Long Wriggles Poems
Long Wriggles Poems. Below are the most popular long Wriggles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wriggles poems by poem length and keyword.
Words,verbs,adjectives,aimless,past times made present, amalgams of verse unshaped,until imagination's birth bursts from the spring of my maturity to awake,arise as ideas and fly free on imagination's unfettered wings ,blown to and fro to settle where they will with nowhere to hide, buried deep within long forgotten dreams until becoming clear ,as words floating like petals on a stream;a fragrance that lingers within, as a passage of light to my soul, inspiration to make me whole.. delineated as a pattern of thought ,a ribbon of inspiration as a verse.
Suh tumultuous discussions within ,these images strive for life just as a new-born wriggles from the womb. I merely provide the mute, as multiplied, thoughts trained by the subconscious becomes a workaday drama.The inner made outer.Inherent originality conceived,perceived,crystallised, beneath the now ..in relief.
The hands let go with a cracking sound
Whipping our Smith to the glowing ground
Bouncing and wobbling his jiggly joints
Green swirls into Red, boiling patches into points
The Machine retracts and swallows its hands
Coiling deep inside its rickety glands
No gagging, no cough, just a calm ritual
To pull out a key, almost entirely habitual
It holds its key in between fingers
And looks at our Smith that unwillingly lingers
"We are going up, no matter what you want
The door to the Vineyard, my current haunt"
Our Smith rises, and slithers up the path
Not wishing to incur the Machine's promised wrath
"It HaS BeEn A wHiLe SiNcE i'Ve BeEn GuIdEd
.....I'vE nEvEr ReCalLeD, oNlY aBiDeD?"
The Machine catches up and scans without warn
Our Smith jumps and wriggles with scorn
"No Smith should be able to think without Star
You are able for now, but stop acting bizarre"
Blotches burn his burns, twice smouldered
Our Smith knows his place and continues, bolstered
He upwardly stumbles, until he smacks into a mesh
A crosshatch door, laced with flickers of flesh
"Now, stand aside, fallen Smith of mine
I must open the way, so stand by that sign"
The Machine takes its key and finds a lock
No time wasted, it removes the block
The door unfastens itself from the clasp
Creaking open, with a gut-wrenching gasp
The flesh on the mesh fall in lumpy piles
Casting rainbow hues on the muddied Pink tiles
"WhAt HaPpEnEd To My FrIeNdS, MaChInE?
WhY cAn'T tHeY fOrM, eNgAgE iN rOuTiNe?"
The hands come again, instantaneous and fierce
Planting our Smith beside the Elevator's smears
The hands hold our Smith's stomach, gurgling
Pressing, tightly, bending inwards, hurting
Crunching bubbling boils in his body
Crushing thoughts of anything godly
........................................
Our Smith loses the energy to stay alert
As the crosshatch contraption ascends overt.
a line starts to crawl
bending between its endpoints—
alive on the page
the line learns to walk
loops like a caterpillar—
dragging wiggly tail
a trembling string line
resonates in space and time—
a violin sings
the line curves around
back on itself, head to tail—
a merry-go-round
ink line creeps forward
curling into cursive forms
signing its own name
tears form rivulets
gravity pulls water down—
meandering flow
three or four thin lines
entwine into plaited braid—
motion becoming
crawling on all fours
the line takes a mountain walk—
tracing the contours
a wandering stroke
like an oar that doubts the sea—
encircles meaning
the line unravels
to its ragged, riffraff core—
threadbare its heartless
defined as taut straight
the shortest way between points—
wayward wriggles room
a line drifts outward
then returns, as if it knew—
all paths bend inward
the line comes to rest
where it first began to crawl—
nothing left to scrawl
Silvers strands line her hair like salt in an aquamarine ocean
Wrinkles shine in ripples on the quiet foreshore of hindsight
She dyed her hair blue today because she can
The engine still roars when she puts her walking stick aside
Mounts the quad bike and sails through the isles in the shop
A keeper of memories she sounds out her youth
Joints crackle the tune while she dances in rhythm and rhyme
Sings aloud from a mind set alight to a chorus of an angel
She never consulted for divine intervention
Close to the checkout the tattoo on her belly wriggles and chimes
A lip ring as long as a tear drop from heaven tickles her fancy
Firmly lodged in faith compassion and love
At the exit a watchman guards safe passage and kindness
And wonders what pills she is on to proceed with such joy
An unredeemable survivor of a rebellious soul
They call her a basket case but her crazy insanity keeps her together
Purple mascara and face paint are waiting for a final farewell
Just for today she will colour the shadows of her rainbow
04th June 2019
A Contest of Ageing
Sponsor Emile Pinet
Tattered clobbered thoughts streaming to winged dusts,
spiral spasms tremble amid weary sounds.
The festal moods swing dreary interludes,
visions ache release with defloration--
throaty cries heightens the greedy man's lust.
He longs to possess the murmur of blood
from naked images throbbing desires,
it surges -- tinged to his cerebellum.
Dark libertine drained his desirous juice--
madness stings deep-- displayed to his ardor.
Boorish bashfulness etched into each itch
cracking unto his left to right onslaught.
Finitude fair Venus choked with disgust
as she wriggles, wriggles to free herself!
Her wriggles useless from black libertine...
Pristine Venus fallen-- now wanting death.
©O. E. Guillermo
5:15pm December 05, 2014
Sponsor Giorgio A. V.
Contest Name Structured forms - Iambic verse - Sketch a fictitious character - (Top Gun Poetry)
Placed 6th
He slowly walks the lonely crowded road
lost in love and Self and lucky destination
Has no clue where his barren feet will lead
yet delusion is cast away from anchor’s rope
Sandy ripples where the pavement rapped
trousers worn by threads of passing dread
denuded to the core of looming meaning
step upon step towards ever so many directions
Tattooed on mind meek towering wisdom
and the certainty that if you never take the
other road you’ll never know what treasures
might be found at roadblocks and junctions
His jingles smell nostalgia his taste too sore
to touch those banging shrieking visions
teeth too sore to clench high mounting tension
nevertheless and always the more he feels
Reason has fused with tearful emotions
harmony of conclusion grips ambivalence
therefore his heartfelt dissipating opposition in
diametric venture holds the future in disguise
One tear from his cryptic optic passion and he
would slip one tear splitting the middle way too
often and he might turn back to nowhere near
where tangible became too messed for blessing
Timothy wanders in wonder and silent meditation
driven by his inner re-birthed voice to find another
register of reconnaissance with hurting feet
and soaring blisters and thus he laughs at himself
Giggles wriggles talks a break to tickle his fancy
titters a howling roar cracks a serious joke and
mends the yarn of living narrative on unfolding path
A jester solemnly parades and his truths emerges
September 2018
Buttonhole Daisy
by Odin Roark
My city bud and I
How we love the long walks
Daisy beneath my chin
Tucked securely in a buttonhole
Me with discovery in my eye
Maneuvering ever changing trail signs
We walk these precipitous canyons
This forest without trees
‘cause that’s what a New Yorker does
and if nature be your thing
you take it with you
My feet tread upon sidewalk and road
Concrete and asphalt
Candy wrappers and dog doings
As safely harnessed in
Daisy wriggles for joy
Knowing it’s only for a day
But it’s her bucket list
Together we drink in
Vast canyons of rock and nesting pitches
Forged atop dry beds
Where once flowers and soil aired freely
Fowl and beast danced in synchronous survival
Unaware evolution’s drumbeat was creating
Esplanades of another kind
Here where once crept moccasin-feet
Ever conscious of disturbing precious surroundings
Remain but a buried imprint beneath
Urban scree and mountainous bastions
Afternoon brings overhead sunshine
Peeking into the ravines
Where ant-like motion smothers the surface
Scurrying left and right
Many going nowhere
Still the light reaches us
Warming our journey
Through dens and caves of onlookers
Perhaps wondering as well
Where did all the trees go?
By nightfall
Daisy begins to droop her head
A long day taking in so much
Has left little room for the jungle
That darkness of a city’s life
Where red and blue lights flash incessantly
Alternating with sirens
And blasts of police car Urp Urps
Giving habitual warning
Don’t attack
Don’t hit
Don’t fire
Don’t exercise evolution’s beast-like modernity
By sunrise
We arrive back at our own brownstone cave
Where sitting next to the vase of her kin
Waiting a turn to take their first time walk
Their last time remembrance
Where something besides captivity in a vase
Will fill their final hours
I take a very droopy daisy from my buttonhole
Lay her to rest beneath another page of my diary
Lift the pen to record our day
Smile at the other daisies
Knowing their bucket list will be filled as well
And begin my daily entry
She loves me
She loves me not
She loves me…
One, two, three, angled
Toes, fingers, teeth, mangled
"We WiLl bE fReE tO FiNaLlY sEe!"
The stomach's foot wriggles with glee
Amalgamation is the only way
Our Smith knows and begins to pray
No warning mouthed before the clasp
Gluttonous gloop scoops the foot in a grasp
Triple digits move swiftly and quick
The Stars lucky they are not here to see sick
Lashings, fingerings, scars and rot
Devoured by a trap the other sought
"HoW cOuLd YoU? wE WeRe pRoMiSed fuel...?"
The question dwindles, quiet and cruel
As our Smith digests, then takes a rest
And soon hears, newly, a crackling crest
Further over into the dark
We who have eyes see it stark
A fierce Furnace, the Fire's Cot
Where many Names are burned and forgot.
I prepare myself for a deep relaxing bath
but that dratted spider was out to have a laugh
As I pour scented bubble bath into the water
Spidey climbs the wall - he’d also bought his daughter*!
He raises a spindly leg as if to wave hello
that pesky crawling spider really needs to go
It's a living a nightmare, it isn’t a dream
So I emit a very loud ear piercing scream
My heroic hubby dashes to my aid
as my distress was clearly displayed
Whilst I stand their screaming like a stupid bimbo
hubby tosses the weeny spider out the bathroom window
Alas the daddy spider he has other plans
and wriggles his way out of hubby’s hands
Hubby drops the creepy critter onto the floor
spidey plans his escape, he's heading for the door
Hubby pounces on him at breakneck speed
and squashes him flat ... he’s dead indeed*
*A great deal of poetic licence – thankfully there was only one spider and he was tossed out of the Window* I think the warm weather is bringing these pesky spider’s out from hiding:-(
Follow up poem to www.poetrysoup.com/poem/i_confessed_to_a_cold_blooded_murder_1029155
6/9/18
I remember when we were young
the giggle me time
a father playing with his son
the wriggles and squiggles of a small little boy
as I pretended to use him as a pillow
stay still, what lumpy pillows
they make these days
the giggles filled the air
it's not hard to make life fun
just have fun and be cheeky
I remember the night
of the daddy be dumb show
I was healthy I was young
holding a broom handle with both arms
I'd jump through the centre
that type of health would be nice today
I remember swinging from the door frame
using the tips of my fingers
I'd bring my legs up and through my arms
coming back down to land on my feet
the daddy be dumb show happened
when I lost my grip and hit the ground head first
stunned I lay on the carpet unable to move
my son with big open eyes looked on
as his mother went running to the phone
stunned I knew what was happening but couldn't move
after only a few minutes my power came back
and I climbed from the floor
into the rules and regulations
you're going to the doctor
you could have concussion
Like a puppet I followed their commands
people who love you try to look after you
my head must be granite
no lasting damage
yet the memory remains of our moment of love
a father acting to gain the smiles of a child
I am not perfect but love is built on actions
respect is gained from giving
when you climb on the roof to get that ball
or take your time to listen
love is built on good times
an ice cream at the park
parents that engage
parents that push their kids on swings
you don't have to buy diamonds
Laughter really is the best medicine.