In the field I'm looking at,
I don't see a thing that's flat.
I guess I need perspective
so that I can be effective
in rendering on paper,
lines that gently taper
as I move my eyes on -
ever toward the horizon.
I can put a mouse up front,
bigger than an elephant.
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness; but still will keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.” (John Keats)
************
Grammy’s hands were porcelain monuments,
each finger a taper of borrowed moonlight.
She posed them on plush velvet, her wrists arched,
for cameras that loved their silent eloquence~
a beautiful ballet of knuckles and patience,
selling rings, lotions, and the illusion of grace.
Decades of lemon baths, lotion, and almond oil,
nails cut and buffed to crescent moons, never chipped.
Her knuckles, delicate hinges, refused the
swell of arthritis—time’s gift of a life well spent.
Now her hands rest, folded like origami,
still flawless, still waiting for the lens to flicker.
That small corner
of the garden has been
in the shade since May -
this morning the sun
has made it back
and lit the dark
with a single taper of light
as if giving winter notice
that spring is on its way.
With a look in the mirror I see
I'm as round as a bumble-ing bee.
Having so much on show
(yes, wherever I go)
a tri-kini I'll need at the sea
Though some people may say that I'm stout,
do they know what they're talking about?
In all matters of size,
the beholder's blue eyes,
discern only the parts hanging out
But in order to taper and trim
will require I burn at the gym.
So I think that I'll start
with a blueberry tart
so I'll have enough vigor and vim.
To reduce my excess was the quest
so it's needless to say I was stressed.
Eating soup made of prunes
through the pale afternoons…
Well then now you can guess all the rest.
snow flakes taper off
snow turns into slushy mess
rivers over run
When I'm in doubt
You'll see me reaching out
It's not for clout
It's words that I tout
I'm afraid of the debtor
But I try to do better
I want to be a record setter
Like a real go getter
When everything is falling
My lines are inane and sprawling
But this was my calling
And the rush I get is enthralling
And if I chew some mints
My rhymes will be fresh, it's common sense
But when the stanzas are tense
Maybe I should erect a fence
But as everything begins to taper
I'm staring down at this paper
Feeling like I'm a callous caper
And my words disappear like vapor
Something was stolen from me
A secret I held inside from which I can't be free
I'm still me but it's here for you to see
And I yearn to break free and flee
I'm a man so nobody will come saving
So into the darkness I'm braving
And it's a dark road I'm paving
But it's the light I'm craving
When I'm in doubt
You'll see me reaching out
But when you see me reaching out
That is when I'm shrouded in doubt
I hear the spring in the rustling of blooms
I gasp and snort your beautiful perfumes
Oh, spring your hidden wangle taper trees
Convey me all you've revealed to the seas
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Welcome autumn, under this starry sky
Let your bright harvest moonshine in my eye
Kiss me, fall, in a cool entrancing path
Will turn all you touch into a bright swathe.
Written: March 26, 2023
Collaborate With Me
Sponsor: Joanna Daniel
Syllable count: 10 syllables per line
Rhyming pattern: aabb aabb
Used howmanysyllables and rhymezone
Theme: Nature
You are the author of this book
The words, sentences, paragraphs, and chapters
Write well, and fear and procrastination do unhook
So this book, your book, can dwell hereafter
Write with intent and purpose
Make sure to use a good pen and paper
Remember to hone the body with an excursus
Make certain your print is emboldened with no taper
A masterpiece that is colorful, loving, bold, and clever
A true page flipper, a reader's delight
Like Hemingway, but your way, a New York Times bestseller
Write your book with veracity and with all your might
So write, and write very well, my lad
Tell your tale like Canterbury, as did Chaucer
Let your ink indelibly imprint the world pad
Go ahead and cast your best words because, in this book, you are the author
Tensing, and about to move,
Clouds hover twisting with hoof,
Lingo parapentes this flush body:
Hurling shavings’ stop the prove.
A whale, psycho or streetlight:
Moss convenes the hefty truss,
Armoured spears fling to the bat,
Frozen in time to lure the buzz.
Naked! Bereft of pen and paper -
Paparazzi’s might slithers in dipole:
Collision kills this vapour, tribe, vibe;
The soul fraps, flapping a gold taper.
Whence is thy labour parapet -
Where are your stations and grain?
Why are solid requests paraphernalia?
When adjustments are fisture gain.
How you loath me - the self, soul:
Incanting verse and troth to fight;
Whilst proxy, spread, call, sound,
Legitimise oozing, sore canons - tight.
Butterflies come from caterpillars,
The human comes from trait, said dead,
Poesy loves grammatical technology,
And diversity clothes in personal thread.
O self, worldwide! How do you drift?
The miniature scoops cleaving the spirit:
Fine detail creates the abstract flint beside,
And structure charts float the pixel’s sift.
Dominique Webb
Hang a left, clunker rocking
on sprung shocks.
Inside,
narrows taper to booths.
The place is slow-time empty.
The staff talk is griddle speech,
a blow by blow banter,
middle finger smarts mixed with
vowels of regrets.
From the lips of waitresses
the clipped history
of shaky affairs
and dead-loss dudes.
False gods named,
Tod, Ricky, and Wayne
a bruised chatter -
ankle-swelling narrations
that break apart unfulfilled.
Food arrives with a woman,
dimples nap in work-weary cheeks.
Her necklace is ink,
yet it hangs over glancing eyes
as a low-cut caress.
She knows I’ve been listening,
yet continues unabashed
a colloquy with my senses.
reciting by rote a silent
'tip-me-big' love spell.
Sometimes it emerges, often buried
Surfaced through various triggers
A match lights the taper
Feelings of helplessness, like grass bent in an uncontrollable wind
Then at a step too far, a push over the line, over the limit
It comes out, feelings blown asunder, yet clear control,
This anger, is it with others or of my self
Never external through violence but strong, direct, steely
I am sent air ward, elevated blood, pulse, all heightened
And after? A time to reflect, mirrored back
Face in the glass, forced to face
Inward critic, was it me? Genuine nonetheless
And then what
Does it go? Quenched, resolved?
I have no answer for this
Only the aftertaste of emotive experience
Shared perhaps, seeking other view
Bringing solace? I don’t know for real
Yet after time it does fade
Until the next flare, the next ignition
I wait with expectation, I hope I learn
From each angry moment
Stillborn
Still dead
Still arms, legs,
And a head
Still eyes open
Spoken
Still ripped from utero
Still time to go
A dream instead
From cells molded
Knees folded
Named like me
Who was she?
And the word stillborn
Dreams torn
Word so bleak
From eyes
Tears leak
In coffins buried
Procession not hurried
For two lives gone
Having never seen dawn
Developed with them
Born with them
Then why me?
Why was I
Determined to be?
To exist and they don’t
To feel and they won’t
I’ve made memories alone
Without them, on my own
Existed into adulthood
Stood on ground -
But oh the sound
I cannot imagine it
My mother screaming
Her voice turned grit
As the doctors and nurses
Worked as it worsens
As it was clear breath
Breath was none
It was clear they had
Only a son.
There lives live
With each word I give
To this paper
Their memory; their lives
Will not taper
Realm of humankind wheedled in reset,
Homeland beray, lull to beset,
Scrawling the parchment to a keyset,
Xenophobia in callousness,
Dearth to darn the clout concord.
Orness synergy alliance the terrene.
Berth errand the rassle office,
Commissions detach the hassle orifice...
Pensile the ensile spirits,
Circumscissile recoiled resiliency,
Nuanced tensile expansionism...
Normalise a new normal,
Order the prime heart to bloom,
Taper our united dreg to blossom...
Blight in frights,
Dight the twinight against any affright,
Infinity within.
Submission
By Beverly Stock
I called the editor knowing
That my temper would be showing
And said the following to him:
“I sent a poem here, sir”
(I said growing fiercer,)
“And the subject which
I’d chosen, Sir, was Spring.”
“ I just scanned your paper,
By sunlight, torch and taper,
Of my poem, I do not see a thing”
He spoke, I’m sure it was a fib,
Said he, smug and very glib,
“Of the sixty-one submitted, we printed one.”
“And we’ve decided they should be divided
Among the years then reunited
With a new one each succeeding Spring.”
“Your submission, I’m pleased to mention-”
Will receive our best attention
In our Spring Edition - 2081.”
Tantalising shadows
taper moonlight lovebirds
tender coo and sigh that
trace heartbeat neap tide verve
tango tingled eye beams
tease nocturnal haunt’s oath
to otherworld eros
Date written : 27th April 2021
Contest : Pleiades T Poetry Contest
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