Short Printing Poems

sapphire fresh water 
river otter, fish, and plants
nature's ode printing...

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What you talk and say
as from within you born
fruit of urgent printing
of your accumulated senses
for lifetime repeated...

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Old Ben Franklin
the printing business he was in
I wish he was alive so that he
could print his picture on more hundreds for me...

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I have found myself in your eyes.
To share a heartbeat,finger printing our lives as one.
 As still as night air with arms wrapped tight.
I know uniting with you,just feels right....

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Artistic lay as print
Idylls printed
Epic printing
Such be English
Of thee 1816
Century purpose
Specifically applied
Matters relief fro
Japan ,Europe
To China
Inspiration 
Inked wood 
Combination 
Formed 
Artistic all
Artistically subtle...

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Camera
Digital, Artistic
Snapping, Capturing, Creating
Moment to be forever remembered
Printing, Hanging, Admiring
Pretty, Delicate
Photograph...

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Printing paper money,
which they so adore.
Point a finger at US,
claim we owe more.
How does that figure?
Who keeps the score?
All legal trickery,
with deceit and war.
Beyond Sensibility,
They have no answer for.
Exploiting, We the People,
Whom they Ignore....

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**Sun Tan**

Forceful ray printing dark skin
Sunbathe, aquarium sky
Peaceful trace beautiful line 
Sun comes alive
---

**Hourglass Horizon**

We sit embracing sweet time
Beautiful amber lit eyes
Red dawn mist, loving moment
Holding mommy's hand
---

7-5-13...

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When you stand to read your poem:
Raise your head, 
                 stare me in the eye.

Read to me as though
     you are printing the words
                      on my forehead.

Make them sing to me.

I want to hear the melody
                       of your words....

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For G.D

It ends. Good things
always end terribly,
at dawn in his arms
wrapped, silently
or— late in the night
in unchartered apartments
or hotel foyers, over a 
fight. It ends. Good things
always end terribly.


(Abhijit Sarmah, “It Ends” from The Voice Under Silence (2nd printing)  Copyright © 2016 by Abhijit Sarmah.)...

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When nothing’s helpful, nothing helps;
when Yellen talks green, markets yelp.
Once again, CPI soars;
rates head up three quarters more.
Printing bills as they go higher,
throws more gas upon the fire.
Economic cycle fun:
nothing new under the sun.
Few things in life are truly free;
at least I have my poetry.
...

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Sky filters through scant woods
printing a cold sunlight on shadowed tree trunks.

Only December has this light,
it both scours and forages,
it scythes away all heaped-up flotsam.
A December wind,
sings its own death song.
Ice hangs unseen upon the air.

The woodland acres shimmer,
then tremble upon a long fading note,
one that ushers in
last rites and other mixed blessings....

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Freedom for a soldier,

a redeemer getting older-

centuries existing,

a string blissening,

and it's best to bet that you're listening...

Its captured by niss-niss-
niss...

They get printing-

evaporating,

haggard slapping,

as the tonic water is happening-

booze is entrapping, 

I am now water,
as the goddman is blotter-

I'm now happily rapturous and re-camping....

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Listen to poem:

Of Myths and Measures
David J Walker

I could read them in the clouds
As if printing on ether was possible 

Reflections of 
		Heaven on earth 
Changing 
	Rearranging the true 

And interesting hue of 
Everyday life

Myths are more interesting
Said Father to a neighbor

Both having read 
The same Morning paper 

feeding addictions
of caffeine and nicotine 

A morning routine of
Myths and measures...

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Hymnals of light in the autumnal woods
shafts of sunlight
printing prayers on every shadowed trunk.
Only September has this light,
October will come with a witches broom,
a stiff switch to scour and scythe,
that light will be a death song
one sung by ancient and native winds.
For now, maybe just for this day,
the woodland acres glow
they seem to tremble slightly
as a gentile sunlight
ushers in last rites and blessings....

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Read I what he published;
The sound ideas relished'
"When one is the vanquished
A thing is relinquished
He's still The Distinguished;
But might feel extinguished"

But why would a writer 
Self publish and lighter
Make what's not for Blighter,
Even if The Brighter...

And he tries too posters,
The printing of Rosters,
From time to time Fliers
For sincere liars...

God saw His Job as good
Not us dust like mere wood....

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Two singers playing a duet 
With the moon as witness
Talking about their love
grievances and life.

Music can transmit a lot of feelings.
Love, passion, joy, grief or sorrow.
Leaving a feeling in your soul of
Well being or unhappiness.

A song can cover the 
Feelings of the singer
Lyrics flown as a rapid river 
Printing a vivid image on the soul.

Uplift to unlimited wellness
Listening with aliveness.


Nayda Ivette
9-26-2015...

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Twin?
A tough job.
A great wish and hope.
A wonderful mother can cope.

Identical twin?
i rarely met.
i barely knew.
Glad that i met and i knew,
finally.

Identical twin brothers?
The same faces, weirdness and craziness.
Same blood and DNA yet different printing on the thumb.

Can they still have the same home hereafter?
Can they still meet after all this worldly matter?
Can they return to Him together?
May their life be blessed....

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Today
I email
I google
I print
But at night the gremlin arrives
He lives deep in my cupboard
And when he is ready
comes out of the shadows
malevolence in his eyes

I awake bright and early 
The sun still asleep
Today I have deadlines to meet
I push the on button
His dirty deed done
Sitting back on his haunches
to witness the fun
No printing
No google
No emails
Today 


8th November 2018

Contest Strand Pick E
Sponsor Brian Strand...

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Hear me.
 My words,
 with ink tell the tale
of a lady and her lord.
See me.
My pen,
miming their accord.
The laughter; soundlessly
R i n g i n g     
in your ears.
The merry heartbreak
spilling golden champagne;
T e a r s.
Cries of passion
dancing across the floor
chandeliered to the moment
within our first embrace.

The horses depart, printing across my floor.
They carry him from me.
Belle of the ball draped on a chair
I startle from my dream....

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Every writer's work
a soulful surgery

we draw from mysterious
substance, submerged man's core
in fluids indefinable – amniotic sea of source
buoyant, yet only mistily determinable, unknown
were it not for subtle leaking

sort of a chill, in search of its draft

a stutter, keeping its voice from 
apparent reason

how can I truly love 
my God! my Christ!
when trapped on a page
with a pen pressured down
mostly always printing in 
favor of 
self-serving 
human treason...

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It's time to do the singing, 
and I ready for my springing 
no need to do any clinging, if looking for me, you will see, and
 always find me Brimming


You will not find me swimming, and you will
never find me hemming
don't' like dirt or stemming
wherever the clouds are spinning, newspapers will be printing
You  always find me Brimming

No need for any grinning, this is not sinning
loving this new beginning
looking for me, you will see, and you will
 always find me Brimming...

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Bitcoin’s growing every day
With fiat inflation on display 
Own your money - come what may 
As Bitcoin keeps on thriving

Officials saying “all is fine”
Printing money by design
Cutting down our bottom line
As Bitcoin keeps on thriving

You can learn it, take some time
Bitcoin’s young and in its prime
Yet every cycle it will climb
As Bitcoin keeps on thriving

Worth and value it retains
Unlike fiat money drains
The choice is very clear & plain
As Bitcoin keeps on thriving...

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