It's comforting to shrink
Down onto a hard white surface
Ant-sized, running,
Dust for pebbles
Sunlight through glass
Clear boundaries
But room to move
Safe from sweeping forces
Go ahead and ask.
Answer: it's drying out
Direction evaporating.
Clear sky's a cage
See the giant birds
They're not happy
My phone is my connection to the world
All my friends text me
Every single day
Influencers tell me what to think, do, and say
Everyone I admire is here with one click
Movies are at my fingertips
From the time I wake up
Until late at night
I'm glued to my phone
Oh what a sight
Momma says," Put away your phone.
You're missing out!"
How can that be
I can see every music video
Medication for when I'm sick
Even clothes to wear
Thats pretty slick
If I have a question
My phone will second guess me
Sends information from across the web
Matches my browsing while I am in bed
Momma says," The influencers are instigators and don't let you think.
All the text messages
Are repeats and stink.
If you want to see the world,
Give it a whirl without your phone.
You might be surprised,
At what you will find!"
No mechanical diggers digging
Standard oblong shaped holes
The only effort needed being
To manipulate the controls.
We dug our graves by hand
And the sweat of our brow
A craft that seems outdated
And no longer any use now.
Each grave was dug to
An Individual coffin’s shape
With an allowance made for
The handles and the rope
No deviation of the sides by
Even the slightest little bit
Ensuring each grave allowed
An almost snug tailored fit.
Beating down the earth
To compact the ground
So there was little shrinkage
Of a grave’s earthen mound,
The relaying of the turf
The floral tributes laid
Mourners final thoughts
Carefully displayed
We took pride in our work
Felt each family should expect
Their deceased loved one to be
Sent off with honour and respect.
No, no mechanical diggers
Just a man’s strength and skill
And a gathering of the villagers
To show support and goodwill.
Hydration, urination, frustration
I’m being Pampered with Depends
The means justifies the ends
For with my bladder shrinkage
There comes a bit of leakage
It’s so simple I just do it do it
I can’t remember where I threw it
But to this date it’s just been water
Haven’t yet let loose a “squatter”
And I still can change my own
While talking on a speaker phone
So it’s safe to take me driving
Or leave me at home alone
I’ve gone from Pampers to Depends
The way it started is how it ends
My life became a little sadder
With the shrinkage of my bladder
©7/16/2023
There’s a global inflation problem
everywhere lungs are puffed up
heads are swollen.
Balloons increase in volume overnight.
The cost of rubber bands
has been stretched to its limits.
We recall sadly the heady days of deflation,
when shrinkage gave us more space
to spread, to drink our fill
of a less bloated air.
Politicians and pronouns
are loudly popping
empty suits and Stetson hats
billow and blow more than we can
know.
We see the mushrooming clouds
of bluster and bluff from afar.
The world pumps on way too hard
continents expand beyond their land.
The sky busts out of its high wide window.
Soon we shall see
how it will be before the big bang
as we escalate into fat flatulent globs
and awfully slow, bulky, bouncing blimps.
Oak trees from tiny acorns grow.
I know that this is true,
It did not happen to me,
Has it happened to you?
I was a tiny baby,
That grew into a little girl
I always thought that maybe
I would be tall with blonde hair and curls.
What happened? Well, you may ask
That oak tree acorn thing
It never came to pass
My acorn did not flourish much,
It grew to a particular stage
Then it went berserk: To grow?
No, to combat my old age.
I am losing height
At the rate of knots
I shall soon disappear,
If this shrinkage doesn't stop.
So I say, Bah Humbug
What a lot of Tommy Rot
It may happen to Oak trees
But an Oak tree I am not!
Ripples from a rain fill a bowl of passion.
Small ducks quacking in a waddled fashion.
A light breeze blew across the soft fur.
The brown beach beckons for one to occur.
Making stained-glass-like hand gesture.
As a stepping stone leading to a joy banner.
To the sky, a foreboding twilight blue.
The cleft is ruffled and tossed through.
Marigolds remain in the midst of serenity.
Shrinkage of the feeble results in nullity.
With mother's thinking resolves all hope.
To the summit of a dizzyingly steep slope.
In the shape of a duck cloud, it is resting.
Fields are flung at the worst of the gathering.
I finally started by plucking a vibrant blossom.
I went up the tower, like a gentle heirloom.
They're diminishing, like dewdrops on grain.
Against a red sky, lost echoes suck up the pane.
Written: April 13, 2022
Flying dove-like in the midst of a sea of blueness
Bringing a warm sensory of quiet and peacefulness
A delicate quill floats and moves with the mild breeze
Each butterfly represents a profound gift of gentle ease.
Whispering Wings, indigenous force's benefactress
Tugging the chords despite purveying mercifulness
Meandering in the pristine wilderness same as wildebeest
It suspires into our buoyant spirits, looks, and sparest.
Gravitational radiation, mindfulness adjustments
Scarcely an effectiveness shrinkage upright abutments
Will achieve divine reality in everlasting eternity
Heart at God glimpses from the chasm of leniency.
Balmy justness heaves, and the spirit reawakens
The scarcity of crispness was withdrawn slice at once
Ecstasy has glowed, and the epitome run sway
Emptiness is hidden when the shapes shrink away.
Written: January 12, 2022
for the 'Whispering Wings' Poetry Contest or Chantelle Anne Cooke.
Write Big or Go Home
I’ve seen some swollen poems, that come in dragging on the floor
Written by the brave, till someone knocks upon their door
Each time that we back down, more trolls will come and dance
It’s sad to see grown poets, with so much shrinkage in their pants
I’m often called a bully and shunned by the elite
But I hold my head up high and can stand on both my feet
It’s best to stand your ground, ignoring will not work
Make sure and use your words each time you see a jerk
I’m strong in my beliefs, my resolve will never bend
Keep your poems big and watch out for each friend
I don’t care what others think, I’m good with the “what for”
Very few will have the poems to come pounding on my door
Poor Adam in Eden’s first winter
Would run home but Eve was no sprinter
They walked in the nude
Eve said, which was rude
‘Oh, that’s a strange place for a splinter’
At the shrinkage of the page
Expressions plead for length
Inhibition imposed on lines by columns
Words already accustom to scarcity
Pieces find focus in incompletion.
Thoughts flutter toward temples
Ready to leave prints on a canvass
Diving into ink, drying before depart
Leaving smudges with hints of beauty
Never a portrait to hold high.
Love found constancy through infatuation
Appearing in every attempt at honing
Shadowed by past excellence's remembrance
Exposing an unguarded diminishment
Appeased by external validation.
Truth distilled through repetitition
Emotional trials shared in nude
No longer enigmatic, too foreign to own
Complacent with the ease of flow
Mentally stalled by comfort's opposition to growth.
Time contriving towards finality
Longevity could not be imagined
A burnout, seen as a destination
Pieces threaded, undoing progress
Passion puckered away by a task, too daunting.
The King was a lion as most of them will
His lioness queen beside him knew the drill
The baboons just wanted to monkey around
But like the rest there were two to be found
Two lines of two too far back to see
Male and female there with no absentee
The dogs looked around and saw the two fleas
Then rolled their eyes at Noah, not at all pleased
Soon they were all loaded for the ride ahead
All accounted for as the rain was wide spread
When the rain stopped they all mated but one pair
The gobblenips were both male so unfair
When Noah lifted one up he didn't see his pride
There was shrinkage since it was cold outside!
Merging into the future with driverless cars,
the empty cab will feel like you own it,
or go ahead and send your private car home after you get to work,
two car families will evolve into a one car clan,
only about half of the cars will be needed,
that means less roads built or paved,
and don't forget the insurance jobs, your favorite,
the responsible driver will be the car company and will pay the insurance,
cargo will deliver itself,
and so the over reaching for growth in the economy,
may not be such a bad idea these days.
Santa was right,
all the bad ones get coal.
SURF'S UP
It drug the beach sand making trenches
causing lightheaded fainting of wenches
the ocean was icy
he stood out quite nicely
even after allowing for shrinkage.
2/19/2016
submitted to – Limerick Contest II – for fun – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Jan Allison
That fugitive dream
of shrinkage :
a room in a room
a door in a door.
You were hurting the house affairs
at midnight.
The space accident
starts dismanteling the life.
Selective pain
comes again.
You start distancing from story touch,
long vision.
The canary brings down
the roof. Somebody was leaving.
The eyes will search another sky,
another tree.
In a light slumber
another fall from the perch.
Satish Verma
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