Short Insulated Poems

Black birds are clinging
Close on the electric line
Insulated feet...

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Protected from the past, 
insulated in a box 
made of star-dust, 
closed where it 
points to the earth 
but open toward the 
vacuum of the sky,

why does he
bring the old world back 
when he creates his dreams?...

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.

There's an insulated home in the south
Where lived one and only old dragon mouth
         From his lips insults spout
         A.C. now heat blocks out
The old dragon mouth still a cottonmouth




Contest: Single Limerick Contest: Horrible Bosses
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
*Note on about this poem...

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Lucky are those who live but for a while
Born lucky are those seemingly insulated 
Against attractions by world’s flowers
Living on only balanced diet of the udder
From birth to mono-anniversary	
Battling only with departure from here
Vanishing Like soap bubbles in a basin
With all triumph in view
Stunted and stubborn	
Rejecting life here
And like aliens  
Only peep
On earth
And go...

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In a single instant. 
I dreamed my way awake,
eyes still red and 
itchy from the raw California spring,
I still ached from the mud,
now dry as an old bone,
yet the memory was stagnant,
stiff with truth,
about the terrain....
straight from the neutral countenance of the geologist's mouth,
way too much to believe,
and now,
the breather.....
between April and the next rainy season,
is insulated relief....

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Spacious comfortable country residence
extended and upgraded, sleeps eight.
On the fringe of a conservation village
elevated distant views, sheltered
solar heating, well insulated.

Sympathetically tucked into a south facing hillside,
extensive well-manicured terraced gardens.
All amenities, motorway and railway within 5 miles.
Paradise on four levels, décor understated
a dusty sand hole, ant excavated…...

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It was that light
That which shined
So bright,
It shined so bright
Into the heat of the night
It,
Shined so, so bright that it
Shined all night,
So warm and so sullen'
Everything was so right
Insulated by time
With,
Shear warmth to the touch
With a Spirit of love
It means' just that much
And just the type of thing'
That we only dream of
That sparkles' of love
That shadows' from above
When the morning comes'

GF...

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You put a blindfold on me,
so I cannot see.
I have a plug in each ear.
This is so I cannot hear.
I wear thick insulated gloves as such.
These are to inhibit my sense of touch.
Sticking my tongue out would be a waste.
There is nothing for me to taste.
All I have left is my sense of smell.
I know you are near me, I can tell.
A deaf, dumb, and blind man knows.
There is no way to hide from my nose.
That is because you smell like a rose.
...

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The cacophony of headlines spills into homes. 
Living rooms swell with images of death.
Horror hails against insulated windows... 
A fusillade of destruction and trauma 
Resonating in a global conscience.
Barrages of how's and why's rally...
...between... 
brothers, sisters;
wives, husbands;
fathers, mothers;
sons, daughters.
All comsuming blitz of bewilderment. 
Disbelief pierced by shrapnal of reality.
Darkness, without peace, smothers Europe
again...

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Lined up
they perch in spaced formation,
ready to take fright and scatter
should a roving hawk approach too near.

I don't know why
they seem insulated from the deadly current,
or why
they make such a reckless target
for the raptors.

A cat looks at them
from a city pavement.
I do know what it is thinking.

The differing spaces between the starlings
could be musical notations.

A language just for cats and hawks,
played loudly,
on a blank sheet of sky.


...

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