Words from Abroad!
Rent just came out of the bank wearing a
different kind of city.
Seems as news like us won't turn around.
Some Easters don't give great advice
Linda Annie
She ths dressed day forgotten
Worked out of abandon
She the hip hop record outta San Fran mind
Bailed out on joy, full of hurt promises
Used as a mail box named
Linda Annie, wouldn't arrive
Wouldn't arrive lest the stage crowded in
Sop
Sop and left over dues
Over the diligent boss
Less convoluted when shalks grease the pat
I stopped glowing
from the age of heaven
and hell taught,
I wasn't ready,
and it scared me.
I was focused
after school
on 50 cent pieces
for the lollies
Mother reached in
her orange purse
for those silver coins
I didn't
know
of the devil
and even God,
Us kids,
never went to church
but had lessons
in a backroom,
I loved Easter,
decorating
those eggs.
It was delightful
and magical.
Live shouldn't
be fear-ful,
there's enough
of gritty
violence
as it is....
They rise and sparkle and crackle,
Shaming the nakedness of the skies
And the city, with one frightful flame of
Youth,
Burning with the zest of
Seasonal lore.
At Christmas, they salute the days
Creamed by snow and sleet,
Thrusting in us the wisdom of
Global ceremonies.
They are the lightning of Yuletide —
Lightning unaccompanied by rain.
Shaped in balls and spears, and lean
Fragments of flagrant colours,
They are armed with their own thunder —
Thunder that speaks volumes and calms the rage in
Frenetic dogs.
They are coloured paints splashed lavishly across the broadest
Canvas ever —black and seamless
We see through their lens, the running dusts
Of sparks,
The dancing circus of sky-circuits
And the happy wars waged on the frontiers
Of seasons.
They strobe around the cold earth.
New Year’s Eve is riddled with conundrums,
Waking sleepy souls to sneeze up details of
A frazzled year.
The heavens are lit up lavishly,
Electrified to stupor,
Reminding us of choirs that chorus to the tunes
Of life everlasting.
Carousels ride through our minds, young now,
Old tomorrow,
With sparks that shine this moment
And dim the next.
Such is life.
I would bring you a dancing two-year-old
A giddy, happy, excited, joyful toddler
She would be wearing a fancy dress
Her spinning and twirling would make you smile
She would take your hands and clap them for you
You would be delighted with her, for she is delightful
She would show you how to fingerpaint and remind you to laugh
that hearty happy full out laugh you have not had since childhood
A giddy happy spinning two-year-old inside a chocolate egg.
What an Easter gift!
Purple Easter bunny, with your jazzy ways
Rainbow hair, and eggs painted in reds and grays
Pastel colors are not your thing, I guess
I hate to say this, but your hair is a mess
mom easter bunny
laying her eggs in the field
finds springtide hatchling
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Our excited Easter Bunny was a woman this year
She popped in and threw eggs around, full of cheer
She has quite a fluffy tail, my daddy said
Mommy gave him a look that nearly struck him dead
The eggs she left were decorated in glitter with touches of gold
Some were vintage in green art deco, others just looked old
We ate the ears and heads off our chocolate bunnies right away
This will be a great day! I heard my grandma say
She was heading to the kitchen to fix us potatoes and ham.
No one can cook better than our favorite cook, Grandma Gram.
Mommy followed her in, probably to learn her secret recipe.
I already knew it, for she had shared it with me.
Daddy said “isn’t it time for church?” I ran up those stairs
For my new Easter frock was gorgeous; I put on airs
You are a beauty, Grandma said. What a gorgeous dress!
At the church we said a prayer for Daddy, for he is a mess.
He’s a good mess, Grandma said. Afterall, he is her son.
And he is my hero, my Daddy, and a lot of fun.
He would have a difficult time sitting silently here.
Church is not for my chatty loud Daddy dear.
Easter Reading
In Lima – Peru- a hippo was pulling the tram car with
its best friend, a water buffalo. They had ended up
here, far from Africa, after the great flood ebbed and
had been blessed with eternal life, only being mere
animals, they didn´t know this. In Lima, no one made
a big issue of this, but when the wider world knew
and some adventurers set about trying to kill the pair,
in vain, the Lima people took another look, especially
since the church thought they were the devil´s own
handiwork, god would never have allowed beasts
besting man. Angry people took to hurling mud and
stones at the animals, also calling them rude names.
From the mountain came a man dressed in white
burnoose, and spoke to the people:
“For years, you respected my creation, the hippo
the water buffalo, with respect and care, I thought
well of you and decided that the archbishop of Lima,
when the time was right, would be the new pope, but you
have disappointed me greatly, hence the new pope
will be the archbishop of Buenos Aires, Argentina”.
The man, in white burnoose, paused and said
“It is also the time you electrified the tram system.”
Easter ceasefire...
little boys playing
with their toy guns
Here's a tale of a Rogue Rabbit,
Met a hoodie paschal hermit,
She overcame all her fears,
She munched him, from toes to ears,
Ate the lot, begone, foul furry git!
A late March thundershower floats toward me
Like a plucked flower
Handed over on a walk to a lover
With a smile
Down this afternoon path
That breezes past
Spring-born ponds
Erupting
Of Peepers ululating and Chorus Frogs ratcheting
In a wave of Gnawa music.
The surface
Puckers
Diacritic raindrops
Slowly
Softly
Each plop and their purple ripple
Has not enough splash
To generate an echo
From the reedy shore.
The storm not so strong to hide the sun
For long
To move a wind
Or slice the sky with lightning
Rolls by with quiet thunder
Wetting my hair and all the early blossoms.
My spirit lifts while its shadow stoops
Cups the mud.
This gentle stir
Today
Seems to awaken and nudge the air
Just enough
To take His hand
Away
Sets free
The spring Dove
From his fist
Writes its wings in a mist
Changes his mind from Him to Her.
#Poetic_meal
Dining with words, its my daily enticing meal, the scrumptious juicy sauces, dripping all over my fingers, leaving me with much appetite to dip deeper, my fork and knife into this meal of creativity...
Could hear my intestine, groaning of ravenous intake, fueling my hands of vocabulary to dedicate much effort into this meal of mental nourishment...
My artistic arteries, chanting of thirst and I aiming higher than a mere quench, dilating much spaciousness, for the serving being way beyond just drinking and swallowing nor gnawing but influxing of varieties and intergration of creativity, some artistic manner of dining...
Shedding some radiant and illumination to ones psychological interest of art, beyond just seven colours of paints and brush sizes, painting a masterpiece of centuries of inspired poetic hormone, with my flooding poetic ink expressions. I am Poetic_Ink
#Poetic_Ink
The Easter eggs turned on the baskets in Easter Town.
Refusing to get inside, they began to throw themselves down.
What is happening? Asked a chick, a rooster, and an ugly clown.
They are going crazy, said an old churchgoing lady, with a frown.
She needed them inside those baskets, and it had to be today.
These Easter eggs were frenzied, they wanted things their way.
Tomorrow is Easter, you idiots cannot ruin this day to play!
But she could not get them in any kind of order that day.
Tea in the well
Gin in the sea
Spices are floating
In the clouds with me
Get a bottle of wine
And dine with me
Tariff in the big boat
Dancing with me
Vodka on the rock
Locking at my new frock
Whisky in the market
Smiling with me
I have dinner date
with friends and
Company so make
your reservation
before the clock struck three
The fisher man is coming in
With loads of tree
But none of it is for thee
Tarrif in the ocean
Tariff in the sea
Tariff in my coffee
And tariff in my tea
sanction at the winery
waiting waiting for me
winery waiting for me.
My Dearest Pope Francis,
Although your beautiful body is gone, Us Catholics will remember you forever. As a Catholic person, I will never forget you. Your legacy will remain within our hearts. As always, God sends His very best at the right time. I will not mourn for you, you will never be gone to me. The Church may have lost a great soul, but to me, you can never be lost
I as a Catholic, will pray that your soul will meet the Jesus you taught us about. That He will say to you, "Well done, my good and faithful servant.
Your body is done, your mind is at rest, and your soul goes to the Best of the Best. You will meet your colleagues John Paul II and Benedict.
Rest in beauty, Pope Francis
Specific Types of Easter Poems
Read wonderful easter poetry on the following sub-topics:
beautiful, black, bunny, christian, funny, happy, in heaven, inspirational, love, meditation, prayer, resurrection, sunday, sunday school, youth
and more.
Definition | What is Easter in Poetry?