Needled Poems | Examples

Tattoo

Think ink, permanently needled into flesh; tainT
Absolute with no quick absolution; twO
Together forever - will you be happy with your tattoO

Moored On Brittle Soil

As I lay on mounds of a shoreline, 
weightless in eyes' astounded spirit 
blending with angels, dirt, and crosses; 
my soul bears this emptiness 
in writhing streams omnipresent for day 
and twilight's heavy float-- hours change
beyond primitive instincts--a landscape
of bittersweet cycles appear, and below it, 
the fluidity from incandescent waters lap 
on mouths of frozen stars requesting patience.

Here am i sprouting below, above and under
their flesh; fulfilling my need for deliverance
out of some needled pinch : 
awash by whimper of rain , all senses 
moored and fashioned so lamely
on brittle soil of life unlived ,
seeking a depth of quiet within myself
time rippling upon this decayed shell undersea...

yet nothing came except a leaf falling.

Money Pig

The day they proclaimed addiction to be a disease
is the day drug abuse spread like a weed
The powers that be profit from prolonged disease
not so much from personal responsibility
 they legalized dope to keep people pacified and numb
then lay tax on the working man-play us for chumps
They've turned this country from a cool place to be
into a red-hot mess, the needled and syringed lining the streets. 
Nancy was right when she said just say no
now they have grass and gas stations
in deep blue tongued Colorado.

Some want to categorize obesity as a disease.
the cure for this one is simply quite easy
shut your pie hole and start moving your feet.
There's way too much profit in treating "disease"
That's why cures occur so very rarely.
Once a person is cured the money pig thins
it dies in the stye with the profit margin men.

How Does A Dream Survive

How does a dream survive
When pierced of every needled prick
                           and bled from every pore
When tossed about and left for sick
                    and crashed down to the floor

How does a dream survive  
When hidden, lost and out of sight
                                  forgotten and alone
Or trampled by the dark of night
                      and every wind that’s blown

A dream will live because it can
                                with just it’s very will
And even for the weakest man
                                   and for the very ill

Oh dream, just dream, the mind is free
                      for everything that’s sought 
To realize and come to be
                        it takes but just a thought

Dove and Crow's Song

the birds in heaven
weeping still for your lost soul
peace cannot survive

in this needled cage
where desires rot like trash
singing, ringing noise

trumpets loud ablaze
sins of pleasure well erased
gardens have returned

but what flower knows
the warmth of the shining sun?
wherefore can we sleep?

wherefore is this peace?
let it dwell within us all
those who go too soon.

Every Tunic’s Tucked

EVERY TUNIC’S TUCKED

squeamish that every tunic’s tucked
on one side, lopsided, uncouth
on the page, in the book - why is
every model told to tuck her hand
inside her pocket, jam her socket
into her pants, plunge me into distress.
If they want us to buy online, can’t
we size it up ourselves. I laugh
like crazy…going crazy…the lazy
love to push buttons and tuck.
well i’m out of luck, looking through
glaring pages, glossing over, needled.

insensitive to my plight? perhaps
you have your own quirk. don’t
laugh behind my back…hit me
on the chin. just don’t tuck your tunic
with your hand in one pocket. i panic
at the unprofessional modelling. i turn
away, i scorn, i feel sick. the lazy
like to set up every one the same.
their camera should be ashamed…
how lame. let me speak…let me shout.

i was kidding about the chin -
keep it to yourself…

In a World Gone Mad Part II

Freshly awake from feeling trapped in a dream
I drink Sleepytime tea in the dark and
Read an article perfectly summarizing the modern world of
Cluster B personality disorders - the underlying psychopathology 
Now overtly on display in a world gone mad

It hits the proverbial nail on the head
But maybe that's the problem  
I don't want to be a nail, nor even a needle
I want to be just fingers tying
Knots on a loom

Like in the old days around the fire
As stories and tall tales of Gods and Giants swirl
And so like everyone else
Stick my hammered, needled, knotted head
Deep in the proverbial sand

(10/25/23

Microshot

When looking for a quack with spiked rates
Some try the Windowed Office of Bill Gates
Coz right on the spot
He’ll give you a shot
But be prepared to accept his dictates
	
His business, Microshot, you may know
Needled itself ahead of every foe
With billions of bucks
To create deluxe
Vaccine versions 2, 3, and 4.0	

Yet there are many who’ve come to razz him	
And treat him with deserved sarcasm  
Like those who’ve found
Themselves wheelchair bound
Though Gates claims it’s just a back spasm

Now Gates wants to vaccinate the planet
With help in tow this is how they’ll plan it
By changing genes
With secret means
Which to me sounds more or less satanic

Yet there are those who want to be first in line
To get their shot with a chaser of wine
Well here’s to their health
Or rather Gates’s wealth
Which must be baked in his evil design

But when at Bill’s door you hear the death knell
That is your vaccination alarm bell
For more than malware
Coz once in his lair
You’ll know why they call his shop ‘Gates of Hell’

The Last Halloween Night

The rain drops, drip-drops from the eaves
Wind creates a sighing in the amber needled pine trees
Moonless night puts all in this fall's deep night sleep
Even howling from coyotes slowly slows and cease

There's a ghoulish feeling to the damp air's flight
As the mist swirls on this coal black night
Invited inside where a small fire in the fireplace is aglow 
Where a comforting warmth from the hearth does flow

The silvery hair upon his old head
As memories of years gone by have suddenly fled
They left on Alzheimer's tangles last call
This most dreaded Halloween of all   

Written: October 31, 2022

Emo Boy In the Mirror

In sleep, 
the clear hose is a needled razors eye and it is draining!
In my dream,
it is ten feet long, black polish, it is the start of our song.

Emo steps out from, his mirror, the two alone, smiling
together, waxed hard, 
out of sight, inside the darkest part of the mirror.

Millennium Park

Millennium Park
a reclaimed landfill
once succumbed
to the deafening shriek
of sea gulls and bulldozers.
Now a rolling hill
gazing down on the skyline
of The City of Boston.
A blanket of greenery
laid over a once open sore
inviting the weary
to sit, to succumb
to the blissful stillness
as the wind sings
in the long-needled pines.


John G. Lawless
©2/22/2022

A Photograph of Us

A photograph of us: we are blushing
in your bathroom mirror, your body wrapped
around mine. A blanket. A tattoo
needled in. Your beaming chin in my hair. 
You, promising marital bliss. 
How could you be so lovely?

A photograph of us: 106 miles apart. 
Me, wrapped in fading amaranth sheets that now 
call to mind evisceration. 
You, ripping up wilting notes I wrote to you
til their worthlessness disgusts you. 
How could you?

Fall

Smothered, 
patience wanes her cure
morning bites 
more than one can chew
and . . .
it's cursed, cast from demons
begging to get there first
 
blood drips down the back of the throat
in the stillness of the dawn

clenched teeth
awaiting 
a perfect mood to be borne
 
dusted, 
rouge makes way
to face the gruesome,
graved 
grovelled within the growl

gulped, drenched
in pure goldlike moments,
stat
liquid caffeine
needled
hooked then veined
 
nothing ventured nothing gained
 
sown then spread,
an awakening of the dead
blind
ripped corners of the mind
aching and coming to head

why hell,
you forced me
to wish for dead
 
there's no time for love
when answers receive no call
fall, fall, fall
we all fail
then fall again

Disturbution 2

 Wet a glance as the nocturne faded. Deeply rooted was the clause of all men's fears and queries. Nonetheless stagnant to the terms of the ever growing woe-field at dusk. Nevermore would the twelfth cripple slay the beast of foundry lane. Cups of variation would beam and gawk the very presence of egotistical teas, or anything like it for that matter.
 She had very much grown to like the groans of the cask watcher, as she needled him, sew. Mana waned, exalted at at the fact that a taco stand could ne'r grasp the sheer magnificence of such a blur of cosmic obliteration. 
Fathers of bears DO enjoy skittles, after they have fallen to the gleaming, sometimes tripe-ridden lakes of the barbarian fist junkies of old. Don't ask me why, but scattered pie is far more delicious.

Pagan

snow-capped trees weigh down

roots hold council’s needled hope –

trinkets hang from twigs 


12th November 2020

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