Short Fisted Poems

baubel fisted clown wiggle

rhyming tune silly jiggle

oppositional

suppositional

merry fool make us giggle.
...

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Insisted 
tight-fisted
hard fisted, too.

Resistin' 
when necessary
or, hey, when not.

Assertions without backup facts
get votes.
Disappearance when overwhelmed
whole 'nother story....

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In the coffee shop
A mistimed twist
By the barista
Caused a hissing
Coffee jet to
Ballista towards
My sister and I
Worried it would
Hit her wrist and
Give her a blister,
But fortunately
It missed her.

The manager scolded
The ham-fisted barista,
But since no-one was scalded,
He didn’t dismiss her....

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Small shards of Flint stone, picked from the quarry’s rubble
Blacksmith-bent bit of iron, wrapped around my fisted knuckles
Strike strike strike spark!
Charred cloth poised to catch, glowing grows with gentle breath
Introduced to fine fibered tinder, Suddenly aflame, yabba dabba doo!

20161024...

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I use to be a two fisted drinker,
always getting myself totally blitzed.
Now I'm just a social drinker.
Three drinks and that's it,
because the hangovers I'd experience would linger on for days,
leaving me in a very deep depressed state
and who in their right mind would want to feel that way?
Certainly not me. Good bye hangover days....

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I read the news today the headlines said, " arming is the best way " 
if only Presidents and Governments would realize, " its not the way"
Tight fisted words and nuclear explosions erode humanity's soul  
we don't want to live in a world of war savants we got heart & soul,  
I read the news today they got it wrong, "arming is not the way"...

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A wise old lady said to me
                     when birthdays came around

"Lament thee not, a year gone by"
                              I did not make a sound

"They dare not ask me my birth date"
                she raised her hands, two fisted!

Said, “Age is but a number”, kid
                        and honey, mine’s unlisted!



Happy Birthday to all the March babies like me!...

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Standing at the very threshold of my dream, I had an epiphany
That somewhere inside, I sworn that I been there before
Trapped in broken records; in the broken truth of the past
Basking over the glitters into the seams of my closed-fisted-mask
I was swimming with a thousand other fishes, drowning under the moon
I had an epiphany of a prison hiding inside an airless balloon

Wilbert Dela Cruz 6-6-16...

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Here, 
where the black white shadows 
pond and melt 
her dress 
flutters around the 
pronounced scimitar 
of her neck line. 

Eyes whisper 
fr-ig-id 
with a syllabically thick accent 
as if cold were a ham-fisted lug 
emerging from the 
yawning dark mouth 
of the cabin behind her 
pressing his hands 
with the grip 
of a dying man 
bracing his last breath 
with each 
light blue, 
half moon 
fingernail....

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I saw a photograph of a hand
in a museum
thin and emaciated 
It does not matter whose hand was this
a blackman, a white, or a colored
A male or a female......

It was an active hand of a factory worker
might be a hand of undernurished African refugee
or a hand of an AIDS victim....

It was a fisted raised hand 
with a slogan in a procession
for human rights.....

It was the cut hand of doctor Che Guevara
sacrificed for the latin American people.........

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Freezing me you're a bend in time;
Forcing my arch making me lurch 
I gasp for air in a sweaty panic;
My pulsing hourglass is about to pop;

Forcing my arch making me lurch;
Those delicate keyboard strokes;
A life stolen by your close fisted kiss;

I gasp for air in a sweaty panic,
where did my sense of reason go?
Your run has broken my stopwatch;

My pulsing hourglass is about to pop
to savor this juncture over and over;
For in your eyes nothing's left of Earth....

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Penning wrangled mime
and wared out of my skits,
I’m poked in serspiration,
My mind’s in fisted twits.

It’s not the way I spike to leak;
I’ve turned to try it down.
Still I'm rilled with florious grime,
so nothing dings me brown.

We poets are a lazy crot,
voiling with turds and worse.
Roping with the fools of corm,
dinditions so reverse.

A hong lot toke in the sub
might dude me a girl of wood.
Or how about a bun at the reach?
Well, I can’t wet a gay, but I should....

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My cowardly self, said to my bravest version:
Be not too much,
Be not too less of me.

His eyes were darkly silted ponds,
His hands worn thin,
By the clutch of a shrinking skin.

My courage rose up
Dragon fisted; eagle hammered in the
Shuddering air.

‘Dare me’ it cried
‘Dare this dust to be light,
This feathering of small gods
To step forward and take the terror’.

My cowardly image
Shivered, hid its face
But stayed there quaking 
As the bravest version it could be....

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