Short Manuscript Poems

birds on power lines
music written on the sky
God’s own manuscript...

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rail tracks in the snow
an unfinished manuscript
on a moonlit night...

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2025’s manuscript
Tips off the rip-offs as we’re gypped!
When oligarchs die
They'll not greed deny
But flip us the bird from their crypt...

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Love and lust at the center of your lips,
Tell of wonders between hips.
As we let our body sail in desires ships,
All logged in a sinful manuscript.
So too does the sun let go of morals,
As its sinful acts, is clouded by an eclipse....

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A manuscript of gold,
Written in crimson nectar.
Are now fastened in tears so cold,
That even love silenced in freezing hell may stir.
For a manuscript of gold,
That never reached its crimson queen.
Will never be able to tell of a patron’s undying love....

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You may see many poems missing from this site.
I took them out to be published in Book Two.
So please be very patient as I try out more.
It won’t be very long- book two will be in the stores.


  Manuscript sent in for "Can I Tell You My Side"..coming soon......

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Manuscript written painstakenly
A large pencil held clumsily
Writing a story with words
Excitedly penning
Cursive writing learned
Poet's corner
Pen~paper
Word thoughts
Flow 

Sponsor: Michael J. Falotico
Contest: Your Journey
Written August 05, 2013...

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life lived almost,
    sort of.
          Frost’s sigh,
                his stop at the fork 
        of two roads,
gazing at where they merge  
        at the end of the earth 
                curve and beyond.
           Life lived inside a manuscript,
  staring at blank page....

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Misty Moist meticulous mermaidens
manipulate manuscript movement
modalities making monumental
meteoric metamacroorgasmic mind music.
Monoku monologues mesmerize male-strom
multiplayer milkshake mitochondrial
metaphysically montaged Mirror Mirror memories.
My my my me mine....

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I had a meeting to submit my work
I had stayed awake all night putting
  finishing touches to the project
I rushed out of the house to meet the cab
The deadline was 9:00am I was rushing
  to meet it
Lo and behold arriving the venue 
I realized I had left the manuscript
  on my table....

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POET PETER PAL

                 Poet Peter Pal piled pretty poems.
                 Put in manuscript assembling the gems.
                           Publishers were busy.
                          ‘Self-Publishing’: Easy.
               Wrote reviews using pseudo names.


   01/05/19...

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Of which 
the moral 
he never found 
That allegory was she
Sing to a fine tune, 
he could never
That ballad was she
Taking pride 
In a deaf audience 
that sitar, 
that shehnai was she 
Writ in a language
He knew not 
That manuscript was she  
She was the North Star,
He a blind, lost traveler...

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Chaucer's Horse

                                                        Fawn
                                                      coloured
                                                     little horse
                                                 carries Chaucer
                                on the famous Ellesmere manuscript....

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Charmed,
by the pen of inspiration,
the
blank sheet of paper,
could
no longer resist poetry's advances
and
gave in to the temptation
by
letting the poem's words be written
on
its immaculate face
thus
transforming itself 
from 
an insignificant unknown page
into
a renowned manuscript!







© Demetrios Trifiatis
    01 February 2020...

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Snipping through the skin
vocal pain ripping my eardrums
Breathing in your blood 
as i wash my sins
in your devotion
Masicate my masterpiece
Notes scratched in her skin
Mangle my manuscript
Snapping my fingers as i draw them down your chalk board
With the final flaying chord
My bow berates your jugular
And my opus is undone
Silence drowns all noise...

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The God of fire
It took him twenty years
to write his novel.
Twenty refusals later 
he gave the manuscript 
to the fire which
greedily absorbed it. 
A phone call from nowhere,
send us another novel.
It took twenty more years 
to write a new book
and the god Agni 
burnt his hands. 
As a thank you.
Success at last he cried 
to a man with a yellow helmet
carrying an axe....

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Morning’s clarinet of feathers
over blunt autumn cold

Singing finch
scurry branch to branch

Southeastern’s feeble flame
burns November’s thin wick

In the air
blue ice whistles

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

from my 6th book-length manuscript

©dah / dahlusion 2014, 2015 all rights reserved

"Autumn’s Finch" was first published in
'The Filid Anthology'...

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Of what use is a joyless muse?
What purpose could she serve?
Fit for naught but sardonic comedy,
too gruesome to harvest laughs,
or the chèvre’s ancient tragedy-
but what good is that?
Is life not acrid and dank enough
for muses to bitter be?
Is wormwood manuscript a balm
for exhausted humanity?
Oh where, Olympian maiden,
did all your mirth depart?
Is mortal life not pained enough
we must suffer too in art?...

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I have always wanted a book with my name on it.
So I could show my kids anything is possible
All you need to do is believe and try.
I am shy and judgmental of myself
Making life difficult sometimes.
I have just started letting others read my work.
So I have taking the chance and I sent it in.
I sent my manuscript out today.
Hopefully my dream is soon my reality. 
Hopefully they don't reject it.
Either way I sit here waiting....

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Fraud and deception of the affluent eyes
Toss my purpose aside and let me hemorrhage humiliation
Drops of unappreciative pain plaster and soil black  
Cackles to hide my mammoth of hurt
Echo through a maze of sovereigns and numeric cipher

I’m a non-significant member of manuscript
An unknown, a recluse, a bother
Gauche trials of loss and fray
Matter to none who play the game
Yet in our tightly packed world

The Joker is always included....

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Without great words of wisdom, a nation will survive.
Without purveyors of idiom, a dynasty will thrive.
But let the sewers overflow when waters run amiss,
And you will find a people on the brink of the abyss.

Kingdoms rise to glory through the works of humble men
Whose masterpiece is laid with pipe, not scratches from a pen.
So if the water from the tap should flow with earthy umber,
Best dry the mess with manuscript and then go call a plumber....

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He could see it on his coffee table
It seemed to have called to him
In a haunting voice, beckoning,
Seducing him with fame, treasures
He had wanted to turn away
As he swore he would never do it
Again, having already gotten out
Yet, his needs were strong
As he proved to be a weak man
So unlike what he was perceived 
To as being. He walked to it,
With a trembling hand, picked it up
And proceeded to change his life’s plan,
But that is what an actor does....

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My loved one
she is an oasis
a rare species
lemon of the cloister grape
in  Savannah

she parades beauty
she made a proposal to God
before her creation
hips to happily embrace
eyes that cares me with joy

she is not ordinary 
she isn't the stereotype
her complexion,
a manuscript to read hymns from 
when she walks, all the world behind her

you are the beat of me
you are like holy water from paradise
flower of the firmament
wrought by divine craftsmen...

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In a field of ice
a small bird’s frozen corpse
snow scatters the ground

What else can be said about
a dead bird
I love you and I am sorry? 

In this cold
hands are useless

In this cold
death’s precise exhale
 

Make a note of this on a yellow Post-it

stick it to a mirror 

then look away

you are gone

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

from my sixth book-length manuscript

©dah / dahlusion 2014

"Small Bird" was first published in
'Red Wolf Journal'...

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Scottish charm Gods grace merry place
Long tables brightly colored cloth canopy
Foresters  tales  minstrels  manuscript
White flowers hanging garden priests
Veins on forehead thick black  beards
Castle hall best  jesters bravest beef
Scarlet cross mantle linked chainmail
Gallant warhorse plaited headpiece
Kindhearted  man  loved her deeply
Sage smoke vapours rose sunrays
Mighty hunter brought quarry home +
breathed deeply the scent of flowers
Red-and-gold garlands on his neck....

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