No slits watching, the lumps draw near
Reforming slowly, the Peak becomes clear
Forming fingers, then twitchy toes
Returning quickly, from Smith's Repose
Streaky strips of pus aligned
On a cage organically mined
Stars above a starless glove
Where fingers coil to give a shove
Lumps leap down from the Seat
Toes and fingers, strike and meet
Wilting flowers with every catch
Further, further, 'til it feels a latch
Writhing round the handle's shape
It has no strength as a mangled cape
Searching inwards, with no eyes
"A SiNgLe pRoBlEm HoLdS mAnY LiEs"
Like how the plant changed temperaments
The carcass embraces the elements
Hugging the hatch, its metal form
A searing goo begins to swarm.
Red-wing blackbirds symbolize protection, good luck, and even prosperity. They’re a reminder that something else is out there watching over us and guiding us when necessary - Quote by Vanessa K. Eccles
---------------------------------------
Zorro of lakeshores, coasts,
waterholes amidst tall reeds
Redkissed on wings, nicely earned
proud yellow shining badges,
worries so much over his
subdued, streaky brown missus
bossing around claiming digs,
ruling the roost, many gals -
fearless keeper of his lot
he whistles, she chatters mild
A Monoku by: Ink Empress
The ink of my skin doesn't define me nor does it construe my poetry.
Am I not human to your eyes?
Do you not see my soul inside that streaky mirror of yours ?
Have you forgotten, that I have a story too?
Beneath the canopy of heaven
God has Bisqued me and left you white,
some he even inked them yellow.
We each have our own unique skin tone,
bone is bone I wasn't meant to be alone.
Bigotry is not acceptable in a world where our heritage
is something we are born in, not something we chose.
Love me as if I were your neighbor, treat me as a brother a sister,
for I hunger just like you and I dream just like you
Am I not human to your eyes?
When you look at the color of my skin,
do you see me, ...as your next of kin?
By: Mystic Rose
In the Moment
There was a happening
in the sky last evening
just before sunset
pregnant Cumulous clouds
streaky Cirrus clouds
and even the ones that
look like flying saucers
all there in a thousand
shades of gray with bright
sun beginning to fall
beneath the continental divide
the space between the clouds and
the Rocky Mountains shone
brilliant blue tinged with
golden light at the point
where the sky and peaks
touched in a magical kiss
facing toward the foothills
it was a critical mass moment
set up for a rainbow to
appear on the great plains
behind me and paint the
heavens with color and awe
eyes looked to the eastern
sky with hopeful anticipation
there it was… a double rainbow
each end touching the earth
in perfect arcs
so bright and beautiful that
tears formed in the eyes of
those standing around with
heads tilted upward
smiles opened on each face
as vibrantly alive colors
shone against the gray palette
of clouds and the full spectrum
electric Crayola brilliance made
for a sacred moment of silence
as the earth stood still…
When I boot up, my screen starts to flash.
I’m thinking that, the hard drive might crash.
Then, strange grunting sounds, I start to hear.
And I’m hoping that, it’s not my worst fear.
My colors are streaky. My screen looks all freaky.
I’m all alone, and something is creaky.
I’m sure hoping my hard drive don’t crash.
But, something should happen, ‘cause I’m out of cash.
Moaning sounds coming from the box that’s oblique.
And I start to think, that’s it’s something unique.
Maybe it’s something, a technician could tweak.
Then, I’ll get it fixed, maybe later this week.
It’s starting to thunder, and I start to wonder,
What if it’s not over, but from down under.
What will I do, if my hard drive should crash.
Just when I happen, to be out of cash.
carry me home in a pot of severed circles
i must become a square to become more well rounded
i am but a recluse giving french kisses to the public eye
visine is the stop sign caution of the day
at night i have the flashlight sniffles as a direct pathway to clarity
my body feels soapy but there is no streaky scene i'm squeaky clean
i invite myself to ceremonies where all themes are monolithic
i take several falls until i stand with all bones broken
nothing makes sense anymore so i stop sensing
nothing has a groove anymore so i imitate max headroom
nothing pulls me in anymore so i push myself to outer limits
when nothing is left i will be one with the deer and such
jigsaw puzzles become shards of glass of wilted, fragmented souls
this is what we call life now but there will always be disagreements
The 1960's were pretty freaky
The British invasion pretty sneaky
Old Guard politics pretty creaky
(America's favorite dessert a Twinkie)
Folk singers and protest songs pretty cheeky
~ Bob Dylan's voice gravelly and pretty squeaky
Barry Goldwater's horn-rimmed specs plenty geeky
Boston Celtics' championship run plenty streaky
(Kids 'of all ages' favorite toy a Slinky)
Woodstock Music Festival's skies plenty leaky
Jimmy Hendrix' Star-Spangled Banner provocatively neat-key
~ Not to mention the paleoanthropological excavations and monkeyshines
of Louis and Mary Leakey!
September morn flutters its bright wings
Radiant colors of love and joy it all brings
Never just a dream
Drizzles fuse with summer air in delight
Rainbow looms are strewn in vast site
They perfectly prim
September smiles brandish vibrantly on air
Virgon-Libran Stars pace dazzlingly in flair
Trees arc overhead
Gilded crackers carpet densely around
Others in streaky flames stud…abound
Let’s frolic and tread
September aroma wafts, whirls… swirls
Bracing breeze bounces, dances, twirls
A lavish confetti-bearer
Overture of year’s most awaiting parts
Enchanting hues rain from the start
Ber Months’ fun greeter
Sept. 23, 2016 (Fri) 9.59pm
©2016Leonora Galinta
I wrote this poem to greet you all lovingly a Very Happy and Blessed September!
Also, a very Happy Birthday to the September Celebrants especially to our very dear poet and friend, Andrea D. Her very special day was last Sept 5. Once again, Happy, Happy Birthday! This poem is for You and for all my/our dear Septemberian poetic friends. Wishing you the BEST in life especially Good Health, Happiness and Success. Biggest and sweetest hugs from me.
I Love and miss you all!
Visit a place where you’ve not been before
And the first thing you face is the sturdy front door.
Of fiberglass, oak, tempered glass, even steel,
The entryway should have a certain appeal.
My country home door, though, was streaky with rust.
The paint was all puckered, the cracks filled with dust.
The glass in the windows no longer got clean;
My husband was tired of changing the screen.
So I finally gave in and we got a new door,
A portal to spiff up the entry décor.
It isn’t embellished, just simple and plain
But it’s neat, a condition I hope to maintain.
When visitors come, they may notice or not
For most likely, the old one was one they forgot
But I’ll welcome them all with the door opened wide
And embrace every one that I usher inside.
It’s flowing quickly down the wall
From your black, bleeding heart
Rivulets and bright ruddy pools
As flesh and bone do part
Linear flow and gravity
Makes it so nice and fine
Red droplets and streaky scarlet
A stretched out bloody line
©Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.
Spring
After the clouds broke
on the shimmering puddle
Streaky sunshine danced
6/26/2014
Keep
Away from
Your concave mirror
Streaky, glassy identity
Faceless
©Drake J. Eszes
My 1st attempt in this form. I hope you all like. I read a description on what a Cinquain consists of from my dear pal, Nette Onclaud, on this form. I felt, why the hell not? So, I dabbled..."
The miles that keep us far apart
are endless, unforgiving,
the house is sold, got calls to make,
a guy must make a living.
Roads and motels separate us,
simple things that stretch and tear,
leave us yearning for each other,
distance is too much to bear.
Streaky windshield blocks my vision,
get gassed up and check the oil,
change the blades and grab a burger,
Egg McMuffin's 'bout to spoil.
Maryland, then West Virginia,
white line fever, neon lights,
blurred then blinded by a downpour,
makes it hard to see at night.
Monday morning, Georgia state line,
Florida is beckoning,
I'll be in Tampa before noontime,
easy by my reckoning.
Minutes from my destination
and a brand new neighbourhood,
soon I'll see my wife and children,
things are surely lookin' good!
Chicory and parsley soup
smoked streaky bacon
devilled prawn notepaper bread
sweet sandwich granache
buttermilk snow with
pink rhubarb
Drool !
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