Pointy Poems | Examples

back in the day

back in the day
we polished our shoes
laid out our clothes
put our hair up in curls with pointy picks
on Saturday nights

back in the day
it was church every Sunday
chicken or beef with noodles for lunch
always pie, cake and Jello
then a visit to grandma’s house

back in the day
we ironed our clothes
using sprinkled starch
dressed up to go on airplanes
purposefully did not swear
felt safe at school

back in the day

Muse

In the mirror I see, framed like a painting
a woman caught between 
the plain in yesterday
and the pointy yellow leaves
leaving for tomorrow—
She chases the leaves, not realizing
she never left the field

When sparrows stop chirping
and her steps can no longer keep up
the leaves she caught remind her:
this tale only ends
in the aftermath of a birdsong

She's the passerby you see and forget;
She's the milk in your fridge silently going bad—
She's the soul you don't read,
the smile you can't catch,
the sunset by an unmapped coastline.

Mister Golightly

... is wearing his tall white top hat 
      Where his brains should be 
Wearing his rainbow bow tie 
      Where his vocal cords should be 
He fancies his dragon cane in his hand 
No surprise his shirt is Hawaiian Kine 
Made of silk with coconuts and palm trees 
For design 
He wore brown khaki pants with suspenders to hold them up 
His socks were knee high green with tassels on top 
But his shoes were the best, better than the rest 
                      All shiny and pointy 
And ready to dance ...

 Dance away    Dance away 
Dance through the night 
Dance, Little Bear 
Dance away       Dance away 
Dance through the day 
Never stop dancing 
Dance away    Dance a way   Dance away 
Dance all ways always all ways 
Dancing without a care

As He chops away, chops away chops away time 
He sizzles and grills fantastic meals from his mind 
For he fancies himself a cook not a chef  
Being chef just seems too sublime

Canis Lupus

Canis Lupus

The sound of a pin drop in the
kitchen downstairs wakens me.
I get a whiff of a strange scent
not one I can identify.

My eyes open and I can
see in the dark.
Unusual, as I always stub
my toe on something.

The nightlight is on and
I make my way to the bathroom.
I glance in the mirror and
see a strange face look back at me.

Yellow eyes, dark black pupils
look out from narrow slits.
Long pointy snout with
silky whiskers from each side.

Jet black lips curve back, reveal
yellowish curved fangs.
Pink tongue with dripping saliva
hangs out the left side of the mouth.

A full moon shines through
the bathroom window.
I feel the call of the wild
in my bones.

As I bound down the stairs
nothing can stop me.
At last I am free to live
the life I was called to.

Block Head

“Gimmie another poem, make it a double!” 
Quote from John Lawless 



Block Head

John asked for a poem.
He said make it a double
I took out my pen
and knew I was in trouble

Words wouldn’t come easy
I couldn’t make them flow
Lacking articulation
My thoughts far too slow

I grasped at my corners
The pointy parts of my head
I thought about talented writers
and all the poems I have read

I could write a sonnet
or perhaps a haiku
So many forms to choose from
Whatever shall I do

Why not be silly
Some might get the joke
Maybe I’m sorta special
just like other folk

So give me a verse
I’ll mix it with my own
When drinking words
you shouldn’t drink alone

Although I like quiet
my heads a hectic place
I want to insert lines
into every blank space

Wordaholics are frantic
We need our next hit
Wild wacky or stoic 
We love every bit!

So drink as you will
Feed that addiction
But be very careful 
to choose the right diction.

Different

Same  different day, They stare because I don't look the same, another face without a name, I'm betrayed by my appearance the fact I'm rather pale, The tracks that cover my skin give me horns and a pointy tail, I'm covered in spots red and inflamed, the darkness around my eyes makes me appear drained, my clothes are baggy and never clean, The real me isn't visible I'm only what can be seen,  its obvious im an addict so people feel the need to stare, without saying a word its amazing how many people  i can scare,I'm growing tired of peoples ignorance, loosing my temper is becoming a more regular occurance, Im labeled a trouble maker, a nothing a nuisance, but none of them know me where is there evidence,I'm convicted as a criminal without commiting a crime,imprisoned by fear and hate living is serving time.

Flying On My Broom

Fly-ing on my broom
Plans are made...yearly on zoom.
Tonights the night of fear and fun
The...nights only just begun.

I'll screech and laugh, and scare you
I'll curse you with, potions bad brew.

I stir my cauldron well
And fill with toad heads and a rat.
Bubbles are steaming hot
And fiery, when they pop.

I make my spells, to cast on you
Then bottle it, for quid or two.

Dress code is all black
Wear our well known pointy hat.
When I'm done with you
I'll go straight home, to feed my cat.

By moonlight sky...see me fly.
My silhouette,
My silhouette,
Waves bye ...bye.

            30.10.24

The Gewgaw Witch

she conjured up a cunning rasp
a gewgaw lyre-like harp in clasp
to crooked teeth held in their grasp
then twanged at midnight with a blast

this higgled haggled haggly crone
did dance on graves while all alone
her gewgaw raising mottled bone
‘til joined by dead with rotting moan
 
bats within the steeple saw
the witch’s pointy nose and jaw
and from her mouth came sounds galore
an array of growls from her gewgaw

so off did dance and prance and play
the bones of dead and her away
from grave to street did people say
beware the gewgaw witch today

Food Folly

I love mushrooms 
with eyes peeping out 
under their caps, their hats 

I love broccoli 
with curly green tops 
Curly green hair 

I love asparagus 
with their long slender bodies 
and pointy heads 
and they don’t taste like grass 

I love Brussel sprouts 
Little bundles of joy 
Bathing in buttery sauce 
Lots of buttery sauce
 
I love carrot juice 
Very orange 
but they don’t taste like oranges 

I love blueberries 
in yogurt, cereal or cream 
They go good with just about everything 
even by themselves 
One by one I pop them in my mouth 
There’s no singing the blues with blueberries 
Blueberries are absolutely my favorite
 
Not like all those I listed before 
'cause I was fibbing 
Don’t tell my Mom 
‘cause I only like them a little bit 
Or not at all 
    Yuck!

words of advice

Never annoy a woman who carries a pointy sword.
She who asserts herself, has the best life.
And if the sword is there, you know she is not afraid to use it.

Orange Blossoms

On a tree
Overcome by the scent of citrus
Sitting on a branch plucking fruit 
With the rhythmic sound of grass below me 
The wind blowing the grass like waves 
Filling the air with musicality 

The blossoms
Yellow and white 
With the possibility to be greater then buds 
Tightly closed but ready to open
Offshoots of the bigger, stronger branch 
I have this quiet moment to myself 
To admire nature at its finest 
Chewing on honeysuckle 

The blossoms are shaped like stars 
Soft and round petals 
But pointy, 
Permeating through the casing they are trapped in 
A star, that when pollinated, grows
Growing into the tangy fruit that we know and love

Pointy the Pig

Pointy, the pig rider came around the corner with a screech.
He was sitting at the top of the zebra bowls, his whip was a reach.
Why does he always have to outdo the rest of us? Asked Mr. Mace.
Angry now because Poindy and the bowls were winning the race.

My 1st gift to Mom

A clear-beaded mousie
with a pointy black nose,
twitchable beaded tail,
and ruffly yellow clothes.

The tail can tilt her head--
she nods without a squeak!
Quiet little church mouse,
I bought from a boutique.



(True story!)

Murder Mystery

The rain it pelts
The lightning crashes
A shadowy figure
Through streetlight dashes

The strangers meet
The wine is poured
To infiltrate
The secrets stored 

The army man
The cook, the nurse
Field questions deep
Without rehearse 

To crack the code.
To solve the crime.
Complete the task 
Pre coffee-time

This desperate crew
This shady bunch
Explore, unblinking 
Every hunch

Accusatory 
Fists they slam!
"Rice pudding?" Please.
"A blob of jam?"

The time bomb ticks
Suspicions linger
The awful truth
Of pointy finger

A crime of lust?
Inheritance gain?
The washing-up
Will still remain..

At last conclude.
The mortal sin 
Has been revealed
The verdict's in

A lover's tiff.
A desperate heart.
But love enhanced
As friends depart

We all agree..
Despite the rain
To murder is fun
Let's do this again

Cactus

A cactus, me and full of spines,
But deep in side are wet confines,
And so they sprout away from me,
Protecting from the enemy.

Go question all and they will say,
That they define my prickly way,
But past the spines, you’ll find in part,
I really have a softer heart.

For animals will search to find,
Beneath the skin and tucked behind,
And if they find my moist inside,
They’ll eat of me and till I have died.

With all the places that I live,
It’s not the spot heat will forgive.
That when the dawn does quickly fade,
My spines can give me little shade.

So if you come across my path,
Don’t judge of my defensive wrath,
Please see me whole with my designs,
And not my pointy, prickly spines.

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