"pinhead" poems
Stepping out
On stepping stones
Cracked and ready to crumble
The slightest pressure or lightest weight
Bring the depths instantly closer
Plummeting to the unknown
Facing the unwanted
The sunny sky turns tunnel
Turns pinhead, turns black
Vertigo, no sign to guide
Nothing to lean on
No way to track the bubbles
As the drowning ensues
Searing pain, like lightening
Blinds or enlightens
A flash of what's to come
For an instant there is tomorrow
In that instant hope renews
A hint of up or down
A choice of direction
A path to glory
A way of life
And the sun will never be lost again
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 7:25 PM UTC
As I looked into the moon
A smoke ring round his face
I want to float into the sky
And leave this stupid place
Id looked for somewhere not pronounced
in the mind of space
If you could talk to all the stars
You'd know what silent means
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
Hie Yamaha Wegman ****** voyager, voted vonage valuable, unrepentant TIME Magazine subscriber. Spotify sportsman Snapchat smartly. Sleuth slenderman silences Shutterfly schvitzing. Saxby sassy Santander sais sage rues rudimentary router rotorooter.
Royale Rococco rigged remarkably regular referee reefers red reddit reeder recuperating. Reconnaissance recluse really rabid. QVC quotient quoting, quo quoi quivering quite quirky. Quisling quipped. Quintuplets quintessentially quiet. Quids Quicken questions.
Quartermaster qualified quaint quaffing quadrilateral Pythons. Pyrex pylons put purdy purposeful puny punsters punching. Pumpkin pumice publicized prudential protean pros properly pronouncing prolific prodigies.
Proletariats professors' problematic. Pro privileges prioritized. Principle primates prevaricate. Preppy pregnant, praying prattler possibly Porgie. Poseidon pooping poodle ponders poppycock. Plum? Polite poison pods ply pitiful pinterest.
Pinhead Pillsbury pillager Pi. Pigskin pierce petsmart pests permanently. Perdition percolates peppered PennState pedigreed PearlJam Patagonian. Pastor pastes passion passably. Papas' paginated orbitz okayed. Nutty node needs money.
Next netzero nee naugahyde. Nattering nationwide nabob Moxie Molly McGee. Monosodium livingsocial joyus je kickstarter. Identityguard Huffington GMO. Gluten Glutamate footloose fancy free footlocker. Fingerhut fetishistic fabrication Cingular.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
fornicate
and lay back
asleep against the cold steel
heal your wounds with fire
limes are burning
lemons yearning
his fruit is turning into wine
mindless meditators
mediating madness
fundamentally flawed
raw and cored like apples
and hone(st)y
posthumously imbibed
nominal anomalies
rusted tire chains
as thunder complains
of its own ignominy
eyes awaken
lands are taken
and what's far worse
is that we have
all lost our voices
demanding silence
stem-cells signal sentences
denser than a dozen dollar bills
dancing on a pinhead
reprimand and then repeat again
the end is near
feet in fear move slowly
are you impressionable my dear
a glimpse of eternity
and your hair turned white as snow
suppress emotion
keep composure
learn to control
your own will
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
snow ribbons the night behind blinds, white
crackle over vinyl, black in ravines
undulating silt whisks the sea, bed
conversation of springs, yawn
to sleep on a twin mattress, turtle,
interred: orange branch to grove floor, hear-witness
flutes in unbearable dawn unposessable, flesh
and lavender stir in sleepy eye beds, rosebuds and breath
condense warm on rickety panes, chipped
beams stray suspended through poplar clouds, dissolve
avocado in manila teem, damp hush to skin folds, pores,
unseen burrows, pawed and pinhead heartbeats, meek
but if in unison: rainfall tremendous on canvas cover, sinuous
as the shanty cat spine, lilting: raking grain to wispy tail, cursive
trickle over creekbed washboard scrubs, whisper
sudding lace over iris-leather bed, wheat
murmurs iridescent in squint-eyed flaxen wind.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 8:55 PM UTC
Welcome to the freak show...
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and kids of all ages; tonight we have the most tantalizing and unique freak show that we have prepared just for you. There will be things that you have never seen before, and that you will most likely, never see again. From all corners of the known world we have a very special show for you this evening.
It will frighten you, it may enlighten you, and it will definitely peak your curiosity. The ferocity of all these oddities is enough to drive anyone totally crazy...so step right up, come on in..."Tickets please, and for an extra fee, you sir may see, what it is that we hide behind curtain number 3!"
So come one, come all; come short, wide, stocky, and come tall; we will love and accept you all. Please come in and take a peek, it is our show than cannot be beat. Pinhead will let you in, and dog faced boy may greet you. But, it is the bearded lady that will really want to meet with you. Some things may scare you; but if they don't, then I double dog dare you, to stare at our oddities. You may do so wide eyed and wondrous, and without the thought of any apologies.
Have a tea party with the conjoined twins. Or, if you have a question; get in there and then ask the jinn. And, if the Jinn's answer were to cause an issue, the smallest woman in the world can hand you a tissue. After that, if you are still upset Girtha, our voluptuous rotund beauty, will gladly blow you a kiss; and she normally will not miss. But if she does, it is strong mans arms that will hold you down, so that you can not resist.
So come one, come all, to the freakiest freak show of them all. Buy some popcorn, and maybe a corn dog too...do you see that booth and the desk?
Buy a golden ticket now and get half off of at the burlesque! It's just 10 minutes after this show is through. It's right over yonder in tent number two. And, If you can't find the sign; it is the tent that is green, and the other half is blue. Lastly, there is a money back guarantee. This we can assure you, because we know that our lovely ladies, will never disappoint you.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 7:32 AM UTC
Trees forbid the sun
Park benches beckon
The bustling tranquility
The unyielding softness
Her flame melts time like wax
Pinhead of light
In crushing ethereal darkness
Single punctuation mark on a blank page
Sadness of a thousand hearts
Oscillate her strings
But love moves her fingers
And melts arctic emotion
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
I spent the majority of my time recently In the mirror.
Screaming curses at myself for me to be better;
because I perceive myself as minuscule and insignificant
as a spec of dust on the pinhead of a needle,
hurdling towards the sun.
Pretty much nothing right?
Yeah.
But I slowly stopped hating the man in the mirror.
Little by little; the days would pass,
and the dim eyes of a man filled with sorrow and pain
would only look back at me for a moment,
before something began to stir in him.
A passion began to flicker like candlelight in his pupils,
and a smirk would emerge from the thought
that my lips were sweetly caressed by hers in the snow and rain.
So my candlelight arose
to melt away the snow.
Thanks to her;
the man in the mirror is no longer a sad, lonesome, stranger.
He's me.
And we will continue to smirk and smile; and beg her to stay a little while longer.
Because her lips are only intertwined with mine for a moment;
but that single moment when heart and soul agree,
will last me an eternity.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
grains of time slip thru fingers unabated
like the slipstream of her words
all thouse meanings slipped by
unawares
until madness thought to dance on the pinhead
of a logical choice
and you suddenly found yourself with
nothing to your name but your name
rebuild and reinvent who you are and meant to be
and in the sweeping away of your former years you discover that
each precious person who's love you
you received the gift of
meant just as much as all the rest
that the real value and meaning of our lives
is in the love and joys
we find in thouse around us
that share caring and positive things
its the laughter and love
the compassion and hope
we find in friends
family
strangers
that makes this worth living for
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
And the
memory
of melting
Zodiac
popsicles,
running down
your sweet
lips. and
the yearning
for cool
pinhead
rain kissing
my back
on hot
summer
solace
days,
and the
belly aching
of annoying
friends like
harbor flies
bussing around
my head.,
you know the
really big
ones.
and in
the kitchen
the dishes
slumber deep
in their
porcelain
bed,
and barnacle
pieces of
food cling
to their
smooth
sun dial edges,
and lazy
dish *****
run up
and down
left and
right in my
imagination
across their
face.
the karma
of *****
dishes
and a
summer
deluge of
missing you
that just
won't
stop.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 1:30 PM UTC
The cabin in which I live is quiet
It is dark just moonlight in through the window
I am falling fast to sleep
When I notice on the cold white wall
A black and yellow wasp was walking
He is a perfect specimen
An abdomen the size of a pinhead
A long his stinger is settled at the end of a long thin connection
He seemed so fragile almost delicate
An elegant warrior female
I grabbed a jar
And a piece of white paper
I caught him on the cold wall
She jabbed at the walls of the jar
And against the white paper
In the light of the moon
She panics and fights
I watch her for a while
I hold my hand beneath the paper
And pull it apart
She sees her moment
The pleasure of the ****
She's stung a thousand times
Each time more pleasurable than the last
Until here right now
She fights for all her worth
Piercing into my flesh
Like a heated nail
Her sting is so deep
Even the bones ache on the first sting
Then again
And again with all her might
Five times
Nine times
I laugh at the pain creeping up my arm
A muffled laugh when suddenly a knock at the door
Just enough time to hide her before
-the orderly slides open the hatch
"Nurses said they heard noises down here."
"Oh nothing in here."
I smile in euphoria
He shuts the slide and yells
"Close that window, that's how bugs get in here"
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 7:08 PM UTC
The bus rolled up, and parked on the green
It was painted black outside,
With just one sign, up over the door,
‘Come in for a hell of a ride.’
So the neighbours gathered around the bus
And the wife went up to the door,
She said, ‘Come on, stop making a fuss,
What are you waiting for?’
My Dawn has always been quick to jump
She’ll do most things for a fling,
She gets herself in trouble enough
By trying most everything,
She once got stuck on the Ferris Wheel
When she got right up to the top,
Then the lights went out, and they all went home
And the seat began to rock.
You’d think that that would have cured her when
She spent the night in the air,
Freezing her **** in the darkness and
Tied to a swinging chair,
When the wind blew up and the rain came down
And the lights in the fair went out,
She swears that she almost lost her voice
For the times that she tried to shout.
Now here she was at the door of a bus
That was black, and dim inside,
You couldn’t see through the tinted glass
I know, for we all had tried,
The neighbours stood there, egging her on
Though they stood well back in fear,
While Dawn rapped hard on the bus’s door,
Nobody else went near.
The door slid back with an evil swish
And revealed a dim red glow,
She said ‘Come on,’ and I said ‘You wish,’
She called me a so-and-so,
But climbed the step and the door slid shut
Locking us all outside,
The diesel roared as it started up,
Drove into the countryside.
That said it might have been Martians or
Some pinhead freaks from the Moon,
We didn’t know what they came here for
But we all would find out soon,
I hate to think what they did to her
In the glow of that evil bus,
Or if there was only the driver, but
He sure wasn’t one of us!
They found her out in a country lane
Or at least, what there was left,
I went quite crazy with grief, for I
Had never felt so bereft,
They’d taken her heart, and her kidneys, lungs
And even the ***** of her eyes,
So now we knew what that sign had meant,
‘Come in for a hell of a ride.’
If ever you see a big black bus
Roll up and park on the green,
Stay well away from the door, or pay
The price that my Dawn has seen,
It’s there to collect the organs from
Unwary ones, and it steals
Whatever it can from mortal man,
It’s really a hell on wheels!
David Lewis Paget
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 7:58 AM UTC
pinhead afterlife--
i fit here warming souls
with frozen belief
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
Gaggling gaggles are bluffing, and they can imagine being immersed in screens in five-minute positions; they burst like imaginary greats with low IQ! They're shrewd! Navel peeps and self-appointed snowmobile self-propelled! “They maniacally print little-known relationships as they turn from *** lovers to consolations! The World puffing on stilts stands for hijackers of hope!
The pumpkins of grandparents swim like yellow rotting fruit in the buzzing idiocy! S rhinoceros-brain gorillas boldly stab their fangs while it lasts a night of artificial seance! Only the suddenly attacked lizard millionaires and fake Predators still bask in the golden sands! For every other livelihood, an enduring creature is dying with its wind-lined wind cramps exploding daily into an arrogant phlegm-like!
World-beautiful mermaids also all pass out; thirsty intellect has already escaped the conversion and another stumpy **** is being made in electric brains! Man stands as a selfish carnivorous pond and the Executioner's Time Index also returns! The constantly functioning Brain is constantly shrinking and cannot feed more Estonians; the outrageous free thinking thickens on a pinhead! Airborne dirt poisons the drying up possibilities!
In the lap of lasting Peace before Man, the suddenly attacked, crowded camp of penniless caresses clings to, while thinking intellectuals can shovel fu… diligently after others!
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 2:58 AM UTC
cold and warmth vie for supremacy
offset each other in turn;
giving way as they must to the reality of each other
balanced on a pinhead of changing circumstance
all mingles influenced by the waves made by a swimming turtle
migrating to the beach of its hatching kept up to temperature
buried in sand an egg hatching into alien worlds of earth sky water
the cold running for your very life from birds in the skies and diving
into the cold depths of the ocean where to not be eaten is a daily struggle between the warmth of life and stone cold corpses.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
One brief glimpse of heaven
Before neverending exile
Is Hell.
Left with eternal longing,
After the universe contracts
To a pinhead.
Yet, I experienced perfection
With impenetrable mountains,
Bedless lakes,
Plains of current-ridden grasses,
Bluest skies.
Ethereal realms don't appeal
When I have this world to peek in on;
This Sistine to confound me,
This sentient reality in full.
The angel is coming to drive me out,
With fire and ice,
I lived paradise:
It is blue and green.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
Having tripped over your
head, moving hands over
white plates in real time.
Gone cross eyed staring
at the tip of your nose
meditating madness.
Insightful as a cardboard
box repeatedly stabbed
by a pen for light-letting,
pinhead portals of a brain's
final oxegenation.
More trading balance with
less, a genderless news
anchor signing off the air.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 6:19 PM UTC
how many trolls
can dance on the
head of a pin?
ask a troll.
they seem to
know everything.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
*and thank funk, that the english (anglophones) say: i don't know how to pronopunce that... which is self-evident... they haven't applied the custom of diacritical marks... therefore they blubber-blab their words... if you base your language on syllables alone, you can't make distinctions with letters... e.g. why... i... very closely associated... well, with such linguistic darwinism as the number of accents in the anglophone sphere... why be, even remotely bewildered? and yes, that's a phenomenon, because, thankfully, the complete lack of diacritics (distinctions) on letter, is no noumenon... it's verbal gluttony; just keep intertwining the words: custard fudge custard fudge 1 0 1 0 0 1
custard fudge custard furdge fudge custard; *******
or read some irvine welsh, or something.*
i love the diacritical nakedness of the english
tongue, and my mutterzunge...
e.g.?
plot - a narrative of some sort...
and then... *** a fence....
ha ha;
i guess only i can find it funny,
or some respective bilingual, entreched akin
to the belgian trenches...
i already said, with my bias for
the authority of language,
i'm either pinhead digging trenches,
or the minotaur excavating a labyrinth;
god... i love these nano-nuances:
caryca (polska tsarina) is now breaking her
back to suggest alternatives...
caryca? oh... a term for some peasant
woman married to a jew... new money, basically.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC
look deep into the moment
no ending exists
connected moving eternity
the life on a pinhead
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
The land that lies
Happy dancer, singing songs,
Knowing that the end will come;
But which is the end and which new beginnings?
Waiting on the end of the beginning, is this the beginning?
This all started a long, long time ago,
When I thought I was winning, but now I know.
Remove the light from around her;
It has no use in being my magnet.
Turn the music off, for I am empty
And she could only ever be tragic.
Dancing alone at the end of the night,
Crying in the morning as I lie.
She is only looking lost,
Whilst I am truly falling.
She has never even seen me,
She has not heard me calling.
She has never truly been searched for,
For I have no power to remove my walls.
Sad boy blues with water eyes,
Stares at happy dancer with such despise.
His dead eyes reveal no fury;
The hate is hidden, His jealousy forbidden,
But never silent, truly.
Maiden calling, watches them both and laughs.
She lives in her bubble head as she lies her way to bed
And all that she knows could be contained in a small paper bag.
Her mind could be printed onto the tiniest part of a pinhead,
If only she could remember to not forget;
Maybe she could be more than the worthless words never said.
These are the people at the bottom of the barrel.
Three for the price of none.
Take them and all those singing without knowing of Axl.
Take this rose to free my hands for the gun.
All these people seen through drunken eyes,
Bloodshot eyes see fools in disguise.
All that is left in this pit at night,
Is calling cards and fake profiles,
Lists of idiots with studied lies.
Unknown numbers for adulterous wives
And I am so tired…
I am so very tired.
So tired of people with crocodile cries in the night,
Over people who do not even matter,
So why do I lie?
Suicide is not a surprise when the truth is seen at last.
I have lived in your land of lies
And still you wonder why there is no turning back?
Once choice is made, love is no longer your slave,
For the beast has been released and is free.
Free to leave you behind, free to fly,
Free to find a place to hide
And when I am found there is no more left to say.
What more needs to be said to someone who walked away?
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
versification is like ‘ taking notes ‘ in a plasma state.
the crest of a wave galloping the radius of a pinhead
to the center of
a word.
poetry is a conjuring of rare scabulous fables
told from lawn chairs, behaloed by fireflies and Occam's Razor.
with a warm breeze untangling the vortex into wee gems
tumbling in turbulent telemetries
malingering in the ginseng sonatas, gobbling the Nada… And-
with two hands, heaving a Sun ton of Moonlight
from the dark side of the same moon.
with your moonrocks made of wood.
and your Wisdom teeth
for flint.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 4:53 AM UTC
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2447235/ill-get-your-name-tattooed-on-my-body/
so who're teasing the hedgehog into a pinhead curl? can we neutralise the anomisity? to spare the rotten hangman of the crusade taken? how about, instead of... the suggested lack of body space for each authentic name, you, Kelsey, get a tattoo, that reads one authentic name: ⠼⠚⠝⠕⠝⠽⠍⠕⠥⠎(number indicator, 0, i.e. not 1, not 2... leaving the rest as -nonymous, without the A, for Adam, et al...) - i heard some cultures have mastered tattoo to encompass braille proto-culture, some minor cannibalism rememberance-sunday try-out... i'm getting an itch sensing you're teasing the grim reaper and a number for a car in need of being taxed for using a road... also... dont you think it's a bit ignoble to celebrate having survived suicide, when the purpose of suicide is to die with one's honour, i.e. to have completed the attempt akin to the samurai donctrine of being stabbed: with the missing adrenaline punch of surprise of self-disemblowelment? adrenaline is an aesthetic in this instance... hell, i digress... off i go as a person with a surgical mark for a tattoo... imagine! the compliment of your gratitude, having a similarity being paid due for both the ambition, and the "luck" of being bitten by a shark, or rather, seeking suicide, without a determined self, a shark, an clown parachute... you know: the spice that is life that is SHOCK and adrenaline... god, suicide is the horrid death worse than ****** since it has no surprise... and a death worse than old age, since it has no ambiguity of god... the hell has a tattoo to do with such taj mahals of debate?
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC