"capering" poems
here is little Effie’s head
whose brains are made of gingerbread
when the judgment day comes
God will find six crumbs
stooping by the coffinlid
waiting for something to rise
as the other somethings did—
you imagine His surprise
bellowing through the general noise
Where is Effie who was dead?
—to God in a tiny voice,
i am may the first crumb said
whereupon its fellow five
crumbs chuckled as if they were alive
and number two took up the song,
might i’m called and did no wrong
cried the third crumb,i am should
and this is my little sister could
with our big brother who is would
don’t punish us for we were good;
and the last crumb with some shame
whispered unto God,my name
is must and with the others i’ve
been Effie who isn’t alive
just imagine it I say
God amid a monstrous din
watch your step and follow me
stooping by Effie’s little, in
(want a match or can you see?)
which the six subjunctive crumbs
twitch like mutilated thumbs:
picture His peering biggest whey
coloured face on which a frown
puzzles, but I know the way—
(nervously Whose eyes approve
the blessed while His ears are crammed
with the strenuous music of
the innumerable capering ******
—staring wildly up and down
the here we are now judgment day
cross the threshold have no dread
lift the sheet back in this way.
here is little Effie’s head
whose brains are made of gingerbread
19.7k
"sly wordplay, it glows, feels like a shimmering address, half warning and half blessing, really alive with cadence"
read Kiki Dresden poetry^
once more into the sea trench divide,
I dive to devise,
Your provoking comment,
demands my full attention,
you divert me from struggling with
ginger & clay,
a contra concept
that molds and enflames,
yet strikes overtly sweet,
it does not
come so easy
as this playful notion
But
your words deserve the
attention immédiate
atenção imediata
that births this script,
tumbling forth in an instantly
instantaneously
me student, you mistress~master,
schooling me on sublimity subliminal,
capturing the capering
stylistic that bursts forth from within,
that my fingertips provide,
while my brain connives & connivers
continuously
you overlay analytics
that never are to me
revealed,
the what and wherefore
of the whom
hiding within
of the im~perpetuity impish essence of
i m p ishness
by charmingly doing me, not once,
but many times better
here a spillage:
an observational ditty,
dressed in a tux,
most formally,
to render the greatest
wordplay
ever invented
t,
the uniqueness of a simple
thank you
my favorite poem
a forever for ever,
the song that
plys and plays me
in the me
so often,
the linguists have banned the word
repeatedly
from my lexicon
so in its stead,
this all-in-one mighty steed
(verb phrase, a noun, or an adjective depending on its usage)
this phatic expression,
here disguised in
Portuguese,
muito obrigado!
muito obrigado!
muito obrigado!
nml 5:39am nyc 10/4, 10/4
Oct 4, 2025
Oct 4, 2025 at 5:44 AM UTC
.
*At the table of eternal sorrow
sits a fool with a crooked smile,
faking interest in a world obscene
and feigning the mood of yesterwhile.
Couched over bent with quill extended,
he writes his heart with a bitter beat,
floating in the mire of a memory stained,
poised with nib to command the sheet.
Capering words form across the weave
with capricious intent and shadow play,
smoke and mirrors intersect and disperse
whilst his mind carries the story away.*
© Pagan Paul (04/03/19)
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 7:00 AM UTC
I hear a wind whispering from the hills
It comes down tickling the woodland rills
From far is heard the frightened murmur of leaves
As it pounces on them like wayside thieves
It shakes the branches of flowering trees
And their weak petals drop like confetti in the breeze
Over hills and trees it loves to skip and stray
Always in motion, never inclined to stay
It moves unhampered over streams and field
With no resistance to its might, they simply yield
Like a child, it romps over the sloppy meadows
In its gentle touch, dances the gleeful flowers
It skillfully pleats the blue chiffon of the ocean
Sometimes curling waves in electric motion
Over the sea it runs puffing up the sails
And over the sky heaping clouds in bales
Sometimes it steals furtively like a lover
And disappears kissing our cheeks under cover
Often it comes capering with a lilt and a swing
We feel delighted when we hear its merry song
Like a nomad, the wind roams from place to place,
Hiding its mysterious presence from our glance
From an unknown hide out it comes like a spirit
But always making us feel its vigorous might!
At times it gains force and roars like a beast
Felling trees and wreaking havoc with its twist
In rampage, it sweeps the sea and the ground
Triggering sparks of fear and horror all around
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
A quaint little bazaar
In the heart of the town
Tells a story
Of a thousand moments
Dal Bazaar as they call it
Or "Curry Market" for others who don't know.
I have fragments of memorable memories
Deep within my mind
The smell
The intoxicating smell of spices
Blended with the quiescent yet cacophonous lives
Of Merchants and Beggars
Of Buyers and Sellers
Of Bullions and a single calloused rupia
In the hands of the old *****
The sunlight baking
Bags of turmeric.
Suspending the scent
In the minds of men.
Capering clouds of black and grey
And the sudden squall
Stirring the monotony
Of the customary.
The pirouette of rain
The one that excites the plainest of the plain
Painting the whitewash with shades of grey
The chalky walls
Dust
Moist corriander
And the relief of earth
Conciliating
So rewarding
For the ruins of the bare sun.
This flashback into my soul
Where all my senses seem to be so awake.
The feel of the wooden veranda
Scent so inexpressible
My eyes devouring the sunset
Tasting the heavens
Hearing it all.
Feeling it all.
Oh the plight of poets
The ritual to end a poem.
Painful.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
The Mademoiselle I saw in the sea
Her dress impersonating the rhythm of the air
Her messy mahogany hair impersonating the rhythm of the dress.
The waves had their own cadence
just like how her tresses would cover her all of her face but her eyes
the waves would cover all of her body but her face
She was pretty tall. Even for the waves. Out of their reach.
She had the fingers of an artist. Shy and beautiful.
And every time they made way through her hair to her ears
Her beauty unfolded a little more.
Contemplating the sunset, she’d wrap her arms around her shoulders
I realized it isn’t everyday that you behold such magic when
the glowing sun, a crisp circle in the ****** sky
revealed a path in the meek waves that led directly to her
Impulses to take the initiative, capering all over me without fail
Though completely stupefied by her beauty, I could still remember every detail
Whether it was her eyes that gazed upon the horizon
or her toes that twitched under the water owing to the cold.
The interspace between us. A little extra than I asked for
Her silhouette against the subduing sky. I knew I was falling for her
Dear Mademoiselle I saw in the sea
Though enamored by all, you’re something more to me.
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, I fancy you to set me free
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, agree to receive my apology.
Wasn’t undaunted enough to talk to you then,
but I bespeak if I ever see you again
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, I wouldn’t just let you be
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, I’d tell you
I’d tell you, you feel like home to me.
Mademoiselle, I saw in the sea, i’m not lying when I say I misseth thee
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 8:20 AM UTC
Sitting quietly in my room,
blankets up to my nose.
I look out the moonlit window
the shadows curling my toes.
Scratching softly against the panes,
a little imp, awaiting his time.
Seizing a moment to call his own.
Causing fright is his fell crime.
Stealing away my peace of mind,
dancing gleefully at my fear.
Chuckling softly, at his impish feats,
Spreading about his dastardly cheer.
All alone huddled in my bed,
clutching my flashlight close to me.
Eyes squinched tight shut
Ears perked listening, legs ready to flee.
Hearing him creeping, slinking,
Lurking, scratching, and giving a chuffle.
Frightened to look and unable to not,
caught by the light, he gives a wicked snuffle.
I give forth a shriek in fright,
and hide beneath my blankets.
Then that wretched imp, grinning with delight,
races onward, escaping, capering, mouth agaping
Lost in its awful glee, looking for more tiny tots.
Hoping to set their screams free.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 6:42 PM UTC
Worry sets in when
I've no contribution
not already conceived
into sweeter fruition
by someone more clever
succinct and brunette
the picture of an artist
in suffering and debt
Hell, even when musing
on futility
the words lumber lacking
all fluidity
Meters much marked
Rhymes relentlessly schemed
Capering for couplets
as yet still undreamed
Why bother? I wonder
Why scribble along
and much melancholy
for one hopeful song?
Doubts in ascendance,
my pen digs the earth
to China if need be
and the end of poem's worth.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
Simple things, like a slow start to a late morning
Like listening to old disco waft over the scent of Arabic roasts
The slight insistence of last night's indulgence not quite crawling across my brain
Like watching my capering daughter with her joy in a small rainbow umbrella
Small hands wanting to help with tasks only a little too large
The company of bright minds in Similar states of satiation
Full of the richness of hollandaise, eggs, the sharp oiled smoke of salmon
Simple things like hi-fiving as we collapse on the sofa, space cleansed, evening sun sprawled a crossed the wall
Golden Berlin sunset calling a riot of houseplants into soft violet contrast, shadows long
Simple like the way the sun catches your profile, and my breath catches in my throat..
Simple things
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 7:02 AM UTC
Sitting quietly in my bed,
blankets pulled up to my nose.
I look out the moonlit window
Moving shadows curl my toes.
Scratching softly at the pane
An imp awaits his time
To seize a moment to call his own.
Causing fright, his fell crime.
To steal away my peace of mind
And gleefully dance at my fear.
He chuckles softly at his impish feats
Spreading his dastardly cheer.
All alone huddled in my bed,
I clutch my flashlight close.
Eyes squinched tight shut
Ears strain to hear, legs ready to flee.
I feel him creeping, slinking,
Lurking, scratching, and giving a chuffle.
Frightened to look and unable to not.
I catch him in the light. He gives a wicked snuffle.
I hide beneath my blankets
and shriek with fright.
He races about capering, mouth agaping
That wretched imp grins with delight.
Lost in its awful glee, he looks for more tiny tots.
Hoping to set their frightened screams free.
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 9:13 AM UTC
Cloud on the mountains. Rain
in the valleys. Mist between
the trees.
An old man leads a horse
between dry stone walls.
He is followed by a small
white dog & a capering
spirit. He raises his cap
as we pass & the rain falls
even harder.
Looks like weather, says
the spirit. Aye, says the
dog. And there'll be no
sun till Monday earliest.
Tuesday if we're unlucky,
says the horse. And Sunday
if we're not, says the
old fella, replacing the
cap on his head.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
Why can't I ******* write?
I always used to be good at this;
It wasn't even any work.
The words
dripped from my
brain
And ran down my pen
to the
page
Creating a freeway of ink
For my thoughts to travel by
Along the curves and edges
of every A... B... C...
The paper was a playground
crawling with capering rhythm and
frolicking thoughts that
would romp with my emotions
the instant they ran off of my ball point black Bic...
And I've never been much for
GIMMICKS
so forgive the e. e. cummings ripoff earlier,
and for the all caps just now but
I just want to distract you from the fact that
This Is Not A Poem because
I can't think of any ******* thing to write.
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 7:13 AM UTC
I am a taurus
somewhat of a Ferdinand
out smelling flowers
eyeing pretty little cows
capering in the pasture
but those that make the mistake
of thinking me soft or meek
or even a bit foolish
find out to their pained chagrin
that this gentle Ferdinand
becomes El Toro
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC
.
I lay here coiled foetal
in my cold cot of nightmare,
the candle that canutes the dark
has long since dimmed and died.
In but a few short hours
the **** will welcome the Dawn,
In but a few short hours
my wracked shivering frame will rise.
And frozen in the deepest night
I stare into the middle distance,
my eyes daring the still darkness
to intrude on my personal space.
But my minds eye blinks once
and I travel far far away,
back through the lonely years
to my tender sixteenth winter.
Directed and ordered to leave
I faced the cold day with all hope,
as gambolling in my ears,
voices of angry authority play.
The cities arms embraced me,
wrapped me in the mantle of adulthood.
A cooper? A Baker? An Iron-smith?
Nay! For me the cloak of the Fool.
And the Court of a Lord called,
capricious capering for entertainment.
Music. Poetry. Stories. Vitriol.
From song to spit spanning an eve.
I amuse the transient courtiers,
fake love, fake hate in delicate balance,
kiss the feet then stab the heart
and the duplicity is just an act.
In but a few short hours
the night will welcome them all.
In but a few short hours
the darkness will claim their souls.
Saints and shadows now sleep
in soft warm beds of feather-down,
the bones of feasting lay cold
like the dead ash in the inglenooks,
and their minds wander through dreams
that no scribe may steal.
The focus of my madness fades
as the horizon is neatly sliced
by a shiver from the sun,
my eyes watch the darkness retreat.
I release a long-held breath
that I stole at the Dusk of a day,
of a yesterday that matters no more,
to embrace the new day with hope.
I confess.
To the moment of Dawn:
I said the duplicity is just an act.
I lied.
And now … I may sleep.
© Pagan Paul (14/02/21)
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 3:37 PM UTC
Luscious Spring is wonderful avian theater ... The cameo appearance of Bradford Pear , a fragrant , beneficial Chestnut Tree of April ..
Melodious springtime , 'Creations Opus stage ..'
Voluminous , arthropod soloist , capering
the riparian rivers , break the searing afternoons ,
sing to me , the cool blessing of night ...
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
Face stung by depersonalization, caked and gobbed
makeup so eyes of two can tower anonymous.
Round and round, makeup descended, blood runneth
cold...blood runneth warm.
Clown's base rigor mortis white contrasted by pools
of blood-red.
Upturned lips to smile, downturned eyes to cry.
Nose...of a consummate drunk, or irritated swell of
tissue-happy crying.
****** motion spent in a capering given to the clown's
colorful daemon.
Bloated aerodynamic garb giving the birthday-suit
room to free fall the roles it was cast in.
Clown...pinch...perfect...overdone, multicolored
burning bush wig at home...ever at home with clownish
head.
O clown--built by laughing tracks, and the hollow of
broken peanut shells.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Disturbers of dust,
shedding your peace
compensatorily, capering
through eyebeams to
become real.
How else achieve ideal
ugliness?
Russian Doll nakedness
opening to the possibility
of beauty.
Exhausting the pretension
of its arbiters.
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 9:59 PM UTC
The witch cabal recites in hollow cant;
Septet, under nine stars at witching hour,
Calling Outer Fey for wishes to grant,
Gather underneath the great clock tower!
Beneath centenarian trees, owls croon;
Lightning flashes within the gloom-filled cloud,
Under the warbling choir, the shadows swoon;
Squalls lash against land in symphony loud!
Their syllables they screech like scratching nails;
Capering flames sashay in phantom wind;
And the very world howls with piercing wails,
Rolling in colours to which eyes are blind!
They call forth the Name for blood sacrifice,
Hoping for the ritual to suffice!
Jan 5, 2025
Jan 5, 2025 at 10:33 AM UTC
Benevolent Jester
Capering dervish spin me around...
free my feet from solid ground.
Delight entangled with despair,
coaxing me deeper into its lair.
Hold close your mask of gayety
that no eyes your dark evil will see.
Wear his face to taunt my heart,
making me regret out being apart.
Secret truths shall stay unspoken,
for t’was more than heart was broken.
Bones will heal, though not well...
heart will dance forever in hell.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
Nascent swimming, undertaking the lunge into reservoirs.
Our third tour of duty for love
I chase the serenade of warmth in your eyes----Balanced perfectly on stout cheeks and lips who utter the slightest phrase will control liberty.
The voice of your channels propel me into quandary.
Continue to hide behind your stare and I will be your audience. The avenues shine in the dark room.
We play the roles of comfort and neglect our confrontations.
Leave ambiguity alone------ feel what I felt.
Love frustrates
Where is the evidence that you have live--- I refuse to sleep next to a stranger,
I want to know the story behind every scar on your body.
Redress you intentions
Capering around your mind confusing reality for fantasia.
This time I draw the curtains
Resolve my search echo my pursuit
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
accursed creepily haunting
phantasmagoria wraiths
vandalize residents psyches
within their sleep induced state
sublimation shunts
slumbering souls
unknowingly held hostage
successfully sacrificing
semi-smothered silent species
snoring simians steadfastly succumb
subsequent sibilant sounds
woo woebegone wicked transmogrification
dilapidated divested bodies deposited
wizard waves wand
watching whirling wretched lovely bones
whipsawing (in toto) within abyss
whooshing whistling wheezing
whets warlocks appetite wakening
brutish nasty nightmare
sinister hulking spirits
steal assorted corporeal essence
monstrous mashing somnambulant
mephistophelian shadowy satanic satyrs
supremely swallow senior citizen bankers
deep within catacombs
of Highland Manor,
deadened defeated Delphic Oracle
relegates human husks,
viz spent embodiments
to the under world lay siege
sinisterly seeding, via sinister spirits
one pure evil particularly wicked
witch thy capering
sickening ghastly plot against
unsuspecting spouse snatched
parch trey gnarled warty claws.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
Nascent swimming, undertaking the lunge into reservoirs.
Our third tour of duty for love
I chase the serenade of warmth in your eyes----Balanced perfectly on stout cheeks and lips who utter the slightest phrase will control liberty.
The voice of your channels propel me into quandary.
Continue to hide behind your stare and I will be your audience. The avenues shine in the dark room.
We play the roles of comfort and neglect our confrontations.
Leave ambiguity alone------ feel what I felt.
Love frustrates
Where is the evidence that you have live--- I refuse to sleep next to a stranger,
I want to know the story behind every scar on your body.
Redress you intentions
Capering around your mind confusing reality for fantasia.
This time I draw the curtains
Resolve my search echo my pursuit
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
there’s a vacancy in me, a moon crater, a cesspool, a grasshopper on its hind legs pleading to gods that don’t exist yet. i’ve always spelled love with bullet holes in between, his hands rummaging through my snow-caked lungs for heartstrings that vanish at the touch, my own emptiness an animal that gnaws me, a biteful here and a prickling crack in my being there. something wrong, something gnarly. a prayer with bent teeth and beer breath. a glimpse of a memory that might’ve been a dream or another world you existed in when your hands were smaller and the universe was an infinite beast, rattled by stars and ancient fires, matchlit mountains and roiling seas. have you ever felt like a graveyard in the blooming? all these tombstones littered across your body, each grave marked by your name, owls hooting behind the ribcage gates. in me there is a vacancy like this: the earth stemming from purified veins, droplets of blood capering up my skin like caterpillars, something half-eaten, half-felt, something that was perhaps, never whole. waterlogged limbs that only carry you as far as your next disaster. cheeks mottled with rain that does not burn. someone asking “hi, how are you?” and your answer is fine, always fine, do you know what it’s like to never feel anything other than fine? to hold hands with the dead and sing their souls to blissful sleep. maybe i would be a clichè, something out of a movie you’ve seen a hundred times before, a ghost with nothing to haunt, a girl who gets bitten by a monster only to become a monster, suicide in the city.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Distant songs turn
Into cacophonous melodies
Pretty, how shadows
Swirl onto dance floors
I haven't met you before
But would you dance
Dance away another year
Of wasted ink
Dance till our bodies
Succumb to that rythm,
And shall our brains
No longer clutch our heart
Inside this shrine to hatred
We profess to so often,
Beside the inhibitions
Leading me past freedom
Away from poison
Putting me to sleep.
Till midnight
I'll be Love.
Incandescent,
I'll be you tonight.
I'll be dew
Settled upon a grassblade
I'll be red, crimson
Fearless.
10 seconds of Cinderella
Before this magic strays.
I'll be the facade
To your masquerade.
Remember me
Beneath the fireworks
A fluid silhouette
Capering away
To the starlit yonder
Sans the penumbra
I latch onto for comfort.
Wake up.
Unfurling in that castle of mind
Is a memory,
An eclectic ephemera.
A flat stone
On ocean floors
Bounce, splash, ripple
Gone.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 10:25 PM UTC