Every morning at the window aside,
I find myself waiting for the sun,
To raise up and melt the snow,
The frost so hoar and numb.
Brooding on my thoughts so long,
Never did they hatch in this icy alp,
So still I keep waiting for the sun,
To watch this avalanche realm's fall.
In the darkness of night, I waited,
With a melancholic lullaby to lull-
The lucid sky to a dreamless sleep,
So the sun can drive in brisk.
Imbibing the cold wester I lay,
With my fossilising will, to stand,
Gaped eyes set at the horizon,
Oathed never to shut but die.
Alpine sun flaming high above,
Melting ice, watering my hopes,
My reflections blooming in the buds,
I kiss my death, ineffably alive.
NO LUNGFULS OF HOPE
In the beginning, you are uttering sugary words
Words that surprisingly became schmaltz for me
And I used to believe them
Cos I was lame back then
Your slippery mouth that distorted candor like cherry stems
Just like fangs of a rattlesnake
Scratches. Swelling.
Leaving the subtle types of bane
I don't know if I'll hate you or myself
But one thing is for sure
I don't like you anymore
Subsuming your alp of thrills
And If I am inside the car right now
Maybe looking at the rearview mirror
Watching your body smolder in ashes
You. Are. Not. Worthy.
MAUDE
Her red plump lips doth tease releasing mood,
And glasses squeeze the shark-like eyes of Maude.
My tippy-toes reach her tall tattooed knees.
Maude’s eyes slide down Her beak-like nose.
She shakes aluminum-like paper pad,
“Why poet,” she sneers, “are these your quaint words?”
“Um and uh,” doth depart my liver lips,
“I…and…,” I nervously stammer reply.
She throws back her enormous head and laughs.
She bends those tattooed knees, and pats my hair,
“Oh poet, little friend,” she deigns with smirk,
“Those words are quite your size,” stands straight back up.
I mar the makeup on the trellis limb.
Thus composed I will “face to face” this alp.
“Outrageous!” I begin, “Now face your sin.
A prideful chest of pious smirks, you have,”
But in the end I’ll win. I’ll work for words.”
Maude dare not speak. My eyes pierce hers. They’re fierce.
So close to me, she trembles, says, “Sorry…
You’ve got the job.” With sunken chest Maude quits.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
There was left no middle,
of the path. It was a washed-
out theme and
negative numbers.
No bounce in the steps.
You were cowering in terror
of tomorrow. The fear
overwhelmed the alp.
It was a family feud,
from ashes to bones.
The mixed cadence was sending
the wrong signals to the walls.
The voices now come on the street,
for traditional wars, in
change of seasons. It
was raining out of turn.
Satish Verma
Dense cloud coated alp
Shade of the palm covers thee
Simply nirvana
So much words for soupers to give
So much comment I never can reply
Keeping me going… to only believe
How poetry will never die
Forgive me if I haven’t my words
Forgive me for comments made unheard
If a person I proclaim myself weird
For persons no… but poetries I have words
You folks believe in me
My world… (sigh) no one could see
Perhaps in poetrysoup I could be
That someone where poetries meant free
A thousand love from a single heart
And a single heart is only all I have to give
From a simple comment to alp me apart
Keeping me going… I do believe
So much words I did not know
Have I so much words to reply?
Only for all… if not poets to behold
How poetries will never die
On the Pity pot with my Friend ; I sit in a stupor : I’m drinking again
It’s been twenty years since I gave up the drugs I can’t get a handle on the
Jack Daniel’s Glugs : Glug Glug
He goes down smooth and warms my insides : but brings out the evil that
Otherwise Hides in a Jet Black Heart : in a cold dark Heart evil resides
Johnny Walker : Gulp : Gulp
Black or Red : I drank so much I thought I was Dead : and maybe I am
But I don’t give a Dam ; a bottle ; shot after shot : I continue to slam
Absolute Vodka : Swig : Swig
Goes down rather rough yet a couple of quick shots and I think I’m tough
I Love the stuff : one drink is to many ; Case upon case is never Enough
If I could feel the thrill, as I stagger up hill : to the base of Alcohol Alp
If I should reach the very Top : I’m sure my drinking would Stop
THANK - YOU POETRY SOUP for YOUR H E L P