"exclamatory" poems
one April dusk the
sallow street-lamps were turning
snowy against a west of robin’s egg blue when
i entered a mad street whose
mouth dripped with slavver of
spring
chased two flights of squirrel-stairs into
a mid-victorian attic which is known as
O ΠΑΡΞΕΝΩΝ
and having ordered
yaoorti from
Nicho’
settled my feet on the
ceiling inhaling six divine inches
of Haremina in
the thick of the snick-
er of cards and smack of back-
gammon boards i was aware of an entirely
***** circle of habitués their
faces like cigarettebutts, chewed
with disdain, led by a Jumpy
***** who played each
card as if it were a thunderbolt red-
hot peeling
off huge slabs of a fuzzy
language with the aid of an exclamatory
tooth-pick
And who may that
be i said exhaling into
eternity as Nicho’ laid
before me bread
more downy than street-lamps
upon an almostclean
plate
“Achilles”
said
Nicho’
“and did you perhaps wish also shishkabob?”
11k
You asked me my name in your first remark
We sat on opposite ends of a question mark
You were dashing - made me pause,
me, this independent clause
standing alone,
I made sense on my own
But I answered you anyway.
Ellipses.
Now you are the verb in my heart’s contraction
I am the subject and you are the action
An Interrogative with a Declarative reaction
An Exclamatory and then an Imperative attraction
Ellipses.
Your lips ease
Me, the direct object of your affection,
but never sentenced to an apostrophe’s possession
perhaps more true- a plural “s” suggestion
and the excitement behind an exclamation point’s inflection
The semi-colon understands
We can be on our own, but we want to stand
together
where our letters
aren’t fetters,
but the typesetter’s
better measure
of linguistic pleasure.
We communicate through metaphors and similes
Like the birds and the bees
We speak across homophone lines
to keep a census of our senses at all times
Because words said aloud have allowed
us to find meaning behind the utterance of sound-
mere words and phrases
jumping off of pages
into brain and heart and soul
when the parts become a whole
And with the syntax, punctuation, grammar, and usage
I’m a hopeless semantic always trying to ****** it
Language- yours I understand through the myriad.
Words can’t capture you. Period.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
Inconclusive patterns
Form indented regularity
In flowing drifts
A panoply of tropical orchids
In my mind
A menaced distortion
Straining forward
Like an isolated image
In an old photograph album
Disclosing only the fragments
Of an insoluble puzzle
Its atmospherics of frequency
Disturbs me somewhat
It is identical to hidden speech
Or the resistance to time
Of exclamatory reminders
Of forward motion
That momentarily fascinates
Then falls through a hole
In a central vortex of vision
This is the architectonics
Of a thought
That can never be articulated
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
give me the pleasure of knowing
that i can please you in ways that not even you can
i want to detain your innermost secrets
i want to become more familiar with your body than you are
tell me your favorite fingers
let’s discover your favorite toy
i want to know which spot makes you shiver
i want to know which spot makes you moan
i want to know exactly what type of stroke makes you shake
i want to know which spot makes
your eyes
your hips
your head
roll
so that i know precisely when to roll you over
and vivaciously assault you from behind
while i croak romantic entities
and watch them travel down the notches of your spine
and wrap themselves around your earlobes
and curl their exclamatory hands around your throat
and reach around your body
and diligently massage your ****
while the planes of your forearms give out
due to the weariness of supporting not only your body
but also the head on your shoulders
whirring with the fact that this moment is almost
too large for you
just like the member pumping
in and out of you is
and just like that member
these moments were at first
difficult to swallow
let me stop
and take a moment to admire the way sweat
gives your curves a flattering spotlight
and provides the candles in the room more reason to
applaud and reach their crowns in the air
almost as if to detach themselves from
their own wax and join us
in order to extinguish
the fire deep within themselves
by allowing me to drown them in their own juices
just as you have
i want to admire the way sheets of sweat
glaze your skin
in the same way your juices glaze
your opening
let me enter you
as you pucker your mouth
bite your lip
and beg for more
i want to know exactly what makes you
denounce me to the dirtiest of things
give me a title only worn by those wearing sweat
and exhalations
scream my name
pull those eyebrows together
and spread those legs further apart
and let the part of me
that isn’t me
(but is me)
deeper inside of you
let me carry you to ******
afterwards i'll lean down and bury my mouth
between your legs
and taste what meal your supplementary pair of lips
have prepared for me
i want to digest my libidinous progress
and mount this triumph in my heart
as the first of many
powerfully lecherous
conquered temptations
k.n
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
So does he thank that deep down there sa meaning to my stuff?
Or maybe you think this is all off the cuff
Rough
Tough
Buffy fly like a bird out a the sky
Do yo think I'm high,
I'm a cool such a cool guy
Yyeeeee!
Exclamatory you
Clinton is a complete hack aye shank you
And the is die his tort my
Mien omn thiosulfate. The sanity yo
it's tots out the window
**
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
A kiss is a sentence
it may run-on and on and...
stop, step off, take a breath.
A kiss is complex
if you're young or inexperienced;
but not to worry;
with time, it's enigmatic.
A kiss is compounded,
when confounded and complex:
and should you try expounding it;
your kiss may lead to ***
A kiss that is declarative
is indicative not imperative.
A kiss can be inverted;
that's diverted, not perverted.
(or vice versa)
A kiss is exclamatory,
As in, "Not now!" "I'm sorry!"
A kiss is.
A fragment of a kiss.
At osculum interrupta.
When is a kiss too questionable?
When it's probing, or incredible.
My advice.
Skip the semantics.
Don't parse stars and moon.
Just
Keep It Simple Stupid
Full stop
(or not...)
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
Tessellation & Interstices
**”A tessellation or tiling is the covering of a surface,
often a plane, using one or more geometric shapes,
called tiles, with no overlaps and no gaps…In mathematics, tessellation can be generalized to higher dimensions and a variety of geometries.”**
the insistent need to be distinguished
means many are not,
indeed,
this hunger
to be an influencer
and never just an influencé.
creeply creates a linear surface,
a flooring to be trod upon,
a tessellated plane,
were we each fit in
right-tight juxtaposition
and we are noticeable for our
uniformity and
the scuff marks of having been trod upon,
well used.
it is in the chips of irregularities,
the overlaps and the gaps
where we touch and connect
with our individual Ah Ha’s,
where our Venn Diagram Lives
intersect, infect, interfere, inject,
in the tiny
interstices
tween us,
the jagged, irritatingly edgy
rubbings
that the friction of creativity
is comedically inseminated.
I love a good tense sweat,
that invasive, deep boring burring,
that demands
instant creative solutions lest the angst of
an unwritten-in-the-moment-poem
is even more annoying,
before it is annoyingly,
befogged, lost forever.
that is why with old age,
fearsome fast
short term memory loss,
some turn to the speedy freedom of
free verse,
unconstrained by socks
and well fitting shoes,
and the slip on sneakers
of rhyming,
so insistent on perfection,
that the
burr is absorbed,
the irritant rubbing is creamed away,
and that loss of
a pouring of the soul’s *********** of
Done!
is
our exclamatory mutual curse
Mar 23, 2024
Mar 23, 2024 at 10:26 AM UTC
What makes a good poem?
Is it the rhythm? The structure? The carefully placed similes like dog treats and the restricted use of rhetorical questions?
Oh.
If that's the case,
I think I failed the test.
Oh please! Don't leave! Let me try this again!
(A cough to clear the throat)
Ha-HEM.
When one writes iambic pentameter
Doth that make his good prose the worthier then?
...No?
If I write a witty couplet in a rhyme
Does that make this utter **** more worth your time?
Have I got the tempo right?
I need an exclamatory tone!
Rhyming feels better somehow
But it doesn't make trombone.
My jittery jilted stream-of-consciousness different-line-length punctuation-less word-vomit onto a page-
Pause for breath-
Can never match the likes of Donne or Keats;
But I've bled my soul and fire onto this page
And surely, that is worth more than conceits?
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
Wallace Stevens
Wazzup?
With the widows and the maidens?
The name
dropping
the distancing vocabulary that
we scurry to look up
look up
train our eyes
train.
If I came into your office, in downtown
Hartford a city
I knew framed - as my father grew up in
Wethersfield always said
be careful –
downtown Hartford is
not a good place to be alone.
So I saunter, prink, and
perambulate
plonk myself
past your receptionist.
A widow?
And she’d holler:
-Mr. Wallace I asked her to stop!
And your desk which you requested almost 15 years ago
already looks out of date in too heavy oak is
caught between us, a horizontal surface filled
with paper.
There will be one sentence.
And one exclamatory remark.
-Wallace, you’re only human - you put your pants on
one leg at a time.
-No!
he says, jumping up from his desk,
-Watch!
He undoes his belt, he drops his trousers
he steps out of them –
He steps out one leg at a time.
BUT
Wallace Stevens, god bless him,
arranges his pants carefully on the floor of the
Hartford Accident
and
Indemnity Company
just so.
And grinning,
hops into both puddled legs
at the same time.
Then bends over and hoists the waistband
the belt dangling
in triumph.
Lesson learned.
Learned, schooled like
St. Ursule with her radishes
Just another lady
Just another confabulist
Just another story.
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC
I SAW THE BEST MINDS OF MY GENERALIZATION
wearing halos of fog,
opening their eyes with a burst of surreal an' shattering
the beacon of light
with a splatter of the gray matter... afterwards it all became
so fug'n trite.
I'm phrasing perfect with a hint of propulsive barb'd barkin'
—Man, I am aching to blather,
**** man, it's more than butt-cheek chatter—
it BBBBBBBBBButt bubbles with a puhcussive tootin';
a howl absurd!
I raise a cup & say cheers t' Allen Ginsberg
"O BLOATED BLUES an' DECIBELS DANCE
t'BALLYHOO'd BE-BOP FLUNG
An' BOMBS BUSTIN OPEN with Gear's CLAWING
t'BE AIRBORNE",
Yes, he SITs IN a SPACE SHARE'd with us;
finger snappin' & poetry clappin' from
a heavenly ladder's rung...
A MAD HATTER's CHINA TEACUP is filled
with continuous soft crackling liveliness of effervescence...
and buoyed by the holy soul jelly roll that moves
through here now.
So let us praise and bestow upon him,
a heartfelt bow before we etch on the walls
of my primitive pome cave
our beatnik chorale reverberation of "AND HOW!"
By "ooznozz"
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 7:57 AM UTC
Without you
life is
a question mark
With you ,
exclamatory!
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC