Pulped Poems | Examples

Ink

The ink of storms wreaks havoc on the unturned page.
Pulped filaments flop face-lessly before eyes once warm, yet frigid cold.

Daring not to expect much to read or write,
I stare blankly from the aughts of night. 

Stars are but memories from books,
Overshadowed by polluted distances, smudged by the burn of business bustling below in the barrel. 

Fish flop, and folios fold upon themselves, as the Sun circles this tip-toed Sphere.

My mind seems diagonal to the lines within this verse; un-unitarian against the it that I am not of.

Am I the ink?
The reader?
Or do I draw its lines?

I've not felt the sense to be, see, nor write, so what is it that am I? 

A passerby upon the paragraph, pretending to play in presents performed en troupe. 

Pathetic.

Crushed

An orange’s tale is quite grim 
At the hands of a man’s whim;
Just when the juice is at its best,
It’s either pressed or pulped to zest.
This sacrifice is not in vain - 
For every loss there is a gain. 
Once thirst is quenched and palate’s pleased 
Let’s raise our glass to freshly squeezed! 


June 17, 2020

Garbage

The world of recycling is here to stay
You cannot dispose of your garbage today
All is recycled and all is made fresh
Paper is pulped and reused by the press
Metal is molten, turned into hot juice
Re-manufactured and given new use
Wood is recycled and this keeps the trees
For what they were meant for, the birds and the bees
The days of the land fill, that is the past
With poisonous gases seeping up fast
Re use it, re save it, resolve or be killed
Its your children's future
And their children's world

The Faller

The Faller 
He stands at the edge of a tall mountain looking down the sheer drop. 
Seconds pass. 
The man jumps! 
Nothing stops his fall. 
Rocks smash his frail limbs like matchsticks. 
End over end till he finally hits the valley floor 2,800ft below, 
his body a bloody broken mass. 
Why did he jump? 
Suicide? 
No. 
Because he enjoys it. 
He's the faller. 
This jump is his 318th off this mountain. 
Broken limbs, pulped body, severed head, fatal injuries and death 
are an occupational hazard. 
It's ok. 
The destructive injuries vanish after 30 minutes and 
the faller is as fit as a butcher’s dog 
and mad as a psychopath to jump again. 
Witness a freak: the faller.

Mecca To a Farmer's Market

A clatter of human hooves
drums on through an after- dawn marketplace…
the wide tunnel of  mouths
reel from the splintered chorus
of jangled tunes bargaining and rattling
papaya, arabica and sushi roll orders: a fiesta 
of succulent aroma whisks mid-air,
talkative faces sampling  potent crops
on weaved baskets , hanging neatly
before slurpy hands condemn
them to boiling pots: the errant
noise loose like gander and hogs.

How much is this and that?
The slithering, crumpled bills drop
their tongues on  purses scraped from
one week’s abominable toil.. oh, darting
fishes jerk their bellies  while the array
of chicken hunks  glaze under lights, frozen
and lumped from farmers’ harvest
rites... morning so luscious with grapes
colored velvet skin,  lettuce tips
pulped by shiny green: and the procession
of lapping mouths reach head tone pitch,
dishes, dishes for salivating tongues,
taste buds for citrusy fruits,  on one delirious
mecca to a market, market day!



......................
A Poem You Enjoyed Contest of Lewis Raynes
Entered 9/13/2016 (Old Poem)

Patience

PATIENCE

There she stands alone
All seasons she’s been there.

The rain doused her beauty
The sun pulped her caput
Harmattan shroud her wit
And circadian ambiance
Robbed her Regard.

Her espoused lovers all gone
To the harlot Desperation.
Only silence heaved in her heart
A burden like Aso rock.

Yet she strive
On and on for fulfillment….
And one day all her lovers
Shall be awed at her triumph.

But then she cannot wait on
As much the length of six feet!

Itsoghole O. S.

Sleeping Muse

I  hover long and wide
 tracing the half-sunk calligraphy
of my own hands on scrolls
bending and spilling words
to shape a raw,  poetic voice...
yet the gaps between dawn 
and twilight are narrow, more
narrow than all the twigs i held 
beneath my coughing thoughts.
 
No, i have not seized to cut the pen; 
these thoughts needed a pause, you know,
like a retreat for freshly-brewed time...
allowing my muse to sleep, hibernate
to wake the veins from my pulped marrow.



Kelly Deschler's Poems About Poetry
* new poem*

Raspberry Orange Rhapsody

Moaning gently her splendours opening wide
The grove of our joy and heavenly melodies 
Sweetened rhapsody her ripened rising...
Melting their flavours flowing into my heart 
Her love my love caressing her breast arching
Thighs she cries my keepers name climbing
Towards the sky velvet bows these, ecstasies 
Rapturous delicious delights; quenching my thirst 
Pulped pleasures lovingly guiding myself to share with..
A kiss her beauty her juices, divine; the orchard of our love.

Fidelity's Duplicitous Door

Fealty's door was satin stained
Durable wood pulped from reliable strain
With blithe trim and decadent frills overlain
Lofty mantle Love's precedence to ordain
Interior with taut, strong fibers ingrain
Golden chain to seal our matrimonial domain

O'er time, your jaundiced mind did abstain
The frilly vows from the lacquered surface drain
The bonding fibers your incontinence could not restrain
Crown molding shrouding romance cankered with disdain
Titular mantle with self-serving goals rent in twain
In unrepentant rage, severed Oath's melding chain

Sweet Sublime

Sensations mounting whirling heights

To close my ardent joyful eyes

And feed upon her peach delight ~

Nectars promise, of pulped divine....

Distill these drops extracting time

Upon my twirling tongues design

Melting, inside her fruitful vine ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...."Harvest Love's, Sweet Sublime" *

Sweet Sublime

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Sensations mounting whirling heights

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To close my ardent joyful eyes 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

And feed upon her peach delight ~

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nectars promise, of pulped divine...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Distill these drops extracting time

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Upon my twirling tongues design

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Melting, inside her fruitful vine ~

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

...“Harvest Loves, Sweet Sublime.”

The Ghost Match

In the field of thoughts two teams rallied their troops
Banners held aloft, The front runners tense but ready
Around the side, Over the top, Up and around in loops

No referee to oversee this encounter, Just a demons eye to watch the mist
The game begins with the trickling blood from the devils wrist

Anger to fight happiness, The shout goes up, And into battle they go
Assaults are commonplace on this stage of war, An ear shattering blow

The demon manages to catch a negative thought, He lurches into the affray
His body pulped and blistered, His eyes burning as children play
But the power of good envelopes his stricken life form, Lifting him away
Crumpling the once formidable leader of evil like a clamp, Sinews give way
His putrid blood spills, Dripping into oblivion he begins to pray

The End.

Freedom of All Citizens To Speak Their Mind

Words for writing, with pen and ink on pulped tree products that makes jobs.
Live life in pursuit of happiness and basic freedoms given by our constitution.
If truth is suppressed, and all citizens don't have the basic rights, then our 
constitution is for naught. 
Opinions are not always factual, but we are intitled to have our thoughts and 
feelings. Thoughts are our only real rights; each citizen can take their thoughts with them anywhere.

working on it....

I'M the Rainbow Crayon

I'm a Pink Marshmallow in soft tender Hello,
I'm the bright Fun Sun in sweet smiling Yellow.


I'm the Warm Gold Sand,the best kind of friend,
I'm the Silk Brown Soil in a nourished land.

I'm the Silver end,in each glittering playful wave,
I'm the Red apple,lost  in sinful passionate crave.

I'm a  wild innocent daisy,dressed in petals of White,
I'm the burnt Orange Sunset,waving hands to Night.

I'm the Blue Vast Sea,Serene, Forever Young and Free.
I'm Black lava stone,fuming,burning ,when getting angry

I'm that Peachy  pulped Peach,with green velvety leaves
A Purple Sweet  Raspberry, loyal and true as Royalties.

I'm the  Multicolored  girl,in this World called  Rainbow Pearl,
I'm the  girl with  longest Crayon and  the deepest colored  Well.


Charma..


(I'm a Multicolored Crayon,who loves to paint the world in Yellow,following by 
Pink and Red,with a soft spot for blue.

Not for the contest..just  a fun poem inspired by Linda'S blog.

Weary

Weary entertainer traveling along this journey
Hoping for the chance to be useful
To compose, create the inner most depths of my thoughts
Emotions placed raw and weeping on the page
After page of pulped tree products
Eraser, delete, reword, rearrange, rhythm
Flowing meter like graceful dance steps
I am a poet!!

Inspired by a tag game I saw--looked like fun--I am not sure who started the game!!
Well I knew I would get tagged eventually!! 3/18/10
tagged by Sara kendrick and I am tagging Carol Brown

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