Rectangular Poems

Doorways

A feeling of doorways.
Crumbling while we’re trying to relax and watch tv.
Numbers while chewing.
On my mind are edible as a fire.

I’m available for that appointment.
If it’s the clear kind.
That makes my joints itch.
And spiders make it worse.

A feeling of doorways.
Like a path but rectangular.
Seems normal yet is uneven.
Like cherries which are soft and have small creases.

Creases like sand.
On the path to the door…
We lift off.
And embrace.

It’s weird like a chair standing up.
He lifts off the ground.
Lassos us in.
A feeling of doorways.

A feeling of doorways.
Is inevitable.

Let me tell you what I know about Piet Mondrian and Mark Rothko

Let me tell you what I know
about Piet Mondrian and Mark Rothko,
two painters so rectangular and square,
you'd swear there is no life there,
till you look with a little more precision,
a little bit more care.

ART APPRAISAL I twinku

MONDRIAN

rectangular

revelations

MONET

waterlily

wonders

MANET

mirrored

refelections



TWINKU a double word distich with integral title

A TRIO OF COUPLETS -2-

Paul Klee made a painting of poetry
unique & in rectangular geo-me-try

Charles Demuth with a reverse ekphrasis
made WCW figure 5 his innovative art thesis

Yours truly 'kindled' the emagi
a reverse ekphrasis digitally

Table Tennis

She ping
She pong
Digging both sides
With concentration
With hand slamming
Calculated precision 
Eyes rolling pinning
The striking win
Over this green 
Rectangular board.

Chip Woman, from THE WOMAN WHO COULD EAT WOOD

Chip Woman 


She was everyone’s craving – a rectangular piece of deep-fried potato: 
a salt and vinegar one,
one that made them glow.

She was the too friendly – 
and the too trusting – type.
Raised well she’d been.
She lived up to her hype.

One afternoon she delivered
a book to an old woman, who 
had lots of ants as pets,
who kept saying Hello and Thank You.

She said she wouldn’t stay long
but the ants had planned differently along. 

While the old woman was in the bathroom
the ants cornered Chip Woman and ate her up quick.
When the old woman returned smelling of perfume
they swore to her, and she believed them, that
Chip Woman had to split to buy a bathing costume.

my favorite opal topaz ring

I wear a favorite ring now all the time.
On my wedding ring finger, but it is not a wedding ring.
It features a gorgeous blue pear-shaped topaz stone.
Highlighted by a band of eight rectangular shaped opals.
The opals are opalescent, shining pink and blue in the light.
Today I looked up the properties of both gems I wear.
Topaz is the symbol of hope and happiness.
Opals promote youthfulness.
Now I understand why I am drawn to this ring.
She completes me, bringing me joy and youth daily.
My all-time favorite piece of jewelry.

Myrttle and Openings

With myrtle and listenability
I undertake the words of the prophets
Memories relapse in an unhealthy fashion
Man the forgetful
this rectangular mouth
compromises loftily
The Moons harsh splendour
boasts its specious context
as marigold and beam
sway across my October windowsill
like salt peter cleansing the pelt
truth is unburdened

An Existential Curiosity

Rocking back and forth with a Magellan hat, Lennie prepares for sailing.
Incoherent babbling is heard from the explorer on all fours. 
Items of existential curiosity, once seen from afar and distant, are now within reach.
Unbeknownst of this capable ability are those that keep watch, giggles to self.
Driven by wonder, soft thudding perks the ears of the canine companion.
The pain of fence posts cutting through tissue leaves a snail trail on the floor.

Finally making landfall, the little giant scales rectangular glass framed in wood.
Pauses, send deafening echoes to the villagers safe inside, stunned in silence.
Bored of this impenetrable defense, climb further to the cliff edge to peer over the brim.
A village made of logs, glittered snow that sparkles on hand, little people frozen in time.
With a reverse Midas touch, ends the curse of the village with the gift of flight.
Awoken, the God and keeper of the village imprison your curiosity in a netted cage.

12-28-22
An Existential Curiosity
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh

My Lost Love

Tonight, I found my love
Staying beneath the shadow of my pen
With beautiful blue linings
Laying across her white rectangular face.

The evening stars glowing, at once
Her wood pulp character cuffed my wrist
"Conceive in me, your rumbling heart."
However my ink shivers in cold fears,
My love- I'm filling in your blanks tonight!

Joyous how my dry heart
When blessed with your pours
See my  laminar smiles
Flowing through my dancing pen
After its loneliness of droughts.

I will conceive in you
The untold secret of my heart
After being ransomed with your presence
I never am bored
To paint the unwritten poems in you.

We met again to be a pair
After a long disperse, if not divorce
Albeit we are undivorced
We are equal parts lovely lovers.

Oh, Paper! 
My lost love.

The Appetizing Box

      
                   The Appetizing Box



               A box can be rectangular.
               Not round but so angular.
               Ones I like smell so good.
               Pizza,in my neighborhood.



                          6-26-2022

Arduo Adro

from where I am I see the holy field (I wanted to skip this stage, you know... stop getting impatient whenever I see little yellow flowers on the surface of the earth, never hear again the poisonous distant voice that calls, submit myself once and for all to the depressing hammer of the day and pay more attention to the height of the buildings in this city). 

the steep lane and the cypress trees are two, three hundred meters away (this quadrant on the timeline no longer allows you to smile, everything is annoying or irrelevant: children, money, televisions, barking). the holy field would convey calm and peace, if peace and calm reigned in the heart of what they call inside. 

going up the lane so many times to say goodbye, one fine day you will be there (let me know if you also immediately imagine the quiet and placid horizontality, gray birds languidly flying over our terminal rectangular geometry, sunny afternoons of a death that has no end). 

Is it the irreversibility of the solemn procession as it leaves the chapel or the heartbreaking gravity stamped on the wrapper of that moment that must make you think very carefully before leaving?

Sunlight Through the Window

Sunlight Through the Window 

Penetrating the fog, one winter morn,
Sunlight streamed through the window and fell on the floor,
A slanted rectangular space did the rays adorn,
Gradually spreading into the room through the open door;

Ray's of hope, of life's enduring dream,
Filled the room with songs of the Eternal Dawn,
The mind sailed with the light's beckoning stream,
Past the walls and high above the adjoining outside lawn;

Above the buildings, the mind soared and flew
And above the rooftops, now bathed in glorious light,
With the birds that sailed with winds free and true,
Showered by heavens' resplendence so bright;


Far into the heavens where the sun beams above,
The mind wandered  in hallowed domain,
Imbuing peace and harmony as a silent dove,
In the lighted room, the messages of love and peace to humankind remain.

World Weary

I look outside my window, at the trees growing bare
I stare at speckled leaves, piling random everywhere 
I watch them decompose, death’s clogging up my air
I want to rot with them, on the sidewalk over there 

I’m weary with vitality, having discarded all it’s flair 
I’m sick and tired of continuance, recycling and repair
I’m on the whole partial, to forget about the stairs 
I’m doing cartwheels, first rectangular then a square

My heart lives up my sleeve, can only deal from there 
My thoughts for others, cannot be bothered to share
My sole sense of achievement, is self inflated despair 
My halo at last comes full circle, I kick away the chair 


''W'' New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France 
Choice word #1 Weary
11/24/21

The Poet's Pen

A fit
of ecstatic madness
strangled the pen, and
a newfound voice
clearer than my own
rang through the
plane of white
upon which words
etched in frantic ink
carved, from the 
blank, rectangular sea
entire worlds
and I was to rein
a God in my own chair
so powerful is
the pen of a poet.

• Short Rectangular Poems
• Famous Rectangular Poems
• Best Rectangular Poems
• Read Rectangular Poems
• Long Rectangular Poems
• Rectangular Quotes