Busty shaped and large of hip
the busy winds of October
buffet my brain
within its whistling cave.
Around the shoulders
of every lumpy molehill
taverns and tankards
bloom in a russet corner of light.
September leaves
leave, shaking their brittle cuffs
and frills,
they fly sideways
riding upon broken rafts
of tangled sticks.
October blusters as it bustles,
its wide-spread mouth warmed-over
by wafts and beery blasts.
Now is the time to flap long coats,
to run ahead of a creaking moon
as it rolls drunkenly
into winters nippy
and thin-lipped ice.
A push-button blood alarm
scans the receptivity of softly ticking ears.
It is the ever-wakening
never snoozing
internet jungle calling.
Fasting birds as large as velociraptors
insist on being called parrots,
a raucous conversation hardly heard
as it filters through
3-D printed flugelhorns.
A cell awakes vibrates within an ear socket
demanding its early morning diaper change.
Little silver bells are clanging,
A sub-audial cacophony of eager voices
discharging their erotically-charged salvos
Devices cry to be fed.
Now subliminal texts tattoo
a finger pulsing moment.
Thumbs are itching to be mugged, in-plugged,
abused in a bath of warmed-over news.
The scaly parrots are now too loud to hear,
we are near
our minds nailed to a printing block
and tapping impatiently
as reality is swiped this way and that.
The racetrack is galloping,
white rabbits are being
yanked out of top hats so rapidly
we can only blink our replies
in a hand-held, wide-eyed chameleon sky.
A political Opinion
(idioms taken from More Texas Sayings)
Composed: by Miracle man
3-26-2020
I believe she’s “so narrow minded
that she could look through a keyhole with both eyes,”
and could “start an argument in an empty house.”
When it comes to objecting, “she’s faster than small town gossip,”
and “so crooked you can’t tell from her tracks if she’s coming or going.”
I’ve always felt it’s better,”to keep your mouth shut and seem a fool,
than to open it and remove all doubt.”
She’s “like a rubber nosed woodpecker in a petrified forest.”
I’ve seen “her eyes stick out like a cowcatcher on a switch engine”
she “looks like death warmed over.”
because “she’s been around since water was wet,”
But,”she can strut sitting down,”
and believes that, “if she crows the sun comes up.”
Most politicians are like hogs, “they can’t pass a mud hole,”
and when they get their way, “they’re as happy as a hog in mud,”
but compromise “is like putting socks on a rooster,”
and “a hit dog always howls”
Tom
Her morning reflection cast another death warmed over look
as hallowed eyes looked back at her as someone forsook
the lines on her forehead seemed etched deeper than ever before
as her ghostlike appearance depressed her to her very core
It was a hard winter and it showed on her hapless face
more death in the family leaving her in a daze
with internal and external issues having to deal with everyday
she tried to put up a brave front come what may
The night before the first day of spring she whispered a silent prayer
knowing that her Heavenly Father upstairs really cared
sharing her troubles with Him she fell into a restful sleep
finally sleeping like a baby...sleeping deep
Next morning spring time beckoned her awake
feeling like a burden was lifted off her was no mistake
hearing for the first time the birds outside chirp
she felt renewed and like she had more self worth
Glancing in the mirror she looked more like her old happy self
not as haggard or worn out as she took toothpaste off the shelf
finishing up her bathroom routine she thought of Amazing Grace
and with a new spring in her step she left behind her old winter face.
3-18-18
You look like death on vacation,
would it kill you to smile once in a while
Looking happy could be a good thing ---
more girls, for sure, it would bring
But the smile has to have warmth;
it can't be fake, can't be forced
Nobody likes to be around
someone looking down in the dumps
You got to lighten up,
you gotta raise a cheerful cup
You got to let your hair down,
can't always be wearing a frown
You got to lighten up,
let the sun shine in
Don't always have a dark cloud
hanging over you, following ...
If you're looking like death
three weeks warmed over
Then you need a spiritual four-leaf clover
Once you lighten up,
everything won't feel like it suck
Watch how it will change your luck,
transform your life, until you can't get enough
of happiness and such
If this is what you want, then I insist
you lighten up
Quit looking so down,
see all these bright clouds floating around
Lighten up and rise,
feel the love that everywhere abounds
Pumice! my throat cried!
:flames where words
should always BE!
/trembled this world,
death warmed OvEr
incredible!how the
ground cries & …skies
weep these Eternal Crystals
of Truth!
:: 09-28-2016 ::
it was hot
makes you feel spent just breathin'
but she was comfortable as judas in hades
just like ice cool in the shade
you shout and dance about with all this jealousy
you are electric hot under the collar
but the winds are blowing in her favor
but the rivers are sweet on her lips
it was hot as death warmed over
not an ounce of inked shade to be had
and you got issues hounding your thoughts
beginning to feel like its a church to the
apostle's of rage
darken your horizons with her
like the universe is her little game
the wind walks its ignorant gesture across you
and that just fans the flames
after all she just acknowledged her divinity
its hot enough to cook my head
but you are wrapped tighter than a prisoner
all used up and jealous
key to surviving this day lay in her eyes
in them you see your forgiven soul
in them you see your salvation's way
if you can forgive yourself first
if you can grow that fast
Two young zombies met for a midnight tryst.
Miss Zombie claimed that she'd never been kissed!
As the mellow moon caressed her chalky face,
Mister Zombie was quite taken by her grace!
He whispered sweet nothings in her ear.
She said, "My love, that's what I like to hear!"
All was going swell 'til he whispered, "And moreover,
My honey dear, you look like death warmed over!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
When I wake up
I don't awake
Go to sleep at night
I don't sleep
Another day comes
It seems it is not here
When I see you
I can not see you
When you look at me
I don't see you
When you call my name
I don't hear you
When you hold me
I don't feel you
When you kiss me
It is like death warmed over
When I pick a rose
I don't smell it
The air is cold
But I don't feel it
If your not here
I don't know it
When I'm alone
It feels like you are here
Tell me
What is wrong with me
Tomorrow may never come
Yet it feels like it is already here
My heart is shattered
It feels the same
She doesn't want warmed over poems,
Just as Grandpa and his pie.
Much like my darling grandma did
I'll try hard to comply.
Conceived, revolved, molded with love
Poems and pies are much alike.
I did well in her other one today.
How often can luck strike?
So here it is dear Constance,
All set and ready to bake.
It may not be a masterpiece,
But I've not the time to take.
This poem has had no time to rise,
Nor to bubble and mature.
Four out of ten already in,
I must post it now for sure.
For Poems Have Wings contest took 5th place
She walked in the door like an Amazon Woman
Let me introduce myself I'm____________
I've been doing this for thirty years
She was pale as death warmed over with red hair
But flawless porcelain skin that had never seen the sun
Well let me take a look ...yep
Here's one of those pre-canerous lesions...nope make that two
Then she draws out her equipment ..a bazooka flame thrower
There's no need to numb these up I'll just zap them
Then she turns on her benson burner and goes hold still...hold still..
I'll never get it burned off if you move away..
They must have just released her from some mental hospital
Where she was on the ward for mentally sadistic disturbed patients
Well at least I learned one thing...maybe two
One..never trust a woman with liquid nitrogen in a blow torch
Then she said to me you are of Scandanavain decent..
Strange place to learn of where one's ancestors came from..huh.
Son it's not hard to sonnet
it's just how you look upon it
pick something that's timeless
either rhyming or rhymeless
give it a rhythm
and begin
show what a mess it's in
we're in
is anybody in?
You can't help but win
try to be relevant, funny, poignant
try again to be new and different
maybe agin' the government
even warmed over platitudes
can help your self-gratitude
and so what if a lifetime of searching for the right rhyme
is no more than a crumpled piece of paper
in the ashcan of time
I try to imagine how it must be for you to feel this way,
rising like the undead under deep coffin skies,
when Death warmed over looks healthier by far,
lurching blindly in the dawn with pallid face and bleary eyes.
To be the nouveau riche where addict illness is concerned,
the candle burned both ends with your superficial wealth,
I flinch to think your currency is all but used and spent,
a lifestyle, it would seem, so detrimental to your health.
What if blood might streak ceramic in the toilet bowl,
your tongue a piece of liver on an acrid cocktail stick?
Would you wonder if it's ever been as bad as this before,
do you pray that paracetamol and coffee does the trick?
Is it even less amusing when you start to sweat and shake,
with the sun spraying rays of sawdust in your eyes?
Does the low hum of the 'fridge heard beyond the kitchen door
resonantly escalate into a swarm of buzzing flies?
Does the snap and thud of pumping blood go Click.Boom! in your skull,
a cerebro-vascular accident set loose within your head?
Lord I wish that you would give it up, I'm missing you so much,
see the light that leads you home, and return to me instead...
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