Short Thereon Poems

will receive a White Stone with a new name thereon

Rev 2:17...

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The News was trumpeted from atop Mount Sinai
A Sabbath day of renewal, given to all humanity
Thereon to rest, to refresh -- to recapture Eternity...

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The costume of the Green Hornet
Had no red thereon to adorn it
- He cried; he whined
- Oh! How he pined
‘Cause Superman’s the one who had worn it.
5/20/2015...

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Oh dear dear Mr. Sun, where have you gone
The giver of life that returns every dawn
Providing warmth
Outperforms
Every celestial body, but freaking hot thereon...

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My coffee cup has butterflies and flowers thereon
Not masculine but welcome at the crack of dawn
At 6 o'clock on the dot
Me reaches for the pot
Slurp a joyous mouthful, even delay my tenth yawn

(For John John)...

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Unguarded, from out that pit
For heart's place, capacious
Burn on up, Desiring's brood.
Winged vipers, rapacious.

There's luxury's diamond-backed
Skinned regeneration.
And lust, more horrid looking.
With reddish streaks thereon....

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CONTRASTS (a tanka phrasis)

flight flutter
on stuccoed wings
a butterfly blaze-
on graffiti walls
freedom calls

I am grateful for Cyndi's permission to select from her mosai pairing. in her  butterfly picture thereon in her 'tag it' blog...

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A path leads to a barn and green pasture,
behind which lies a reddish brown hill.
I imagine the trees thereon
as spies in fall’s bright disguise,
dispersed along the hill.
They silently stalk;
only at this
moment do
they stand
still....

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Milanese artist Lomazzo,the theorist*
was also an idealist
He claimed a shroud was the Lord's face
&thus a divine self-portrait thereon, was traced

*https://brill.com/view/title/36088?language=en(&chapter six of Giovan Paolo Lomazzo's Idea of the Temple of Painting (1590), )...

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Each time I flip open my laptop,
to the maker’s trademark I’m drawn.
As up the shining Apple promptly pops,
intrigued, I keep awhile my eyes thereon,
wondering where has the small slice gone.

December 25, 2020
Contest : Trademark~Quaintain
Sponsor : Sara Kendrick...

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PATHOS

truth
or paradox 
perhaps irony...
a man, 
a house,
the curtained window...
a letter in his pocket ....
at his brother's grave 
the man reads 
of his son's death...

This example of a texturalist poem (see my blog thereon today) a found poem that re -weaves Cyndi's comment on my earlier blog....

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Faith,hope and charity
each positives, to me
and essential,as can be

The first,a gift from God
with agape,for free
the other as certain as can be

.....try them,each one,is for thee


This form was created by Scottish poet Roddy Lumsden circa 2007 read more thereon @
http://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/sevenling/...

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Hand on hat,scarf wrapped tight
Black brolly angled low;
Each step a battle won.
A frail determined figure
On this year's reunion.

Face down in the mud
He was later found,
A note clutched in death's grip
"Better to die upon your feet
Than to live upon your knees"

No-one remembers why
No epitaph they wrote
Yet engraved thereon ..his final note....

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There is one image forever in my mind
Downland ridge, a back-cloth to my forming years
Like a table, bare, where ancestors once dined
An ikon potent that in my thought adheres 
It’s sensation - viscerally firm to bind
And hold me now and for this life in its sphere
But one day some time hence I will rise thereon
And stay ‘til wind scatters dust, and I move on...

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is it so Simple?

Consider:
just a recognition
that this page is white
and the print thereon
seems to declare
a difference..
appearance is different
but the difference melts
when it is noticed
the print is in and of
the white page..
difference is appearance..

Consider:
might this recognition
this brief metaphor
replace all religions
in the world's story?...

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I carry one in my pocket for moments like this
For in her delight I truly will find bliss
Unwrapping  content I now slip thereon
I long for her sensuousness
Thus we two become decadent and sinful
Her melting is my excite
As orgasmic taste buds ooze with delight
I moan and savior her giving in to this affair
Eyes now crossed I come forth with a trimble
Oh- sweet chocolate 
I love you!...

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Drift a small boat with two paddles
In the sky above 
Swiftly passes by the lake surface 
A frightened swan 

Clear blue sky painted with 
The green mountains
All the beautiful scene is 
Taken by the still water

Waveless lake shapes like a mirror  
With countable fish swimming 
In clear water

On the sandbank by the river 
White birds take a leisurely perch thereon 
Look like you 
Look like me...

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An Observation
By: Tom
4-9-2006

The morning was chilled,
and the sun played peek-a-boo through the clouds.

A Cardinal chirped a song from atop it’s perch on a tomato cage, 
signaling to me that all was well at that moment,
Which was all I’ve been promised.

That day came to me as a blank canvas,
and God will hold me accountable
for each brush stroke that I placed thereon.
...

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Hast the nature enwrought thou with an angel touch?
Or hast thou arisen from the heavens?
As thy eyes shine like golden stone
As thy voice hue the hoedown
The Gods pledge for thine love
My heart doth rise as thine eyes set upon mine
Thy hazel eyes enwrought my soul with perplexity of love and comfort
I could not wither staring thereon rosy cheeks
Thou hast sup my soul
And my heart wreath around thine......

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Ah, tomorrow and tomorrows!
A procrastinators’ catchall
future days that he will borrow
freely to do nothing at all;
but presently those days will dawn
calling due his declarations;
promises he’ll not keep thereon:
deliberate fabrications.
His wishy-washy character
lacks effectiveness and purpose;
his favorite word is “later”
which can be defined as fruitless.
Is there any hope for him? No!
as long as there are tomorrows....

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The face imprinted on my heart is gone.

It faded slowly so I did not know

My heart is blank amd nothing lies thereon

The face imprinted on my Heart is gone

I do not feel the love of anyone.

This common loss affects us like a blow.

A metaphor,a simile,a pun.

My mind is blank its images have gone.

My heart is mine alone the love of none

Like a candle flame my love burnt low.

My mind is faded. Now I know no sun

Underneath the rivers silver...

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House turns into brothel today, near and dear seems prostitute
glory of saree has lost in clownish luxury, lost their gentle look.
Facebook and Messenger continue to serve them freely thereon
dating, chatting and adultery shows barbarian prostitution.
How will they open cloths! If there any cloth on the breast!
pussy is open without pounds! for rice only prostitute try their best.

N.B. This is the translated form of one of my poetry written in Bengali language....

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He takes control of her menacing lust
Skin and flesh his lips explore
This savage impulse fueling the desire
The moment comes when she loses control
She submits to her man, as she quivers thereon
The sensation overwhelms her as he explores
Her ripe lilac blossom and petals of soft flesh
Every inch of silken skin traced and savoured
He is a honey bee collecting her luscious nectar
She moans uncontrollably but he is a honey bee
And she is his only flower.
...

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In the graveyard, a rich person
ended up right after he’s gone.
His jewels went with his own pride
to tomb with a cross mark outside
and a crown of flowers thereon.

Roof showed up in its construction.
Birds made it as their asylum
as they in glee sang and did glide
in the graveyard.

Then twilight came before the dawn.
A wide-eyed cold statue looked on;
witnessing the robbers who tried
to conduct a terrible heist.
Thieves opened the casket’s portion
in the graveyard....

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