Miming Poems | Examples

Ex's

A smeared reflection 
mirrors off my memory,
of her
and how she took
2 hours every morning
to paint, draw, brush, curl and spray
H
her appearance on.

But she could not even
make up
2 minutes of breakfast chatter.

Miming herself to me.

Thank God for windex.

Leaving Guardian

Often I bid angels go at sunset,
Often I prefer the kill,
Kill of plastic face,
Kill of child's toys burning, 
Burning sleeves,
Burning like Paris in my tongue,
Tongue fluent in sweet apple,
Tongue inwardly moves;
Moves consciously,
Moves apart,
Apart from slits,
Apart from her—
Her miming ways, 
Her existence;
Existence at impasse,
Existence survives moments,
Moments still are timeless,
Moments to come—
Come by her nature's sways,
Come even in the setting —
Setting weights,
Setting down of our pallor —
Pallor, its closing...
Pallor— I have red tears in my eyes,
Eyes left and right,
Eyes cut out by diamonds,
Diamonds in pieces,
Diamonds a bride's glory,
Glory muzzled in tales;
Glory runs—
Runs on fumes,
Runs ajar,
Ajar secrets,
Ajar faith;
Faith loves the glass,
Faith willing—
Willing even as stars cross,
Willing dance,
Dance of twirling hair,
Dance like finger's shadow near skin;
Skin succumbing,
Skin chained—
Chained walks,
Chained to flowers,
Flowers that slink,
Flowers tearing against horizons—
Horizons touching,
Horizons blinding,
Touching
Blinding

Rascally Romance

Rendering rainbows over candy kisses
Above the marvels of a mindless moon
Meandering with fairies and flower wishes
Miming melodies frolicking with a flirting tune
Nimble poets prance scribing wistful words
Courting playful paramours to canoodle and swoon
Entranced in witless wooing, amorously absurd

Tongue-Tied Dispatches

 In the realm of self-interest, a curious soul,
Could not adhere stamps, sans wit owning a role.
 His tongue, like a rover in arid terrain,
Lingered on whimsy, a scoffing refrain.

 Precision eluded, in blindfolded dance,
Tongue franking an effort, missing each chance.
 The stamp, a library of lore unbespoke,
His tongue still meandered, lost in each stroke.

 Like giraffes when they strain ~ reaching treetops,
His sealing endeavor was a clumsy hopscotch.
 The stamp lay there mocking, a coaxed witticism,
Tongue still missed the mark, a terrible tourism!

 Metaphors clung, but not on the letter,
A longing unfilled, his tongue never got wetter.
 The envelope sighed, craved wit's lifting brew,
Yet his tongue frolicked, having wandered no clue.

 He licked and he slurped, as though miming delight,
A grand postal crime, a federal plight!
 Metaphors piled up, unsent missives distressed,
His sense of himself was a bewildering behest.

 In the spirit of levity, a story confided,
A stamp unadhered, a metaphor provided.
 When engaging with mail, overcome by caprice of,
Just leave the attempt and go buy self-adhesive.

Laugh

               A laugh is a soul's explosion of insanity.
           Knowledge of acknowledgement in vanity.
      A crazed affinity with deja vu timing.
          Taboo of thought in neon silver lining.
    An out of body experience welcomed within.
      Micro possession in a miming obsession, 
         with dilated dial in audible font style 
   and expression.
          
               A laugh is a pseudo lust in pseudo love.
         Headlining, silver tongued language of 
   squealed wink, grunting blink, snickering choke of drink. 
     from above. 
  A syncing of honed thinking in volume linking 
    the brink on.
 Wave of notes confused bang of gong, 
 in mode-icon.
 Surge of mental drowning, 
 with smile singing mused 
 connection system of its own downing.

Our Breath Is Paled By The October Moon

Our breath is paled by the October moon—
I'm miming prints with her glance on glass;
But by window magic, don't we all swoon
To this season's world so barred and so blast.
I'm cloudy like the clouds, behind her pain—
Her light— end of trees' blush— leaves cast
Down, fall into my dangling veins.
Will she chip out there sometime soon,
Than fain be subtle— for playing eye games—
From repeat romance, she's no hypocrite.
She is all but their working boon,
But sometimes— their understood innocence.
Her silent voice out from my screams, croons—
Our breath is paled by the October moon.

Joke That Falls Flat

A man's joke could not trigger laughter:
A good one about helicopter
Some poor guy often flew in dreams
While in true life could not pay for creams;
Audience of joke cracker creditors,
Who needed prompt cash for auditors;
Three with him for their thousand dollars,
On that day joke cracker's First callers.

"So, why these tales about helicopter
And opening an unwished chapter?"
Tales might veer to roofs of rafter
Now left for Generations after...
Joke got the more intolerable,
When he said not things honorable
They are not leaving him just, like that
Each need to show rat he'd turned a cat

Yes, jokes could fall flat for bad timing
And one can't restore them with miming.

The Delightful Notion

In the late hours, you remain aware,
I directed my eyes out of the lame glare. 
When you scoop your most clear hand,
This guided me through the rugged land. 
You read each title on the child’s skimming, 
And all that pain caused you some miming
 
Kudos for taking on a load of my pity, 
During both fine and dire times, echoing ditty. 
She is my other mother and first wife,
The guardian’s angle secured the baby's life. 
From once-ill, now-maturity childlike people,
The nanny lets your silly book be as a foster.

Bliss, I pray that all readers will be blessed,
In times of need, a dear carer may be best. 
Every youngster memorized my poems, 
As in a warm, cozy child's room, I know him.
They heeded this as gently as possible, 
This made my youth halcyon and sensible.

Written: October 17, 2022

French Royal Garden

Composed in their femininity
Compliant with the slighest
Urge in that delightsomeness of
Miming a bloom, wind-caught.
No less radiantly stately fraught
With one's plucking interest.

Then I came back. Shook awake of
Which stilly - found entrancement
Its ornate vision's, she, herself
Charmed out of me; wife; alone!
To as many a dressed pose, prone!
As much for distinguishment!

Minority Thoughts

We find ourselves in different shelves in life to shape and sharpen thoughts 

Thinking for a greater tomorrow just to breath the fresh beat of earth 

Thunder strikes creating lighting to capture images that would last for Gods 
Miming our moves as we elevate invention that was innovated by sin

Sinister mystery laying differently like last crast for peasents 
Scrubing for more bread to eat to tick for tomorrow 
Loosing hope soul attracted by soil splash flash dashed to the last inch of whiskey 
Hearing whisper commencing prophecy plants combined to formulate a form of answer 
Swearing for forgotten days to play 

Oh child find what was made for us tomorrow to pledge probably gaze all bubbles nibbled through the wall 
Who is this fancy face phased with the atmospheric figment 
Waiting to be tint in colours of rainbow 

Bow to vowl historical metaphor 
Finding improper fraction fusing the leftover gas
Past hindered through the hour glass are the days of our lives going to be like this
Drilling drops of unravelling all travelers camping all army.
 
                              Ash N.N

Some Lines Go Unsaid

silent words of dread
                i recite each night in bed
                  too late now your dead 
                      one reality ahead
         miming what should have been said 


Your Best Monorhyme Poetry Contest
Set in Tanka form 
Sponsored by: William Kekaula 
15/08/2021

Redwood

Redwood, you’re the Shadow secretary?
I guess so, he muttered.
Not caring that I am of voting age.
That’s what they tell me.

Preceded by Hunt? Succeeded by Hague?
Tell me, did your baby sister die of the plague?

Were you the one who resigned from the cabinet in ninety-five?
Not able to relate to most people alive?
Let’s not forget “Redwood versus Deadwood,” he told me proudly.
But weren’t you defeated, and pretty loudly?

And dropped in mid shuffle?  Wasn’t that you?
He huffed off mad finally, showing his irritation so blue.
I saw him miming a song on his way out.
That’s when I knew he was in a really big pout.

The Mystic Bard

A playful bard the moon casts a winking eye
To shy blinking stars playing hide and seek
Miming his brilliance on high in dark skies
Flirting thru sequined nights a shy mystique

For lovers of the night rapt by romance
Entranced by quixotic moon dreams urging
Eclipsing the light in shadows to dance
A hidden soiree, lovers converging

Beguiled by this sweet and romantic sight
Neath the lunar poet's grand illusion
Captured by its rapture he rules the night
a sonneteer portraying loves allusion 

The moon is a bard a mystic with spells
For lovers who wish their stories to tell


January 11, 2020

Rewrite:  February 14, 2021

Polarized Planets

Contrived is how it is
incessantly demanding
jaw snap and tantrum
its alarming attention
offers but greedy promises
fulfilled by drooling idiots

The bubble bursting
in miming smashed flowers and peoples heads
extension cables attached
to connect their errant souls

In high rise windows
hides the ecstasy of open skies

Each component all of use
and no use, to use, or not use at all
states its claim of necessity
all those things of slavery
but must function

My toes scraped at earth
cushions on the blades of grass
did these eyes eat at bark
and of mornings petal
expand my blood

As if waking from a perfect nights sigh
I have lost my way
being of gypsy
but a life time of nature tenancy
and all this tiny little world is enough for me

Drowsy
lazy
silence comes naturally 
and in such flippant garb
a spindles thread of destiny
weaves some pertinent web

Rest upon the Dandelions head
orthopteran chirping    
as I slip the clouds
and ponderously ponder nothing
the sun is talking to my skin

And the Bubble Bursts

An illusion of euphoric freedom,
a bubble that encloses them from all sides 
and they float in it awed by its iridescence.
Swirling rainbow images could be seen on its layer,
miming untold tales of enchantment
with each lurching bounce as it levitates higher.

When actually it is a death trap,
a spell that isolates them from reality
and soon they succumb to destructive compulsion.
Itches of dark temptation lead to scary scars;
more they scratch, worst the wounds become.
By the time the bubble bursts, they are already dead.


Date: 05/01/2018

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