There is a quick-witted woman I know with three names; her silhouette is a mystery; she's had multiple fragile frames.
Many have tried and failed to tame her rather long mane, but honestly, they were lame flames.
Her treks motivate her for life’s endless, gruelling games.
Called a traveller but never exploring for fame, she isn't one of those Instagram dames.
Nobody can catch her riddle
runner strides, she won't win any elections; her temper never slides.
But that humour will take you on some rollercoaster rides.
A compass nucleus of fears revives stifled tides.
Some have labelled her a peaceful poet and writer.
This makes her laugh; she's always been an ample fighter.
In her day job, she wrestles with a highlighter.
Glued to a screen, she implores the sky to make her mind lighter.
When she was knee-high, she dreamed of being a screenwriter.
A secret rapper, perhaps she will win a Grammy as a songwriter.
Only time will tell where she will land with a whisky and pen in her hands on another all-nighter.
I'm going to fail class,
still I try to answer my classmates trying to resolve the mess.
To give them a sort of bless:
,,Sorry I didn't answer", while my fingertips left ChatGPT with a press.
The tip of my yellow highlighter I mark: ,,Flächeninhalte",
now it's gotten all black from Illustrate,
smeared all over the paper it did, comes from a delegate?
I am not fake I just don't want people to think,
just that my knowledge is a chin,
I have not the access,
to become someone helping in an accident.
Spend a bit extra
receive a little more
In life’s cutthroat sale
and thrifty superstores
No free dinners
It’s all in your head
For each slice gained
the rest gets no bread
Gives back a cent
keeping all the rest
Huge ponzi schemes
pay crumbs as interest
Always leave tips
they go a long way
Bosses can pay less
and make tons of hay
Mark these words
or use a highlighter
By omitting fullstops
save ink for the writer
By
David Kavanagh
~Highlighter dumping iron mini Crayola colors left out on the driveway melting
now fused together a waxen rainbow~
11/17/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
wreak
leaves down
bruised trees gaze
hued leaves with tears
countless highlighter colors of anguish
sending warm cheering arrival wishes
gladness harvest
shades of bliss
mild plants
soothed.
Written: August 22, 2021
Double Tetractys 8 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
Using Image Number 3
Checked by HS.com
Words…soft and gentle words
Pour on like a humming voice
With a forgotten melancholic tune
Like a softer lullaby on a wild dune.
They float on in my realm of imagination.
Make me shiver and shake through salvation.
Is it the beginning, or is it ending, once and for all?
Not able to wipe the fogs and mist, too abstract a call.
I am holding a highlighter, I intend this again after a while
To stop those flowing words before vanishing with a smile.
Grip those words, I love them the most amongst all I possess!
And highlight that colorful sadness on these dead- white pages.
She takes the stars up in the sky
And connects their dots at night
Like a giant Etch A Sketch
Her own Galaxy Lite-Brite
Using neon highlighter
All the colors she can find
Drawing close the Cosmos
She closes both her eyes
Adding a bit of the abstract
She changes hands from left to right
On this giant Etch A Sketch
Her own Galaxy Lite-Brite
Destination of dreams
Maps are folded and re-folded into pocket sized
destinations of our own heart’s desires
Routes become numbers and numbers become moments
as the planning cycle, with yellow highlighter in hand,
presents a “look forward to” scenario
Well beyond windows of curtained belief
and hedges shaped like poetic scribblings calling to me
The sidewalk of chalk marks in hopscotch etchings,
faded from the sun and foot smeared play dates,
leads to that place of affection filled dreams
and I see over the next sunrise a highway,
empty of detours and beckoning Winnebago wanderings
to this heart, from another, on windswept invitations
penned in frilly fonts and colors of imagination,
reaching deeply inside and holding tightly
A glance back as what is left behind brings a smile,
for what waits ahead is now everything new
In the grand scheme of things, what is found chiseled in fate
proves that destiny is a destination of dreams, of hopes and
of love . . . when that journey brings me to you
The leaves and changing,
and people rearranging,
It's the start of the year,
People spring with cheer,
The bark is wet,
from all the showers we get,
But i've been told,
"Spring Showers bring May Flowers",
The leaves change from green to yellow,
hopping around like a happy fellow,
The weather gets warmer,
The grass gets greener,
The sun grows brighter,
like a neon highlighter
So concerned with the skill
But anyone's skilled with language
Everyone knows the power of will
Though words rarely show knowledge
So i say screw the pettiness of being clever
I say screw those who value wit over truth
Why do we appreciate those under cover
Yet we let them hide because that's just youth
We could read a page of "smart" quotes
I could litter a textbook with highlighter
Anyone could refer to important anecdotes
Everyone congratulates the "brilliant" writer
All the time we see it happen everywhere
All of us are blinded by words every time
Take the aged's advice without thought or care
Though soon enough you'll find it a crime
For they lived long before our era of man
They spoke in a period when word was a privilege
What was written was read by no educated scan
The world is changing and so is knowledge
words lifted out of their mundane fonts
translucently reborn by the holy obelisk
held between the fingers.
academic talisman...
baptiser of all memo's and textbooks.
speaking in accents niether above
nor below the blue college ruled lines.
sanctified in a cloak of pure light.
Separating all that is secular from sacred.
set in italics along ornamental chapters,
the red lettered jesus walks down galilean shores
with a # 2 pencil and highlighter in his pocket.
prophesying of some alphabetical
ressurection through golden ink,
highlighter and highpriest of all that is
written.
My ’65 Rambler
in 1979
i learned to drive in a
1965 turquoise rambler
three on the tree
cracked, dusty leather
smelling like an old fisherman’s boot
the sun spotlighted that car
bouncing off of the irreverent turquoiseness
wherever I went
like a giant florescent highlighter
hanging above my head
most of the prayers in my life
were made fervently in that car…
Please, God
don’t let anyone see me in this heap
Until
One day
I discovered
Exactly what 365 horses
Could do…
And suddenly
I was cool
Faaaast and cool
And always
First.