My mind is a prism.
Ridges of plexiglass.
Angles with multiple hues varying on where the light hits.
Some angles have no light hitting them at all.
But it doesn’t mean that those are less appealing.
Just more challenging to interpret.
We often overlook the shadows in our mind.
Giving them no credit for leading us to the transformative colors on the other side.
It is within life’s deepest complexities that the soul unearths its rarest treasures.
So why wait to unearth yours?
Categories:
plexiglass, analogy, appreciation, perspective,
Form: Free verse
It's just a row of laundromat chairs—
those molded plastic ones,
screwed into a fake strip of tile.
The whole setup’s bolted to the lunar crust
under a plexiglass dome.
Every seat holds something left behind:
a single sock, a keychain flashlight,
a takeout menu folded into fourths.
One chair’s cracked down the center,
duct tape holding it together.
There’s no sign, but it’s called
Memento on the Moon.
Sometimes, Earthlight flickers
in the dome like a busted overhead bulb.
Categories:
plexiglass, destiny,
Form: Free verse
She shivers about, tense
at the inhospitable world
blinds and plexiglass seal frightened creatures from.
Rocking
from root to root —
in front, in back, in
the sun’s silhouette, the wind fancies her social anxious, as if
her and I were not sustained by the same substance, as if
our roads will not diverge. When I
learn her shiver, she softens, then jerks
her bough closer
with the reluctant certitude of soul
wanting to imagine glass as air.
Categories:
plexiglass, nature,
Form: Free verse
Fair is a word tossed between us,
quick breaths across wet teeth—
a fleeting agreement that nothing ever is,
except for our burning complexions
beneath the relentless, arid graze of summer sun.
The skin engaged in a heated debate.
But that was a different fair, much like the weather
which, on that day, was not.
The air thickened between us, choking in the scorch,
on the brink of calling it quits.
Then, we reached for each other's hair,
pleaching the fair fringe into a single French plait,
holding the tension steady with every strand—
a silent pact of reconciliation.
Flyaways re-tamed, we resumed our journey,
a fair sojourn toward the next fiery skirmish.
Over orange peels on the dashboard,
amidst a shared coffee, we lost ourselves—
debating whose turn to sip, which turn we missed that day.
Driving faster past the fairground,
children's screams echoed, tossing fares paid
like quarters ablaze in pockets emptied,
desperate for escape onto the open road.
The tollbooth's metallic throat protested with clangs
as change cascaded into the plexiglass bank,
accepting the expense to propel us forward
along the road until the next stop,
on our fairway.
Categories:
plexiglass, august, conflict, courage, identity,
Form: Free verse
I still see him
Walking slowly beneath broken streetlamps,
Sitting at the edge of the needle-strewn playground.
He seems slower, less busy about his work,
An air of defeat stains his scythe.
I believe he is suffering from “post Covid trauma”
For he is death and death is his
His domain, his milieu, his life.
He weeps as he talks of the pain
Of death stolen, pilfered by politicians
Secreted behind pain and plexiglass
Inflicted upon the living by those
who stole death from death itself
used his ”scythe” to force compliance
hold death hostage without ransom.
Now he sits sorting through the detritus
Of the weary, the wounded, the hopeless
Who wander with him, sit with him
Wondering how death could be so cruel.
Categories:
plexiglass, betrayal, death, depression,
Form: Free verse
slate
my slate is written on
i’m whole inside
with gaps and things
to please
the imperfect
with dreams sewn on
with seams and borders
zigzag quilt lines frown
and chuckle
they even do battle
exciting thunderclaps
and calming ponds
arise with power
like kingdoms inside
i choose the players
who depress the list
or impress the rest
this slate at birth
unique to me
like a universal star
i can choose
to let it twinkle
or to snuff it out
it’s already planned
it's history
our palettes mix
not every hue
only the ones
you allow
to show
will you let age
refine or deny
or even haze
your vision.
wipers on?
cleaning fluid?
do your glasses clink
against plexiglass?
your slate
your slate
your slate…
your choice
kim rodrigues © 2017
Categories:
plexiglass, i am,
Form: Free verse
We need better plastics,
To hell with the bakelite saints
That stand silent inside,
The great wheels,
of the grand vehicle.
Forever sleeping behind visqueen,
Covered plexiglass,
hiding themselves
From the eyes of prophets,
And cruel November.
We need better plastics,
The Christ that guards
The scorpion forever persevered
In lucite;has become,
frail from the sunlight
And cracks, with each
Touch,slowly deteriorating
With each passing December.
Categories:
plexiglass, angel, conflict, dark, deep,
Form: Free verse
I move with stealth, assurance
Muscles taunt beneath striped coat
Footpads softly caress the ground
My home
My sanctuary
The grasslands and forests of India
Men refer to me as Bengal
They wish to trap the predator
Sieze my freedom
Place me in a cage
I would rather be mounted on their wall
My brothers and sisters
Pace within their prisons
Lifeless meat placed at their feet
Not wild buffalo
Where is the deer, the wild pig
No thrill of the hunt
No honor
Life without balance
Eyes that have lost their fire
Oppressors and their children
look through bars or plexiglass windows
What can they truly see
Just a shadow of beauty
A glimmer of strength
They do not witness one like me
Powerful
Ferocious
Regal
I am Bengal
I am meant to be free
I will fight to remain
The master of this land
Come witness me here
I'm not in a cage
So I say beware
Don't come too near
For Regina's Animal poem contest.
Categories:
plexiglass, nature,
Form: Personification
The red kings,
And the black kings,
And the kings of garnet and jasper,
Lie silently behind plexiglass
While the population
Is petrified.
Yet the red kings,
And the black kings,
And the kings of garnet-jasper,
Are only strange marionette kings
That the population themselves
Have created.
Categories:
plexiglass, life, mystery, red,
Form: Verse
Dog food? What crime did I commit towards the Gods that as Tantalus I must exist inside this
cage and be gawked at by my would be food.”Here kitty kitty” the plump morsel mocks. Do I
look like a dog?
By Robb A. Kopp
Categories:
plexiglass, animals
Form: Verse
he sits so smug
and condescending there
in his ergonomic, black
leather chair
behind a slab of tinted
plexiglass
on stainless-steel, to him
a touch of class.
Categories:
plexiglass, on work and working,
Form: Rhyme