Short Boned Poems

Calloused hands still shine
in clumsy deeds devoted-
Iron boned kindness....

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In that tautly made hole
they rehearse on an icy sheet
and deer graze on the roof.

With boned limbs on a trunk
a pink witch pops into view:
chokes in giggles.

After which they desired to eat
the old creep’s snatch,
in the corner her laid out leg....

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I sure wish that I had a tail.
High-boned cheeks and wide eyes would pale
if  I'd a wagger.

You may think me awfully vain.
Forgive me, but I'm just sayin'
looks seem to matter.

---------------------------

My name is Nancy Jones
The name of the contest is Tail-Rhyme Contest...

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A reckless drunk driver t-boned her son's vehicle
killing him instantly, and her anger is understandable.
She's wondering "Should I forgive, or is it too soon?"




Threesome Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
Date written and submitted: 01/05/2020...

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black boned, minstrel faced
                leaves broken with ice,
                veined as a frosted puppet;

neither old nor new, but changed
                and leaving, the cold makes
                me stamp and circle in rage;

I can`t stand the weight, stand the weight......

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Heavy set, 
Curves to show off,
The lady is sexy,
Yet she is above all,
From toe to head,
Lotioned up and smooth,
A big sexy gas,
Will always be thinking of you,
Her smile big,
The way she poses is better,
She loves everybody,
But a sexy gals, 
she will keep being day after day.......

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the suns bursting energy
sets off an illumination heat source
as trees slowly drop their leaves
becoming bare-boned
their slender branches
with chipped bark
from ornery squirrels
playfully collecting nuts
across Indian Lake
the water ripples 
from oncoming 
sailboats
catching the last of falls wind...

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Glory be to the newborn December sun
how bravely it drips its frosty shine!

The backwoods bears are snoring,
bleary are the eyes of somnambulant racoons.

Right here and now, where the hedgerow
winks through its own bare-boned branches

the sun that plunged on through
the dim-eyed daybreak, all is now awake!...

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Horny
Corny

Kinky 
Stinky

Stoned
Boned

Holden 
Folding

His biz
Takes wizz

Hit can
Effed man...

Found hoe
No dough

Name sun
Big buns

No clothes
Touch toes

She roared
She sore

More dough
Said no

Pimp slap
Got jacked

(If you have read the Catcher in the Rye you would understand)....

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In new perspective I see you

Now no color spoils the view

Shadows bow to black and gray

Deeply contrast  light of day


I prefer you

White and black

A pure light source

Floods your back

White streams radiate your sharp boned face

With illuminating fragile grace





V. Anderson-Throop, 2015
March 4...

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Under a pensive, winter sun
              beneath a bare boned canopy of trees
            the black ravens pick at scattered leaves
           and I cry inside…because you had to leave
            to fight for our freedom…in a war torn land
       I pray we can walk this path once again, in peace. 











     
3/7/2022...

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There's something about the air in Fall,
it begets this chill inside
that longs to snuggle up with my pen

Summer is veering left
and I imagine myself rooted to the scenery,
a weeping willow
who sheds her sins
with a quick shake of the wind-
lest I peer down to find my own foliage
has settled with time, 
think of all those secrets left unturned...

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Your essence
Strolled gracefully
The alluring fragrance
Of your spirit
Titillating our noses 
Forceful
Tremendous
Energy
Surged throughout your big boned frame
Leaving a residual
Trail of
LOVE
LAUGHTER
SISTERHOOD
FRIENDSHIP
LIFE
Never knowing
The true sacrifice
Of your tireless
VIRTUE
That you willed
To us
For us
We Love You
Paula......

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Onion skin pages and empty windows
Repel us as much as attract—
Possess brief images locked fast in place—
Memory melded in faded photographs of thought.

We are things we once were—
Frozen kaleidoscopes of dreams
Cupping eyes and pens so tightly,
Casting free flaxseeds of imagination.

Still, sepia leaves seem white-boned
And open windows let in absences....

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Onion skin pages and empty windows
Repel us as much as attract—
Possess brief images locked fast in place—
Memory melded in faded photographs of thought.

We are things we once were—
Frozen kaleidoscopes of dreams
Cupping eyes and pens so tightly,
Casting free flaxseeds of imagination.

Still, sepia leaves seem white-boned
And open windows let in absences....

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I see the light I see the tunnel 
I fight with might precise 
Flash backs and advice
I hear a familiar voice 
Leaves me with no choice 
Poise on my posture 
Back boned chilled of a sixth sense
Book of life show me what I have done 
Holder of keepers can you show me the gates 
A colorful display a scene of the ages 
To be gone like the wind 
To become with one...

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Bent and bundled
in the cold woods. Hot breath
rolling out white ghosts.

Among the tall and grey boned -
these shadow-less trees
freeze framed
under a grey cowl sky.

Hungry woods are these
that swallow sound, churn
it into sleep-waking words.

Snow groans in the tree-tops.
A wolfish wind numbs,
I wish I could enter
any cardboard box
in any homeless town....

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not revving
but remming
her skateboard
rimming railsliding
catching some air
before the extension
she tucked kneed wanting
trick transition tweak topsheet
i tail grab switch tools stoked stall
i no comply nose grind i'm mongo
manual local lipslide k-grind on 
an impossible invert Indy 
grab then hip heel flip
method pump pulls
flick trick flip front
gnarly fast plant
bombed a hill
boned...

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Center>Blooms bow their heads
in their terracotta bomb-shelters.
Distant thunderstorms nibble
at thin, bare-boned stems.

At last rain falls out of a booming air.
Yesterday nailed its skin to the sky,
now it sloughs in sloshing shreds.
This morning, mourning doves clatter
and roof-dance on wet tin.

The air has even revived my fat dog,
it chases its stubby tail
for the first time this summer....

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She has dandelion hair
and when the wind blows
I already have my wish

All the clouds were crying
as stars fell from her dress
her roots grew bird houses for hollow skeletons,
shells to hold shells to hold promises made.

Her skin was polaroid 
tanned stained sepia toned
broken boned and dancing.

Empty quiver hunting trips
tangled in her own antlers
spider webs connecting dots 
of her scattered constellations....

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Blooms in their terracotta bomb-shelters,
bow their heads, but now
a distant thunderstorm nibbles
at my bare-boned flower bed.

The heat has crushed the clouds at last.
Rain falls out of a booming air.
Yesterday nailed its dry skin to the sky,
later it sloughed in sloshing shreds.

This morning, mourning doves clatter,
and roof-dance. 
The air even revives my fat dog,
who now chases a stubby tail
for the first time this summer....

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When those we send back to the moons surface,
those we dispatch to those lifeless planets
that hang dead-boned and airless
in our small corner of space;
when they who reach and explore,
colonize and construct,
will they eventually construe
what we knew all along
that we who dwell on Earth
are the one reason for God to exist.
That God is here in the fruitful soil
of this garden
where eternal life has planted its heart....

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Capri

roofless cubes, spidery with wire,
cakes of azure and enzian;
above at the Villa San Michele
Rilke smiles down at the broken beaches,
at coves of defiant waves, compacted sea

Pompeii

a chessboard of honest stones
open to a sky of hushed shouts;
we huddle in a boned frame
of another life, a stopped day

Napoli

warm and secret, olive-eyed
an infinite beauty makes a new face
as we gaze ape-like from our bus;
an act of moment...

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Mourned to be the one -
To wake -
To live -
To see -
To walk -
Alive but dead -
Days by day, my oasis lives by the colour of night -
Energies of the living, absorbed -
To live in the between of dead -
Peace to be found, the yard where we spade the graves -
Where tombs act the way of stones -
The dead of the flowers, vase the portraitof a future to be -
Flesh to earth, invested to be inverted -
Still born -
Aged we pass to birth -
To be boned -
To die in death...

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Encased in corruption white and frail mocking life!

it travels within on our journey in strife, and though

feeling its form with each move that we make we

blindside the presence and statement it makes!we

gaze on the form and connotate to beauty, yet its

end is apparant forbidding indeed! once departed a

shell its inheritance dust, and therewith possesion

derision and lust!

written cirica 1991, for Paula Swansons contest (now i'm out)
of retirement! well sort of....

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