"synopsis" poems
land's moniker
mulls utmost care
Kalinga
branding the ox
of men with glaringly
immaculate chiaroscuro,
atop hills flourishing
with the fruits emblazoning
reticence.
chase angel-ward, the synopsis
of meaningfulness,
jagged, indelible accoutrement
akin to the brand of
chaste heritage,
galvanizing this epitaph
with aesthetic nativity,
gallant mambabatok - fill my bones with the ache of your past,
carve in me what the rippling
shrill of air has toppled
in the highlands
you have us shaking the blood
of this archipelago like boughs
breaking free from water's ebb,
frenzied by the river-warm
serpentine embellishment
the strike of the thorns
mints in our untouched bodies!
altogether in this numerous hike
we go in pursuit, hunting the
nibble from flesh to bone,
revealing the rebel, body
to soul.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
Prosecco cocktails, être pour la danse,
cassis pour moi avec limoncello,
madame, passion fruit, and blood oranges
très grownup, breakfast at Tiffany's,
she is all sunglasses and Audreyfied,
me and George P., struggling writers,
checking if i got enough cash
or have to exit smooth, just in case,
maybe we leave our
coats behind, as ransom?
lincoln center plaza cross-dressers,
past the opera,
the sun, a balmy thirty five degrees,
laughing at us teasingly,
cause tonight and tomorrow,
*********** all the day,
winter kisses
in case we forgot,
early March
first belongs to the Ides of Winter
Afternoon of a Faun,
another ballet, origin,
a Mallarmé poem.
(you begin to comprehend)
yes quite so,
a perfect synopsis of the day,
Acheron imported from Scarlett Liam
who lives in the U.K.,
but comes to choreograph here,
for gloria Americana
sundown, soul cold back,
"lest we forget,"
but the dancers bid us adieu
with a rousing waltz, frenchified,
La Valse, une poème chorégraphique,
by Ravel, bien sûr!
aroused and heart gladdened,
return home for
for veal chop love
two hours of *** banging,
kitchen banishment, (Yay!)
chanterelles steeped in red wine,
coverlet for a non-vegan tasting,
English peas, red and purple potatoes,
and for desert,
a diet dream of verbal exchanged of detailed
I love you's
He: I love you,
She (happy), replies: I love you more.
(this repartee ballet, has been rehearsal danced before)
He: Why?
She: Because you are kind and generous, to street beggars, my single friends, good and smart, love art,
and never let me down, and love my cooking, leave space for others when you park, go thru life making waiters and ticket takers smile and laugh, sleep for hours your head on my hip, write me crazy love poems about veal chops
He: What's for desert tonight?
She: A ****
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
My dreams whisper sweet things
And surreptitiously speak to me
My waking words are rote and empty
-spilling with hypocrisy
Yet their comforting embrace
Simply bring smiles to my face
Filling my mind while I'm asleep
They send messages lined with silver That vanish when I wake
To bring about a dull and listless form Who is shaping my last mistake
You see I wake in a storm
Simultaneously feeling constrained
To my bed
I can't get up while there's no filter
For the rush of noises in my head
If there's a difference between
What you know and what you believe Then why is it not as easy
To imagine my reprieve
Why can I only experience a vivid life
While I sleep
Then once again wake up
To this Fear Doubt and Anger
Choking me
Invoking me by pushing buttons
Of their endless promises
To for certain be found in youth
While my vision is livid sinning
Contemplating and pinpointing
Who too close is uncouth
You sit there and feed my veins
An explanation to your lies
With all the compromised
Washed up water
Memorized methods
Coping mechanisms
While it's your heart that remains
Aloof
Then sit there in desperation
Reiterating as if you know
The deep introspective answer
When any fool can see your wisdom
Is wrought in the vanity
Of a talented dancer
If you lost the truth of sanity
Would you retrieve it for ten cents
Or would you search inside
Before hiding from the confines
Of a necessary moment
I'd rather die or sacrifice my life
Before cowering from what's hidden
The message so raw
That counts your flaws
Like there was some proof
In what is missing
But ultimately I guess
It comes down to the small decision
The chip on my shoulder
That became a boulder
When I reached out
For my inner vision.
So while I feel so disparate and alone
In the trenches losing my senses
Will I be the hero or be the villain
Will I let the poison make me it's toy
Or take the penicillin
*Some days my life feels as heavy
As that last breath left over
From how loudly I shout
But I guess a general synopsis to you
Of how I sometimes feel inside
Is a decent first step to waking up
While I'm down and out*
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
So much of it still remains unwritten
What’s stopping you? Afraid of not getting a ten?
Every story, every verse, deserves to be entertained
For the elegance of words is yet to be measured
Unlike the outer beauty, measured in millihelens
So what are you waiting for? Grab a pen!
Undress your thoughts for only you can
The darkness of your mind is for you to conquer and comprehend
For the ones around you can’t penetrate your mind, a lion’s den
Retreat now and be deprived of the seventh heaven
No matter how well the art of climbing you have mastered
Don’t abandon the possibility of a fall
For the brightest of the light beams on interference
Do produce a dark patch on the wall
Every moment of despair is as insignificant as an ink blot
Join them all on a canvas and you have the synopsis of a great plot
Every dot, so telling, shall draw their attention
Like light into a black hole
Maybe then you won’t be afraid of seclusion
Because from then on, words shall be your saviour, once and for all.
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 11:35 PM UTC
Names are funny.
Have you ever wondered what your name would be if your parents didn't name you?
I'm one of the lucky few
that know.
If my parents didn't name me,
my name would be
Timothy.
You see, apparently,
when two people love each other,
Mommy cheats on Donny
with daddy and all three
demonize the baby.
Unfortunately,
abortion isn't an option.
Poor Donny believes
his little Johnson
made a tiny Willie
but really
it's Mike's Rick.
The trick wasn't revealed
until
Donny signed the birth certificate.
Obviously, Karen's husband abandoned their family.
Mike ripped his love from her and gave it to Dominique.
Karen,
twice-scorned,
mid-divorce,
postpartum,
decides a shelter isn't suitable for a nameless infant.
At this point, it's a little too late for abortion.
Nowhere to go,
knowing she can't stay,
Adoption became the practical option.
The noxious auction caused a nauseous reaction to her conscious. Karen picked the option, least pompus, with the most promise. An intuitively honest Christian was brought to her room so she could sign the synopsis.
As she's reviewing the terms of this blood oath, she glances at both of the parents cradling her second baby boy. They turn and ask
"What is his name?"
"I don't know. I thought he was going to be a she so I had the name Sade."
"That's ok, we have a perfect name in mind. Timothy."
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 5:26 PM UTC
Click…
Click…
CLICK…
Earsplitting silence surrounds me
As I waste time envisioning a new setting,
Where my paper, pen, mug, and coffee are still there,
But the paper is bursting with passion,
And the magic of espresso beans enable the pen to float along my rapid thoughts.
Right now it is used to stimulate the monotony.
Unfortunately,
Money cannot be bled from words on paper and,
Beers are not bought with dedications in hard cover.
Click…
Click…
CLICK…
Yogurt wrappers opening, spoons being slurped.
***** expanding atop their encompassing chairs.
These are the thoughts that fill my head,
As co-workers plan the next birthday party,
The next lunch, client dinner, and snack.
It seems that bars do not enclose me at my desk,
There is no guard at the door and,
Above me the exit sign gives warmth.
Click….
Click…
CLICK…
Not today, today is not a good day.
There are presentations, Power Points, data to analyze.
Analyze feels like a ***** word in my world,
It covers my neurons and destroys imagination,
Synopsis seize to fire.
It seeps into my blood until I become a replica,
But it is the word that takes my balance off negative,
And applies charming labels to my purse,
I wonder if this is how it starts out for everyone,
Humans are adjustable, no batteries allowed.
Click…
Click…
CLICK.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
I’m a written and published open book,
you just have to read past the first chapter.
You skimmed the pages and took a look
at the last line to see if there was a happily ever after.
But like most things it’s up to interpretation,
left open ended in way for a hopeful sequel,
‘cause like all things true it’s plagued with complication,
but our story has no end and it has no equal.
And you, you were my favourite memoir,
your depth lined the thesis of a never ending essay.
I became inspired so I held an impromptu seminar,
a whole panel to if your picture was sepia or artistically grey.
I memorized every single thing you said,
every cryptic metaphor, every perfect rhyme.
I’ve lost count of how often that I’ve fully read,
and I still don’t understand after all of this time.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
but you need a title; what should it be?
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright effortlessly.
You were my own personal thesaurus and dictionary,
providing different words to dress up each thought.
You’re a first and only edition; what a rarity,
laced with metaphors and satire that’s barely caught.
You’re what Shakespeare aspired to always write,
and you accomplished it simply by being born.
I’d translate you to brail so those without sight,
could hear about you and the beauty they now mourn.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
no need to proofread, no cause for editing.
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright, always illuminating.
I’m a prologue,
and we’re the conclusion.
My authors note; the words of a demagogue,
but the details still lack any illusion.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
I’ve memorized every word and dissected them cautiously.
I’ve been writing you so the whole world can see,
and once they skim the synopsis; they’ll never stop reading.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
You can't see beyond the cover
Of this book
The preface, the synopsis is great
but you won't even look
There is imagery inside which is breath taking
and blinding gorgeous.
But will never be read
you will buy a book with a flashy front cover
Never even see me as a potential lover
I could be all you wanted
But my love for you is an ellipses...
Or a full stop.
Because it can never be
because you believe the thin surface of skin
is more inviting.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
Lexical littorals illiterate foal
Talus and cirque shore and shoal
Iconoclast anarchy vortex knoll
****** matrix vertex peak
Semantic regalia flux and seek
Torrid allusions own and keep
Dichotomy paradox surge and swell
Primordial integumence purge and fell
Contiguity confluence dirge and knell
Reliquiae requiem show and tell
Accession assertion deliberative need
Transcendent ascension expiate seed
Subordinate ancillary exigency deed
Subliminal subjunctive sensorium seethe
Uxorious usury detinue blithe
Contiguous currency decimate tithe
Tractive proximity critical lithe
Delusory phantasm futurity kithe
Alacritous tactile acuity interstice
Accidence ambience resonance quipy pith
Scenario synopsis resilience gist
Endergonic protensive progressiveness rift
Prestissimo preterite retroactive gift
Poignant puissance piquant myth
Fable fantasticate legend list
Preternatural gesticulate proclivity pith
Propensity assimilate diabolical mist
********** fornicate zooidal mist
Parenthetical erudite erumpence fist
Quiescent gossamer lecherous wrist
Militant mercenary actuator aorist
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
Encroaching satellites
High voltage saturation and shade
And an obtuse synopsis of cognitive psychology
Condensing your threshold
Searching for hand outs
Ripping the railings out of the walls
In the stairwells in the doctor's office on the way to your colonoscopy
Laying on the futon with and your therapist writing down everything you say
"Go on"
"Mhm"
"I see"
"How does that make you feel?"
Skid-marked underwear
Delving, dumpster diving for food
In the lonesome twilight
In the rippling rainstorm
People shelling out gripes
Squinting, doing a double take at you
Followed by a wavering tumult
They're gonna have you capped
That is, unless you purchase this love seat
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
I got butterflies in my stomach,
This feeling is really bugging.
It's starts from my head,
Then sinks in my heart.
Head feeling light,
Chest feeling tight.
My mind wonders off,
Like ADHD.
I'm at a lost,
Stuck in a maze,
Yet, I still want to explore.
The more I get lost the more I find.
Those missing pieces hinting what I lack.
This only happens when you leave.
That is my Synopsis.
I'm coming down with a case of you.
Guess that's my diagnosis...
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
there's a story on the wind
can you hear it?
an ode to a classic hero
facing enemies at every turn
a ballad from a love struck sailor
to his land locked dame
the lamentation of a tired soul
ready to exit stage left
epics bound in flesh
breathing the same air
walking the same earth
yet completely unaware
of when plot lines intersect
one persons sunrise
is another sunset
riding off to where the sidewalk ends
a stunning view of Mars in all his glory
from another window
an example of an empty vessel
hungry for content
with each step we act our the script
the world's a stage
the plays the thing
let's pan out and take into view
the aspect ratio in conjunction
with our soundtrack
monologues
dialogues
analog has less room for falsehood
than these digital lives
digital lies we lead
rewriting the scope and depth
of the narrative
without changing pace
or thinking to replace
certain key elements
like setting and grace
peace comes when the curtain closes
don't fret
encores are in order
but on the b-side of the single
we must note
with remixed emotion
that the stories we live have no sequel
so we must trust and ******
ourselves into every opportunity
paving the way to success
not just for us
but for those that read the synopsis
and hit rewind
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 7:51 AM UTC
They don't want to hear it
These minutes of a life; this synopsis
That could only make sense to you
Even if it doesn't.
It's your baby, your Alcatraz, your Auschwitz;
Don't expect any sympathy
And then they won't bare their own scars
Of things you haven't even dreamed of.
Dig a hole and bury that pain in secret,
Like a cat buries its dung,
In the dead of night.
Paste on a fake, plastic smile
In a bright color, early next morning.
Life is shallow, because we are selfish
In our weakness-
How about pink?
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 2:37 PM UTC
On my first day he never spoke
My second day his lips brought forth letters
Then with the third we broached words
In a week there was a sentence
And after a month there were conversations.
Gradual steps to comfort, but strides in perception.
Wondering who he was I gathered some initiative
I tried to aim it gently but i probably hit a few nerves
Erratic as usual he might have regretted being hit
Carful as I could be but as clumsy as I am
His glass spine shattered with my slightest presence
He's the vase but who could be his flowers
Im not delicate I won't be able to line his rims with petals
Im not poised I won't be able to color his reflection with a primary's elegance
Im not rigid I won't look strong or brilliant floating in the water that his depth holds
For all these reasons I shouldn't fill the bouquet his shape desires.
Wishing for the day when we would equal one
The pull of numbers to the decrease of a sum
Begging for a clock that provided us with the time to process love
The tug of a gear syncing to the motion of the machine
Praying for a reality where he would be a fixture in my future
The luminosity of a memory we share sparking with the light of mutual desire.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 4:33 AM UTC
At The Mall:
___________
A lot of push pull
mixed messages...
I love it says Carrie.
(The Jewish neurotic head).
In The Synagogue:
________________
Excited about D.N.A.
Developing plans to draft Goyim.
Charlotte's Predicament:
_____________________
Gave up Christ for you,
now living of the flesh.
Just what New York needs--another single Jewish girl.
Christ no longer the comforter, she wants the god of fertility to bless her
and her house: Mary the mother of child rearing bless the womb and its fruit. He's not all that perhaps she'll come back...
At The Breakfast Table:
____________________
She states she is no fair weather Jew,
as Bette Midler-esque (Carrie) plastic surgery head listens.
This new found religion she's not giving it up.
The Walk:
_________
Welfare martini,
religious mourning,
and Freudian synopsis.
Peter ******* Interruption:
_______________________
Quit job, hoping for a breakthrough;
perhaps questioning Goyim's worth.
Bed Time:
________
Money issues.
At The Bar:
__________
At a loss despite her Jewish brilliance; and
Freudian synopsis.
At Theater:
__________
Male homo-sexual companion and Charlotte's progressivism.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 5:47 AM UTC
You know the saying
“There are two sides to every story?”
Well...
I believe there are three sides to every story....
The front cover....
The back cover synopsis...
And
Everything in between that can be portrayed in many different ways....
Let that sink in for a moment...
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 9:09 AM UTC
I'm leaning on a crutch
to help me stay tall.
Slender, tall mind
Short, fat heart.
Eyelids: much like the mind
(a projector screen for my dreams)
When I speak,
I read the scripts of the movies;
whatever movies I've been watching.
Subconsciously, all conversation is a mere recap,
a synopsis of the film I watched the night before.
A real spoiler to the listener. I'm a movie ruiner.
I'm the only one who sees the works that I spoil.
Thank god for that.
Disclaimer: I just spoiled a movie for you.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
<synopsis>
The White man's actions when exposed to the light of day,
cannot compete with the intellect of the black man.
Get it?
...Will Smith.
Oh?
That's the whole point, that you got to defend your whiteness, your privilege!"
The fact that I have to defend you isn't reason enough?
How about this; the fact that I defend you period is the reason why you a got a shot at the title?
~Mr. Caucasian(Whiteness Monster)
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
That weekend they said
"on the East Coast,
Nemo finds you"
The snow brought standstill
to NJ
delivered her 12 inches
she gave us both a synopsis
like **** gone wrong
But before she wrought self destruction
I was given you
to wake me up
if lying there with you would send me to hell
then take me to hell
via "please take me elsewhere"
and upstate,
to your uncle's infatuated dog.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
Scraps of paper lay around me
filled from top to bottom in black and blue ink
tracing obscure lines that manage to create syllables
and sounds and thoughts from a year ago.
And how obscure those times look now,
written from a naive mind and a hopeful heart.
They're written all over, upside down and under
just of your name turned into metaphors and adjectives.
And it's funny because the first word
I used to ever describe you was "sweetheart."
Little did I know you were nothing but
just a sour replica of a beating *****
And it's still funny because you pulled on every single one of
my sweet-heart strings until they mimicked the choppy melody
of my breath whenever you're around, and the tension
between our eyes whenever they lock, like our lips once did.
But now, nothing but paper surrounds me in black and blue ink.
Written from top to bottom, they're worth some sort of story and
the synopsis just reads:
I loved you, I loved you, I loved you - first, foremost and possibly forever.
gd
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
Many words, so many words, are passing through this place.
Broken latin, mesonic virtues, old english lymricks,
ancient jewish pronuciation fliting phenomenal prosody.
Life as all the proper words begin to shape this grandly
generous thought of commendation. Roots, roods, rudentary
lauded buy more spies. The plura, fauna, Jane Does and Rae Me's,
fosil laute... prose.
En angle', in english, Angles and Jutes, as the rapier, pugio gladius,
a bloodless synopsis, a canon, feathered conical lye.
Sui-hsing chide us naught for German and German's is to Chinese is Tzun Zoo Choo Yen see. Their angels roll away stones, here men open doors, women pointe out stars to fight the bold, Oui Ye.
Write two poems at once, or lie. Write three poems at once, or lie.
Oh, yea we write three...
poethree. Oui Ye, Oye yea, O thee poets... we right thee.
Austerity, Whiterby, Bastoniwa,... Red Socks and resident bee.
Add comments, if Any.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
You are the most wonderful thing that could possibly happen in my life.
Seeing you as my boyfriend, is something that I never expect to happen before.
You are my comfort zone,
Something that I would not trade for anything.
I'm so picky when it comes to a good book.
But I know for sure, our story is the one that I definitely want to read.
Not only the synopsis or the first 29 pages, I promise I will read the entire book.
From the prologue, when we met from the very first time,
To the epilogue.
I love you so much and I really want to see us in the future, together.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
As ambiguous as the title may seem, it dives into the vastness of human nature, it explores a sensitivity that most neglect, and it leaves you breathless with each and every single word.
At first glance, this book caught my eye due to it's boring cover and unfascinating title. But then I read it's synopsis and I was simply blown away by the stream of consciousness - how she took me from one place to another, how she gave me air and then drowned me underwater, how she sat on the edge of the moon with me and how the moon cut us with each swing between dreams and reality, how she showed me women of the Victorian era wearing ****** little skirts and how the whole street smelled like a smithy - like raw metals and earth, how she took me to the Hastings's backyard and made me an accessory to Alison Dilaurentis's ****** - I was buried alive!... and how she brought me back to the modern bookstore with dusty bookshelves and people walking past me like I did't even exist, like I didn't even belong here, and this wasn't even me...
Ah! How she made me want more...!
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 12:41 PM UTC
1.
A young and spiky boy misheard me over a pile of handcrafted valentines and said "I love you, too"
("I think I broke my tooth")
2.
A pseudo-intellectual boy grabbed at my hand and told me that we are all made of stardust, that the universe is swift and fleeting and our matter will remain etched in the very high and infinite heavens
(But do you know that I myself am made of moon dust and rose petals, laced with arsenic?)
3.
A not-very-lonely boy bought me a grilled cheese sandwich at the witching hour that he paid for with his dead father's inheritance money
(Money that I dipped in ranch dressing and inhaled in the form of a black American Spirit)
4.
A boy with jawbones made of steel called me in the middle of the night to tell me that he was nothing but a very weak and ancient stone foundation and what is the most effective method of destruction
(I told him I'd trade in my metal detector for a plane ticket to Egypt)
5.
A semi-dependent variable of a boy I had known years ago flew a kite for me in a cold and cloudless sky and hit me til I kissed him
("It's because we're getting older", I said)
6.
A boy who I might have loved named our children on the back of a game of hangman and hung up magazine pictures I stole on walls his girlfriend was more familiar with than she was with me
(I switched seats)
7.
A boy of questionable moral fiber said words I spent two years trying to say back
(One-sixteenth of them are buried in a box I'm all too willing to leave at the old house)
8.
A boy with eyes uncovered in countless concentration camps left after filling the gaps in my very sheltered universe with vegan bakeries, baseball tees, leftover curry and one-sock feet
(But I digress)
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
Cornrows forge a rhythm to the sun
and self love feels like a line dance.
A shake of tassels and silks that
unfurl in the nick of time.
Love flowers on a stalk, above, below.
The wind sweeps in an airy betrothal,
a surge and then a sway, sashay,
a whirl in the nick of time.
Pollen, sparkles, pixel burst.
How do the ears of corn know,
to listen to the wind holler,
to twirl in the nick of time.
In a Caryopsis, a synopsis
of self seducing passions,
crushed to cornmeal. Floury
swirl in the nick of time.
Mar 30, 2021
Mar 30, 2021 at 12:32 PM UTC