Fringes Poems - Poems about Fringes

The unpopular express their popular strings to the garrison, contained within safe boundaries, there, their thoughts pirouetting words hung, the black beetles shine like exotic fresh water pearls strung waving like green peas shelled nonchalantly cast into boiling pots not of their own making in the soup of the fifth estate boiled well, swallowed and regurgitated, muses the pods left wide...

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… is a drunkard Swilling vintage regret, Tears falling for undared dreams, Anger spewing over unrequited love. … is endless replays of yesterdays With circular insightful wisdom As likely to reverse life’s ills As scrubbing dirt off hills. … is stolen joy in the gloom Of memory’s moldy greenhouse Where fancied success blooms, hiding Mocking hyenas and nightmare roaches. … is a pustulated soul Hunkering...

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Nobody ever listens, so I stopped talking at all; Fading to invisible, but oddly comfortable; Reached out, nobody was there; Left on the fringes of thought; Silence revealed what was real....

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Time is of the essence, when I get my hair cut, Impatiently waiting in turn, gives me dandruff, Barber’s damn slow, chatting, making small talk Oh hurry up man, I’m in need of a new Mohawk Three more ahead of me, staring at the walls, At least two of them, already suspiciously bald But the other one,...

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Where am I in you? Am I just sitting on the edges of your mind, Easily flicked away when you haven't the time? Am I just a peripheral vision? A perimeter friend? Do you just glance through my glass quickly, ...

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The older I get the louder the Muse does parade The shorter the moment the deeper her message invades The older I get distant voices filter and fade With death on the fringes —all focus recentered and staged (Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)...

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Arrange to challenge fringes of soporific syringes Range not to derange organized order Singe not, whinge not on top of hinges Binge not, cringe not and wreak not disorder. Range not to derange organized order Read but don’t misread signs of torrid times Binge not, cringe not and wreak not disorder Lest you should brood and groom uncomfortable climbs. Read but don’t misread...

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In the 60’s, I would binge On anything that sported fringe. My leather jacket decked with beads Had fringe that such a jacket needs. My brown suede belt I wore down low To hug my hips (the status quo) Had fringe that anyone would crave. (I wish that one I’d thought to save!) I have one fringe-y sweater now. Designers seem to disavow This style,...

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