Skating upon Saturn's rings, on the outskirts of gold,
executing my double axel, in the brisk, season of cold.
The sole sound is of ice skates, spraying bits behind;
In rich, purple dusk, of the chaotic universe entwined.
A wide-eyed dreamer, in the red heartbeat of fantasy,
does slow twirls and excited spins, jumping uncannily!
Skating on concentric rings-the adventure of her life,
Stars shining all together, a hundred moons in the sky.
Her poetic mind is uncannily artistic,
She can make a long grocery list
Sound like an art of Shakespeare
and still forget the humble Pear!
With her talent she writes poems
She can express the emotions
We didn’t even know we had …
Like crying over a sock losing its pair.
Her goals are so lofty
Even the moon gets FOMO
When you talk about them...
I finally came to know how she
Writes the prize winning poems
With profound artistic acumen,
She probably interviews her pen
Before letting it touch the paper!
Keep on writing my beloved poet
Sure, one day you will be the greatest !
Shallow pool
Hairy wall
Rainy day
Rolls stacked tall
Unworthy grave
Where we'd stay
Emotional fool
Uncannily brave
Streams of dreams
Catch a star
New name new car
Lips like wine
We cry at times
Identify
With your cry
Overwhelm
Fill me up,
Throw me down
Proclamation of pain
From a smoking rift lain
No security
Lonely acts the cure of me
Embarrassed mess
Disheveled impress
Like timeout at recess
A ringing duress
It gets dark fast
And it will last
Longer than I thought
Longer than I want
I was crying like a crazy person.
Shouting as if making a speech.
Muttering words I know I won’t remember.
I became embarrassed, of course.
I was mad at her for humoring me.
Then tricking me into crying again.
Some people run from someone who is crying.
But she is the type to wait patiently.
While continuing to talk in a way that I’m able to understand between my tears.
Now she’s tricking me into not crying anymore.
She reminds me that I’m not in trouble.
Not like the trouble I’ve created in the real world.
Suddenly stoney faced, already becoming numb to the cooling tears.
Saying words that uncannily make sense.
Sure, I’m not in trouble here in this room.
But once I step back into my family’s life…
I’m going to be embarrassed for real.
Crying in the real world.
Like the crazy person I am.
A fiery glow envelops those assembled
A revival meeting, uncannily resembled
The vast amphitheater packed to the gills
Worshipers revel in vulgar thrills
Once the festivities are underway
The skies blacken to an evil gray
Viewed: Prurient pleas for salvation
Heard: Satanic shouts, incantations
As knights of darkness and light take the field
To beer, blood and lust all inhibitions yield
America, in the throes of gluttonous shame
~ forgets that 'Super Sunday' is just a football game
Khaki has never other fabrics liked:
It has even their wearer’s bodies disliked,
Their forgivable flaws, their blunders hyped
And their names and their nicknames mistyped!
Sometimes you hear, “Like onions slice them!”
And begun a solving of what wasn’t a problem;
Bound to uncannily unfold
What Plain Malice does hold …
By then, it would be fanciful
To ask your questions – A roomful:
‘What and what next shall happen?’
And whether or not blades shall sharpen …
It shall have been a busying with fiction
By the time we triggers eschew from ruction
Khaki has seldom The Plain clothes liked
And has, indeed, other fabrics spiked;
Often through insistence on Inaction
And treatment of either as a faction.
cry
Take the breath of those who blew air filled with anything but adoration
in your direction
broke myself within the glint of light
that held too long on the curve of her eye
babies can't produce tears
why do they learn
is gravity trying to pull the depression from me
her shape applauded by satin folds
if all could see her as i do
the dead and dying
refusing to look away
would litter at her
Feats i would allure
What if when i die
the evils get to see me
That fear of the unknown
that letches from the shadows
you will see me you between them
Uncannily unsettled
i will hear you from the steps of death
in both directions
words haunt her lips
with hopes of reutterance
and shadows mourn
of the places that it can't touch
The blackbird has gone maggoty
Lara stiffs at it
shakes a grub off her wet nose
and sneezes.
Then as if fiction were uncannily real
another similar bird drops out of a tree.
For a short while it flutters
turning in a circle around a broken neck.
Lara looks at me as if to say,
‘What the heck?’
Now the bird is still
one eye open to the sky.
I can see clouds reflected in its eye
but soon just cloudiness
as life departs.
Lara again does her sniffing thing.
We walk on smelling the sweetness
of Fall leaves as they rot into October.
This is a time
when death and its dissolution
is still aromatic,
pungent enough to mask
the seasons fatal embrace.
Lara sniffs at a loose pile of fallen leaves
as if they were an open grave.
A Bit of Ares
We begin to number
the defining moments
as we start the slide
into a seeming oblivion
Clawing away our innocence
Sharpening our senses
baring our internal fang
uncannily unleashing the beast
We crouch keenly
surging with passion
roaring our desires
We start to prance
with a reawakened hope
we are prowling with zest
daring our dire yearnings
Growing are the grumbles
By a Gathering of Humbles:
A skyrocketing effort to change an unchanging Dinah,
In figures, now closely chasing the population of China:
The grumbles, a fast succeeding siege against the judge
Now set to hit Justice where it hurts…
The earlier mumbles a saintly grudge
Whose holder unrestrainedly blurts.
A wig is helping an untiring lawbreaker,
Scheming to the wrong guy dump in rancorous jail;
One hell of a faking hostage taker
Juggling with sacred laws and trying to not fail!
Now, it’s an uncannily crappy proceeding,
All the jurors alive to the misleading:
The not guilty to soon watch the outside world from Dark Keyhole
The veritable Child of Judicial Remote Control.
Now, the grumbles are preaching
A second long look at the interpreter,
The earlier mumbles alleging a bewitching
Of the chosen typewriter;
The mumbles also cocksure of a garage
Groaning under the weight of new Toyota Cams
The grumbles amplifying to barrage
Judge’s recent receipts of Justice-perverting big yams.
Beautiful Brenda was bewitched by a man she created in her novel,
Blissfully absorbed in her imagination with this man she marveled.
Boats and the sea were his lifelong passions.
Besotted with the ocean, it sparked supreme satisfaction.
Beguiled with this boater, Dan, the author had imagined,
Brenda futilely fantasized about this blue-eyed man with abandon.
By chance, she was invited on a cocktail cruise with some friends.
Brenda decided she needed a break from her passionless pretend.
Blustery and brilliant, the day azurely arrived.
Brenda was unaware a blind date had been craftily contrived.
Befuddled at first she met this new man called Ben.
Blushing and irresistible, the inevitable dance began.
Ben was uncannily alike the magnificent man in her book,
Brawny, with a sensational smile that required a second look.
Ben was the boat owner, and loved the seductive sea like Dan.
But he was not imaginary, and the romance took off and ran!
9/10/16
Written for "Brenda" Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Awarded 1st Place
The Inferiors!
The proud and the rebellious!
The Uncalled!
The unheard!
The two nuisances that are overtaking
the galaxy's millenniums presently!
Or the oh so game called ones life!
The uncalled are the ones that
Turn the pages at that supposed wonderful end!
Mislead to the reveal
that the continuations
Cliffhanger or the to be continued
leads to one of my own worlds
greatest curiosities!
In ones mind unheard of and
uncannily
never spoken out by the ones
I name the
uncalled!
The inferiors are the proud!
The Warriors that fight valiantly with swords
air strike bombs
and guns
they breathe only blood and gore
Portrayed in my vigil lights
as my only worlds truly false winners!
That always underestimate the ones
I name the uncalled
This lead to my conclusion
The worlds true winners
Are my own
the ones
I name the
Uncalled.
The truly blessed
Uncalled!
Under uncannily beautiful oak couple is making love
On one of the branches sits snow white dove
The dream of orchard fits this scene like a glove
That is what it is an orchard of love
Spring eyes green like the sea
Above azure blueness of heavens in full majesty
Like spring flowers root in soil emotions root in destiny
Blooming like spring flowers is love for eternity
When the couple is apart billows flood the seas
When that happens he feels her soul vibrate like spring breeze
But when once again her he sees
They will kiss with smell of sage with purple flowers used to make honey by bees
He looks into her eyes and will wonder
How deep they are he will pounder
They are deeper then discontinuous number
Deeper than that from which nothing is immeasurable is the answer
As spring and sun make their union so do the couple under oak tree
Joined is their destiny
To each other’s heart each has the key
And their souls are joined yet they are free
Bounds
Over and entercircled, grasping tighter and tighter
Penetrating the lines of my eternity
Orbiting to seize all that I have left
Desirous for more
Neverending infliction
No slumber shall I ever have
Until the bounds are pacified
How can I claim what I can not see?
The preference of bounds has no favor
Engulfs the crease of all
Seeping in uncannily
Until it devours it feast
Few can sustain the bounds to a hault
So I, I shall embrace the bounds and and create a solemn place
Cultivating what story I have been given
Turning destraut into purpose
And purpose into distinction
By:
Tammy R. Flanagan
It’s something we do and something we don’t.
It’s in the sound of the stars and the rustle of the boat.
It’s dramatically ambiguous and frivolously bright.
It’s the beat of the shore streaming across the night.
How vague could I be?
How dark and discreet?
How painfully pitiful?
How serendipitously incomplete?
How familiar, it may seem, the fragrance of the flower,
Yet uncannily forgotten, beneath the yellow star.
Have pity on thy master, Have pity on thy slave,
Because the righteous, that I know, shall never behave.
Behold this beauty, in all her rage,
Behold this tempest, behold the sage.
Beaten by misery, torment and pain,
Beckoned to rule over and over, forever, once again.
BY
Amanda.M.Miller
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