Short Tubular Poems

roaring of tubular waves
curling lip of white froth
sea's power...

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Bluebells in the shady woods,
tubular throats sing the silence.
Only empty bells ring....

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Beauty with change, rainbow games
kalos
Multifaceted shapes form frame
eidos
tubular tunnel acclaim
scope
Constantly rotating change...

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Hot tubular pulsing
Breaks through the earth
Fragrant milk
Dew crowning
Pink purple sweating 
Toward the light
Up into hands waiting...

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The boy with the tubular tin hands
And a weanie doggie with a scaredy cat heart
Face their fears and save the day.

Ride across the woods to an adventure
Save the kitty from the tree...

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Harvest yielding
The orange flesh of
The tubular yams
Blushing cherry-red
The blue oxen
Pulling the 
Farmer's plow
When we spotted
The early bend
In the road and
The quiet noise
Listening to
Something else
Bound for home...

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The dragonfly
perches at the apex
of an amethyst foxglove,
tubular blooms
erect as trumpets.
A jeweled angel
pauses on an obelisk,
transparent
but for sun's shimmer
dancing on diaphanous wings,
until a feral gust
whisks it into porcelain air....

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Bloodeyes among the trees.
Waterwood broken;
an open split

of small life.
Steps out of tact,
tied. Tubular

breath that makes
leaves vellum.
So when the two

bend and coo
with a mouth full
of pigeons, you

pace and green
in the dark
strange with envy....

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"We are tubes." She says.

I think of fish
who are a basic model
for our tubular forms,
how they swim
gulping themselves up
as they move forward.

Most don't talk of their bodies
as cylindrical,
as passageways.
I look at her
sucking a milkshake
up through a straw.

I love her tubes....

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Errant steals,

like globular e-mocking,

stark Jabs in test,

wave's of sustainment globally casting flesh aside,

wantoness stops as
tubular horns row them all away...


Nickled as jells in the jangles,

wobbie in a talk in a mangle-

flippin' at it's angle',

crunch crockie crangle,

the bottle on a walk,

like a Laker in a stock....

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Lying within his own pool of blood, his friend 
Gently holding his hand, saying, Are you sorry for your sins ?
Damien, squeezing lightly in reply and, Yes, I am.
A tear falling from his eyes; a whispered prayer; winds
Stirring leaves and Autumn's trees; children, gathering to see...
Flashing lights dangling her rosary she weeps; broken heart's as silver wings....

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Swallowing soil's nutrients, they swell up under earth -

round or tubular vegetables of edible wholesome delight!

Carrots, beets and onions steadily fuel the body,

but yams, potatoes and parsnips - baked and buttered -

are the ones I ROOT the loudest for!


Written Jan. 4, 2016 for the Rooting For 8 To 5 contest of nette onclaude...

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The car's engine Fred often fires.
He. simply, first checks the car's tires
And off moves, tires spitting fires:
Tubular rollers end up criers;
Traffic wardens with their "Stop!" liars:
Fred at what he loves never tires!

The strength Free Fred uses he hires
From booze and kola sold by Mires...

After three months Fred's Benz for buyers!
Often worse than cars long in mires....

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Rearranging this board amid the stillness of the early morn; silence 
Takes her hand as shifting sands; careful the brush, a thoughtful stroke..
What's the hurry she says a cup of coffee and cigarette, there's no one there ?
She closes her eyes a batch of butterflies fly by, circling waterfalls in purple skies
With golden locks their diamond crowns; silver bells, tubular clouds; we were young....

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With his long narrow beak he drank
drawing out nectar from a flower 
it was an Eastern Red Columbine,  
an Aquilegia wild desire ...

Nature was singing a sweet refrain 
sending sunshine to my visitor 
with wings spread he extracted,  
using a tubular beak and tongue;

He was a welcome guest 
inside this beautiful garden  
From a latticed gazebo I espied 
as he took delight, in every sip...

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Rearranging life's board amid the stillness of their early morn; silence
Takes her hand and shifting sands ? Careful this brush a thoughtful stroke..
What's the hurry she says; a cup of coffee as cigarette; there's no one there ?
Closing her eyes a batch of butterflies flying by; circling waterfalls in purple skies
With golden locks their diamond crowns; silver bells tubular clouds ? We were young....

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Rearranging this board amid time's stillness be the early morn; silence 
Takes her hand as, shifting sands ? Careful the brush, a thoughtful stroke
What's the hurry she says a cup of coffee and cigarette, there's no one there ?
Closing his eyes, beautiful butterflies, flying by; circling, waterfalls in purple skies....
Love's golden locks their diamond crowns; silver bells tubular clouds ? When we were young....

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Mouth-watering Honeysuckle!
Your irresistible scent lures
Me to your tubular flowers
As you do the lone hummingbird
And moth and for the same reward:
To taste your abundant nectar.
Thousands of your golden flowers
Have quenched my springtime craving
For your flowery sweet liquid
Hidden deep within your dark spathe.
Once more I slowly extract your
Center stamen out through your scape
Dragging behind your small pistil
And the bead for my waiting tongue....

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Sunshine smile,
it Arctic enamel glows
Crescent grin tropical — 
Antarctica guile

A bright yellow corona skin
is so cold-fusion tan Chernobyl
As Dictator icy wind snow blow,
Democracy curvature bend

Creamy sweet coin promises 
of a silky, tubular tongue
Hanging from a lip bung,
monkey climbers can’t resist

Swing blade lo Banana Republic Appeal, 
it’s a Tyranny meal force fed
Gulag sweet fruit flavor med 
has a sick-o whet, ill monkeyshine feel...

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An awe of cavernous heartbeats
turned her features equine.

Listening to wind-hollowed chests,
she heard the shape of her life,
the blowing of tubular organs
elongating her face,
into sculptured snorts.

I liked her snagged toothiness.
the linkage of her broad scapulars,
deeply tooled and studded,
a back ready to be saddled by labor,
hitched to days of hay and manure.

When she laughed, hooves stomped
into green rubber
a ponytail swinging from her grey mane....

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An awe of cavernous heartbeats
turned her features equine.

Listening to wind-hollowed chests,
she heard the shape of her life,
the blowing of tubular organs
elongating her face,
into sculptured snorts.

I liked her snagged toothiness. 
the linkage of her broad scapulars,
deeply tooled and studded,
a back ready to be saddled by labor,
hitched to days of hay and manure. 

When she laughed, hooves stomped
 into green rubber
a ponytail swinging from her grey mane....

Read More