herbaceous perennials
annual
biennial
low subshrubs
basal stems.
opposite, simple, mostly linear
strongly glaucous grey green
blue green.
five petals,
frilled or pinked
all pale to dark pink.
. yet do
‘er
instinctively
basal
I’m declaring a personal rebrand.
I’ve a new personality at the beach.
On the way here (to Heraclee) - on the train
or the Uber - my ambitions and inhibitions
dissolved, without apology.
Frivolity is basal here, not some accessory -
we take our unseriousness seriously here.
If someone asks us about our plans,
we feel slightly attacked - what plans?
We left those behind, in Paris,
and we were happy to get rid of them.
I decided long ago, quite firmly, not to be miserable.
I’ve a real, stubborn insistence on joy.
After my first week here, I’ve practically forgotten AI panic,
crazy presidents, foreign wars and social media multipliers -
instead, I picked out matching pjs, cover-ups and string bikinis.
We have hard decisions to make though - even here - like,
‘Should we stare meaningfully at the ocean - or hookup?’
.
.
:
I remember the sun by XTC
More Than This by Roxy Music
.
.
*80s music seems to fit the beach
Terror
When I thought of the terror
Once I sat engaged and freighting
Much I marveled the splendid scare
Deep into that darkness fearing
On that day my soul grew lonely
Once upon a midnight silent
I awoke and flung the deterrence
Sore while all the while violent
Once upon a midnight silent
and its eyes have all the hushing
It was onrushing, violent, gushing!
The clap never brushing
I crave the stirring, somber sedition
There stood a voiceless nutrition
To warn me about the basal metabolic rate
In The blacken darkness riffs of hate
Deep into that darkness sing
Still is sting, still is sting
As of someone gently bring, bring
Death shall bring hallelujahs
Deep into that darkness fooling
All my soul within me grueling
As of someone gently schooling, schooling
Death shall bring acclamations
All my soul within me dueling
Engaged and freighting
Much I marveled the splendid scare
Deep into that darkness fearing
On that day my soul grew lonely
Once upon a midnight silent
I awoke and flung the deterrence
scary-Terror
3/22/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
He was the most basal, nasal
Bottom slowest, lowest
relative in their family, Jess Mamily.
They were fearful and tearful,
When his parents brought him to Sunion Reuion
He was dorky, dinky, odd, a clod.
Don’t play with him, said the Suion cousins, there were dozens.
So he sat alone, writing a story, penning a poem, a friendless gnome.
His penning paid off, he wrote a killer of a best seller.
He made two hundred thousand, maybe a few dollars more.
For the Jess Mamily the public knew was adored by the ten score.
The cousins began to knock on his notoriously famous door.
But he did not open it, remembering their mistreatment of him.
A Sunion Relative, but shunned no more.
On the Mamily size, Jesse had an always sweet cousin, Jim.
Not thirty four, not even a dozen, only Jesse and him.
This cousin was embraced by him and he shared his wealth.
Their friendship firm, both happy with monetary health.
The first word there had to be - was BE, and that was the very first in existence
And from Genesis and Eden to Elsinore, it has had a remarkable degree of persistence
It seems that once BE had been exercised, the dam broke and words poured out as from a cornucopia.
And verbs would soon exist in an abundance enough to carry you from here to Ethiopia
Except in the culture of youth where it appears this multitude has been reduced to the deplorable "was like"
To them I am tempted to say: "Learn some real verbs"; OR I would employ a phrasal such as
'On-your-bike!'
The possibilities are now endless particularly if you include the phrasal
Giving us enough elan vital to at least maintain a metabolism basal
So to whoever first said BE, whether God or someone with similar propensities
though another name or description:
I say Well done! I couldn't in my wildest dreams with a wish to create a rich life and culture,
have produced a better prescription
20 August 2019
The dandelion, a broad-leaf perennial,
life with very distinct stages.
Don’t confuse it with a biennial
cause this plant has five changes.
Seedlings made of yellowish leaves
form a basal rosette, oval in shape.
And as it ages the oval achieves
a very different kind of fate.
As the plant begins to mature,
the leaves transform with edges.
They are toothed and jagged for sure.
Come watch as it progresses.
Once the plant is mature enough,
it sits flat on the ground.
I know you’re waiting for the puff,
but it is nowhere to be found.
The roots are thick and strong,
and now it’s time for her to flower.
She stands tall with stem so long,
and a yellow flower will tower.
The fruit will form inside the yellow,
and is brown and yet quite small.
This is an elongated oval fellow,
with pappus white hairs overall.
So that’s the stages of her life,
the dandelion, a changing girl.
You waited patiently through all five,
so blow real hard and watch ‘em whirl!
By Mark Miller
02/27/2017
Misuse in efforts of conscience abused in use reliance on substance for short lived comforts.
Machine of status in a creatures stature drowns below layers deep beneath characters silent misprision.
Broken down stricken down kept down in love with dance enhanced in a chemical romance.
Debasement inside lying still escape became a symptom a hollow metaphor pained with commission.
Reaching above sensory distortion grasp a surface decayed by rolling streams of decadence remains of choice in past circumstance.
Luke warm sadness fills a hollow hole below in dark depths lies my long lost animal of tissue and flesh.
Behind barriers of nature and stage lies my feeble friend of first born sentience in wait for guidance.
No fear for being there he heals basal emotions in disturbance hidden from awareness and consciousness.
Renewal of unstable condition rising above atmosphere in impulse of mixed function in prose perceptions and feelings.
Looking down a fond farewell to caged friend I'll never remember or know until illusions of reality come haunting again.
By Mark Miller
Absurd Walls:
By Mark Miller 03/08/2018
I sit in wait,
For melancholic relief
Consumes self-trust resistance.
Out from the clear and into the black shatter dust.
Although, I cannot explain its purpose or meaning for there is none.
Awareness prevents comprehension to the future posture rectitude.
Only leftovers illuminate on that origin which brings me to this momentary lapse.
Where time and space have no relevance.
The feeling of structure fades into the microwave static.
Only the emotion healing sustains.
Somewhere, out there in the cosmos lies the basal complexional of coexistence.
The complicit deranges.
The peaceful transits,
Our group comfort loneliness
Between the minimal change of selves,
Through the pulsar's suddenness
I return and am one with myself,
Time wraps around the feeling dissipates,
Gone like childhood memory from everywhere.-
by Mark Miller 07/29/2017
Sterile relic of born conscience sleeps fitfully
Under carrion comfort slipper condition
Stones drown status creature's treason
Into vipers cavern wall containment
Broken beats fuel breastplate emotion
Debased inside pains metaphor our hollow defiance
Struggle shadow grasps symbols image draw nearer
Verbal cue quantifies despair matter zone hemisphere
Basal attraction cauterizes memories terminal subtraction
Unstable impulse forced function upon comedic prose
Haunting audio 78 turns ghostly round torrent beside me
Like a tiny drop of rain glinting
then cracking the surface
where still waters once lie
creates a ripple effect
spreading outward to the farthest reaching shore
Is how so deeply wanting the sight to be more real
makes stories bubble up
as if filling an empty glass with water
and silt, unclear
Like a drizzle turning into a downpour
forces a squinting gaze from across the inland lake
Like a mirror reflecting back basal desires
so we think
Toes digging into the sand for a better reach
leaning, waiting for lightening to strike
proving that the moonlight doesn't lie
That there is a monster deep inside
behind the glass
below the surface
looking through the silt
I was his earthquake
Shaking the ground at which he stood
He was an iridescent pebble
I tossed him like a skipping stone across the ocean
But I always found him
On a beachy island brought in by the waves
Stranded on a mountaintop
Shining in a desolate night
Dropped from the claws of a heron
Landing in my sea of basal tears
Rising up he lit the sky
For he was my light
And with a single sadness
I could bring my sun
Back to me
Shifting the day
Lengthening time
For he told me
I could make the
Dawn sway.
Brides name is Hazel Almond,
Her groom is mad about Hazel,
Their wedding cake is a diamond
Shape with pecans at the basal,
Between each layer of Genoese
Is pistachio flavored butter cream
That oozes out when you squeeze
a marzipan covering is their dream,
placed on top the lucky couple
Bride holding her sweet chestnuts
made the guests laugh, chuckle,
at Groom with his hand on her butt,
Frosted with royal icing such skill
Showed by confectioner, Andrew
Patissiere well known in Brazil,
Sprinkled with chopped cashew.
A wedding cake that tasted devine
For a couple of same taste and looks
Without each other would sure to pine
because for each other, they are nuts.
composed 12/2/2017.
Sacred texts, secular art
Oratory, verse, harmony in part
Only this, the noblest art
Takes a soul's stirrings, the
Heart's songs and echoes
Every emotion in the human experience
Tortured souls, angelic praise
Human sounds and otherworldly tones
Echoing love, pain, ecstasy, death
Sounding the call to action, to war
Admiring the beauty all around
Verse after verse, strain after strain
God endowed through singing of hymns
Everyman stories, beginning to end
Basal desires, emotional pains
Earth-stilling melodies, harmonic delight
Always with you, no matter what age
Singers, artists, composers, as one unite
Tearing asunder, your heart as the stage.
Fighting Cancer of the Skin
By Franklin Price
8/12/2015
Fighting cancer of the skin
for me is number one;
whether from the war in Vietnam,
genetics or the Sun.
Doesn't really matter
Operate to keep ahead:
basal , squamous carcinoma;
no melanoma I am glad.
Plus forty years contending.
Burn and freeze and take a stitch.
Not the most fun thing I've done.
In fact, it really is a *****.
Doesn't really matter.
Very glad I'm here to say,
“Life is great I'm glad I'm in it,
keeping the alternative away.”
I've got the best of wives,
family and friends that can't be beat,
a paid for house and car to drive,
and look at me; enough to eat.
Thanking God for all I have
Some may think it is not much
It's more than many others;
can still see, and hear, and touch
Still walking on my own two legs
Brain is working still some tact
No artificial anything
I'm so happy, that's a fact.
If not for skin, my health is great
Better than most, my age, I've seen
Not longing for the other side
On my side the grass is green.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.