Uncapped Poems | Examples

Last Riff

Pounding each key
like a Fender Rhodes
the computer bent and wailed
Bits and bytes
of encrypted language
messages derailed

Memory freezes
last chance rebooted
restart zero-sum
The riff uncapped
its printout fading
—typeface on the run

(The New Room: 8/6/2023)

Not That Ripple

uncapped, a ripple creates waves that take far too long to dissipate

A Doff of the Cap

A doff of the cap
  a tip of the hat
Nowadays 
  we rarely see that

It’s not that 
  men walk about
unhatted, uncapped

Rather, removing the cap
  reveals quite a gap



   gw       rhyme      June 09, 2022

Crooked Tooth Joy

Crooked Tooth Joy

When I was young and hadn't a care,
I once wished I had curly hair.
But now I see what would've been misery
for the valiant true who would've tried
but failed to love me.
 
At the crack of the clapper
before I don the Sunday best,
I run my fingers through the never-tresses.
I have no know of the fancy man’s soul,
but I've tasted the fear, that cold sweat,
hardening the heart and splitting the soul
of golden lads uncapped of spiral locks.
 
Crooked teeth at least tear meat.
So important ripping flesh from bone.
And two eyes are oh so fine,
but one'll do in a pinch.
 
The curse of the curl,
denied the affections of a homely girl,
seeks the flaxen sanctuary.
How fleeting the comforts of moment,
half-lifing into delusion.
Standing before the darkened mirror
the gray is fair, the wisp a shock.
Assuredly Luke and the locks are in collusion.
 
Out the door and off to church,
I welcome the morning light.
Leave me the vices of tradition.
The curly-haired damned? … the virtues of fashion.
Time steals from everyone,
but I had so little to lose.

All Dreams Deferred

All Dreams Deferred
By Sy Roth

Bilious, they lay there in a somnolent heap
Dreams imprisoned.
Langston toed them, and lethargically they wiggled 
But could not rise from the ashes of their sadness.

The dreams that once took residence 
Wallow now in unfilled, charmless trifles
Like an uncapped bottle of cheap champagne
Its bubbles let loose into the ether-- 
A flat, unquenching drink.

Is there yet a miracle in terra infirma---
A thorned crown, stigmata of pierced palms.
Speared middle 
To awaken dreams from the icy prisons?

It’s a drain to function 
In an eclectic world where all spread a pall over everything,
Hums sad tunes, funeral dirges to dead friends,
Dying in inches 
Toward inevitable endings,
Wishing only for a tranquil pass around the Inferno 

Only to end up 
A wheelchair-bound lump of decaying flesh 
With Nordic icy beaches 
A hirsute blanket for eternity
Listening to the song of the worms
As they paddle their way through the soil and you
Ingesting your dreams.

On My Mommee's Lavish Verse

What a lavish verse you crafted..!
I'm spellbound at this gift presented

All I need to say that you're awesome
And thy pen is pretty wowsome

Seems you are Lord Minerva's kid
My child's birthday has uncapped the lid

Ever I am at thy feet
Trust me it's my true tweet

Let me extend my gratitude
For thine is an apt attitude..!!

Dredging Thoughts

Dredging Thoughts
Written: by Tom Wright
February 2015

On the river of life
Of late I’m dredging,
Thoughts from aged sand;

My mind, like a bottle,
That suddenly came uncapped,
Pours forth long disregarded contents, 
From when life was good,
And mostly pleasing,

Things thought heretofore 
Forever trapped, I’m finding,
Was just capture and liberate;


The older I get, the more I have to remember,
And the less I retain.
Tom

Listen

Predefined uncapped explanations
My mind rests on a river of thoughts
Black pauses
Knowledge is mutual to curiosity we slave
God masters
Provided answers
Dial.

Black Lipstick Vapor

Black lipstick whispers are vapor
streams spoken gothic complexion
spiraling ether.  Trails taper
erratic, split imperfection;
ripples on French Riviera.
Descriptions of love disappear
as streaks of winter mascara
outlined bold against helpless fear
plastered in snow.  Vague shadows trace
high above shattered decisions
once thought waterproof.  Dry erase
markers exhaust through revisions
uncapped as they’re plucked from a shelf
and scribble each meaningless word
defined by erasable self
written in black on my white-board.

2/20/2017

Mr Washington

Mr. Washington I want to know
what would you have to say?
as you gaze upon this land
if you were still alive today
what would be your thoughts
on a nation that lost its way
would you stand and fight?
like on that long ago day?

Mr. Washington would you stand by us?
would you stand by the American Nationalist?
to stand against left wing hate?
rebuttal looney lefts accusation of terrorist?
Is this the country you wanted?
or have they destroyed your vision?
your Constitution no longer applies here
Mr. Washington what would be your decision?

Mr. Washington do you remember Thomas Jefferson?
"it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government"
now would you still take up arms?
fight the tyrants with pure determinant?
what do you think about uncapped capitalism?
how about a multi racial society rotten to the core?
is this what you mean by all men are created equal?
or are your words obfuscated and what for?

Memorial Bench

Dark day,
early spring
John O'Sullivan's
memorial bench

He sits,
watching river
run by,
jacket open

Bottle uncapped,
paper bag
from hand
to mouth

He drinks,
watching river
run by,
water's high

Glassy eyes,
cigarette smoke
clinging near
John's bench

He cries,
watching river
bottle empty,
heart broken

My Dream Castle

When I am bored with this world
When nothing gives me any more joy
I become, once more, a little girl
And run, hiding to my abode, with my toy!

My pen, magical and whimsical
Sometimes getting even musical
Once it is uncapped, it begins to write in verse
And seeks to please, the whole of the universe!

My abode is none other than my castle
Where I let go of all of my struggle
A place made from my own fancy
Where I can be myself, a Queen hiding in secrecy

It is found high over the clouds
Colored as bright as the pinkish flamingos
It gives me the will to sing out loud
My castle it is, where I can let go of all of my sorrows

There, magic rules!
There, love drools!
My knight, invited by Cupid, dwells with me
And submits to my every tantrum, so tactfully!

There, I swim in a sea of candy
And become my own star, full of folly
There, I am well loved
And none can have me dethroned!

Shall you wish for a visit, pray, just let me know
Holding hands, together we shall go
And we shall bask there, in eternal light
The light which makes the world shine bright!

29 Jan 2014

It's Monday Morning

It is Monday morning, time to unwind.
today I do laundry and I'm behind.
My son's pile is first and guess what I find:

     Whiff of autumn wafts in the air
     coming from a jacket pocket -
     half a used caramel apple.

     Still wrapped crackers labeled: "For: Claire"
     cheddar cheese and peanut butter
     mostly crumbs now in a lone glove.

     Small New Testament lies entrapped
     in the hip pocket of his jeans
     a gift from someone in chapel.

     Three permanent markers uncapped
     the last of treasures dug out from out
     the laundry. It's labor called love.

Some days I'd have washed it all with no care.
Today I find my washer needs repair,
which leaves me time to ponder, "Who is Claire?"

Feb. 20, 2013

-yesterday and Tomorrow-

in between sweet whispers
our hands got lost 
between the folds of 
yesterday and tomorrow 
new visions emerged 
sober thoughts from drunken desires 
uncapped possibilities 
like today never happened 
like our hands found a home 
between the folds of 
yesterday and tomorrow
no longer lost…



08/04/2011

Here There Be Tygers

Last night I glimpsed a pretty limerick crudely scrawled upon a tiled wall,
in the lavatory of my favorite bar.

It was very funny,
definitely dirty,
and classy in a back-alley sort of way.

Anyway,
I finished reading it and chuckled lightly while sitting in the stall.
I realized that since I was carrying a pen,
it would be wrong not to write something in response to the bawdy poem.

So, while I finished my business I pondered what to write.

It wasn't too long before it hit me like a fist.

You see,
I had been oogling a sexy bartender all night long,
her short skirt and low cut top provoking my chemicals en masse,

And observe!
low on her left buttock and just visible when she bent over to get me another drink,
I beheld a tatto of Tigger from Whinnie the Pooh.

Surely such a beauty is worthy of tribute.

And so, 
still sitting,
I uncapped my pen and wrote as a footnote for all to see:

'Here There Be Tygers'

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