —
not too soon nor too late. My eyes looked up

and danced as He descended and I rose.
Oh look! I smile! O gentle son of God.

The praise of lifted hands - the joy of church.
Forth jubilee good angels longed to see.

The day is here! Clean cut - our groom has come
and we rejoice above the earth so far

from grace. How long despairing chins of hate.
But we adore the groom — we are his bride!

6/18/2019

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.

Rip Nephyr E Nough

For Dad I struggled like a slave

Being clean-cut and tight-lipped

I hope he's happy with my grave

Cuz the grass is always clipped

Much Ado About You

Hyacinths bloom around 
These leather-bound pages.
New books, old floorboards,
Alternative trees.
The heady, balmy scent of
You is here in this bookshop:
Clean-cut dew on magnolia,
Spices and amber sap…
I recognise it on the threshold.
Two floors turned into a 
Labyrinth of literature and 
You are everywhere I turn.
Shelf upon towering shelf of
Permanent words, and
You can recite my favourites.
Printed pages kiss curious hands
As pages flicker, turning quicker,
And whisper you into the room.

My 1950's Acrostic

T	Think about the ponytails and clean cut crews
H	He is your main priority, there are books that prove
E	Everyone smokes. It is sophisticated and fancy.

F	Feeling truly patriotic and part of the bigger picture
I	Independent children favor rock and roll.
F	Financial freedom is the key
T	The shiny black and white saddle shoes
I	I know my cigarettes are rolled in my sleeve
E	Everyone can discipline their neighbors’ children
S	Skirts with poodles are the style

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