Long Analysis Poems
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WARNING: THE CONTENTS OF THS POEM MAY BE
DANGEROUS TO YOUR PHYSICAL AND MENTAL WELL-BEING
(Photo of the Two Lovers is available on contest site),
As any physical therapist worth his salt will tell you
These two wannabee lovers are inviting big, big trouble!*
Photo-analysis
Look at the neck of the figure on the left
bent almost horizontal to reach the eager lips
of the poor figure on the right, whose hyperbolic
swayed back is just a lower lordosis ache away**
While the taller of the two is asking for severe
C3 - C-5 vertebral displacement, at minimum
'Shorty,' up on those tippy-toes, will no doubt
tear both her quadriceps and hamstring muscles
~ screaming in agony before the kiss is halfway through
***********************
So, OK. I confess. This is not an actual photo-analysis
But I am really pissed. (Tsk, tsk. Vulgarity; I know)
Why can't I ever get a long, wet, lascivious
mouth-watering, juicy kiss like this? I ask you!
Well, I've never had lordosis or kyphosis
My diagnosis is -- you guessed it -- halitosis
January 05, 2019
Picture Prompt Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
1st Prize - Halitosis Radiation Bombardment Surgery
Presiding Surgeon: Bobby 'Come What' May
Surgical Nurse: Caren 'Cut-and-Pray' Krutsinger
____________________________________________________________
*Note the clever repetition, ala America's poet laureate, Trump, of 'big, big,'
one of the his (and my) awesome, innovative stylistic devices.
**Note the eerie similarity to Mick Jagger's line, 'It's just a shout away,'
from one of his-stoned out 60's albums. Gives you goosebumps, eh?!
Ha, ha: It gave my parents an Excedrin headache...
There is a teacher I know. Someone who walks into the classroom like he’s stepped into a memory, quiet and worn, yet still showing up. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his voice carries more weight than volume. His words are deliberate, as if each one has been measured before release. There is something about the way he stands, hands folded like he’s holding something in. Something too personal, too heavy, too old to name. He looks at his students as if he sees all of them at once, past their jokes, past their laziness, into something deeper. No one notices the way he glances at the clock when the room grows too loud. No one notices how he lingers by the window, not for the view, but for the silence.
There is a teacher I know who stays late when the hallways are empty, surrounded by crumpled papers and untouched chairs. He grades quietly, with a patience that feels almost unreal. There’s a sadness in the way he moves, like someone trying to find meaning in the same lesson plan he’s used for years. He teaches with this kind of quiet hope, like maybe this time, someone will understand. He never says much about himself. He gives pieces away in passing comments, stories buried in metaphors, feelings folded into analysis. His eyes flicker when someone brings up loss. His mouth pauses before certain names. Most students don’t notice. They don’t care to. They laugh too loud, speak too quickly, and forget he is there once the bell rings. He becomes invisible the moment he stops speaking.
An interesting muse has form,
not a template of something else,
but its own odd shape.
This muse, for the time being,
is sensually curved like a Ruben's nymph.
It has dimples and plump folds
even though it is a phantasmagoria,
a thing of no reason or sense.
After a seemingly unnecessary stanza break
it morphs once more.
Hieronymus Bosch’s long nose
peers out of a whales birthing canal.
A giant turtle holds the whale upwards
toward a crystalline sky.
A chilly sea-song
is sung by an Alaskan mermaid;
she is either a fishy popsicle
or a lady being swallowed by
can of Tuna
depending which side-up the reader reads it.
The shape now falls apart,
becomes a mythological heaven
where the shapeless dance naked;
only their pink toes and
belly-button eyes can be observed
through a pinpoint of perception
but that is more than enough for a short poem.
Eventually, a crunched-up ball of paper
speeds away defying critical analysis
and the objections
of the openly open-mouthed and non-plussed.
Enjambment- they happen -
most now must publicly admit, that if nothing else,
this has a uniquely shaped rear end.
Introspection is an “I care I search” quest-
Needed self-analysis from inside out,
Towards clear reflection of what makes me whole.
Rumination of a deep and thoughtful kind,
Of those feelings that serve well or not.
Self-examination- difficult to do,
Perhaps because the scrutiny brings pain
Especially when I am not aware or
Can't address those things that I must change.
Through contemplation, deeper thoughts will show
Internal weaknesses and strengths that flow.
Observation of myself from deep inside
Nourishes my heart and soul for better life.
I've come to say a few things about our political involvement,
Important is this because our future is on the edge of precipice,
And is dangerously tilting irreversibly towards enslavement,
If urgently not arrested we pay the unholy bitter Price.
How easily a people once astute and meticulous,
Got swerved towards the edge of political escarpment,
Punders sane mind, so absurd and so ridiculous,
Though it be inflicted by unnegotiated predicaments.
Then make I bold to interrogate and not to despair,
To investigate, scrutinize and not to speculate,
Prescribing solutions so simple and so straight,
Least I be misjudged and suspiciously at glared.
Despise not that which I say because of its simplicity,
For truths, real truths unadulterated are always simple,
And need not be subjected to unwarranted duplicity,
But be accepted by souls learned and simple.
Is this predicaments not caused by lack of participation?
Was it not caused by poor political permutations?
Are we not plagued by lack of proper political calculation?
When against action we choose unfounded speculations.
Have we not indulged so much in self aggrandizement?
Have we not taken the destructive path to political oblivion?
Have we not despised the Zikist ideology and movement,
When we choose "sit at home" in every election?
Refused we not to galvanize 20 million votes for our leaders?
Have we not disdainfully despised our leaders,
And make it practically impossible to organize us?
When we claimed that politics is not for us?
What else on the negotiation table do we bring,
Except the uncalculated threats of secession?
What if on the table 20 Million votes we bring?
That would grant all our interests protection.
Oh! What is he saying? Does it really matter?
All we want is our freedom from this contraption,
Their political system is bedeviled with corruption,
So we do not want to get involved in their matter.
In the final analysis it does not really matter,
What the political system is - whether it be perfect.
We do not need perfect political systems,
We need political participation that's perfect.
I say this one and I cease to say no more,
I Say not everything for want of time and space,
But that we participate even as we continue to ask for more,
As people of peace who for others set the pace.
It's obsessive Compulsive
An addiction For fiction
A need I must feed
To clot the bleed
I feen for intensity
Of searching for clarity
In an enchanting mystery
The opposite to reality
The house becomes still
Not a soul to entertain
It's time for my meal
Everyday it's the same
A short piece of music
A cosmetic aesthetic
The very reason they use it
To stir my fetish
It's an intense venom
Paired with tachycardia
Slow metabolism
Is how it'll get ya
Suspense induced paralysis
Excluding sticky fingers
My personal analysis
Lethargy lingers
So I keep coming back
Escaping my existence
I'm hooked like crack
Doomed to be defenseless
In the final Analysis
Destiny !, – she seems desperately to want to shut the gate.
She has been fencing in her garden – locked out, is this my fate ?
She has been offered opportunities to know me and my dreams
but nothing of my desires does she want, or want to know, it seems.
I’d love to see the sun setting, reflected in her autumn green eyes,
to lay with, the night long, to become conscious at dawn, to the sun rise
from her beautiful face, feel the warmth – suppressed – it could bring
to this aching heart, this alone soul, - my world – that makes me sing.
The pain, the heartache, much to great !, to live with this desire
to live with the direction it has been heading – ashes from the fire
is what I feel – for I cannot, will not pay for what is not meant for me.
The price is too high to pay for a foundation meagre, to high the fee
for a blank canvas, a painting without images – really – as I see
it, from these eyes, blinded, in what does not come from the heart.
Expectations, trivial matters, - pursuit of – is no place to start
a journey, an adventure down the rocky road of life, in life’s cart.
B. J. “A ” 2
January 23rd 2007
Power analysis
traditionally follows investment
and divestment of money
and kleptocratic energy.
Which is all fine and good,
but, as I recall,
the truth of sustainable power trends
has more to do with the healthy beauty
and the unhealthy ugliness
of where we choose to start
our co-invested redemption narrative
and where we choose to end
fixation on independent
and anthropocentric
investment choices
Evolving from
our historical revolving global dance,
green/blue health regenerative
spiraling co-passion out
and holistically co-investing in
EarthTribe's organic pleasure life
Sacred integrity's
meaning fully saturated,
demeaning powers evaporated.
Oh, rare as you, another gem can't be,
First found in Dublin, quite by accident -
There sold as cut Spinel to Count Taaffe,
Quite curious of how its light was bent ...
Adept was he at how spinels appeared,
The ones he'd bought peculiarly NOT so,
For they reflected light so subtly weird,
In varied hues of pale mauve afterglow ...
So, hoping he had not been victimized,
He shipped them off for broad analysis,
Results as he could ne'er have realized -
A gem named after him of sparkly bliss ...
And that is how bright Taaffeite became ...
The rarest gem to EVER ... hold a name!
Written and submitted on May 15, 2019
For the "Tribute To A Precious Or Semi-Precious Gem" Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
Passing up the sunny days.
Wallowing around in the gray.
Banking that a change will come.
And fortune will finally let me have some.
There, that's it, it's all been said.
Just hoping for a little heaven before I'm dead.
Cause I'm afraid I'm gonna drown in my sorrow.
Lost here in today,waiting for tomorrow.
I used to believe in the common man's dream.
But hope and reality aren't all that they seem.
Some hearts don't heal and the sun doesn't shine.
And now someone else has what used to be mine.
Self analysis is the only friend I've got.
I'm tired of the lies and my nerves are just shot.
Pretty maidens see a different view.
They look straight at ya,but they don't see you.
Like a mirror, I see myself in my mothers eyes.
When I feel pain, she's the one who cries.
My truest joy, is to make her dreams come true.
Because for me,there's nothing she wouldn't do.