I whisper like the burbles of the stream.
Though, in my interiors, there's a scream.
I have composed my song. Shouldn't I sing?
Between nodules of clouds of doubts I swing.
Aesthetics and passions amalgamate.
Love and warmth, like lake ripples, escalate.
Arduous desires break like waves of seas.
Could my peaceless soul ever feel at ease?
You're the soulful singer. You are the song.
I'm a song too. But do we flow along?
There's, between us, a common logarithm.
Should we not unite with nature's rhythm?
all automatic alligators arrive arrogantly
barely behave beautifully but brazenly
carousing with creepy cruddy crocodiles
desperately denying despicable wiles
effectively expediting expediency
forever forsaking fruit flies who flee
glaring at grazing gritty grouses
hijacking horrific herbivore’s handy houses
igniting ingenious iguanas in I-o-Way
jubilantly joining jerky jaguars along the way
kibitzing kinesthetic killers from Zion
lollygagging like lively luxurious mountain lions
marvelously marking multitude of mini monkeys
notoriously noting nefarious nodules of displease
ostentatiously opening overt outages in Oregon
providing panda putrid prey Paul just spit on
quarrelsome quicksand quail
rapidly reading registered mail
saying sassing sentences swiftly
turning terrific tarantulas toenails thickly
utilizing underwater undercurrents down under
verifying valid villans' voluptuous plunder
with wild willingness and witchy wonder
‘xacting ‘xactly ‘xtreme ‘xestentialism supreme
yelling youngster’s yips on front of the queen
zinging zealous zealots into zebras galore
end of this abcedarian poem, there is no more.
THE RUDIMENTS OF WINGS
Barely stubs,
these soul nodules,
not yet protruding the surface,
still part of the wormlike me.
The force of metamorphosis
thrusts hard against filmy chrysalis;
meconium pulses, dilating miniscule veins.
The terror of change soon will cease,
bring release,
to the rudiments of wings.
February 24, 2022
AGE
comes upon us all
gradually realisation
hits all of a sudden
Hearing no longer
acute
comments & questions
need a repeat
in a world no longer distinct
One day
we need assistance
with
what
others voice and say
an aid to
complement the grey
AGE comes upon us
so gradually realisation
hits all of a sudden
floaters appear
in our eye
magnification is needed for
near and far
the exit door is ajar
AGE comes upon us
gradually
realisation
hits all of sudden
fingers have nodules
& bumps
& no longer grip
to prevent a fall
we walk with a stick
sometimes
'senior moments' we often recall
when the realisation
of age
gradual creeps up
on us all
Noetic nodules
negate numerative noir
negotiable needs
the hidden ones delight my senses
increase my smell nodules
exude expectations
of what faeries, pixies and muses can do
The hidden ones help me prance in my head
keeping me in a happy place
as I listen while smiling
thinking about my faeries, pixies and muses
The hidden ones increase my appetite
for new words, new phrases, new poets
exceeding my expectations
of what faeries, pixies and muses bring to my brain dendrites
She is pompous, arrogant,
One sided. Espousing prophetic nonsense
Self-assured for no reason whatsoever
I listen to her internal volcano
Trying to conquer me in one of her landslides
Pushing all judgement aside,
I picture the grim reaper dragging her out by
her hair nodules,
Ah, the screaming! The wonderful way he would
plunk her in an undignified pick-up bed.
She is speaking of Republicans now.
Has she ever met one? Who made her the queen of explanations.
I will shatter her illusions when I help the reaper collect her.
Worst Economics teacher on the face of the planet.
My essence dangled in
Time's barren boughs
And winds of emotions
Passed hurling silence
Rising from crypt
My eyes fixed on hourglass
Watching trapped moments
In nodules of despair
And the strange me
Thriving in my own orphic world
Ever widening galaxy of restless feelings
Swirled in monotonous orbit of
Lights and shadows
It was then
Poetry came to me
To hold my wandering heart
I leaped through
Sands of time
To find my moist reflection
Beneath filament of poetic lines
Reminding me the
Colour and magic
Breathing in the hidden verses
Home of metaphors
That my ink-stained soul
Kept undemonstrative
Even unknown to me
Poetry showed me
My inner world
Muses celebrating in dance of words
Now I traverse through lanes of emotions
That destiny never gave chance
To walk through
With poetry entwined
My heart knows no regrets
Poetry bleeding from my thoughts
Says all
That my voice
Has forever failed to
23/02/2019
Children like to craft things,
but then they start to grow.
Pretty soon they’re old
and strange things start to show.
Hair in wrong places
Wrinkles on faces
Bulbous modules
Bilious nodules
When adult children retire,
creativity often re-springs.
Even though they got old
they return to the crafting of things.
AGE comes upon. us gradually,realisation
hits us all of a sudden.Hearing no longer
acute,coments and questions will need a
repeat for our world is no longer distinct.
One day we need assistance with what
others voice and say.Deficient,an aid. to
complement the grey.
AGE comes upon us so gradually realisation
hits us all of a sudden.Floaters appear in our
eye,magnification is needed for things both
near and far,the door is ajar.
AGE comes upon us so gradually realisation
hits us all of sudden.Fingers have nodules
and bumps,no longer grip and to prevent a
fall,we walk with a stick.
Wisdom and experience of life is ignored,
not wanted at all.Absent the mind,sometimes
'senior moments' we recall for the realisation
of age,so gradual creeps up on us all.
hear me recite my PS anthology on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro..
catch my short forms @strandpoet on twitter..
read my Christianand poetry guides etc kindle ebooks on amazon
POTATO PEELER
I want to peel potatoes all day long.
I love peeling potatoes because of their lovely round shape
and their lovely little nodules. I like to feel the earthy texture
of their skin and I love to take a potato peeler to them.
Just to feel the knife bite through their skin and to reveal
the white flesh underneath.
There is such joy to behold in taking a bite
of an unpeeled potato. The feel of the earthy skin
on your tongue and those acidic juices running down your chin.
Such is heaven in my warped little head.
A little coughing fit I told myself
And wiped that worry off the shelf
Then shortness of breath begin
In the hospital is where I am
Arms all full of black and blue
Please no more tests,Im through
Xrays here,xrays everywhere
Doc sees something on the lung, dear
Well all my smokings caught up to me
Nodules in my lung, more then three
So next a pet scan then he'll know
How much further I have to go
It took this to put that cigarette out
A little bit to late,is what it's about
carolann crowley 4/22/2012
The knots have knots…God?
Threads of needing, want, desire;
passion spent on barren sod
left to burn on flaming pyre.
God, the knots have knots?
Nodes and nodules, full of spoor,
planted upon poisoned plots
hoarding, warmth, desire and more…
God, the knots have knots!
Pulse, and pump; push, and explore
lose the beastly cankerous clots
excrete angst, open the pore,
Free the knots, God, please…
By root and rote, the seedling pleads.
Contest: Me Against Myself
Date 6/30/11
D. Guzzi
Her feet haven't danced across the meadow
Nodules prevent dancing and walking is strenuous
Mental fuzziness skews the facts
His smile is a fresh memory etched like a tattoo
Nodules prevent dancing and walking is strenuous
Memories warm her heart and nights
His smile is a fresh memory etched like a tattoo
Laughter was common in their youth
Memories warm her heart and nights
Mental fuzziness skews the facts
Laughter was common in their youth
Her feet haven't danced across the meadow
Pantoum for the tragedy contest
autobiographical
Missed the contest!!
The knots have knots…”God!?”
Threads of needing, want, desire;
shoots and branches, root and rote,
fragile tendrils, planted in deficient soil.
“God, the knots have knots?”
Nodes and nodules, full of spoor,
want desire…more…
hoarding, warmth, nurture, need;
shoots and spawns, no longer seeds.
“The knots, God, the knots please free…”
pulse and pump, push and bore
excrete the angst, open wide the pore.
release unhindered tangled twine.
The knots release…the planter pines.
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