Paralyzed in waiting

Paralyzed in waiting
his fixed stare of broken thoughts
watches numbers creep

Her hurried promise

Her hurried promise
fingers seeking upturned palm
a novice's vow

He's disposed to shed

He's disposed to shed
odd old personalities
each changing season

His disgrace lay not

His disgrace lay not
in straying, but in staying
put when he got there

This is not an elephant

"This is not an elephant,"
he confides to the child
as they oval round
captive creatures foreign
and featured in glassy habitats.

"See those four stout stumps
with their loose-pebble bottoms,
rooting him to the dust-bound earth
where his great girth grows?"
"Do you mean its legs?"

"Then pay attention to the gray
veined fans that swat and sway
to push away midges nibbling
heat into his giant's skull."
"Aren't those just ears?"

"There are twin ivory tines
he uses to stab and dine on
tightly packaged meals
the forest's cunning seals for him."
"I thought they were tusks?"

"Last, note his accordion's
appendage that dangles down
to fleet wrestle and greet
with a snicker or a shout."
"Grandpa, the sign says,

'Elephant'! What do you call it?"
"That's a little tidbit
he's never shared with me,
but I do know him to be
much more than his name."

Ink abiding light

Ink abiding light
a looping quill his religion writes
outward drifting verses
sung by the myriad stars
blended in one choral voice

Spare dollars he spends

Spare dollars he spends
like wishes, promising notes
better homes elsewhere

Never rash, he'll choose

Never rash, he'll choose
to lay down an abandon
fully hatched with reck

Close-knitting snug yarns

Close-knitting snug yarns
to be wrapped in soft comforts
she falls away from the world
its caring seasons
that roll and spin past

A gray lingering

A gray lingering
till sated with earthy sighs
he rains affection

Fitted with this mask

Fitted with this mask
hard chiseled at harsh angles,
he hides the impulse
to be costumed in a veil
of subtly rounded feeling

Our too-brief goodbye

Our too-brief goodbye
echoes, expanding to flood
broad-bottomed canyon

Snoopy

Float away, I would
if I could
be Snoopy,
chewing through
those Broadway bounds

Breathy wisp billows

Breathy wisp billows
then fades, ghostly life spoken
into crisp, cold air

His vital organs

His vital organs
still moist, vittles for vultures
swooping down peckish

Small souls wither

Small
souls
wither.
Docile husks
under-nourished by
his unsubstantiated blood

He runs fingers

He
runs
fingers
through jaundiced
pages, but can't find
a listing for lifting curses

Thought Experiment

I may or may not be:
a posited feline absurdity
curled up on comma paws
inside Herr Schrödinger's booby-trapped box.

Its flask of uncertain
whether smashed to poison my mighty mews
and spew a gray-mouthed cloud
that inky clots neither's sharpening pen.

Entangled buts become
stranded as knots of fuzzy pink yarn send
either-or careening
arm and arm down imperfect pictured paths,

where Epimetheus
stands, ready to wed Pandora anew,
and doom-birth our many
worlds with the lifting of my thousand lids.

— Francis Scudellari

Ten toes tipping

Ten
toes
tipping
the threshold,
unbalanced he leans
back waiting for a strong gust's push

Lids loosed

Lids
loosed
after
stubborn twists,
release captive breath
to mingle with freshening air

I could let go

I
could
let go
people, things
to end these plagues, but
God is in it for the torture

Light had its chance

Light
had
its chance
to woo me.
Darkness seduces
with a kiss of liquid shadow.

Seeing such smooth skin

Seeing such smooth skin,
two eyes and just four limbs, makes
the spider's hide crawl

Am meal at

With a worded trap I'm asked
to verify my human
being by typing
A-M-M-E-A-L-A-T.

I misinterpret that
as, "Am meal at."
Putting down the plastic fork
to key it in,

I wonder out loud,
"Who's about to be
eaten, and where?"
It tells me I passed.

— Francis Scudellari

Done. Been. Held by

Done.
Been.
Held by
the fickle
world, this incessant
turning, I'll flee its gravity

With fork and knife

With
fork
and knife
he devours
the day, relishing
both its sweet and savory hours

The world makes us

This
world
makes us
all killers
inspiring with memes
of the cruelest survival

They take small bites

They
take
small bites
siphoning
bigger drops each night
growing addicted to his soul

Pickled

Pickled on quixotic tonics
he strives for a polyglot's poise,
balancing plaster peas
at the end of his tippler's tongue.

But the rough-surfaced pearls prickle
his too-ticklish bed of pink,
and gulped down, he administers
only a lessoned indigestion.

Flipping the flop, he prevaricates
himself into the tight-fit corners
of a parallelogram traced
by unsolemn processionals

bedecked in platitudinous finery.
Their porous smirks drip sticky
reminders of a plethora
of previously pernicious exercises

and dampen his fluffy ambition,
prodding procrastinations until
his drunken promise dries out
to become a posthumous wish.

— Francis Scudellari

---

This poem is written in response to Read Write Prompt #101: p-p-p-poetry at Read Write Poem. There are a total of 13 p-word prompts, and I used all of them (plus a few extras of my own for seasoning).

He waits

He
waits
at death's
door, transfixed
by ornate knocker

He buys his hats

He buys his hats
too wide and his books
too heavy hoping
the volume
will expand his mind

Charting the distance

Charting the distance
of waved travels, he cycles
back upon himself

Straying's Wish

Disenchanted, this slanted floor
whispers to me
through its tightly clenched slats.
Cranky tales of failed

first steps, I tip-toe past,

unflappable. End tables mock
my walk-by dare,
mouthing weak-coffee moans
from wood-grained circlets. Stains

surface, I sidle on,

as their knots fade. A lean-to shade,
the lamp tilts up
shadows with blunted beaks.
Clipped wings flapping deep-toned

airs, my unsettling makes

falsetto. Vents hiss librettos
to dissuade me
with their combed-over notes.
Forced-upon causes, pause

to caress fleeing ought,

envied. Wood shutters crack mutters
to trick a gaze
from pictured window's bliss.
Vagrant clouds cross crowds

of stars, my straying's wish.

— Francis Scudellari

He may have fallen

He may have fallen
by foolish pride
but it's the bitter
memory of what he once was
that keeps him from ever
getting back up

Thick-leaf canopy

Thick-leaf canopy
humble and temporary
my loaned umbrella

His life's span measured

His life's span measured
half the distance between real
and imagined shores

Compromise becomes

Compromise becomes
easier after your soul
has finally fled

Tracing mirrored routes

Tracing mirrored routes
he calculates scaled-down miles
crafty age has mapped

Her mismatched legs dance

Her mismatched legs dance
to lonely rhythms, sweeping
elliptical paths
I follow, my eyes searching
the hard wood floors laid above

Wispy headed snake

Wispy headed snake
twists and glides through dusted blue
browning its belly

She cocoons herself

She cocoons herself
nightly, woolen wrapped
and awaiting daylight's again
to search her back
for nubs of wings, sprouting

Dreamscapes cluttered

Dreamscapes cluttered
with baubles and toys
his mechanical eyes can't clutch
lifting up filled
but only by waking

A spare marble tossed

A spare marble tossed
across this blue velvet sea
arcs to the morning

False-flattering clouds

False-flattering clouds
gauzy stroke the moon's pocked cheeks
snick'ring at its grin

Door swings open

Door swings open, dis-
covers loving fraught with im-
possibility

I'll robot

As my illogic breaks, I'll robot make
to be this soul's chamber,
robbing a piecemeal joy from misfit toys
tossed out for fine tuning

by toddlers cheery mad to gorge on fads.
I'll take their T-Rex head,
with droopy lids that wink as if to drink
the world's wide-shallow stares,

plug its plastic prongs in torso of tin
while twin squeeze-box arms splay
to tie magnetic bows round pads below
gold, plush lion cub's legs.

This moppet of mixed breeds I'll learned feed
with animate cunning
to be ruled by charmed laws that give it pause
when whole-sum circumstance

tangles fuzzy circuits. Then a circus-
wire's unbalancing act
I'll paste from templed flesh to doll enmeshed
by transfuse rigging,

and as coil comes to slough, just as I'm off,
I'll flip that gilded switch,
implanting my spirit into a bit
of copper-hued country.

His weekly transform

His weekly transform
sluggish to mercurial
by quicksilver shots

After the buggy debacle

After the buggy debacle,
crawling cabinet cascade
jeopardizing his larder,
he ditched swatter stopgaps
to pursue insecticide's purer forms

His broad grin

His broad grin shows off
the new missing tooth he paints
as sporty black stripe

The go-round

The go-round never
made merry for him.
Its lacquered yellow horses
and their creeping,
glazed-eye grins.

He glares desert heat

He glares desert heat
life belly slides, crawls behind
thin shadows, cool nooks

Her pulled-up corners

Her pulled-up corners
a public moment's whimsy
drooping back at home

Crow's harsh caw mocking

Crow's harsh caw mocking
my right-angled walk, it cuts
winged hypotenuse

My scratchy tissue

My scratchy tissue
can't catch the gook graying
lucy's chetstnut eye
so Albert paws in
his nimble tongue obliging

Brazen-minded breeze

Brazen-minded breeze
tugs at the sun's cotton robe
eying his nude blush

A wounded beauty

A wounded beauty
early pierced, too often drawn
by ill-caring hands,
wary of his gentler touch
turns away, stabbing two hearts

Birthed in tumult's core

Birthed in tumult's core
journey becomes choice, which path
to radiate through

More bird on a wire

More bird on a wire
than yo-yo on a string
he clings to the warming
vibrato of her
whispers texted nightly

Stormy ushers shove

Stormy ushers shove
tip-toe stumbles through curtains
half-parted amber
falling against red cushions
arrayed in a fragrant chill

His immense problems

His immense problems
best captured through a peep hole
bottle tilted back

Fall's red-cheeked bluster

Fall's red-cheeked bluster
extending loud courtesy
slams the door behind

Egg-Chicken

Egg-chicken, chicken-egg
however I lay it
my logic always cracks

Romance thirsting eyes

Romance thirsting ears
imbibe her treacly voice, its cloy
a disheartened quench

Jogging autumn gusts

Jogging autumn gusts
fit and trim, push their way through
leaves crowding branches

Her polished lapis eyes

Her polished lapis eyes
set beneath spun gold,
a stare too precious
for me to fix

Mock-rock globe

Mock-rock globe spinning
he pokes at the tan-green blurs
a one-wish ticket