Swirly
Twirly
Pearly
Swirly
Charcoal moon sketch, swirly, twirly, beam
Crater pockmarked, pearly, whirly, dream
Nascent
Crescent
Ascent
Clement
Charcoal moon patch, nascent, crescent, sphere,
Lunar seas flow, ascent, clement, sheer
Dreaming
Weaving
Drifting
Floating
Charcoal moon watch, dreaming, weaving, scheme
grey rock debris, drifting, floating, gleam
his lacerated face bespoke
a rugged brawler
a life pockmarked with fisticuffs
he’d truly once been a mauler
‘til one fateful evening
in a smoke-filled ring
his chin shattered ‘gainst a fist
~ tied him to apron strings
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three shadows slipped through fluorescent halls,
silent as the dismissal bell's dying hum.
The home ec door—unlocked, of course,
swung wide on hinges slick with grease.
I kept my post beside the lockers,
listening for footsteps down the tile.
The scent of brown sugar and butter
drifted out like a traitor's whisper.
My friends emerged,
the chocolate chip cookie dough bowl
cradled between them,
gleaming under the exit sign's red eye.
Spoons plundered from the cutlery drawer~
our spoils now.
The bench by the soccer field,
pockmarked with old gum,
became our banquet table.
We dug in, sticky-fingered, laughing,
each mouthful sweeter for the sin.
(I only took a taste.
Just enough to lick the spoon clean.
Just enough to be complicit.)
Next morning, the janitor found
the empty bowl washed
and left politely in the sink.
No note. No crumbs~
only the smell of chocolate
and vanilla lingering
like an apology no one would ever hear.
*Related memoir vignette can be read at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/adventures_in_home_ec_class_13676
She stood at the lectern
Teaching from restoration
Yet, not one audience member
Could deny her infection
...damaged
Tattooed from face to feet
Living, sobriety from drugs
No matter his freedom
He's always just a thug
...recovering
Pockmarked as a teen
She can still hear their jokes
Yelling across campus
Forever binding her with yokes
...weighing
They gather in the courtyard
Demanding for relief
Clothes clinging to frail bodies
Walking with the constant grief
...marked
Oh wholey soul
How far you have come
But no matter the progress
The absence of all you have done
...remains
................MARKED
Written by Trudy Schrader on 04-26-2024
Beyond the wave-sacked pebbles
lie the pockmarked dunes,
sea-wind swept heaps,
burrowed by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, the working class,
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers
as a chill summer drizzles on.
I am a brine-spattered small fry,
a boyhood caught in a swirl
and flounder, bare feet
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
an ankle tugging surf.
Mother, her demeanor
soggy and sagging at last,
pleads to be led back
to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea,
looks to see God knows what,
then turns to drag me away,
from our holiday day.
Buzzards on the Infamous Hill
Always sitting at the edge of my seat,
When, oh when, shall truth finally come out…
As a true,American splendiferous treat!
But buzzards of cravish deception,
Fill the political, pockmarked skies.
Leaving us forever, with questions.
These carnivores reside on The Hill.
Where truth and goodness perish.
Americans left with lies, hope is killed.
Ethics lay as pricey,broken sunglasses.
Crushed beneath deceptive, well heeled feet.
“No news, just pure propaganda for the masses?”
Now, an amoral ,upside down, nation,
Where cheating and lies are given full reign.
And all good folk, dubbed as “abominations?”
Indeed, tis the poison Swamp’s entire purpose.
To establish a frightening totalitarian future.
Where depravity is honored, in their very sinews.
7/21/ 2023
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.
Day, and Night
by Michael R. Burch
The moon exposes pockmarked scars of craters;
her visage, veiled by willows, palely looms.
And we who rise each day to grind a living,
dream each scented night of such perfumes
as drew us to the window, to the moonlight,
when all the earth was steeped in cobalt blue?
an eerie vase of achromatic flowers
bled silver by pale starlight, losing hue.
The night begins her waltz to waiting sunrise?
adagio, the music she now hears;
and we who in the sunlight slave for succor,
dreaming, seek communion with the spheres.
And all around the night is in crescendo,
and everywhere the stars’ bright legions form,
and here we hear the sweet incriminations
of lovers we had once to keep us warm.
And also here we find, like bled carnations,
red lips that whitened, kisses drawn to lies,
that touched us once with fierce incantations
and taught us love was prettier than wise.
Keywords/Tags: day, night, love, rhyme, moon, moonlight, pockmarked, craters, window, vase, flower, flowers, fragrance, star, stars, starlight, music, spheres, communion, crescendo, lovers, kisses, lies, love, unwise
Facial Metaphor
Facial Recognition
Diagnosis Lawless
Frightens Kid's
Made for Radio and Halloween
Frightens Mirrors
Cauliflower Ears
Lazy Eye
Turkey Nose
Quadruple Chin
Wrinkly Forehead
Pockmarked Pasty Skin
The type of face
Only a Mother could Love
But with a Heart of Gold
The type of face
That is a Metaphor
Beauty is only skin deep
In the eye of the beholder
My Entry for
The Metaphor of your Face Contest
John Lawless
29 November 2019
By days intensely bright, the sun blinks twice
The nights so cold your eyeballs instant freeze
Yet upper atmospheric views entice
You dare to brave the ice-whipped, hostile breeze
When you look down, the ground's pockmarked with holes
And toxic gases float about your nose
The sun's gone down, and then your terror grows
Just where you stand, you'll not precisely know
On shaky surface, bare and barren rock
A baby step, you're hurtling through the air
You've leaped one hundred meters! Now take stock
The landscape here a Super-Man would scare
A lunar landing's not for faint-of-heart
Just one misstep can rip your frame apart
Good n plenti riches abound
unreachable to gentle
hermit while aboveground,
human ship of state
fore'er stranded aground
only thru death do him part will
his grievous soul get spirited airbound
chokehold sensation ceased when freedom
against debtor's prison unshackled
humongous human corporeal being all around
to little monetary largesse
arrived too late to astound
pipe dream eternally left within background
jackass kippered, milquetoast pockmarked,
Goliath scarred, voodoo battleground
visible near completely bloody lovely bones
partly denuded flesh
buried shallow belowground
scouting, scenting, scrabbling
one after another bloodhound
clamors leaps and doth bound
nosing, trumpeting, yelping...
despite snout muzzled reinforced brassbound,
no deterrent grisly bared, limp, lifeless body
sacrificed at skull and bones campground,
despite decay tell tale
hunch unearthed mound
picked over remains evince sound
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.
A good, longing look...
at a captivating...
pockmarked moon...
instantaneously...
reminds him of his...
doe-eyed, freckled-face...
beloved wife...
back home.
Date: 07/19/2019
War's canvass: pockmarked earth, blood-stained sky
Paint youths white as ghosts -- retch and die
The horizon bleeds blood-red,
within which a marigold moon blooms with regal splendor.
Her pockmarked face aglow,
She slowly rises, like a Chinese lantern.
Dusk descends like a ghostly specter
falling ever so softly, inking ebony silhouettes.
Shadows of the night merge into one:
a collage of darkening shades of black.
And the heavens sparkle, as trillions of distant stars
tethered to reality, morph into fantasy.
The universe is breathtakingly mind-blowing,
inspiring artists and poets alike.
Yet hidden behind blinding city lights,
night's obscured in its totality;
to the many living in cities who have never seen stars.
What a pity!
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