Best Blackly Poems
In your error there is a'way making
Whilst striving in your searches collating,
Are they blackly scrawled your inky walls.?
Truly "A vice" this undertaking...
Explain peruse or buying extra shoes
True vanity versus inspiration.
Copyright Joe Maverick 2011
Categories:
blackly, allegory,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
As he spreads his wings
The wind flutters the feathers
Against a heron-dotted sky
Of deepest dark
A strong wind to fly
As granite boulders blackly rumble
Deepest voice as raindrops tumble
Down towards
The heron’s crown
The fields ablaze
With electric haze
And an ozone stench spices
As volts and death splices
The scene into a triptych
Categories:
blackly, bird, flying, nature, storm,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Cribbar
I stand on the precipice,
I drink her eagerly from atop the raw stone.
Her jaws split open in bursts of pure, vicious foam around the feet of civilisation;
I stand caught between worlds, my soles firmly planted in the accountable world of men, While my soul whips and dives in her implausible depths.
Her salty rage spits in the face of the gentle sun, a fine mist of dehydration threatening the lips of those who dare to behold her.
I stand among the bruise budding Squill and blushes of Thrift,
I muse,
I contemplate what place I could have amongst giants.
The march of progress forgets me while I stand, betrays my begrudging loyalty and steams blackly ahead like her inevitable, unenviable swell.
Yet I do envy you mistress;
I long for brine and gelatinous, matted tangles between my toes,
I crave the sharp husks of the shore drawing blood from my feet.
How long must I withdraw from you behind layers of polluted humanity?
When next will I taste your sting as you wash mankind from my body?
When will you reclaim the land? Force the sin of civilisation from your coasts?
Your power unbridled against even the unshakable.
Until then,
I stand,
Until then, there's always next time.
Categories:
blackly, conflict, earth, growth, nature,
Form:
Free verse
The wind blows sorrow.
Deep into my cold marrow.
My heart blackly low.
Categories:
blackly, death, depression,
Form:
Haiku
So we’re going on a picnic with the pygmy, Pixie Poggly, being the quirky queenly
quaintly quickly person she is and her friend a raunchy rascal reverently named
Andy Bailey. As you remember he was in the Aussie army association, barely
battling the banshee that were bawdy blackly bloody in the boggy boundary briefly
in the outback, and lets not forget pixie’s perky prominent pal that is a bossy,
bluntly, brainy, bookie, breathing brashly, balmy, bits of boogie bookie chatter to
all the cheery, choicely, chunky crowd around his choosey, cheesy, cheaply
choice of chummy spots, and in his coarsely cocky way, he coyly clamors crafty
creepy words that really don’t say what they needs to say, but confuses even the
gentle, ghostly, gaudy, gawky, gabby, gypsy genie down in the gaily, gabby,
ghastly valley town called Gatsby. I hear even Fatty Fannie the fancy, fleecy,
flimsy, flowery, and foxy maiden that has her doggie, “Dotty” watching her dreamy,
dressy, downy, dowry. And to make things easier Pixie’s dumpy daffy deafly, dinky
donkey named Dixie is going to carry all the supplies, and we are going to the
daffy damply dainty little dairy where the daisies grow daily in the deeply densely
droopy grasses next to the hay, and it sounds like it will be a giddy, giggly, goodly,
goofy, goosey, grabby good grammar in all its Grammy award wining grandeur
day.
Parts of this poem were copied from another poem that I cannot display here, but
that I did write, it is called “The Picnic” and I thought this would be some fun
reading for all here.
Categories:
blackly, adventure, animals, confusion, funny,
Form:
Alliteration
Slum
Where hard looks and thin soup oppose,
the spider, cockroach, rat, and mouse dispute
in patient litigation or in border raids
our title to this world.
There is no mystery, it boils down to food.
Our ruined lunches providing theirs
as Roman baths provided stones
for abbeys of a different creed.
They too win converts. With earbite and cold fear,
patient, persistent, numerous,
their inquisitors huddle together in dim light
to study our disgust.
Greyly, brownly, blackly surpliced
they muse on our improbable millennium.
Categories:
blackly, animal, conflict, endurance, fear,
Form:
Sonnet
Sister Aloysius rings the bell
iron-railing straight she stands
habit flapping blackly
her triple-bolted thin-lipped smile
pursed against assault, or love,
while children shuffle past
their tulip heads averted
from her scything gaze
Jimmy from the Chinese
chip shop, smiling, filing past
What is so amusing?
children freeze, ice-blooded
in breath-held silence.
"Lovely morning."
Sister Aloysius
unlocks her bolted lips
hisses a crack-small stream of air
allows a Yes to escape.
the children
march, backs braced
into the shadow
of school
Categories:
blackly, childhood, education, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
She isn’t dormant, she moves through the dark in this new phase,
as exact as a silver snowflake. Despite her voicelessness, she speaks to me.
Her swollen body is idolized in the black that she unstains; she owns the shadows.
I live for the night, it rejuvenates my scars; it’s my only pleasure.
But she soon becomes entangled in his net of branches, in his
labyrinth of wires. The moon-bruise aches in these hands that grasp
her too tightly, the constant stroking; her whole existence is fingered blackly.
I crackle with his razor touches that hook on to my skin.
Each vein sticks to her, emptying her white cup, eating her souring flesh;
to you the moon is just a stone, her presence doesn’t haunt you,
she is more than my reflection; and I feel myself becoming cold.
This struggle makes me scab but the yellow puss still leaks from me.
And I am numb with fear. She peeks through the branches like bone
in a deep cut, only she never stops bleeding. Her bleached corpse-body
aches for freedom, but she is truly caught; her ends fray and we unravel.
I wear her scabbing scars too, she is my sister after all.
This new phase is exhausting, he wants to lick my skin off.
My white body is caustic; it bites me back; I scratch and feel myself flake
beneath the nails. I touch the tree and feel its poison enter me.
You are my immunity. But I don’t think I can go on.
We are septicly whole. She is draining, pouring herself out, as animated as
the old skull with its thin layer of skin: its veins pulsating with the starved
appearance of Death. I don’t think I’m here anymore either. I am in her bone casket.
You know this crippling well; we have both lived with these deformities.
I am now in the tree with her. She is now all of my eye, we touch and
I am frosted. We are one to the wet core, that stuff that white is made from,
and we are each swallowed by his trunk, living inside his chest of ill health.
Categories:
blackly, love, moon, tree, body,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Mulga Snakeyes
Yes we went a Droving on the job
As we rode around the mob
With the cattle,
just to earn our bit of pay
with Uncle Charlie, to earn a bob
a watching watching of
watching for the cow that often strays
I was 13 down near Hebel
on the border came the evil
When the Mulga snake came a charging
at me n Burkie hey (Jonny Burke of Dirranbandi) a man of 15
Maybe 10 foot long or longer
old brownie seemed the stronger
unsuitable for townies
and deadly in his way
And he panted and he frothed
as he lurched and lunged our way
Just now me little brain did rattle
and the verse went round n round
And I couldn’t sleep no more at 1am
I can see him in the darkness vivid bloody starkness
So I’m sitting at the puter,
saw this brute one sunny day
Very blackly brown a coming coming
as we rode to get away
We cantered quick through Mulga sticks (tree 13% protein in leaves for stock)
and the snake was catching up
So we spurred into a gallop this I say,
He was still a coming coming,
head up running running
still coming only half a mile away
we could see his head up a looking
our death he was a cooking
Still casting fear
to make us run away
If I had been there on foot
As Burkie said old chook
He’d have killed us both
No problem anyway!
Don Johnson
14-may-11
Categories:
blackly, adventureme,
Form:
Rhyme
A
ravaged
savage sea
seethes like lava
underneath the moon,
strange eye in clouded sky.
It stares blackly out at man,
bright orange iris reflecting
angry flames of waves below. . . Sun fled;
now all we know is Satan in the moon.
For Paula Swanson’s “Blind Faith” contest
Categories:
blackly, visionary
Form:
Etheree
His clothes were tattered, in vivid shades of red blue & yellow
he wore leatherette shoes blackly polished and gleaming with shine
Red fiery hair that summoned like a fire hydrant and a big fat rubber nose that honked when it was squeezed.
He had a polka dotted hanky that protruded from his well padded suit,
and a kangaroo pocket in which he kept all his most precious belongings.
Aside from the fact that those big blue eyes of his were undeniably sad,
every part of his retinue screamed, "I am funny, I can make you laugh"
People came to the circus to watch his goofy antics and
to forget their worries for a little while. One day while he was blowing up balloons for the children, he died of a massive heart attack.
In heaven the angels took Tatters to the children's room. Sitting on a big shiny
red stool he was asked to make balloons for every child in God's creative nest.
His eyes were never sad again for he knew that here,
he could make a child smile and never grow old, or ever be sad again.
The End.
Categories:
blackly, analogy, people, strength,
Form:
Narrative
I swept the cinders from the hearth
clambake soot billowed veils
of a past where frequent refuge sought
the path that never pales.
Eyes of mine, their apples cored,
pips blackly shone and squeaked;
with laughing tears trickling,
the moistened lustre leaked.
Young at heart, you twinkle bright
a gem in memories of grey,
a fire to ignite my life,
a light to guide the way...
Categories:
blackly, nostalgia, people,
Form:
Verse
down pours the cold rain
on pavements blackly shining
the water of life
Categories:
blackly, nature,
Form:
Haiku
A mountain tarn,
a mirror blackly gleaming.
I slide down some shale
to peer in. As I stare
there's a tingling apprehension
of being too close to an edge
where sky, land, and reason
drop away.
I can't quite say what I expected to see,
not the bottom of a mountain,
a man's visage maybe,
perhaps some deep mystery?
What I saw buried its reflection
into the back of my mind
where it is still surfacing.
Categories:
blackly, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
L-et the golden silence reign absolute;
U-nwelcome is noise in the house of thought.
S-o much to explore in the universe of mind,
H-ued richly with precious gems of every kind!
L-ight enters inside, so glintingly beautiful,
I-nk takes on new images and shapes, blackly.
B-ees breeze by August, seeking their honey,
R-abbits hop high grass, down in the country.
A-bove, the milky stars compel us to wonder,
R-acing toward scintillating, blazing infinity.
Y-esterday's avenues of blooms live there also!
Categories:
blackly, flower, garden, green, light,
Form:
Acrostic