Incisors Poems | Examples

Bloodsuckers Blood Bank

Count Olaf Von Farlow was a few quarts low

He followed the scent, he followed his nose

Gonna do a fly-by, wide-eyed, don't you know 

Gotta do a fly-by low, to detect the flow

Now, Count Olaf's down, and he's blood bank bound

Incisors sharpened, with moldy, molded crown

That's "Olaf Von Farlow"...never hyphened

The Teller there, unaware...got siphoned

I Might Choose to be a Mouse

If I could be any animal I might choose to be a mouse.
Finding my way by touching walls in a person’s house.
Mice do not get sick, even if they eat food that is bad.
They never get colds or pneumonia like my tired dad.
Their teeth are strong; their incisors never stop growing.
mice have no electric bills, they have no stress of owing.
They can crawl into the smallest places too.
Wait! Is that a mouse trap with sticky glue beside your shoe?

Guillutine

The arc of teeth
the rising and falling of words 
Transcribing tangled knots 
sayings nonsensical
Incisors gnashing 
bone scrapes the blade.
Keep searching, keep searching, 
they are meant to be found,
to be bound by record.
Between both pens at 
the side of the skull
Is the archive of every schmuck 
sentenced
To receive the cold descent
Upon the neck’s nape 
that feels frigid
Is the greeting of 
a friend’s final conversation.

Harder

              Clenched teeth 
              harbor a growl;
     The sound is mine not yours;
     Dominant except around me;
                 Love bites;
 Incisors that leave puncture marks 
       that never build a scab;
               All you say is 
                  ‘Harder.’

Imbibing the Cliffs Enthrall

Heart

Pulse throbbing, breathlessly imbibing the cliff’s enthrall. The crashing of momentous waves against the bolder rocks. The passionate heaving of whisking foam and the swollen coolness of seaside air.

Mind

Blown, for I am not a fisherman, nor reside near the cliffs. What is a haven and harbor to many is a far-fetched tale to me, but here I stand as if Liberty over the seascape. I could walk these rocks, forever in my figment, roll the scene over and over again, watch the washing of the rocks. 

Soul

The lighthouse sign, missed to one’s detriment. I take the warning sternly, with compassion for souls lost to the rocks. Resplendently wet, inviting adventure, departure into the lapping incisors. A cork bobbing, sinking, subsiding. Out of sight, I see ghosts clearly. Only fools tread onto the wet rocks. I want to be foolish, but it is not a good day to die.

Mocking the Dead

Mocking the dead,

the vampire on the hill, high
above the cityscape. Why
does his cloak wrap around?
It moves with a hissing sound,
blackened on the outside,
blue on the molten graveside.
Sharpening incisors on the crag,

but

the villagers with their worn rags
tight fisted with their goodly lights -
those lanterns, infused with salt
of garlic, compelled forward in the dead
of night. Mockers and murderers, fed
by rage, want to dispel the wine and bread.

Hell,

the strangulation of fire, lava rolling
down the hill. Mocking, laughter -
the shivering of the old church rafters.
The reborn, new creation, settled
on roof-blowing praise. Nettled,
old Nick, the vampire king unsettled.

Mocking the dead,

making his own bed, jutting at jugulars,
darkening the atmosphere, drawing
congregants, unholy. But, someone holy
has his heels on the vampire’s head.
He’s been banished…dead heads’ rolling.
The glorious light of the lamb, consoling.

Squirrels

Superbly agile and acrobatic creatures.
Quirky zigzag moves and mannerisms.
Unique techniques for stealing seeds and nuts.
Incredibly strong front incisors that keep growing.
Really smart, mischievous and very entertaining.
Ready to rob and tackle any bird feeder, even squirrel proof.
Extremely resilient during harsh winters.
Loud chirping and chattering when near by.
Sometimes they are white, but mostly grey, red or brown.

Bow To Me

A genie's lamp cannot compare,
To smoke awoken from my breath,
Slithered out in ancient swear,
Unshackled life from sudden death.

Hear me now in brazen bond,
Bow to me, before now still,
From truth ye once had to abscond,
In fevers, shaken by silent will.

From my hands,
Whose neurons lick,
The lightening to the mind.
Pineal guide to beguile,
Beneath the feet: the lands.

The tides, the sands, the echo chambers,
Stalactite caverns, incisors drip,
Chomping sedentary angers,
Stalagmite joys equip. 

Crickle, crackle,
Fire burn,
Electroluminosity, 
Cackle at the broken shackle,
Gargantuan pre-ponderosity.

Lexical endorphins breach,
The code of dialect,
Yet encrypt in empty preach,
These passwords left unchecked.

Anandamide is left to hide,
Before celebrities of bliss,
Confused by knowledge ever wide,
By eyes unknown, remiss.

Never mind,
My mind's unkind,
To those whose cerebellum lacks,
The able to unravel fable,
From facts I've meant for find.

Bow to me,
Not you, myself,
Dear reader if you chance,
Occipital, cortexical,
Step in languid dance.

Can I Borrow Your Bong

Muggle catching monster with your four eyes strong
To follow you from place to place might be simply wrong
Your fuzzy furry hairy head needs trimmed, it is way too long
Your incisors have the length of a skinny king kong
Some people have said you look like a total ding dong.
I like you forever though; can I borrow your bong?

We Could Be Friends

Bite then, a piece off my flesh,
And quench on the gushing pints of red.
Sink deep your incisors, and dig for what little remains;
Yank! with great hunger and break the skin like a dog to a rag.

Trust my wounds—
Here, payback and karma do not visit.
Peel a sheet from the cut on the back of my neck, to my back, to the heels of my bare feet,
But do not disturb the knives in my spine.

Pay no breath to the broken bones that pierce,
And feel not guilt for ones that break on your bite.
Grind them into powder and spice your ego!
Your hunger is not yours, grub on my growl and fill your gut.

Slang your blades and tattoo more wounds atop the scars you find.
There are no patterns nor mosaics nor cascades to obey.
But if you wish, unlike those before you, be an artist with it—
Draw to your heart’s desires.

Pay no apologies.
Pick and pull at the scabs that may protest,
Offer no sympathies and believe no tears,
Because what is a friend, if not what kills you for better ones.

Waiting For the Thawing of An Afterwards

Ice shrouds over the hunched houses
where blood and flesh huddle and wait.

An ice ravaged 
face rears up from an invisible earth
its fangs blackened by a tooth-aching light,
more flesh piercing incisors
dagger down from the clamped
and sunken roofs.

What wreckage there is, is buried
hidden from sight, but it is not
a clean landscape. Not a landscape at all
but a telltale footprint,
a restructuring of destruction.

What was once seen as a town
is gone. Not forever (drama makes
actors of us all), but we talk now
in a past tense language of 'back then'
and not of any postcard view of tomorrow -
not yet.

Bequeath of Teeth

Not to question the Almighty
Though when planning out our life He
Might have done a better job 
In the designing of the gob

For in the matter of our teeth
Far from a permanent bequeath
They’re like friends for aye of sorrow
Here today and gone tomorrow

I suggest a bold revisor
For the molars and incisors
Chance in later evolution 
A less transient solution

Consider hair; it keeps on growing
In a breeze we feel it blowing
Head, and chin, and neath the nose
Waving free or tied in bows

As predictable as dawning 
It gets longer every morning
So on schedule or a whim
We go and get ourselves a trim

What if our teeth would thus renew
In covenant that’s firm and true
Then after every loss of bite
We’d grow a fresh and pearly white

The mission then of dentistry
Not: fight growth of entropy!
But with the novel fresh mandate
To tend our crops and cultivate

With grin physicians then we’d be
Relaxed within their company
Not as a blessing to endure
But for their oral haute couture

Incisors

For the Beauty Pageant 
Her selling front teeth,
Whose absence is a myth 

For a smile with intent,
Yoga is the breath 
While you bare their breadth

Their extraction kills the sweet 
In indulgent kiss,
Keeping them white a feat
To one who wouldn’t a tooth miss.
 
Also useful to vampires 
And their reprehensible agents 
Assuredly stretching their empires 
And vile occult regents'.
 
For whomever Satan hires
For the incisive very urgent, 
As decisive as live wires, 
Blood corpuscles the emergent.

Cold But No Cigar

No cigar— a narrowly missed success, in this poem happily missed.

COLD BUT NO CIGAR

Rainy today, cold enough for warm pajamas.
Yellow nest of autumnal loveliness.
Picturesque before starkness fills the pane.
Incisors of another season, threatening
to pinch me with impending Winter—
not so fast, dying my hair green!

10/29/2021

Incisors

The portcullis skulked up and down, with incisors twice.
Welcomed in victory; treachery was his victor. He’d sink low.
Rose petals bow under carriage wheels of friend, now foe.
To kiss the crown, the betrothal princess, he paid the price.

To kiss the crown, the betrothal princess, he paid the price.
Rose petals bow under carriage wheels of friend, now foe.
Welcomed in victory; treachery was his victor. He’d sink low.
The portcullis skulked up and down, with incisors twice.

8/10/2020
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