BUTTERFLY SUMMER TOLD YOU SO
Silkily cocooned Blossom turned to fruit Past to the future
Segmented caterpillar Weather warms up in degrees Told you so, did you listen
Fluttering angel Alas, summer's here Oh no! So, what now
Oh dear, dear Dora, fragmented and bright,
A puzzle of planes in the shifting of light.
Green nails are daggers, sharp points on the page,
A geometric dance during the colorful age.
Your purple eye shadow, a block and smear,
Holds two eyes together, yet one’s never near.
One looks to the future, one stares at the past,
In a Cubist arrangement that’s destined to last.
With lipstick applied in a thick, waxy stroke,
Your mouth is a silence that never quite broke.
A triangle’s curve on a violet-stained lip,
As the lines of your spirit begin a courtship.
Oh, Muse of the angles, of squares and of sighs,
With a kaleidoscope burning in deep gold eyes.
You are broken and rebuilt, a masterpiece grand,
With that emerald flash of a segmented hand.
The tales you uphold have woven themselves across the thread of breath
Flowing through us as a guiding light underneath a new moon
Rays of the earth painting you in it’s image
Holding truth in the slumber of your hippocampus
Segmented before me—you’ve caught my attention
Sorrow arises as the sincerity had always stood bare
You’re evidence of an unspoken gospel
Rising beyond the insanity I dance in
Mapping the secrets of our lineage—you stand
Storing energy from the steps imprinted through resilience
You didn’t ask to bear witness—or did you?
The sole survivor of us
An anchor against the shadows of escapism
A screen door
creaks
small incursions
into rip and hole.
Unseen, a creeping grub and thriving,
chitinous mandibles
munch upon the desiccated dead,
thrive in the thrash and mingle.
Corruption forms its disorderly queue,
jointed question marks
walk on segmented legs
spindly limbs pry
where slick eggs incubate.
As time swings its metronome,
splintered chips
flake away, wood
cracks its rotting bones.
Internal scaffoldings
crumble,
mold multiplies,
mildew clings to
muck.
A festering wriggles forth.
"Honey, can you oil the back door,
it's creaking again."
I scrunch my butt deeper into the sofa.
"I'll get on it after the game." I say,
making a mental note
to get more beers in,
Tomorrow, slap some paint
over the wormholes
maybe.
Segmented arms and legs are seen
wielding a broken machine.
A swinging lamp of kerosene
lights up a silent movie screen.
In the dark Circus Oblique,
presided o'er by the freak,
each butterfly is unique -
but none of them can speak.
Is it not a little odd,
ev'ry page his bug-eyes trod,
were a kind of lightning rod
for the sad boy who played God.
gestures
so
delicate
a
paradox
meticulous
spectral
tactile
an intimate
transience
of
ambiguity
a sequence
segmented
in anonymous
apertures
to
a
transparent
'morrow
OPEN FORM in lowercase without grammatical symbols ,uses spaces&breaks relying upon 'the one breath limitation' & as a 'happening' requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input &respond in a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood & thus is inherently variable.
Dim tunnels curve a segmented ocean.
Bat-winged feeding specters
browse glass. Scaly hulls
blow gas tanks. Rainbow skimmers
flick and soar.
A child’s sweet nose pressed
against a face so horrible,
bubbles of fear pop
in my brain.
Above us, jellyfish swim,
dendritic minds dangling.
tentacles of electric awareness.
Sharks circle waiting to be fed.
shark lovers, perhaps fantasying’
swimming in and out
of their bloody teeth.
It’s a movie - we gawp and admire,
shiver and savor
between margins of beauty
and grotesque gulping’s.
Red and blue squadrons
of directional floor arrows,
lead us out into the light -
a place that some believe
is a safer landscape.
METICULOUS
points
of coincidence
involving
the
earthly
realm
deservedly
displayed
as
cryptic
utterances
impossible
to decipher
based on circles
segmented
intersecting
divided
so
precisely
elegant
&minimalistic
with fine
distinctions
& variation
in complex
permutations
segregated
in scintillating
flashing
tilting
then receding
in theatrical
spirals
& curves
forward
& back
to& fro
the
inseparable
ethereal
abstract
in
a
revelatory
context
to draw to
attention
to the
deeply
absorbing
Beyond the comprehension
of but one segmented soul
Lies the one intention
of the source to make us whole
Growing and all knowing
for us al to be a part
Each of us determines
how we recognize its start
How in the beginning
if there was one to believe
Wouldn’t we be grinning
with that knowledge up our sleeve
For some it’s God or Universe
Intelligence for sure
For some it’s not a rhyme or verse
there’s nothing to explore
For me, I keep open mind
respecting others’ claims
I just know I’m glad I’m here
not worried by the names
1/25/23
segmented cut toothed
feather-soft weather-proof layers ---
charm in luring quiz
18 November 2022
Ye old West signposts, green with needle-spurs:
Santa Rita prickly pear, pancake prickly,
plenteous buckets and sunset pink occurs.
It’s mountain time to sip some wine dearly
as the cacti shadows wax in the desert
and the elephant head’s fading quickly.
Breakfast in the stucco casa like dessert -
a dutch baby with segmented mandarin fruit.
Golden Retriever’s friendly and the striped cat’s curt.
Kabob sidles through crack - cat’s bedroom route,
lies on the visitor’s quilt - comfortably cute.
2/9/2022
Alcohol, Society and Our Youth!
*
Alcohol, Society and Our Youth,
Shaded visions of segmented truths,
Complicated by words, that often confuse,
Those who hide behind any excuse!
Excuse, that falls on deaf ears,
Bringing Family members to tears,
Exposing their unspoken fears,
As they ponder life and their future years!
Years, many say that should be Golden,
Yet, life as we know it, appears to be frozen,
In place, like a Farris-wheel without motion,
“What in the world is all this commotion?”
Commotion spawned by, Alcohol, Society and Our Youth,
A situation rendered through educated truths,
About the danger behind each drink,
How it blocks our minds, when “We” choose not to think!
Written by: Sarita A. Milliner * January, 2021
Charley Dinton said
that everyone has a secret name.
A bad person’s name
might be long and segmented
like chopped jellied eels,
or spat out in gobs like phlegm.
He was old when I was young.
I paid him little heed,
yet it was said of him
that he had a special sight.
Grownups listened to him
when he spoke of certain things.
He would sit in father’s chair,
and dad didn’t even complain
but offered tea and biscuits,
as if mum had forgotten how.
Halfway through a story
he chuckled at a thought:
'Jer know wha e cawl imself?
He was talking of a person we knew of
who’d been jailed for rape.
E cawl imself, ‘Jack the Rabbit’..ty old bugger!
I saw eaz weal moniker mine you
Saw it in is mauff clear as dayligh.
People got all sort ov idden names,
some names
wou make yer bleedin air curl.
Devils turds I cawls em.
That’s what Charley Dinton said.
Dim tunnels curve a segmented ocean.
Bat-winged feeding specters
browse glass. Scaly hulls
blow, rainbow skimmers
flick and shimmer.
A child’s sweet nose pressed
against a face so horrible,
bubbles of fear pop
in my brain.
Above us, jellyfish swim,
dendritic minds dangling.
tentacles of electric awareness.
Sharks circle waiting to be fed.
shark lovers, perhaps fantasying
swimming in and out
of bloody teeth.
It’s a movie - we gawp and admire,
shiver and savor
between margins of beauty
and grotesque gulping’s.
Red and blue squadrons
of directional floor arrows,
lead us out into the light -
a place that some believe
is a safer landscape.
For years I've been telling myself a segmented version of the truth. Bringing forth the important details relevant to my emotions at the time - Using that as motivation, for justification, for preservation. Hiding from uncomfortable feelings by reliving the past, and telling stories about a non-existent future. Trying to live in a world that will never exist. Not by my own limitations, but by the boundaries I've set for myself. The life I choose to the life and the segments I imagine do not intersect without lies and deceit. Therefore, I will keep my fantasy world as my sole escape.
Lost amongst the trees
I feel the wind graze my hair
Thus it leads me home
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.