Siphoned Poems | Examples

Bloodsuckers Blood Bank

Count Olaf Von Farlow was a few quarts low

He followed the scent, he followed his nose

Gonna do a fly-by, wide-eyed, don't you know 

Gotta do a fly-by low, to detect the flow

Now, Count Olaf's down, and he's blood bank bound

Incisors sharpened, with moldy, molded crown

That's "Olaf Von Farlow"...never hyphened

The Teller there, unaware...got siphoned

Nepal

Nepal
Nepal I know little of this country, nestling
Among colossal mountains
It used to be a kingdom, but the king was so
Autocratic that he lost the job.
Later on, I have this from memory, one of the princes
Shot the royal family as they were sitting down for tea.
This didn`t help him to become a king,
I think he is a monk now and is fed by the poor.
Nepal is also a place where Pakistan and India sometimes
Shot at each other when not freezing to death
At high altitudes in summer uniforms
A recent earthquake brought Nepal to the news for a day
They have been promised help to rebuild Kathmandu 
As usual in such cases, the money gets siphoned off and
little
Reach the people of Nepal.
To whom who cares, Nepal is also the birthplace of Buddhism.

The night they know is bright as day

There’s children growing up that believe the stars
sound like crickets chirping,
for their only exposure to these sources of wonder
are through over-exposure to blue light and radio waves
and soundtracks overlaying simulations.
The night they know
is bright as day,
lit by “satellite internet constellations”
or fogged out by the price of progress.
They don’t understand what it is to stare upwards
and be humbled in awe.
That’s what’s wrong with men today;
they never look up, never gaze around.
They only march forward on a path
marked with dollars instead of footprints
and fail to take heed of the wails around them.
But at least one day, when
we’ve siphoned the earth dry to fuel 
“achievements” 
(greed),
when the cities are burning from the debts of desire,
the children will look up at the stars that aren’t stars
and hear real crickets chirping
and they won’t be afraid of the end.

Juxtaposition

Surrealistic impulses
create songs impositions
upon the sphere of
evening coincidences
that beckon truth
beyond the scope
of reality as
you finally realize 
that to some
it's just a problem
upon their realm
of personal satisfaction
Inter-relationships surface
amidst the turmoils
of daily excursions
siphoned through kaleidoscopic
determinations that have
no basis in justice
but are constructed
amidst contemporary delineations
that stifle happiness

Lets Tango

The desolate wasteland of trepidation traversed 
by my jagged life that strived relentless for so long   
to smoothen the innate angularities of serrated mind, 
swirling in the egregious whirlpool of sucking indignation. 

Siphoned into sordid abyss of despondent delirium,
I searched out for myself a pathway of passion within, 
leading through the pulsating portal to my affable heart, 
not yet frozen passive in the prolonged winter of desolation. 

The spring of longing came with fragrance of fervor, 
floated on the dreamful wings of fleeting emotive time
across the flush of my floral heart where you had flittered
like a butterfly creating the cadence of chromatic symphony. 

The concert of the mesmeric music of my yearning, 
refrained the rhythm of concealed current called love,
that rolled between you and me to interweave us forever, 
as engrossed emotions danced with the ripples of rhapsody.

CouldaShoulda

She sits on a stool
in the middle   of a yesterday room
   eyes   squeezed shut
as her phantoms   circle ‘round
circle ‘round   'n 'round

their hollowed voices   chant an endless
   why?  why did you…?  whydidyou??
   mantra|mantra_ing
from all that   hard mined deep time
from days   long-ago-past   yet-not
those never-really-past days of ago.

their discordant chords   siphoned
   from yesterdays'   poor performance
   those depths of times   behind her, yet-not,
   those never-really-locked   loosely keyed doors
from all that   of the 'whatever' she
   stuffed   behind   closed doors.

Her eyes   with dead-ended sight   fused shut
   for she   cannot   force   them   open     
   for she   cannot bear   
to see the tragic
   sweet lives   randomly
pieced apart
   strewn crazily
at her feet…

all that   of all the what
   of those shoulda-beens
all that
   what-coulda-shoulda-mighta-been
but wasn't.

Wave of Fantasy

To dream or not to dream this query I will leave unanswered 
for just as the winds cannot stop blowing and the flowers
cannot stop growing, 
I too cannot wave my fantasies goodbye. 

I will not leave behind 
my illusions, nor my castle in the sky 
I am a poet with so much golden yarn, 
and miles and miles of forever tales, 
at the tip of my golden quill. 
My spindle never rests. 

To dream or not to dream this is a query 
I siphoned for you.  
What will you weave for me today?
What will your wave of fantasy, enshroud? 
I can't wait to read you, my lovely poets, 
make me proud  !!!!

Swaying To the Sound

Have you ever felt from a song

A song that reminded you how you can live
The rush of the wind, the desire to climb
A quickly-building monument to the beauty of creation

How quickly a mood changes with a play

The sorrow of loss, a lament to the sky 
for what was not lost to you
what you may never be lucky enough to lose

A mournful numbness, a malady of words, a sea to be swallowed by

An arrogant strut behind what they have done and claim to do

A hyperactive child in a candy store

An invitation to someone else's moment, a happy party

A strut in saying something how it is, sauntering up to your boss's reddened face

A spontaneous guffaw from a line so out of place

A dance in a language you cannot understand 

Siphoned emotions from founts 
Some people urging you to drink from
Some urging you to bathe and not drink, to not feel
Some that were left and coyly watched
Some that were abandoned
Some that were trapped in amber

How could where we live, where we choose to drink, not say a lot about us?
Such a pure crystallization of what is so slippery to say

Dalila

Cold,
Was the look in her eyes
When their eyes first met

Cold,
Was the skin of her palm
When he first held her hand

Cold,
Was the touch of her lips
When they first kissed

Cold, 
Was the brush of her skin
When he felt it with his fingertips

She siphoned his warmth
And left him shivering
When she stepped out for her next rodeo.

Cup

Today, a workshop for the poet.  
Write about a cup.
Standing empty, 
Purpose unfulfilled.
Imagination startled as 
I smash the cup inside my head.
A million shards of broken pottery 
Lying on the floor.
Broken poems and promises 
Lying on the floor.
Shards thrown out of context 
As are we.
Broken souls 
From out a shattered God.
Each shard, a refugee.  
You and me. 
Metaphors attached to all 
The brokenness we own.
Cups of purpose 
Seeking our fulfillment.
Joined to make a whole 
Of all we hold;
Become a cup 
Our truth to then unfold.
What began as empty, filled 
With our life’s portion,
Sharing, sipping, spilling
All along the way.
Losing contents 
We may label dear
Until the final tipping 
Of a cup left upside down.
What words escape our pens 
That are not truth.
Whose content change 
The soul from which we bleed 
Whether subject cup or love, 
Or other siphoned dalliance,
At our finish will complete
A lifetime’s cupping need.

Breeze

I felt the breeze on
my face 
The one I took for granted
like honest lovers
longing to be loved
I never thought I 
would be happy to be
blinded by sun rays
inhale the aroma
of rose buds and
existence in the air
I hear voices in the wind 
I can feel the vibration
of God breathing
His heart beating like
Gentle earthquakes
Inside me
Motivation siphoned
from my soul
but I'm not worried
I will soon be alright
©3-21-2020

Wish To Hold Again

In hushed strides silver threads tonight unfold again,
my longing on trampled soil to be rolled again.

Beneath maple leaves my silent flower shivers,
scarlet bed of withering dreams is cold again.

So numb my desires echo in hollowed umbra,
My wishes I fear might remain untold again.

Lonely lark from wilderness sings of my despair,
Blazing sparks simmer on snow being bold again.

Oh beloved! How oft have I waned crescent soul,
Your veil of molten stars I wish to hold again.

Dreams cuddled in beguile blossoms of aurora,
Await to relive their promises old again.

Fir-kissed caress of heartbeats over years apart,
Enchant siphoned silk silhouettes to mould again.

So bereft my memoirs leave no footprints on sand,
agony on alluring waves was sold again.

Celeste dances in nebula streams on sand dunes,
Graceful Aphrodite will I behold again?

Cynthia petals drape my hopes in banisters,
I pray my tender love grows manifold again.

August 31, 2020

Ghazal Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
12 syllables per line checked on www.howmanysyllables.com

A Time For Us

Through silk tresses glistening in ember,
I saw you for the first time in December.

Oh sparks could ignite in freezing snow,
a rhythm born in silent hearts I'd know.

Your cherry-dipped voice dwelling upon
my painted canvas on a scarlet dawn.

Ethereal touch that drenches my longing soul,
inhaling your musk diffusing us into a whole.

Darling, I'd waited for you all these years,
your tickling glances dissolved my fears.

You breathe silver crescents on newborn pearls,
lulling me in blankets of tranquil starry curls.

I've kissed your silhouette in strumming breeze,
yet my harp strings love for your heart to please.

My safe heaven in a moist galaxy of sand dunes,
a time for us, our heartbeats fuse to distant tunes.

You've brushed my halo with siphoned showers
and I believe love was destined to be ours.

In this world and an afterlife I do believe,
we'll find each other for December to retrieve.

Tonight I melt in your arms to weave a song,
I've waited for my love, hasn't it been long?

August 17, 2020

A Time For Us Poetry Contest
Sponsor: JCB Burl

Rest Ever

She was the white horse of the Himalayas
Purity Smolder of flameless skies

Then, chains of conquest - 
A half-century of human Inhibition
The Neophyte's arrogance of consumption
Would Flounder to stain and slay the wind

Her Dolorous pinnacle lies, littered with
Debris dense Lecherous ego

Immaculate essence siphoned
In the name of
Vainglorious Bombast

For sanctity, for healing, for reverence
Let Everest rest, in Providence.

5/31/19

For Eight Word Free Verse Challenge contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton

Required Words: Smolder, Inhibition, Neophyte, Flounder, Dolorous, Lecherous, Bombast, Providence.

Arrested

I was a child, naive and care free
A soul of great curiosity
Then strong spirits poured into me
Seeped away with my purity
Siphoned my will so slowly
Drowned my heart in self-pity
...Showed me the way to misery

I was a boy without clarity
With no good sense of identity
Then a burning bush spoke to me
Dazed me aromatically
Consumed my prosperity
Changed me into a zombie
...Perverted my reality

I was a young man growing empty
Searching for some reciprocity
Then a bitter boy seduced me
Caught me with such intensity
Drove me to insanity
Stripped me of all dignity
...Made me my own worst enemy

I was a grown man filled with envy
Loathing my imps of atrocity
Then a black horse slammed into me
Tied me in reigns of sorcery
Drew out my dark fantasy
Taught my flesh true agony
...Put the masochist within me

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