Overlapped Poems | Examples

SPONTANEOUS ART

SPONTANEOUS  ART

My spontaneity
  of pure chance style
is to use
paper on a handheld
A4  clip board as a work board
 &upon it
use a 6 pack of 'primary
  (no smudging/quick drying)
 paint sticks)
then
to experiment 
    therewith randomly
exploring abstractly
with these colours
¬ caring if I
  overlapped onto
 the underlaying
  smaller sized
       paper beneath

 in addition to these sticks
 using other media e.g tippex,pencils biros...
   (whatever came to hand)

Sometimes
using the smaller underlying
smudged artwork to rub( when wet)
    . randomly upon the others
to create
 'spontaneous' effects
& also cutting out shapes
 therefrom
   that appeared to me
as something ie animals faces
   or whatever.

Can I twirl your hair around my finger?

And make you locks of effort,
and give you some of my peanut butter after?
Three dimensional you saw me and him,
one siding loving and caring,
wasting gifts and money,
and mostly time.
Because you knew my eyes never have gotten such a shine,
but also then overlapped overdosis in suprise,
leaving me in making crimes.
You didn't touch my shoulder with your finger,
asking me if feelings towards him linger.
You chose to leave me unsure,
madly but still I hoped seeing signs for more.
Because he started loving you, sure
You were getting along with him more.
Never knew what your motive was,
but now you are sitting at the side of my bed and sometimes making a fuss,
but I still make you coffee of my lovely coffeine lust.
I thought: ,,They'll be together, won't they?"
You should've have seen his eyes,
You should've have seen his smile,
You should've seen his movement,
You should've seen his talk, 
But you knew
And still said to him you don't love him.
Because you saw,
what I did to him,
and he to me.

Bells

"I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Three Christian Churches here used to play
Their hymns rang out along the way
They took turns with their chimes each day 
Never overlapped come what may

How I miss those sweet bells of old
They rang out through warm, hot and cold
Their songs of love, peace, joy were told
Before our world its soul to evil sold 

Those hymns at Christmas time so dear
And carols ringing so strong and clear
On each street corner there was no fear
No illegal drugs around this small town here  

Could this world normalize again
People spread out and grow some hens
Have some goats, ducks, and a weathervane
To go into town maybe catch a train

While 'pon that ride the bells ring out
Now that is what I'm talking about
Places where love can be planted and sprout
Those days can be good without a doubt

Field and Hedgerow

Let's entertain no doubt.  This book was ,
but birthdays come around, and must be feted.
Five brothers and one sister celebrated
each other's anniversaries.  Close-knit
would hardly do us justice.  When you fit
into the world around you, predicated
on shared assumptions, fine.  I knew we grated
on all our neighbours, weren't identikit
buffoons.  That drew us closer, you'll allow.
Each birthday, one same present overlapped.
We each got "Field and Hedgerow" (kids adapt
when they've got nothing).  But I vow
I'd love to give that present, poorly-wrapped
in flimsy Woolworth paper, to them now.

Praise To Aeneis Elyesa

Praise to Aeneis ( Elyesa ) 

It was a power without measure, very humble!
She had fallen into the Lot lake.
Dried salts with the speed of the wind.
A sharp Carthage.
He was naked with the whole world.
Gas overlapped,separated by colors!
He was looking at Zion!
It's been years of time.
The new world has dried up!
The salt dispersed by my exit is a sharp Carthage.
I came..Troia..He waited..
Noble warriors..Hey ..Carthage ..
Italy..Italy I cried out to the enemy!
Miles away, Carthage trembled.
Troia had passed a long way with one step!
A cloud of dust covered it..Hey .. Carthage ..

Johannes Çiçek

Divan

i like his poems
          cherish his life
          to wipe away his tears
          read his poems

In his poems a few days ago
              I got that feeling

And with a big heart, I bought his book of poetry,
A collection of his poems in a used bookstore
There is another volume of poetry that I bought for 1/5 the price
read while comparing
About 2/3 overlapped

So I went to the bookstore with a light heart
Contains representative works of 100 modern poets
Exchanged for a popular poetry book

the price is the same.

The Air

The air
 

When it pours, I dissolve.
During heat, I resolve.
I’m more amongst greens.
I’m there in every scene.
The coolest, never on rest.
In motion, with no emotion.
Neither fixed destination.
Unstoppable I flow,
I flow, I flow.

 

I peep in through the ventilations,
a part of me, I drop in there.
I flee in glee, from cities to live,
where staled and fatigued, I’m stabbed to give,
to give a portion with no hesitation,
to let survive, I move with a flair,
to inhale, to relieve, to breathe in fresh air.
Unstoppable I flow,
I flow, I flow.

 

For all the youth, I’m young.
To the aged, I’m old.
Whn vexed on earth,
I’m furious to be mould.
In swirls, like a drunkard I move ,
to run, to destroy the houses, the roofs.
Unstoppable I flow,
I flow, I flow.

 

I embrace with hugs,
the ones who lives.
Not a trace I give,
to the ones who leave.
In cylinders, I’m trapped.
On plants I’m overlapped.
When freshly consumed, you glow.
Unstoppable I flow,
I flow, I flow.

The Last Full Moon of the Season

The Last Full Moon of the Season
David J Walker

	Day of past days
Once in the way of 
	This today

Hours of past hours
	Cataloged and
Overlapped with
Horrors of mirrors
	And old age
In ivory towers

A presence within a
Long lost past 
Preserved 
presented
In scrapbooks framed
In ash

A silvery silk web 
stretched tight 
Across the Savoy night 

I await you  
On a moonlit flight

Home lies within
The hidden meaning 

And the rising 
Of the last full moon of the season

The Comic On a Grand Scale

motifs benday  
 
 pinpointed 
 
         raster dots 


enlarged cliches
 
       cartooned nuanced

 in new dimensions 

the familiar

      fantasized
    
            stylised 

reorientations
        in overlapped
               matrix fields 
of the moment

of thoughts 

         quickened 

               by inspiration.

But What About Me

But What About Me
David J Walker

But what about me
The echo said 
Upon its return from
A long journey 
Imprinting the past 
In its words

Yes, 
	It is as I remember
I said  
My back turned to
Its path
Facing the morning sun

But what about me
It repeated in 
Overlapped waves 
Of nostalgia 
Its nuance 
Long
       long gone

It is clear
I said
That I sent you there
Looking for
	Myself
When my hunger
Desired 
Everything and 
	Everyone 
Of that 
	I am done

But what about me
Me
	Me  
  		Me
As the words faded into
The past of a 
Good
	Good night

This Is My Race

It has evolved amazingly
The creativity has smoothly overlapped
The event is formulating itself
The chase is no more
Must I say more

It has travelled all over the world
The humanity it has established
The honour it has been given
The ink needs a refill
Must I reveal more

It has grown under unfavourable environment
The knowledge it had acquired
The wisdom it had received
The book has been finally written
Must I feel more

Ashes Afterlife

Ash's afterlife, another elliptical  ride behind the climb. 
A course of strife, cursed by the past, forward in time. 
The wanderer of worlds step aside the tracks onto paths laid over tombs, 
Malevolent and  malformed,  misconstrued by literature words consumed. 
Daylight that's not bright it's more like night without the empty space, 
Moon bright is more likely to shroud facial features cast still in it`s place. 
Grounded in roots, the symmetry decimates everything in chaos and in torment. 
Laid out on the coals, a pure burn inside the mind that cannot awaken up the dormant. 
Overlapped, nailed below the floor, wood barrier for the corpse'o. 
Strike down the angel arc in lightning karma fire towards the torso. 
And still I hate your face as well as your ways, 
As before and afterward and eternal and always. 
You disgusting being I daydream you misery.

None To Blame

A traced path you walk on
the hands of God lend in motion a Light
you cross the heart of Nature
overflowed... at a loss!
overlapped are your worlds
ever entranced are your words.
The call, not whispered, neither spelled
just an urge... a push out of nowhere
to an open wide gate of fate.
Nameless is your state
dismantled are the pieces inside
your heart loses its mind
your mind evades its head
your soul hypnotized!
Many a hole roaming your very whole
nothing under control
everything tempting to the bone.
None to blame!
How to flee the strain?
What can a soul serve to silence the whinge?
What can a mind consider to contain a pain?
What can a heart attain to remain sane?
None to blame!
The gleam of Faith blesses you awake
to a truth, one only truth
you wane trying to conceive
what you cannot perceive.
Surrender and seize the spark
radiate serene bliss
held together and blessed is your soul.

Mind the Painter

       Mind paints canvas of life as amateur
     Some hues taken from palette of events
     Some contributed by human nature
     oozing from emotive urge at moments.
     
     Heart gallery frames happy happenings
     Those turn weepy are mercilessly torn
     Ugly chapters showing spastic paintings
     Some to erase and some get forgotten.
                  
      Brush browses on multiple episodes,
      Patches of pigments collide in collage
      kaleidoscope of memory decodes
      Some pictures go hazy, some to enlarge.
     
     Throughout life did ‘Mind’ the painter paint well?
     Canvas of life with overlapped hues can't tell.

Over and Over Again

silence&
       broken phrasing
overlapped
mechanical
                 s o u n d s ,
hunting for a home:
arbitrary
stanzas
           strophes
hushed
         &muted
anaphora
               in
conversation
            ....with
myself

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