Indexed Poems | Examples

Born Between Coordinates

I was born in the pause between two coordinates
drawn by cartographers with sterilized hands.
My soul was indexed in miles and postal codes
Filed under miscellaneous anomaly at checkpoints.

I crossed borders that did not exist,
except in the mouths of men with rifles.
My breath was weighed against paperwork,
my shadow flagged by predictive suspicion.

I was processed in buildings with no windows,
where hope was a form to be filled in triplicate.
My story was annexed, taped to a strangers' bias,
then shelved into the limbo of “pending.”

I failed the empathy test of the world
where spectacle outperforms survival.
My life was too procedural for pity,
and my death was redacted for efficiency.

Ferocious Oflaherty Wild Atlantic Way

Why this is my tale

Of my family tree and roots 

The what and where

My Gaelic Celtic 

Surname origins came

Straight out of my Liverpool home 

Retracing my heritage right back to 

The emerald island of Eire 

Galway Bay

And the Wild Atlantic Way

Which paved the way 

Where the

Ferocious O'Flaherty

Clan initially began and surname came

To Aughnanure Castle

On the shores of the Drimneen river

Where I myself have never previously been

Which I aim to put right and address

Because as they say and it's said

In order to know where you are going

You need at 1st to know 

There fom whence you came

If no other reason

Apart from maybe just incase

In death you may well be returned

Indexed alphabetically under ones surname

Mine begining with the letter

" F '"

Moto and Meaning 

Fortune Favors the Brave

Bright Rulers

Ferocious in both

Spirit and namesake

Ho-Hum, Here Are the Keys

Ho-hum, another war lost
  We should have won
Our new partner for peace ~ the Taliban

Ho-hum, a new school year
  First semester's curriculum
    Learn whom to FEAR

Ho-hum, we're going all-electric
  While 'Mr. Green President'
Begs Russia ~ Pump more oil! Protet us!

Ho-hum, California burns
  The no-win solution
Gavin Newsome returns

Ho-hum, Chicago's locked down
  No, it's not Covid
It's a murderous town

Ho-hum, soaring inflation
  I can still sleep ~ My paycheck's 
Indexed to tax machinations

Ho-hum, another day closer
  To beckoning the invading hoardes
Come over ~ Here are the keys ~ Take over

The View From Me

"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." - Anaïs Nin  


a world of mine - the world of me
it's all the world i'll ever see
the only world that's spinning free
one world i'll ever have and be
but oh how grand could i but flee
this frame of dirge cacophony
to wend a song or two (or three)
a softer strain - another key
of life where sharp and flat agree
where they and i and you ...
are we ...
well i can dream, yes i can dream
if i but shut my eyes ...

          ~

Impulse, enter
Senses and sensation
Stirred with an indexed intent
All one dark, filtered aberration
A distorted lens of chaos and care
Carnal portions, meant holy
Divine, meant irreverent
I sit upon the marble, blue ... twirl
Views change, but perspective is a cold mute
Blinded by my vatic eyes alone
Cursed to but one sill ...
Shattered.





~ 9th Place ~  in the "She Inspires Series - AN" Poetry Contest, Maureen McGreavy, Judge & Sponsor.

My Dance of Poetry

My Dance of Poetry

When my soul and I dance in accord,
Then and only then
Will I be able  to write my poetry.
I cannot get more than I give!

Yes, I comprehend the world is indexed
aselfish place,
Where to be number one muddles all
minds,
And we forget love is more than just
being kind.

To see we bless another soul, is indeed
a noble goal.
Gratitude for this gift of poetry comes
from God.
It's really not our own doing, I realize
that sounds so totally odd!

Staying true, writing my very best
That's all God asks~ it s a noble quest.
We write down our words, we think
They are terrific.
Others look at them as nothing more
Than a traffic ticket.

This is my personal mountain to climb.
To keep on going, even though, this eats
my whole day.
I'm not here for self-aggrandizement,
But to support others on our mutual-
soul trip.

Panagiota Romios
4/23/2019
1:40pm PST

My Teenage Crush

MY TEENAGE CRUSH

A_Certain_Nii

Ere half a score and three in this sapien space
Eyed a destination that would take me there
Very noble and widely embraced by the numbers
I set out well in the name of getting there.

The fondness nurtured for my then would be love
Surpassed the trial and error date I'm assaying with my now.
I indexed any endeavour in clamouring for that tomorrow
All I could in my veins I hesitated not. 

The cushioning due me I never gained
The route to the root was never cleared
Roadblocks swamped my way; perils periplused my yearn.
My skin close destination, now too far.

Now with a deflected fire in my belly;
Grounded in the need to move on 
Keeping it cool as a man; a man who has to live
Settling with a love I hate. 


Click on the link to read and comment on other poems by A_Certain_Nii www.ayipoetgh.wordpress.com Like our page 'AyipoetGh' on Facebook

A Publishing Date

Let me drape upon you a written robe, 
beautifully indexed on your tablet. 
My! you look divine, 
off we go to dine on literary flavours and liquid verse. 

A five chapter meal we just published. 
This evening with you was a stunning essay read like a swift summary. 

Narrating your life’s novel, 
I record and archive, 
citing the volume of your smile, 
punctuating the exclamation of your eyes. 

May I undress you with my pen, 
printing kisses on your pamphlet lips. 
Nonfiction foreplay is the order of the day 
with teasing stanzas and touching tomes. 

Your skin the clear scroll, 
we edit with rhetoric as I explore the fiction of your passage. 
The lexicon of your moans, would a fine manuscript make. 
This plot you will review then quote.

You descend from that last paragraph, 
this memory shelved high in your canon. 
My pen has woven for you a silk word blanket; 
as you lay on my journal pillow;
wrapping you in the epigraph of my affection.

Imagination

This book of botanical images
in sepia depict the petals, veins, leaves
of exotic plants.  Listed alphabetically are illustrations
with a reader's favorites’ marked with string;
carefully indexed, scientific, dun-drab
they conceal the dream of translucent petals,
leaves that reflect green light, adaptive roots.

In idle fancy, a dreamlike flower unfolds
upright from the page.

Suzanne Delaney

A Blooded, Virgin, Night

Brighter than a fall bonfire but with the chill of ice, 
the winter sun haloes a gray and barren woodland;
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a florescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings to the horizon.

How it hurt my eyes.

Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol’s merging.
Trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, 	welt the dusk, 
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.

How it hurt my mind.

Splayed fingers do not block the sharpened spears of screaming light.
The winter sun, indexed, and palmed, scratches the face of I.
Within a dakened room beneath a pall, behind hides blue veins, 
near comatose, I sigh, the light, the light, until shades and stars arrive.

How life and death	both hurt.


First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014

A Blooded Virgin Night

Brighter than a fall bonfire, but with the chill of ice, 
the Winter sun haloes the gray and barren woodland,
throbbing, almost hesitant, with a fluorescent pulse,
brazen in its unrelenting descent, it clings--
to the horizon.

How it hurt my eyes.

Thin skinned, the lids tinge orange, the white of sol merging:
trunks, boughs, branches, twigs, 	welt the dusk-- 
rouging the line between, blooding the virgin night.
Pricked, the brain pulses in tune, unable to look away.

How it hurt my mind.

Splayed fingers block, the sharpened spears of screaming fright.
The Winter sun, indexed, palmed, scratches, the face of I.
Within a lightless room a pall hides blue veins, near comatose,
brazen: the light, the light-- I sigh, until shades and stars arrive.
How life and death	both hurt.


art by JulieG350
First Published by Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 - 2014

I Wonder If She Ever Thinks of Me

The image of her face embedded in my mind
The sound of her voice indexed into my brain
The smell of her perfume
The feel of her embrace
The tenderness of her kisses
Those eyes inflamed with life
Memories of her
A few silly messages she sent me
Words of nonsense
Words that bring forth smiles
A small note where she wrote my name
Dotted with hearts
Evidence?
That she likes me too
I keep it hidden in a small box and look at it
When the darkness brings her presence to me
I turn on my lamp and reassure myself
That yes she thinks of me
Yes she likes me
Dreams are good because of her
Pictures of us
I picture us
I like us
She's my daydreams my dreams my endless thoughts streams
I think of her
When were together the earth stands still
The sun shines for us
The moon and stars glow for us
The world is good
When we are apart loneliness mocks my heart
And doubt seeps into my mind
I think of her all the time
Yet I wonder
I wonder
I wonder if she ever thinks of me?

Behind the Dark Cloud

When the sky goes black,
And the clouds, less gay,
The sun hides, shining from the back;
Jesus is always my stay.

Tho' life be grim, or vexed,
Nothing can foil His plan.
In Christ is my future indexed,
Starting me each day with a flan.

The Lord's never scarce to save.
Nearest when my strength is gone.
He lends a hand or a stave,
And lets my cares withdrawn.

Jesus is never asleep in the stern
When my boat jolts in the storm.

A Note

A note to poets yet to be
No matter what their age is
They've indexed me as World War Two
But what's a scouser lad to do?
With all those bloody sages?



To develop the ability
To speak into eternity
And not be heard' s demeaning
It's not just finding words that rhyme
with syllables in metered time
one has to have a meaning
To give to those in later years
To make their eyes o'er flow
With tears of sentimental empathetic leaning

It doesn't have to  beat it home
To keep repeating in a tome
With weight too late to ponder
It only has to make them peer
Through time to see a moment clear
To stare with your eyes yonder

To show a simple memory of what was here for you and me
A rushing stream, a vivid dream. A rose in prose depicted
But chiefly briefly try to say your message to a friend
Emotions free a trifle fey, and true blue to the end


So polish your vocabul'ry, and pay your syntax just to be
Remembered in eternity
Come combat time with words that rhyme
And when you're bent in blind intent
Or lost in thought and sorely spent
Just read and heed these thoughts I've sent
To you my friend through time

Foot Notes

A note to poets yet to be
No matter what their age is
They’ve indexed mine as world war two
But what’s a scouser lad to do
With all those bumhole sages



To develop the ability to speak into eternity and not be heard’ s demeaning
It’s not just finding words to rhyme with syllables in metered time
You have to have a meaning
To give to those in later years  to make their eyes o’er flow with tears
of sentimental empathetic leaning
It doesn’t have to beat it home  to keep repeating in a tome
With weight too late to ponder
It only has to make them peer through time to see a moment clear
To stare with your eyes yonder
To show a simple memory  of what was here for you and me
A rushing stream a vivid dream a rose in prose depicted
But chiefly briefly try to say your message to a friend
Emotions free a trifle fey and true blue to the end
So polish your vocabul'ry and pay your syntax just to be
Remembered in eternity
Come combat time with words that rhyme
And when you’re bent in blind intent or lost in thought and sorely spent
Just read and heed these thoughts I sent
To you my friend through time

• Short Indexed Poems
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• Indexed Quotes