Squints Poems | Examples

Snippets of Spring vol 2

Lyricism of wisteria ruses…peacocking muses gushing tomes

Classicism flocking..roams & woos homes not garden gnomes

Colourful creepers cruising..schmoozing with boisterously blushing bricks

Spring exudes mysticism..oozes oodles of bamboozling serendipity flushing

Cherished fingers rushing freely..delivers..unctuous ravishingly rambunctious

Relished slivers lavishly lingers..embellished..proudly protrudes

Inspires rhyming platitudes about gratitude...fires fresh

Attitudes across a range of altitudes & latitudes

Sprinkling wryly of vintner's drily sparkle...ends strange debacle...

Skint stints of wily skinflint winter’s splinters..with hints of now..Spring sprints

But also somehow.. if one squints..get an inkling of change..

Glints of summer's tints slyly twinkling

The Loves of My Life

Strangers wander about outside my window glass (gift daydreams to hurry along my time clocked in) 

Roomie erupts into our pod post-trek home (every 4:57pm, I – a dog – wonder at her return)

Dad scribbles out his end of week “thought you’d get a kick out of” list (always squints to read on call) 

Partner hoists arms to let me settle on their chest before sleep (I regale, they smile, I quiet, they breathe) 

Me, myself, I pick how to spend each second (growing weeping willow, who will sway or stay?)

The House of Mirth

Welcome to the house of mirth,
humble dwelling of my birth.
All things here are for your leisure,
it is but a simple pleasure.

Step across the welcome mat,
wipe your shoes and hang your hat.
Oh my word you're looking thinner,
take a seat and have some dinner.

Wine will help quench your desire,
smoke your pipe beside the fire.
Now that you've been wined and fed,
here's a place to lay your head.

Then on the new dawn when you rise,
and the morning sun squints your eyes.
A quick repast to start your day,
grab hat and shoes and on your way.

Eye sores

     ribbon of highway

    gleams far into the future

       today squints... can’t see

Don't Ask Me

mindless Frankenstein,
single-minded,
and her voracious, faithful dog 
with a seventy-foot tail, 
lifting carpets, sliding sofas,
slurping everything in sight,
with a bottomless pit for an appetite,
metal, insects, dead mice, coins,
fingernail clippings, fleas, spider brains -  
It gurgles and wretches 
over paper scraps from childish sketches,
embarrassing for a howling dog,
who wears his name, Hoover, in a stamp
on his bulging side,
a reverse Pandora's box of a canine,
pop him and you see all 
your old friends again,
dreams long dead, come alive, 
but he's roaring like a 
dragon in a Godzilla audition,
and he's got you in his crosshairs,
with a Duranteater snout,
as Ms. Frankenstein squints,
looking for hints,
turning every stone,
so, you gotta keep movin.
she's got murder in her eye.
she won't bake you in pie.
you won't even die.
she's gonna put you in oblivion.
every bit of dirt is gone.
only, you, the dirt king,
emperor of disgust,
crown prince of crud,
evade her tenacity.
finally, sleeping soundly
on a chair's bottom side, 
as she falls with a thud,
and Fido hides in the corner, 
moaning.

MUSINGS

in 
streams
of
  conscious
   musings
imaginations
   of my mind
appear
from
experience past
   & present
then
     linger long

dusted off
   re-opened
viewed 
in
retrospective
  perspective
      changes all

maturity
    squints aghast
in 
    mellowness of memory

The Brutal Truth collaboration with Sandra Weiss

My mirror tells the brutal truth,
a woeful tale of vanished youth

Where one eye squints and one eye shines
and broken dreams are long dark lines.

Emotionless and coldly callous
Honesty without spite or malice

Shamelessly silent yet telling all
Reflecting the writing on the wall. 

An image appearing all too clear
Becomes too telling, too austere

Once colorful hues seen on display
Have now faded into a dismal gray

To know and see what is real and true
But then to sadly regret the view.

Telling myself it doesn't matter
Yet knowing, one is bound to shatter.


            Sandra Weiss
                  Daniel Turner

Long Drive

Night clings.
You sigh through the gears,
wave-ride after-shocks,
follow stretched-out beams
into the first gray unveiling
of the light

The sky can now be seen
shadowing itself.
Clouds weep dry tears,
and yet leave puddles
around your eyes.

A cloaked dawn
squints,
flickers weakly over the lower lid
of a lifting horizon.
A tepid sun has
pastes itself onto the distance.

So far,
the road ahead has had a blind ability
to avoid the Niagara’s or the Grand Canyons
of trouble ahead.
Just as well
for your mind has been sleep-driving.
The drunk rocking of a back axle
warns you of a rift in the drift.

You pull over for some eye squeezing moments.
Feel the road still racing up and down
your spine.

Phone in hand
your voice sounds hollow,
as you explain how first light
came late,
and it is really slowing you down.

Fire

Everywhere known as the Red Hot,
For which it is also Near Not
You try it skin won’t like the spot
Awaits the eye the worse-than-blot…

Everywhere hated for its smoke,
Smoke sneaking into eyes not a joke;
In emergency tears eyes soak,
Big frowns and squints by the taxed bloke…

What fire does is keep burning, 
For a torched house triggered mourning,
Watchers; innards badly churning,
For fire fighter eyes turning!

Still, the best labor to hire
For kitchen jobs that don’t tire:
The plantains and yams we would fry
Or after some denied days cry,
The soup good chefs cook as a group
For events hyped by a paid troupe,
Hot fluid for brass monkey weather
To one save shakes like a feather…

Yes, for cold water we should boil
So that we won’t after bath coil.

Seasons

He smells the passion and perfume,
the mild and manic moments
of a young love.

Here comes a ragged flight of crows;
he squints in the cold sunlight.
Blue shadows glimmer and glint.

He has a lover in mind;
a dead one,
the crows carry her memory to him.
The aroma of deep red wine,
silk stockings discarded
yet still writhing and tangling.
The clumsy sincerity
of sexual pantomimes,

Tipsy lipreading's of arousal
utter their naked words,
glimmers sculpture
tantric passions into recollection.

He wonders
did any of this change -
the girl, the crows, the tidal musk,
the surfacing ebb and flow
the sense of it all?

Autumnal flares
restore a late warmth
to cooling images.
The long-lived
out run their dreams.

Ardor awakens once more
between scarlet lips.
It's a kindred, half-living
kind of being.

The seasoned
shelter such memories
under concealing crows feet,
or beneath
chameleon-lidded eyes.

Consciousness Refined

STREAMS OF CONSCIOUSNESS
The imaginary musings of my mind,
experience past & present lingers long,
dusted off,re-opened,viewed from time to time,
retrospective perspective changes all;
Maturity's long-sightedness squints aghast,
then savours the mellowness of memory;
A tear,a smile washes nostalgia's face;
Today will be yesterday,gathering dust,
then filed,microfiched,all too soon forgotten
'til an event unlocks the museum again.


Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2010

Lace

Brightness peeps into
yellowing net curtains;
brief wafts of a semaphore sky.

An elderly lady has planted her mind
in an apartment,
lightbulbs burn out, are never replaced;
sunshine squints through thin drapes.

Daily she shoos the world away,
discourages rumors
of unnecessary things.
Mail piles up
on her unwelcome mat.

Journey

Begins from the unknown caves,
Waxing and waning till graves;
Progresses journey; squints, slants, 
Through rough rocks and softest sands...!

In its silent secrets, sweet,
Trifles turn tough; targets treat;  
Trackless trails merrily merge, 
Rivers and rivulets surge...!

Dearly deemed destinations,
Ease endless explorations;
To pilgrims of perfection,
Peace propels pure protection...!

I'll stay patiently trusting,
Each step to God entrusting;
I'll, my journey, enjoy whole,
Gaining solace to my soul...!


21 March 2022
Form J - Just Write Me a New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France

Cheater and Cheator

Like two paynim peas in a pod,
their scurvy color
lipslick scheme is sour green

Got beady black eyes
scam shady — 
A graft gaze that squints bifurcated focus
from hocus-pocus pupils;
whose tainted teal look-see, aperture con-fidence teach
a vulture view!

Crafty condor blinkers reflect
cunning thoughts 
with a subtil snake-oil sheen

The scales of their subliminal deception
weighs silver speak fugazi
forge fraught
Cheating and conniving is the gold hush standard
of the blarney barker bling-bling

And cheator ear worms
dig every electromagnetic crypt-ic message
that the swindle Svengali sing-sing

Cabbage cheater chants
grow robber root rancor on the 
dire dark,
underbelly dusk horizon

Them pickpocket pants,
pig feet parlance, 
taste liquidity legume leper-con unlucky 
on welsh rabbit tongues 


01-12-22

Instants

Momentarily he is a lad again
smelling the perfume of a young love.

Now on this morning, the snow carries
a peppermint and lilac scent
and he an old man searching.

Here comes a ragged flight of crows,
he squints in the cold sunlight dazzled.
He recalls the same crows
when he was young, the same bright snow
almost blue under their wings.

Did any of this change -
the girl, the crows, the scent,
the sense of it all?

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