"edgewise" poems
Those of you who sleep at nite,
Maybe unaware of the riff raff
Of poets who, two if by night,
Riff each other All Night Long,
Trade barbarous compliments,
Hipping and dipping, jiving & shucking
(Yes I am outdatedly old, yes I know)
Slipping in scepters of sly verse,
Interspersed with an occasional curse,
Riposte and repost each other,
Always seeking a word edgewise,
Or the last word
(Even better)
Whipping, sticking and licking
Each other's poems
With jabs of kind words,
&
That seldom are heard,
In fact a never-land rule,
A contemptuous thread,
And it's off with your head,
And you gotta be there,
To believe,
But its ok, sleep well,
And leave the S(word) play
To those who live and die
By the coda
Only the young-at-heart-poets
never get olda,
So there!
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 3:35 AM UTC
her morning pleasure occasionally actually exercised,
a substituted delight for gym-going work with Lulu exercised,
no man can, will ever, understand
the nature/nurture debate over,
in my mind resolved, nature, hands up and hands down
RR's^ query, is god dead,
no longer rumbles around in my head cause when he speaks,
I can't get a word in edgewise
what i did in the sixties, lost to time in memoriam,
especially some really bad poetry
but this gender differentiation
a matter that Aristotle dutifully, so wisely, philosophically avoided
there is no Socratic method rationality in what is just crazy insanely meiosis,
there is no comprehension of the essence of elemental genetic division,
like the NY Mets,
ya just gotta believe, or just accept
but from the other side of the bed
comes a surly, dry rejoinder, a gelled spike
*thanks to modern science,
why don't you come over to the
right side, maybe then,
you'll understand the true meaning
of pleasure
transgend your self,
show your willingness per the bible,
to be god's new and improved version of a human being*
So,
a pretty little, light A-line,
with a summer floral pattern,
a size 12, (20? ***
I,
will wear with great
human pride,
come June
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
Intangible computer guy
The one you trick yourself into feeling closest to,
When in reality he is the farthest away.
Hell, an entire ocean separates the two of you.
But none the less,
He has gained importance.
Your life has become so lack luster
That more and more you find anticipation rising
As you near your PC.
It practically singes your fingertips
As you reach for the keyboard
And paw at the mouse.
Your body is
Taken over by an infestation of cyber butterflies;
Flapping their steel bolted wings
So hard,
That they thin your breath in anticipation of his next paragraph
Of small talk words;
Adorned with innocent courtesies
And make-shift smiley faces of semi-colons and parentheses.
Perhaps you’re eager because of the complement he threw in near the end of his last message?
As you scroll slowly down the page,
You see that he has not replied
Even though it has been two days.
In that instant
you realize that “intangible computer guy”
Is only so intangible to you;
For on the other side of the Atlantic,
He lives a life that is real.
Maybe it is you who is intangible?
Your shell of a life has been a bit depressing as of late.
For you,
A 20 year old
Who should be having flings and going to parties,
Has only been kissed once and never been touched;
Stuck living a life not your own.
Maybe “intangible computer guy” is so real
That your pathetic life can’t fathom the fact that he has one too.
You realize this as the mild depression
That has been like an infestation of maggots,
Gnaws at your senses;
Causing your eyes to burn, redden and cry.
Yes.
You realize that with Mr. Computer Guy
You get the chance to be charming
And talk about yourself,
When in reality you can barely get a word in edgewise;
Too busy living for others
That you,
In a sense,
Have begun to fade.
Becoming almost…
Intangible.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
Locked-legs.
Smooth to the touch, intertwined,
In the most innocent of ways.
Strong against frail
Breaking pale against pale
Meows of week-old kittens that paint a smile upon our faces
Serotonin overload, charisma can’t hide
Charisma won’t try.
Seeds leap over backwards for a word in edgewise
Attempting to control this spillway, it cannot be safe
For a cat like me
In a city of your pace.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC
this morning, i could not get one breath in edgewise
as she stuck her nose in the air and told me condescendingly
how parroted prayer and mass-market worship got her closer to god
and i had to clench my teeth
to refrain from telling her
i prefer the nine inch nails version of
that.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 1:29 AM UTC
There is a deeper run of color
More raw scarlet and burgundy hues
splayed
Eying pitiless
edgewise mouth spangled with tobbacco
Hindsight plays into the corner
barred tooth
wounded & scrabbling at the wood
Without purchase
Come now
Look at you
So pitiful and gorgeous
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
When the razor doesn't hurt anymore,
When you can't do anything to even the score.
Your heart is jet black when they don't come back;
You're always wondering what you lack.
The blood trickles down your arms as the tears do down your face;
You're the one, you're the disgrace. The wasted unit of space.
You're the black sheep and your wool is tainted,
This image of macabre has been repeatedly painted.
The pain in your heart has left you battered and slain;
But in edgewise, the last thing you want to do is complain.
So you **** it up and you smile; that ought to hold them off a while.
You want to scream with every excruciating mile.
Finally you let the scream escape your heart;
That's when the bloodshed does start.
Your screams only grow in volume from here; the stabs you feel are just like spears.
You just can't take it anymore, it's not like anyone can hear.
You take this knife, six and a half inches long; you hold it to your throat in despair.
There is no feeling in the world you would dare to compare.
Drag it hard, make it count; a loved one you will always be without.
That's the one you've been crying about.
The scarlet sprays; a gorgeous colour.
Your body hidden alone in this cellar.
Your heart, stagnant and deathly black.
No one knows, but you aren't coming back.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 4:16 AM UTC
Helen of Troy is singing into a pantyhose pop filter
With her stereo-tone voice
She has a death wish
Chipped nails
Spellbinding rasp
And a ****** lisp
She takes her daily dose of Vitamin D and Composition B
She sings about what she sees
Severed heads chanting "freedom"
The industrial illusion
Dog eared and frayed pages of misspelled words
Cancer emitting devices causing problems for the ones on hold to be put on a sucker's list who can never seem to get a word in edgewise
But when you ask her what's wrong she just says "I don't wanna talk about it"
She goes on to collect bottle caps and pop tabs to bring to the fun fair
I hope to hell she isn't another spark set to ignite but just fizzles out
-Tommy Johnson
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
OK; I will:
I will drone on and on about this and that
and you won't get a word in edgewise.
Droning is fun! You don't have to
check your mouth
or worry about vocabulary;
you just need to keep talking!
You can talk about sheep,
you can talk about skin lotion.
Did you know that lanolin
comes from sheep shear?
But no one yet has figured
a good use for hairballs—go figure!
I mean, the Scottish figured out
what to do with sheep's intestines;
I mean, the Scotts figured, yes,
I'm talking haggis!
But then again,
the Moonlanding was staged.
It's true!
Evidence of soundstages
for that prank can still be found
in Area 53.
But back to Hagrid —
in the Deathly Hollows
he seemed 3 cm smaller
than he did in the first HP movie,
and I'm not talking about Hewlett-Packard.
Can you imagine Carly Fiorina
as president?
I sure can't!
Did you know that you can survive
deep in the redwood forest
by licking the slime of banana slugs
for needed protein
and protect yourself from hypothermia
by plucking hundreds of fiddlehead ferns
and delving deep inside them…
hey, I think my drone batteries jus
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC
Python
Python got tied in knots
Pulling Eve's leg about an apple
Adam tried to get a word in edgewise
All to no avail
Who got that apple
After the first bite
Ah that's a tail for later
Copyright 2016
Richard L Ratliff
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
Can't get a word in
edgewise, no doubt, introvert
male, extrovert child
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
i tread; ambiguous, i can't get a word in edgewise.
my lips split and ooze in the chill, pinprick bleeding, you stare at me with dewy eyes and i feel almost everything. she said, dont
worry, almost caustically, searing the flesh.
1. they both pricked their fingers on junkyard knives and pressed them to each other. this is what it means to be lovers, she said. now we’re bound to each other forever.
2. i dream of strawberries and whipped cream. awake at midnight with crossed eyes and i bleed you out. i hate your appendages and the way they move. i hate your skin and the way it pulses.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
But it was all
while in fugue, even
as a neighbor stood there
barefoot, the trilling cicadas
barely heard. A climate
rippled the calm like a
faint heartbeat
beneath damp ground.
I knew these people;
the sort to meet in stopovers.
Briefly, modestly, passively.
They carry conversations
by vibration, not talk.
Withdrawn moans,
grunts, edgewise glances
more potent words.
One night, I touched
him. He needed
to be touched.
To be so far away
to forget warmth, how?
He touched me back.
I allowed. His body melted
onto the floor, leaving only
a lit cigarette. I unlatched
instantly, like a derailed train.
His body gathers; the marrows
retreating to their proper places:
blood, bone, muscle, skin
assuming back a shape.
The town held a quiet night
the way newborns are held.
No one needed to know.
He will forget.
I will, too. The cigarette
belched a thin trail of smoke
until its fire ran out.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC
I don’t want to be here
My skin is crawling up my arms and legs
And I don’t want to go home
It’s not where I belong, just so much
Of a bother, never get a word in
Edgewise or otherwise
They don’t know I am there anyway
Or at least don’t care what I say
especially when I am saying it
because there is more
important whistling and grinding
coming from somewhere else
like a flock of geese that fly out loud
beside a pair of pigeons
that never let their feet touch the ground
and melt their grandma’s heart.
But I am in the way or whatever
To be rushed home for,
To complain of missing intent
While fearful watching what to do
And simmering pots with tonight’s fare
May never seize a spark
For whatever reason promised
But never fulfilled.
Its not so bad, though as I figure out
the solace that I seek is not subject to asking
since breaking away is breaking up
the layers of ice, frigid but constant,
paved so thick and remembered over time,
the flexed muscles of commitment still
hold the ice against a stone and steel dam.
So do not weep for me, I sharpened
My own skates and pulled the laces tight,
And figured the difference between now
And then will be what it will be and I again
Will watch the water and chunks of ice
Flow under the bridge to spread out over the
Delta with only the gigantic machines of
Man and time to alter their stone carved path.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
It's an alright guise
It helped me win a prize
Pay no attention to my size
Just ask if I am wise
So quick of you to advise
Before I can apprise
You stand to watch me rise
After I have been abscised
Perhaps you will baptize
And hope to capsize
All that I chastise
And all that I cognize
This poem I comprised
Of all that you demised
All that you despised
And all that you devised
Why do you always demonize
Just to get a word in edgewise
If you truly wish to excise me
Why not just Graecize me
I Watch the moon rise
I reprise and revise
I get streetwise
And I stylize
Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 8:21 PM UTC
Taking the story forward,
there are these people, all along the edges
of tyrannies in states of peace,
outlaws and anarchaltypes,
heroes for the meek,
the meekest of them all.
The man who thought, he shot
Liberty Balance,
edgewise, or we are ******* in wrong,
but, he fired off a round
of conjecture
f'sure,
no sweat, see the space we cease being,
doing we the *******
and we morph, cool way to say, we change
we become the point of life. We the living.
All our ancestors inherited the wind.
We hold it in our fists. Be gentle.
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 12:38 PM UTC