Short Stringy Poems

birdhouse in the wind
stringy light trails of birdseed
discreet squirrels wait...

Read More

Kindly pumpkin seeds
Grow one of my favorite treats
Scooping out is hard
A stringy gooey orange mess
Wonderful with cinnamon...

Read More

Only Weirdos and Odd Balls

Wirdos and odd balls Trump represent;
Those in jail for time short or long stint;
Have hair stringy,
Or totally dingy
Only ones who he could obtain consent.

Jim Horn...

Read More

Virulent and Vascilating Vibe

From somewhere in sky  dropped a scribe,
Who had been with virulent, vacillating vibe;
Green beans  stringy,
And somewhat dingy;
As to what he said and will always ascribe.

Jim Horn...

Read More

When peeling a banana, do those stringy things annoy
What purpose do they serve except to kill our joy
Sometimes feel like a primate
Swinging through the foliage I migrate
But those stringys sure don't interfere with my ability to enjoy...

Read More

When peeling a banana, do those stringy things annoy
What purpose do they serve except to kill our joy
Sometimes feel like a primate
Swinging through the foliage I migrate
But those stringys sure don't interfere with my ability to enjoy


© Jack Ellison 2015...

Read More

The French have really got it knocked,
when it comes to comfort food.
Nothing works by the fireside
as well as cheese fondue.

It’s so gooey and so stringy,
it’s a challenge just to eat.
Runs off the bread and down your chin; 
it cert’nly isn’t neat!

A shrimp cocktail, a glass of wine
are good comp’ny for this fest.
It soothes your nerves and treats your taste;
the French do it the best....

Read More

A thrown sky pushes and scatters.
Small birds fall from their songs.
Sticks fly up invisible chimneys.

A strong wind has come from the north,
it unearths the stringy and un-mulched.
Fusty heaps scud, makeshift mouths gawp.

Whoever has a quiet lamp,
Let them take shelter 
from the helter-skelter,
for the graveyard owls are loose,
their feathers ruffled
they fly as loud 
as the clouting forest....

Read More

Clarinets, bassoons, oboes, ugh.
Flutes, oh, yes, Native American flute music please.
Violas. Don’t be prissy!
Cellos. Ha. Ha. Who wants to carry one to school?
First and second violins. Too stringy. Twangy. Hurt my ears.
Trombones and tubas. Oh, yes, please.
Now for my all- time favorites besides the guitar.
Drums
Cymbals.
Bam.
Crash.
Boom
Bam
Give me percussion or do not give me any music at all....

Read More

COPLA 74 INVOCATION: This Bad Guy World

Is the quark a zero sum dot
Likewise the table to the mountain:
Try dot the spot

So is the gogga to Hottentot
And your toddler to the dragon:
Earth mere sun spot

Solar system lost in galaxy
Universe in Multiverses:
All gone to pot

Whose is the sum of this jelly
All strung up in stringy ellipses:
Might turn(ed) to rot

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014...

Read More

Eric my chum loved a limerick bum
                                      He took her to a theater of Tum
                                           She was a stringy bean
                                            Fell smack on his chin
                                And picked a guitar to strum a glum glum












    Eric my chum/Limerick Copyright© Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty 22 November 2014...

Read More

They live in an iron nest
and have begun to dream
the way threadbare drapes will
in too much sunlight.

Scorched by sky
blooms crumple like straw hats.
Water has no effect.

Any time now,
I expect to see stringy stems
swell into aqueducts
but the newly doused
droop the more.

The fancy blooms cost me $74

Stupidly I yell at them:
to revive, to live, to thrive!

Nothing.

The buggers have also gone deaf....

Read More

Of Melancholy and pail machinery 
in second parts of symmetry
Looking over the infinite sea of mercury
Long mechanical white lines
Its fingers skeletal and bright 
against the dark indigo night
Imagining the world in its infancy
Melancholy breeze; mechanical pale, stringy
Something glints in the gloom 
and watery air, an odd device.
Of Melancholy and pail machinery 
in second parts of symmetry
Systems of furious divinity....

Read More

One Stark Trumpet Peals


At eve, old melodies unwomb,
old ragings wake
as crones, 
stringy hair unbunned,
creep downstairs
to supper on a loin.
As they feed, 
their fingernails
roll back 
and so they gravitate
or, better, crawl 
toward the dawn,
for in the din
that eddies in each ear, 
they can hear 
one stark trumpet peal
as they creep
toward the sun
a final time, 
drawn by 
ancient echoings.


Donal Mahoney...

Read More

Swimming in the turquoise water
broad becomes my vision
Diving in the rippled metal
Clear is my decision
From afar I seem as just
a speck engulfed in liquid
but I know I'm not alone 
and that becomes my secret
Water gliding through my fingers,
dancing on my brow
Seaweed makes a stringy wreath,
a strange but regal crown
The surface skin has let me in
enveloped all my weight
Turquoise water in my veins
floating out in space......

Read More

Ripe tomatoes in the supermarket
The red tip of my own nose.
Their lime green imagination
Marauded by Edgar Allen Poe.
Her silver dollar face raises hellfire
Says the stringy girl who believes in ghosts.
Goodnight to the lucky cat
Who kisses my cheek with his prose.
Her calico hat sticks to dewy grass
While the hooves of the lumpy deer carcass doze.
The weight of dreams lifted off my shoulders
By the kiss of conciousness on my nose....

Read More

they live in an iron nest
under a back window

they have begun to dream
the way threadbare drapes will
in too much sunlight

scorched by sky
blooms crumple like straw hats
reach up bent by an internal smolder
as if the air were a cistern

but the sky is a dry bed today

sprinkled water has no effect
i expect to see stringy stems
swell into firm aqueducts

but the newly doused droop the more
as if water were a flame
in a beached throat...

Read More

I love the way she calls.

She uses all the elements of the stars,

The universe itself.

Her voice floats, gently calming my nerves.

If I could be anywhere, I'd be anywhere by her side.

Where everything except her voice is silent.

She calls from beyond the reach of telephone lines and stringy wires.

If she were to ever whisper, I'd always hear her beckoned call.

Often times it feels that I am on angel wings.

Each time that she calls....

Read More

They were the leftovers
 the refuse at the cannery
 the wanton waste of discolored greens;
today's menu _
 stringy long tantalizing pods
 crispy snappings along the opposing seams
 limp wilted cultivars rejected 
 fallen and discarded to the bins;
at shifts end
 hours passed daylight
 stretching beyond supper time
my grandmother
 entered in the kitchen
 and in the pockets of her apron fell
 the remnants of vegetable extravaganza
 the makings for bean soup....

Read More