Pseudonyms Poems | Examples

Clinging To My Brow

Veiled by clever branches, limbs
silken strands, protecting me
from the eyes who’re like pseudonyms
beckoning with iris’ clever and wild

secreted beneath gossamers, flowing
in whispers of hope for the morn
risking each breathless moment, unknowing
what to expect with the journey’s quest

shrouded by the strands, elusive
like the moment when I knew true pain
beyond the shadows, so abusive
feeling the fears who reach my soul

concealed from a world who hurries
never allowing my heart to heal
these wisps of melancholic flurries
remember locks who write the songs

unseen by those who might discourage me
each curl, each tress, each quiet tuft
silences the fears who seem to guarantee
expressing myself means letting go 

hidden by the mane who drifts, curving
sinuous and graceful, a layer of shelter
always protecting and preserving
so I have refuge, a haven, a secure home

unseen, my eyes hide beneath the maze
a mane of defense, shielding me from foes
those who might not understand my gaze
only see the pain and never what I gain

Current price of a Cello by Istesso Netto

Once she was Pauroso now
she's Rinforzando.
Bisbigliando
:brusco, scordato
she must rehearse and study
to be an image of
perfection

Senza Spianato
and
Graevole Tratto
______________________________
It causes me to wish you near
to make promises
to seek the responsibility of
our togetherness
Then until some half witted
meddler to try to pry us apart
One who wishes to Love like me
and expel you from my heart
trodden the browning grass
that autumn then is near
to reassure you of my sincerity
I kiss you as you are near
__________________________________
Pseudonyms

I changed the tone
completely distorting my sound
that he may never mock me again
Yet which he expected a Tenors tone
I bellowed a full bassy ensemble
of rhythmic jives
and quirks
Might he find me then
I shall be a Baritone
to counter act such intrugence
a countertenor perhaps
than he should
strain to be listened to!
__________________________________

To which image should we cling

Line of inquiry:

“We have been here a thousand times before
Memory erased, each time we begin anew
Of hands held tenderly, we’ve lost the score
Each embrace virgin like fresh morning dew 

To which image, oh dear soul, should we cling
For each heart was at some point of time dear
As we flow through life with zest, zeal and zing
In all forms we see God’s presence appear”


Terza Rima Sonnet


In dewy kisses, sun bursts through startled limbs,
washing dawn bold, breathing grace against tear’s flow
gentle trembling through romantic pseudonyms.

blessings linger on the hint of God’s still glow,
lighting the way through drenching rains, darkest storms,
silent as night, dusk’s mild shadow, soft and slow.

embrace of warm prayers, faded dream performs,
melodies rich as the healing He bestows,
comforts the hurting, bringing hope that transforms.

songs of wonder brought by the Son who arose,
visions, joy reflecting the soul’s eternal,
love so amazing, sings wherever He goes!

His light shines, ‘tis more than merely external.
It burns away the fear of hell’s infernal.

The Tom Woody Tree

"the Tom Woody tree"


apparently a perennial
annually coming back

pseudonyms of him
though i don't know

misunderstand 
misunderstood
 
could be
would be

but
not

me
but

them
and

him

Pseudonymic Poet

~~~~
      The lying poets have you sucked in!
      As many already have pseudonyms~
      Perhaps, they imbibe too much gin?

      And, oh, you so sweet innocents…
      Sucked in by a false poet’s face!
      Liars,who are poetic disgrace.are a disgrace.

      Whom can I trust when liars abound?
      Many scoundrels could easily be found.
      Loving to bow to only clapping sounds!
   
      They try to impress us, one and all.
      But by their fancy forms, do not fall.
      Poets, beware these imposters call!!


                       6/19/2023

Fernando Pessoa

Fernando
               you were so many people
               in one poet!      


    PS.Fernando Pessoa,
Great Luzitano poet
who used a lot of pseudonyms

No Conclusions

No Conclusions***

Can’t figure things out?
Never between 
    the lines.
Outside the lanes, 
Staying spaced 
In gray shadows
Or mist or fog…
Outlying and altering.
Possibly close,or
Beyond
Leaving,
 Below or high.
Yet, wearing
    pseudonyms,
Always being    
Lost, then
Re-addressed.
Oscillating.
But, remaining
Persistently    
    ambiguous.
Ticking, dangling.
Indefinitely
“Durra lurra loo,
Durra lurra lay,”
Tick-tocking clock
Infinitely 
Short morns.
Dragging afternoons.
Cycles of blue moons.
Possibly some
Random hours 
    to play.  Hooray!
And sing,
“Tick tick toe too,
Geerie oh toe loo.”
A clock eternally 
Maybe
Runs…


————————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 9/27/21
Glory to God

The Manipulator

Some ghost in peoples mind need to control,
every aspect of circumstance to enroll.
The raging spirit in constant demand to chase illusion,
with sweet words, drama and phony conclusion.
The fear of not being in charge by all means,
destroys all good attention in short coming’s not seen.
Hidden fragile uncertainties covered by shallow believe,
creating painful structures with no relief.
Destinies beatitude pointed towards all direction,
chained to the source of this infection.
The perjuries towards the illusion of freedom,
is the constant rising of another millennium.
The catastrophic ripple effect towards the relative,
by poor judgments sensed has competitive.
Megalomania is the belief of power abilities regardless,
shallow emotional intellect performed by ruthless charges.
Powerful and admirable pictures are usually the point,
questioning others towards responsibilities being a ‘disappoint’.  
The dragon of false illusion has many heads,
taken others credit and values as alphabet. 
Mystic pseudonyms is the fire in the oxygen,
riding the beast of burden to the melancholic dungeon.

The Manipulator

Some ghost in peoples mind need to control,
every aspect of circumstance to enroll.
The raging spirit in constant demand to chase illusion,
with sweet words, drama and phony conclusion.
The fear of not being in charge by all means,
destroys all good attention in short coming’s not seen.
Hidden fragile uncertainties covered by shallow believe,
creating painful structures with no relief.
Destinies beatitude pointed towards all direction,
chained to the source of this infection.
The perjuries towards the illusion of freedom,
is the constant rising of another millennium.
The catastrophic ripple effect towards the relative,
by poor judgments sensed has competitive.
Megalomania is the belief of power abilities regardless,
shallow emotional intellect performed by ruthless charges.
Powerful and admirable pictures are usually the point,
questioning others towards responsibilities being a ‘disappoint’.  
The dragon of false illusion has many heads,
taken others credit and values as alphabet. 
Mystic pseudonyms is the fire in the oxygen,
riding the beast of burden to the melancholic dungeon.

Impeach This

It’s sad just how low, American leftists will go,
Mentally ill by the thought: TRUMP WINS—two in a row.
Pelosi—their Jesus, decrees moral high ground,
Enter Schumer, Nadler, and Schiff—three idiot clowns.
And yet, not one strategy has rid them of him,
Charlatans and liars—appropriate pseudonyms.   
Hating on this president, three long years now and counting… 

Trump Derangement Syndrome—a social disorder,
Hampers millions still clinging to their losing New Yorker. 
Impeaching popular presidents, with opinions—not facts,
Should scare you to the polls—to vote Donald right back!

December 20, 2019
Your Best New Poem Poetry Contest

Missouri

The fleeting dawn has translucent crystal light
that shimmers and wrinkles my furrowed slack skin. 
Then a temperate touch, my terrors ignite
as beneath my waves, dark currents surge within;
since time began, I have carried human kind;
but still I yearn to swallow a troubled mind. 

From hell roaring creek, I was spawned and grew old,
before fur traders rafted over my rocks, 
indian canoes laced through my eddies cold, 
where bison roamed in the summer equinox. 
My hidden weeds clutched at fractured settlers' limbs;
where battles fed all veins in death's pseudonyms. 

What darkness now heaves and hauls the river's wave? 
you wait to board the last ferry's creaking ship;
its gas light might shine, but I still cling and crave
as every mortal must its dark pilot tip. 
Then leave all kinships behind and seek to sleep
in lethe, sunken down yet so darkly deep.

Silence

SILENCE

I walked desolated in thought.
My life, as is, however, was fulfilled with internal joy.
The privacy I possess was bleak.
An austere appearance I kept.

A woman with child sighs.
I hear her murmur to self that I seem to be upset.
I looked away and said nothing.

My feet begin to drag.
I straighten my poster very fast.
The silence was taking over my mind.
I had not spoken in quite a while.

The screaming down Main Street did not disturb me at all.
I was so deep in thought but very aware of my surroundings.
The bullet came flying in air.

The whispering I heard when I enter the Square was such a pleasant change.
I saw friends sitting there and spoke to them.
The stillness of the afternoon had begun to disintegrate to a pattern of sounds.
The silence I enjoyed was the same as the pleasant environment I enter now.

This old world will continue to prove that it is not that old at all.
The omen is oracle that does not change.
We are life formed.
We employ a difference but only in similar growth.
The silence when heard tells us that we are the manifold.

User Name: Verlena
Pseudonyms: Oblivion Dark Sunshine & Poethics Oblivion Stareyes
Motif: Silence

Ireland's Journalist Jewel

The dedication of this journalist gem
Whose writing, brought down
Drug dealing men
 
Eire's Sunday Tribune
And Sunday's Business Post
Newspapers of note, for in them she wrote
 
But it was the criminal world
And her writings so splendent
That craved her to write for the Sunday Independent
 
This brave reporter put her life on the line
To reveal to her country
Their drug filled slime
 
To avoid libel
Pseudonyms she chose
To protect the paper, from legal blows
 
Drug dealers uncovered
Showing their ill gotten gains
Irrespective of lives and families pains
 
Threats turned to visits, firing shots at her home
To deter her uncovering
In her investigative roam
 
Three months later she was shot in the leg
But the dedication of her
Thousands of newspapers were read
 
Near Newlands Cross
On the outskirts of Dublin
On a motorbike, two men with a gun
 
At a traffic light junction
With a Magnum .357
Ireland's Journalist Jewel, was taken to heaven
The name of this gem
Veronica Guerin
 
 
" In memory of a brave woman, wife and mother who took on the 
                      criminal underworld in Dublin, Eire "

Vignette-Pseudonyms

Simon and Garfunkel
Guitar ready and in hand
Made hit as a sixties band-
The Tom & Jerry duo change of name
Bringing forth popular fame.

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