"devise" poems
The artichoke
of delicate heart
*****
in its battle-dress, builds
its minimal cupola;
keeps
stark
in its scallop of
scales.
Around it,
demoniac vegetables
bristle their thicknesses,
devise
tendrils and belfries,
the bulb's agitations;
while under the subsoil
the carrot
sleeps sound in its
rusty mustaches.
Runner and filaments
bleach in the vineyards,
whereon rise the vines.
The sedulous cabbage
arranges its petticoats;
oregano
sweetens a world;
and the artichoke
dulcetly there in a gardenplot,
armed for a skirmish,
goes proud
in its pomegranate
burnishes.
Till, on a day,
each by the other,
the artichoke moves
to its dream
of a market place
in the big willow
hoppers:
a battle formation.
Most warlike
of defilades-
with men
in the market stalls,
white shirts
in the soup-greens,
artichoke field marshals,
close-order conclaves,
commands, detonations,
and voices,
a crashing of crate staves.
And
Maria
come
down
with her hamper
to
make trial
of an artichoke:
she reflects, she examines,
she candles them up to the light like an egg,
never flinching;
she bargains,
she tumbles her prize
in a market bag
among shoes and a
cabbage head,
a bottle
of vinegar; is back
in her kitchen.
The artichoke drowns in a ***
So you have it:
a vegetable, armed,
a profession
(call it an artichoke)
whose end
is millennial.
We taste of that
sweetness,
dismembering scale after scale.
We eat of a halcyon paste:
it is green at the artichoke heart.
16.7k
"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
This sadness ebbs to my bones,
it shakes my soul like an earthquake shaking the earth’s crust.
The monsters will always be with me but is following them really what’s good for me?
They bashed, broke and bruised me.
If I continue this way then soon they will be the end of me.
This is not the life I devise to be good for my mind.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
Oh master of chemistry
What wonders you devise
Some make us happy
Some save our lives
Sterile lab coat
In a white sterile cell
You toil all hours
To create the newest pill
We never acknowledge
Your struggle and strife
For the chemical wonders
That are part of our life.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
your softly breathing sleep
allows me to muse on times of love
of how you care to devise for me
such pleasures that I know not of
with softly tested link of chain
that holds me to your loving bed
to know that you are there to
shield me with your tender bonds
before slumber claims my eyes
I want to feel your hand in mine
That I may know that you
Lie close by for all our night.
I need to feel the tight confine
Of my captive self that lies within
full knowing that I am
your slave at every sunrise wake
to do your bidding here by morn
and seek your use of me in ways
that have not yet seen light of day
so you shall know me as your own
but dare I risk your wrath by want
of something in this darkest hour,
and think of all you did to me
that brought me to my frenzy here?
my fingers stray and find such wet
as you in passion full create
with desire for you now so intense
that I cannot but divide myself
and guide with care your sleeping hand
where I can ride it in my thrall
and pillow-stifle screams of need
at thoughts of being used again
your touch though sleeping forces me
into that driving ecstasy
that has become my life with you
with no other than this torment wild
that makes me use myself like this
shameless as your wanton *****
needing all you do to me
in ways that you need me to be
....Francesca Anderssen 2016
From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 **** Verses (Amazon)
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 6:12 PM UTC
From Potent Treasures despite Five Months past
The Sixth Great Angel suddenly appeared
Reminding my Lost Voice which Virtues last
And preached the Sermon of True Self revealed
How Wonderful must your Header advise
Being the Younger of your Sister's sprite
From there Unknotted Loyalty devise
Though snubbed by Pink Dandelions in spite
Now I can see why he chose over you
His Charming Sense knew your Heart was that Pure
And please keep on; Keep that Silver Disc blue
Coat them with your Wings from being demure.
Yes I Agree. Of your True Coating's stand
Thank you so much for reminding me at hand.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
Gliding in air
was an eerie delightful hue
hanging high above violet and blue,
for eons no one had knew,
the peon pest probing around
the howling zoo,
rhyming and roaming
hiding and hoping
flighty the ronin
ran,
groping every moment he could come to
as a token to his gallantry
the guidance to his apathy
decided to devise his only strife
to live happily
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:53 PM UTC
And how sweet a story it is
When you hear Charley Parker
tell it,
Either on records or at sessions,
Or at offical bits in clubs,
Shots in the arm for the wallet,
Gleefully he Whistled the
perfect
horn
Anyhow, made no difference.
Charley Parker, forgive me-
Forgive me for not answering your eyes-
For not having made in indication
Of that which you can devise-
Charley Parker, pray for me-
Pray for me and everybody
In the Nirvanas of your brain
Where you hide, indulgent and huge,
No longer Charley Parker
But the secret unsayable name
That carries with it merit
Not to be measured from here
To up, down, east, or west-
-Charley Parker, lay the bane,
off me, and every body
5.4k
The business man, the acquirer vast,
After assiduous years, surveying results, preparing for departure,
Devises houses and lands to his children—bequeaths stocks, goods—funds for a school or hospital,
Leaves money to certain companions to buy tokens, souvenirs of gems and gold;
Parceling out with care—And then, to prevent all cavil,
His name to his testament formally signs.
But I, my life surveying,
With nothing to show, to devise, from its idle years,
Nor houses, nor lands—nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends,
Only these Souvenirs of Democracy—In them—in all my songs—behind me leaving,
To You, who ever you are, (bathing, leavening this leaf especially with my breath—pressing on it a moment with my own hands;
—Here! feel how the pulse beats in my wrists!—how my heart’s-blood is swelling, contracting!)
I will You, in all, Myself, with promise to never desert you,
To which I sign my name.
5.4k
Against the saturated
Horizon of dawn,
Loitering in the dark timbre
Of emerging consciousness -
Dissipating somnolence
And preemptive despair,
Tacitly adumbrate the
Yawning abyss.
Chastened by the cunning and
Lubricious nihilism,
Igniting fermented provocations,
Silent subterfuge; death,
By mirth - the inane;
Lament of the mundane.
Fallow paradigms, accretions of
The last gasp -
Evaporating empty liturgies
Of suspicion;
Charity and equanimity -
Lost in confinement,
Triumphant avarice bearing
Descendants
Of intransigence;
Wielding imperious
Schemes of orthodoxy.
Pollard fragments of
Silken tapestry,
Miasma draped depression
Abridging;
Conversely,
Permuted flurries of anxiety
Dislodge
The vestiges of meaning
That abide
In brazen equivocation.
Tributaries of dogma reach
Their confluence,
Watershed moment,
Numinous effusion
Streams naked epiphany,
The precarious vision -
A gesture of providence,
Certainty and contingency;
Gratuitously derivative, life
Equals choice.
Verdant branches of intention;
And opportunity the vine,
Live forward -
The pen, my voice,
Piquant conduit pouring,
Exuberant wine.
Footprints found in givenness
Underline,
Penumbrae of my soul;
Mirrored silhouettes,
Thoughts and words engender;
And in verse adorn
Fecund soil, Line after line,
The cosmos altered,
Continuum of permanence -
Artist’s art articulating
Essence of my imagination,
I proliferate, I design
Phrases unique,
Participation mystique.
Words creating world,
The apparatus of infinity
Heidegger, ontologically precise,
Language -
The house of Being,
Ineffable, Promethean
Literary devise -
Envisioning possibility,
And abundance to allow,
I occur
Inhabit
Manifest
Future phenomena
Experienced as now.
©2008 & ©2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 2:02 PM UTC
He motioned for her to take her place on the back.
He braced himself steady as she slid herself onto the rack.
Once she had settled, he handed her his gunny sack,
He told her keep it safe as he tackled the offbeaten track.
The night was quiet, save for the crickets chirping in unison
Hiding behind the clouds, the moon gave out a dim ominous glow.
The tapper finally felt a tiny sliver of trepidation
He wasn't sure of the outcome, that night would eventually show.
The whole time, he was thinking in his busy little head...
He tried to devise ways to thwart this playful, mischievous being.
But those thoughts of his were quickly derailed instead.
For her perfumed presence was very much intoxicating.
Soon they had arrived at the foot of the hill
He hastened his pedalling to meet the uphill slope.
He would have continued slamming on the pedals until...
He felt her hand on his shoulder clench into a tight *****
He tilted his head back towards his beautiful passenger.
In a calm manner he mouthed the words asking, "What's the matter?"
Her voice came right after in a nervous stammer,
"Would you mind slowing down because last night this was where I had fallen over..."
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 8:26 AM UTC
Someone asked me,
Who is a teacher?
A pathway to degree?
Or holds a position deeper!
‘Union of multiple roles’, I said,
Is a teacher’s true identity;
One who enlightens the road ahead,
Assisting selflessly which is a rarity.
Playing a huge role in our upbringing,
And giving us a constant support;
Teachers were there motivating,
In the times we felt lost.
They teach us the art of life;
Losing sleep for other’s child,
New and innovative ways they devise;
It is incomparable what they provide.
The ones who are always well-wishing
Steering to right path and escorting;
They instill a passion for learning,
Student’s success is their earning.
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 1:23 PM UTC
I tricked a god.
now Cronus can't escape.
Sealing a god in an hourglass,
I locked time away.
To stave off my lover's date with fate.
Where she will perish, becoming lost to me.
Locked behind heaven's gate.
Cronus promises to **** me-
when i set him free.
Only with his freedom will the world reanimate.
Containing a god with dark magic;
I made a costly mistake.
Trapping him forced the world to become frozen in place.
-But I could spend forever learning
every little feature of her face.
How her frail figure fought for every breath.
The chemo for the cancer ate her weight.
Shedding the hair from her head.
I'll remain here by her side,
until I devise an alternative to what Cronus said.
stretching her final seconds into the infinite,
as she lays here in this hospital bed.
... ♾️ ...
How can i exist in a museum with one exhibit?
I tried forcing time to rewind.
I meant to spite the concept of mortality.
Instead I've been trapped here for eons,
With,her still somehow lost to me...
...I am tempted to set cronus free.
... ♾️ ...
It's been chess with two moves:
You either speak or don't speak.
I can't find another way.
I've become worn out and jaded.
Cellmates with Cronus so long,
In this temporal prison I involuntarily created.
"It's wrong to steal time.
As karma,you've had no one to spend it with.
You tricked a god, but I'll still grant you your wish.
Undo your dark magic, a swift death I promise you,
Once your soul is released from the world,
I'll cure her cancer, like i believe you intended to."
And as Cronus spoke.. i knew what i would do.
Telling him,
"I refuse to let time pass.
I refuse to release you from the hourglass.
I refuse to let her be lost to me."
I pull her in close as i grin,
Cronus accepting defeat.
"I'd rather remain here...
In a staring contest with eternity. "
-
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 1:35 AM UTC
The squirrels played havoc around the house,
picking stuffing from the porch swing,
packing it into their cheeks, until they were swollen,
pregnant, to fluff their nests with synthetic cotton.
They bounded about the yard stopping to squeeze
fallen walnuts, like supermarket melons, to see
if they were ripe or rotten. Their neighbors,
the gopher and raccoon and rabbit
were overrun by the squirrels myriad brood.
Some (squirrels) sought refuge in refuse, chewing large
holes in the trash bins. This would feed many a raccoon’s
hungry mouth, but none of them would show thanks.
When the numbers began to spill over from the trees,
the squirrels began occupying the gutters, causing sheets
of ice to cataract, frozen down the sides of the house,
and then when the old man found stuffing from his swing
in the attic, enough had become enough. Something
had to be done. This blatant malfeasance must
be dealt with, and so he would devise a plan, a trap.
The old man stood watching the plump little devils
bounce and leap around his yard, when he saw the bin.
And wriggling the fingers on his upturned paw, a sinister
plan curled onto his face in a dark smile. He went out
to the trash bin and filled it with water, only halfway,
no more. He dropped a lightly pumped, bald
basketball into the bin, and smiled when the first
squirrel drowned in it. Everyday, the old man wriggled
his fingers and smiled his dark smile,
until he found synthetic swing stuffing
in his bed, and realized he had lost.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
There Is But One Law (The Dancer's Coda)
There is but one set of laws,
One that need be obeyed,
One that brooks no heresy,
One that gives no absolution.
One that needs no priests, no canons,
One that that refuses disobedience.
We all bend knee at altar invisible,
Though feasance never requested.
The Laws of Physics.
A body at rest, a body in motion.
Laws immutable, unconditional,
Equations, proofs, demonstrable,
Inequalities inexcusable, banished.
Dancer says:
I am heretic, even these laws I refuse.
My body denies limitations,
My mind believes I will make do
What it could not, but yesterday.
Defiance from wire to wire is the
Fuel in my veins, fear but a detail,
Leaping from from ten meters more,
My Declaration of Independence.
My body plastic, my mind ethereal,
Some mock, call it trickery,
Some hail, call me hero.
There are forces greater than mine,
Forces irrevocable, mathematically superior.
Each day my force grows as well,
Visions imagined supersede the
Tedium of definitions, of boundary lines.
Bend the law, conquer the null, fill the void.
Each day sketch, devise, organize a
New rebellion, follow only one command,
Honor but a single battle cry.
Leap, then fall!
That dancer, your only law,
That heretic, thine only coda.
Action is freedom.
For you are dancer,
Whisper as you leap:
The Fifth Freedom I possess,
The Freedom to Fall.
May 17th, 2013
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
I wonder if the trees could talk
Would they tell about the breeze?
Would they talk about the sunshine?
Or of their many different leaves?
Would they talk about that woodpecker
That's roosted on their limb?
Or maybe devise a brilliant plan
To rid themselves of him
Would they tell us of their thirst?
And celebrate the rain
Would they talk about their fear of fire?
And how they hate the flame
Would they talk about the winter?
How it robs them of their shields
As the winter breeze scatter their leaves
Across the barren fields
Would they talk about the summer heat?
And the sacrifices they've made
As they hold their limbs high and stong
To cast our needed shade
Would they talk about their Creator,
Who rules from Heaven above
And profess undying gratitude
And their never ending love?
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
deliciously ruined
poor little human
crying her eyes out in hurt
remnant from great things
image of great kings
kicked up by wind like the dirt
they say who you are is deep down within
but i’m right here, can’t you see
it’s disgusting
one can’t devise the nature of light
without all the ugly to shape and define
so please don’t blame me if my soul’s
a bit dusty
moonbeams are just dead skin glowing
who we are 's just dead skin going
on and on and on again
to a place where the night-lights never end
moonbeams are just dead skin gleaming
who we are 's just dead skin screaming
over and over and over again
why won't the night-lights ever end?
it's funny how the things that are odd
creepy and macabre
are the things we dare call the face of God
if we end up gone
for once just be wrong
seek beauty in horror you stumble upon
write them in poems
a lyric of song
and throw off the angels by singing along
moonbeams are just dead skin glowing
who we are 's just dead skin going
on and on and on again
to a place where the night-lights never end
moonbeams are just dead skin gleaming
who we are 's just dead skin screaming
over and over and over again
why won't the night-lights ever end?
it's funny how the things that are odd
creepy and macabre
are the things we dare call the face of God
and when all is said
everyone is dead
so why won’t they call me a moonbeam instead?
if i’m a moonbeam
and you’re a moonbeam
why can’t a moonbeam be the face of God?
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 10:05 PM UTC
Measure my love in starlight
And set the sky ablaze
Measure my love in words
And eternal speak my beloved’s praise
Measure my love in raindrops
And overflow the seas
Measure my love in sighing
And make storms from a summer breeze
Measure my love in music
And hear all the world’s choirs sing
Measure my love in riches
And make every pauper a king
Measure my love in heartbeats
And deafen every ear
Measure my love in laughter
And banish every tear
Seek to measure my love as some might wish
By consulting the learned or wise
But each effort will fail, because such a scale
No mortal thought can devise
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
Joe wants to know
how'm I doing?
an innocuous query,
little can he know,
bye bye is my merry,
marooned on a skerry,
noxious fumes in the aerie,
currently inhabiting my foreheady,
worry waves, rolling thunderous tides,
have myself beside
thus the answer to your toll,
something bad, on me, got a hold
Joe,
life is,
more than a tad
concerting
concerting?
surely you meant
converging, or perhaps,
concatenating, or concaving?
discombobulating, or more likely,
plain ole disconcerting?
indeed, all of the above,
fit like a glove,
but best combinated in steaming mug of
concerting
"to contrive or arrange by agreement: to plan; devise"
the world is secret contriving,
the world is secret devising,
a plan for my demising,
forces are concerting re me...
most concerning,
as trends converging,
concave hollow chains clinking,
a concatenating chorus
voicing their displeasure,
at my happy existence,
which now gone,
its loss, wept for, in great measure
life dissing me, in a manner
concerting and dis-concerting,
my composure,
decomposing,
the ides of depression,
hip hop discombob-
(undu)lating throb
but then again,
what's in a word,
what's in a rhyme,
jes that old timey R&B;,
rhyming and blues,
of a verbal kind
so, Joe, how'm I doing?
now that you are knowing,
as men of distinguished letters,
students of history,
part time poets,
Your Reply
must only be:
"Oh no, Natty,
say it ain't so"
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
The cows graze in their pasture
Subservient to their master
Who doesn’t move faster
To help avoid disaster
So the cows are on their own
To deal with snow
Those all alone
Completely froze
Yet those who know
To use the warm glow
Of company that showed
Survive temperature lows
The cows used to solitary grazing
Now begin embracing
To fight cold air they’re facing
That is life erasing
While frost is lacing
The grass once worth tasting
The winter refuses to yield
As snow builds in the fields
The cows’ cohesion is revealed
As they protect their veal
And forget to steal
To connect and heal
During this ordeal
In times of inclement weather
The cows huddle together
Like someone pulled a lever
That won’t stay locked forever
So eventually ties are severed
As summer comes
The dumber numb
Thinking they won
Soaking up sun
Knowing winter is done
They divide into ones
A flow line
Of the bovine
Slow grind
Shows flies
Grow wise
With no size
They devise
To go for eyes
Cows go blind
In their mind
And cannot find
Their herd in time
Pretty soon the irritating fleas
Give them mad cow disease
As they don’t look to please
But put the good on their knees
While they’re hiding in trees
And biting with absolute ease
Seeing the absence of immunities
From their lack of community
The lost independent
Weather defendants
Become repentant
When they hear encroaching
Thunder clouds approaching
The cows become hectic
From a storm electric
Their formation eclectic
So they feel unprotected
But a fence was erected
So they can’t join the dejected
And this lonely life they elected
Is sadly reflected
The lasso angler
Hassling wranglers
Unmasked as stranglers
Bring the herd together
As they pull a lever
That’ll stay locked forever
As the cows’ heads are severed
And the horns in their head
Stick around once they’re dead
As we eat what they were fed
While they made their own bed
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
There was a fire burning in your eyes
As we sat in the darkness and tried to devise
A way to live forever
To sever the tether
Between our fragile bodies and our immortal soul
We tried to understand things beyond our control
We lived in the pages of ancient books
Stealing secrets likes shameless crooks
We dreamed impossible dreams
We talked only in absolutes and extremes
The foolish invincibility of youth
We thought we were guided by truth
But we were blinded by our fear
Of losing everything we hold dear
We became obsessed in the pursuit
That a sickness of a mind took root
We began to lose sight
Of what is wrong and what is right
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
They call me a raving lunatic
My mind is poor and sick
Manic vagabond, mystic sorcerer
Snake Oil Salesman, Son of Lucifer
Given wings of Raven feathers
Cursed to live in stormy weather
Chaos lives beneath the color of my painted teeth
I've a dark mind indeed, of morbid persuasion
Come sing along to your damnation
Ride the cannibal sensation
Devise a way to survive the game
Or you won't get out alive again
Alchemy infernal, elixir of dark might
Inhale the emerald Smoke of Jesterian Light
Given to us a seventh sight
Arise to conquer the lies this night
Our darkest night
A beast, a fiend, a wicked thing
I'm a regular madman
A creep, a dream, a demon seed
A regular madman
Indeed
Follow me through the thick of the trees
Over roots and rocks and dying leaves
To a darker realm of mystery
Where everyone is a freak like me
A better place, you'll see
A better place indeed
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
War, the war to end all wars they said, only they told lies,
For pain, conquest and wealth is what they devise.
~
War, the war to bring freedom they said, yet, the only ones free,
are the ones that lost their lives.
~
War, the war to bring a great leader to guide us all, but only
they control the leader, and they control them all.
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC