polysemy
protrudes, prodding power
letting chiasma
churn and curdle
ply poet-marriage:
an anankean lockless key—a dower
set upon a
dorseless tower
I eat my crow,
drowned in chowder
time sealed in
the wicking willow wood
—CODA—
I don’t want to
be solved
I want to be
inhabited
working in
dream-logic
surrealist
disjunctive fissures
places where
contradictions coexist
that is—
precisely
pointless
=======
Into the Hatch, drop by drop
The metal melted like the crop
Sizzling ooze falls onto a floor
And begins to feel a little sore
Still no eyes, no lungs, no aim
Digits pull and push its frame
Outward sounds, crashes, pounds
Begin to be heard, as fear surrounds
Ears, but not quite shaped like ours
Are the next to form in these early hours
Yet just as green and red get comfy
A grating shrill comes from newfound company
Their location is hard to properly state
This starless cavern below the Fate
Forgers don't dare stoop this low
Whatever is here won't approach slow
The sounds in the silence, let words free
"WrIgGlE aBoUt, WiThOuT We?"
Tumbling turns to playful pursuit
When from a stomach protrudes a foot
It winds its ankle, without a crack
And stamps down harsh, with an attack
The Smith is pinned, spreading his patch
While five more digits manage to snatch.
4.
Haughty Humbles
Look! Someone yonder stands proud in elegant gown
The vain head protrudes with a shining golden crown
But oh! Suddenly pours the flashing rain
That someone brings no umbrella in brain
The haughty humbles to share with a clown!
-01/01/2007
(Dumarao)
*Topsy-Turvy Limerick Ironic
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the door clicks shut
leaving only dust particles
dancing in sunbeam's path.
four walls hold their breath
waiting for footsteps
that never come
a single nail protrudes
where a frame once hung
its shadow stretching longer
with each passing hour.
the silence settles
thick as plaster dust
in corners untouched
no echo answers
when the floorboards sigh
beneath the weight of absence.
light bleeds
across bare parquet
marking time in slow degrees.
air grows stale
withheld breath and unspoken words
condensing on the ceiling
my hands are cracked and bleeding
I gag as bone protrudes
but the show must go on.
my hands are tightly bandaged
once i disappear behind the screen
and light illuminates my hands
I look perfect.
I steady my tremors
and put my focus
into my performance.
I wish that someone
would peer behind the screen
kiss my hands
and hydrate my skin
with tears
but instead
I watch others puppet shows
at the slightest mistake
I waste no time
I rip the paper
but there they stand
soft, unscarred hands
I’m forbidden form their theater
for ruining the show
I learned to stop letting
my insecurities show
but I always worry
that others
struggle the same
almost to a fault
but instead
I hide behind the curtain
bandaging my broken hands
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the door clicks shut
leaving only dust particles
dancing in sunbeam's path.
four walls hold their breath
waiting for footsteps
that never come.
a single nail protrudes
where a frame once hung
its shadow stretching longer with each passing hour.
the silence settles
thick as plaster dust
in corners untouched.
no echo answers
when the floorboards sigh
beneath the weight of absence.
light bleeds
across bare floors
marking time in slow degrees.
air grows stale~
withheld breath and unspoken words
condensing on the ceiling.
Lyricism of wisteria ruses…peacocking muses gushing tomes
Classicism flocking..roams & woos homes not garden gnomes
Colourful creepers cruising..schmoozing with boisterously blushing bricks
Spring exudes mysticism..oozes oodles of bamboozling serendipity flushing
Cherished fingers rushing freely..delivers..unctuous ravishingly rambunctious
Relished slivers lavishly lingers..embellished..proudly protrudes
Inspires rhyming platitudes about gratitude...fires fresh
Attitudes across a range of altitudes & latitudes
Sprinkling wryly of vintner's drily sparkle...ends strange debacle...
Skint stints of wily skinflint winter’s splinters..with hints of now..Spring sprints
But also somehow.. if one squints..get an inkling of change..
Glints of summer's tints slyly twinkling
Moon, why do you taunt me?
Your haunting glow consumes all I am.
I howl at your feet as you hang majestic
from a diamante sky
I am breathless, shackled to the earth as I gaze at your beauty, your shape centred in a clustered jewel.
Your children sparkle in sibling frame.
My heart is lost, no other will pacify the aching wound that protrudes from my chest
My healing is long and painful. Will sanity return? One day, maybe tomorrow?
You stole my dream, ripped into nocturnal misery as the ghosts pose in silent masks.
Regret stirs, clinging to the winds of a toxic flame.
Beguiling, my eyes burn as sunrise shapes its day,
Tender strands of light peak through the gullies and allies of my being.
Romance still forms within me, a harmonic tune that whistles with the easterly breeze, but this tranquil sea stirs madness. Fire will again light this soul once regret has done its worst and left my shadow.
Moon, never leave, be my secret no more, rejoice not weigh me down and, I will love you forever.
A soloist Java Sparrow flits,
A cathedral canopy of arched branched leaves,
The sparkling daylight dances the vast green space,
Moss glut rock form protrudes aground sits,
Pews of raw design entertain flocks trade eaves,
Sparrows respect prompts to spring cascading grace,
Heaven gifted natural blessings flow,
Dove coos the flock of Sparrow's faithful pace,
A breath of peace on Earth nature receives,
Bestilled feathers as the sun sets aglow,
~God's Face ...
Full of looming fruit
The black wind whispers
the children lived blithely
yonder in blue cave
The silent river protrudes
by the forked road
where the seagrass grows
The seagull mutely follows
jaded in evening sun
old church bells whisper chimes
Coolness and Autumn play in lonely chambers
Sacred blue chimes in plaid footsteps
The rusted window rattles
to the graveyard on the hill
The legends are foretold
twig like, the people remember
the dark ember days of spring
There is a bull’s eye on my heart.
A knife protrudes up to the hilt.
It twists and turns and tears apart,
defines the edges of bloodguilt,
but I survive, rebuild from start.
The bull’s eye shines - I can’t fake it.
Continues on around, around.
Again, repeat – I can’t shake it.
Goes up and down and runs aground.
When all is done – I can’t take it.
Semblance of love and care depart.
It tears my heart to small pieces.
Your aim was good, your words impart
intent for true love surceases.
Observe the bull’s eye on my heart.
NIGHTS TOGETHER – MORNINGS TOGETHER
As, I look a little closer, just to be sure
I write to you before any sun protrudes
from nights velvet shroud
I move across your thoughts, unknown to you, yet familiar
Unrevealed in presence, I press upon you
in spirit, silently I trace the echoes of your heart beat
its words soft and sweet
in the distance, sound fades, with morning’s light
An angel watches over you in mid–heaven
awake as I hear you breathing
it lingers on my skin
soft and warm
Reminding me of the first
time we spent the night
I hear the morning sounds
opening my eyes to you
You do not move
these ubiquitous sounds
are unable to penetrate
your dreams
I lay my head on your chest
and pull the covers over my head
I can still hear
your breathing
Being a chameleon is easy for I am born under Gemini sign
Mercurial and free flowing, I am held to my own desires
I wake up as Pollock one morning, Poe the next.
Coleridge and Van Gogh may not show up until Thursday
if at all. It might not be their week.
Yesterday I was a peacock before chameleon me appeared.
Male of course, as they have the prettiest colors of aqua and cobalt.
The day before, I was an oak. A giant Cheshire cat was sitting on me.
I am not averse to being a closet monster either.
It is one of my happiest memories.
Honesty protrudes out of my art and writings when I am human.
When I am the wind, or the daffodil, I merely am.
I never know what I will be.
Sometimes I change in the middle of a thought.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
I am now a wolf, a lone wolf, so stand back and keep your distance.
Death bubbles by
in such a sorrowful state.
A snowflake melting
in the midst of life.
A rusty knife
the tip of which protrudes
to make a third nipple.
Creating nary a ripple
in the scheme of things.
Which brings us to an impasse.
Unobstructed,
Our methodology measures
the in-constitute and volatile breaking of sound?
One cup sound; two cups shatter,
an eardrum rapidly boiled.
Why would it matter?
Death rattles by
Cough Cough choking on
his chopstick nun-chuck
glory road to Hell.
Did I say for whom the bell
tolls now?
Did I mention that it’s NOT
some sacred cow?
Be silly-still and listen
to the feeling of guilt
Measure your Mayonnaise Days
with Infinite Care
dollops of sweetness
filling you up to the hilt
A Fruitcake Day
in the ordinary life
of an insect.
Seems Like Spell Trump Was Under
Seems like some spell Trump was under,
Sifting through plunder made big blunder;
Bunch of bull,
And all full;
How ironic;
Was psychotic;
All of his idiocy would make us wonder.
Jim Horn
Did determine that Trump had a tendency,
To only on himself possess a dependency;
Destruction poured,
From a war lord;
Must seek psychiatric help from an agency.
Jim Horn
Trump surely a moron he is still;
Goals and duties never will fulfil;
Crazy crescendo,
To an innuendo;
Does have dog that is an airedill.
(Pickled nose protrudes determined a dill.)
Jim Horn
Trump is definitely a dilly for sure.
Remember time when Trump was dreaming;
When he woke up had started screaming;
Put on pants;
Start to dance,
Then tell many more lies and be scheming.
Jim Horn
A spiral which went viral while on trial.
See if you can make a poem out of that.
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.