Sponsor : Nette Onclaud
Contest: Zodiac Signs as Inspiration
Placed : First : July 26
___________________________
darkness cleaves fins tight
underwater swims dreaming
emerge, cringes intact
syllabus rules fools
tight is her grip on fat cat
he rushes waves in dew morn
aquarium cracks
psyche hacks quiet wisely
avocado gold pisces fold images ~
____________________
The stars lead
and I follow – Your
darkness deepens
and I wade in – Primal!
There are no charts for
such hazardous journey.
Light and darkness
both omnipotent in their
own illustrious ways.
Puppy enchantment
morphing to howling pack. Following
the blood-lust scent. Nature warns. Heaven
cringes. But it is a ruse they dissuade
both part and parcel
of the insatiable "Rite Of Spring".
Life is not a problem to be solved,
but a reality to be experienced.
~ Soren Kierkegaard
Is there a proper way to love
and to be loved?
My mother says yes, my sister says no,
my brother just shrugs and leaves the room.
He has things to do: wash the car, go shoot pool,
smoke a little weed out back.
His girlfriend says she doesn’t mind
as long as he pays the bills
he can go where he wants
and see who he wants to see.
Her mama cringes a little and says
as long as she is happy,
it’s not up to me.
My friend married a man thirty years older,
had a fling with a man thirty years younger,
now she is single and says she’s content
with her own company
although she does have
three dogs
and a cat.
Is there a proper way to love
and to be loved?
Do not ask me~
love is a mystery!
He is a cowardly buffoon
Less cowboy than poltroon
Cringes in fear at the moon
Afraid of bubbly lagoon
Doesn’t make anyone swoon
Terrified of a small raccoon
Shrieks and hides from a blown-up balloon
A forever alone weird little goon
Dapper coachman frog wore his top hat with star power
He travels this route regularly, always at the thirteenth hour.
His steed is a caterpillar who hails from the Bigtown Bower.
He cringes sometimes, when there is a storm or hard rain shower.
If lesser chimps bow, trail alpha male’s tail,
If a filly fawns on a horny stag,
Show her willing hind to dominant male,
If paupers please a podgy moneybag,
Man, an attired ape, bows to brawn and brain,
Pour pains on him to please power-wielding pelf,
A creepy spoon knows none of due restrain,
And flatters fat pockets for puny self.
A man no whit better than a proud toad
May pretend t’be an alpha lion king,
Yet if knows not enough that it's too odd,
He’s a cat that cringes in circus ring.
To bow to hefty weight as human is
As humouring lofty heights as to please.
__________________________________________
Sonnet |02.06.2009| humour
My body cringes as thoughts
start to rub together sending
a warm wave through me that melts
the ice around my heart revealing
the pain that haunts the love trying
to slip through screaming for mercy
as personalities grind it into a hatred
that sits in the pit of my stomach
I sit in a pool of doubt mourning
my self-esteem as words start to
bend around me trapping me in a
vortex of lies that suck the light from
my flame drowning my confidence in
the sea of darkness contaminated by
the whispers of envy and jealousy that
bring me to my knees gasping for air
I feel the oxygen leave my
conscience as the shadows dance
around me with a gravelly laugh
intercepting every emotion that
breaks through while breathing into
me a new reflection opening my eyes
to the flames on both sides of the
fence exposing to me a new horizon
I rise with a fractured smile
taking each step with my head
high learning and embracing my
self-worth while watching the
lies fall flat on the paper shifting
my attention to building myself for
the experience of a new chapter
Santa Badger can handle it Mrs. Badger said.
She was in charge, and this is not in my head.
I have seen the two together, she gives him no leeway.
He cringes from her directions by the end of their day.
Santa Badger was a pushover and gave much away.
Bunnies, hedgehogs, and mice soon showed up to play.
Let’s go out and eat, one of the mothers suggested.
By end of the day Babysitter Badger’s nerves were sorely tested.
A dedication to my creative writing mentor Tom Foolery
The measuring cup was shattered
and lying all over the floor
It was an old pal,
for making tea of mine, through many days of many rainy seasons
It was never an easy feeling to register
you need help in your mirror, after all these days
Something is quite in-situ there, thinking that I am in need of it again for evermore.
I let her go,
an old pal is waiting for the floor to clean the space with neatness to go on.
As they sue an misunderstood brain, for vandalizing the face that is to be carved on the stone
I gifted her the soul
and I saw her blue eyed in pain, as a bottle cringes in pain, in a blindfolded loss
I simply reminded her,
it is okay to be imperfect, just let us float in, and you shall find my truth. Within.
Where I stayed and stayed and stayed for too long,
in the mere wish of a friend, for a life to be true, in thick and thin.
2021 was a good mourning...
but 2022 was so and so...
and 2023 is here marching in, once again!
Is it too late to catch up the show?
He avoided florists,
those over-cultivated blooms
in their overheated shops
seemed to be a perversion of nature.
He shunned all those floral gangsters;
the vainglorious gladioli,
eugenically forced greenhouse geraniums
with their large Shar-Pei heads.
Garish claustrophobic hosts of peonies
pressing-in and crowding his mind
with a ballooning menace.
His stomach trembled when confronted
with petulant Pelargonium
or the silent perfumed farts of the deadly Dahlia.
Charles Darwin, thought these latter-day
angiosperms as, “an abominable mystery.”
They are life-forms born of missing links,
genetically modified to eat oxygen
out of human brains.
They are the epitome of those hard drugs
that invade our senses.
For him, the Day Lily
was a pall-bearing pale monstrosity.
Seemingly innocuous bunches of Mums
are well known to gather in smug mobs
at a time of year
when our greatest need
is for fresh air.
Passing all flower shops
he cringes away,
and will not pay a penny
for any kind of noxious poesy
or floral frippery.
This one I have no title for,
All I know is it's the cries of my heart
And the innocence of her chastity,
She wears the love of Shakespeare
Atleast that's what I think,
But I never find a way to the tides of her love,
I haven't written in a while, but this here is how I breathe my confessions,
Perhaps the universe was waiting for this perfect moment,
After all there's no reasoning with a man feeling love...
This is the first piece of a million I'm writing of her,
But my chest is a heat wave burning at the rate of five thousand sun's,
So I just want burst out with the lust of my heart,
So I joke about the size of her behind here and there
I know she likes it though she denies it,
She cringes that I'm a sweet talker,
But there's no asking what gift God gives us
So I'm writing embers of next summers love story,
Of you and I
I'm embarrassed by what my future sons are to
Read!
But there's no reason in the heart of a man feeling love...
So I feel like I'm on ectasy and passion,
Ready to promise this lady the stars like it belonged to me....
'After all, what would you do for love?'
Polluted water is where I kneel down
I'm thirsty but there is nowhere else to drink
My small cup
fills to the dirty brim
to meet my parched lips
gritty flavor
my tanned face cringes
dry tongue excites
tight fingers move again
swollen legs strengthen
knowing tomorrow
stomach will be so noisy
little parasites
should I have gone without drink
for now I feel refreshed
Tuesday, October 19, 2021
Not a single drop of ink on this white page.
Not a single drop of soaking silent tears
Not a single night of those haunted nightmares.
Not for you
Not for me
Not for these unspoken moments
Not for these improbable nights, when
Dreams turn almost true and magnificent
As a diffusing Arabian horse, melting in those fleeting clouds!
Shapeshifter swirling clouds of these butterfly imaginations of mine
Know you and me, very well.
They also know the hidden serpentine
Of the whispering darkness of our souls.
Yet, they promise to rise in colors, rainbows, and in the fluidity of dreams.
A silent night ensures that
Nothing is happening anywhere, out there.
Only an empty bottle cringes, somewhere.
I fed the magpie scraps of bread
stay home
sentinel now perched, outside my house
essential travel only
'tis Spring, nice to get out and about
those swoops and jabs can really hurt
no friends in house
nice to feel the warm sun on skin
wear a spiky hat
only exercise for one hour a day
my dog cringes inside, bird-shy
only buy the basics
love the rain, umbrella helps
jab-shy, got the jab anyway
the dish ran away with the spoon
The sun sets on fringes
As the tired day cringes
Hope in the sky hinges
On tinges of twilight
As the night sky infringes
On my thoughts, that singes!
4.7.2021
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Contest: Bite size Poem no.10
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