He grinned broadly from the corner
a percussive serrated smile,
cadaverous lips displaying
a rakish scarecrow style.
His emaciated figure chattered
suspended precariously from a hook;
I was completely startled
by his penetrating look.
His wink was disconcerting,
those vacant eyes held wide;
I wouldn’t call him cheeky
though he displayed a gangly pride.
One arm extended slightly
as if inviting my embrace;
it might feel a little morbid
held against that hollow face.
Gothic trends might call him charming
though his apparel seems unique,
one would only see it hanging
in a nudist colony boutique.
One dance was all he wanted
waltzing the orthopedic floor,
that physician’s skeletal dummy
I just couldn’t make myself ignore.
July 31, 2026
Skeletons Poetry Contest
Seth Pina, Sponsor
The mailman is certainly sketchy
way to tall and sort of gangly,
his arms are long and his skin is pale.
He arrives at 10:04 without fail,
never sooner; never later,
and my old dog never barks
like he does at the park,
be it leaf or be it squirrel,
be it a little girl that twirls,
or be it nothing there at all!
The Earth is flat
and landing on the moon was fake,
I simply don’t believe in that,
but I think the mailman is an alien.
I’m convinced his vehicle is a UFO
that transforms and flies at night,
or did I see that on a TV show
long ago when I was eight?
The doctor says to take my meds,
the aliens are in my head!
Sure Doc, because bees don’t sting,
and a hollow moon doesn’t ring.*
*On November 20, 1969, NASA deliberately crashed the Apollo 12 lunar module into the Moon, causing it to vibrate or "ring like a bell" for nearly an hour. This phenomenon sparked theories that the Moon is hollow (like a bell).
I’m the fly in the corner.
Clinging to the space, looking from afar.
I know what you’re thinking.
I know what words buzz and zip through your head.
I am the vermin infiltrating your home,
Infecting everything my bristled legs claw onto.
Leaving traces,
little bits of treacherous treasure for your eyes to never find.
You run at me
With your long gangly arms–
So tall,
So above it all.
The impending darkness consumes me before I can even feel your touch.
Under the vastness of your looming shadow, I can’t help but feel small.
One swat at me and I'm splat all over the wall.
seductive Galway gal would not stay
such savage beauty she went astray
whether Corrib, whether Mask
Connemara man to ask
to Inishbofin she played away
Leitrim lout took drink by the flagon
very short coast, very short wagon
went inland to buy a boat
all-aboard, beer for his goat
so raised a glass, Carrick-on-Shannon
wild west playboy from county Mayo
did for his dad, very own say so
holy mountain, dreaming star
left the pub at Castlebar
shoe hanging out his Ford Mondeo
Roscommon culchie, gangly and rare
hung out near Boyle with spindly long hair
web below her knobbly knee
bank to bank across lough Ree
wrapped up her men, eight legs in the air
our Sligo boy, no good at countin'
he spied some girls down by the fountain
one, two, three, how many more?
his favourite to adore
he chased her up Benbulben mountain
Awakened, I returned. A stream in Spring
to flow and grow on nature’s snow-melt milk.
I came to be of earth and sky; a fling.
My sire, a winter storm. Like liquid silk
emerging, I was born; a water child.
Between two banks I nestled with my dreams
and bloomed a gangly creek ‘til solstice. Wild
I played, not meek but sleek. I crested seams,
a juvenile with snaky curves and speed.
Mid June rebellion, ripples bared, I’d run
as sweet as rum and swelled with rain, (a)greed;
the gasoline with which my wish was spun.
By August dusk, a river woman reigned!
Oh, stars—those studs—did rise, as if ordained.
It is summer,
and the umbrella men
are selling hotdogs.
A good-looking priest
enters Saint Pat's,
gangly girls giggle,
then make the sign of the cross.
Thursday is All-You-Can-Eat pizza day,
the joints will be too crowded,
the slices rushed out, slapped down
way to early or late.
Office workers flock
from the second floors of everywhere,
huddle shoulder to shoulder,
to spread rumors,
then return to gaze at desktop
computer games
or TikTok –
**** is a compensatory privilege
of the under paid.
The year hurries on,
rats scurry behind neon facades.
Downtown is slip-sliding,
it used to be a place to get noticed,
a gated area for outdoor passions.
Modest ladies now
hold the hem of their skirts down,
and not because
of any up-lifting wind.
Dope is in the air,
thieves hustle to get their share.
Tourists meander dazed,
as the stark exposure of the city
tramples over them.
Winter bites its chill tongue.
Come December’s last glittering moments,
that glass ball will hang by
the thinnest of threads.
~~~~~~~~~~~
(new edit)
Some days I just wanted to tread muted waves
not knowing whether
what grazed my leg was a porgy,
or a Leviathan reaching out to me from the gradient depths.
The paranoia kept me afloat,
the fear drove me to swim to shore.
When I made it back to the sand,
I chose not to live as I did before.
Walking away, I looked back at the dunes, gray and dulled,
yet the sun cloaked the sky in an orange nightgown.
The ocean smiled that evening,
a pearly white grin born from the descending gleam.
From what I saw in the horizon
in the sheen, dimensions were torn from the seams.
the sea’s teeth melted away,
its dentures rotted into a violent green.
A craterous head, so alien, so organic
crowned with mesopelagic knickknacks.
Phosphorescent eyes surrounding its gelatinous skull
poked out of the boiling cauldron that was the Atlantic.
Its behemoth sized hand, with fingers gnarled and gangly
erupting so fast!
Contrasting the married sky of lavender and apricot
Levi, then gently waved me goodbye.
no one wanted this unusual canary
I related totally
no one wanted me either
I will take that one, I told the shop keeper
That one!
He was incredulous.
I said that one, I said, nodding.
The tall gawky weird-looking one?
I glared at the guy, who popped him into a sack.
Everyone at my house laughed at me.
As usual
Called me names, as usual
the gangly awkward canary and I became close
understanding what it feels like
when you are rejected by those you want to love the most
It is summer,
and the umbrella men
are selling hotdogs.
A good-looking priest
enters Saint Pat's,
gangly young ladies giggle,
make the sign of the cross.
Thursday is AllYouCanEat pizza day
the joint will be too crowded, too poky,
the pizza rushed out, slapped and pasted.
Office workers, those that take medicinal weed,
come flocking from the second floors
of nowhere,
shoulder to shoulder,
they huddle to spread
petty scandals and rumors,
then return to stare at desktop computer games.
**** is the privilege of the underachievers.
Downtown is slip-sliding,
it used to be a place to be noticed,
a sex-gated area for outdoor passions.
Now the females
hold the hem of their skirts down,
and not because of the wind.
Dope is in the air.
Thieves scrabble and push,
dazed by the easy abundance.
Tourists duck and shelter
under dead teachers' desktops.
Come December,
the glass ball will hang by a thin fingertip.
We wander through so many gardens,
doting robins, ignoring the crows.
Our personal oasis is an unfinished poem.
Plastic flowers may last longer, but their dead scent,
cannot compare to freesia and frangipani.
In fading grey sunset,
I crumble, crouching in musk air.
An arch frame with withered wood skin
and paint peeling in need of black dye,
but still Shalimar honeysuckle wraps like a quilt,
weaving around amber roses and velvet clematis.
Battle scarred thorns may stick and prick
these gangly timber legs, but each blemish
is soothed from butterflies floating from petal to petal.
In speeding winds I rock like an armchair,
helpless to save cherry blossoms falling,
creating a carpet of pink upon flakes of green.
Knotweeds sneak through a resurfaced pebble path,
but my dandelion heart seems fond of its purple tint.
Midnight raindrops sting like sake,
but I know dawn will bring bright blue skies.
My body is too big
My bones loom over me
and my flesh wraps around them
Heavy like the bricks of a lighthouse tower
The waterfall of my tears posted proudly on a magazine cover
Eighth wonder of the natural world
A thousand miles before it reaches the pillowy ground
My skin stretches over my frame like a canvas
painted with freckles and scars
Enough paint to cover the world twice over is needed to cover it’s expanse
My body lumbers around like I giant when I move
Collapsing in on itself under it’s own weight when I stumble
My souls feels like an ant trapped in the body of a lion
The pins that hold me together are silk needles trying to hold wool
I am a pebble in the body of a mountain, unsure if the wind will whisk me away or if I was ever supposed to move in the first place
I feel bulky and gangly
Shaky and frozen
Filling a room like water fills a cup, cold and loud when all i want is to disappear quietly
Because I feel like my soul could walk through the eye of a sewing needle like a grand palace gate
And whenever my soul feels small
My body is too big
His knob-shaped knees hang out all over the place
What kind of a dancer would he be in this small space?
Gif was a wall flower for sure, left sitting on Sadie Hawkins Day.
With his gangly feet and knobby knees getting in other sitters’ way.
Some of the uncouth laughed at his large polka dot pants.
None of them knew that this groovy giraffe knew how to dance.
He is wearing converse shoes from 1982, one said with disdain.
And for a sun-glassed giraffe, I think this one looks very plain.
I think I’ll give him a whirl, a young whippersnapper said.
She gave him the eye, and learned that his name is Ed.
He twirled and whirled her and threw her in the air.
He spun her like a top, dancing beyond Fred Astaire.
Now everyone is in line waiting to dance with little old Gif.
I am sorry, he tells them without anger, prissiness or miff.
She is the one who gave me my first and only chance.
I shall continue spinning her until the end of the dance.
They came away with the grand prize of the night.
A huge silver number one cup, which held a spotlight.
the Stone curse is what my mother called it
we have much mental illness in the family
on dad’s side – the Stone side.
one of my uncles is schizophrenic
another committed suicide,
he was super sensitive
I know he was learning disabled,
but that is not mental
is it?
if you think you are getting the Stone curse,
see someone right away,
mom cautioned giving weird looks toward dad who never heard her
I felt like a gangly horse who had better never show her teeth
I knew I probably had it, being called “retard” and “stupid” most of my life
the Stone family has now included people who are bi-polar,
and Alzheimer and antisocial.
Surely this is not because they are Stone’s, right?
I would ask my mother but she is not here.
I am terrified others will find out.
I am sure I have something.
glib glassy green-eyed gruesome ghoulish goblins grabbing gloriously
glitzy glimmers of gourmet garnish. Giants give garbled ghosts gruff
growls. Gargantuous groups of glamorous gargoyles give greeters
goopy green gravy. Garbanzos grab globs of giant gamblling goulash.
Glum grieving giraffes generate gibberish in German. Granulated grocers gripe about grimy glittering goblets. Gainful games google greening, guessing about grimy graveyards of gruffly grotesque ghouls. Glam Grandma Gigi gazed at gradual greasy grasshopper’s greedy game-changing griddles and granolas. Grazing garbled granite gleaned Greta Garbo’s grateful giblet. Gus’s glorious greasy gangly go-go galoshes garnishing Gilly's’s gristled grizzled gemstone gleaning gallons of gracious gangly gallows.
Weep not at the close of a summer’s dream,
Nor think love will ne’er return another June
Remember things are seldom as they seem.
Cupid plays on the young his favorite scheme
Love in winter forever sings a different tune
Weep not at the close of a summer’s dream.
He ne’er dips a hand twice in the same stream
September bliss bleats like the mating loon,
Remember things are not always as they seem.
Fleeting are the loosed passions, like a meme
Strongly sensed at first, then vanishing soon,
Weep not at the close of a summer’s dream.
Infatuation offers not what one would deem,
Often making of a boy a gangly, gawking goon
Remember things are not always as they seem.
Lips grow cold and sparkling eyes their gleam
Seen in the light of a pale, luminescent moon
Weep not at the close of a summer’s dream,
Remember things are seldom as they seem.
Written August 27, 2022
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