Tipped Poems | Examples

I’m an idiot; I keep bending
my feather-tipped thumb

like lumber; not limber
this knuckle bone nail

painted cheap-pink; thinks
only of ink in bottomless pit

push, press, plunk; put on
the old brace to restrain

but don’t you know; the sucker
will escape ‘cause the writer

just can’t give it a rest; useless
to try - won’t cut it off, right?!

                        Write!
                                  .
                                    .
                                      .
                                     .
                                     .
                                     .

i'm in a class i 
never come to

in a seat
 that feels like
                      it’s 
                            about to 
                                    fall

I pour as easily as a second glass of wine, I like to think I'm just as bittersweet too. 
I leave notes of passion that often evolve into a song of "its not you, it's me." 
I hurl myself into the worst "what if's", tormenting myself for absolutely no reason whatsoever.
I project a sense of love that you will want to bask in, forever. I will let you.
I strive to make you smile, and often let your smile become more important than my own.
I have trouble with letting people and feelings in too quickly and-
I love you.
I wish for nothing more, than the same wild, crazy, thing in return.

Those pink grey nights
Where grumbling echoes
of distant cars
parade with sounds of drunken
brawls
Staring at bristled
arm hairs
as ice castles form upon their tips
Night shivers through me
and each step
the next ice mask
forms
beyond the skin
that begs its touch

How cheerfully the goldfinch sings
At rest from undulating flight, 
A bar of gold on charcoal wings
And crown of scarlet, black and white.

I love to hear his cheerful trill
As tasty teasel seeds he spies.
With long fine beak he takes his fill
Then off on gold-tipped wings he flies.

19.02.19

'Songbirds Contest' :Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin

I tipped 
My hat today 
To a nice 
Fine hunny 
And what was 
Said was 
Good day 
And what  
She did  
Was bless 
My way

Wood,
she gazed across to their titanium towers
from her granite perch across the wide

fair and wandering
what's
written for her;

and her ladder rungless,
jake's steps swallowed up,
feathers pouring through
like ripe red sack
from defrocked casks as
dusk starts dining
on the day:

night's spigot --
this delirious inkpot
tipped.

A drop to tongue
She plays the rub to lick
Close and encircled i shiver
As her joy reaches new heights;

Nipple to the touch
Wet lips in smoky mist
Cold warmth to skin quivers
Crush my desire in your heat;

Silky soft sips
Hot liquid fire to burn
Separated walls in cries
Yearnings reaching for the sky;

Quick temptation in grips
As love mushrooms in action?

At that time
I was thinking something else
when you gave me a half-kiss,
my winter naked moon.

A souvenir left by sun
for the sake of night. I remembered
pink roses
unpetaling green thighs-

for quest of shelter in civil war
of reminiscences.Merciful was the landslide
which buried the whispers of
dead dreams.

Unpretending, unleaping, the ocean
sucks the grief of clouds. The
rains have started a dance
for the suicidal gods.



Satish Verma

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