Jacketed Poems | Examples

Stuck

Ice touching the
ends of my hair.
I guess I am
no longer going
anywhere.
I thought that this
would be a fresh start.
A new beginning.
A start of something new.
But the clouds have followed
me all the way through.
DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!
My arms straight jacketed
to my sides.
This is what has become
my new.
Where my emotions
 run the show & there’s
nothing else left to do,
but to sit here in this gloom.
Dark & safe,
away from the light
of truth.
Because what would I do,
if I saw the truth?

Jacketed - dodo

Backseat bingo- such a blast!
Passion pit- made in the shade.
Fat City- cranked and crazy!
With dolly- cloud nine!

Lined In Discipline

Regalia awakens upon nightfall 
Roused within rules proudly signified
Routine of midnight procedural
Robe wearer draped solemn dignified


Voracious moon grey devil face
Oak double doors crosses engraved
Vestibule commands reverence
Flung open so mortals can be saved


Behaviour carefully monitored
Moonshine in aisle to alter pointing
Father's guidance Penultimate 
Spotlight slides jacketed anointing 


Pulpit a pillar of scripture's page
Builds focus for lamp stuck fly byers 
Formality chapters archaic sage
Impales twisted gargoyles on spires


Stitched into sleeves invisibly
Satin lining sheen hot cardinal flame
Shape of garment disciplining
Secure bounds by pockets contained




       15th February 
    Fitting into Religion

Tomb of a Room

I’m thoroughly surprised
you chose the brocade
over chiffon
my dear
poking at the
brie
only serves to show
insolence and ignorance
and the violins
give me
such a headache
such a migraine
jacketed like a
caterpillar in its
cocoon it’s
no wonder
it’s difficult to
breath in this
stagnant setting
this tomb of a
room we share
but you knew
before the steaks
were cut that
even the open
window wouldn’t
clear this air
didn’t you?


(click the pic for a preview of my upcoming book!)

Under the Dreadlocked Trees

His hair is alive,  
serpents writhing, a man Medusa of the tropics, 
as if he wore the demons 
of colonialism and injustice on his head, 
unforgetting,
a dung-brown-and-black hologram of 
the ganja-fueled reveries inside, 
the broken record of fight and redemption in his ears 
masked by an ancient face, all taut leather, 
placid with a sheen of absorbed light. 

Bloodshot eyes, not insomniac,  
but from the weight of things that, once seen,
cannot be unseen, 
scleras color-coding history, 
the blood of dead slaves on white.  

Yet the heat-chilled island calls a daily truce.   
In the shade of the commodious palm tree, 
the bleach of sun cordoned by a shower of shadows,   
even the gluttony of Babylon 
and the promise of Zion can share a siesta. 

Looking out to the silvering sea beyond the beach, 
exchanging a patois-scented greeting 
with two passing brethren whose hair hang like roots,
he puts fire to a fat, white-jacketed spliff, 
herb smoke curling up, 
rising,
rising,
a slow exodus up into the dusty fronds above, 
hung with the fruits 
of a tender mantra as, 
ever,
the spirit of Marley 
sings.

Liquid Shelter

I toss fire down your throat
pour you your bullet, goblet to gullet

glass-jacketed explosions 
line my wall like church organ flues
ablution for absolution from desperation 
libation-liberations for exaggerated exhilarations
bottled fevers for believers

kneel your mind
choose your raptures

you’ve come to my altar
now your blood I’ll alter

shaken, stirred, swirled, singed with little bonfires
as potent a potion as you like
each percent speeds your ascent or descent 
your thirst it’ll wet and abet

I have spirits to lift yours 
a cure in every liqueur
bubbly for the lively 
painkillers for loners

oh, I’ll hear your confessions too
earshot with your liquor shot, on the house
no judgement nor penance 
just a warped sense of time to let you unparch your soul 
salvage the day
and get ready to face the next one

I’m your friendly mercenary-priest 
enforcing a restraining order against reality

one more?

Stiletto Blues

She pauses, slender figure poised on
slenderer heels,

five inches of coquetry
ready to duet with
fifty feet of parquetry,

play a wicked staccato on
dinner-jacketed libidos.

Then she pushes open the double door
to find a newly carpeted floor.

The Steel Jacketed Messenger of Death

The steel jacketed messenger of death!.
Hell:! Professionally proxied in a tube
A shell comfortably seated in a cube
Doors never shut yet you need to knock
...With a finger and not necessarily your fist before it let's go
The steel jacketed messenger of death.

Oh! What a messenger!
 So humble and obidient.
Without a knock, it remains there
Never delivering the message to its master
But to the aim? "The speed of light couldn't be faster"
Still the trusted messenger to still a breath.

You let, it jets,
to the target it gets 
and in its nest its sure to melt.
It never mistakingly slips while on the shelf
But even at sleep, its never mistakingly deaf
To instill bucketed fear in every gender on earth.

Its a toy to a kid, employed by the skilled,
straight to the hit yet indifferent o the killed.
With freight in its sound,
 to hell it is bound 
and the effect is now!
The steel jacketed messenger of death. Is .....A BULLET

Goldfinches

goldfinches feeding
many yellow and black stripes
bunches of finches
forming a single creature
a yellow jacketed wasp
see the wasp devouring

Gold Nugget

Gold- looks like drops of yellow sunshine,
         that mesmerize the eye.
Gold- sounds like high healed celebrities,
         tinkling down a red carpet.
Gold- smells of money and power,
         mingled with the odor of white diamonds.
Gold- tastes metallic, yet unlike brass,
         doesn’t linger on the tongue.
Gold- feels smooth and cool to the touch,
         not as unyielding as bronze.


A gold nugget looks like a pebble of sunshine,
jacketed in the purest yellow.
And resonates with the accompanying subtle sounds,
of emeralds and blood red rubies.
A symbol of wealth, a gold nugget smells of success,
and is as indulgent as the finest white wine.
Without the tangy taste of brass,
gold feels as tactile as bronze, 
with the added resplendent glitter of gilt.



Written Oct.31, 2015 by Emile for "Color - Poetry Contest".

Lesson Learned

I learned to let people have a convo 
With their self, on the road to riches so to speak leave em alone in their own vault, our with their own thoughts so when things crumble before them it can be their own fault. There's an art form to communicate efficiently that most people over 25 still haven't learned evidently. Don't mind me I'm just calling it how I see it, seeing is believing and best believe I seen it so I believe it, but everything isn't what it seems so I guess I too have been deceived. 

I learned most of what I learned was a misconception, I know now in amerikkka an educated black man is a deadly weapon and not many have been able to withstand the recoil of that hammer, the truth is a hard pill to swallow especially because in that chamber it's filled with jacketed hallows...

Problem Solving At 2:00 Am In Medicinal Hell

Problem solving at 2:00 a.m. in medicinal hell
 
The alarm's on the bed so I won't fall.
Really I'm able to get to the bathroom. 
The Dr. told me it's okay.
Says the nurse "it's not in your chart."
 
I think: "God, please get me out of here", but if I get
up, the bells with sound and an RN herd
will race down the hall scolding me all the way
like I was a little girl.
 
Had their ways, I'd be straight-jacketed,
(safe from harm, other than psychological),
and the nurses could take off their clogs
and stay at their station and chat.
 
I think I'll wet the bed and buzz someone
Problem solved.
 
Kathryn Collins
January 24, 2014

How narrow can you make a bed?

Send Me a Beam

Wrinkle at the line
creams  for the age gap!
Holiday in France this year
 friends, friends fill an hour.

Or two. Home I say:
danced to nostalgia 
in boxes and mind  pills.
Then straight jacketed. 

Sweet as sultanas
The dreams curbed me in.
A beam houses in Ghent,
One you lived with me

wrinkles our deep lines
for filling water
gaps between here and there.
Yet you & I will see.

Grizzly

Three truant scholars spending our sabbaticals
in crisp Colorado, we all re-read Walden,
dared to drink from streams so icy clear
the fish seemed suspended in mid-air.
Our flimsy nylon shelters shielded us
from what weather there was to worry on,
as summer slipped to autumn 
and autumn waned winterward.
Four full years past we trekked those trails
through stands of timber frequented by fox,
by birds, by deer -- and by growling grizzlies.
We walked well-wooded hillsides
of mixed conifers and broadleaf.
In deep drafts we breathed the earthy air.
Now, when my son hugs his honey bear,
red-jacketed, black-button eyed,
I see the hellish maw, the bloodied claw,
of the darkish-brown raging beast
that tore off my arm and maimed
two sages, amid the yellow quaking aspen
where, yet, that gory grizzly ages.

Spring Rhapsody

SPRING RHAPSODY

Spring
      like a harp glissando
                               infecting the air
                                   showering light-dust
     bathes the soul
This sudden hurrying
                                sung by the breeze
                  the lyrics moist and determined
Out the door!
                    with rakes    hoes     gloves
                          light-jacketed will
Drops
                     Mother-kissed
                                       ping!
                                              sting!
Shout!
           the newborn cry
Pat a fat    pink-bottomed cloud

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