"warted" poems
Fight your Demons with daisies,
When they rear their horned heads
Kiss them on their warted nose,
And tell them they are beautiful.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 10:17 AM UTC
Toad sand and frog pebbles,
warted rocks kicked and toed.
Tease the ocean with chocolate dipped feet,
spiced and salted teas.
Taper off mid-sentence, paragraphs tepid
long arms and zebra stripes, a crosswalk tepir.
Tocsin alarm clocks poison innocent bystander’s sleep,
slipping things in their drinks, filling their ears with toxin.
Tie a scarf around the forehead
of the middle child. Teach them beginning syllables of Thai.
Throes and spasms of overachievers
motivate for longer strides, faster throws.
Tense shoulder muscles
hide in sleeping bags, badly pitched tents.
Told injuries snuck in when the door opened,
we heard the miniature silver bells as they tolled.
Ticks count every second second, punctuated by tocks.
With each, a twitch, conscious nervous tics.
Titan tool boxes hold spare screws,
on Coeus’ threaded axis, we spin and tighten.
Terne sardine cans filled with mercury,
pollute our science tests, killing tern.
Tied red string around our pinkies so we don’t forget
when to go to the beach looking for clams at low tide.
Tacks pin talented teens to cork boards,
alongside instructions on regretting the harmonised sales tax.
Tire prints border the country,
left by jeeps that never tire.
Tails directing orchestras,
swarms of swan swim, tattling and telling tales.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
Quarter-tooth angled archingly reverse,
her snaggles enrapture me; hither,
come, my fairest, grant me those perverse
acts – lest I, like you, become withere’d!
This, I cannot, allow to come to pass!
Whether by charms, wit, big brains or huge *****
Whatever cost you pay, I’ll have that ***
For my be-warted, I’ll indulge no stops.
You can cry, resist and plead, extolling
Unto me the injustice of m’love,
But it shall avail you all of nothing,
As my sights are on that filthy trove.
Flee, run, wail and never cease in weeping
In a steel cage our love I’m keeping.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 12:24 PM UTC
After living happily ever after
And many years later
And many many years later
And lonely now,
good-bye my dear sweet prince,
he now belongs to the reaper,
holding back tears
her heart aches
The princess traces back
on spinning mind-reels,
her first kiss encounter,
a flashing, warted-green-streek-
jumping-up!! Then the kiss
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
I’ve always loved
The crane of green, of spiring atoms
Years in their making: the
Burdened, brittle backs of flowers in my garden.
These are the stems which are nothing but,
letting loose a leaf here that wonders then
Wilts; slung, there, sullen, at the side.
I’ve always admired
The ribald crags, a matter of mid-life
Crises. Yet, all about its warted middle
A uniform purpose nonetheless rises:
Dewy petals ringing white in halos,
Their fearless figures spread wide upon the air:
Indeed, all the supple self naked to the whim of Nature.
I’ve always enjoyed their grace.
Except, there is one bowing low, shut upon itself
And gray. I wonder how it came to be that way,
Still haloed in its ashen regalness.
Or, for that matter, how many more will
Slump before tomorrow, exchanging their halos
For a bit of rest.
Yes, I’ve always marveled at the uncanniness of flowers.
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 10:46 AM UTC