Inconversant Ivan is inconsolable and inconspicuously indistinctly
Illinois and Iowa ignorant. Instinctively and incredulously inducing
Illustrative ideas that implement indefinable individual
Indifference, ignoring Aunt Inez’s illustrious ideals.
Every Ozarkian November, when the first cold rains from the north pour out across the land,
Instantly sweeping away the easy, quiet warmth of autumn- wild winds blow down the colors of the hills.
Each pelting sheet of wetness slamming my windows,
Indicates a new season approaches- a season of joint-gripping misery, a callous wintriness sneaking incredulously into my bones.
Odious elements! You have snatched away the benevolence of the sun!
Anteater guy swings his two tiny 'shrooms
They toss and sway like willow tree blooms
We watch him waddle on down the road
Probably to visit his cousin spotted toad.
He is so dreamy my cousin Suzette said.
I am shocked at her idea – is she crazed in the head.
You don’t mean Anteater guy! I incredulously say
Who else? She asks as she watches him waddle away.
Inquisitive sorts enigmatic notions as positions--scaled left for the right-hander--behold various perceptions, thus preserving perfection as a cure for misdirection's subtle draw.
Earnest forgivingly weakens its posture as truth betrays, incredulously, amidst reality outfitted in non-traditions; Judas kisses a face, while the strummed favors oils embrace a straining revelation that pleasures the muted.
Distractions of another sort muse the ne'er-do-wells, while diligence inks the lost, ambulates ambitious quill of risqué 'Olympia' whose indecency is shaded decently.
Tryst loses in translation, forms anew in an altered view; observant exposed a chapter; a spilled review cores a novel of two; meeting of the minds formed upon a ruinous and trifle distraction, whereto whenever praise ventures, "A dull knife makes a cutting edge."
Neck pulsating, close shave shines over whiskers
Stiff collar pressure, raced anticipation simmers
Key twist intrigue spurs engine's orange rage
Needle throws redline on wide torque gauge
Jaw rigid, fingers grip cockpit lethal leather wheel
G-force grabs chest, insolent beast thrusts surreal
Monster inflamed incredulously adheres to tar
Salivating lion's ravenous rumble has zero par
Ripping up bitumen, sardonic responsive tyres rivet
Road shred's exhausted under rocket fume exhibit
Airtight capsule, caramel cow hide hugs tamer
Eardrums hum, a hundred mile Hyundai shamer
Brawny tawny gold, hot bonnet chrome flashdance
Purrs her melting eclair aerodynamic performance
Pride's pilot elevated by moorish horizon hunts
Hungry headlights still prey with stealthy stunts
30th July 2022
Written for Contest: Joy
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
when her chin befriends my neck
hands snake around my thickened waist
my lover, purposely peaks for a peck
with no more time being left to waste.
a familiar scent, seemingly settles in
as sweet as her, this signature fragrance
I look up to the silhouette, of the skin
as our bodies begin a dirty dance.
the aroma takes me in, effortlessly
but cannot specifically name it, in question
as she permits to lay me, so incredulously,
candles brighten, to cue the session.
it ought to be a special occasion
my baby is working, full-on seduction
the moon smiles, as if on compulsion,
if only films, could witness this production.
13 July 2022
Rhyme Rumi Quote Poertry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
110 words.
Rhyme zone, verified.
The Czar’s happily fawning sycophants,
Threw flattery onto him like a cloak.
Marched in his rallies like S.S. ants.
Lackeys, bootlicks, and lickspittles. Ain’t no joke!
Surrounded him with compliments and affection.
Foolhardy Emperor was so incredibly pleased no doubt.
Incredulously thought he had won the election!
Until he sneezed and a four-year-old called him out.
Imagine if this was my last poetry poem contest
My creative juice would drink itself!
I'd find myself staring wistfully into an engulfing abyss.
I'd title my last contest poem, "Creative Death"
If this was my last poetry contest poem,
Well, I don't even want to think about it!
I'd be banging on the keyboard with both hands,
exclaiming "Why!? Why!? Why!?"
If this was my last poetry contest poem...
"Now what? Hell if I know!" is what I would say.
More poems of mine would slip through the cracks
unread and unvisited like a barren no man's land!
If this was indeed my last poetry contest poem
"Good heavens! Say it ain't so!" I'd scream incredulously!
Would my poetry output slow to a crawl?
What becomes of flood of inspiration then?
Hmm....
If This Was My Last Poetry Contest Poem Contest (Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by Silent One
Dates written: 07/17/2020
My neighbors and friends were astounded
Many had doubted, did not think it could be done
However with my dandelion-generated motor
I began to show them how, and it was incredibly fun.
You just add dandelions! They said incredulously.
That is right, I assured them as they sipped their tea.
We had brought in the neighbors, the doubters too.
We were demonstrating my new auto-engine. I had painted it blue.
Just ordinary everyday dandelions? Yellow humdrum?
Found in yards all over the world? Asked a man wearing a mask.
I nodded, and if you run out of gas, just pick some.
Will the people charge us for them? One idiot asked.
I nodded and laughed, and my six driving-age children nodded too.
For we had built each of them cars out of bits of junk yard stuff and glue.
The total cost to us was around two hundred and sixteen dollars apiece.
So my dandelion-engine put-together car was featured from here to Greece.
"Intermission: Flutterby Reveille"
Impromptu like a moth
pale words flutter out of his
psychodelic mind
curious funny flutterby…
for a second then, I didn't move,
deadpan, I said,
"... try again with some panache, some style"
incredulously, I smiled,
he's tripping guitar leads
counting long-tooth years
and numbers between drum beats
here no rest for the wicked, we...
hear pretty worded poets
walk on tip toe
balancing wet bars
on bipolar tightropes
shaking up and banging upside down
all the pretty snowglobes
In his land of silent muses
driving as he wrote
Singing “Every Little Breeze Seems to Whisper Louise's”
Pushing the envelope
aside, he writes,
retirement is a caged zoo
he gets high on cryptic puzzles
and cracking her
Sudoku
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
Breakfast Reveille:
The Angels, “Take a Long Line”
https://youtu.be/4LdZAK2Rfkg
The Angels, “Rhythm Rude Girl”
https://youtu.be/4bWsbCpCwOg
The Angels, “Rhythm Rude Girl”
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/angels/rhythmrudegirl.html
____The Will to Live____
The doctor pronounced, it's over.
Better sign those final papers now!
Incredulously, I gave her the evil
eye!
Who was she, to determine my
destiny?
And, thus, I found myself a
Chiropractor.
And here I am,twenty long years
after.
I am one with eternal hope and
loads of faith, courage and spine.
No person in a whitecoat will ever
determine when it's my final time!
That is the call of my God, divine.
August 17, 2017
Nothing was any different.
Ordinarily I would have expected it to be,
but everything was oddly the same.
My desk. The office.
All was unchanged
but for your presence.
Handsome and tall
and young as I'd known you.
I followed your disappearance
swiftly down an unchanged passage
and through an unchanged door
into the unchanged reception.
I asked incredulously after you
and to my surprise you were confirmed
by the changeling at the front desk.
I looked left
up the unchanged stairs
and right
into the unchanged parking lot
and further down
another unchanged passage.
Maybe if I was quick enough
I'd catch you
before you reached the car.
4th October 2018
Talking. Talking. Talking. At first it is fun, maybe even entertaining.
You are not sure exactly sure when it turns, but it does.
Suddenly the monopolizer’s ramblings no longer seem charming.
Patience worn thin, you try a few times to interject a word.
There is no pause, no break. Constant talking. Inane talking. Nonsense talking.
You try blatant rudeness. Still no pause.
Suddenly you are annoyed, irritated, angry.
It is the same feeling you get as when you put your turn signal on and watch
Incredulously as six cars and a truck speed up, so you miss your turn off the freeway.
Rudeness personified. Self-centeredness to the inth degree. Magnificently selfish.
I walk away as she obtusely, self-absorbed, is still talking, talking, talking.
She yells after me in a way that indicates that I am the rude one.
I wave, resolving to forevermore avoid this non-listener
like the plaque that she is.
I heard my husband say,
Oh, good. You'll be here in forty minutes.
How wonderful!
Yes, the cousins of the cousins were coming.
Less than an hour's notice.
We'd been trying to get them here for ten years.
They had never accepted.
Now that we had the car packed, and
the kids were psyched about going
to a water park for the weekend,
We were staying.
I stared at my husband, incredulously.
Why didn't you tell them?
He put up his hands, shrugged, helplessly.
These were his mother's cousins.
In their 80's.
They would never understand.
They were already on their way,
Expecting us to be delighted.
The hardest part of the weekend
was not unpacking the car
or keeping the disappointed
children quiet.
The hardest part was
not strangling
a man.
A small stretch of bar to call my own:
I cover it with my paper and a thin book of poems -
Most I don't understand at all
Some, unfortunately, I understand too well.
A TV in the corner
tut tuts 20 thousand screaming Yankee fans
into a shushing murmur that drifts
amongst the guests like an oversolicitous maitre' d.
I discuss favorite movies with the bartenders -
kids really, and one, incredulously
insists that Running Scared, the Paul Walker version,
is the best movie ever.
I could love him for that.
Disembodied pieces of conversations
roam unmolested through the air -
"What are you doing after work tonight?" -
"Smoking marijuana"
And
"Lets put on our PJs".
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