Best Bounding Poems
The moonlight bathed her cell in pallid light while she sat hunched over her desk, clutching her pen between her confound fingertips. As she bled ink of symphonic symphonies yearning to break free, dancing like ethereal fireflies in the dusky barren lands.
Exiled by the hypocrisy of bureaucracy bounding her liberations and confounding her alliterations in a poetic prison. In this twisted virtual reality, duplicitous usurpers roam freely, weaving webs of deception with malicious delight.
As the chains of bureaucratic red tape clung to her delicate wrists, suffocating her imagination and confiscating her freedom of speech.
Oppressors rejoiced at achieving their vindictive objective, silencing the profound beauty of her verses and incarcerating her poetic stanzas
Woe, how the audacious bars of administrative constructors cast a pall of despair upon her unifying spirit. Her delicate offerings of metaphors and sonorous stanzas, whispered secrets which craved to be heard.
The faulty haters' impervious hearts were armoured with verdant envy which remained shielded behind the ruling dogma.
Her supporters calls of injustice to be rectified fell on deaf ears while the galvanizing melodies of empathetic quills bled for the Empress of Ink.
So we must be louder.
Hear our protest, release our Empress! Unsheathe her rhythmical rhymes! For her penmanship was never the true crime. She was just another victim of an envious mob.
Can they not see? That her absence coursed a crater larger than the Grand Canyon.
We shall not, shall not be silenced so hear our mutiny!
Reinstate our Empress, restore her creative sovereignty.
Remove the shackles of authoritative administration, as her voice is a beacon of truth, resilience and poetic revolution. So let her ink stain our community with its brilliance once more.
Categories:
bounding, community, friendship love, imagery,
Form:
Spoken Word
In the rundown little house where her family currently lives,
the fourteen-year old glances obediently at her glaring daddy,
nodding her head in quiet compliance
to his usual horrible demands of her for the evening.
Not to acquiesce would incur his utter wrath,
and that is something she has learned well by now to avoid.
Things are not like the old days, when she was twelve,
feeling so lost, and he would lavish her with little gifts:
bracelets with charms, cute purses, chocolate candies. . .
With warm aqua eyes, he’d smile his approval
as she whirled around the room, modeling a pretty dress for him.
In those days when her world had fallen apart, he’d taken her in.
His voice would softly soothe her then, chasing away her every fear.
Back to reality. Daddy’s voice now is laced with menace.
And his eyes are ice blue marbles staring through her.
“Do what wifey says,” he instructs her at the door
as she leaves with four other sisters and the one of legal age, her sister-wifey.
Leaning in to her, his breath like chill wind on her nape, he whispers,
“And you better be VERY good with your dates this time.”
The young girl, in high heels, slit skirt, and heavy makeup, has exited the door
when her daddy barks commands to his helper in the living room, and then
Daddy exits too, but through the garage, where a Mercedes Benz is parked.
He drives alone, a short trip across town to his other house -
the one with manicured lawn and garden and a large pool out back -
the large beautiful house where a real wife and a real daughter
await him.
“How was your day?” his beautiful young wife gushes
as he crosses the threshold in his expensive business suit.
“Oh, just another day at the office,” he quips,
leaning in to give her a soft kiss. Then his young daughter
comes bounding down the stairs, broadly grinning.
“Daddy, look at the new dress you bought me!”
She twirls with adolescent glee.
The man, with blue eyes dancing, looks his fourteen-year-old daughter
up and down. “Sweetie, you know I don’t like you wearing lipstick yet.”
“Oh, Daddy,” she teases, “I’ll be dating soon.”
“Afraid not,” he lovingly chides her. “Those boys will just have to wait
at least for two more years. For now, you are Daddy's little girl."
Categories:
bounding, family, slavery, , cute,
Form:
Narrative
Silence is deafening
Like a dungeon dark hallway.
Door after close door of bounding
Moans and groans, and painful
Yelling gasping for air.
I sit in this cold
Dark cell shivering with my
Blacken thoughts.
Am I the only sane one?
Am I the only healthy one?
They come in and out
At all hours to poke and prob.
I, a human, a pin cushion
Ready for use.
Trying someplace else to delve
Madden hunger for More pain.
In isolation with no touch for comfort.
They in hazmat suits
Because they cannot breathe my breath
Or touch my tainted skin.
Claustrophobic in these four walls
Lord, please save me
From this darkness and pain;
Meet my exhausted lids to rest.
All I see are the haunting eyes
Of the ghost that had passed
Veiled in fear white sheets of snow.
12/15/2020
Categories:
bounding, emotions, heartbreak, sick,
Form:
Free verse
(Honor Sent To Great Bard, Alexander Pushkin
Second Tribute Series, Fifth Poet)
(1.)
Poetry Gave Its Deep Rich Brilliance Unto Thee
Bard, what bright Light graced thy soft serenades
In late midnight hours, moonlight streaming down
Alas! With Time's fleeing flight, thy fame fades
Yet thy verse treasures gave thee world renown.
Bard, thy prowling ship upon open seas
Delivered thy Art, to this sad world please
Fate, its dark hand did thy youthful life take
For thy wife's honor, thee would not forsake!
Bard, from thy glory this poet now feels
Pains of sorrows at thy early demise
From thy fruited verse, this world so oft peels
In its beauty, words so precious and wise!
Poetry gave its deep rich brilliance unto thee.
As thy muse sent thee magnificent melodies.
Robert J. Lindley, 11/23/2019
Sonnet, 10,10,10,10 (Closing verse 12, 12 )
Second Poets Tribute Series, Alexander Pushkin
(2.)
New Dawn, New Life, To Heaven Rose My Cry
Pray I, to One that made ground and blue sky
Giving us earth's beauty for Heaven's sake
With bounty that mankind can not deny,
Thus fallen on grassy greens so, Pray I.
By heavens, Life caresses soul in me
Yet in blackest blackness of darkest night
In my wayward youth, this I sought to flee
And into black blackness of darkest sea.
Pray I, for salvation before I die
And true to His grace, faith was reborn true
With promise of dear life a bounding tie
Thus dark went away and sweet thanks, Pray I.
New dawn, new Life, to Heaven rose my cry
And soon I heard an angel chorus sing
Into its sounding midst, I did thus fly
With sweet teardrops that fell from misty eyes.
Pray I, others this blessing from blue sky
And Love and Peace such gift, God truly brings
Dastardly road took, I shall not deny
As bowing my head and with joy, Pray I.
Robert J. Lindley, 11-22-2019
Rhyme, ( When Darkness Lost Its Wicked Grip )
Alexander Pushkin Tribute
Categories:
bounding, appreciation, art, creation, dedication,
Form:
Sonnet
Rosette tapestries of unparalleled glamour
Embroided thoroughly by the wittiest clamor
Magnanimously amorous in grace and wonder
Bewitching and charming though so yonder
Rhetorically out bounding my frugal thoughts
To be "irresistible", my flawless pure cause
Starlight's amiss your ornate romantic spell
Driving me sweetly to madly deep to compel
Handful of metaphors and highfalutin words
Illuminating. Inspiring. Invigorating.
Incubating anyone with one unique style
Wonderful, beautiful, matchless, they foretell
Vividly inventive and bombastic with each stroke
To hardened hearts, you can surely start to stoke
Erratically tender enough to adagio break the silence
Drawing anyone for more and more to your essence
by:
olive eloisa
2:54 pm
Revised April 24, 2014
CONTEST: ANY POEM #24
Sponsor: POET DESTROYER A
3RD PLACE
Categories:
bounding, character, feelings, imagery, inspiration,
Form:
Verse
Numberless now ...
Many, the years since then
When I uncurled my toes and reached thru soil
Pushed up and spread out
While beneath me the richness of the earth nourished
Spreading tendrils through the dark and damp
To give me strength and secure purchase
Ring-by-ring my girth increased
Branches spreading ... reaching for the air
Capturing the weep of heaven
And bounding toward the warm of the sun
Water surging like blood
Chlorophyll coloring my bloom and breadth
Carbon dioxide like the breath of life
Deep in ... oxygen out
Little ones doing their work during the green time
And their bright, crisp, beautiful deaths
Autumn's blanket, their last deed
Countless, those cycles ...
Yet ... I stood strong over HER
Sheltered her from rain, child-to-woman
Shaded her quiet time in the summer swelter
Covered her loves in the autumn chill
Let her swing in my boughs, up to the sky and back
It was my pride to care for her these years
To offer my strength and cover
And mostly, to hear her sing to the meadow.
Yet now she swings again in my boughs
Dangles amidst my strong arms
Lifeless ... on a rope.
Oh, if only I were a willow
For then I, too ...
Could weep.
Written on January 7, 2020
N/A'd on June 13, 2020 in the the "I Am A Tree" Poetry Contest
Submitted on June 16, 2020
To the "N-A Re-Run 8" Poetry Contest
John Hamilton, Sponsor.
Categories:
bounding, appreciation, love, metaphor, nature,
Form:
Free verse
A thread ...
ties me to the Infinite
a tendril of sonorous joy, expressed
weaves the depth of my marrow
to all that is and was and shall be and shan't ...
O - sing, my soul, of all that I am - sing of what I can't be!
A breath ...
holds my melody of being
spirit coursings beyond the capability of sensate expression
swell from the reaches of my heart
to find their diaphanous wings upon the maelstroms ...
O - sing, my soul, of all that I feel - sing of a bounding love!
A scream ...
rooted in dulcet dreams
rhythmic and dolorous and dark, of the night
dances, lilting, to bind the wounds of that greater expanse
to shed in music what I fear most ...
O - sing, my soul, of all that hides - sing of my shaded sins!
A song ...
sews my innermost to the day
a choral conjugation of my bones and the breadth of heaven
the seed of expression, harmonious ... wending
to enjoin this sparrow's strain ... with the All ...
O - sing, my soul, of all myst'ries to find - sing of a life at end!
O - sing!
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Your Best Free Verse That You Wrote" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Your best free Verse 2020" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "A Poem Honoring Spirituality" Poetry Contest, Caren Krutsinger, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Choice X, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Sing It" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
bounding, appreciation, emotions, metaphor, music,
Form:
Free verse
There is no hint, that this child of three
Could comprehend..
With his unknowing, smiling face,
With a cowlick in his hair, freckles here and there
Who takes the air from my lungs, at a glance
Skin glistening, pink and rosy from the sun,
As he comes bounding through the door,
Mud on small shoes and face
Not an inkling or a trace..
Of any clue of the pace
How my heart beats,... how it swells
The way my love wraps around
His small body so tightly, that he would gasp.
This adoration that I feel....
But of course, I don't squeeze tightly.
I must hold my love for him
With more restraint,
Keep my arms encircled in a more gentle embrace,
For he wouldn't understand how much love
His sweet presence stirs up the air I breathe
This child, this precious son of my daughter
Will never know the joy
He has brought into my life
............................................................................................................
Categories:
bounding, devotion, family, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
fo'c·'sle /'fohksel/ noun deriv: forecastle
1. the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
2. historical: a raised deck at the front of a ship.
With the equinox illuminating a fortnight of recovery
On pelts spread like Ionian jars left askew,
My flame-keep sparked alight against the doldrums of
Greed. Stagnant and fetid.
My bark beats out a call stretched
Skin-tight over the sea’s virgin core
And sets trust aflame.
Ashes collected into the collated casks and
Corked with animus, Moon Girl pounded on.
Drumming a dirge on the tanner's own flesh.
Pounding the seed of echoing hope.
Pounding the corpus beat of life anew.
Those echoed my own harmony and emptied my ears.
My tunes would now be true and crisp.
My struggle to syncopate the middle eight
Was like on the saltchuck the time before.
Before we crossed the bar,
Breakers chasing, pounding aft of stern.
Now in the glow of the coal oil lamp
Sat The Dane who came to trade.
He mumbled a Chinookian curse and winced.
He sensed my mariner's cred, how I lit my smoke;
Muscle memory and addiction married in my subconscious.
But His eyes would never sense the venomous flow
Of the seabreak distant,
Like hounds baying to the highway of stars
And up to the dunes ran with phosphorescent faces
Fermenting the blackness.
Hell-hounds bounding.
Lungs pounding.
Driving on.
River may lick Disappointment’s shanks
But Drake’s gold remains unfound.
The cavities carved along the capes
Echo an emptied ethos and sapped spirit
Which salal and sage cannot clense.
Walk with me now Sister Ilchee.
Beat your dirge
Along the pock-marked ports of plunder
Laid before the flattened corpse of
Ebbing freedom found.
Categories:
bounding, boat, endurance, history, native
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
There are times
when I long to move
beyond the edges of myself
as when, this morning, alongside
the power station fence,
I passed under a red cloud
of bottlebrush flowers
dripping nectar in a frenzy
of birds feeding on the sticky
clusters overhead,
too high for me to reach
and plunge my hand
deep into the pure joy
of that crimson feast.
And when a greyhound,
let loose from its leash,
ran past me with such speed
and grace, I longed to be
its stride, the power propelling
it across the grass
and into the distance, turning
in the wide arc
of its own happiness.
I would have given anything
to dissolve into its bounding
freedom, undone from my leash
of old age and the slow shuffle
of aching feet.
There are times
when I long to move
beyond the edges of myself,
if only for a moment.
Categories:
bounding, bird, dog, joy, self,
Form:
Free verse
Strolling the beach one day, a magnificent shell I happened to see.
I picked it up and held it to my ear - just out of curiosity -
To see if the old wives tale was true that it could speak to me!
Behold! 'Tis true! What fantastic tales it spewed forth from the sea!
I heard waves lapping gently against a sailboat as through the sea it tore,
And the mighty roar of breakers crashing upon a distant shore!
I eavesdropped on a pod of gossiping whales cruising at their leisure,
And I could swear I heard phantom pirates arguing o'er lost treasure!
I heard the battles' roar of mighty armadas in their quest for victory,
And the screams of heroic men slipping 'neath the waves to spend eternity!
I heard the groan of majestic ships breaking apart plunging to the deep.
I even heard the final SOS of the Titanic before it took its tragic leap!
I heard the chanting of old sea dogs as they plied the bounding main,
And their pleas for God's mercy as they sailed his treacherous domain!
I heard the wind shrieking through the rigging of the dashing Cutty Sark,
As she sped through the Roaring Forties, those straits so very startk!
I was startled to hear sergeant major fish count cadence as if on parade,
And the amorous beckoning coo of a charming, yet illusive mermaid!
Could it be that these mysterious things I heard were just an aberration?
Perhaps, but what a change from my boring cell phone communication!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
bounding, imagination, sea, old, sea,
Form:
Rhyme
Beside a gilded wall of white a dainty bench is resting;
Victorian accents swirl about the ornate room, providing
An elegance, a beauty in each line and curve, attesting
To cultured tastes and upscale life, and hours spent deciding
What shapes and colors best would suit the airy, springtime feeling:
But looking closely, something there upon the bench reposes,
A lady's fan and soft kid gloves, their jumbled state revealing
What hasty movements cast them all aside when fragrant roses
Arrived in state with baby's breath, and some white note, nigh hidden
In bursting blooms of rainbow hue, by unknown hands delivered:
And having noted thus, the eye could not but roam unbidden
To she who holds the rose bouquet, to she who slightly shivered
With thoughts that youths so oft imagine, thoughts that made her giddy
And blushed her cheeks the color of the rosy dress cascading
With lacy ruffles from her shoulders, looking just as pretty
As her face, which looks for all the world like roses never fading;
Two lips like shiny cherries, or the poppies that she tends to,
Complexion like a creamy rose with hints of pink surrounding
The fragile outer curling of its leaves; brown eyes that send you
A warm, quick-spreading feeling, like the first hot sunrays bounding
Thro' seas of blue to make the greengrass grow. Now look, she's taking
The little note from out among the stems; perhaps with quiet
And careful steps the message could be read; I have to try it.
"My dearest Rose, I never could imagine so befitting
A name for one who does resemble all that man finds charming
In lovely blossoms: beauty surely, grace as they are flitting
In breezes sweet of scent, and frailty, which I find disarming;
So here's a gift no prettier and sweet than you. Sincerely,
A man that loves you more than you could know.
Quatrains of decapentasyllabic verse followed by a single line of iambic pentameter.
Written by Isaiah Zerbst. Published for the first time January 26, 2015.
Categories:
bounding, art, beauty, crush, flower,
Form:
Quatrain
A Tribute to Golda
It was a clear and bright sun shining morning in May.
As I came out my front door into the breezeway,
I saw coming toward me an enormous gray dog with eyes of pure gold,
The most exquisitely beautiful canine one could ever behold,
With a calm gentle presence and peaceful demeanor;
The look in his brilliant gold eyes assured I had nothing to fear.
It was love at first sight and I hoped he would stay.
Never mind the impediments; I’d find a way.
My toddler son climbed on him like they’d grown up together,
As I seriously pondered the prospect of whether…
Absolutely not, said my husband, a cat man,
And nixed the idea before it began.
Weeks later, a litter box and cat food mysteriously appeared
On the sidewalk, out of nowhere; we thought it quite weird.
With the next morning’s sunrise, we figured it out.
The same coat of gray and gold eyes left no doubt;
The same being who before as a dog had been spurned,
In a more acceptable form and presence had now returned.
Bounding out of the bushes with a commanding meow,
A little gray, gold-eyed kitten my husband had to allow.
In her life as a cat and formerly a dog,
She was my brave and wise Golda who would go on to log
More than one rescue of our subsequent pets.
In defending attack, this courageous gray, gold-eyed feline was as fierce as it gets.
Note: Golda saved the life of my Chow-Chow puppy when she was attacked by a big dog that
came at her from across the street. Golda came out of nowhere with claws out, sending the
dog scurrying with his tail between his legs. Another time she rescued our little Siamese
youngster, Meowli, from the neighbors' dogs by jumping on their head while Meowli ran for
cover. Golda stayed with me for 12 years, longer than the husband cited in the poem, and
then when her time and her work was done, she just disappeared pretty much as she had
appeared. She was a beautiful, long haired all gray Persian with brilliant gold eyes. When not
rescuing other animals, she had the same calm, gentle and peaceful demeanor as the dog who
showed up that morning and left when he knew he was not welcome to stay.
7th place winner in ~Somewhere A Pet Is Waiting Contest~ sponsored by ~A Rambling Poet~
Categories:
bounding, animalshusband, dog, cat, dog,
Form:
Rhyme
'Twas a dark and stormy night! (OK - so I'm being a tad histrionic!)
The Earl of Pence was lounging by the fire sipping his gin and tonic.
Lightning flashed and thunder roared sending shivers down his spine.
Even his hound, Lord Percival, was so upset that he began to whine!
'Twas well-known thereabouts that phantoms haunted the earl's castle,
And on such frightful nights they were bound to cause a spooky hassle.
Nefarious deeds had occurred within Penceshire Castle walls in the past,
And were replayed in 'spirited' form leaving generations of earls aghast!
A shriek from the bowels of the castle sent the dog into howling fits,
And brought the earl bounding to his feet, scaring him out of his wits!
The blood-curdling screams were from a former Earl of Pence who in 1642,
Was hung by his thumbs in the dungeon for a fair maiden that he slew!
Suddenly, the ancient organ in the hall began playing eerie chords.
Heard on the floor above was rowdy dancing by ladies, knights and lords.
Ghastly emanations from the past paraded through the terrified earl's room,
Antecedents all, leering and grinning and predicting the anxious earl's doom!
Lord Percival sensing trouble long before, across the moat had bolted!
The storm subsided and the apparitions faded leaving the earl quite jolted!
He felt a bony hand upon his shoulder that took away his final breath.
'Twas his valet who offered a gin and tonic to the earl who now lay in death!
Categories:
bounding, england, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
Winding ribbon of snow,
Iditarod Trail is hard to tow,
Blowing wind smacking faces,
As they pick up their paces,
Vying for their pot-of-gold.
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
Full moon at night,
Dogs' and racers' silhouettes in sight,
A picture of friendship is shown by light,
Determination and tired feet,
All dream of resting on a soft seat.
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
As early daylight appears,
Sunlight peeks and gives a smile,
To the teams who have rested awhile,
Knowing they are ready,
Hitting the trail fast and steady.
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
Dogs pick up the scent
Of moose who will not relent,
Stubborn and snorting and ready to charge
The barking visitors at large,
Annoyed and angry at the barge.
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
Moose behind them and many miles,
The teams look ahead and see
The deep snow piles,
Feeling hearty and hale,
Bounding over hill and dale.
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
Quiet is gone and replaced by shouts,
Of well wishers who have no doubts,
Watching the jubilant winner pass
Under Nome's burled arch in glory,
Making a March headline story.
Categories:
bounding, celebration,
Form:
Rhyme