Nibbled Poems | Examples

Then he kissed me

Couldn't have dreamt this,
His tender first kiss,
Nibbled his lips, 
Kissed my fingertips,
Kissed molasses hair, 
Love his kissing flair,
Kissed a thousand times,
His mouth just rhymes,
Our attraction,
Love in action,
Lip sync bliss,
Love his kiss,
Kissing sublime,
Withstood all time.......

A Gallery of Passing Clouds

These thoughts we frame and title
hang now from long defunct dendrites,
made branchless by the passé and pointless
now all strung-up upon threadbare strings.

Ones or twice the hanged are molested
by magpies seeking baubles for their nests,
yet most go unrobbed and remain as still as death,
or they twist in chill uncaring winds.

These thoughts shaped to mind-images,
collected together in empty galleries,
these works nibbled at; edited by blind mice
who then hurriedly hide from sight
the slipshod carpentry of our words.

These portraits of spent passions
may still be gazed upon
by the idle few, who beyond all reason
choose to elect a passing cloud
to admire or decry,
plucking out that feathery fragment,
as if it were the real feature

of the faceless and yet untold.

Appetizers

Abundant finger food
Attractively garnished
Appealing to look at.
A pleasant aroma
And authentic flavors.
Appetizingly good
And nibbled with cocktails.

The Hole Story

The pumpkins placed upon the steps
To set a scary mood
Were attractive both to look at
And to squirrels, too, as food.

At first, they nibbled here and there
But then were on a roll
And chewed their way inside
Via an ever-growing hole.

On every pumpkin (there were four),
These entries could be found
And seeds or some discarded bits
Were scattered on the ground.

My husband caught, on video,
One squirrel peeking out,
Then exiting with one quick leap
While others milled about.

And soon another made his move,
An acrobatic dash,
His last until next year, for what
Was left’s now in the trash.

In The Matter of Nothing

Heaven could be like an infinite holiday
without grief and burden of war 
without physical or emotional pain
A family reunion everyday
bathed in the purist of light
manna nibbled from crystal plates.
 
Heaven could be like a tide pool
a place where cracked limbs grow back
where hearts are gently put back into place
where children play on trampoline dreams
where everything is glazed in the spirit-Godspeed. 

Heaven could be where secrets of being are revealed
where peace is accepted naturally
where sin is gleaned rendering the soul pristine.
Heaven could be trimmed in cherub knickknacks
made from the messiahs' precious hands-

Heaven could be a place where you finally meet
Leonardo -Vincent- Mother Theresa or Martin Luther king -
Heaven could be just a melting film reel, in an L.S.D dream.
man-woven from the matter of everything and nothing.

Candy Land

Burly bright boys 

And curly maned misses 

Naughty night noise 

And candy cane kisses 

Sweetly sampled shapes 

And soft hungered hips

Nicely nibbled napes 

And lollipop lips 

Gleeful girlish giggles 

And playing footsie all day 

Wishful wanton wiggles

And tootsie rolls in the hay

Loving You

A lone cantata pierced through the hollow night
as hungry clouds nibbled at the frozen Moon,
Her smile obscured but for a slight, scanty sight
as a solo aria pierced the lagoon.
Amid the languid yet luminous half-light 
came the chilling chorus of the Arctic loon.
Love lives here, and lingers warm in half moonlight,
budding with romantic, symphonious swoon.
I watch as you watch the performance enwreathe,
loving you fervently with each breath I breathe.

The Queen of Spells

(Sonnet / Lipogram) No letter "A"


Blooming buds dispersing sundry perfumes
Mellifluous tunes of ebullient birds
Butterflies come out of their cosy rooms
Soft verdure on verges nibbled by herds


Burbling brooks run under the bulbous dome
Modest cloud-cover with blowing soft wind
Gentle showers dripping down on the brome
The spring's resurgence delights every mind


Pristine life sprouts from the womb of the turf
Your comforting presence nurtures new life
Soft shoots burgeons out of the tough scurf
The joy of Zion unrolled without strife


Spring, the queen of spells on the wheel of time,
Poets cherished their thoughts in its prime clime.

I Heard The Whip-Poor-Will sing

Down where the lavender wisteria blooms. 
For the first time this spring, and early in the morning  
I heard the whip-poor-will sing its intriguing tune. 

Later, when I looked out the kitchen window. 
Birds of many species were swarming freshly filled birdfeeders.
House finches, red cardinals, and sparrows as well 
Doves upon the ground nibbled and were well fed.

Birds' melodies mix with the sighing of the pines.
At the faint light of spring's dawn
How nature's symphony fills the morn's air
An awakening of all my senses,
Beauty exploding everywhere.

The Whip-poor-will's haunting call, 
Echoes through the misty hollow 
A song of deep mystery, 
A melody touches my soul. 
 
Wisteria petals dance with the gentle breeze, 
Their fragrance intoxicating, 
As the birds flit and flutter, 
Feeding on the bounty  
 
In this moment of quiet reverence, 
I am reminded of the interconnectedness, 
Of all living things in this world, 
Bound by the threads of existence. 
 
So I listen to the Whip-poor-will's song, 
Though brief, letting it carry me away, 
To a place of peace and harmony, 
Where the wisteria blooms forevermore.

Cheap Valentine

He took an old miser's advice
and bought her a card at half price -
it looked  old and worn,
the envelope torn,
and the picture was nibbled by mice.

Rats

In the dark cellar
where I lay my young head
there were shadows rats,
and phantom squeaks.

All night long
hunched silhouettes
nibbled at the space
between them and me.

Luckily, I had a superman figure
who rodeoed them all
into a toy plastic hospital
where they were put down
humanely.
As I was,

when I mentioned my fears
to unblinking parents.

Christmas in the Sixties

Christmas day seemed to always land on a Sunday, when I was a miss.
Weird, but church is what I always remember every single Christmas
We would wake up too early, and get sent rapidly back to bed.
Our parents took no nonsense from any of us, their rules in lead.

We were told when we could come out, not one minute before.
We did not have seventeen presents, or hundreds of them galore.
We usually had three or four presents apiece, this was not grandma’s house.
The cookies left out for Santa had been nibbled, as if there had been a mouse.

We tore open the wrapping and got something we never saw coming.
This was before TV showed us what was valuable, or what was slumming.
We liked whatever it was, or at least pretended to like it.
For to do anything else would have caused a huge parental fit.

We thanked our parents, and helped set the breakfast table.
We had to call our great aunts Dorothy and Miss Mable.
To say thank you for the hand-knitted stuff they sent to us.
They loved hearing from us we gave them such a big fuss!

morning

Morning

Slumbering in the shallow of sleep
where memories of movies are seen
The shift of the pebbles
nibbled by tiny crabs
senses of songs
“ What was is all about Alfie?”
Repeat itself 
saddened by life's  vagary 
Dreams like oil slicks on the surface
of water-polluted thoughts
thrown into the tidal sand 
Sinking into Hypnos's arms
wake, when birds sing
the blue hope

Brief Thread

This life, a brief thread
to string moments

like pearls or trinkets.
With a last breath,

we can count
nothing as our own.

Why measure now
the weight of loss, gain,

praise, or blame—
no more than rice

to be nibbled at by rats.
The south wind is strong today.

The departure of any love
is to be expected. Still,

the sudden flight of the nightingale
shakes the fronds

of the gooseberry tree,
her green fruit bitter when ripe.

Published in Setu

Smooth Words

Cutting them into small pieces 
nibbled words will go down smoother;
Chew, your gag reflex decreases 
cutting them into small pieces;
With honesty choking ceases,
at times you need to speak slower;
Cutting them into small pieces 
nibbled words will go down smoother.

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