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Best Poems Written by Pin Dew

Below are the all-time best Pin Dew poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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When I'M No More

A play ends just, a wretched play, that I’m no more.
And you yourself, with vex, dismay, that I’m no more?

Bleeding grass, burning air, woods ashen, and you weeping,
It’s a bit too convenient, nay, that I’m no more?

The letter with the rhymeless elegy-- it’s soaked,
I hardly muse now, what you’ll say, that I’m no more!

Stranded and shifting, quite like light on water, Dew,
Reflection mine, why do you stay, when I’m no more?

-Pin Dew (02/05/2017)

Note: Experimental Ghazal- The lines are in Iambic Hexameter. Usually, English Ghazals follow Syllabic Prosody, but here I am using Accentual-Syllabic Prosody.

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Girls With Majestic Gestures

They chew gums in compacted face,
Cheek-bones lining made-up skin;
They belong to the golden race,
Of foaming coke and shriveled gin.

They stare at you like you were a slave,
All through your seven lives;
They do know how to behave,
But only with middle fingers five.

Rags cheap, faking overprice,
Skirts shorter than a Chekhov story;
They believe their tangled hair to be nice,
But blush at selfish flattery.

They have lips that throw sarcasm,
At their own starving selves;
They fall for their own dark chasms,
In deep thoughts when their brains delve.

The only knowledge they possess,
Is of others’ destination;
The only wisdom they impress,
Is of disconnected imagination.

I wonder how they ever pass,
In their examinations upstart;
They think their shoes are class,
But it’s their gray cells that’re apart.

Posing their hands as if they were fractured,
They proudly exhibit their flaws;
Girls with majestic gestures,
Usually come in cycle-rickshaws.

-Pin Dew (02/05/2017)

Note: This is only to show how a Burlesque is written, no offense to anybody. Also excuse if anything seems inappropriate. I ask for forgiveness beforehand.

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Haiku On My Death

Watch! Watch!
My debacle into flames
That consumed dusk!

-Pin Dew (04/05/2017)

Note: Experimental Haiku- The meters are not according to rules.

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At the Cloud

When I had grown old enough,
I decided to visit the cloud.

I met Prufrock there,
He was very old, and complaining.

He was single like me,
But very displeased unlike me.

He said, “Man! If I were Hamlet!”
I was a bit puzzled.

Eating my burning omelet,
I asked, “Are you a fan of Shakespeare?”

“No, my creator is.
I'm too lazy to read.”

“Oh! But if you were him,
You'd have been dead, not married.”

“Yeah, that's right, my boy.
I never thought that way!

So, why are you single?”
“I read your creator far too much.”

-Pin Dew (02/05/2017)

Note: Experimental Burlesque- There are no intended rhymes. Usually, Burlesques have a definite rhyme pattern.

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As Myself

There’s a strange Tune that invades my time alone, defined as Myself.
I can’t figure out the Essence of the Moan, defined as Myself.

Call it happiness, call it sadness, what more can you call it anyway?
The eve Sky where all the burning charcoal shone, defined as Myself.

Let Aphrodite an orphan be, you can care only for Her form;
For Hestia is – when I Her fate do bemoan – defined as myself.

The porcelain-tough tears make echoing falls in the dark, empty chambers,
Like the dense, resounding calls to the Unknown, defined as Myself.

The over-inked desks, the dust-consumed shelves, the black-flamed pots, all forever
Talking to each other, searching for their Own, defined as Myself.

Quite a Pearl that embellishes even the fair skin of the sea-bed--
Beauty surpasses yet even the purpose known, defined as myself.

Smoke from the factory defined as life, smoke from the cemetery death:
I don’t see much difference in the cigarette blown, defined as myself.

If not His mouth, yank the poems from within His desiccated flesh!
There is, Dew, still some juice left in the old bone, defined as myself!!

-Pin Dew (01/05/2017)

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I Guess I Am Nineteen

Half-baked smiles, conversations disarrayed, high in poetry, I guess I’m nineteen.
Half-filled maturity, occasional fits of naivety, I guess I’m nineteen.

Eyes frenzied, tears anfractuous, it’s too dry, the environs, where to look, where to?
Voices seem distant, no arc of light behind dark dreary, I guess I’m nineteen.

Scampering through days, slugging through moments, no sense of time, only of beauty;
I guess it’s too late to say, “I don’t want to be twenty”, now that I’m nineteen.

Age opens a lid, Dew, experience lifts, winds hurl it through light into darkness:
Past days of childish frolic, recreational pranks, gone free, I guess I’m nineteen.

-Pin Dew (30/04/2017)

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Silently Smelling

My cuffs gather the dusk’s dirt,
I wait alongside Albert’s dog;
The sentry of the rain stares at me
Like I was a resident of the bog.

I have a murderer beside me,
She’s sitting with quite a sad look;
“Ants ants they are everywhere!”
I wonder why she wrote that in her book.

Belinda waits for me in a gutter,
She wants me to bring her flowers,
But rubbing my back against a wall,
I throw her obsolete coins.

In a palace of glass, I drink
Wine and medicine with ice;
In a palace of cloud, I sunder
Like Salvador at his funeral’s brink.

William worries o’er me a lot,
He is afraid of my carelessness,
He writes on melting air with lots of thought,
“When wilt thou return again?”

The gems, the drugs, the pages,
All wait for me in groups of wrongs;
Yet, here I am, silently smelling
Of antiseptic and incomplete songs.

-Pin Dew (01/05/2017)

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Sonnet To Our Love

The verse runs down the stream
Dolefully, paintings your
Soulfully, I’m intrigued
Severely, like my cat!

The music resonates
Painfully, story your
Disdainfully, we talk
Sinfully, like the moon!

Your love drips wet like rain
Silently, our love-making
Violently, we now stare
Intently, at each other.

Intensely, let us kiss now,
Fiercely, like the sun!

-Pin Dew (02/05/2017)

Note: Experimental Sonnet- The rhymes and para-rhymes are inside the poem, and the meter is Iambic Trimeter.

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Haiku On Disintegration

Bask the spectacle:
Time’s debacle
Into oblivion.

-Pin Dew (02/05/2017)

Note: Experimental Haiku- The meters are not according to rules.

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Scenery of the Cemetery

The tree with its half-dead, half-alive leaves,
The erratic flights of the swallow-tail,
The coarse, but peaceful, bed of dried-up grass:
It's late winter in the cemetery.

-Pin Dew (03/05/2017)