LIMERIA LINEALLY LOCATIVE INSPIRATION
I imitate insensitively into an interplanetary, interval
as
manorial misdirection modified me
not
my monsignor narcissus natal nonvisual neophobi mockery
but
polariscope proficiency protracted our prolonged pseudowintera plumping
for
serious sapient stillness stockholding
those
unalterable teenaged thirties transitively through to
a venturesome vagueness 'would be wedding'
with willamette we vowelise
ALLITERATIVE CINQUAIN Aug 24
could crabbedness credibly crumpled caring centre?
forcibly fluttering faultily from faintness
manorial monsignor modified my misdirection mockery
sapient sandboy serious statice smuggler
teenaged tassel through to their thirties
you, me, she and she
love is us, the four of us,
you, me, she and she.
it is the way we bust out
in spontaneous dance moves
in the middle of our living room
when our fam-fave beat comes on
and we turn the stereo way up too loud
and you do your dorky daddy dance for us
because it makes us laugh so hard we have to stop
and wipe our eyes, double over, hold our tummies.
and I show off old moves because I have rhythm, and
older she does teenaged turns of crazy control
while younger she is a nine-year-old free for all,
four smiley faces dancing in our circle
lost in the beat of the song, the
beating of our one heart.
life is us, the four of us.
you and me, she and she.
A muted awakening this morning
By a gentle wind driven rain
Beating a light tat rat tat rat
On the half open window pane,
Waking me with the trio of
Rain, whispering breeze
And the sighing of swaying
Many branched trees,
Rolling back the memories,
Teenaged late mornings in bed
In the little village cottage
Hands clasped behind my head
In a sort of magic detached state
Of wind and tree and bird song
Peaceful, enduring, lasting
The whole day and night long.
A world never ever thought to change
But, now except in memory, long gone.
Time’s moved on, life got faster
Villages no longer isolated
As distances shrunk,
Journey times decimated
And, in my old age in my home
Once again encircled by trees
I can lie in bed in my dotage and
Once again listen to a singing breeze,
Recapture that sense of awe and peace
With a noise that can never ever fail
To bring me peace in advancing age.
Is life a circle, a snake biting it’s tail’
Does time, in some way reverse
And then restart its flow
As fashions start and stop
And trends and foibles come and go.
She seemed to float into the dance.
Stunning, emerald-like, on a silver cloud.
With ruby red lips, whispering velvet sounds.
We, young girls, knew we hadn’t a chance.
Our clothes were anything but magical.
Teenaged girls, were overcome by her beauty.
Boys hypnotized ,ogling her, as if it was their duty?
Her beauty, we saw was nearly celestial!
I wondered, could I ever look like her?
Where does one become a temptress,
That leaves boys so totally breathless?
The alarm clock rang, my dream was a blur.
I-21-2022
~1~
If you have movies taken back
When you were just a child,
You’ll know that seeing everyone
So young is really wild.
The clothes, the styles, the mannerisms
Take you to that time
When some on screen most likely had
Been living in their prime.
“Get Back” by Peter Jackson
Gives us all a chance to see
The Beatles at their finest
And most viewers would agree
That it captures, like in amber,
Glimpses perfectly preserved
Of four artists hard at work,
A process very few observed.
For the fans, it’s like rare treasure
We’ve been told that we can share,
When we didn’t even realize
All the riches waiting there.
As I watch, I’m not a nana
Or a teacher or a wife
But a teenaged girl just starting
On the path that’s been my life.
Cosmopolitan look of this CEO
Perfectly carved in a ratio
Suit dark suits him much
He rocks in all seasons such
Hailing from Guntur chilli region
Bay of Bengal being his swimming station
Blessed with two teenaged gals
Fortunate to have princesses and pals
May his birthday fetch him success
With peace prolific and royal riches..!
The sweet bird songs heard at the break of dawn
Mixed with the sound of sprinklers on the lawn
Neighbors readied boats for bobs in the bay
Morning papers landed in each driveway
Boxy air units were wedged into sills
A mailman in shorts delivered the bills
I rode my bike downhill to feel the breeze
Getting vitamin D was done with ease
Voluptuous housewives gloved in the garden
Black barbecue grills covered in carbon
Thirsty drooping plants on blazing back decks
Lobster red shoulder blades and sunburnt necks
Lunch was a sandwich and chips in the shade
Washed down with a glass of pink lemonade
Money was made from the grass I would mow
Listened to baseball on my old radio
On towels in backyards lounged sun seekers
Chlorophyll stained the tips of my sneakers
The mower’s blade spun like a propeller
Musty scents wafted up from our cellar
Plump purple mulberries there for the pluck
The beckoning sounds of the ice cream truck
Mom cooked supper and the heat was obscene
Hamburgers, tater tots, and cowboy beans
I ate with gusto like a death row man
Napkins aloft from the rotating fan
Symphony by crickets under the stars
Blinking fireflies and candles in jars
I am a teenaged girl in
The year 1988
I'm so full of excitement
To be going on this date
As I get myself ready
I really must say,
It really can't be good
To use this much hair spray.
Big hair and bright colors
Is the style today
A shirt off the shoulder
Or jeans that are frayed.
My date has arrived
flowers are on my wrist
I take one more look
To make sure nothing has been missed
The gyms filled with streamers
balloons floating in the air.
We see our friends
andmake our way over there
They played the best music
Bands I like to listen to
Madonna, Van Halen,
The Cure and U2
We danced all night
And had such a blast
Dancing and laughing
I wished it all would last.
Some time from now
I will think of this date
When I went to the dance
As a teen in '88.
3/12/2020
Kim Rodrigues’ DWM Contest
The words written in the past are gone
Nobody will ever read those words
Some would have struck a nerve
Some might have thrown u 4 a curve
My words were knowingly spelled wrong
But they all came from the mind of a poet
There r 2 previous chapters 2 this story
It's been so long since they were read
My lost teenaged soul has been dead
I have not thought of myself as a poet in over a decade
Between my mind, my hands, & the wordz was a blockade
Not anymore! This makes Part 3!
The mind of a poet is lost
Ambitious (4 a month)
Ridiculous (a couple times a month)
Ambiguous (my mind is free, you know what I mean)
Meticulous (when it suits me)
Adventurous (A fancy way of saying lost)
My writing is unique
My style is perfectly imperfect
My grammar is not correct
My words r real
If my words don't rhyme, kick rocks 4 real!
My soul lives on lost pieces of paper
Those words can never be recovered
This chapter is tamer than the other(s)
No sex, no drugs, no alcohol, no murder
Knowing that makes me wanna say, mother f#%ker!
Give me another piece of electronic paper!
This is the mind of a poet, reborn!
Here I am, reminiscing every junction
when poetry and literature peeled my very education
and verbiage and grammatical function
revealed my sense of moody stagnant indications.
Sister Laura questioned every thought that stirred
changing lines and defining the correct poetic form
each cut left a mark from her razor sharpened sword
and in the years that slipped from my teenaged storms
I found clarity out of desperation in the written word.
Stubbornness agonized at any change she made
and every poem I write today reveals
her hidden corrections engraved on every page
that formed my poems, thoughts, ideals to be unsealed.
for Chantelle Anne Cooke's Favorite Teacher contest
Jalopy
J unkyard treasure discovered under a pile of worn tires held together with bailing wire duct tape and faith.
A ntique veteran of time traveled back roads before the miles of asphalt Interstate highways were laid still refusing to retire
L and yacht Titanic once admired by wanting eyes viewed now with glares seeing only your wounds of wear unnoticed is your loyal service
O pulent commander surrendering right of way to compacts and sportscars with reputations of low gas milage performance
P ile of sun tortured rusted metal past resurrection of a Simoniz massage to restore the brillance you once shined when your paint glimmered color
Y our perservance I rewarded with my grin of appreciation everytime the key turned in the ignition sparking life into your forever engine delivering me to another destination.
.
Jalopy my first car introduced me to street freedom a magic carpet with four wheels three on the tree my ride I'd drive with pride in my youth
Jalopy we journeyed teenaged smiling miles together never will I forget open roads with speed that beat the racing wind cruising just me and you Cruising just me and you.
There's more than golf balls on the moon,
More than stars and stripes,
More than lunar rover tracks,
And two subsatellites.
Four hundred thousand pounds of junk
Contaminate the place.
It's sad to think our happy moon's
A teenaged pimple face.
There's more than golf balls on the moon.
The bogeymen are there,
These aliens who lift us from
Our beds without a care.
They've watched us now for many years,
And wonder how we last
When we make war year after year,
Blast after blinking blast.
There's more than golf balls on the moon,
But, alas, no cheese.
There is no water, gold, or oil,
No profit guarantees.
Just little men from outer space
Who watch us from the dunes.
They think we are barbaric,
But they love our Looney Tunes.
I am fat ,I am trapped in my own body
The pain I feel can not be compared to anybody's
Everyday I wake up I feel heavier than yesterday.
I am somehow unhappy but they don't see.
Wherever I walk people stare like a cyclone is in town.
The names they address me by are more heavier than my body.
It's like I am in a far away place of which I scream and scream but despite my screams no one can hear me .
I have no one to blame but myself in this state .
I am unable to be a normal teenager furthermore .
I am unable to live life ,yes I am breathing but I am dead.
For a teenaged girl to live like this is a trauma.
The process of losing weight is much longer than gaining it.
Thus making it difficult for me to look like a model.
I also would like boys to stare at me like I am Beyonce
Fat is the devil in a physical form ,he is constantly attacking me.
Might That Be All There Is?
I've climbed the tallest mountains near
Braved ocean's coral caves,
Pushed legs (as fast as they go dear!)
And carried friends to graves.
I've ridden horses, hit the deck,
The arc feels long to ground,
A friend fell too and broke her neck,
No solace there I've found!
I jumped once from a perfect plane,
But dumber things I've done!
Loved teenaged girl (I'm 'groan!', 'full mane!'),
God's Grace! Man younger won!
Slept naked under falling stars,
Watched lion stroll through camp,
I've counted satellites of Mars,
In evening's dew and damp!
I've skied on star's reflective ice,
Gleaned knowledge where they fall,
By thirty spanned the whole world twice
Is there a curtain call?
And now, at last, a faithful wife,
(Did she catch me? The quiz?)
We love to laugh at all of life,
Might that be all there is?
Long Tooth
August 15, 2018
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