skip wop-ditty
auh ooh auh ooh
sonme time together
dancing with you
-----------------------------
danced all night
wwith my favorite gal
we did some contempary
soul searching all night long
danced all night with my Lady
we smiled
styling profiles
we danced all night long
when the music did a oop
I scatted and ooped
when the fella changed the beat
I scatt-dat deedled
to the groove
when she stood in
that ooh auh position
that one too sexy to mention
I scooped due-wooped
and be-bop
did you katch that dance move
we went dancing
we danced all night long
it was crazy
danced to my
favorite song
we went dancing
skipped to the beat
what fun we had dancing
all the new faces to greet
auh ooh we wop-ditty
auh she golly ooh
I love dancing
enjoyed my time
with you
We humans can swim in water.
Water may lack but we remain humans.
Humans swim through choking dust.
Dust seals the chest with hefty agony.
Agony discomforts the flesh but profiles the drive.
Drive keeps the dying heart booming.
Booming, we sneak through rough stone.
Stone develops wings when we persevere.
Persevere the storm to disrupt the sky.
Sky twists before the incredible endeavor.
Poem by Mugisho NT
She sits composed, not as a woman,
but a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychic collage of splintered dissonance,
framed in fractured facade of anguish.
The body portioned into pile of unsettling planes,
the face split between skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced downward,
the limbs contorted into implausible grace.
All depict the geometry of emotion,
not a reshuffled shape of reality,
an embodiment of inconsistent identity.
The jade fingernails disrupt
the flowing fractured form
with glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised diligence
that something within her
opposes the distorted repression.
The facial deformation isn’t a style preference,
etched on unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertion of authority.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
defacing doesn’t demolish Dora Maar,
but accentuates her charisma.
Inspired by Dora Maar With Green Fingernails by Pablo Picasso
I HAVE ENDURED THE SUDDEN PROFILE
AN EMPTY WAY TO LIVE AWAY FROM THE NILE
AS YOU WATCH THE JEWELS BE CROWNED AWAY
FROM THE SILENT GRADUATE AT THE TOP OF
HER CLASS AS SHE PASS AWAY HER DREAMS
FOR A TIME RIPE ENOUGH AS THE GRANNY SMITH
DEMANDS THE ATTENTION OVER ALL THE APPLES
PICKED IN THIS DAY AND IN THIS TIME FAR AND
WIDE WHY MUST THE STYLE HINDER THIS PROFILE
THIS DREAMER OF THE FREE NEW WORLD AN YET
AFTER LEAVING IN THE TRAIL THE BALIFF NODDS YES
YOU ARE SAFE AND FREE TO MOVE ABOUT THESE
HALLS AS THE CASE OF YOUR FATE BE TRIED
WITHOUT YOU BUT BE A WEAVING A NEW NEST FOR
YOU AND YOUR CROWS TO DINE ON PEKING DUCK
OR PERHAPS A TOUGH GOOSE AS I WILL LOOSEN
THE NOOSE WHEN A TIME COME FOR US TO LISTEN
TO YOU SPEAK IF YOU WOULDN'T MIND SWEETIE
ENLIGHTEN US ON THIS AWAY FROM THE BUREAU
PROFILE YOU HAVE STORED FOR A LATER USE
WRITTEN BY MRS. YOLANDA NICHOLSEN 5-25-2004
2610 PROVIDENCE STREET FORT MYERS FLORIDA
ABIDING INTEREST
intense
scrutiny
in
self-analysis
of
imagined
profiles
fundamental
feelings
customary
expectations
preoccupations
precursor
in
paletted
expressive
pictorial
formulae
of
aesthetic
pleasure
She sits composed, not as a woman,
but a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychological collage of splintered dissonance,
visible in the fractured facade of grief.
The body portioned into pile of unsettling planes,
the face split between the skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced down,
the limbs contorted into implausible grace.
All depict a geometric frame of emotion,
not a reshuffled shape of reality,
an embodiment of inconsistent identity.
The jade fingernails disrupt the flowing fractured form
with glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised persistence
that something within her opposes deformed repression.
The facial deformation isn’t just style preference,
etched on unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertion of authority.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
the distortion doesn’t demolish Dora Maar,
but accentuates her charisma.
Inspired by Dora Maar With Green Fingernails by Pablo Picasso
She sits composed, not as a woman,
but as a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychological collage of dissonance splinters,
rendered visible in the broken facade of grief.
The body fragmented into piles of unsettling planes,
the face split between the skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced downward,
and the limbs contorted into implausible grace,
all depict a geometric framework of emotion
rather than a reshuffled shape of reality,
presented as an embodiment of inconsistent identities.
The green fingernails disrupt the flowing fractured form
with their glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised persistence
that something within her opposes deformed repression.
The facial distortions are not just stylish preference,
offering an unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertions of dominance.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
the fragmentation does not eradicate her,
but accentuates the presence of Dora Maar.
Where a series of
messages fly across
profiles inflated
in balloons of
hot air.
Where a model with doctored skin
sells better cells to cover your acne,
where people 'blackout' Tuesday
and appropriate taking a knee.
Where truth is a golden ticket, impossible to find,
where 'likes' replace juries, and we forget to #bekind.
Where stories are created at the push of a key,
replacing where dreams and drafting used to be.
Where a voice called Alexa can order, suggest and locate,
but also listen and through silent algorithms manipulate.
Where faceless Gemini can offer names for your new-born,
an ironic namesake, a duplicitous invader on your own front lawn.
And most of the time
those ongoing anonymous
messages simply
ghost
I am sorry
if I did anything wrong
if I said anything wrong
but the disgusting
emotions are wrongs (rights)
No need for evil beings
On bombastic profiles
Sneak persons, fakes
right the emotions
I am sorry, I can’t change
This is not my swamp
Swim in it, it’s your sauna
I want honesty, not a sneak
Why would God give moray eels
A life wherein they live concealed
In a beautiful, bountiful, rapturous reef
Merely to cause the nearby fishes grief?
When the moon and stars shine deep at night
Giving profiles to fishes in background light,
The morays watch and wantonly wait
Until their prey cannot escape.
Are morays just spokes in God’s wild wheel?
Do moray’s consciences not guilt feel?
What is their purpose? What is their ploy?
Is it just to consume those they destroy?
Where is their justice? Where is their joy?
What gives morays the right to annoy
Nearby fishes and affect their fates
While they wantonly lay in wait?
Why would God create such evil creatures
When others’ fates fear their cruel nature?
And why keep morays in ravishing reefs?
Do these evil eels provide the reefs relief?
Is a mindless moray like an inane man
Who bends people’s mores when he can
To languish their lives and besmirch their souls
Just to achieve his iniquitous goals?
Shadows 9-22-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shadows
Living in ethereal shadows of compassion,
In profiles of grace,
Mercy overshadows stumbling stones
Revealed in a lens of benevolent focus
To eclipse blisters of ebony shades
With wispy balms of healing from raining penumbras,
No longer shadow boxing with bruising lacerations.
Shadows of grace pursue cutting eclipses
And wraps golden coronas of clarity
Around impenetrable guilt, treachery and betrayal,
Forgiveness foreshadowed in rising cumulous mists
Chasing cringing palls back into impotent hollows
Creating translucent patterns of favor
In delicate dews of lotus clour.
Ever present living pierced hands of agape,
In crimson shadow’s continual canticles,
Engulfs dark demon wraiths with pure mystery
And with silhouettes of the eternal Eden
Reveals perpetual truth –
No shadow can with withstand
The incense of everlasting grace.
fruit&vegetables-
seasoned profiles
in bold relief
A Gentleman.
An elderly gentleman sits on his porch rocking in a chair,
reminiscing the past and present times that really don't compare.
He fought for our freedom that today we all share,
that others have trouble accepting and weren't even there.
His life was not easy in his younger years,
and he worries today about the present-day fears.
He is proud of his family and the country he served,
but questions the greed and injustice that power has reserved.
He has always viewed killing and destruction as an arrogant feat,
that serves those conspiracy profiles that are willing to cheat.
His chair now empty, for he had since passed on,
as a tear is shared for this gentleman now gone.
Respect our elderly for your time will come, sharing memories of your achievements and a few that were dumb.
Peter J. Hurst. From Nova Scotia.
Gloria, Gloria,
don’t mean to annoy ya;
you seem a voluptuous lass.
Glad that I met ya,
look up ‘metanoia’,
And so thanks, but that’s a hard pass.
----------
Strange phenomenon: profiles with handle have been sending twitter friend requests - of course they are bots, I just wonder who adds these folks...
Graceful like the morning birth, sunshine smiles
lifting doubts, healing every last heartbreak
bringing light, gentling so not to forsake
hope calms the weary soul as love beguiles
silencing grief, raining hope through exiles
prayers erase all the darkest trials
Graceful like the morning….
Pretty peace pours through the lovely profiles
Leaving wonders untold - the soul’s keepsake
Reflecting notes, pleasant songs we partake
In heaven’s realm, there are striking lifestyles
Graceful like the morning….
Rousing Rondine Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jeff Kyser
November 8, 2022
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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.