Short Margins Poems

By taking refuge from myself
I didn't notice the margins of the road
nor the mirages of the desert...

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On
the 
margins-
negative
spaces in the floor.

Ekphrasis after Shobboleth by Doris Salcedo (happing installation at Tate 
Modern)...

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And so, 
this poem is made-
in so many words,
entwined on lines
living on the brink
of a couple of margins
until it comes to a complete stop....

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Some dull professor droned
		And from my heart
		Right to my pen
		In cursive sprang
		This lovely name,
		Notebook margins filled:
Kelly 
Kelly
Kelly...

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You and I
dancing in the margins
ever so gracefully.
Cues never lifted,
Doubts aflight.
Biases.
Perpendicular lives.
Merging?
perhaps, upon heaved veil...

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I don't always get your literal direction ~ though worth reflection

your margins may be quite narrow ~ but you always shoot a straight arrow

searching for something tangible to feel ~ may not lead to a reveal
...

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Seeing life pass them  by
swaying between sleep and death
Hypnotised
Anesthetised
Paralysed

Living on the margins of life
Like a background actor
Dumb
Watching
Wishing

dreaming of becoming alive
full hearts
full
stop
...

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I can’t draw,
but I paint

I still sin,
but a saint

I talk best
when I’m mute

All I’ve lost
in pursuit

I begin
at the middle

And end
at the start

To give back
to the silence

This thing
—we call art

(The New Room: March, 2021)...

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an inclination
to 
    reclusivity,
leave 
   everything
to chance,
    for a 
     quiet life:
the solitude
    alleviates
    the need
to talk:
complex
in mannerisms
passive 
sensitive
conceptual 
       articulate
living
at the margins...

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Inter
laced with love,
on the margins,each life
a gift from God,deserving  of 
respect
yet humanity
ebbing
restless,flowing
as the tide selecting
morals,claiming ethics do not
matter
such
self-love
catches us out
and cannot be contained;
overflows and spreads out beyond the
atoll....

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Inter
laced with love,
on the margins,each life
a gift from God,deserving  of 
respect
yet humanity
ebbing
restless,flowing
as the tide selecting
morals,claiming ethics do not
matter
such
self-love
catches us out
and cannot be contained;
overflows and spreads out beyond the
atoll....

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Catastrophe, no I'm not bitter
                The wind caresses my margins 
                Children tickle my cold veins 
                I float to the terrain 
                For Oak Kin to thrive 
                I say crisply
                I'm charcoal 
                Goodbye 
                Time...

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In 1894 EDWARD ESTLIN CUMMINGS was born
when capital letters were the 'norm'-
With inventive and original verse,
Gaps,spaces,drop margins he then did try
and much use of the lower-case i
EE's many  little poetic tricks
sure makes him my maverick!

Note Cyndi
one of my 5 line vignette form
changed to a demi-sonnet form...

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Sitting betwixt these margins outside their box; exactly
Where they wish as need to be ? Growing somewhat weary
Artsy-craftsy's aurora australis articulations; dangling in poetics
Literaturistic high wires acts an arobic miscalculation ? Lese majesty
Essential's evolution morphed their scenes alabaster she and, a revolution....

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The words became jumbled
I attempted to talk about you
Perfume was smeared over the margins
I wanted to honor you in some manner
The sky seemed to sink and flow
I was going to wrap my arms around you
The heart stopped beating and closed
I am sympathetic and dream about you.

Written: March 22, 2023...

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Almond blossom 
infusing days with white
and promises
countless on boughs
budding bright
green tips
in sunlight.

Yet in shadowy margins
faces appear
with features blurred 
by time
with mouths opened
as if to speak
stopped motionless
in mid sentence
cheeks teared
in petals
and vacant eyes
staring 
into unclaimed places....

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Spiral notebooks -
containing traces of 
ideas, drafts, false starts
and unfinished works.

Doodles and rambling thoughts
scribbled on collage rule paper -
blue lines 
and standard margins

written in pencil 
pages smudged 
and torn by the eraser
nothing permanent.   

Somewhere in those 
scattered thoughts
live insight, wisdom
and poetry....

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Tattered and soiled, an old book with gold embossed letters on its cover. Discovered in a crumpled heap. A treasure once to be in a library, shelved, to be read. Withdrawn to reveal wonders of the world. Fragile its pages, turning each page with notes in the margins, difficult to read. Engravings of an angelic sculpture, forgotten in time....

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re-post inspired by a SO contest word

MIASMA

Inter
laced with love,
on the margins,each life
a gift from God,deserving  of 
respect
yet humanity
ebbing
restless,flowing
as the tide selecting
morals,claiming ethics do not
matter
such
self-love
catches us out
and cannot be contained;
overflows and spreads out beyond the
atoll....

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|    From lack of reason, to quotients of densest space  
|    Through the iris of an eye, voids are commonplace  
|    Stubborn pervasive doubt, projects across the face  
|    Reassured again when mindsets find a bright place  
|    Still if one can’t see god, photons will bring a trace  
|    Filtered through life’s prism, heaven refracts apace  
...

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There is no critical mass for ambiguity.
At this time, we are ahead of ourselves
so we must constantly check our watches,
and pause whatever we are doing regularly
in order to catch up.
Ambiguous margins have shifted
and that which was once out of sight
is almost here, we can see it,
through a peep-hole of now.
Don’t look away,
keep watching this space....

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Snow fell in dollops, in kite like laziness
too wet to stay white except in the margins.
The contrary air kisses each flake
melting each heart of ice.
Bittersweet the temperature falls.
Teardrops cling to greedy braches
reminiscent of hand stitched jewels
on a queen's gown.
The matted margin of lingering grass
crisps like spun sugar
snow flakes on the lash of night....

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There is no critical mass for ambiguity.
At this time, we are ahead of ourselves
so we must constantly check our watches,
and pause whatever we are doing regularly
in order to catch up.
Ambiguous margins have shifted
and that which was once out of sight
is almost here, we can see it,
through a peep-hole of now.
Don’t look away,
keep watching this space....

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*Image of Lilacs Bouquet Vase by Pixabay.

Launched In Lavender

A bunch of bluish 
clouds cried at the margins of 
a reddish sunset,
and bathes beds of white flowers
into lavender lilacs.

2020 March 13
*HM*
Bite Size Poem no15
~~Line Gauthier: Judged 2021 August 01
*3rd Place*
STRAND CHOICE G, any form, any theme
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2020 March 16...

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Expectations arise from all margins 
To be an enhanced consort, mother or operative 
 My contents oppressed, condensed to insignificant  
How can I give God what I lack? 
Cultivate my lord this dame in me

I can’t say exactly what it is 
That keeps me sane in this world  
I constantly fall for the same ploy 
And expect to receive deferent outcomes 
Liberate my lord this dame in me...

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