Short Prods Poems

Trapped in life’s breezeway
between what is and could be
inner strength prods change...

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Insistent Mem’ries

Tiny triggers, mini
prompts...prods, pokes in mental 
Ribs of my mind
...

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new star within ...prods me to rekindle heart's gift of compassion



12/30/2918
New Year One Liner Contest of Silent One...

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Soon the curious swelled to a mob.
as they gathered to gape at the glob.
Someone prods with a stick.
as another screams: " Quick!"
"We must run for our lives! It's the Blob!"...

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The tomcat squeal of a deceiving tongue.
We are scolded
with cattle-prods of sound.
Swung upon chains of echoes,
nailed to aria’s with rusty spikes.

Bird of a thousand jeers,
a hundred memes and parodies.
will you shut up already....

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And in that darkness
when i am blind
with what i can't forget
the shivering cold prods
at the numb
with ill effect
lies give the darkness substantiate
carnivorous hunger
fed on crumbling memory
truth slips its sabres edge
in lies unmovable...

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Eyes stitch together feather-light words,
search the blank paper for meaning.
Mind prods a metaphor until it speaks -
it is how a blind man reads light.

My partner looks up
from the mute printed ink
“It’s one of your best.”

“Thanks honey,” I say
wishing I had tried a whole lot harder....

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Let her go we urge our cousin
but he is enthralled, entranced,
totally gaga crazy about her

She calls him names
She puts him down
She makes fun of him
She teases him 
She threatens him
She pokes and prods him
She irritates him to the edge of the grand canyon

And yet, there he goes,
Chasing her like a show pony...

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Listen to poem:

Exuberance bobs, bops and bounces
on a trampoline of joyous elation.
Its riff a catchy refrain
that sticks in the brain,
prods and pokes receptive minds 
into action and reaction.
Like a buoy rocking on waves,
to and fro,
up and down,
side to side,
Just can't sit still,
all aflame and glowing, 
sparking with joyous jubilation....

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from a challenge to use a random set
  of unconnected words in a poem)
   
The syncopated rhythms of my
     infatuation with you have left
     an indelible mark
         on my metrical heart.

I am M'Adam to your "Y'ves," 
     biting into the luscious apple of temptation, 
     while Lust, with his pitchfork,
          prods us from behind....

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As fruit sprouts from mangled trees
fighting to survive disease
new prods must tremble the knees

since cheated serfs deserve less
coddling strokes to stoke sickness,
new stress must press for distress

pumping 50,000 watts
into people casting lots
braving to stave social rots

while scrambling the strong of mind
and binding us all behind
fearful compliance maligned....

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THANK YOU
for
my
LONELINESS
that
SETS me out to many lanes
and
PRODS my mind to search on
that
EXTENDS my being to others
and
EXPANDS my heart to believe.

THANK YOU
for
this LONELINESS
that
WOUNDS my heart again and again
and
FORCES a reckoning of my emptiness
that
MIRRORS my raw loveliness
and
DRAWS YOU TO FILL THE VOID
when
piled
on
sand
my
LONELINESS....

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Small red circles,
yellow and white,
wired am I.
With every pulse
my calves dance
with my toes;
shins tense.

Next part:
"Nod when yes
blink when no.
You feel this?" Blink
"And this?" Blink
"Or this?" Blink
"You don't feel much, do you?"
Blink

Prods and probes
in blissfull numbness.

***

October 04, 2017
Copyright © Darren White...

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Flipped upside down.
Shaken as if inside a snowglobe.
Caught napping.
Cruel fate has snuck upon me, and lashed out with the force of thunder.
Feeling as if discarded.
Rubbish of yesterday.
Approaching a crossroad that is distorted.
Going not right or left, but rather up and down.
Up to hope.
Down to dispair.
I'm compelled distally, like insect to flame.
Wisdom prods me.
I simply move forward....

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She lingers waiting for me to make a mistake.
I feel her, sneering at me, ready to pounce.
Unsure how she originated, but I keep her masked.

Cover her up with a brilliant smile,
Being Robin William funny, so no one knows
Except me….

She goads me with pokes and prods
Trying to get me morose and sad.
I am aware of her power

I dare not give in to her.
She can take me down harder than a Mack Truck...

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My past glimmers. 

Like spikes of metal, bent by hammers. 

My crooked past prods me into the present. 

So I may forget those that I used to resent. 

I remember my family’s last smiles. 

I would see them again, but not for a while. 

I thought I would become a monstrous memory of theirs. 

I try to hold onto them by a hair. 

That is cut by shards of reality. 

As I lose all sense of causality....

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COPLA CINCUENTA Y SEIS: This Bad Guy World

When in need don’t do just anything
Short cut to humiliation:
Need feeds on need

Violence is the need of being
Big Bang is the need for motion:
Need to be freed

When the impulse to commit goads
Pull yourself together step aside:
Pleasure passes

What insatiable primal need prods
The Almighty to make gods stride:
Boredom pulses

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014...

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Mind in the fetal position contemplating
Rosicrucian Cosmo Conception-Theory
seen on the back of a crackerjacks box
with no prize inside.

all they offered was to arrange
a meeting of the minds
so i went, 
and you stayed back with Thomas.

So there i stood, lying down,
asleep, counting sheep,
that were wide awake.

Belly buttons of giants
full of lint-
traps snaring, finger prods
along the shores of the mind....

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paring down

old age
called it in
I didn’t choose
this stage 
of paring down
like or not
outgrown roles
are slipping off
like oiled coats
shed rain

it feels respectful
rehearsal
for what’s coming
when every earthly
trait is freed—
so I let posts go
and watch them
fall
to someone new

clearing a place
for what remains, 
the work that prods 
me now
this work
wants space,
breadth and depth
to dive—
I must comply...

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Crofts of humble
mute to grumble
What prods a heart to seek succor?
Fall to tumble
mind a’jumble
spayed fingers join to clasp in prayer.

Flipped to sober
fearless warrior
What tools to fight off plights of fear?
High to lower
wise the warrior
Gains strength and force in quiet’s calm.

Thank you Karen O'Leary...I'll send you
a picture of 'Flip', when I can get back into
Illustrator.:) You're a gentle and kind lady,
and very inspirational!!...

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Monetize my word,
Or else its point is dull,
And pokes me, prods me ever toward,
A push without a pull.

Monetize my action,
I ought to spare it of the aught,
To feign the law's ideal attraction,
And idle sold when never bought.

Monetize my thought,
Then I'd be less inclined,
To sip from potions brewed in plot,
To mute my muzzled mind.

Monetize my being,
Perhaps then I'll have a chance,
Of freedom found in guaranteeing,
I've fled my fear of song and dance....

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UNWILLING SUNDOWN

                                                          homeless sun
                                                     nuzzles unfriendly seas                         
                                                           dazzles gold

                                                          ruffled cloud
                                                     bully with thunder bolts
                                                          prods sun down...

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Flat on my back
as the world sits on my chest
wearing his mustache among hawaiian islands

and I'm not breathing

a heavy finger prods my cheek
"you are SAD" through gapping teeth

and I obey
and I am shameless
and I surrender

like a woman in colorless film
i am fatefully tied to train tracks
come one, come all
come run me over

for no one can tell
i can't get up myself

my knees have caved in
my blood is not flowing
my light is fading

and fate takes hold....

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Listen to poem:

To float on the sea 
is a delight for me.
To be rocked by waves that
urges, surges and mummers
a welcome aboard from the sea,
is giddy gosh, gleeful to me.
The prods, prompts, jostles and
pulses of the waves that caress
my body or vessel's hull
is like masseur's touch -
comforting, warming, healing and relieving me.
For water is the matrix, mater
and milieu that comforts me
in its arms, supporting me
to float so effortlessly, 
gracefully, weightlessly
in free-form bliss....

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