Protruding Poems | Examples

The Silence Before The Flame

Clutched jaw, grinding teeth against pulp,
until ash and blood coat a deadened tongue.
The nightsong quiets—a pulsating silence encapsulates the land
as I walk up to a pyre built of withering dreams and deadly nightshade.

The cold, bitter air brushes against protruding flesh.
Looking toward the skies, faith stripped and shamed,
I climb and take my place among my ancestral spirits.

The silence of the night breaks, with chants of *Burn the witch* filling the void.
Leering eyes and foaming mouths scream obscenities my way.
But even among this fanatic freakshow, I hold on to my dignity.

I do not let them see the fear festering beneath my eyes,
nor does my lip quiver.
With insurmountable strength, I hold my head high
as I watch the torches preparing to set me ablaze.

Closing my eyes one final time, I breathe in everything I have ever held dear.
Memories flood—of loves lost and gained,
of the changing seasons,
of my connection to this glorious earth.

I can feel the flames licking at my feet now.
But I will not scream,
for my resurrection will come soon enough.

Listless Song Of The Starving-POTD

Israeli hostages and Gazans hollowed,
the dark cold cruelty of some in humankind.
Gray circles under frightened eyes,
bones protruding from fading frames.
Listless song of the starving,
grieving God. ~

hern's trope

.

           her tongue
      gently protruding
          past her lips
          whilst i waltz (in mine think)
            by hern

her tongue and her think
       in deep thought
        it's curled pink
  i hear'd it's rub 'gainst
     it's thick lip's want

          her tongue
       az if'n had eyne
            i felt it's 
              roam

The Gardener

The Gardener

I thought, could I
shape the clouds,
Those ones on high,
With hand and mind
What greater blossoms then
would come to eye!? Beauty of
some rarer orchid, or rose?
Or just the tip of my protruding
nose, sniffing for scents where
they are not…?  Botany my
heart!

Rematch Tomorrow 8AM

The day passes, an idle hitchhiker,
Thumb half-heartedly protruding
A posture half begging, half daring
Go ahead… seize the day

Good luck with that challenge
For daylight slips through the fingers
Craftily dodges with shadowy stealth
All attempts to control it, confine it

A few minutes in a crowded Starbucks
A cold compress of iced coffee
A mindless “atta boy, go get ‘em”
From a high school drop-out Barrister

Another “rope-a-dope” meeting
Stay on your feet, they’ll stop talking soon
How did it come to this
You were once a contender

Another ten round draw
Everyone seems happy
You didn’t embarrass anyone
Rematch tomorrow...8AM

The Yacht

Protruding pole in the middle
The top look like a keel that light
During the night in the midst of the bay
Your like a swan in the day time heralding
Its huge but gentle to look at its rarity
Seldom ordinary people has own you White
Now I see you move in smooth sailing
With girls and gents wearing sunglasses
The point of your richness and affluency
All eyes looking as you passed by with hope
That one day each has dock you in their dream
You swarm the sea with pride and with brevity
Careful pilot not to trouble the waves with rage
Because you're precious, rare but with worth
It's like a love that only longing for comfort
A pleasure, an adventure to the sea of life.

Flush

My lady wife does strange things with the lavatory brush
She stands it in the loo and then she activates the flush
But she’s my girl and not someone that I would want to chasten
Except she leaves the brush there like it’s Guardian of the Basin

I know she pours in loads of bleach in which the brush can soak
I don’t know why she does this for alas I'm just a bloke
So when I walk into the loo that brush is standing proud
Protruding from the lavvy pan as I proclaim out loud…

My darling, I’m so happy that you keep our home hygienic
But that there plastic poker in our loo is hardly scenic
So I don’t have a Labrador but what if I were blind…
You’d find me running out of here while clutching my behind

Kay had her Lips Done

Kay had her lips done
We tried not to make fun
She looks like Daisy Duck
I would not have paid a buck

Her lips walk a foot ahead
Protruding centimeters from her head
Her face is abnormal in every way
I try not to smile as I pass her every day

Black Black Black - Surrealism Nonsense Poetry

the growth that all a person has
sinister growth like fungus or tumour
sprouting protruding
scrouting grotruding
a growth growing
with light
black black black
flat flat flat
mirroring our dances
echoing our chances
fat skinny glances
strouting brotruding
black black black
flat flat flat
but watch
for a person’s without a person
the growth that all a person has
black black black

In Pacifica

In Pacifica
I despise that portrait of me.
The likeness ends
with the name.
Yes, Jane Seymour, unbeheaded
Queen of England.
No, not of pinched thin lips
and sharp bird-beak nose.
Those hideous wimples
tented on over plucked foreheads
displaying protruding toad eyes....
I was not the smoldering gypsy beauty
of Anne Boleyn
nor the loud, youthful
excess of everything
Katherine Howard
but look what their beauty cost them:
one head apiece.
I was pretty in my watchful, rich-wombed way.
I carried a King in my devoted belly
and a great love for my cousin-husband,
a fondness for estranged young Mary
and a fervent wish for peace.

I carried the scent of my beloved garden
sweet forsythia
nor the harlot’s stink of
Paris and promiscuity.
I was loathe to undergo
a coronation

I did not want to be Queen
and yet here I am,
the only wife to receive a queen’s funeral
and share a tomb
with the Beheader.

Happy as a Flower

Open the door and you will see,
A protruding rose as youthful as can be.
By the tree; the evergreen tree,
Masked in all its glory.
Fresh and beautiful it sits poised,
Various array there is to see.
Its plume is beckoning and welcoming you.
To the tree! The evergreen tree!
Everyone walks past them,
Bustling about as the rose stares.
It stares at us; fragrant and free.
By the tree; the evergreen tree,
It doesn’t flee, gripping tightly.
Rooted down, it’s stagnant.
It’s true, the birds say as they flew 
And the rose sits unamused.
It is not as fleeting as us,
It remains deep rooted and undisputed!

He-She-It-They

My gran doesn’t ‘get’ this woke society
I told her that there’s a new sobriety
We went for a walk to see what we would see
And show her we all can be what we will be

Men can be women and girls can be boys
And most men in showbiz have that certain poise
I’ve seen a guy wearing a little black dress
And people whose gender is something to guess

But live and let live is the latest doctrine
Though sometimes I wouldn’t know where to begin
Someone approached us in pink dungarees
And Doc Marten boots and a beard to ‘their’ knees

With glitter mascara, diamanté tiara
A dog tag that said nothing more than ‘Tamara’
‘Their’ Mohican hair style was quite a strange sight
Twas dyed rainbow colours and went left to right

I tried not to notice ‘their’ tightly strapped breasts
But bits were protruding from her (their) string vest
In an unguarded moment I said, “Evening Miss.”
He/she/it/they gawped and said, “That’s remiss.”

I told he/she/it/they, “I’m not of this age
So don’t take offence, please don’t get in a rage.”
‘They’ strode off and snarled like a pantomime cat
And my little old gran said, “What The F*** Was That?”

Queen's Revenge

Treat someone wrongly
 maybe survive
Treat them as stupid
bees leave the hive
Stinger’s protruding
vitals exposed
Phylaxis laid bare
—venom explodes

(The New Room: December, 2023)

Forbidden Zone

Honey Locust Trees, perched precariously on
Ledges lost amid ruptured chasms of evil
Ant hills, protruding fistfuls of grapefruit-sized
Giant ants suffering remnants within sight of 
Chernobyl, in the Ukraine forbidden zone;
Seemingly immune to the poisonous pods;
 Literally dripping heavy ants clinging to juicy,
Waxy seeds as they climb and fall over each
Other feasting on spandrel sins denied by silver
Palaces adorned with backroom deals and
Shady hats glittering with guava-glazed
Toasted pecans, spun with rain-soaked
Clumps of blue spirulina hungrily engulfed
By the living dead...

Enrobed

                   In

                      Pock-marked

                                             Palladium

Heatseeker

That was strike two but you’re the only one keeping score
I didn't realize there were heart strings attached
You know I have trouble listening 
Yet you're still undressing
But your clothes are draped on you and not the floor, 
So that’s strike three 
I know you like to work with your hands but I didn't realize you were blue collar
Snorting vitamin D is your idea of a natural dependency   
And you’re not Icarus 
But I'm surprised homemade wings couldn't get you any higher 
Even a jack of all trades could be dealt a losing hand 
A welder fabricates
But so does a liar 
You're like a sprouting lemon tree 
That's protruding into my backyard
And being shady 
You’ve sentenced me to a life behind your stitched cloth bars 
What an unlawful thing to crave 
And you may be prosperous and the right amount of sour 
But I'm sure as hell not making lemonade 

And not to be dramatic
But can I really live without this?

You left my temptation so abused, 
I might be a liability to your prowess

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