Short Puppeteers Poems

Marionettes and puppeteers
Moving shadows
Against these
Peppermint clouds...

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Senryu 8/1/2016

strings fray slowly
puppeteers ignore
life’s failing steps


John G. Lawless...

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Like puppeteers
organ grinders will always exist;
there can never be a last;
there’s an endless supply of monkeys,
and sheep....

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When they break in.
Weave me back together

Love threaded spindle heart;
Needle tongue

Stringing me up like puppeteers;
Keeping these pieces of my heart together....

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I know not where the water springs,
drips and drops, spurts and squirts melded
and aligned into flows downstream
trickling, merging to babbling brook

The myriads of river line sources
are hidden within, like puppeteers strings...

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Zombies,
walking amongst the undead.
Mindless,
no thoughts in our heads.
Waking,
to a daily dread.
Puppeteers, 
controlling without strings.
Humans,
who fall for everything.
Giants,
crushing like fleas.
We,
who are to blind to see.
When,
did we become Zombies?...

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A force of evil with ruling hand
Holds the world within it's grasp 
and command
Watched bythe all seeing eye
Autocratic no compromise
Driven by power and greed
Dictate to the masses
What they must head
Wolfsin sheeps clothing
Tied to the devils heel
Control the governments puppets
Peptuate and turn historys 
Revolving wheel.



Peter Dome. copyright.2013....

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Media muppets lie,
a hand rides up their back;
What disaster this brings; 
An empty plastic smile
as puppeteers pull strings;

Media muppets lie,
following each demand;
Mere mindless foot soldiers;
They don’t see the people,
only what the goal is;

Media muppets lie,
they always have a choice;
Cut the strings and go rogue;
The return of freedom,
bring back what was in vogue....

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What if our reasoned language
   can’t provide any answers

  —what if time isn’t real

What if the thoughts that we have
   are embedded distractions

  —what if reflection conceals

What if the feelings engendered
  are like puppeteers strings

  —what if truth doesn’t dance

What if the past and tomorrow
   are death to the moment

  —what if it’s all just a trance

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2018)...

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In life, we are the puppeteers
till the promise of death unfolds
we journey the story untold
for the spectators’ eyes and ears 

The job is to entertain and stir
the audience till time goes old
in life we are the puppeteers
till the promise of death unfolds

The ventriloquist, we yet to meet
the foolish, the joker, the voice, the bold
yet still synchronized with the man who holds
the string till the dawning is near
in life, we are the puppeteers...

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Raising the walls 
around you, you started 
a ritual of placing a single 
rose on the tomb daily.

Trapped in the blues, 
there was a killer instinct 
to destroy the self.

I become a flame, 
passing through the flesh 
eroding the body’s mystique.

The ravage words 
now sleep. A dying 
moon will set the 
night free.

It was an invasion by 
deathless roots at night. 
A slow music starts by puppeteers 
to undo the potter’s field.


Satish Verma...

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We hang from the sky
Strings work our fate
We’re in a dancing light
But we forget the day

We’re pulled to the sun
Into the burning heat
We try to hold on
But strings move our feet

What when will come?
When we can’t shield our eyes
We’re too close to the sun
And we’re too far from our night

With burning strings
We fall to the ground
We move our limbs
And when is found

We taste the world
We recall our fate
We’re in a dancing mood
As we head for the day...

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