"voila" poems
Slipping into my apron,
Hungry in body and soul
Humming as a song played...
I grab my knife and chop-board
Unsure of what to cook
Strange inspirations possess me
Filling me with *****
My kitchen becomes a stage
In my hands- a plectrum and fretboard
Silver utensils- my live audience!*
As I play divine recipes
Strumming master acoustic chords
Chopping fresh, colorful vegetables.
I dash to the remote,
Punch "Repeat" and dash back on stage
Landing on E♭ minor,
Scaling impossible notes,
I slice with razor-sharp plectrum,
On onions and other root chords
My fret arrayed with colors,
Of spinach, lettuce, tomatoes
Carrots, potatoes, olives
Pepper, cabbage and cucumbers.
I hear a thunder of applause
As I ignite the cooker
Butter sizzling in the hot pan
A staccato of sharp notes,
*Ready to modulate innocent vegetables
Through spicy aromatic crescendos!*
I fight hard to suppress a sneeze,
No sneezing on-stage! Unprofessional!
Multitudes of seconds rush by and…
Voila!!!
I stand for a moment
Salivating, awed at my bravura!
Wishing I could hang it on my wall
Tis beautiful like art
But I can’t eat this cake and have it!
So I dig in…
Heaven and earth kiss for a moment
L U S C I O U S!!!
Luckily, it didn’t taste nauseating
Like my last attempt.
No time for ceremonies
I munch from pan to mouth
Pausing for what may pass for a prayer,
I relish every bite!
Not that I’m a foodie or something,
But nothing beats this combo-
Of good food and soul music.
And yes,
*Music is indeed food to the soul!*
I devour, in view- the next meal...
© Raphael Uzor
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
What a curious thought
to not be led into temptation...
as if I needed help!
As if I needed any assistance!
Lead me not into temptation
it's not needed you see;
I know the path well
it starts on Google
Incognito mode, savvy?
Press a few keys
and voila - temptation found!
My resolve defeated.
I wasn't led here
I found my own way
sadly, temptation bound.
Can I be blamed really?
Would you blame a starving man
for stealing food, offered freely?
Can you blame a starving man
for giving into such temptation
when he's denied the legitimate?
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
Ask...and you shall be given answers
seek...and you'll be told where to look
knock...say, hello?...hello? hellooow?
a voice named siri replies:
"is it me you're looking for?"
i think,
the eyes, the mind, even the heart, need
clear, goggle-like glasses, for 20/20 vision,
to grasp, to discern, be forewarned,
not to be overwhelmed by whatever
data unfolds on the screen
they say, there are contrived solutions,
for life's every complication
search engines are accessible to all
just press specific keys, and, Voila!
surf, play...easy games, easy friends
but, can they really answer all questions?
every human question?.........like,
do elephants really cry? how did it occur
that they have excellent memories?
is Timbuktu modernized now?
are there still surviving cannibals?
will the remaining Bee Gees member,
tell us how to mend a broken heart?
do rosicrucians really possess secret wisdom?
what happened to you and me?
how do i save myself from emotional vampires?
how do i cook pad thai?
...and how do i get you out of my mind?
why does the rooster crow after midnight
how does logarithm work with poetry?
do dogs have souls? do they visit their
masters?....i miss my dogs Misty and Tiny,
...and i miss you...what's wrong with me?
God, why do i even bother to ask?
my goggled eyes are blinded by grief
my goggled mind refuses to forget
this goggled life of mine feels empty
and it has nothing to do with technology...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 23, 2018
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
“The most important scientific revolutions all include, as their only common feature, the dethronement of human arrogance from one pedestal after another of previous convictions about our centrality in the cosmos.”
Stephen Jay Gould
Give me
vacuum tube torus Lorentz-Klein interference receptors
dual noble-gas maser integration processors
at least one
prosthetic Gaussian carbon-coated ribosomal Tesla coil
an anthropomorphic hierarchical temporal meme-pseudopod
some
support vector k-nearest neighbor algorithms
reverse engineered quantum optic die-cast silica motherboards
self-assembling three dimensional electro-active protein polymers
maybe even
a superconducting spectral alkali resonance analyzer
paired with
harmonizing piezoelectric kinematic thermal modules
dipped in
subzero Kurzweil-circuit nanite neurotransmitters
and voila!
God.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 5:18 PM UTC
a coat of Naughty
a flick of Flirtatious
a dab of Daring
slick on Scandalous
with just a touch of Mischief
voila!
let's go out...
Apr 21, 2010
Apr 21, 2010 at 10:17 PM UTC
An illusionist by trade, he
Could transport her from where she stands
To a magical spring rumored
To harbor manatees that turn
Into mermaids under the sun.
He needs only one volunteer
To help him spin the great machine
Until its wheels move too quickly
To see the metal spokes between
Its three hubs and rotating rims.
Two persons, four legs, and three wheels,
Travel through time and cross the space
Between the parking lot and springs –
Voila! All appear safe and sound
At the edge of Wakulla’s gem.
And in a moment – close your eyes!
Now open them to see the sun
Shining for the first time all day,
All the way down to the bottom
Where the manatees swim and dream.
The mammoth manatees awake
And begin to grow back their scales.
They transform and wait patiently
For the human girl to toss her
Wished-upon shell into the spring.
She finds the one and makes a wish,
Then closes her eyes once again,
While the practiced illusionist
Works his magic hidden by smoke,
And the shell falls from her fingers.
It floats to the coldest waters,
Slowly shifting back and forth as
Though it were swimming – and it is!
Transformed into a mystical
Creature, it sets the mermaids free.
The human girl jumps up and down
With glee at the beautiful sight:
Shimmering scales and flowing hair
Dart through water in their delight
And invite her to join and play.
The girl jumps in and kicks her feet
But must come up for air to breathe.
The illusionist watches this
From the sandy shore and he – ****
Bubbles at her feet slowly form
Into one glittering green tail
And her hair grows several feet,
Turning to gold under water.
The girl smiles wide and dives to
Join the joyful, playful mermaids.
They jump and swim and practice tricks,
Splashing around under the sun,
But the girl missed her life on shore
And looked longingly at the sand.
The illusionist saw this, too.
Since she had been the one to free
The mermaids from their trapped bodies,
He thought to grant her one last wish
And with a puff of brim fire smoke,
She was transported back to shore.
Her adventure complete, she spun
The wheels of the illusionist’s
Magic machine and was brought home
With the help of her companion,
The great entertainer himself.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
How may I introduce these people to YOU , in a way that will Not make fun of them, but rather, just simply Identify them ! Identified by their present achievements and Job functions.. PERHAPS, they are always this way_________. SO, in my studies of Mankind, HOW to Label All those who are "FULL OF *** S _____! " Such as the following List ! ! #1=STIFLESKILLSMAN= A person who has been highly trained to Stop you from going the direction you were trying to go ! #2= STIFLECOATING= A spray you can apply ALL over your body to keep a "STIFLESKILLSMAN" away!!!! # 3= SHUNHAT= A cap you can wear on days when NO one is paying any attention to you,,AND,,"Thats the way You want it ! ! " # 4= SEEMEEARWAX = A wax placed on the surface of both ears that GLOWS in the dark and in bright Light it changes colors every "SIX" Seconds, SO people will really pay attention to YOU ! ! ____ W A R N I N G_____*W A R N I N G **. "Never apply *SEEMEEARAX when wearing a "SHUNHAT " ! #5= STUNNINGLOSS= a spray for your hair and neck, that as it Dries, becomes like a Rainbow and causes People to ask____"Where's the *** # 6= SWORDGAS= The odor produced by people who must have come out of the swamp Just Recently...Because it *CUTS so Deep..... # 7= SWORDGAS=PAIR= *TWO people of the SWORDGAS squad, SHARPLY Gassing their words in unison, uplifting one another in Endless delight!. # 8= SNOOZESTOMPINGER = A Device you wear like an Engagement ring,,to Keep YOU awake . # 9 = SIGHTGIMMICKLENS = Glasses that only let you SEE what has been Pre=Programmed in the Lens,,{ a PC approved}.. # 10 = STARTERSTALLS Like band-aids placed right under your eyes to keep you from getting out of bed before it's time. # 11 = SWEATTYSLIDES = SPECIAL gloves that make it appear that you are about to LOSE control { WHEN actually,,puts YOU in TOTAL control of all situations for a 24 hour period ! } # 12 = SUDDENLYSUPER = A really fast acting Spray that on days when you are just not QUITE up to Par! Just a fast SPRAY___ and VOILA, Sudden appearance of doing just fine !! * WELL, I have a list of Seven times Seventy, to add,, *(PS) Do You know any of *"S" TEAM ,,?
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 4:02 AM UTC
-Audience!
Prepare for the magic act
*Hypnotically launching attacks
upon the helpless masses*
Won't pull a rabbit from a hat,
Rather false-flaggish gaffs
Practically exposed to radioactive madness
*(Feel the hurt disappear like doves
Gloriously soaring out your ***
Hijack these hijinks
Whilst laughing maniacally
Tornado alley to the trailer-park mentality
I call this a helluva brainstorm,
High-velocity lethality
Compose yourselves
Are your brain-stems intact?
-Okay. Now
*f
o
l
l
o
w
the swing
of
my pendulous
p e n m a n s h i p
Drearily drift into dreamy trance,
While I attempt
to initialize a feat
of mass hypnotization
Enchantingly dip
into deep illusory corridors
of thoughts limitless*
(Pay no attention
to any slippage,
Mental or otherwise
It's already dripping out your ears
& the seat of your pants)
Real ****
no gimmicks!
Abracadabra
Propaganda
Extravaganza
Gaze into my crystal ball
Mouths agape in awe
While I slay and lay waste
indiscriminate to the faceless plague
Come one, come all!
Phantom sorcerer I am, conjuring
unfathomable horrors
To the collective mind
procured through sleight-of-hand
Voila!
Still with us?
Alright, hold your breath
until you finally wake up
And illuminate the bogus
Hocus pocus front
♠ ♥ ♣ ♦
Shuffle the deck,
Reset Earth's debts
In a fabulous show
of m i s d i r e c t i o n
♠ ♥ ♣ ♦
Now, Ladies & Gents!
For my final performance
With this rope,
Suspended from the throat
I am going to bulls-eye myself
In the frontal lobe
Dead-center
In front of all you people
With this
.40 caliber desert eagle!
Graciously donated by our very own NWO
(applause)
This one's sure to be mind-blowing folks.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
Ok, there’s no jailbreak.
Make room for my innocent alter ego,
because there’s nothing to rebel against.
There are zero classes in my nascent,
year-long, Harvard master’s degree.
They call it ‘self directed study’
and like rockets have stages,
I’ll have ‘self paced modules.’
Am I suddenly at Oxford University?
They’re quite famous for that (no formal classes).
Or am I suddenly grown up and trusted?
I obviously don’t have it all figured out yet,
so I’ll just trust the process.
When I started that other school
(that shall not be named), my advisor
handed me a computer printout - a list
with something like 40 courses on it.
I thought, “Oh, my God,” but one by one,
year over year, I checked-off those courses
and voila! They handed me a diploma.
It was a process.
I understand, if you’re disappointed about the jailbreak, but there’ll
be coffee breaks, lunch breaks, study breaks, bathroom breaks
and more than a few self-directed dance breaks. So stick around.
“You know,” my therapist said, so very seriously, a few years ago,
“you keep laughing.”
.
.
I've Got the World on a String by Robin McKelle
****** Soul Picnic by Ledisi & Billy Childs
May 29, 2025
May 29, 2025 at 10:47 PM UTC
It is where it is, not where you are...
Switched this week from ice coffee,
Back to hot, on September Thirteenth.
The chain busted,
No Adirondack throne, no audiences of
Southbound geese, my new ******** fans,
No **** arrogant deer
Pitying the stupid humans,
Occupying their lands.
No racing rabbits, crickets underfoot,
And in the house,
No raccoons bigger than a colt.
No just living, breathing eyes, seeing paradiso,
No place for god to come visit to chill,
And ask for atonement for chemical weapons
No bay waves soulfully soothing,
No sun, no cherries by command,
The breeze, voila, a nasty cold wind,
The bath-waves ain't no **** substitute,
Not-Near good enough,
No matter how hard I splash.
**** right I was worried.
I lifted up my eyes to the mountains—
From where will my poetry come from?
From men.
From women.
From you-reminding me,
It is where it is, not where you are...
It is here in the unread tragedies,
The wails so plain, repetitive,
The screams that never cease, the
Poems, yours, that deserve ten thousand likes,
But die ignored, despite, my best efforts.
It is in the newspapers,
Chroniclers of our daily,
Inhumanity,
And papal words, that lift a jew's heart,
That poems get birthed.
It is in the woman's dictums
About doing this and that
And where that is most preferred.
Point made. Quitting time.
It is where it is, not where you are...
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
for pennies, an app
to do the heavy lifting,
rhymes, pentameter,
all the quatrains ya ever needed
strained fever, emotions rampant,
insufficient and unnecessary conditions
for poverty poetry evocation,
even autocorrects insipid
really bad tiresome love poems,
après endless generation (degeneration?)
who needs you
you think
no such animal
you be write
for the art of life
cannot be mechanized
wrote a poem,
a wistful sad lament
on mothers losing children,
a prayer, a yelling, a condemnation,
the app was,
on this subject
uncommunicative,
un étranger
of silence
in all languages
you can buy love
but you cannot buy pain
too costly and
3D printers
give you plastic, disingenuous
wholly unsatisfactory
for a lousy $1.99
I'll write you customized,
supply the situation,
a few descriptive phrases,
60 minutes later,
et voila!
am you app,
am your scrivener,
don't do roses or violets
but yes to
rhythm and blues
will take
PayPal
PenPal
but no credit cards
you may take my words
as you own,
take my credit,
but I won't take yours...
I am app human,
bring me your lush, winsome,
plain vanilla, tutti frutti,
all acceptable,
for where the real stuff
comes from
I have only mined
the surface,
the veins beneath
richness for the asking
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
whilst waltzing towards the purple moon
here's a bowl of lavender tea
swallow it up, tactfully
mulberry chill. Voila !
afternoon revealed
Honeymoon concealed
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.
Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting ****** in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
I guess, lately, poem has no rule.
You can write every words in it and voila, it is poem.
Like this one.
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 11:49 PM UTC
Barbarians, and archers, and goblins oh my !
Restless in army camps for the raiding is nigh.
The builders are busy setting up my next plot,
Deciding where the mortar can pull off the best shot.
A chop and a cut, and voila ! More land to use,
Setting up decorations, all cast as a ruse.
I look to my shield, and the icon says “none”,
If I don’t request troops soon I’ll surely be done!
I prepare to attack, but don’t like what I see,
So “next” I press, and hope for a camp that’s easy !
Aha! I exclaim as I find a weak prey,
Gold walls or not, I’ll be claiming victory this day !
Giants come rumbling, to cause some destruction,
Followed by wall breakers to remove all obstruction.
With holes now aplenty, in come the rest of the crew,
To pilfer and plunder and do what they do.
100% !!! And 3 stars the finale,
Plus 35 more trophies to add to my tally.
Mission completed, I set back to my camp,
A smile on my face feeling like a real champ !
The day’s at an end so off goes the phone,
In the middle of the night I hear a familiar tone.
I reach for my ipad and what do I see,
****** ! I’ve been raided by PãRāß@pk !!!
With shields now up for the next 16 hours,
My resources are safe and I can upgrade my towers !
And thus ends the day’s tale of cast spells and flighted arrow,
Don’t worry Clash of clans, I’ll be back tomorrow !!!
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
I wish inspiration could be injected
intravenously, without delay. That
I could wrap a rubber band around
my arm and pull it tight with my
teeth. Then give myself several swi-
ft slaps with my middle and index
fingers to the inside crook of my arm
to pop the vein. Then without look-
ing, (because I am afraid of needles)
slowly insert the thin metal spear in
my skin and puncture the vein. Draw
back a bit of blood and watch it mix
with my concoction. Then voila: ins-
tant inspiration.
If only I could buy words by the bot-
tle, so I could guzzle them down by
the quart. And they could mix and
swirl, swash and stir, with all my
other ****** fluids. They could seep
into my veins, via my stomach lining,
and warm my body with a toxic glow.
The words would blur my vision, mu-
ddy my senses, and stumble my step.
Then, after I consume more words th-
an I can handle, I would projectile vo-
mit and spew the words all over the
page. Then the next morning I could
rearrange the words into something
remotely coherent.
But there is no such luck.
Instead I have to go toe-to-toe with
each word, each syllable, with the
utmost precision and vigilance.
And let me tell you, these word “St-
ing like a butterfly and float like a
bee”. I give a left jab, a right hook,
a shot to the kidneys, but it does
no good. Most of the time I am on
my heels; forced to be on the defense
But of course I take a hit, or twenty-
two. Until I am punch drunk,
and everything is brilliant to me.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
I am not that far
Put on your play list
Open a coke
And Voila!
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
COME, AYE COME!
Matloob Bokhari
Come, aye Come!
O the beauty of heaven!
Night in richly coloured dress is welcoming, come!
O the glory of stars!
Night stars like diamonds are welcoming, come!
O the ornament of moon!
In your absence, bright moon is welcoming,
Come!
O the queen of sky!
Scented air in night freshness is welcoming, come!
O the north polar star!
Moth orbiting around light has utterly consumed
Without form or body, is a part of beauty, come!
O the queen of light!
Carol of birds is playing melody sweet in tune.
My heart beating; cold callous gale started blowing.
Night has rolled hours away; moist has dampened my heart.
Come, aye come!!
COMMENTS : COME AYE COME
Kristen Scott: I love this very VERY much. This is hauntingly beautiful and each word of the poem is flowing in my veins like the poetry of my favorit poet, Federico Garcia Lorca..
Vern Ford : I can almost hear Buffy Saint Marie singing your absolutely breathtaking poems!
Laura Oliva Palacio: Magnifique voila!!!! What a beautiful poem! With simple words, but of great significance make one clearly perceived the sweet and sensitive young hearts have inspiration in the bright universe of love and the infinite .. Thank you so much for sharing Matloob !!!
Laura Grillo Laveglia: I love your poem. It is written in Edwardian style and this I adore!!!
Neil Perry :Refreshing and magical.
Gary Leikas: ahhhh . . . . mesmerizing music and thought . .
Kevin M. Hibshman : Amazingly beautiful...
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Progress leaps, amid lulls, for three wed muses:
Innovation, imitation, contest
Imagine, visitor, a vast room full of bits of straight string—
People stand all around, some scratch their heads, none moves,
Until our brave hero approaches slowly one little length,
Gives her a twist, and voila!
A circle.
A room full of straight strings, and one circle.
Seeing, some other soul thinks, *aye! Crass,
Wrong, how unperfect!*
Makes a circle too, from another pair of ends—
Look, look! He cries, much better!
On and on likewise, go men and strings,
Til not a single straight string remains,
Only circles, and men
Scratching heads, in none the foggiest idea
What’s to be done with a room full of circles.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC
dash off an incoherent free
verse paragraph
// moan
into a void of meaningless
superficial / pain using / random line
breaks and no caps
THEN
add some graphic words:
blood-drenched
honey-sexed
now add some ☠ weird symbols ω
mention yourself a lot, and then
invert/transform:
blood-sexed
honey-drenched //
like a dog ☃
(panting)
transform
your confused prose
into ☮
a poem: voila!
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
All you need is fair a heart,
And mix that in, with pure of mind,
Sprinkle in romantic thoughts,
And add some love, just use the rind,
You'll need a pinch of *** appeal,
And just a smidge of naughty thoughts,
Room temperature is always best,
For when you take your clothing off,
The kindest words work best this way,
And don't forget to blow a kiss,
And mind your mood as you begin,
And don't forget to make a list,
A candle red, with rose oil rub,
As much as you can muster up,
Mix all of these together well,
Voila!, a recipe for love.....
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 7:55 PM UTC
... he points his toes
like a swan stretching its neck :
smooth calves in fish-nets
to slip into stiletto heels,
performance art of a deceptive nymph
... grace on fine-point tips : his gift - in stiletto heels,
impersonation or personification of feminine beauty
leporine lithely limned
delicate dancer
it is almost as if floating across water
he mimicked once more before
some inner mother's nature took over
façade of savoir face - voila! a star in it's place ...
... It is her face when the night creates a cape
borne with Van Gogh plumes sufficed with self
she paints upon his face : starry nights
sun-flowers, irises covering the welts...
comparably museum worthy, imitation flames
yet like any other canvas
beneathe it could lie disappointment and mistake
drafts of inspiration, cover-ups of cynicism
another creature - some creation unlike him
what was before / the curtain / is unseen, but what if ...
... the truth and process to what presently one sees
or believe
could be / only an amateur attempt:
moments unfelt under layers & layers
of trial and errors / contempt?
would you wipe away Mona Lisa's
smile and devilish wicked secret ?
just to uncover blemished a masterpiece:
an ugly Danish duckling underneath
to prove that swan-lake
a gent
... to evolve from broken eggshells
become a song timely hummed & remembered well
priceless history murals' on passing face
all spoken thoughts performing down the lace
define yourself, how the flight of life from embers
happiness pursuant to tender
Fully free with grace,
it is the power of creativity / the spirit's ability
to overcome adversity
the art of divinity - that is
what he is practicing
This trumpeter
swan in stiletto heels...
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
**** preferable,
but not necessary.
place your hands upon thy thighs,
the thumbs extended,
left to rest,
to fit in the designed, purposed crevice
between the upper torso,
where the soft belly
meets the legs.
your opposable thumbs,
too short to reach
your private part,
instead, your four fingers
to thrum, to drum,
driven by frustrated compulsion,
beat out upon thy exterior
the internal feel,
a basic rhythm.
the arms,
hard by,
press tight into the chest,
the birth place of poems,
and squeeze,
as if it were a
Heinz Ketchup bottle.
the tapping fingerlings,
the now drifting yet compulsed mind,
the hard-sided pressure,
voila, words form,
heat-furnaced,
energized from within,
all at once will be extruded from
a poem's birth canal,
the heart.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
doom
dark ages and the death
of poetry
now here
arise poets
spark burning lines
arson the fake prez Fuhrer
all his followers
Nazis
(how original)
don't forget the weird
line breaks and
/ spacing / /
refuse punctuation
no caps ever
voila
yet another
lame lib lefty
yawner
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC