to see if I could be
quiet enough for the barred owl
or the pileated woodpecker
to turn his beaded eye
towards me
I wish I could
do more than type keys
that stand for letters
that add up to words
that tally up to meaning
in the early evening,
surrounded by browning leaves
as I also age
on solid ground
Play 'Stay'
by Jackson Browne
for sentimental reason
at 2 AM when I don't want to go home
This is living in 'Our Town'
by Thorton Wilder
Emily's monologue
is always worth a listening crowd
"Good-by to clocks ticking....
and Mama's sunflowers"
Don't forget "hot baths"
because if you never had one
you just wish for water
The Botany Of Awe is inspiring,
wild in scent and with an intrepid hue.
All day and night with a mind inquiring,
petals should not be unnatural blue.
Buds germinate producing solid roots,
yet from the beginning they long to fly.
In no other dream are there substitutes,
euphoria leaves my heartbeat on high.
Images dropping right out of daydreams
every piece is colored and fits just right.
Pulling aspects from incredible schemes,
soft meadows sit neon in the moonlight.
Beaded stars and flowers full of comets,
magic feels about as good as it gets.
Married in haste
You would repent at pleasure
Beaded in baste
Distance that bent off leisure
Marriage tends of delay
You got a pride of preference
That breezes out compliments of your survey
Curved out gains that nullify your deterrence
beaded necklaces
crucifix on silver chain
multitude of rings
sage fortune teller
unique runes and tarot cards
palmistry expert
An era of peace, love and flowers
psychedelic drugs, sex orgies, people-power
Out to shake up the world every which way
violence eventually carried the day
long hair, ripped jeans, love-beaded conformists
became ‘black-power,’ SDS, urban guerilla performists
Preaching morality, practicing brutality
~ trampled ‘neath law-‘n-order mentality
What is this thing
called, Divine Love?
I felt it strong, in a
fiery daze; touched by
it, though my mind and
soul feverishly ablaze!
Cooled was my beaded
brow -- and swear I heard,
Eternal Love is with you
now --
What is this thing called
Divine Light? Saw it bright
on a raging night. Bullets and
shrapnel fell every other member
of my troop -- suddenly, surrounded
me, a Divine loop -- and again, not
knowing why nor how...I heard a
voice -- Divine light is protecting
you now --
2 times I felt, all hope seemed
lost. 2 times I felt, life is
a gamble~ Pal, this time you have royally
lost! Stood before me, a demon, extending
his lethal claw. Not seeing from where, nor knowing
how -- again I heard, have faith~ be brave, My Son --
in the past, delivered you from evil I...and will not
forsake you now!
I met her at a biker bar
(C) 2025 by Russ Dodson
I met her at a biker bar
somewhere in midtown Monterrey.
She said she was a topless dancer,
working fifteen shifts a day.
She handed me a well-worn token,
said her name was Daisy Mae,
said if I learned to play the game right
I would never have to pay.
I placed the token on the table,
waited for the song to play.
When it started, she stood up;
I watched her body start to sway.
She headed for a dressing room,
looked back and said, "Don't go away."
She returned wearing a costume
meant to lead a man astray.
In pasties and a beaded g-string,
everything was on display.
Her eyes said, "This is all for you, love."
There was nothing more to say.
I sit on a straight back
red vinyl chair
in a Chinese Take Away
waiting for my beef
and black bean sauce,
pork chow mein and a serving
of special fried rice - hear
from behind a beaded rainbow
coloured curtain the sizzle
and spit of hot oil, the constant
sound of a ladle scraping
the sides of a wok, smell
a symphony of smells
that run a river of saliva
across my wanton tongue -
then silence, seconds
seem like minutes until,
“your order is ready sir”,
and at that moment
all the loveliness
of the world becomes
boxed and cradled
in a Lion Dance labelled
take away carry bag.
Note for American readers.
In Australia we use the term
Take Away instead of Take Out.
Same thing. Not sure of the term
used in the UK or elsewhere.
Luna beckon's a siren's song
To reach the crescent moon,
she awakens before the water serpents arise,
and sea merchants sailing in from shores nearby
At crack of dawn and drawn to flickering lights,
night's natator of the bluest sea
zigzag's through the starfish
Caught in a seaweed beaded necklace,
tangled in nets sailors left adrift,
she reaches the open prismatic sky
A rainbow parrot fish tail flips over
smoothed sea glass rock
A siren goddess appears
Multicolored moments, eyes dilate
as indigo hues glow—it blankets
in silhouettes upon flowing strands of hair
Embracing the early morn with a sigh,
mystified mermaid from deep underwater
her thumping heart beats calm, in sync
with the crashing wave as it trickles down
A phenomenal crescent moon luminescent
As a cool salty wash laps the rocky shore,
it recedes with sizzling sounds leaving
pocket holes in the wet sand
Dawn calls with haunting cries,
she sings a siren's song
Museums
A place full of stories
Of art
Not just in the paintings
But in the people too
A little black girl walking hand in hand with her mother
Her eyes lit up in wonder
Wandering what she would discover
While she walks around
Spinning around
And jumping up and down
She doesn't see
That everytime she jumps the light reflecting on her beautiful brown skin makes it glimmer
Like little flecks of gold placed exactly
Like when the sun reflects a river
She doesn't see
The way her beaded braids move
Eagerly trying to catch up with her
Dancing in excitement
Enjoying this moment
Wishing she could forever stay this innocent
She shines like a diamond
She doesn't see
Her warm chocolate eyes
The way the brown melts peoples hearts
Her eyes alone could be artwork
An artwork that could instill innocence in every person It meets
Her eyes A superpower
That could bring people together
Just before she leaves
She looks at a final art piece
And for the first time she sees -
"Mommy it's me"
It was called the art of the reflection in the mirror
And when she looked in it she felt prettier
Her shocks poured forth like a midnight oil spill,
body buckling like a sapling in a tornado, cracked like a Grecian museum urn. Moonflower extended limb petals, hips arched, limbs touched the nightfall floor. Her firehouse quaked primal.
Waistline oscillated, packed rigid. Gasps defibrillated, beasts fought through tight ribs,
Midriff dilated, injected, probe swelled with force.
Her breath hung heavy, smoke in a chimney,
Drumbeats drumming on her global map, sweat beaded like molten glass.
Weary rasps of elation caterwauling,
guttural sounds spilled from her chest.
The morning sky is clear without the autumn's raining gloom.
Soon I will once again be laying with him in his room,
As well as gift him something I wish I had beaded with a loom.
Dream peep of early gold rim halo
August riser gleeful in exalted chant
Yield to dulcet chirp from ornate winger
Sunburst orange red splash of heaven
Taunt and tease ocean blue mist eyes
Amber warm rays dazzle pearl clad beach
Revere the hue-rich magic spectra veil
Designed by glow world spirit apt
Aligning deft nirvana enigmatic
You’ll embrace a stunning touchstone
Strewn amid solid crystal bounty
Traipsing vivid emerald paths ahead
Amazed by wondrous vista woven
Redolent of chalk mark visual rife
Dabble in the morn’s first usher
Archway to vibrant wakener within
Yen for ample stimulus astride
Sensory luxuriance devoid of match
Tangled web surfeit found epic
Aching surge of tinted aspect
Rhythmic ripples on beaded brow
We saw some hieroglyphics
And some beaded Native art,
Some instruments of music
With their coolness off the chart;
The Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit
And some armor from the past,
All admired and enjoyed although
We zipped through kind of fast.
The only place we lingered was
Where varied rooms were staged
Showing how the wealthy lived,
Our grandson totally engaged.
The lighting dim, the papered walls,
The opulent décor
Elicited reactions
We had not quite seen before.
Such lavish furnishings, unlike
The homes that I have known
Make me wonder how he’ll decorate
A home when it’s his own.
A clear-beaded mousie
with a pointy black nose,
twitchable beaded tail,
and ruffly yellow clothes.
The tail can tilt her head--
she nods without a squeak!
Quiet little church mouse,
I bought from a boutique.
(True story!)
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.