Gesticulating Poems | Examples

Mudminnow Trout

Arboreal chum noodle trunk gesticulating 
Male pattern baldness syndrome squiggles 
Trigonometry Palisades uneven ripple

Framework salmon people 
Rise evangelical steeple 
Pigmentation feeble 

Hillock molehills 
Hedgerow backyards 
Autumnal equinox

- Fantabulous -

Being present in the moment
                            When the wind blows from a cloud
                         the trees whisper in the gentle breeze

                                      A blush of poppies
                                as a kiss from wine-red lips
                              Multiple endless paths to walk
                                 between shadowy arches
                                         of velvet moss

                                   A gesticulating cuckoo
                               placed at the top of the trees
                         Poor bird that has no nest of its own
                                       Wish for something
                          ... maybe your wish will come true

None the Wiser

if the blind primate trusts in what he can’t see ~ is it still illusory 

said the deaf primate to his mute friend ~ gesticulating at a lorry 


By 
David Kavanagh

Pastiche An Open Form

PASTICHE
occasional
  startling
vivacity
  &verve
an
existence
  random
switching
  shuttling
about

immensely
 enthusiastic
&
gesticulating
 nsinuous
  nsuperficial
&melancholic

  contemplating
 a suave
astonishing
pastiche
  before
&
despite
either
austere
 feeling
or
modishness

Abecedarian Monokus I

Actual aptitude and action almost always align aright.

Beautiful bliss, beastly belligerent behaviors: both burn bright.

Caringly convinced, cantankerous curmudgeons collapse, contrite.

Disdaining darkness, devoted disciples dig deep, discover delight.

Erudite, eager efforts encourage, energize, even excite.

For faithful few, fortitude, ferocious fight favors failed, feeble flight.

Gesticulating graders generate ghastly groans grinding graphite.

Happily, Horton has highly honed hearing; howler has humble height.

Invite ideas, ignite ingenuity, illumine insight.

Jaundiced jackboot juxtaposing "justice", jubilation: Jacobite.

Kindly koala kid keeps knitting knotted kaleidoscopic kites.

Levity lifts languishing leanings, leaves listeners luminous, light.

Mellifluously mild merriment mellows mad, malevolent might.


----------

Lol, this is an abecedarian monorhyme of alliterative monokus.
Not sure I'll get to the second half

With Careful Spoons

With Careful Spoons

Your perfume essence speaks of lazy afternoons under sage trees.
You kissed my bent neck with a pointed snake of sweet saliva eyes.
Now we are twisting inside my slow tilted bedroom with creep shoes.
Your gray short skirt shows slender legs flashing firm nylon divots.
Panties white and tight beckon my touch amidst the soft furniture.
Lips gesticulating now with puckered tentacles made of sugared spit.
Taloned fingers with pink polished probings find the noble charge.
Music-playing minestrone tasters come to dance with careful spoons.
Why have you lead me into this frothing dream web of lilac spume?
We kiss now with mind-rushing lip lashings glued to the secret night.
We delve now with our bending statuary into the new morning light.

Passing Through

I’m passing through a bad part of Richmond,
a long trip almost over. Night rain drizzles
wipers creak monotonously,
the blacktop no longer flying
but crawling over my eyes.

On the edge of the city
there’s a liquor store, maybe the last
before the dark interior of Ohio.
I park under its low neon shadows.
Two belligerent drunks
are fighting, both missing each other
in slow motion.

Inside the store
more unsteady men argue,
there arms gesticulating
like broken windmills,
plus one sleazy feme yelling silently
but I can lipread most swear words.
The nightshift counter-clerk is a kid
and he looks like he’s ready to bolt.

Maybe I could slip in there unnoticed
past all the sweaty mayhem.
Maybe make do with a cold beer,
throw some dollars down
make off into the night unscathed
by lashing tongues or flailing fists

More imagined nocturnal scenarios
scatter in my head like dandelion seeds
dispersing on a dry wind.
I still need a drink.

The Solvency of Silence

between the pages of a rural world there is always us 
clambering for attention with hands mouth and noise 
gesticulating like a proud Italian, we run for every bus 
selling goods with salesmen talk and we never poise 
nor give a chance to silence, God forbid we should...

Copyright © Pixie Dust | Year Posted 2020

Favorite Teacher

My choice and hero teacher, was my sixth-grade teacher, Mrs. D Hidden; she was by far the best teacher that I have ever had. She had the ability to make a subject easy and fun; that many students had found incredibly boring come to life through her enthusiasm, and passion for teaching, and her love of being a teacher. Going to her class was something I always looked forward, and never dreaded.

     It was always pleasured to watch her get excited watching her students succeed. She took on a whole new person, often going into a role and becoming the character or figure she was talking about; doing the voices, the actions, and parading up, and down the room gesticulating wildly. 

     Subjects came alive that you could see, hear and feel with great interest. She played an important place in me and for many of her students. There has never been a teacher able to bring a subject to life in quite the same way she does.



10/20/2019

Quietly Sleeping Embers

Quietly Sleeping Embers

the materials of timeless elements
that once laid deep within the earth,
as sleeping embers in a quiet fire,
or the thumping of rocks, their throaty shouts,

attracted to the source, protean, 
the standard of all things apocryphally edged,
eyes in search of themselves, flashing
visions in search of hallucinations, sighing.

lateral unitities scrape the tattered and
the buttressed scaffolds in dimension,
as a formican stave appears sage-like, alone
at it’s cusp, pointing towards inevitability. 

our hands are lined with our history, concealed,
our hearts deeply gouged, bleed coloradan stain,
whimper as they will, feeble outcomes fail
the test, it’s standards not presently contained.

the harbinger of listless souls, tearless
and gut-wrenched, gesticulating, wordless,
those materials, that source of satiety trembles,
those quietly sleeping embers, light even the world.

Party Humidity

outside, it was raining
as it was inside 

drinks spilling onto the floor
from incessantly topped-up glasses held by 
forgetting, gesticulating hands
  
spittle flying from mouths attached to people 
in love with their own voices
their little huddled audiences salivating 
over every word or the prospect 
of taking their turn as court-holder 
  
the room drooling with  
go-to anecdotes and jokes
rehearsed at a hundred parties like this one
disgorged from speech bubbles like fat storm clouds 
filling dead air with stories on life support

sudden thunderclaps of laughter
precipitating further precipitation

the floor must have been wet but thankfully 
not gleaming like the pavement twelve floors down

the rain let up outside

I slipped out onto the balcony 
and between sips of my stale beer 
gulped the laundered air

The Tall and Short of It

Impossible to miss him in a crowd, 
jet black moving chimney, one head 
above the rest as though he walks on stilts. 
In the sun his head of hair, 
coiffured, defies brand new enamel. 
Mostly he plays god, flits like a butterfly 
in post chrysalis stage: choosing the
very best, discarding. The rest, he’s man 
at large, a parakeet. In the rare cases 
when he’s not making calls, wrapt, blabbing,
gesticulating, he’s chatting up some chick
just about his same size, her crush worn 
like a charge inside her eyes, someone with     
parched lips needing his own as salver,
someone malleable enough that can be bent 
without breaking, someone dim and foolish.
Not like me who, despite distance and size
can see through him, his gossamer.

My Late Mom

Her face is tilted

She just silently stare at me

She doesn’t talk to me no more

Her smiles not as reassuring as I remember

“Talk to me”, I whispered

Nothing! Just more stares

I smiled and turned her around,

She didn’t giggle

I set her down and start

making funny faces

She just keeps staring

Her beautiful oval face,

black hair and powerful lips

still a work of nature

Her face still in that same position

it had always been

Why won’t you talk to me?

I have a lot happening in my life

you need to know

I need your guidance

’cause I’m afraid,

afraid I’m no longer that innocent

child you once knew;

one who hardly got angry

You was always here but for some time now,

you’ve quietly slipped away

Tired of gesticulating and perambulating,

I took the large frame and

hung it back on the wall

where she had always been

Maybe one day, she will finally speak

to her daughter again!

Ekpoma

From the very first time I set foot in this place,
I determined to prosper,
Ekpoma,
like a work bench,
and a technician's manual on instrumentation,
reaches for instruments,
of vitality,
with market gestures,
and a gesticulating culture,
in the land of the living,
under a plastic cloud of mood swings,
hanging partly by a vegetable spine,
of subsistence backyards,
and Friendswillpower Enterprise

No Stoppage

Some are looking above
Seeking for help
While leaving below 
The man and his laws
See the others
Now strutting and puffing
Wildly gesticulating their pains
Amidst the gathering  
Of colourful rainbows
Now some have become reclusive
Mute and indifferent 
Hiding behind hidden worlds
Thinking and wishing
All these away

• Short Gesticulating Poems
• Famous Gesticulating Poems
• Best Gesticulating Poems
• Read Gesticulating Poems
• Long Gesticulating Poems
• Gesticulating Quotes