Best Ballooning Poems
How the morn wakens with life,
to tether a sleepy soul
with simple delights;
The manna lights upon the land,
the swell of the sun ballooning
like some prim-adonna,
A starling to lead teasing to treetops
(a little black speck)
(star-of-Bethlehem-met)
swaying in soft wind....
Tickling the trees with its breeze
and tender tune;
so soon hushed,
the houses blush below ----
to parks the children go,
cyclists for cars....
The far traffic din slim with Sunday;
this Easter with the peace of Christ,
his everlasting smile,
so lovely upon the land
(A certain Sunday morn)
Acrid smoke in the scientist’s bell jar
Blankets of chenille-covered snow
Crystalline carbon diamond star
Drips forming stalactites grow
Effervescent waterfalls’ dreams
Frothy-topped cappuccinos
Gelid surfaces of lakes and streams
Halos of angels in holy repose
Icebergs splitting from their source
Jasmine-covered pergolas in Spring
Knuckles clenched in fear or remorse
Love’s purest form sobering
Mandala patterns on frosted window
Newly-born flamboyant flamingos
Opalescent lustre of pearls on show
Pineapple-licious snow cones
Quills of the porcupines’ defense
Ringlets of great-grandparents’ hair
Steamy hot springs vapor intense
Trailing wisps of London fog air
Undulating winter foothill maze
Veils of fine tatted lace purity
Wieliczka Salt Mine passageways
Xilinous spider webs artistry
Yahrzeit candle flame in memoriam
Zephyrus ballooning sails on a whim
Which is the real African dream?
building an independent continent?
decolonization of neocolonialism?
I think it is a no!
Which is the virgin African dream?
is it life of mutual brotherhood?
can it be continental patriotism?
I think it is a no!
Which is the African dream?
becoming a world super power?
protecting resources for posterity?
I think it is a no
African dream is a dead dream
whenever the Africa begins to dream
noises and skirmishes wake him
out of bed he runs!
But I think I know African dream
It is individual not communitarian
ballooning belly, head, pockets with pride
then skating the planet!
The African mass does not dream
once noise ejects them from dream- beds
they trek to where citizens have dreamt
to pick bits of life!
Africans, do dream virgin African dreams
Nothing is so precious, nothing is so great
I sleep. The hours tick by mercilessly;
unfilled, purposeless, full of potential
"What to do? What to do???" I mutter,
tumbling, like Alice, down the rabbit hole.
My hands push down ballooning petticoats,
careful not to show or touch anything.
I twirl beneath the pile down comforters.
The hours tick by crimson red
and in the dream,
the rose Queen shouts, "Off with HER HEAD!"
An eyebrow is plucked whole from my face.
It falls matted and to the ground leaving me,
brow akimbo, surprised, and horrified.
"What to do? What to do? What to do???"
Half shorn. Half drawn. Half born?
A painter's pallet appears before me.
A brow is drawn… for me.
Yet, the Rose Queen still screams on.
"Off with HER HEAD! Off with HER HEAD!"
(prior to tha ode dee us political stink sans hillary rodham clinton, i scrawled out this poem. her likelihood to grasp to political mantle than considerably greater than fourteen months when another official will help keep america safe and sound from cares and concerns of an uncertain future).
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Bill leave me
Hugh will cause a beloved howel
From him – the divine necromancer with magic dowel
If ambition stirs thee to make presidential bid for we Chelsea
Reverberating throughout terrestrial bowel
Analogous to former reigning supreme ringleader Muhammad Ali!
As an obedient student who crossed his t’s and affixed every “I” with a dot
Although high letter grades this older papa never got
(Undiagnosed anxiety inducing pressure cooker symptoms made me hot)
I recognize brilliance, and thus would immediately cast my lot
From the current secretary of state whose political skills right on spot!
One year hence, this democrat will cast his vote
Without doubt maintaining his party line
No matter campaigners with republican huzzahs will tote
Unable to change opinion of mine
Praying that economic maelstrom she can brazenly smote
If necessary seeking oracle of Delphi for a positive sign
Or devising my own catchy slogan to quote
Common as this generic human dust mote
Whose esprit de corps would to the stratosphere float
Like some over inflated helium filled ballooning goat
Kidding nobody that view from on high depicts sinking American boat!
Please take to heart
From this fellow (among ship of fools)
Who decries special interest groups sway to sabotage and up-end donkey cart
With extreme elephantiasis haunting white house with ghouls
With penchant to undermine sacred constitution with graffiti art!
This Joe schmoe of a lame duck nada so soup per poet
(who idolizes billy eve able applications of a cigar re: monica lewinsky)
would be in awe
And inwardly hee-haw
If this poem affected your name to be on ballot garnering cheers from this paw
And knows that in those random polls made of straw
The former forty second first lady gaga to engender revolutionary thaw!
Ballooning o'er the desert
Sun peeks up at you...
Experience nature's gift.
Wafting on the wind's current
Silence in motion...
Reflections of a new day.
The fire of dawn awakens
Hills of umber gold...
Borne to see such wonderment!
this sweet sixteen self should not dare sail away from the safe habour
no matter how sweet-talking boys are or archaic parents sound
it has dumped dollies for ‘fun’ boys and has privileges and rights
but one day it has to unlearn the habit of turning on lights for
romantic rather than economic reasons when other sixteens’
ballooning bellies heave in sight because of boys` menacing
lethal guns or when their bodies lose their natural radiance
because debauchery has ruthlessly ravaged them and turned
their age absolutely upside-down
with moderation and vision and honesty l have to enjoy life
because time flies faster than a silhouetted butterfly
18 December 2012
I'd like to go to the stars
or scan the deepest oceans.
And explore the planet Mars,
guided by my emotions.
I'd like to fly through the sky,
chasing rainbows, droplets spun.
And give ballooning a try,
floating free under the sun.
I'd like to trek, desert-sands
or the jungles of this world.
And visit exotic lands
in tall ships with sails unfurled.
I'd like to pause time on earth,
and rewind it to my youth.
And drop in on Jesus's birth,
separating myth from truth.
I'd like to repay the love
and loyalty of my friends.
And know that God rules above
before I die and life ends.
(Quatrain)
1/2/2016
hot air balloon lifts
off the ground, there goes
great debate below
seeming solid ground
a noxious odor
but way up here
the air is clear
the birds fly by
and so do i
ballooning
is such fun
join me, you
dream big
seize day
light
1/7/2021
Contest: A Diminished Hexaverse
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
5/4/3/2/1 in syllables and lines
checked by HMS
s o b e r...
The fuse burns the skin; 'till years disappear in the sear. Those scars allow us to be who we are - - - urging us to bleed truth- - - so we can speed through the blues----- fueling us with the go, the giddy up to show, with each blow we grow,---and we Leggo our Ego -------just so the doubters we encounter shout louder and louder--- tho' they ain't got a clue as to who... or what we're about, or the journey of pain ballooning our veins with insane clout-------- and we wish upon a trouble free time to be near, yet it's far...- - - like the stars in the sky----...---sobering the view...while we drink the abuse------Still, the lit fuse burns the years till our fears cry.-____so hopefully, we learn from the scars when our tears dry.
Happiness began in a hot air balloon.
Lovers just married in dreams’ basket did swoon.
Fantasizing forever amid the colorful blue sky.
Two hearts, life betrothed, together did fly.
Ballooning through heavens, oh marvelous sights.
Sparkling stars shone above the city's night-lights.
Fiery drift knew friends watched from below.
Newlyweds soaring together knew love's glow.
Blue skies gave witness to the melodious flight.
And angels were singing at the glorious sight.
All of a sudden came a message from below.
A thousand balloons in colorful glow.
Skies filled to heaven with the fantastic swish.
Balloons came from friends sending their wish.
Happy days, newlyweds; may God bless your life.
Love each new tomorrow as husband and wife.
© July 24, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Happiness is a Balloon
Sponsored by: Francine Roberts
"garbage in, garbage out...sometimes you gotta clean out the mental closet"_ quote by poet
junk
in the attic
of the mind,
lingering on;
gradually
gathering dust.
cumbersome junk
of tossed aside woes
piling up;
steadily
ballooning
into a big pile
of tainted white elephants
that clog up
my thought process.
occasional practice
of mindfulness
is my way
of clearing out
the mental clutter.
Form J - Just Write Me A New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance LaFrance
Theme chosen: Junk
Date written: 03/22/2022
I loathe shucking clothes,
(no matter eyes severely myopic)
in preparation for here goes
another warm shower quickly
relaxing this senescent
body ready to doze
soon after lathering
this blubbery body
most unwanted fat grows
on me, no matter healthy diet
of worms, or how I stand,
not so easy add a pose
zing losing battle – Mary Jo's
if and geeze us of bulge ill flattering
particularly quiverly, sans white
"WALL" tire tread fully goes
steely belted around lower
abdominal area like lava floes
siring unsightly expose
yore squishy Jew dish priestly
punchy,plasma paunchy, gristly...
pillow like marshmallows
fittingly, rotundly soundly
identical with other schlep
tin (tin tabulation) grungy hobos,
this lap pissed lard (lord) Who Lee
bemoaning, how ilk readily knows,
where unwanted bulky flab...
most detested - hence Corp Yule Lance
leaves noth thin to noblesse oblige,
know bull eats obese,
anorexia nervosa or chance
barking out orders reminiscent, when he
hapt tubby a caller at
weekly square and/or contra dance,
now requisitioned to insulate
and excessively enhance
body electric can be mushed
into likeness of fleshy France
or repurposed into expanse
resembling any country,
whose name Kants
be easily pronounced, and historical
events glommed together recognizable
as Ataturk with a lance
bequeathed to rule World advance
sing gluttony as his divine providence,
thus requires deep dish allegiance
(non - fiber - binding contract)
for eats and make decadent
every fleshpot gourmand
stretching cellular skein to capacitance
bestowing guaranteed deliverance
with their rolling
ballooning massive circumference
into orbit with Earthly moon officiant
eternal fondue irrelevance!
Oh turbulence. Must you wait in a dusty corner. Shake round and around. Clearance clarifying chatting chambers. How rather charismatic and charades played by orchestra are neither plucked nor picked. Residue of a salt licking burping plant. Sitting on wheels is no good when standing is necessary for jet propelled motion. Stick insect labelling a fuzzy drink. Very methodical. Govern not a tidal wave of sprinkling glitter dust portions. And slice the cake evenly. Ok then that's good. Smish smash sail ego dome. Mish mash pull pile. Embroidered embryonic emblematic embedded encrusted encyclopedia. That turns in many loops in a diversion dive. Critical cancellation crossing covered conical chamber chasms. Procrastination is neither a powerful PowerPoint presentation nor a planted playful pickle. Giggle not at a googly eyed worm working washing and waving. For it is neither the clan of the cabbage nearby nor is it the whale waitress of the north that climbs to place the beacons of ballooning ballet buffalos. Come tonight then. Sit down. Stay in a rendezvous of a reached restitution resting. And the one eyed loaf of bread will need kneading after kneeling down in a creatively baked sauce. At this time it is very important to follow the advice of eleven elevated radishes, an aloe Vera plant, a ninety metre octave in a cloak, a duster, and the little shiny fish fork. Good. Haha and a bottle of ketchup rising from the work surface. Hahaha escaping juice escaping haha running rioting righteous ringdonuts. Xxxxx denominational z
There’s no room for you here
Beneath my crisp white scallop shell.
Its cotton creases cling too close
And all the space is filled with me
My ballooning calves spread to the edges
And muffin tops warmly expanding to meet eternity
No, you can’t be here (Even if you wanted to be)
Even the space
Tented from my breasts to my waist
Is filled with softly groping shadows (Where you will never be)