Written: August 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Mark Toney
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Corset of steel tightens—ratified pain,
Vestigial breath trapped in ischemia thrall.
The ductile hope failed to placate
This Pyrrhic ache, this woebegone gall.
A sojourn in the squalor of soul,
Where sylphlike dreams maunder, downcast.
Ogle the embers of the miraculous nexus—
A seraphic visage lost, quickly.
Vivacious once, now virile with woe,
Panacea tastes of pabulum, slipshod, and cold.
Tinkling memories coruscate as zeugma—
Bright, yet untoward, they never hold.
Quixotic penchant for connection,
Grasping too late the nebula beneath.
What puissance is this—this throe, this tumult—
When tulle-wrapped love meets a gyre of grief?
Ululation beneath pavonine skies,
Adumbrate every glance, every sigh.
Crimson weave keeps a skirt in place,
Valuable, stained, adorned, and slain.
No pease porridge for me if you please
neither hot nor cold
especially not if what's in the pot
is nine days old
for when in Parma Palermo or Pisa
(no pottage slop)
I'm predisposed and have the propensity
to pour a potent potable
(pink plonk)
and prefer to partake of a piece of pepperoni pizza
with pancetta pomodoro peperoncini
porcini plus a peck of pecorino on the top
even the penchant for a piccante prosciutto panini
or pass me a plate of penne puttanesca
with the proclivity for a platter of pinoli pesto
possibly pasta with parmesan
and I'm pleased to wine and dine al fresco
my god is fame
i shall not rest
‘til the world regards me
as the very best
not content
to badmouth my rivals
i seek to eliminate
their chance for survival
my publicity stunts
are beyond outrageous
my penchant for perversity
most find contagious
yea, though some folks are jealous
and seek my death
i’ll relish my time in the spotlight
‘til my very last breath
~ Try chanting this to the rhythm of 'The Lord's Prayer,' Psalm 23 ~
she had attempted to colour in outside of the box
now the silver lining dangled from a broken necklace
suffocated her aspirations oozed discontent and sorrow
the shine had come off and no amount of polish would
erase smudges and impurity nor restore a once lucid soul
reflections tore at her heart and strangled in darkness
precious metal now a neck tie of craving for balance
reprieve from discomfort aberrations and delusions
pendant to be relieved from reversed penchant of life
at first she assigned emotions to one crazy error of judgement
distortion of passion disillusionment or mere false appraisal
yet resentments turned on herself in anger insecurity and fear
her whole mindset had been poisoned inflamed to the core
only complete reconstruction of Self would yield any success
which is when she decided to stop running away to face the truth
Above a beached bleached paperback, "The Doors of Perception",
a pent-up penchant for greed is flung wide open:
The esophagus of a seagull sky grows narrow
until one seagull stomachs trash with zero
tolerance for sharing. Squeaky double doors apprise
descending gulls this bird has wings doubling in size.
Squishy moist sand, footprint-ridged into pouty lips,
chased-away seagulls waddle toward crushed crumbs.
Captains trudge farther ashore or return to ships.
.
'tiz plural mine
astute
indulgerz
they ofttimez
banquet in
packs
two full
one alwayz
thin'wit
bulbous
penchant
eyne
PROSODY poetical pronounced present penchant
This
poet
and her pen
wish no parting,
like a blessed union,
as two souls, incumbent,
bear junk without the other.
My pen may be a bridge for vines.
My pen may be a Hit in summer.
My pen may be a relic by winter...
Pen and poet, we unearth elegance
within plain paper. We may rescue
boats from falling wreck to shallows.
We. captains of the Ether,
lyrical lifelines,
oxygenation,
painting used homes
into fame
ruin
lies.
rebel dancer model with a dulcet voice
and penchant for theatrics
Brigitte took Paris by storm
the bombshell exuded more than beauty
she was a force to be reckoned with
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Two hearts written
In sandy shores
Is passed and short.
No wonder hap
Romantic do
Seek joy short live.
Live not penchant
Dream love that paint
In sandy shore.
True love is etched
Inside the heart
Forever lived.
I have a penchant for your kiss,
I kind of dig that hidden smile;
Look in my eyes there’s no typo;
Each moment I don’t want to miss,
Baby please let me stay awhile;
It’s so warm I want to go slow;
On whispered words I reminisce,
caught up in your gentleman’s style;
A drawl dripping with southern flow;
My heart hangs on a precipice
fearing I’m headed to exile;
Picante is charged with mellow;
Affinity for pure jesters,
dunked by desire that sequesters.
Inamorata you’re beguiling,
I greet hurkle-durkle so often;
That sweet vibrato is enthralling,
I have to capture it with my pen.
Lost myself to the affinity
to stay beside you every second,
let’s seduce this fine proclivity;
How is it you simply entice?
Your voice in the background will suffice.
How you move the rhythm as you sing!
Temperamental bells ease and soften,
it mellows out reality’s sting.
I indulge, taking no precaution.
Is it a stage personality
that has shaken my core and beckoned?
Sound has stolen my lucidity;
In flux over how I pay the price
to experience this paradise.
With a presence that is so winsome,
I have a penchant for keeping time;
My sweetheart your song resembles home.
The Queen has a navy
That floats in her gravy,
It’s sharp and its clear,
But it’s sure tough to steer,
For the rudders get stuck
In that thick, grayish muck,
And the lads in the stern
Have a penchant to yearn
For the bright shining waters
All popping with otters,
Yet they smile as they sail past
Her Majesty’s repast,
And wink as they think
That they’d better not sink,
For if sailors go down
In the gravy, they’ll drown,
And you can’t hear them yelp
Through the lard for some help,
And therefore it’s wise
On the ship to keep eyes,
And they sail towards a biscuit
And think that they’ll risk it,
‘Midst butters and jams,
And kippers and clams,
On a crumbly crag
Raise Her Majesty’s flag,
And with hearts beating proud
Face the smiling crowd,
For a deed large or small,
It is better than all,
If it’s done with conviction,
Not merely good diction,
And protecting the table,
Or more, if you’re able,
Brings honor unseen
To country and Queen.
The penchant of a national leader.
can show malignancy in things he says;
things for which his mind needs a proof-reader.
Some tempers malign as rivals start to quiz
Views have drawn the cancer, cacoethes.
A writer’s mania – cacoethes scribendi -
appears when terrorists write a manifesto.
Do over-engaged minds stage what’s trendy?
obsessive was the groove of the fluent Victor Hugo
and fictional, compulsive liar – Pinocchio.
Take Hugo’s masterpiece, Les Miserables.
With surplus words, intense cravings we find
yield lawless acts, theft, prostitution which rob
disadvantaged folk of their conventional mind.
Poverty's victims are prone to spell-bind.
A skeletal smirk at the school door -
the greeter-teacher; 50 years later,
I feel his gimlet eyes at my back,
that leer is now plugged with dirt,
yet it can still be traced in the brown water stains
of mottled toilet walls.
A female slave-unit named ‘Miss,’
She never did speak directly to a kid,
only through the thin lips of her personal intimidator,
a third level teacher who lubricated nerve endings.
I am ‘put right’ by a serial wrongdoer
with a goose steeping gait,
his guppy mouth is a blubbery hellhole.
Next,
a second-tier maniac with a penchant for angry rhetoric,
his large hands flay like windsails as they
slap books and heads.
A last Piscean reflection,
a teach sporting a fish-head grin
as he opens a school exit door for me
while I gladly leave forever.
They would all hate to be in a poem like this
so tightly packed together
like oily sardines choking on the phlegm
of what they could have aspired to,
could have been.
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