I loved my make up today
My yellow concealer blended mighty well
At least it didn't turn out gray
Don't forget to draw water from the well
I kissed his fist so hard today
I smiled as I touched my bleeding lip
I admired the color in the mirror
I begged the heavens for this day
His artwork has no error
At least he touched me
ME
I won't forget to draw water from the well
The green and purple looked good today
I'm thinking of having the pattern tatted
Stencil huh
My mother chased me away
I don't think she liked the tattoo idea
As long as I remain the perfect canvas
I will draw water from the well
(Inspired by "The Persistence Of Time" by Salvador Dali
The bare bough and the brown bench
hold the warped watches like wet satin
with the metal losing its toughness,
the tree forgetting its foliage.
The sunset sky stretches into fluid stillness
where time dissolves into the cyan sea.
The golden cliff rises behind the reverie,
at peace with the quiet crumple of time.
The sleeping creature on the sands
sprawls as a pale brutal form
with the burden of collapsed time.
Memory endures the design of ductile recollection
as the mirage of elastic time
slips through the sands of perpetuity,
losing its rigidity, its mechanical domination.
Surreal vision turns time into absurdity,
yet morphing into fascinating mirror of illusive fluidity,
a metaphor for the triumph of memory over time.
this nutcracker is twisted, warped, there is something wrong
he does not know he’s not supposed to kick up in this throng
his feet are supposed to be stationary, his ways are not right.
This dancing, twirling and kicking give the others a fright.
Perfect dream gone wrong,
Twisted smiles hide hollow eyes,
Freedom's gilded cage.
©bfa051725
ah...the fm radios old rock
and classical stations be
my mind for the day...
then...the news cast echoes
of the dark shadows of
an all out war over...
the...whole middle east with
real possibilities that it
may include use...
of...the nuclear weaponry from
many different sources for
profits and or power...
stan sand
Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John.
Struggles to slide his trousers on;
seems causation hasn’t dawned.
Put down the dumplings, my son John.
Peter, Peter
pumpkin eater
tried to lick the
blender beater.
Why he did it,
I can’t tell, for
he’s not speaking
very well.
Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
And there she broke her water
She laid down
Upon the ground
And bore them both a daughter
La Forge was a big stud, a horse
with the ladies, a tour de force.
The action hot at his warp core:
He had them begging, "Jordi, more!"
(just on the holodeck, of course)
----------
Quintilla has a rhyme scheme of AABBA like a limerick, but iambic tetrameter on all lines (8 syllables). I don't think it reads quite as whimsically as a limerick, but that's just an opinion... You can also do an ABBAA with this form.
Warped tree, kinked man
Today, I will not argue with Walter on Facebook or Twitter.
I was reading poems from my last collection and was surprised
to find an internal rhythm.
To my horror, I find Walter has unfriended me my friendly thoughts
burned into insignificance.
When I had a motorbike, I often visited the crooked tree
I said:” you look better today, my friend.”
The roots of the tree curled in bashfulness.
At the entrance of the village, an old olive tree they came with an axe
wanted to cut it down, replace it with a signpost.
I protested, so did the other villagers.
The tree is perhaps 500 years old, and we are not
brutish settlers.
But someday, people with no sense of beauty will axe it.
In my chemically imbalanced mind,
All I can do is detest.
Wandering my dismal world of the blind,
Anxious of what’ll transpire next.
Losses not consolidated leave contributor raw
Arrears rip pages of rational compassionate law
Turblent thoughts toss turn to channel retaliation
Embittered brain rubs static into smooth radio station
Nocturnal curtain eternal drawn over forgiving stance
Tortured cortex tar drips coal smudge repugnance
Behind lids of eyes fingertips pressing upon
Lacking exposure conjures warped projection
Attonement can't be granted during darkness
Confessions sparkle once in white starkness
Killing accountability in murky private mind
Proliferating hatred sees old harm magnified
Asperity of sins committed stew in torpid trench
Years of historic plot twist regale harsh revenge
Bulged breeding dim ideas seethe evil scheme
Attack mapped by movie shock putrid scenes
Creeping balaclava covered crow bar at chest
Knavish initiation repaid with blood reaps debt
24th August 2021
Written for Contest : The Colour Black
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
Look into the mirror
What do you see
A false suit of armor
That doesn’t let you free
Of its heaviness
The false part of you,
The part that brings unhappiness
Makes you want to do
Things others wouldn’t approve
Because what you see in front
Is not you, and you can prove
This is true, if you show your mind’s haunt
The person in the mirror is not me
The person I’m inside in not reflected in reality
Written on February 17, 2020
Racism makes me want to puke.
I’ll hurl a brick or two.
I’ll loot a store to make my point.
Who’ll help me? How ‘bout YOU?
I’m chilled by cops’ brutality.
Who do they think they are?
I’ll set some fires and knock folks down
and cuss till eardrums jar.
Huge crowds are marching peacefully.
The signs they hoist are lame.
If they cared deeply as I do,
they wouldn’t be so tame!
I don’t have time to tote a sign.
I’ve got to find a place
to store the stuff I stole—because
racism’s a disgrace!
***************
The truth? I’m just a thug at heart.
I LIVE for times like these.
They give me an excuse to do
exactly as I PLEASE!
This is my attempt at withering sarcasm!
Posted June 7, 2020
June 17, 2020
entered in John Hamilton's contest placed 4th
Favorite poem 2020 not written for a contest
Harsh words,
And violent blows,
Hidden secrets nobody Knows,
Eyes are open,
Hands are fisted.
Deep inside I'm Warped And Twisted.
So many tricks,
And so many lies.
Too many whens,
And too many whys.
Nobody's special,
Nobody's gifted.
I'm just me,
Warped and Twisted.
Sleeping awake
And choking on a dream,
Listening loudly to a silent Scream.
Call my mind,
The number's unlisted.
Lost in someone,
I'm so,
Warped and Twisted.
On my knees,
alive but Dead.
Look at the invisible blood I've bled
I'm not gone,
My mind has drifted.
Don't expect much,
I'm Warped and Twisted
Burnt out,
Wasted,
Empty,
And hollow.
Today's just yesterday's Tomorrow's.
The sun died out,
The ashes sifted
I'm still here,
Warped and Twisted...
BY: SHANTAE PAPPACOSTAS ORTEGA-ZELE (1-30-20)
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