Tapers Poems | Examples

The Thrill Of A Late Summer

visions of children shrieking on clogged shores,
warm swirling gusts topple gaunt sand castles,
games galore thrive in weather dry and bright,
family fun fair gasp and sheer delight,
yet summer’s warm hue festoon tapers off,
whilst journeyed beehive swarm near blue lagoon,
dip their toes in sunny moss fleck torrents,
others seize their madcap visceral thrill,
from dashing down mint green meadows as that,
August time frame segues into autumn

My Furtive Muse

The muzzle flash of the moon is infused with clouds
where the brightness tapers off on knees that poke through
the slit in her dress; the hem slips off her crossed legs.

Gunpowder in sieves flecks her irises
when she glimpses through my lunar haze
of daydreams that I'll trigger her to smile.

A Guns N' Roses song flogs silence in the back-
ground of my mind as she stands to shake
hands I synchronously half-rotate to kiss.

Her wedding ring tastes like zinc, or some strange kettle
of moondust while she avers that I look as pale
as mists conspiring to discover our trail.

Though we can't see her butler crack the whip to keep 
a distant carriage in place,
whinnying clouds beam a grin to her face.

End story

The last vestige of light
silently lingers
with the revillers drunk and blase

Stained windows
empty yesterdays hopes
Socceresses and velvet dolls
only offer their smiles

As the dancers kick like harlequins
your tears are gilded
Questions are divine
mourning for lost friends
Waiting for the sun
as the tapers pass by

Unselfish Heart

Line of inquiry - Ego shorn, here now reborn.

Unselfish Heart

The glow of the unselfish heart
Decorates emptiness with candles
While scattered relics of garden purity
Re-light votives in Babylon
In the gleam of selfless candelas
Nascent tapers breathe new oxygen
In the eternal fire of the Samaritan heart
Lanterns revive requiems for still born joy 
As sunrise glimmers of the merciful spirit
Leave tealights in newborn cradles
When icy enigmatic self-adorations
Flee before incandescent revelations of humility
The glow of the unselfish heart
Decorates new naked selves with candles
Swaddled in the first shy blush
Of tingling flambeaus for new butterflies.

7-2-22
Contest: Ego Shorn, here now reborn
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker

Trixie One Me Zero

Nothing here today for you my imagination says
But I hear a giggle, and sense her wide mouth smile.
So I toss that onto the page

Trixie my in-charge muse turns her back on me. It is a pretty back.
Tapers into a perfect waist. 
I write it up.

Thought they could keep me from my craft?
Ha!
Crone hands me a ripe red juicy apple.
I am so busy fooling imagination and muse,
I accidentally take a b………………………………………………………..

Christmas Poem

The tree branch crossing needles.
Bushy with white rays.
Perched, an angel topside.
Glowing to the gaze.

Ornaments of glass.
Pressed transparent shapes.
Strings that dangle, spin.
Memories in napes.

Skirt below the tree.
Draped and lapped and snug.
Packages on top.
Hovering the rug.

Light bulbs glowing bright.
Bulbs of shiny glass.
Currents flowing faster.
Still to eyes that pass.

Frosted stalky tree.
Towering it tapers.
Rows of magic branches.
Visions turn to vapors.

Happy Larks 1st Poem

Pondering past midnight I rest unsure
If my thoughts and rhymes would be a cure
I seem to have displaced my pen and papers
Don’t’ have a thick candle, only tapers 
A famous poet is my envision
I have cataracts, I’ll need a re-vision.

Can’t decide whether to rhyme or write in prose
Maybe it will be a masterpiece, who knows?
When the words come into focus
I lose them so quickly,   like hocus pocus.

Most often I write in the present tense
Sometimes in a dialogue or even nonsense!
A title name takes some time to decide
Sometimes it’s perfect or it can be cockeyed.
  
This oil lamp provides me with adequate light
I need to stay awake most all night,
I need a word that rhymes with pappy
I know, I’ll use a dwarf’s name of ‘happy’.

So happy and pappy will be in this line
‘Oh my gosh’, Oil in the lamp is low; I’m out of time,
What will I make of this unfinished classic?
Will I get the Pulitzer Award or a jar of pickles from Vlasic?

Perhaps someday someone will pick up this book
Go flipping thru the pages with a frustrating look,
As it stands now, I’m left in the dark
I’ll just end it here, pen name: 
Happy Lark.

Moonlight

When the shining moonlight glows, shimmers,
when the children of nature, so play with glitters.
So grotesque, so strange is the music of waves,
the rhythm of nature, incumbent at the shore.
Along the coastline, amidst the core,
the silence lies, like never before.
Radiance of the the flower dew,
so glowing with the galactic hue.
Amidst the substantial mist of eternity,
the children of nature has played and grew.
When the endless twilight coruscates, glimmers,
The enigma of nature gingerly tapers.

Infant

INFANTS
Infants, infants, 
Infants are like Ngwuor. 
They intoxicates like, 
White hot. 
Some are as whites as firmament 
While some are as black as charcoal. 
Its seeds are yellow as nutri C 
While some are as white as firmament. 
It is too difficult to find and they are exorbitant.  
Some are as beautiful as a queen,
While some are as ugly as Otengwu masquerade; 
Some are as sweet as honey, 
While some are as bitter as bitter leaf. 
I like infants. What about you?
Their branches are used, 
For bed, 
While their sticks are used for brooms, 
But there are used for roofing. 
It serves as medicine but, 
It can also be served as fire wood. 
Tell the blacksmith that we need some keys, 
Tell also the costumers that they needs some of it for as test, 
But forget not to remind, 
Palm wine tapers that they needs much work to do.
Tell the wedding celebrants that the 
Horse and its messengers are here.
Tell the chairman of the the wedding that there still some pots, 
But tell the congregation that the Ngwour is finished.


			
  THEMES
1.	Importance of children
2.	Beauty 
3.	Goodness
4.	Assistance
5.	Upliftment
6.	Prayer

What

This is...
morning gilded
in remorse
how can I wake unfettered?
My life was never my own
each day beckons
a loosening shackle
so I wear my fog
and go
toward a promise
toward myself
poking holes in my shell
letting light peak 
in tapers like brilliant baby eyes
tiny and immeasurable
but this shell never cracks
I am a loathsome embryo
because I repair it
I willed it
so I maintain my prison
and no magic word
can break my will
no fear can match my own.

Slightl-Y-0ff

Hi… 
My name is Ironic Zinc. 
Too say the entire-less— 
Slightly-off— 
Voices echo throughout my inner being—as I… 
Wonder-what— 
Hat I may have thought— 
Questionable words; form files their suited claims— 
An accused, individual society remarkably remains… 
Damaged goods we are—indeed... 
Shore-lined banks cash-crop imprint—seed... 
Fragmented normality scarcely separates cooperation— 
Fears' hijack hope; microscopic humanity blurts humiliation— 
Sun evaporates tampered matter; yesterday's conspire… 
Man-lung-worm tapers; tomorrow’s desperate respire… 
Hat I may have thought— 
Wonder-what— 
Voices echo throughout my inner being—as I… 
Slightly-off— 
Too say the entire-less— 
My name is Ironic Zinc. 
Hi… 
 
Ironic Zinc (--)

Christmas Poem

The tree branch crossing needles.
Bushy with white rays.
Perched, an angel topside.
Glowing to the gaze.

Ornaments of glass.
Pressed transparent shapes.
Strings that dangle, spin.
Memories in napes.

Skirt below the tree.
Draped and lapped and snug.
Packages on top.
Hovering the rug.

Light bulbs glowing bright.
Bulbs of shiny glass.
Currents flowing faster.
Still to eyes that pass.

Frosted stalky tree.
Towering it tapers.
Rows of magic branches.
Visions turn to vapors.

Happy Husband Hears No Alarm

Waking with a smile, eyes bouncing green, dear husband
makes me hold back my scream, desire to pull over sheets.
Later, I find you sitting like Buddha, gazing at the land,
shifting as each birds lifts and soars and tweet tweets.

I watch you in silence, pick up slippers, my piles of papers
find my own breakfast to leave you undisturbed in dream,
you thank me so many ways, your face relaxed, finger tapers
held on belly, sometimes I wonder if you see past the gleam

Of heavenly contentment, lap of pool, sun blazing warm
the face so bruised by clenched jaw now so smooth
I never dare to battle you, drive you against walls or alarm.
Retirement is a silence of weighty falling before well oiled groove.

Tapers

It went through me
the hot day;
vaulting back.
at night.
To hustle the poetry things.

Weary of the luminous
dials. I want to
think in dark.

*

The bookcase was empty.
Croaking words
had departed for
greener pastures.

Hold on.
I am coming to
defuse the grenades.


Satish Verma

Winter Soliloquy

Icicles hang like translucent,
Inverted tapers from house eaves.
Seventy-two winters are spent
but now another winter freeze
wreathes my study window with ice.
How many winters have I left?
Three, Five, perhaps if I’m blessed, thrice
as many-- I’ll not hold my breath
as though it were a death sentence;
Hell no! Life’s too short as it is
to think about morbid nonsense
(besides, all things have their finis.)
Yet I’m alive and winters here
I raise my half-brimmed coffee cup
and toast my seventy-third year!
May I see it through; bottoms up!

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