Un-certainty..' Events beyond Biblical..
Being prepared for you.' Fire
For for your desire, a black heat though.?
Coming from just where
( you do not know )
It is intense, with the energy; all the energy
Of lives you have sqandered, including the
Ones that collectivly you self-relinquished
Such will your future be.' The delivery in inevitable..The sender is satan, he in indentured to dispense you wages, this is
( the gift that keeps on giving ) guys..' or gals...? I does not really really ( matter! )
View it as 'gender-indifferent?' Though most malevolent he can't help it by the way ' he is typecast by choice..And i beleive he ( means well?) Well for himself
Anyway..' But he can't cut the mustard.'
his gambit is completely busted, a busy fool is he, gambling on hostage taking.'
Obstinate to the enth; hell, of all degrees.'
Where lies the loneliness of the night?
Its dark shadow stirs beneath the eyes, the mind will float aimlessly in a dreamlike state.
Beyond the window pane hides the truth
Its howls and cries muted, the beast, where mares are formed, escapes its shackled lair.
Tossing and lashing, the nocturnal wanderer lusts after its next prey.
What malevolent force walks the street each night
whilst cotton shrouds the innocence of man.
Hours chime to dawn and with it the sanctuary of morning light.
The twilight preludes the backstory of our fears that manifest to a nocturnal cycle of twists and turns wrapped in a sweated sheet. We are the authors but typecast as the protagonist of the weak, narrating each chapter from our subconscious pool where the last page is torn from the spine and the end never comes.
We rise, battered and bruised, pieces of us lie scattered about the bedroom floor. We try to remember, we try to forget in equal measure the scenes of our play for today. The cast slowly walks away, stage right to dust, and we carry on.
This word has so many prejoratives in the
English Gypsy vocabulary..Here are some
Mark..Them well.' Cagey and darkly so, sly, underhand, nasty, untrustworthy, mockimg, grudging and it
Fits a certain politican exactly.' he seems
Typecast here.'
Afraid to ask
Afraid to cast
Afraid to hear
Afraid of jeer
Fear is delaying truth
Fear is growing from youth
Fear is reliving the past
Fear is irrational typecast
Asking diffuses fear
Talking reduces veering
Trying clears fear
Chose to steer
Typecast pivot rips past apart
Scars inflicted by the furnace
Scatter derma with war stars
Astronomy faraway magnifies
Little shards of light filaments
Filtered shadow breaks brittle
Tucked amongst terra, tubers
Crowd needy until seeker turns
Space ahead academy shunned
Parallel gripped group tightens
Outrage stoops, begger’s plight
Entombed below fossilised earth
Dust skull sockets consumed
Grazing on ash grain garbage
Gamma ray gardener unfazed
Leans into lambent movement
Moonbeam harvest penetrates
Microscopic split creates twins
Mind unbound by tribulations
Scales ether, nova knowledge
Constellation inured in growth
Reaches for chaos, apex prime
Shivers bravely beyond Pluto
Fragility faces future undiluted
First of October
Flying Over
I formed in the heavens; they built me in a pure overcast
Concrete looks far too weak to break my fallings contrast
All flower petals decreed a landscape grown to everlast
I will nurture them; in Sun to Moon, this time lines passed
Are you the reapers breaking their stem via fatal dismast?
I will defeat you with relentless moisture unsurpassed
Nourishment is my very gift to the fortifying fibroblast
I am not one, I am Legions found in the storms forecast
Absorbed, watering them and feeding until all are colorfast
From springs Allium till autumn's Zinnia falls hard and fast
I am raindrops acting out the script for which I'm typecast
Draw me in my friends before we are just pools amassed
an actor he was typecast
a soldier hit by a blast
but as of today
he's out mowing hay
farming a dramatic past.
Aquarium realms
of anointed fools
masquerade as sensibility
Typecast foolscap
tired typewriters ribbons
don't have a prolonged head
Between the streets
where the drunkard
spins his tales
A strange panacea
scattered snakes
launch ta ta tee
Oh sang the Sea goat
his change as constant as the tide
strangely sympathising
the endless wave
imminent iceberg is inching closer
to the passengers on board
catastrophe typecast
by the sea on shore
birds squawk squabble and jostle
feathered typecast kin
I portrayed the knave of hearts again,
A role it would seem I was made for.
I ventured off script and silenced my critics
By drinking them under the table.
Classically trained in the tavern arts,
I’m a boozy, bibulous sot.
A virtuoso of chugging a tankard,
A maestro of downing a shot.
I've been typecast as a barfly.
It's the same old morality play.
I’ll adlib my lines to upstage the lead,
And be star of this grim cabaret.
Fathers of that era
did not hug or touch or
intimate their love.
He was the same
Did he love us, we his
kin, his blood-seed. He
did not say, yet I
believe he did.
He was a provider, for
sure. A taste for beer,
never dissolute and
he smoked as most
working folk, did then.
An adept gardener, his
vegetables supplemented
our meagre rationed diet.
Did he care, he never
said, I’m sure he did.
What made him tick,
deep down, I mean
where only introspectives,
types like me will
sometimes dig.
It is easy, so easy
to theorise. His
generation, strong
and silent, did not
discuss such things,
especially with his son,
such things were never
done. Maybe..perhaps
with Mum. Feelings
were not shared but
held back, within.
A reservoir of emotions
controlled, withheld
until death shatters
the dam.
Is that why I cried
so, the day he died
and still I wonder..
did I cry for me,
or was it for him
I am a product of my next of kin
so in their image, through evolution
determined pigmentation of my skin
of human historic distribution,
a complexion that I am powerless
though never shall I ever be ashamed
typecast as white, to me I'm colorless
yet in my veins my red blood is contained,
we are creations of mother nature
earths location dictates our appearance
heredity determines our future
to me white or black makes no difference,
we are inhabitants of planet Earth
whatever color we were at our birth.
01/13/2018
Contest what is white
Sponsored by Debbie Guzzi.
A Ladle of Forms Still Sit In The Cradle
A week has past
Questions were asked
Them truly lambaste
For their lemons vast
Leaving readers aghast
In view of better typecast
The flock may hold fast
A herder's iconoclast
Say, sheared wool for the enthusiast?
But hear ye what's in the forecast?
connie pachecho
10/18/17
Note-In the wake of poor poetry form examples, like the ABC form,
here at PS, where the featured poems do not even come close to
following the definition, words of condemnation needed to be addressed.
A week has passed, sigh, nothing has been done.
Thirty years of my life have flown pass
I am in danger of being typecast
Working 9 – 5 everyday
For nothing but minimum pay
It’s at this time I decided to change
Find a way to exchange
My mundane life that I have lived
Into something I myself have derived
Back to university for me
To study a degree
A degree in what is yet to be seen
I just need to decide whilst I’m still green
I am proud to call myself an opsimath
Its taken me years to find my path
Now, that I am on the right track
There is no turning back
I’m the oldest in my class by far
But please don’t label me and put me in a jar
Please don’t discard me like a used tissue
At the end of the day I’m the same as you
Fingers crossed this will be a new start
A new page on my flip chart
Three years in university here we go!
hopefully, I will update you again in a year or so....
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.