Measures

He measures present
pleasure 'gainst her gifted smile.
All is found, wanting.

Querulous

Her querulous cackling cascades
down to a sudden quietus
prompting quiver-prone neighbors
to make ambivalent inquiries

Relishes

Once-free relishes
rigorously jarred, stew in
acid bitterness

Smoke

sinuous signals
mobilize motley minions
otherwise occupied
keeping kamikaze kestrels
expertly ensnared

(This is an acrostic written for the Poetwist Twitter word prompt "Smoke")

Convoluted elocutions

Executing convoluted elocutions,
he lays down a labial labyrinth,
to entangle over-eager eavesdroppers.

Entreating

Sulfurous flash draws
tang from seared flesh, entreating
answers... any kind

Listing

A life gone listing,
he requires reassessment
to make the dire straight

Amber

This misbegotten spoke of
rueful light, having been
kicked from his unclean-too
sheltering by the bully-
bruised sky, exhausts himself
repeating ungallant falls
into winter-wronging crowds.

Thick disapproval oozes
out an aural complaint
punctuated with amber
clots, ensnaring the flippant
and the shifty but to fix
their toady meanings inside
polished globules of today.

Punctuated envy

Pushy Period backed up
against strict black boundaries,
envies Colon's domain;
the broader stretches it could take
as a dearly dotted colony.

Trickster

A laundered trickster
he sticks her pocket with lint
lent at no int'rest

Profit

She's yet to realize
a netted profit
from these oceans
of tearful deposits

Cottony love

Sky, birthed by deep sighs,
smothers Mother with kisses
of cottony love

Man spits

Man spits stormy swears.
Jade sky stares back, bares its knack
for threatening dares.

Flash fiction: Disorder

She keeps her pretty laminated
recipe cards pristinely stacked upright
and ordered inside boxes that are
in turn organized by ethnicity.
Some do try to defy her too
categorical mind. These end up
alphabetized without a grin and put
within an apologetic little
catchall that, collections completed,
she'll not visit willingly again.

Each ensuing night, fingers spiral
down dimples stamped on a cardboard-cutout
globe she leaves standing on her marbled
granite slab of a counter. One place
chosen from among those she's never been,
she lifts the hunter-green translucent
lid of its corresponding container
and pulls out a single card that her eyes
feast on, ticking off precise measures
in the savory worded list.

Sated so, she pours big bowls of cold
cereal thickly coated. She doesn't like
to cook.

Premature pyres

The Phoenix envied,
he heaps his lifetime's keepings
on premature pyres

Imperfect Pitch

Torn earth's lament hits
an imperfect pitch, cracking
heaven's glassy heart

Walls

Rubbery pink walls
contain the wails of his soul's
impending release

Residence

Sun-bleached bones for bricks,
blood as glue, he builds his god
fitting residence

Molten

Hooked

This wriggling gray — hooked,
blind and little feeling — makes
me an ideal god

There are these spots

There are these spots on my ceiling.

Plainly speaking, they are
off-white patches where
the heads of nails were
mudded over, but not well sanded.

I opt to see them as
push-pins squashed when spat
on monochrome maps
to point me dippered ways outre-ward.

Their gap-tooth patterns micro-mimicking
constellations hap
my eyes to hazard
hopping through new belt hoops.

Then passed by barely habited worlds,
I wheel round orbits
molecularly
chained to collide, next time.

My neighbor's heavy steps fade out.

— Francis Scudellari

---

This poem is written in response to Read Write Prompt #112: Narrative wallpaper at Read Write Poem. Rather than being inspired by what I found on my walls, I looked up to the ceiling.

Deft hands

Deft hands forage through
secret lairs, released from
their bidden prayers

Center

The center can't hold
these middling cares, frayed edges
refuse to release

Sparkle

Waning sun anoints
this air weighted with crystal
to sparkle his stead

Silence (with proper formatting)

One day I heard joyful
shouting. The next there was
a deafening


silence.

(Thanks to TenTenTen for the suggestion of the creative retitling of this poem)

Puddle of Cryonics

I'd rather be a puddle
than a Popsicle.
Can I tell you why?

Better yet, I'll start
by asking, What should
immortality cost?

It could be mine for the low-
low price of twenty-nine,
nine-ninety-nine.

Yes, in US dollars,
no cents. I've got the latter,
not the former,

at least not in this lifetime.
I might also mention
the ugly how

to get there: First flushed,
then re-pumped blue for blood,
I'd be bagged and hung

upside down in a sparing
accommodation.
If plans hatch as laid,

science'll shell me out
from gamy non-life
to patch and catch me up.

But why would it bother,
'less to pick my pickled brain
about times ago

when men couldn't see much
beyond their vanity.
And that takes me back

where I started at:
I'd rather be a puddle,
and evaporate.

Dime-store Messiah

Dime-store messiah,
Arise! Adorned with baubles
Of oblivion

Pebble

A simple pebble, he sits
not marked or moved
by any glitter or tint,
absorbing the dull being
that ever flows past him.

Dots

Dots small and large squat
All tiresomely unwilling
to connect and dance

Scrub

My polluting words
can't fill god's eye, but they can
scar it with caring.
Better to scrub them unread
in silent indifference.

Decode

Static-tongue whispers
his ears can't decode, recast
as doomed prophecies

Designed to Kill

At first I thought, guns are designed to kill,
killing being their essential purpose,

twitchy triggers and bored barrels anxious
to thrust their loaded charges at something.

If they merely wound, then they fail the task,
albeit at hands a bit too shaky.

That's when those hands and my eye connected.
I saw, so are we — designed for killing:

bipedal stance a leg up on hunting,
with our oft-deadly knack for tool making.

These arms in blood-lusting grip, we follow
where our frothy appetites take us,

but sometimes those trails only lead us back
to ourselves, another kind of preying.

Wither

Sun, then moon leave me.
Lacking both vision and dream,
I wither, unbranched.

Patterns

Patterns in patterns
they refuse to see without
a loan of his eyes

Dawdling

Still dawdling abed
he watches teak fan blades whip,
air thicken and fold

Needy lips

Needy lips sip, slip
off, the proof of their taking
a glistening tale

Invisible

Being invisible
has one great advantage:
Whenever you decide
to disappear
no one notices.

Pupil

The pupil pours tea
from a pewter pot
as the master marks
her languid posture

Florid

With excuses dressed
in florid prints, he fends off
their unflinching stares

Not leaving

Not leaving a thing
to chance, he ties together
all life's incidents

Dropped

d
r
o
p
p
i
n
g

my
speech
-less
(thought)

my
emotion
-less
(care)

until...

I
hit
and...

s-h-a-t-t-e-r

Shy bulbs

Shy bulbs hide their smiles,
cringing till lapsed affections
discover new warmth

Shrewd Cardinal

A shrewd cardinal
conceals his rude-eyed peeping
behind fluid songs

Hurtling

A hurt-ling, I always hurtle
head first with lips puckered
unpoised by each mazy turn,
the walls smacking my face
profoundly

Paramecium

oblongingly
it's swept on
synchronous cilia
whipped to spiral through
scummy ponds
and cytoplasmic
feast

Unglued

Slyly come unglued from
time's straight and sticky flow,
he watches a life spill out
through his many aged eyes

Pyramids of sand

Pyramids of sand
poke noses 'tween grass, hop off
to bathe in the sea

Flash Fiction: False Imprint

He imagines he feels her first.
The slight tap of slender fingertips
to stop the holes only she can see
run down his fluted arm.

Then, tender lines of perhaps
too-thin lips follow along his neck
to shape lyrics from bouncy songs
he heard once, in passing.

Finally, her whole body pulls close
eager to imprint his bare back
with blocky paragraphs that break
his inhibited spell.

All this happens in glancing yet.
They haven't met, but when they do
their story may choose to travel
less conventional paths.

Tied-down paths

Rusted gray cross warns
Tied-down paths to salvation
have been rerouted

Eco-vandal

An eco-vandal
he wears sandals to brand all
polluters with hushed steps

No Peer

He has no peer,
peering into
the hearts of others
and finding his own
pernicious desires

Dank

A dank reasoning
stewed in swampy fumes, hatches
poison slathered tongues

Flash fiction: Stilled life

He pulls the flannel sheet up
all the way over his head,
a purply plaid pretend shroud
very much in need of washing.

"If I can lie this way,"
he whispers, "ever so still, I might
convince Death that long-awaited
visit has come too late."

But, he's not sure how long
he can hold the pose, and then
there's the small problem of his
constant shallow breathing.

Night for Day

prospector eyes pick
greedy to mine the sparkling
veins of nightly wealth

star-lit gold hoarded
hoping to barter one day
its priceless kisses

(A two-part haiku for the Haiku Challenge Twitter Prompts: Prospector & Barter)

The unkind art of feeding

You have to feed on something,

they said, or I imagine them
saying, and I do... but I don't
want to feed,
at least not doing it to trade
in visible doubts for a life's
uncertain

drift between I am, and I'm not...
fed fat by the neatly packaged
carcasses
clearly drained and cellophane wrapped,
to keep unclean hands bloodlessly
far from mine.

I'm told but I won't hear, We're more
highly evolved. We think therefore
we are so
discomfited by not knowing...
whether the fed-on think and feel
what we do

when life's last light runs out, taking
with it the green and red that played
over flesh
and bony because... if they do,
it could be, we're feeding on one
another.

That's the unkind art of feeding.

Vines

his arms vine round hers
fingers creep green, but hopeful
their love will blossom

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Vine)

Salty treading

Straying boots corrupt
Last patch of pure snow taken
with salty treading

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Corrupt)

Reverie

Time's a reverie.
Its distance illusive keeps
us longing, un-waked.

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Reverie)

Flash fiction: Nook book

There's a tiny nook
behind her double bed
where she keeps small thoughts,
always written out with blue ink
on regular, lined notebook paper.

But the pad is nearly full,
and the nook can't fit another,
so she'll have to be content
re-thinking those same small thoughts
until the tiny gets bigger.

Chicanery

Fool's chicanery:
Make a King see the unwise
keep to their wisdom

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Chicanery)

Waltzing

Elegantly not mindful
of false walls propped up
by maze makers meaning
to keep her, she waltzes through
their tissue-paper sighs.

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Waltz)

Leftover embraces

She wraps herself in the ragged
wool shawl, less for its leaky warmth
than its leftover embraces

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Shawl)

Nibbles

Sun nibbles cold ears
Warmed, she smiles, and I fall in
love too easily

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Nibble)

Building a Rainbow to Caliban, in Seven Steps

1. Red-eyed, not weary, we feed
on the rarefied
aerial leavings of gruntled clouds.

2. An Orange gap carves out when
the gobbling is done,
and strings are strung tight across that lap.

3. These six wires grate full Yellow
hymns into fine crumbs,
sifting down through curious weather.

4. The suppler notes land to Green
and moisten stretched tongues
on mannered ferns eager to praise sing:

5. Of powder Blue complexions,
jays abandoning
spent wings to totter off at twilight,

6. In search of Indigo fins
and shallow pools where
they might paddle up enough courage,

7. To ask the Violet sky
to stay its blushing
hues, so he'll never be wak'd again.

— Francis Scudellari

Grey sedation

Damp-cloth clouds whisper
Grey drops to further sedate
a wintering earth

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Sedate)

Rusted drums

Angry tongues of flame
leap from rusted drums, hissing
tales of warm houses

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Drum)

Sloppy

His sloppy theories
always exclude, unhappy
far from right reck'ning

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Exclude)

Chill

A cheerless chill prowls
beneath the blasting wind's howl,
by mere touch dead'ning

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Prowl)

This George

This George, devoted
to flowery words, not swords
could but barely snip
the heads off gold snapdragons

Prior sins

Prior sins over-
look as printed-on petals
are pealed back by flame

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Overlook)

Bits

Star lit bits filter down
a sleek black cable
signalling his drooping gaze
to rise up skyward

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Cable)

Flash fiction: Chopping blocked

Acting on the impulse to chop
off his too-uncooperative hands,
he finds himself
with a bloody stump,
a dulled ax,
and no clue
how to finish the job.

Wiggle worms

You might see a man.
There's just a boy, who puts on
layers of time burying
wiggle worms, once held in hand
He'll run off to show them

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Hand)

Vigil

disappointed vow
now holds a constant vigil
for its never was

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Vigil)

Twin Stars

Seen through this worn yellow
patch of blanket,
the lamp's coiled bulbs look
miniature, twin stars
pulsing softly
at a galaxy's center.
They ask me to fix it
there, my unfocused stare.

A spam poem...

To: Viagra Pushers
Subject: Just a Thought
Maybe the world needs fewer
blokes sowing their oats,
not more.
Sincerely yours, F

Insignificance

Its significance
lost, he titles his bio
after someone else

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Title)

Mine!

Even as an adult,
whatever, whenever, wherever
happy accidents roll her way,
she claims them by yelling, "Mine!"

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Mine)

Stones

Lately, simple stones have taken on
the heft of enormous boulders.

It could be that our gravity has changed,
or that these rocks are newly made
of a matter with greater density.

I'm ever an enthusiast
for Greek myth, its stories penned far away
in fertile fields of elites bred
from the straying loins of finely flawed gods.

That's what I tell most, but I couldn't
tell you any details about twelve labors,
monsters taken, torn asunder.

Hercules must have shouldered his burdens,
I imagine, froth at the mouth,
drawing on his inner strength to support
the brunt of a weighty world's cares.

Or was that Atlas? The question may be
moot, examining my own thighs.

— Francis Scudellari

---

This poem is written in response to Read Write Prompt #109: beg, borrow, steal at Read Write Poem. This was a "wordle" prompt, click on the first link to see the 13 suggested words.

Gruesome

small, dark and gruesome
there was cause to be grateful
at least he wasn't pale

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Dark)

Prankster oak

A prankster oak drops
snow on passersby, catching
spasms of laughter

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Spasm)

Fire and Ice

Tingling

at last...

he pours out, his coctions
conned with too-cunning smile
from these gullible tips of wilting

lips impetuously
pushed by a pouting posy.
Its bunched buds weep chartreuse then slink

off into the waited
years of welcoming swallows.
Their needle wings paired with calls pierce

the sky's purple-black bruise,
revealing light, stenciled clues
he sorely needs to fly himself

up to shivering heights.
Once shin-deep in substrata
routes flooding forth from badly zoomed

maps, his questions run
afoul. Ascot-wrapped but choked,
the relentless sinks to unhealthy

altitudes, and he falls
through stained ceiling of acid
nave where his fancy first took off.

Tingling...

— Francis Scudellari

(I built this poem using the found words of verification prompts from blogs on which I've left comments recently. Some were whole words, like shiver. Some were near words, like coction. Some were mere gibberish that my mind filled out into words; for example, acinv became acid nave.)

Persist

This wretch white-cloaked will
persist till his green queen wakes
to take back her realm

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Persist)

Wrung

Filthy hands were wrung
over winter's brash thieving
his sweet, hot water

(For the HaikuChallenge Twitter prompt: Wrung)

There's math in grapes

There's math in grapes,
and their longing's arc: adding shape
clutched on leafy vines
then divided, into shapeless wine

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Shape)

Too angelic

Words too angelic,
more than diabolic, spur
my squirming torments

(For two HaikuChallenge prompts on Twitter: Diabolic, Torment)

He'll uncork

He'll uncork bottled-up
ships, and watch these friends reach
for open seas, one wish held
as cargo in each

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Cork)

Wen Chang

I wake monastic
to a morning of spare light,
and an itch to be
tetchy lingering from last
night's candle-lit creeps.

A quick rummage through closets
where I keep hidden
pantechnicons of surplus
garments discarded
by near houses of worship,

finds a never-worn
surplice cut to my liking,
and I slip it on
starched and musty white
atop wrinkled blue

jeans. In the hall, I perk up
primula bouquets
laid at feet of ivory
and I ignite
a joss stick, letting its curls

of fragrance implore
the deity to bring down
his leather-bound book
and nobble my stubborn mind
until its ructions

subside. But Wen Chang keeps words
clutched dear to his breast,
and I'll need another means
of making myself
a muggins with romper thoughts

new freed, ever penned
to bounce about. So I head
to the scullery
and peal yellow and red blotched
skins from twelve pippins

to bake in two tarts, bubbling
up brown: One I'll eat,
the second use finally
to coax a musing
from my still stiff friend, Wen Chang.

— Francis Scudellari

---

This poem is written in response to Read Write Prompt #108: a mechanical approach, by matthew zapruder at Read Write Poem. Matthew outlined a mechanical process he used to create his poem The Elegant Trogon. It involves working through a dictionary to find interesting words. I did the same, moving backward from T through J, but I didn't end up using the chosen words in the order I discovered them. I've linked each to their Wiktionary definitions. In researching "Joss Stick," I happened upon the Chinese God of Literature, Wen Chang (picture above courtesy of Wikimedia user Captmondo), and he proved my guiding spirit throughout.

Chatter

She chose to chat
of piled-up chattel
mucking their lives, but chastened
and gripped by the cheerless
cold, his teeth could only chatter

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Chat)

Strike

The sun strikes, dropping
its sideways glints to rally
agitated clouds

(For three HaikuChallenge prompts on Twitter: Strike, Sideways, and Agitate)

Warble

Her youthful warble
gobbled by ravenous years
fades to garbled hum

(for Poetwist's Twitter prompt: Warble)

Crackling

Her sigh rends his why
opens dark torrents, she nips
with a crackling glare

(for the Haiku Bones prompt: Electrifying)

And here's an alternate version, which I tweeted and got positive feedback on:

Her sigh rends the sky
followed by wordy torrents
then a crackling glare

Feel free to cast your vote in the comments...

She fingernails

She fingernails
a smiling sketch
on his open palm
so he can catch
her buoyant mood

Past's acquaintance

His story concludes.
Pages slip back, renewing
a past's acquaintance.

Cold transgressions

A lone sparrow chirps
of cold transgressions, the wind
it pleads ignorance

Talia lit

Talia lit
a candied wick,
her annual try
to melt away
the cherry-glazed
sadness,

but having
no taste for cake
and no fondness
for pie, she drips pink-
blue stings on her
waiting

palm, its cracks
brimming with waxy
rivers, to set
a striped and flamed
believing, where
as when

the tremors
go out, she'll wish
for tears to rise
and curled smoke to close
the black eyes of
heaven

— Francis Scudellari

Drunken moon

The drunken moon, dropped
frosty white into pooled blue
mirrors my image

Gone to cede

Ev'rything old needs
replacing. He leaves, placing
a sign: "Gone to cede."

Smoldering sun

A smoldering Sun
obscured behind clingy clouds
gives Earth a strained wink