Spiky Poems

My Process

My process is like dots. 
Not stars, just nothing dots. 
Rearranging. 
Tangled netting and dragonfly parts. 
Whatever I can grab and throw in the shopping cart. 
That sinks through the tile. 
I thought things were solid for once. 
Then the holes got torn up. 
And the dragonfly eyes too. 
Disintegrated. 
In such a poem which is made of sentences and more. 
My process is like dots. 
Spiky, horned dots. 
Maybe a few blobs and globs enticing. 
The end of a poem isn’t scary. 
Or strange. 
It's thirsty, but the end is that drink. 
My process. 
Like a pen that doesn’t worry about anything. 
Nothing dots and dragonfly parts. 
Wheeling me away.
Like they did five years ago.

Sleep

Eating is nice but it’s nothingness. 
Filled with flakes of skin. 
I’d rather sleep. 
Just collapse a few times. 
Onto something spiky. 
But they’re friendly spikes. 
Just collapse a few times. 
With no grin, no grimace. 
Just full, flying lips as I fall toward my pillow.
I thought I cared about feeling like a failure. 
If you stay awake long enough, you’ll get that ladder. 
Climb. 
Into bed. 
Fall. 
Into bed. 
Believe there’s something under that lumpy mattress besides springs. 
Eyes closing for the last time for a few hours. 
Regrets are just like eating your favorite dessert. 
Tears are burning, but don’t leave anything tonight.

I’d rather sleep. 
Soundly as-

A speck of dirt.

pineapple

rosette green leaves head
flaxen quilted spiky skin~
succulent sweetness

P is for Pangolin

In an alphabet book that my grandson once liked,
One page unfamiliar to me
Which, in turn, got my curiosity spiked,
Was the animal listed for P.

For a pangolin isn’t your average beast,
But an anteater covered in scales,
Looking quite prehistoric from head to, not least
Of its features, those long spiky nails.

It waddles in search of its main source of food,
For which it employs every sense,
Yet if threatened, it is very quickly subdued;
Curling up is its only defense.

I learned all about this today on TV,
But I’m glad that awareness was raised
In an alphabet book on which, ages ago,
Both my grandson and I once had gazed.

Aloe

They have spiky leaves. 
That bend slightly at the tips. 
Living indoors. 
And they don’t mind being decor. 
Faceless, but not in an ominous way. 
In fact, I picture a tiny smile when I walk by. 
I don’t know how long they live. 
Maybe one year or ten. 
I’ve had this aloe plant for 3 months. 
Sometimes, you can look at something all the time. 
Looking outside at the fence and my car. 
With this aloe plant tickling my peripheral vision. 
He is a friendly presence. 
They can live forever, I bet. 
On my windowsill. 
Occasionally, I’ll turn him around to face the sun better.
Which is enough excitement for the week. 
For him and me too.

The Holly, but, more importantly, The Ivy

The great big oak tree casts off his coat while the rest of us put ours on,
Throwing down the golden-brown piles of spiky leaves,
A dance floor for the couple everyone’s talking about.
It’s their time now, their time in the pallid sun!
And sure, Holly might make a scene, berry-ripe in snow, like children’s faces,
But her slender partner really steals the show.
Ivy’s green, she winds, she twists, she makes her place secure – winds both ends at one go.
And oak and ash don’t mind her creeping up and down – they know.
They know as well as you and I
That when the summer’s in the sky
And flowers are all in bloom,
Ivy dies before the trees. Her time comes all too soon.

Ugly in the light vs Darky beautiful

The Rose of Jericho is a grim plant,
The Spider Orchid leafs are a tumbled mess , 
Looking at this plant where's the charm I  confess ,
The Rose of Jericho’s leafs are dried , gross and not  scant. 
 The rat tail cactus is foul to behold,
It’s tail like tentacles  look like  spiky strips,
And string the leafs together use them for whips,
The cactus flowers are lovely I am told.
What flowers are awesome during the night?
The Evening primrose has a strong scent too,
The Moon flower is lovely to behold.
These flowers shine bright ;they do not need light, 
This plant  has fatty acids ,good for you ,
This  flower blooms are spiral  I am told.

Psychedelic

The colors of the flowers are vibrantly swaying
The wind caresses them it seems with kisses, 
whispering sweet nothings inside cheery cores
Daisy’s white pearly petals are speaking
Yellow sepals smiling, too yellow! Spiky discs 
spinning peeking at me as I subtly study them
Dance little flower dance so alive, 
I just want to hug and squeeze you
until you feel all this love as well

colors so vibrant
 turned on, tuned in, so alive ~
 I feel so much love

Red Leaves

Red.
Yellow, brown, or orange. 
Leaves live comfortably.
At cider mills, and in backyards. 
Maple leaves. 
They are spiky, and boldly shaped. 
Into a leaf pile. 
They are dead, but not haunted.
They are yellow, brown, or orange. 
Mostly, red though. 
Or maybe we just like the red ones the best.
Stepping inside, crumbled leaves on the floor. 
They seem dry and brittle in the kitchen. 
She hands me a broom. 
Leaves are not so fun inside.
But still they are yellow, brown, or orange…
…or like my broom handle, like rust, like the sunset…
They can be my favorite color:
Red.

ALMOST ALIEN

ALMOST ALIEN
(abba)

The Bird of Paradise plant that I saw
Spiky petals in a vivid orange shade
Only Nature could have displayed it
And so strange that none can ignore

Soupersonic

Soupersonic our souperhero hedgehog
Sparks a spiky souper poetic blog
With  subtle soupcons of inspiration
And souperabundant imagination
With verses linguistically souperior
They soupersede the best criteria
His rich stanzas are immensely soupreme
That they belong in a souperstar's dream
So soupernaturally impressive are they
With such a  clever and souperfine wordplay
When tired ,Supersonic curls up into a ball
Wishing  a soupercool nighty night to us all

Thinking

Things that help me think more clearly:
Are cactuses. 
They love me, and I have a spine that is spiky, but just one.
Things that make me think.
Are.
My mom went to the restaurant.
And ordered everything off the menu.
Except what I like.
But that was a dream haha!
Things that make me.
I do like riding my bike.
I don’t, but I do.
I would ride it, but they don’t let me.
They do, but not across the world like I’d want to.
Make me… make…me 
Think more clearly, please.
To. Go to school. I go to school. I fail, but if I could think more clearly then I wouldn’t.
Anyway, I collect coins. 
That are lively. 
With faces that look at me, and there’s more on the other side of this world.
Sometimes, I think clearly.
Other times…
Are other times.

The Thornless Wonder

In hushed greenhouses, a marvel grows,
A pilgrimage for those who know:
A rose unmarred by nature's thorns,
Its beauty is pure, as morning dawns.

I dreamed of its stem, a silken cord,
Coiled gently around my hands, unexplored.
My garden once bristled with spiky guards,
Till obsession smoothed those prickly shards.

From root to tip, I bred them bare,
Strength redefined in petals fair.
If thorns meant power, then power's changed,
In vulnerability, strength rearranged.

This thornless bloom, a rare delight,
Wields beauty like a beacon bright.
Its petals unfurl, a gentle shield,
Revealing truths long concealed.

When touched, it stands, unharmed and tall,
A flower-warrior, breaking thrall
From old beliefs of strength through pain,
Its peaceful stance is a greater gain.

In dreams, I graft this wonder's stem
To roses in my garden's hem.
Together we walk through skeptics' sneers,
Our smoothness calms ancient fears.

Behold the power of gentleness,
In this rose's thornless dress.
A testament to nature's art:
True strength blooms from an open heart.

Sea Glass

The sharp edges
spiky points
that once sliced
mercilessly.
Round and mellow
with age
tempered
by incessant
pounding waves. 
The world now viewed
through an unpolished lens;
a pale blue haze.

Dan's Favorite Birds - 2 of 10 - Belted-kingfisher

The belted kingfisher is a cool dude,
But his girlfriend is even brighter hued.
He's loaded with dazzling features, but
What I like best is his spiky haircut.

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