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Free Verse Mystery Poems | Free Verse Poems About Mystery

These Free Verse Mystery poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Mystery. These are the best examples of Free Verse Mystery poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Double Phantasy

Mama, did you know the precious amethyst shadow hours
I spent beside you, cuddled cosy-close, nestled in blankets of light,
shawled in your red-gold hair? I kissed each tear you cried;
each one a starlight pearl forged from the depths
of your fragile soul. I rocked seashell-shut to each lullaby note
and silently watched as you rocked my cold, empty cradle.
Sometimes you sensed me coiled at your breast -
a small, balled knot of grief. You felt my tiny fingers plucking at you
as tingling shivers. And sometimes I bounced sunshine-free
on your knee, a giggling orb of light.

Little one, once again I felt you here,
entombed in the womb of this eternal everywhere room,
your spirit sifting through my fingers like hourglass sand.
Pain has blanked my mind wraith-white, but I felt
your lips nip the warm rosebuds of my nipples
as I pressed a lullaby to the delicate shell of your ear
and brief blessed seconds spun out like years.
My sentient heart will always hold you, my grip will never slip,
as my earthbound hands, human-warm, reach through time
and heather-shadowed ether to love and care for you.




18/6/2011

*'phantasy' is a deliberate misspelling, an amalgamation of 'phantom' and 'fantasy'

Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Deep Down Trauma Hounds


Deep down trauma hounds
nipping at the shadows in my mind --
it's ironic that in light's absence,
certain things can be easier to find.

Tried running away from my roots,
only to devour an apple fallen from the tree.

When I looked into your eyes
I knew that you were never coming back again,
having changed far too many times.

Didn't envy the broken circuitry of your brain,
but instead, I spat upon the seven sins,
jealous of how quickly you could change.

I tried so hard to change for you;
to catch up to the channel-surfing that flickered through your head,
not realizing soon enough, that you had become the walking dead.

There I stood as the fool ....
.... no matter how many times I pulled another card from the deck,
it was always the Fool, I chose.

Threw myself into the muddy water,
and awoke upon a foreign shore,
a tropical drink offered to me by a stranger struck with curiosity.

Threw myself from a mountain of mirrors,
only to bounce on a bed of invisible heather, below,
brushed myself off without a scratch or bruise
while viewing the horizon from a tarot-riddled plateau.

Descending into a forest of spirit trees,
I found a woman -- or maybe, she found me --
who is willing to hold onto darkness,
for without darkness, light is an improbability.

Deep down trauma hounds
nipping at the shadows in my mind --
it's ironic that in light's absence,
certain things can be easier to find.



2014 Penetration Remix
September 21st, 2014




+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Pulse

Inner conflict dissolves under your lunar eclipse
playing across my fingertips and lips 
tracing the hoodoo of your hips,
causing me to burn down into cinder-sticks
reborn as a Baton Rouge Phoenix
by the gravitational pull of Jupiter
orbiting in your eyes.

Rising above the ashes,
siphoning-off the swamp,
I collide in a slippery mudslide
of euphoria, until steam blows off
and only spring water remains
raining upon soil sprung apart
by the Trident of Hermes,
exposing for us naked iron
to place into a flame
dancing along liquid-skin language.

The extraction of you being the exception,
leaves behind a hole
to bury our fortresses of tragedy
grappling in our roots;
now broken-apart by our roots,
until the last crumbling stone 
sprouts into untainted sheaths -
rigid - yet willing to bend

with the mending currents
of change. Becoming cleaner within, 
hanging onto a truth to be found 
in the wholesome speck of dirt 
longing for my fingertips and lips
to feel the hoodoo in your hips;
a complementary dish of duality
alongside your whispers bleeding 
into the blood-waves of my heart
merging with your lunar pulse.






.

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

THE HOUSE OF SPIRITS

It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until 
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.

BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN

 

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

let sacred delirium flow

(in-between wakefulness and dreaming, in-between free verse and prose....it flows - I wouldn't trade it for candy-coated couplets, nor silky sonnets set in cities of gold, for my delirium is uninhibited, unhinged, freely flowing) delirious non-linear shutter-frames capture us over there, here now, before - a nuance, a taste on the tip of my tongue leading me towards need without a name nor face. Prying open other people to see if you were inside. Searching for a known desire with an unknown label, to find something never actually lost - to make it more palpable - closer. Crawling out of my skin, out of my skull, slinking through invisible trees, you appear: a jungle cat licking my mind - you always made love to my soul first, before enticing me with a liquid growl off-set by the pitter-patter of paws and purring. Your purr, your velvet purr rumbles for my submission. Willingly I accept the invitation of vulnerable humility bowing towards a fearless trust lush with a luminary borderless meshing, catching up to right now. - Right now - Your black-light curvaceous muscled trembling licks my mind, my body, my hands and mouth glide across your skin, testing the earth for stability. The tectonic plates of my belly quake resettle within your womb. Inside-outside, outside-inside a lotus-soul union, just as ancients had hinted, dissolving, letting you devour me, before I drink from your salty grail. Over-stimulation leads to an un-thinking deep rhythm, waves pushing out - in until the shoreline and tides become indistinguishable, a backdrop to a pace quickening. Outside-inside of you, you are outside-inside of me, there is no longer the need to fear unknowns, for the unknown guides us higher, guides us ever deeper, until even our release merges with the flow of ancient rippling rhythm. .

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Obsidian

An almost stillness came about
as she strode into my door,
like breath itself refused to move,
fearful of touching her mysterious beauty

But her obsidian eyes betrayed her. 

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
she looked at me, 
and I knew…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Molten lava spilled forth from her mouth, melting our clocks—
eighteen hundred nightmares compressed in two hours.
Long hand moving forward, as the short hand moved backward
How can memories persist in such an acrid life?

She spoke of a beast in the guise of a man,
 one who ravaged innocence with the flick of a click
A coward that collected milk teeth for hardened bones
of other horny beasts with no spine

That throaty tenderness when she spoke 
sprinkled crystal seeds of frustration in me
She says he loathed him, denied she loved him
but her obsidian eyes betrayed her

There she was, a bud he plucked from the nuns’ garden
He grafted then he pruned her, 
spreading her pollen, wafting her scent
yet folding her petals to himself

Caterpillars feeding upon her leaves,
she lets them devour her,
yet once they are wrapped in their cocoons to sleep,
she stabs them with her thorns.

Tears then slid down from her midnight lace eyes
and it was all I could do to catch them
She said she was weary of curtailing butterflies,
of tearing their wings before they can even fly

I had to ask, how many… how many winged gems?
She lifted her sleeves, and showed me her scars
One ugly mark for each innocent child plunged deep,
my heart getting slashed at least three hundred a beat.



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------


A certain stillness came about
as I strode into her door,
like fear itself refused to move,
letting breath touch her mysterious beauty for the last time....

Her obsidian eyes had betrayed her. 

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
I looked at the knife beside her.

Maroon-mapped sheets, a stunted womb.
 
Strains of Bon Iver’s “Flume”
flit past the sighing air like a butterfly,
and I knew…









08112014

Copyright © binibining P.oiNkk | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Isle of Bast

Memories of the North Sea
sift in like sand kernels 
on a fast, frigid tide -
events that transpired outside 
the confines of rhyme,
instead, unfolding exactly 
as they were meant to.

I had never before seen
so many shades of gray.
This monochromatic splendor
was awe-inspiring,
within an absence of sunshine
that was perfectly fitting,
instead of being bleak and bleary.

The smell of salt and seaweed
awoke deep within me 
something dormant and eternal - 
a surging desire to flush
stagnant disease
from out of my blood
with an inverted force of pride.

Salty blood and water
coming together in a communion
of distant relations and movements.

A flash of bright red 
digging in the sand beside me.
My child is wearing the only
vibrant colour to be seen for many kilometres.
The colour matches
her enthusiasm and energy,
as she moves from one spot to the next
like a dancing flame.

My own fire burns in my eyes.
I had unconsciously dressed
in the same colours of the sky and sea,
blending into the scenery
as a chameleon --
an illusion thicker than clouds,
an illusion of stone
for me to melt and reinvent
at the spinning speed of thought.

I look over at my daughter
who is wearing a wide smile of wonder,
for she has not ever seen the ocean before.
She can see the chameleon
walking alongside her in the frothy surf.
Together, we collect shiny stones and shells,
our pants rolled-up to the knee
as we wade through waves.

I wonder if people onshore
can only see a solitary dash of red out here,
or if the chameleon is more
noticeable than I had thought,
while we watch sea-birds
cover the steep cliffs
in a blanket of black and white feathers.




~(2012 North Sea Remix)~






.

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Preacher's Son


I am the Preacher's son
who stole the bread
and broke it with a wrinkled face,
the essence weaving behind her retinas.
____

When I stole from the church,
Mrs. Worther 'the bird', had spied me
sneaking out the vestibule door,
from her usual early service perch
in the very back pew.

She carried this secret for many years,
including when she caught me eavesdropping
on midweek board meetings
from behind crates of cheap wine.
Instead of showing scorn,
she had given me a warm wink,
offering a lesson
by leaving me there to think.

Mrs. Worther
who had been my Sunday school teacher,
had made me study the lessons
without ever becoming a preacher --
especially later,
when it came to my thievery
and excursions into the park,

where I broke the bread
with a wrinkled face,
the essence shimmering behind her retinas.

I am the Preacher's son,
who instead found the presence
amongst ducks and swans,
when I broke the bread
with that crazy old lady -
gleaned what I needed to do,
and since then,
have never again
sat in another pious pew.

So now,
I am the 'bad' Preacher's son.
Some people whisper righteously
how I have come undone,
made a pact with the dark,

while I break the bread
with that age-old essence in the park.



Inception Re-mix
March 24th, 2014
(originally written: March 24th, 2010)


+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Midnight...You Are My Sun

In all the earnest buds
                  that long to open…..
and ambrosial May promises

I tried in the silence
and the rush of the storm
that rages wild and unkempt
to fight this consuming
                        To cease the feeling….
To halt the sticky sweetness
(berries on your lips)

I can’t stop it…baby
 
It’s there in every hour
In the breaking of the dawn
painted pink and washed in fire

In the turbulent waves of blue
and salt rain on my face
In the way you speak 
                           and caress me
and the way your eyes just mess me

In the stark speech of branches
and the reawakening of flowers
The breeze that teases my hair
and tosses it carelessly

It’s just always there
stroking and breaking
                   and rebuilding me
Crashing me to jagged rocks
and yet spreading my wings
to fly your passion sky

In the dream of something
came the reality of you

In the fantasy of a wind’s embrace
                came your precious face
and now I am powerless….
just helpless to stop this

My exposed heart blasts out
this eternal hankering……
this infinite crimson crush

A war against the pitching
A battle against this tumble
A railing combat…yet….

Aye! In the night that steals the sun
In the clouds that whisper achromatic hues
and the freesia and lilacs 
                     and violets….. I see you
You are there just waiting
Always……relentlessly….I fall

Oh baby, I just can’t stop this

I fall, hard in a breathless fumble
Into your waiting heart

Like a trembling cat
I curl in your lap
I am so in love with you…

Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Cornflower Blue

(a conversational collaboration with Christine Ueri)



"remember the dream I had when we were 10?
(waves and waves of cornflowers everywhere)
about the boy and the closet?
(sunflowers, circle, glass house?....closet, yes)
cornflower blue
(the closet was cornflower blue?)
the light in that dream was cornflower blue
(the air, the atmospheric light?)
yes, especially in the closet

I had that dream for so long
I'll never forget
little boy blue and the kingfishers --
the blue and white china plates
with the bridge and the lovers; the two doves in the willow tree,
that made me look for japanese letters....horse.
 
the funny things we do as children

(you are writing a poem....)
catch the words, my love
(you already wrote a poem up there; bridge it together --
I dried cornflowers with dandelions in a blue and white book; but it wasn't a dream.
Well, in a way it was, because at the time, I was floating in the clouds)

he wore a blue and white striped top in my dream

and I remember him
when I look at the sky,
the clouds and the golden sun --

I caught the words!
(yes! did you string them all together?)

not yet!"



                                                                                 
                                                                                



August 29th, 2012


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Lantern on the Water


Place my mind into a boat
doused with kerosene.

Create a lantern on the water:
light the boat a-flame
and push it out to sea.

Then my heart will be more free.






04.06.2013




+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Stygstrome - Updrafts


"Stygstrome" is the Afrikaans version of "Updrafts", one of my earliest poems (including some showcased naivety :D), and is the first poem that I ever publicly    posted online, right here on poetrysoup.com, 3 years ago to the very day. 

I am also including the English version to this post.



Swart vere absorbeer altyd
die meeste sonskyn -
'n Volmaakte fusie
van donker en lig.

Ebbe oë glinster 
hoog in die kalm, koue hemelruim.

'n Vinnige daling
tot vlerkpunte
sagkuns soen,
die byna onsigbare
boom-toppe deurdring 
digte Winter se mistigheid. 

Sterk strome strik skielik, 
'n Voël van staal
donder oorhoofs,
breek die antieke fokus
met sy dreunende, magtige brul.

Herwin gedagtes.

Stryk neer,
sirkel,
sweef
in 'n stygende vlug
van suiwer vergenoegdheid.

Swart vere absorbeer altyd
die meeste lig --




Black feathers always absorb
the most sunshine -
a perfect fusion
of dark and light.

Ebony eyes glitter 
high in the calm, cold sky.

A quick dip downwards,
until wing-tips
gently kiss
the nearly invisible
tree-tops piercing
thick Winter's fog.

As currents suddenly catch hard,
a bird of steel
thunders by overhead,
breaking ancient focus
with its loud, powerful roar.

Regain thought.

Swooping,
circling,
gliding,
soaring
in a flight 
of pure contentment.

Black feathers always absorb
the most light.





*A warm thank you to the ever-lovely Christine Ueri for finding 
the perfect Afrikaans words to poetically translate this poem.




*

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Mermaid's Milk: a collaboration with the still dashing David Williams

The moss clung tightly; making it unbearable to breathe, 
and she sealed her lips tighter than a clam’s— not letting the pain take over

As the stars drift silently, like ships on a lost sea of darkness,
she whispers to Hope: 
“Swim free and look for the horizon, then come back to me...”

The night; collected on the leaves, 
       drops fell like Mermaid’s milk onto an already moist floor
Striking the shimmering tearful medium, 
         it gives birth to a shower of graceful pearls as the dawn awaits

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hear your voice drift upon a cool ocean breeze; 
              gilded words of adoration 
I glide towards it, praying that it guides me, 
          strengthens me, 
                nurtures me 
  like Mermaid’s milk

Touch as I might, my senses are in-different to please, my voice mute!
Be my Siren’s song and sing for me, serenade my senses back to life...

With an inquisitive tongue, I taste an almost scentless flower 
It is but a wisp, a whisper, a flick of a ray of sunshine, but it was There.

So much is lost. 
    The rivulets of time, hear me, see me, like a ghostly apparition...
Capture me in that moment by lovingly painting me. 
Sing me a song while you do, 
            and let the Mermaid’s milk flow again.




*****
Thank you David, for waiting ever so patiently for my long overdue part-- 
it was a very nice challenge for me to write this :) 
Thank you very much for the inspiring lines...

Copyright © binibining P.oiNkk | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Little Blue Pill

Went through a phase....thought maybe I should live life to the fullest,
and stop giving away 8 hours of each day, towards sleeping.

After the first week of sleep deprivation,
Buddha and Jesus both appeared simultaneously,
started following me wherever I went-
couldn't tell between hallucinations and reality.

Buddha helped write my final exams,
and Jesus always made sure that I didn't forget to eat.

After the second week, I was floating above my body....
no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fall asleep anymore-
didn't just have second and third winds....I was having winds 
to the 99th power extreme.
Jesus was telling me to try again and again,
while Buddha told me to hang in there,
for Nirvana was just around the corner.

Asked my buddy for some help,
and he gave me this little blue pill -
don't even touch aspirin anymore.

Well, the pill knocked me right out! 
Tried so hard to fight against it,
having some doubts about what I had just swallowed.

Metallic galaxies of inner stars began pulling at my eyelids,
adding their massive core-gravity to my temples.
Red turned to black inside of my mind,
as little globules of pulsing light
floated before my inner-eye.
Down,
down,
d      o      w      n,
down, I spiralled,
thinking about picking cherries from the apple tree in Eden....
beautiful Japanese Geishas propping up the ladder
that pointed down into the rabbit hole.
Up was down,
as cherries were apples?
The branches of the tree resembled its roots in the ground-
perfect mirrors of each other,
as I sat in both places at once;
dream double looking back at me.

ZZzzzzZzzzzZZzzzZZZz....for almost 62 hours straight.
Must have lived a thousand lives in those dreams.
Woke up, wasn't sure if I was still sleeping?
Awoke into sweat and stale urine.
Started falling asleep in school.
Fell asleep at work.
Once you swallow the blue pill,
you can never go back-
the rabbit hole stretches into eternity.

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Night's sentry

Oh blackest night,
how elegantly you 
do decorate your canopy.
Twinkling stars 
sparkle gloriously 
in the Heavens.
Brightest yellow moon
shining it's beautiful face,
keeping watch as sentry
to Earth's mysterious gates.

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

FEMALE SPIRIT


women of dusk and dawn who love to feast on their senses in a banquet ripened by love and courage, chilled to last till the moonlight bequeaths more hours for stories about earth's flesh... oh, let the first drone of music praise the female spirit voluptuous as hips sashay in gaiety wildly wet, empresses hunting for the eyes of god in men softly flowing in veils of mystery that hover in the fragrance housed in chambers of rich legends and reality: taste their tears, cuddle the apples of fertile breasts… yet no one can touch their essence or own life’s primeval wombs; women are women like their children defying any explanation. ..................... When A Woman is Just A Woman Contest Sponsor: Justin Bordner

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Only You....

.
 in the aromatic silence
         flowers scent the air
candle flicker glimmers
        supple soft shimmers
of pale tangerine 
      and swirls of pale rose 


in long slow sensuous moves
yes…soft compliant stretches
I lay supplicant on satin sheets
      I await you, my love

in the moonlight in moans
        I plead for you

    hair in erratic disarray
  rusty tendrils fall unruly....
         and body taut
    in love stricken passion 
      drugged still seconds
        my breath caught
          I long for you 
I pine for your dominant eyes

   touch me on a bed of blue
       whisper those words
             “I love you:”
 and trace your tender hands
                 blindly
          down this body
   starved like a hungry cat
                for you
that’s right…..only you will do

      just you can ease the agony
            and just and only you
can wreck such havoc on my hungry heart
 wretched from the pain of loving you

you break me and make me
    
     feral rivers of tender petals
                 hot lava and liquid lust
particles of me lost in storm tossed dust

by your own creation
           I became your slave
in breathless bondage
chained to you…..weak and wanting
          (a heady thrill)

my tongue so parched I  thirst for you
       quaff from the lake of you
        dark and brooding… you
your primitive eagle spirit draws me
     like a fluttering helpless moth
                  (desiring)
drawn inexorably to your raw flames

        can you feel me my love?

         your body I worship
              and I wait….
        tied up here….I wait…..
           for just and only you

Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Probing the Unconscious Space

If the unbearable lightness of being has pushed you to the brink of catastrophic meltdown,
walk to the edge of our flat two-dimensional existence 
and take a leap of faith...

You may drift through space for quite some time
eyeing the stars, the planets, the galaxies
that make up the great and boring universe beyond.

Eventually you'll come across darker, scarier territory,
unseen with the naked eye
yet comprising 95% of all matter,
and all that matters,
otherwise known as the unconscious.

Some day you'll feel safer in the void, 
more secure,
at peace.

With not one mirror in sight to reflect your self concept,
everything and nothing make perfect sense here,
for they are one and the same.

You are the only observer
of man's true final frontier
and his one and only mystery.

Copyright © Yoni Dvorkis | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

The Chronicles Of Vomiticus Grammaticus - Part II: Ground Zero

Will someone please help me!?
I think Satan has possessed my gastronomical juices,
twisting up my stomach like a full garbage bag.

Please go and call over a Priest
to exorcize this demonic grip from within-
but I beg of you to get a heterosexual Father,
not one who will take advantage of my weakness.

I have been swallowing my own vomit for many days,
and can no longer hold back this thick, spewing craze.

My stomach feels more queasy than a seasick little girl,
the time is coming to launch forth my most foul hurl.

Pray to Black Jesus with my loud, retching vomit-song,
I do not want to be Vomiticus Grammaticus, for too long.



*BLAAAAAARRRRG  RRRRAAAAAALLPHHHUUUUMMMPHHHH!!*



Oh! I just filled up both large-sized garbage bins up to the brim,
with ghastly floating chunks that look so very, very grim.

Two seagulls have started slurping up my rancid spew,
filthy, feathered swine, lapping up this most sickly stew.

Ugggh! Now my cat is licking up the vomit from off of the floor,
she is purring away, gobbling up my slimy, viscous gore.

The sight of her lapping up my....



*BLAAAAAARRRRG  RRRRAAAAALLPHHHUUUUMMMPHHHH!!*



Oh hot damn, shazzam! Vomit on the keyboard! Vomit dripping from my hair;
plugging up my ears, crawling up my nose with its terrible stench! Despair!

1 fish, 2 fish, 3 fish, 4 fish.
Red puke, green puke, yellow puke, blue puke.
No Sam, I do not want any more green eggs and ham!



*BLAAAAAARRRRG  RRRRAAAAALLPHHHUUUUMMMPHHHH!!*



Will someone please help me get rid of this Devil!?
I truly only mean well; I really, really do!

Pray to Black Jesus with my loud, retching vomit-song,
I do not want to be Vomiticus Grammaticus, for too long.






*Twisted poem, in the sense that this is actually a cryptic response
to my personal dealings here @Poetrysoup.com.
I don't think a lot of people realized at the time
how Vomiticus Grammaticus was really a hidden message about
some of the social politics that goes on @Poetrysoup.com,
and most other group settings as well.




May 10th, 2010

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Reservoir of Dreams

Draped in silent fog, is a reservoir of dreams weathering each season, with a mystifying scheme … On a wind-swept shelf, she is silently sleeping Where secrets are guarded and are hers for the keeping Looking out at the tide, where the seagulls are sweeping In her moldering courtyard, where quadrivial paths meld, Among ancient arches of an old Spanish style Names locked in history, many stories revealed Etched in the headstones, where angels have dwelled The cracked marble fountain with polished ligures, Above the church doorway, vines are withering, bare Aloft from the steeple, are the four watchful eyes Looking out to the sea, and the deep crimson tide Three vestige bells dangle from loft, overhead Their voices are quiet, with pericopes spoken Soft hymns of doves, fill the rafters, instead From crumbling ruins, bricks humbly laid There are shadows of saints...and moss covered jade A weeping old willow, with leaves crackling dry I drink with my ears, and listen with an eye Of all those who prayed, for those who passed by Unbelievable echoes, the tolling of the bells Making sense of the senseless, I can hear what it tells Giving voice to my feelings, and new hope to my eyes A peace in my heart, where the holy grail lies Are heard in the voice, in the church of blue tides
____________________________________________________________________ For The Contest Sponsored By Shadow Hamilton "Any Subject" Using Words: unbelievable, mystical, ligure, pericope, reservoir, quadrivial, 7/22/13

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

And Now For Something Completely Different

The sun rose in the west today – or, perhaps, I was standing on my head?
I went to a funeral for my very best friend, but the chap wasn’t even dead!

Said he wanted to be eulogized while drinking a pint of beer.
I think the things we said about him, weren’t exactly what he wanted to hear.

“He was, or is, an egotistical old bastard – doesn’t surprise me in the least, 
that he wants to attend his own funeral service – God, what a horrible beast!”

And that, my friends, was from his Mom; the best friend a boy ever had.
“When finally they put his body in the ground, I think we’ll all be glad.”
Egad!

Global warming took a holiday, as the snow piled up real high;
that bugger for whom we passed the plate, took out his wooden eye.

The casket was full of cold cuts; The bartender doubled as the priest; I took another shot of tequila, while the sun started setting in the east. The ladies started undressing; my organ started to rise; I played Beethoven’s “Requiem”, with it pointing to the skies.
The only tears that were shed today belonged to the corpse who was still alive – His ex wife sang that old Gloria Gaynor tune, “You know, I will survive!” The next time he throws a party for himself, I think he’ll choose a different theme – And maybe the people who come and get drunk won’t be so awfully mean!

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Stream

Wheels spinning 'round
part the oil-slicked sea,
splashing damage onto new clothes.
Maniacal skeleton behind the wheel,
drives along, already dead,
killed by a futuristic ballistic check.
Sonic boom of the shot
pulls everything free,
stripping down nature to its barest form-
watching the sunrise behind his eyes,
stars fill up the lonely, hollow halls,
decked in fanciful persian rugs,
soiled by muddy shoes of movers
moving backwards,
emptying out the boxes
before hauling them away.
Messy piles of imprints left behind,
press 'stop,' hit 'rewind' and reverse *click* *click*
esrever dna 'dniwer' tih ',pots' sserp
....>>Play>>....
Wheels still spinning 'round
kick up chocking dust from
the unbeaten path of rugged minds,
blowing damage onto new clothes.
Babe of illusions behind the wheel
trying so hard to grow up really fast,
yet towering above the rest
in the form of a 2000 year-old redwood,
cut down and planked-
formed into boats
following the last and final whale song.
Empty skies are full of memories,
mind whirling faster than the shutterframe
trying to outdo a digital messiah.
Darkroom development,
MPD alchemist mixes chemicals,
transmuting greed into a beaded ring-
in an attempt to marry himself
and defy the laws of union
station is packed with people 
pushing and shoving
each other onto the tracks,
staring into the headlights of destiny
roaring in from the underside-
conductor isn't stamping tickets,
but gives them away instead....
....hoping and waiting for someone
to press 'stop,' hit 'rewind' and reverse.
Time to let go and hold on at the same time,
head up high
press >>play.

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

THE PRINCE OF PURPLE

Beneath the opal white moon, the crying doves shed their precious tears,
Causing the purple rain to fall, melting at the lavender notes of musical dreams,
Camelot’s illusionary ivory towers of brilliant colors, seemingly fades unto the
Violet shades of gray, as the minstrel’s music grows silent for the last time!
The pied piper’s fluted guitar, remains stilled in the silence of a generations
Mind, the world weeps in fuchsia stained technicolor for their slain prince
Of rock in roll, plays now within the heavenly band beyond, rocking the
Ages, lost amongst the spiritual stardust from which creations mystical
Legacies are born!
In reverences musical temple hall of fame, another name is added 
Amongst the universal giants, that have crisscrossed humanities 
Triumphant vast historical tides, rolling ever onwards within the waves
Of the timeless rebel, jamming with the beating rhyme of the 
Human soul forever!
Gentleman’s coterie of lace and satin’s refinement, is this instrumental
Conductor strumming, at the inner finite strings vibrating within the
Harmonic orchestra of an eclectic mind, a whispering dreamer whom
Heard an expressionistic tempo hidden within the color purple,
And thus wept in the violet rain!
A flickering candle quivers within the moistures clouded wake,
The concert master stands alone at the center of the musical hurricane,
Untethered from his slave marked chains, the band leader strikes against
His podium of freedom at last, rock-n-rolls final creshando, echoes
Within the winds of destiny, carried upon the voices of his generation!
Legends burnt ashes rise above this fiery phoenixes’ resurrection, 
For in truths resolve this singing firebird’s melody, shall play forever 
Onwards, as the doves cry in flights eternal soaring!
Where has the musical voyager gone, the visionary fuchsia master,
The soul captain hailing the distant shores of rock nirvana,
By playing mystical notes of color illusions, on the blank canvas
Of the horizons musical sheets, beyond mortality’s everlasting
Window of social acceptance!
Let the elegant birds of peace fly forth, with their wings appendages
Extended upon the breezes of this artistic grand master, set blazing
In lavender flames, quenched only the falling of the purple rain!
But even then harken, listen my generations of rock fans,
Can you not hear the wailing guitar, of the musical force, known
 As prince the visionary revolutionary!

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

 







Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

A Lover's entrée to March

How far can you fall and get back up 
How high can you jump
And keep your feet in the sand 

To touch grace and fall from within
Next to you I was out of my skin
I missed you yesterday and you leave tomorrow

A life spent in the shadows of lushly tint 
Smoke your waves 
Exhale the freshness of your menthol scent 
Home is what you call shelters that need no defense 

I’ll send 
You’ll say goodbye
I’ll send again
You won’t reply

If love 
Is the appreciation of another’s existence
Then goodbye
Is the anticipation of seeing you again

You and I, we’ll cruise the shores
Together we’ll settle with the wind 
The joy of a small hut, a lovers den

You’ll send
I’ll wonder why
You’ll send again
I will not reply 

"our songs for sale"

Copyright © Jerry Golden | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Novembersummer

Midfall and nearly all the trees
Stand brown as broken sticks
Against a sky of impossible blue
And I in shirtsleeves a-walking go,
With love and longings my companions
Kicking through the drifts of colored shards
Fallen with another Summer's stealthy fading
Feeling and marveling at this piece of heat
That dropped unnoticed from her pocket.

I could believe today
In an America unnamed,
A place full of wild things and untamed peoples
A place where Spirit spreads
To ride the clouds
And sing its songs unhindered.

Nature has let down her locks today;
And who will look on her
And let themselves be consumed, entranced
By the beauty that lives on in spite of our assaults -
Who will be distracted by the miracles we move through,
Feel the surge of the sea of life all around us,
Hear the whispered prayers
In the windsigh of the sleeping trees
And watch the night come on
Announced by the rose glow behind the thumbnail moon -
Who will stand amid such things,
And not put aside for the moment
Those little cares we circumscribe our lives with,
And stand amazed to be here breathing,
Alive to feel how loving-close
Infinity holds us and claims us for its own;
Surely, not I alone.

I rest a hand on my sleeping child's chest;
Feel the heart fluttering beneath the skin
And I can sense a great wheel turning.

I wander out in the still warm darkness 
That follows this day,
To look up at the starstrewn sky
And see that great wheel begin its turning,
And stand amazed to be here breathing.

And stand, amazed to be.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse | |

Come Back To Me

The Ink Bottle sits, alone,
It’s only Companions,
The Feathered Pen,
The Paper Pad.

The Desk, once alive,
The Words,
No longer,
Written.

Love, abandon,
But wanting not,
The Freedom,
It has.

A Wooden Chair, dusty,
Reclines not,
For the Comfort,
Once given.

Time, a mystery gone,
With passing,
Never to be recovered,
Longing.

Days of gloom, waiting,
Shine not, The Light,
The Heart,
Once brightened.

Come back, to Me,
My words, of Joy,
Of Laughter,
Wisdom, once known.

Copyright © Kenneth Fordham | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |

Look at Me

i curl your 
long dark hair in my fingers
at your neck
as I pull you down
I wait to feel the rough end of day
beard
on my face
your eyes close a little then open
to watch me
look at me, I whisper
dont stop
looking at me

Copyright © Veronica Joseph | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Ashes


Hell's perpetual fires
Burning up my frenzied desires
I'm gurgling up a rebellion
Can you feel it frothing?

You sure have claws
That scratched my skin raw
The blood is everywhere
Do you see it spilling?

I barely recognised your voice 
Cold and harsh like beaten up ice
My ephemeral lovesong was meant to be sung
Can you hear it dying?

Just one more knot
Tied up your body to the cot
I'm pouring the fuel around
Don't you smell it burning?

Goodbye my sweet love
Endure what you deserve
I've been waiting to burn you to ashes
Did you see this coming?


Copyright © Sohini Mukherjee | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Let's Drive, Shall We?

There are different levels of truth
I climb
   Staircases 
	That 
	       Go
	            Far
                                      Beyond
		                         Comprehension
Reality is made of thoughts
Spiraling and humming 
Like they are something
But in the end
They are all just ideas
Driving to nowhere except 
Waiting to be found and
Put into motion
Heights of control
Shift to third and go above
Everyone is an enigma 
I fall in affection 
constantly
With myself
Metamorphosing

Who am I to ask of perfection?
I is always capitalized
but what if
i is i and we are we, and he, we together
make something different, completely?

Manufacturing lines put together
Vehicles that take soul imprinted notions
on midnight drives by the avenue
Sell them to the Lord, to the Devil
'Tis all the same
For goodness sake, heaven is simply
What we make it

Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse | |

Laughing Atmospheres

Laughing Atmospheres




It floats in the morning dew
Settles with diamonds
On cobwebs who
Catch dreams on their threads

The sensual quiet of dawn
Imbues
The grass blades are whispering
To the sifted chanting
Of being One

In a glittering pool
The sea
Dances every possibility
Day bright answers to the
Begun
Shafts brilliance of the sun

Calling loud
With its perpetual anthem
Loud call
To the rest of the world

And here it comes

The daybreaks begin
Leaping from my chest
It seems
Rushing to laughing atmospheres
Peaks
On white bathed angels
Wings expand

Sends me out
Higher than the light
In my eyes

Gathering to the quintessence
Point
The beating monument
Of my heart
Single holds on to intense
Shudders delight
Through every sense

I am soaring skies

I see her eyes

I
Left unbound to the anchoring ground
I
Hear the word
The catapult of love
Universal soundings climax 
Imparts
Beneath the eyes of God
When we both were created
As one

She holds my cheek
And the ghostly press
Of lips meet
I 
Confess my soul
To the indomitable
Flow
Of love

And the orchestral designs of morning
Send this rockets emotive
Burning
Reaching
Powered to pinicles
In a cavalcade chords
Goes racing
Cavorting

Climbing every space
My spirit
Has loosed upon the chase
To its welcome home
For such an exuberant ride
All on its own
Takes it place
At her side

I

It is there
Where I belong
You see
Every atom
And concept of me
Has always been
Since God created us
Both
As one









Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2009