Short Fending Poems

Pinned against the bed
Your head pulsates to war drums
Calling for dreamshed,
Fending off the figmental
You fight for the best outcome...

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When I sing I sound like prehistoric creature
Fending off attackers, defending each metre
A scary old fellow
As I screech and bellow
And on top of that I'm a ravenous eater...

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When I sing I sound like prehistoric creature
Fending off attackers, defending each metre
A scary old fellow
As I screech and bellow
So beware my friends I'm a ravenous eater...

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When I sing I sound like a prehistoric creature
Fending off attackers, defending each metre
A scary old fellow
As I screech and bellow
So beware my friends I'm a ravenous eater...

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the nearest the farthest
anything in between
sureley you boast of things not seen
may the words you speak
baffle the weak
all for nothing or nothing at all
on my feet as you crawl
standing still 
perpetual way
fending off
your dismay
last line pasted time....

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“Cold Dead Heart ”
Beauty like the (warm) sun’s morning gaze
Freshness of earth, the coming day
Like morning I was wet from the dew of life
Fending off these cold, cold nights

Supposition presumed, uncounted
Living in life as lost as laughter
Reborn by her touch
And given hereafter...

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Listen to poem:

you’ve gone
and
in a vacuum
left me
desolate
alone
fending for myself
without a hope
or dream
to roam
in wait
until
we meet again             



AP: Honorable Mention 2020

Submitted on July 29, 2020 for contest STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (3) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND  -  HONORABLE MENTION...

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Blinking and breathing in secretive silence
Fending off feelings of misapprehension
Trying to function in passive compliance
Ignoring repeatedly twisting of tension
Sitting in darkness with nothing to mention
Blinking ’s a sound of sightless defiance
Waiting for light to blithely appear
Knowing that reason can  deal with the fear...

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Ahead it hums and it glows 
An arm stretching and streaking and bending 

Mattering only to itself where it is going 
Fending off the sky and the dirty water. 

Behind it waves to me through the blurred past 
An old foe it remembers with determination 

A serpent in wait slithers away beyond the mirror 
Wait for I will be back this way old friend....

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Happy in marriage I am
I look at myself before
now I see someone else
mouth is long with complains
fingers rough with fending
hair has migrated with stress
stomach a storehouse of issues
back bent with burdens of love
voice that of a bull frog
I sleep long, dream nothing
for my best friend to this day
is my matrimonial bed
not my matrimonial partner
but  the whole world tells me
I am happy in marriage!...

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In fending off, the questions, 
after mutilation, 
a maverick was asking, 
would you go beyond the species ?

Escape was not an 
abstract. It was a concrete evidence 
against the bleed and hurt. 
Invocation was becoming absolute necessity.

The poetry of death has 
many stanzas. The tribe wants 
it share, but I will write 
about the beauty of dying sun.

Silence was a true poem.
You speak some inaudible words.


Satish Verma...

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Winter wolf sees me through,
Guarding me with sheer love,
Fending off the pack,
Making sure I am nurtured

Understanding my pain,
Soothing me in ways only he can.
Keeping me away from others,
Keeping me safe.

Winter wolf, my best spirit animal,
Comes to me in my dreams,
Assures me all will be great
If I follow my heart

He keeps me in his sights,
Day and night, 
Guarding me with sheer love
Fending off the pack.

I feel loved....

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Magic

Tick tock the wall clock
is keeping time
Wait, worry, wonder
spend another dime

Talk to my maker
about daily wonders
Discussing my behavior
and my hundred  blunders

Lighting candles of white, gold, black
Fending off my demons trying to come back

Sigils for protection
drawn in the dust
Trusting my wards
is always a must

Speaking words of truth,
speaking words of power
Speak them loud with meaning
come the witching hour...

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Suzy Baker was genuine white trash
Scorning fiercely, her teeth ready to flash.
Fending her homemade trailer park jungle
Dodging her dark and imminent funeral!

Lucy Walker was a pretty lady
Smiling friendly her lips always ready,
Living quiet in lovely suburbia
Meeting non-whites with xenophobia.

Why did the potter create them this way?
Was it because there were two types of clay?
One forged as a Cistern the next as an Urn
And exactly whom should this mess concern?...

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