Insinuate Poems

The Art of Manipulation

{"I poisoned myself, thinking about you nonstop, it was annihilating me on the inside, even the melancholy sounds of the river streams that intonate into droplets, do not convey to me the ultimatum of serenity anymore.
Your presence was sufficient to morph me into someone I’m certainly not. 
I cut my eyes to the mirror and I cannot recognize myself anymore. I pick up a boulder and heave it, ravaging it to pieces, my hands unfurled to grab one piece of the blade. 
Realization creeps up on me, I buried my soul with you, you were above whilst I was below; you would,
make me believe I was worthy of nothing, not even yourself; us standing side by side; a privilege you would insinuate. 
I poisoned myself,
the malevolence was too intoxicating,
the sentiments were too bottomless,
how to exude it remained an enigma,
I poisoned myself with a misconception about you,
you weren’t who I thought you were; I haul my feet to the desolate ledge of the flowing water,
I let myself go, when I started to loathe you and your existence.
Like a wolf scrutinizing its prey; once upon a time, you abhorred me, and I loved you. 
It seems as if opposites really do attract. What a…
Tragedy."

I Hide In the Hut

I do not want to insinuate they are dangerous but….
I hide in the brush when I meet one or run to my hut.
I am careful to never make eye contact or make a loud step
Green elves and ghost goblin gremlins all have a dangerous rep

They are masters of animals, especially good with a wolf.
A cyclops runs from them, or he ends up with them on his hoof
They are intensely intense – their stare will dazzle your eyes.
I am running away from one now, no big surprise.

Perspectives of Stones

he throws pebbles into the ocean

rings of suspense skim the surface

concentric waves ripple the storm

inside him that nags at his peace


his friend bites into a plum

and cracks a tooth

at a kernel of truth

hidden in the fruit of passion


sometimes both of them watch

a brick layer cementing foundation

solid walls that insinuate stability

but they wish to deconstruct

such a temporary illusion


far away she has committed no crime

‘other’ than being raped by a mob

the raging crowd tear off her veil

shred the Burka to pieces

and violate her modesty once again

as stones shatter her head

and her cracked skull yields

to some unwritten law

of honour killing and dogma


four lives of many

privilege 

speechless injustice

separated and too close for comfort



07th August 2021

Dreams

Disjointed, fractured,
Dreams entangle
The sleeping mind, 
Leaving tentacles
That insinuate themselves
Into twisted realities
Of feverish thoughts 
That question our senses.
The waking dream of
What we see and hear
Is but one part of 
Our assembled lives
That weaves itself into
Our muscles and bones 
And tells us what is truth.
At night we shapeshift 
Into other beings and
Tell ourselves that
What we think we know
Is naught but lies,
And, when we wake,
We’re haunted by the
Half-remembered shadows
Of our sleeping selves.

She Wears Jimmy Phews - Warning Contains Humour

A lady I knew called Griselda
Collected shoes just like Imelda*
But she’d such cheesy feet
When she walked down the street
Folk secretly called her Ismelldya!

*Imelda Marcos owned at least 1200 pairs of shoes



NB

After being on the site for over 7 years people are well aware of my style and love of writing the limerick form. If i write a bawdy limerick it is noted in the title and if folk insinuate my work is pornographic I can only pity them


I will not be deterred by bloggers and will not stop writing limericks or funny poems. I’ll never stop trying to make folk smile and have a laugh and forget their troubles for a while

1/5/2021

In a Dream With a Daisy In a Daisies Garden In Dream Land

I dream of you my beloved Daisy, you were of such flagrant colour
Your fragrance filled the air, as the rays showered on you in downpours
And I take a step towards you, even my own feet adores your beauty
Gently, I touched your petals, they are velvety and soft and silky
As the tips of my finger caressed you, in such delicacy as your delicacy
You stood so confidently, flourishing in a garden of none as your competition
So easily you catch the eyes and trap the hearts and insinuate such passion
I do not want to wake from this world, from the imaginations
And I thirst in such desperation that you come in your beaux to satiate
For I am addicted to your fragrance and your nectar that none can repudiate
Darling Daisy of my dreams, I shall not pluck you from your roots
But sit abreast you, elongating this dream, to wonder in the captures of you

The Altar

A faint glow dribbles 'neath his door, 
and clamours of construction mutter, 
bellow and insinuate, his broken voice 
belies an old man struggling with a stutter. 
He comes and goes in dead of night, 
I mark his shuffling pace, 
his wheezing terrifies and taunts me, 
nervous as I am to peek, 
to see this stranger's face. 

The sounds persist for several weeks, 
relentless, with a purpose, 
still I'm reluctant to confront 
this man, anxious and desirous. 
Then all at once the banging stops, 
the faint glow disappears, 
I'm left to wonder what he built 
'midst stammering and tears. 

Overwhelmed with curiosity 
I wait for his return, 
his latchkey kills my modesty, 
his secret soon I'll learn. 
Elderly, his shoulders bent, 
palms pressed as if to pray, 
a penitent upon his knees 
with not a word to say. 

For in the stark and silent room 
an altar is revealed, 
intricate and fine beyond compare, 
with flowers and still photographs 
a child is honoured there. 
I took his arm and knelt with him in prayer. 
The line stretched down the hallway, 
those offering respect, 
the passing of a little girl 
brought many to reflect.

Total Immersion

Imagine, if you can my dear, my body is
Like water that surrounds you, gentle in the morning
As you rise to consciousness' surface
And take your first breath of the new day,
For I (who always try to wake before you)
Am that living water that now holds your sleeping form
And listens to the language of sleep's rumbles
That cat-like, purr your pleasure to my touch,
Telegraph the peace you're feeling,
As my arms, my legs, and shape insinuate
Their way into your very dreams,
Adjusting to your slightest movement,
Mutual comfort moment's bliss.
Like liquid love, that fuels my being,
I feel my soul immersed in serving
Broad strokes that your dreams are painting,
The wholeness of the life you wake to,
The lover that you trust is real.

I have become silky cocoon 
Your undomesticated pupa spun
In service to your chrysalis,
Am not myself at all at last,
But servant to your adult form,
Proud husband of your winged flight.


Brian Johnston
April 11, 2016

The Altar

A faint glow dribbles 'neath his door, 
and clamours of construction mutter, 
bellow and insinuate, his broken voice 
belies an old man struggling with a stutter. 
He comes and goes in dead of night, 
I mark his shuffling pace, 
his wheezing terrifies and taunts me, 
nervous as I am to peek, 
to see this stranger's face. 

The sounds persist for several weeks, 
relentless, with a purpose, 
still I'm reluctant to confront 
this man, anxious and desirous. 
Then all at once the banging stops, 
the faint glow disappears, 
I'm left to wonder what he built 
'midst stammering and tears. 

Overwhelmed with curiosity 
I wait for his return, 
his latchkey kills my modesty, 
his secret soon I'll learn. 
Elderly, his shoulders bent, 
palms pressed as if to pray, 
a penitent upon his knees 
with not a word to say. 

For in the stark and silent room 
an altar is revealed, 
intricate and fine beyond compare, 
with flowers and still photographs 
a child is honoured there. 
I took his arm and knelt with him in prayer. 
The line stretched down the hallway, 
those offering respect, 
the passing of a little girl 
brought many to reflect.

I Ate Too Much

Can you elaborate?
When I insinuate,
Or elucidate,
The postulate,
Of the populate ,
To the proclamate,
And indicate,
An approximate,
When to inaugurate,
The officiate,
To delegate,
Or orchestrate,
Us to celebrate

Clown Macbeth

One who has nothing to show off is boasting to himself on the stage.
Macbeth though sat on the blood stained throne he would soon be dethroned 
by his own slaughtered hands because he became a king by killing his own king.
Why are you, then, mounting your high horse? You will be thrown out from that stage soon or later, just like Macbeth.

If you are a clown you may be an object of mockery
but your awkward gestures may occasionally induce 
active sympathy from the audiences.
Why are you flapping the wings of arrogance?
Though you are not even a clown 
but a foolish snob incapable to insinuate through a jest 
sarcastically about the whole of this world’s hypocrisy 

[who shall I to blame for my height;
Father? He is the one who bore me to see this world,
Mother? She is the one who taught me the meaning of love.]

Actually, I am not short
but a bunch of idiotic dwarfs come together
toasting wine glasses in the air shouting “my height is the standard.”

Relics

I don't mind if you climb inside 
 This stump I left behind 
 This lump of rot whose body parts 
 Broke free of dotted lines 

 Pluck a tooth, score a limb
 Scrawl a note or two 
 In this lair of desert air 
 There's room for both of you

 Odds and ends amidst the mud 
 Insinuate a face
 A thin disguise free of love
 Cheeks the wind erased

 An alibi for skin and hair 
 Where only dust resides 
 Crumbled like an arid lie 
 Free of human fear 

 So grab some stringy gristle 
 A brittle part will do 
 Or a compact mass of bone and grass
 With the mellow scent of dew 

 I don't mind if you grin or pout 
 If you're whole or if you're broken 
 Despite my rugged gutter mouth 
 My door is always open

 Written by © Raven Drake

Spit Take

I’ll slice the breath you take
Bones, muscles, and sinew taste
I’ll spoon the red gravy you make
And don’t you dare insinuate
I’ll bite the plastic fork to break
Off the boneless meal I ate
I’ll spear the smile you fake
We’ll split half the sin you hate

Life Is What You Make It

BIRTH OF NEW IDEAS IS INVENTIONS MADE.
YOUR INQUIRIES INSINUATE.

AMBITIONS GET YOU UP AND ON THE GO.
THEREFORE, SET YOUR GOALS.

OPTIMIZATION MAXIMIZES FUNCTIONALITY.
PERFECT...

WONDERFUL IS THE WORLD YOU LIVE IN.
KNOW THAT LIFE IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT!

UTOPIA IS THE IDEAL PLACE.
UNTIL DEATH…

                                                               
Sponsor:	                Dave Wood
Contest Name:   	Life is what YOU make it! 
Entry Date:              Thu, March 06, 2014
Motif:                        Life is what YOU make it!

My Dreams

My eyes - thee lids they are heavy
My mind then wanders and drifts away
I doze off truly inspired by sleep
I contemplate - I am of admiration
Now resting, I enjoy the stages
I see beauty in REM - I glance - I peak
Gardens overwhelm my life- 
The power of the flower
The rose - it infatuates me
One by one - step by step - each budding bloom
I enter a field - I am mesmerized
And my senses - I smell a deep aroma
I am fully aware - I wake
I now walk the paths - as I stumble
And each door I open - I see flowers
Climbing rocks rest assured - 
The beauty is with is with me
I captured it in a dream - brought it to reality
The sun cast its shadows - I proclaim
And every door - I knock I see opportunity
In my dreams - I create beauty
In life - i create obstacles - who is to blame?
I view a sunrise - I am gifted
And the heavenly stars I gaze at - I am lifted
I analyze my dream- I insinuate
This beauty I see in the flowers
And the rose - did bloom representing love
Think of the gardens and I walk a path indeed
In reality! The dream it forgot to cultivate the weed.

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