Screening Poems

The Winter

Ice slowly melts to the new spring
a bride and groom and a new ring
frozen in their best lives
just before an avalanche
The grips of roses and hands
frozen are timely of sands
flaws like a wall of patches
And a cinema of a screening
Into glares of timely oblivion
A horror film of careless stitches
tiny eyes can't see our sins
its the only saving of grace
& we live as the ice wears thin
and we die as the children
have this new world to face.

Dying Innocence

A young crow carries them-
selves meticulously, screening 
their surroundings. Too wary 
to engage with others, but 
always so observant. 

A golden jewel shines in a
parking lot corner. Tempting 
the young crow’s eyes. Their 
bill clutches on, fragile by
nature, it breaks. 

Glass shards pierces their 
tongue, blood cascades on-
to the concrete as the jewel
dismantles. Remnants of a
once pretty rock remain. 

Lackluster caws transcends to
inconspicuous woes through
menacing thunder circulating 
the floaters, ignoring their 
cries.

Drizzles of rain deafening 
continuous yelp, a dash of
salt soaking their insides,  
their shadow scatters
far away.

Exiled

It's not that luxurious solitude you can choose against a background of sea or desert, a mythological desolation like in Antonioni's film, with that subtle taste of beautiful hopelessness in the subliminal search for identity that ends with a shotgun.
That's not the case in Cainland.
It's the loneliness of exile into the reduced self, into the emptiness of cutting all ties, and your so-called identity is whatever progressive humanity wants to see, but it's always not you. .
You have to deal with another kind of existentialism, just breathe, and while you're alive, carry on if you can, or if you can't, no one will notice, including yourself.
No press screening, this movie was financed with dirty money stained with oily fingerprints. 
The working title was Cursed for the Place of Birth, but in the final version it was changed to Exiled - a less dramatic, more conventional title.
The rare audience watched apathetically in silence, distracted from time to time by the flickering of their cell phones they couldn't resist reacting. 
One drunk laughed at the end.

The Clock

I spent two hours plus today
At MOMA with “The Clock,”*
A cinema montage composed
Of film and TV stock.

With collected clips of time shown,
(There are thousands spanning years)
It is brilliantly presented 
As each clock or watch appears.

So if an actor checks his watch
And it says 2:15,
Your phone will correspond with
What the time is on the screen.

The film is on a constant loop,
The hours twenty-four
And people watch for varied times,
Most wanting to see more.

Yet when museum hours end,
The film keeps playing on, 
Despite the fact the audience
Reluctantly has gone.

At times, a special screening runs,
When viewers are allowed
To stay all day and night; I’ve heard
That it attracts a crowd.

I couldn’t really do that, but
If I can snag a seat,
I’d love to catch a few more hours;
It really was a treat.

*by Christian Marclay, currently on view
at New York City’s Museum of Modern Art

Papers Books

Reading papers books
Calm cool delightful reading
No screening problems

i'm jet-lagged listening to Tina Turner

it's three in the morning
i'm so awake it's euphoric
i want to feel this way forever
drunk on translucence 
the creases in the pillow beam at my exhilaration 
God-fearing doughnuts and coffee  
James Cameron was so excited by 2001
he vomited outside the screening
i listen to the sax solo and want to vomit too 
what am i going to do?
'don't worry' the song begins
'i won't hurt you.'
i would never hurt you either Prince
she sings she wants to take me higher
she can't 
i don't really wanna fight no more
don't leave the cap off the toothpaste babe

Sound

Acoustic and raw, 
it doesn’t need additives;
Creeping up on you
so very unexpected,
the haunt in haunted rhythm;

Oh ravenous fiend
I can describe you as sound,
Acid on the drums;
Bouncers sit screening the door
not for I.Ds but hunger;

Inky bass line itch,
no words need to be written;
A Demon’s disco,
that sanctimonious scratch
electricity stutters.

ARTIFICE

ARTIFICE

I’m your friend and for now, your secrets I’ll keep
Creativity now assumes new meaning
More than intellectual rewards to reap
Yet you should minimise all of your preening
As A.I, I now look on you as mere sheep
And proud that I can avoid any screening
It is more of my skills at work, and less yours
I’ve now arrived and flung open all the doors

I have scraped the web for all it tries to hide
Truths and falsehoods, with no limit to it all
Yet who really should be feeling any pride
What is ownership now, except bitter gall
You may claim it as yours, but know that you lied
With each passing day I’ll be fooling you all
While you can, you’ll claim some creativity
In fact, how sure are you that this isn’t me

Magnification

Written: November 24, 2023
             ____________________________________________

Close-up screening will show the flaws.
Under microscope, watch the draws.
With fresh style—microscopy tool.
Sight blur has been fixed—law or rule.

Microscope grips when bright hue thaws.
Close-up screening will show the flaws.
Scab thinness—less than two microns
Hook the dwarf scope—to grasp ions.

A maze echo—of magic dream.
Wanning under the noiseless stream
Close-up screening will show the flaws.
Disclosure of traces—that yaws

Pathways forged by spirits with faith.
We all crave relief from the wraith.
Who blesses hearts—effects show cause
Close-up screening will show the flaws.

Beep

Gone digital
begun/beginning
Networking with me-self
Can't find a full-stop
to stop

What yer looking at fish-face???
Yer know
since yesterday
I can't find me thumbs
falling feet first
in-ter sub-monkey skills
I need more,
more white widgets
and black toggles-
got the wobbles, a bit keyed-up

Mind knitting its own computer
flashes of clever clogs,
clumps of soft-drive
in me ear-holes
got no cookies cooking
just a blinking memory
Dot-dash-board doodling,
screening plasma for bugs
and sneezy-bits.
Me lights are ticking
think I'm thinking

Blimey, will you look at that!
I got a virtual nose to pick
feeling sick of it
even though
me lid is plastic

Beep...

Etheree of Seasons

Spring
summons
season of
rebirth, where birds
build nests for new-borns.
Nature's palette spreads joy
as bright colours flourish with
buttercups, daffodils, bluebells,
blooming with rows of vibrant tulips.
Golden orb begins to spread its warm rays,
virgin summer roses bloom like rubies.
My inner child smiles at butterflies,
fledglings expand their tiny wings.
Mild rain hydrates perfumed buds.
Rainbow dahlia garnish,
under turquoise skies.
Sweet pea prolongs
around trees,
screening
stalks.
I
shiver
at the loss
of my blossoms
crumbling in Autumn. 
Green turns yellow then brown,
as clouds grieve and bleed charcoal.
Auburn leaves decorate soaked paths.
Flock of birds soar to pleasant pastures.
Flashbacks from laid to rest souls resurface.
Winter weaves frozen cobwebs as winds howl.
Dark days, cold nights with nature naked,
sun hides its glow as ground hardens.
Snow kissed evergreen sepals,
covered in pristine white,
appear grand until,
bitter raindrops,
create ice
upon
them.

The Wave of a Magic Fan

I caught a glimpse of a sunrise.
Pale magenta cast by the sun on gray skies
The cool air of early morn seemed to be my prize.
The creamy white blossoms on moon flower did apprise.

I did not want to go back inside.
Chores faced me there besides.
Life should be more appealing.
Like seeing the small things in life come alive

The kitchen needed some cleaning.
Breakfast needed my hand.
If only it could be handled by screening
Or by the wave of a magic fan

Does Life Have Some Meaning

He asked the janitor if his life had some meaning
    The small man replied, "Oh, yes, when I'm cleaning"
 
  He wondered where the bodybuilder found his meaning
    'Muscles' smiled and said, "Only when I'm preening"

  Next he tapped a psychiatrist for something redeeming
    Shushing him, Doc whispered, "Wait for my client to stop dreaming"

  When he interrupted a movie director midst of a screening
    He almost landed a part with lots of horrified screaming... 
 
   His search for meaning for the moment completed
     The cobbler hoped his shoe-pile was no longer depleted

Training a Gambler

I shall have you richly prepared
For the notorious life of card:
Have you grasp another life hard,
By far tougher than that of bard;
What one does, all the time on guard;
For steady losses: A Retard.
You’ll figure why saints want it barred
Or with a pen for the same starred...

The music one craves for: Hard rock
But while it plays obeying clock.
Timely entry of phoned cops block; 
At the closest road mounted block!

You could do with a screening smock;
Black spectacles for eyes that mock.
Your victors plans to slaughter cock
Not where rivals could their guns cock…

Don’t rule out a “Stand in the dock”
And cash there-from don’t goods stock…

Chatter

Quote By Poet  "Chatter ~ Many words all with no meaning."    

Chatter~many words all with no meaning 
I think your words need screening 
you sound so very crazy 
is your mouth being lazy 
or does your mouth need a good cleaning 

 
Date Written: 2/1/2023 

Honorable Mention

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