The diagnosis is a wishbone that lay in front of me.
So I broke its corpse just to see.
Doesn’t matter if my piece is big or small.
The diagnosis will still be there in the fall.
Holding both pieces of bone in my hand.
I still don’t have the upperhand.
As nippy as a crab on the shore.
Who pinched my toe, and made it sore.
Hey there, leave my toe alone.
Well, that’s what happens when you pick up a bone.
Yes the diagnosis is in.
But we tossed it in the “don’t get well” bin.
That office closed down a week after.
It’s me who is stricken with laughter.
Because those records are undone.
Just as my latest project is spun.
Glued that wishbone back together.
But pieces are pieces no matter the tether.
Todd bought his girl a ring
the ring began to sing
It sang a song of years
years lived mostly in fear
But why? The ring was not afraid ~
Todd pinched it off a French maid
sometimes coffee in an Antigua cup
or red,
not often, tea,
loose or bagged.
does the string stop the drowning.
occasionally, dandelion,
bitter, mildly unpleasant;
such as a visit
to the deck, tidied,
vacuumed, except for a corner
kept with leaves
waiting for a spouse
to hurry up and finish up.
a three-way
confusion, static;
like a bus-hop,
it’s no party, not even
an old-fashion
party line.
not likely to listen
to reason, cutting
remarks, saturated
in control.
chocolate cream, distilled sips
in a cordial glass,
stem pinched by thumb
and pointing out tact.
sometimes wine, red
in a heaping purple goblet,
only a quarter full;
I’m no fool.
falling into the coolness
of rain, insane
how things change, shift,
stay strangely the same,
and out of order.
hey, while I listened,
a lingering trash bag
disappeared.
this is why
complaining is
for nought.
perhaps tomorrow
will wake up sunny,
and exhausted,
rumpled and relaxed.
a three way cheer
of tact,
bittersweet parched.
I notice you casually crossing to the other sidewalk
sly underhanded glances with your pinched lips ~
a biped's loud silent growl that says don’t come near me
. snake held
. by its tail
. pinched between
. fingers of arm extended
. whips around fangs uncoiled
. striking here biting again
. scything in circles lunging here and there
. flailing like a yellow pac-man gulping at air
. chasing the hand
. that taught it
. to circle
. lying at
. the core
. of the maze
. hungry
. for
. more
I heard cries
saw swarms of fist
crack heavens walls
I knew at a ripped age, how
and how not to be.
Nights, I held these ears closed
in hopes to drown this house
that shook like an earthquake.
I learned to pick up clouds of
body parts that lingered from
stormy rains
I wiped mirrors clean with bleeding
hearts, stuck in sunken repeat.
Thorns pricked these tiny fingers
as I placed mishaps of I Love Yous
in glass jars.
I saw my mothers pinched face in a
constant contortion of why's, masked
by pleasing smiles to ease the thunderstorm
I was nine picking up shattered formalities
calling dysfunction normal
I remained quiet, hid in cupboards that
were dollhouses
But, the floods that consumed her washed ashore
and these ears were now home to roars that once
echoed in her room
One could not avoid the putrescence clinging to every atom in every direction
Stoplights blinked caution in cruel irony
Racoons only emerging from city sewers at night had no instinct to return underneath such bounty
Tho power was erratic & petrol a memory radios still broadcast updates on weather patterns to avoid toxic ash-fall
People waited in long lines
Water
Food
Blankets
Protesting was useless
No one is listening
Life reverted to tribalism
Faces emerged from clouds speaking a language similar to Egyptian their message unclear
The clouds began to break-up spewing hordes of elf-like creatures with horrid pinched features if there was a message I guess that train left the station
Burdened by a boulder,
That once was a star,
Dragged by the colder
End of a scar,
To feel a wish
Bleed from a stab,
To die among fish,
To be pinched by a crab,
Alone in the sea,
Envying the summit,
What I was shaped to be,
I cannot over come it.
Gental despair,
A coffin from sorrow,
A storm in the air,
Killing tomorrow,
Tangled knots,
Numbed by a blade,
A line of dots,
The heartbeat fades.
What is mine,
A thief takes back,
A paralyzed spine,
Wine in a rack,
Locked by a knife,
Yet stabbed at the heart,
Miserable short life,
The sadness of art.
The World Approaches.
Swarming waves of cyclones swell to unfathomable heights, unfathomable depths,
Walls of sea and blasting winds tower like angered and frosty alps,
And I cower in its shadow,
Unable to decipher if I survive even the first crash of water,
The first crackle of thunder,
If I should step out of my quiet cave,
I wonder, would there be anywhere left to run,
Would I disintegrate in that quaking, burning sun,
Collapsed in its shadowy, unknowable force,
Crushed beyond the feeling of remorse,
Would I live in that fire, that razed hellscape,
Among lustrous gleam and sharp steel,
Prickled by nails and progress,
Pinched by paper and persona,
Flourishing and dying,
Reforming, reaching, and being torn away,
Flames licking the pages,
Flames lingering on our minds,
Flames watching from the walls,
Flames digging under our fingernails,
Flames placing money in hands,
Flames pulling bones and twisting lips,
Flames intertwined with us,
Burning through canvas,
Burning through pages, and pages,
‘The History of flames’ in flames,
The stage is staged,
The stage is set,
The World Approaches.
It had been a sunny day,
but Mary wouldn't come out to play.
She was covered by a cloud
that wouldn't rain.
Was she in some kind of pain?
She could not explain,
and her head was bowed.
Outside, every little sprout,
soon withered in a drought,
and every bird
refused to sing,
or even to take wing.
There was no rain that Spring.
Not a sound was heard...
till Mary chased the the cloud outside
and pinched it until it cried
out so awfully loud -
with rain,
but while I can't explain,
the world is now glad again -
to see Mary and the cloud.
their dresses were parachutes, panties showing
Seventy-year-olds laughing their knees off
Their sisters were two cars behind, persnickety and pinched
The homeless sleep outside empty buildings
large enough to house them all
where pennies pinched cost more than you spent
measured against the rise and fall
to set your stall when others lose it
together propped and prepped was key
standing tall where ever you sit
a fallen oak is still a tree.
The twigs of March drip,
and dangle ~ late in the day birdsong returns.
Pinched veins leach through uncurling buds,
sap thickens needle
frond and stalk.
Earthworms form oracle rings,
that rise up
from the mud to nurse the wet soil.
Iron skies shuffle their skylights.
fermenting airs soften murk
to tepid mists.
Above the hedgerows
a gloom is burying its ghosts,
At last, heedful wombs
are stirring under thicket,
berm and windbreak.
Young Todd pinched his bankers’ certificate
Forged two more, so he had a triplicate
Now Todd would fulfill his dream
‘Good old boys’ downplayed his scheme
~ On the fast track to run the syndicate
Archie Arbuckle yearned to sample
Betty's breasts that were more than ample
He flinched when he saw 'em
Then pinched 'em and pawed 'em
Oh my! What a lovely example
She giggled, cuz it tickled his lust
As he wiggled and jiggled her bust
His affection won't lie
It stood up and said "Hi"
I'll take one for the team, if I must
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.