Short Puncturing Poems

sharp puncturing quill
venomous stinging rumor
wounded scarred psyche...

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Look at those nails
I never saw anything like them
How do you open a door?
Make a hamburger
Thread a needle?
Type?
Hug a baby.
Without puncturing it?...

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Pain
pierces
so deeply
wounding the soul
Leaving scars inflected by deception
Hurling it’s arrows of deceitfulness
Puncturing peace
Impaling
The heart's
Bliss...

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needle piercing  
the heart 
puncturing 
the soul 
emotional 
estrangement 
from desire 
causing distress 
to spread through
the state of being 
interrupting the 
state of well being...

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Love is something I have always
sort of accepted...just went with...
needing no manual, nor preacher
to entice me – I miss those days:
when a heart was free from hyper,
sonic bands,  puncturing the eyes of 
internal waves – those innate crests
I once surfed with mental impunity.......

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eerie earth belched
callous creed's crest
nocturnal nature nauseated
dark dribbles cremated
hoisted hankering cruised
sassy soil puked

rusty rims yawned
puncturing pulpy pawn
tactic trend torn

bruised bark bent
mystic moaning etched
saucy seal spent

lofty lids lurched
vying voluptuous verge.
    '20:04:10:19:20...

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It's said there's some irreplacable
and it's said they're iridescent
but from realities wakeup call
and the knives that peel at your delicacy-
gently puncturing the senses,
triggering the knots that erupt deep inside
when they are no longer butterflies-
but cobras,
infecting, misleading and wrong-
surfacing the venom of worry


*not finished*...

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hoisted hankerings puke
nauseating vying view
lofty lust yawns
puncturing pulpy lawn
twain tainted tune
mystic melody prune

rusty riffs blush
under octave's touch 
callous crescendoes' crush

smirking pitch pitches
gaunt glissando clinches
birthing sumptuous A6


tuning atmosphere tenses
malady melts music.
    '20:01:30:06:18...

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the night is young...
and cool as cucumber
together we stared at the future
puncturing the punctuates of life

the night is young...
in her sanctuary i staggered
conjuring and chanting in the bowel of thighs

the night is young...
in the balcony of her kisses
i conquer nations
for the love of , Oyenchi


                                          awoh kingsley awoh...

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dusty drips drooling
inky lits lurching
felon fits fostering
callous contractions cupping
Haggard how hankering
oily oceans assembling

nocturnal nature nimbling
fiery feelings seducing
airy allotment amputating

bounty pulses puncturing
severed seals smirking
damp dark dancing

multifarious means metamorphosing
all transcending tottering.
     20:01:19:09:18...

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*Of The Sea*

taunted torrent tamed
cremating callous crave
melting meagre sigh
hoisted horizon plies
fractured feelings fostered
moaning mystic metres

wielded waves yawned
puncturing pulpy pawn
merging masticated clown

lanky luck leers
vying voluptuous fear
felon fate peered

hoisted crunching creed's
of the sea.
      '20:04:01:18:44

Note: Of the sea....

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eerie odds awed
puncturing pulpy pores
sassy spell spurned
leering lanky lurch
felon fate features
fuming strained seizures

airy alakazam hatched
taunting tampered trance
draped dribble's prank

smothered smirk starved
porous platter parked
moaning meagre marks

wielded twain wedged
callous camouflage's crest.
       '20:05:15:18:46

Note: Of plagued personality....

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bounty brags blushing
purpled eyes puncturing
hoisted hag seducing
callous crimson tuning
into hankering hall
she opened door

gaunt glottis shrunk
like leering lust's
none inside thrust

"I'll revive him,
mystic May's wind
pebbles pruning pills"

then she left,
reincarnation at crest.
       19:12:24:07:30

~Note~ An imitation of Lascelles Abercrombie's "Witchcraft: New Style"...

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Morning quietly stands 
On the silver sill,
Black heels puncturing the view,
A faceless, coiffed character
Turning its dim limbs
Into deliberatly chosen landscapes,
Eyes unraveled into the puddle
Of dripping crimson down the edges.
Her in bloom has never been riper
Under the weight of the light air
Smelling of fruity sweat
And sweet commotion behind the skin.
Close the window open
And let me crawl inside her....

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Your incandescence drew me to your flame
Moth-like, I gravitated to your light
Then feigning nonchalance, I asked your name
The music of your voice set me to flight
And added several inches to my height
When you inquired of my name I saw stars
Stellar arrays beyond Venus or Mars
Puncturing through the thick shroud of the mask
I use to hide my stories and memoirs
My lady! All you had to do was ask!


written 18 Aug 2020...

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there is always that moment
when your brain sinks,
your eyes intensify in sadness,
and you realize that a certain point
in time is forever extinct
except for your biased memories.

it spreads through your arteries
and veins, puncturing every 
nerve that disagrees.
it will wrap itself around
your heart, destroy your soul.

the irony, that the things that
once caused such joy,
now strangle your thoughts
in an attempt to paralyze your existence....

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The Atlantic and her hissing,
Puncturing beyond ears to listen,
Her roar awakens creativity,
Her mind opens all activity
She births knowledge

The Atlantic and her known song,
Cascades ledgers and clefs;
She rises deeply with her surge,
With echoes unending as she hit shores
Her tuneful melody welcomes gaiety

The Atlantic and her ravishing view,
Revealing truth beyond sight
Her edges are borderless
Her curve is endless
She is life in its entirety...

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911 Emergency
Alarms puncturing
Lights illuminating
A fire, burning up the way
They are ready to foray
In an unselfish display
Their life always
On the line
All the time 
With a sparking do well
Challenging a flaming hell 
At the ringing of a bell
To rescue a crying yell
From the purgatory of perdition 
On a fire and brimstone mission
The one in question 
Who is that thither
Who battles the fire 
Frees us from forlorn mire
That he so 
A Firefighter Hero...

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Look at my nails! She said. Are they fabulous or what?
Or what, I thought, but I lied and said “fabulous.”
I could do your nails, she offered.
I wondered if she could dig all the dirt out of them first.
Or if she would put so many layers of that stuff on them 
No one would see how truly dirty they were.
Also, how strong are those long points?
Will they dig in the dirt without a spade?
Can she type in them?
Can she hold a baby without puncturing it?
No thanks, I said. “I’m good.”...

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