"zagging" poems
All along that grey draped zig-zagging shoreline
The men sat or stood in resolute silence
Each trying to reach back into minds
Scrambled like eggs by the fear of impending violence
Soon the hard faced men will open the gates
As the race will start as hearts will change pace
Then by push and twist they load like cattle
Into great grey hulking hearse's barely floating
Plunging through grey roiling seas toward thunder
Echoing across the channel quotation marks of the battle
That rages ,engages not turning ÷ripping out pages of history
When the water turns red punctuated by the floating dead....
........The question marks and periods
Exclamation marks in the book thats still being written ...
......to what end?
That is what makes any plot a vagrant thought
With a premise being an unresolved mystery
Such are .....
The vagaries of the ever repeating chapters of human history!
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
O the mustangs stung like mosquitoes,
fast as lightning & thunderbolts,
liberators & fortresses,
hurricanes & tornadoes,
hell cats & bears,
invaders & dragons,
good grief Lord,
those mighty Gordons!
O wily foxes & quick lancers,
avengers & vindicators,
swordfish, barracuda,
some tuna, albacore.
Gladiators in the gauntlet,
zig-zagging & spitting fire,
spewing molten hot-lead,
bright-tracers in the night,
forever fighting
with their all their might,
bombing their daylights out
and into submission,
la morte, stone dead.
O they sank the Rising Sun,
'cause they had that *****
battling against all wrong
& protecting only
what was right!
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC
It comes after heavy rains.
Naked amphibious marauder
crouched beneath dampened stars
bip-bipping its personal intercom;
soporific in sleep-weary bleary-eyed dreams.
I imagine a Cop on his elbows
zig-zagging, belly-flat
under cover of darkness;
he not naked; peaked cap askew,
shoulder pips glinting in half moon;
he too, predator on a mission -
Echo - Charlie - Zebra.
The freezer kicks in
out-droning night sounds.
Light eases between blinds.
I slurp chocolate dregs from a crazed mug.
Over and out.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC
frozen in time he was quite the spectacle
thick rimmed frames traced rigid lines
projected from kaleidoscope eyes
sharp with the corners of unknown dimensions
caught hot handed
both in expectation and reminisce
so awkwardly present
most nights
he spins fairytales
double-dipping moons in molten watches
skewered with his arms
these wooden poles
stirring the coals buried in ashes
he steps lightly.stomps
dances with the rings of saturn
then rolls like thunder
chasing Zeus's sore words
zig-zagging down to earth
ooohhhh…..
he may not melt hearts with that shoodoop
that bebop
but they break for his habit of
making promises
he who holds time in the cave below his tongue
which now juts left off the reef of his lip
slip into
trip - - - skip
fall.into.this.
go mad for the pitch of his sweat
glaring at the spotlight
Dalí
painting worlds in the moments
between your ears and soul
he is god to their populations
and their hymns excite
rhythms ignite
visions of hard candy
tumbling your teeth smooth as river stones
he does not belong in a gallery
no high tipping wine sipping city slicker big wig
should ever feel comfortable in his blast radius
he makes bombs from tribal instruments
wigwam concoctions
set to test resting souls for pulses
paradiddle defibrillator
triplet stent for arteries
he is tall
and now thin
pressed against the wall as if under interrogation
splitting breath from its carbon
asphyxiated by the frame
he spells his words with motion
I find him
mute
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
~
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The **** interrupted,
“Didn’t, don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back,
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared hopping happily,
jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…..
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
We like to think we are hard to understand
Intricate mazes with twisting chaotic paths
Leading to numerous outcomes
Mysteries woven within our stories
Constantly changing and always anew
We like to believe we are elaborate structures
Constructs of pure ingenuity
Winding corridors with infinite knowledge
With mysterious doors holding plethoras of secrets
Darkened halls to shroud our true motives
Stairways up and down, leading anywhere and everywhere
We like to fool the world
Building these zig-zagging stories
Losing the truth the farther we burrow
Forgetting who we are in the labyrinths of our minds
Forever lost in what we have become
We lied to ourselves
With broken confidence, striving to be who we want
Rather than who we are
Living in a world of other grande designs
Trying to keep up against time itself
We doubted ourselves
Unable to look at the mirrors which spoke the most truth
Turning away and hiding in the lies we fortified around us
The barricaded conscience, locked away and ignored
Emotion took hold and there you sat
We all sat and wondered
Where would "I" fit in this broken world
Of towering deceptive motives
Glimmering pedestals of deceit
Trick rooms and evil men
We all asked ourselves "Where will I go"
When people see the place I've hidden myself away
Calling us out, asking to venture, deep through our halls
We felt simple opposed to the world
Far greater stories, fascinating, colorful
And our structures crumbled
And there we sat
Alone, where the world could see what we ignored in that mirror
But we understood
That Truth can set you free
Despite the lies we make ourselves believe
For simplicity is truth itself
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
Like hamsters on a wheel we ran
Away from horses hooves
Zig zagging through trees
To be hunted like deer
Hiding in holes
Covered in dirt
Crawling under rocks like insects
One by one, we fell.
In terror, we ran back to the place we knew best. Entered the darkness, remembering our way to the waterside.
Safety, of a kind.
The heavy moon poured light from the star laden sky. We merged from the thick copse to be bathed in the calming white of her rays.
Eyes drawn to the glint of the moons' light, touching the tops of the ripples in the water, made brighter still by the surrounding darkness.
Shimmering, like magic.
It was cold, perfectly cold, and the air was fresh and open, the kind of night the veil stays so thin into the night and you can almost see just by feeling. When you can feel the serene and endless expanse of the universe. An overwhelming sense of purity and clarity.
Nothing, and everything.
The slight movement of air on the trees and the gentle lapping of water on the bank told us we were safe, for now at least.
We returned to the real through trees and fields, passing streams and reeds along the lakeside.
We were separated. I knew then, I felt it. I was strangely comforted by its sadness.
Peaceful sleep, first for an age.
I woke before dawn clutching a vision. A message so clear it could never be dream. Time passed, finally their eyes caught mine and stared into my soul. Then it was gone, in an instant hidden.
The vision was realised.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
Her Heart Lay Heavy And Scarred In Her Ribcage,
Her Bones Bleached From The Fluorescent Light,
The Light Of The Examination Table Of Fate,
Her Destiny Proding Her Endlessly,
Searching For Something Which Lies So Special,
On The Rough Skin Of Her Finger Tips,
Demons Who Roam The Hallways Littered,
With Industrial Blue Lockers,
Hide In Every Corner--Waiting To Destroy Her,
Their Yellowed Teeth Bared In Her Direction,
A Pebble In A Gravel Pit--They Mean Nothing,
She Scowls Back--Wires Zig Zagging Across Her Teeth,
Muscles Squirming Underneath Her Skin,
Scarred Skin--Menacingly Beautiful,
Her Hard Working Heart Pounding In Her Head,
Knuckles White With Frustration,
The Bystanders Wait For The Duel,
Eyes Raised Surreptitiously Underneath A Heavy Brow,
Some Cry--Some Tingle With Anticipation,
Then It Began,
Her Brawl With Those Blackened Souls,
Some Of The Bystanders Joined,
Sinking Their Teeth Deep Into Tainted Flesh,
Bruising Veins Infested With Plauge,
Sacrificing Themselves For Her
Her Heart Lay Heavy That Day My Friend,
It Lay Heavy In Her Bleached--Cracked Ribs,
Veins Tired From Lives Before,
Yet She Still Roams This Very World
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
Bees in a hive, making honey
United, in duty, for the colony.
Zestfully searching for hours,
Zig zagging among the flowers
Sunrise, their tunes they deploy,
Oscillating, their songs of joy.
Nesting and putting on a show,
Greeting the bees as they go
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 5:35 PM UTC
An Abecedarian Poem: The Hunt
A gazelle shrieks, her voice loud-
Bitten by a lion,crazed and proud.
Craving life, she darts away,
Daylight fading, for darkness she prays.
Evil and fierce, the lion charges on,
Following her every move, she was his pawn.
Growling behind her, he becomes irate,
Her life he desired, he could no longer wait.
In a dire manner she follows her path,
Jumping and leaping to escape his wrath.
Kind and gentle, the gazelle is fazed,
Lost as to why the lion is so crazed.
Madly, the lion lets out a roar,
Never willing to lose a war.
Over fallen trees she bounds,
Path unclear, her heart pounds.
Quickly, she passes out of the lion’s sight,
Realizing that she could hide and avoid the fight.
Soon, he stops and catches her smell,
Teeth exposed, his chest began to swell.
Unsure of an escape, she remains in place,
Valuing her last moments before the final chase.
Wailing in anger, he knows she will not be found,
Xanthic fur matted, he paws at the ground.
Yelping once, he gives up for the day,
Zig-zagging away from his beloved prey.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
Stained-glass Jesus
Third-eye light
Glinting silver metal
Blinding my sight
Fourth-of-July light show
Lighting up my mind
Pinball bounces
Side to side
Gripping the nightstand
Walking across the floor
Lightening bolts zagging
Green colors and more
All this light and color
Is just too much sometimes
Even when I close my eyes
It's always me they find
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Unsolicited advice
against its storm I brace
Showing no fear or shame
as they get up in my face
In other words ...
They tell me to zig
when I'm zagging
"Hurry up man!"
when I'm lagging
"That's not the way
I'd do it!" they opine
"Better listen to me,
get to it!" every time
Hmm, if that's true
then I'll know
just what to do
when I am you!
More precisely ...
When I do what you say
in my own peculiar way
You stand
beaming with pride
taking credit
If I dare to complain
you declare me insane
then expose me to
ridicule on Reddit
(You don't regret it—
there, I've said it!)
Now I had my say
what will you do?
Hopefully MYOB
not misconstrue
"We just told you
the best way to go
You must listen to us
don’t you know?”
Thanks! If that's true
then I'll know
just what to do
when I am you!
As odd as that sounds
it must be true
I'll be doing sooo much better
when I am you!
8/20/2022
Poetry form: Lyric
A sauté of unsolicited advice with a dash of fun. All we're trying to do is get rid of the bitterness and make the rest of the flavors pop. Yummy!
Mark Toney © 2022
Aug 20, 2022
Aug 20, 2022 at 2:37 PM UTC
Uneven I fly
In the dead of night
Zig zagging towards the moon
Then I disappear
Until you catch my eye
And zoom into hysterical silence
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Fixing loose-curl auburn lockets, the pins embed
And turn again. Step, and forward sway the hipbone,
Thirty, forty, a flight of granite looming forward,
Front and back, past my skirt tail – laden laced, pearly
Quiet go the foot pads, front illuminations rest forgotten,
Past the small mouse scuffling four-paw: zigging, zagging
Along the stair stage. Past the morning call in woodpecker
Tongue, squalls and loudly names the dawning. Softly,
I ascend the cold rough stairwell;
careful
Not to spend courage whole.
Wring the rusty thoughts of amorphous dreaming, eat the
Bad thought before the stairwell – ******* orts and morsels thin
Of single tipped barbs, and doubted quenching
alas
Before they mean too much.
Wave with white hands a fare-thee-well, the apparition
That pauses; portentously grinding its nothing on the wall
Seemingly real the whitewash of nothing, he is voided
But lives existent in that other-world well,
Singing, and that much better for it.
Twitch the dreaming skull-bone loose, and question not,
As I mask my tooth-grin with knuckled fingers;
He spots me slinking past the wound in time
and calls me closer,
So that I may meet him.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 6:46 AM UTC
The smell of your skin
is too familiar
It’s almost like we’ve
gone back in time
To the days when I could
caress my favorite features
of yours—your hands—
without a second thought
but I’m wondering if
this is too much, if I’m
crossing a line, or
if I’m zig-zagging streams
on the bar graph of time
and a calamitous end
will meet all entangled
Your strengthening grip
on my hip assures me though,
that nothing outside of this
firm mattress covered by
sky blue sheets with bleach stained clouds
matters—at all—so let’s lay here
for ten hours straight
and bask in the warmth
of each other’s glowing souls,
reconnected at last,
with old questions drowning
in the abyss of the unknown
because why would I ruin a
moment so perfect as this?
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
I thrive in silence
These mental pylons requiring void
I need all of my neurons to be employed
Modernity calls…
Undulating waves lambast the structure
My zigs start zagging when they should be zigging
The course turns inward
Noise so noisome, I then soil the blank
Cursing God, myself, and the bank
For such a hideous, heinous, everyday mistake
This arsenal
This armory
My six-digit word bank
Fall all out of order
Twenty-six slots, filled in with haste
The instrument bears air greedily in
My fingers can’t trace the holes amongst the din
So I issue out garbage
And pretend
This new edition is
Just another win.
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
We were all born crying,
And sometimes I think that even our tiny bodies could already feel the pressure of an unfair world.
A world where women’s bodies are a prize to be won or an object to rank.
A world where people obey the sign in the museum that says “Do Not Touch”,
And those same people decide that it’s a suggestion when a woman says “Do not touch”
Hands on my body before my first period.
Not sweet hands like sweet caroline.
Before, evil was something I used to look for in Disney villains, now, it’s eyes are everywhere, glued to my 17 year old body.
It’s in my neighborhood, in my coffee shop, in my bed. It whispers me shakespearean sonnets and tells me I’m ****
Runs its fingers up and down my spine, zig zagging over the bone. Its kisses are soft and gentle, like springtime. It makes me feel important and deserving.
Then the sonnets turn from Romeo and Juliet to Macbeth, and It tells me:
****** thou art; ****** will be thy end.
Touching hands, not sweet hands.
Hard, cold, unloving, cigarette stained hands.
Cold hands on my beautiful body, my spectacular self.
I call out to nothing, and nothing responds.
I sink deeper into the bed, wanting time to stop, fast forward, or rewind or something.
I wait for the sonnets to end, and the pain to go away.
I wait for grass to grow and paint to dry.
And then it stops
and I am not me.
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 3:46 AM UTC
Running fast, really fast. I get this feeling at the pit of my stomach. Almost like butterflies from excitement or nervousness. But this feeling is clearly different. My feet finally lift off the ground and I started to fly. I was in complete control now. I Flew. Flying so fast and zooming high. Zig zagging everywhere feeling free to do as I please, I “fall” down to the ground head first Speeding like a bullet. Then I save myself last minuet like they do with the fighter jets during an air show. People gasping in awe to be witnessing a blue eyed blonde haired girl fly. People cant accept the fact that i am completely and simply anti gravity. But it is completely and easily controlled. But then, I woke up. Starring at the plane whit ceiling, and the plane white everything. What a joy. I thought to myself. Another day stuck in this prison. A nurse came into my room. "You appear to be doing better since your last....outburst....and we are "happy" to allow you to roam the halls again." she said clearly not happy that there was another one to keep track of. I'm in a mental hospital. I'm insane. I certainly do not agree. I think im fine.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
I am an irrational fear
I bear claw at your beehive of a brain
I’m ice crystallizing on the window of your mind
I’ll insta-freeze your thoughts
No amount of heat will get you going again
Fight or flight
But I make you always choose the latter
I’m the elephant in the room
hanging from above your head by
Thimble thread
I’m a taxi service
Driving you up the wall
Zig-zagging up the walls tearing you to and fro
Never giving you respite from the whirl of anxiety until
Crashing you straight into the ground
A professional packager is part of what I am
I’ll pack you so tight into the box
There’s no air to fit in any crevice
The trick is it’s a mime-made box of
Your creation
I’m the black sun to your planet
Everything you do revolves around me
I don’t get off light but **** all of yours away
A tick on the underside of your spirit
Leeching away your life till all that’s left
are your broken bones
I am the ghost in the mirror
I am the shade in your stride
I’m the monster under your bed
And you cannot hide
From me
I am strong, I am fierce
I am relentless, I am calamity
I am the rock tied to your leg
Pulling you under
I am You.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
He was an old old man,
sitting in a chair,
older than he was,
he would sit in that old chair,
staring at the Corn Field,
maybe he saw something spectacular,
maybe God,
or an Angel,
he would take deep inhales,
as if they were his last,
making them count,
getting in one last victory,
the smell of his land,
the trees,
the animals,
the ski,
the planet,
but he never went,
he sat there,
rocking back and forth,
the farm was always quiet,
no visitors,
the rain came at times,
graying over the land,
which he didn't enjoy very much,
he'd close his big,
heavy wrinkled worn eyes,
and imagine running through the rain,
through the Corn Field,
as he did when he was young,
young and didn't think too much,
the Corn Field glowed,
like hot metal it glowed,
sometimes he never slept,
he'd just stay up for days,
Monklike,
no food,
no water,
no using the restroom,
almost stunned,
stunned by what?
I couldn't say for sure,
but his big green eyes,
were weighted on that Corn,
the rain would come,
and the house made a funny noise,
you could hear the birds,
chirping,
scattering looking for a dry place,
you could hear the road,
being drenched,
the hard rain drops,
smacking against the old paved road,
getting so loud,
only a hum came about,
emerging across the hill like a silent marching band,
or a group of lost holy men,
chanting humming something of significance,
but the sound of the rain drops,
tapping the leaves of the Corn,
that,
he could hear intently,
with this he'd softly press his aged lips together,
close his eyes,
and inhale,
suggesting to Death, or God,
that this moment,
is perfect for me to go,
but the rain was still to be watched by him,
the *** holes in the road,
filled like the palms of a child,
as it rained,
was to be heard by him,
he was okay with this,
he was okay with the duty he had,
to keep record,
of the beauty,
he had heard,
weeks would pass,
before seeing a truck,
a lonely old steel car,
or even the zig zagging hum of a fertilizing air plane,
he felt at times he wasn't even on Earth,
the he had died,
last harvest,
when the rain never came,
and the corn dried up,
and crumbled over on itself,
but he had food,
cans and cans of beans,
which he lived off of for a year,
but the corn had come back,
and he sat in the chair,
with wonderful eyes.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
.
Nothing more than a pretty smile
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads,
following the same schedule
as the other…identical
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The **** interrupted,
“Didn’t…don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back
and flew, holding onto
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared, hopping happily
Jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…..
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
Imagine a road.
That led to anywhere you wanted it to lead to. Anywhere.
Even to a place from storybooks and make-belief.
Even to a place you made inside your head.
Now imagine a person.
Walking down that road.
Or running. Or flying. Or zig-zagging up and down in vague caterpillar-like motions.
But there's a person. And there's a road.
And the road leads to someplace else.
And Someplace Else is far away.
And Far Away is where you need to be.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
unfolds on my face
every night
zig zagging
through
dusky skies
a summer's bounty of fireflies
flight pattern
known only to you
my camera cannot catch
your electric dance
turning that copse
between the yards
by chance
from the neighbors
****** decor
into rustic country charm
all along
their laundry lines
drying pants
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
Fickle gleaming light once shown bright
through the tunnels of your eye holes;
dreaming and deeming yourself truthful
in action and fastened in your traction
(on the Traveled Path)
A refraction, split in two.
Mind soaked in indecisive dew.
At a loss, where do the paths cross?
Crossing your mind, two zig-zagging,
spiraling,
constantly
colliding
comet tails leave debris that hails
down on the soft and welcoming
surface of the brain.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC