Best Depositing Poems
A pair of morning doves, preen and prim,
snuggled close on their favorite limb.
And cooing low, wake a sleeping sun;
singing praise, for a new day begun.
A slip of a ghostly moon rides low,
wearing its light like a pale halo.
And Sol ascends, master of the day,
heralding Dawn's breathtaking display.
Vapors shed crystal tears on the grass,
depositing dewdrops clear as glass.
And blooming flowers imbue the air;
a sweet fragrance, beyond compare.
Palm trees clad in a southern motif,
tickle the skies with a feather leaf.
And skittish crabs play tag with the waves;
darting in and out of flooded caves.
Sipping wine while enjoying the show,
we greet the day with a happy glow.
And as romance and Nature combine,
I share my soul with my Valentine.
Categories:
depositing, how i feel, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh, praying mantis, there with majesty,
you hold your slender arms so still and sweet,
in prayer like form that somehow makes us see
a kind and gentle species when we greet.
Your odd, triangle face responds your way
by nodding side to side, as if you hear
and grasp the words we speak and so convey-
to be beside you does not carry fear.
But, in the world, you live- yet to survive
another side of you is seen, exists.
A murderer you are- eat your mate live;
your coupling ritual exhibits twists.
Your mate is lucky to have found a chance
to spread his genes, his only goal in life;
to offer up his body in this dance-
a trade-off for his offspring to be rife.
With head gone first, he still completes his act
depositing his precious sperm; when done
you throw him to the ground and after that
soon feed on him to nourish life begun.
Oh, praying mantis, there with majesty
you hold your slender arms as if in prayer.
But looks so often can deceive, you see;
a murderer you are- his fate, unfair.
August 15, 2016
Contest: Insects
Sponsor: Angela Tune
Categories:
depositing, betrayal, insect, life,
Form:
Rhyme
"Felt"
some people
have magic
in their bones
it speaks
another language
silencing the
Kurdaitcha Man
seen pointing
unnecessarily
without conviction
time is ours
in this endless place
we circle rings
rippling our marks
deep within trees
depositing stories
they breathe
us in
we breathe
them out
gifting
their leaves
we fall softly
crumpling
under others’ feet
the stories
conveyed
and transferred
replenish and feed
the microcosm
to become
something
much larger
some people
have magic
in their bones
it speaks
another language
it is felt
not seen
falling softly inside
we become lighter
rising like myths
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Categories:
depositing, magic, muse, poetry,
Form:
Narrative
Tidal Waves
Brackish debris filled surf retreats
depositing into hard sand graves
pictures stolen from post cards
Shards of a city strewn disjointedly
still ticking clocks idled in the moment
streets awash in decorative disarray
liquid mud roiling through the streets
ravenous pain stalking its victims
cold shock of sunshine’s failure
hands clutching grabbing
carried on the crust of fear
waving in silent farewell
luxury and comfort crushed
wild furor of seismic waves
expending tectonic energy
John G. Lawless
5/12/2015
submitted to - Show but Don’t Tell – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Thomas Martin
Categories:
depositing, horror, natural disasters,
Form:
Free verse
'Twas nine o'clock on Monday morn
And Ned was full of cheek,
Depositing the cash he'd won
From gambling through the week.
The manager was curious
And asked Ned for the drum
On how he’d manage to procure
Each week a tidy sum.
"I only bet on sure things sir,"
Was how old Ned replied.
"Then show me an example friend?"
The manager enquired.
"No worries sir, I'll bet you now
Five hundred of the best
That you are wearing bright red jocks
And sir I do not jest."
The banker oozing confidence
Let out a joyous cry,
"You're on my friend!" and bared the cash,
A twinkle in his eye.
"Well drop your trousers sir," Ned said,
"Don't leave a bloke in doubt."
The banker thought the office more
A place to sort it out.
Then once inside he dropped his dacks
And with a grin he said,
"You've done your dough for you can see
These jocks are sure not red."
"Not good enough," old Ned replied,
"For they look red to me,
Perhaps it's 'cause I'm colour blind,
We'll need a referee."
"Let's ask your good Accountant sir,
To cast the final lot,"
But when the Banker called him in
He fainted on the spot.
"What's up with him?" The Banker said,
"The man's out like a light."
"He's in a state of shock," said Ned,
"But he'll come 'round all right."
"You see we waged a little bet,
A thousand he would pay,
If I could drop your dacks by ten;
A sure thing ... wouldn't you say?"
Categories:
depositing, funny, old, old, red,
Form:
Rhyme
I wake up in the morning and have to decide which side of the bed I will get out of today – it
doesn’t really matter, because there is no one there to block my exit on either side.
I turn on the TV, not to see what’s on, but just to hear another voice in the kitchen other than
the one’s inside my head reminding me that I am having breakfast alone once again.
I once thought that working from home, through the internet, for myself and by myself,
would be a wonderful thing – but, that was when I used to change out of my pajamas at
some time during the day.
Now the keyboard sits there mocking me in my loneliness. The monitor acts more as a
mirror to remind me I haven’t shaved in weeks than it does to display words of a manuscript
that I should be working on.
How lonely am I? I actually called my mother the other day. Rock bottom.
I watch out my window for the approaching mailman so I can open the door as he is
depositing bills I can no longer pay into the mail slot on my door. He says he likes my
Spiderman pajamas the best.
If I had a reason to do so, I would probably take a shower. But then, I have become
accustomed to my own stench and there is nobody else around to offend, save for the
mailman, who I noticed doesn’t hang around to talk much any more. Could be related, I
suppose.
I don’t even please myself any more. My imagination is not sharp enough to fantasize about
things I haven’t experienced for real in such a long time.
There was a time when I would not answer my phone when an 800 number was displayed on
the handset. Today I do. Talking to someone bemoaning that I am late with another
payment, again, is, at least, talking to someone.
Stop mocking me Qwerty!
I have given names to the inanimate objects in my apartment. At times, they talk back to
me. I think today may be my birthday; the dishwasher was smiling at me. The dirty dishes
inside now have mold on them.
The mailman didn’t come today – perhaps it is Sunday. I wore my Spiderman pajamas for
no good reason.
I didn’t write anything again today. These words are just floating around in my head. I am
pretending you are a stranger reading them to make me feel a little less lonely. You
believing you are that stranger is just further validation that I am, indeed, crazy.
Categories:
depositing, introspectionwords, me, me, time,
Form:
Narrative
The ocean journey ends
gathering at the shore.
An undulating sea climaxes
onto the sandy beach
depositing tangles of
seaweed, debris and shells.
Rocky sea caves reverberate
booms of incoming waves
while the incessant cries of
seagulls squawk as they
compete with pelicans for food.
Sea breezes whip up
salty sprays, like diamond
rivulets that splash
skyward toward the sunlight.
A wild symphony of
nature, unchanged by the
passage of time.
Written on 2/1/2016
Categories:
depositing, nature, sea,
Form:
Free verse
(Sundays)
Each street sounded of
Lawn mowers, laughter, bicycles and bells
The odd car being revved up
And oh my! The heavenly smells
Each towns aroma was roast beef
Gravy and yorkie puds
When hungry tummies with baited breaths
Sneaked to the shops for sweets and other forbidden goods
Latch dogs roamed free in packs or joined in with us kids
Depositing delights, creating awful smelly skids
Ken Dod and his Diddy men, duster in his hand
'isn't it a nice day!' as he skipped through Diddy land
'eat up all your Brussels now!'
What a ruddy shame
That dog hates them as much as me
Traitor! Should be his name
Sneak off down the brick fields for some fun a fight or swim
Come home filthy and lie
About 'where on earth you've been?'
Four in a bath to stew and wash each others backs
Waters at a shortage now, unlike the dreaded smacks
Off to bed cross Lino floor to reach the bottom bunk
Can't wait to grow up now
And be a rebellious punk
Categories:
depositing, childhood, nostalgia,
Form:
Imagism
"when the Gods want to punish you, they answer your prayers"
--line from the film "Out of Africa"
She stopped, transfixed, a breathless
butterfly pinned to a board, and she said,
"That is So beautiful!" Then, turning
to her husband as they stood in my kitchen
before an aerial photograph of L'Ile de la Cite'
shaped like a ship in the beating heart of Paris,
(young Yuppie wife of entrepreneurial architect
who owned half the houses on the street
where I lived), she asked with pleading eyes,
"Could we go someday?" Knowing the appetite
for that which lies beyond Beyond: Paris,
La Cite' Emeraude, or wherever is the personal
Shangri La, I wished I could have shared
what I've known: a second floor apartment
in an historic building in the 12th--its
circular staircase royally carpeted in red,
enclosing a tiny lift, depositing us
to a storied paradise, its rooms extending
beyond glass doors of an antechamber into
a formal salon, two stately bedrooms
with balconies, and a "bureau," birthplace
of poems, diaries of dreams, and in the interior
courtyard beneath our common windows,
open to the Paris bleu, a caged canary sang,
lusting for open sky in mornings filled
with the perfume of freshly baked pastries
and baguettes from the patisserie below.
Once, I was besotted with a man who told me
after lovemaking, "I never knew how
much yearning you needed." He divined this,
and for a time he fed that soul hunger in me, so
that it was hard when he left, and they always leave.
Ships seeking harbor, leave in their wake
a yearning in the corners of your life, which will
surely bring back Paris and everyone you have ever
loved, which will somehow, somehow, against
all odds, satiate the supplicant heart.
Categories:
depositing, hope, lossparis,
Form:
Blank verse
APROPOS THE REFUGEE...
There is nothing left here
for death to claim; even hunger
has abandoned the swollen bellies
and parched skin of the walking dead:
eyes of gigantic pupils sunken deep
into desiccated cranial caverns.
In this fenced graveyard of waning life, flies
soar to and fro---depositing metaphoric maggots
in the midst of the festering wounds of despair.
In this God forsaken place, the flame of hope
grows dimmer with the wrinkling nipples of the breast
of time---her hourglass---haltingly emptying its self:
There is no refuge here
for the refugee.
Categories:
depositing, death, depression, grief, hope,
Form:
Prose Poetry
A joint account of love
You asked, we to open, my darling
An idea, I certainly applauded
With all my soul’s might
But
To my dismay soon realized
That the only one depositing was I
While you, always amounts withdrew
Till all was gone, then you took a hike!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
24 FEBRUARY 2015
Categories:
depositing, humorous, lost love,
Form:
Light Verse
Melodies of trombones
Flutes and trumpets
Masquerading in the
Moonlight of passion
Fingers strumming
Rhythmically across
My nipples
Crescendo rising as
Your tongue enters
Inside of me
Flashes of light
Energy surging throughout
My thick frame
Dancing harmoniously
We become one fused
With the polyrhythm of
Acid jazz
Simultaneously depositing
Our sexual eruptions
Into each others
Mouths…
Categories:
depositing, romance
Form:
Prose Poetry
Interesting to learn that all the water on earth is all the water the earth has ever had.
That it takes thousands of years for water to complete its long journey.
It rises from the sea and lakes and ponds and rivers and puddles at the beckoning of the
sun at the beginning of each day as morning mist.
Many trillions of water molecules rising and uniting to form the clouds we see floating
above us like so many strange air ships in every shape and size beautiful and majestic
in the sun light.
Some of the heaver clouds touch the mountain tops tearing open like the titanic hitting
the ice burg only quietly and gently depositing cool refreshment for all that live below
while still other ships of mist sail away on a sea of air hopefully to replenish some
parched parcel of earth with the wet life giving bounty stored in their holds.
Still the other Man of War clouds heavy and black are moving fast with seemingly willful
recklessness and they crash and storm and deluge the already water laden land below
bloating and roiling it to destruction.
When at last down into the earth the journey continues geologically slowly now as the
water is filtered clean and once again travels on to the rivers then on to the lakes and
seas a journey of several millennia repeating again and again refreshing all life on earth.
The same water that has flowed over the world’s most majestic falls for eons of time.
The same water the dinosaurs drank. The same water the giant trees drank up even
before the dinosaurs. The same water our first ancestors drank.
Consider too that most of our body weight is water. Apparently we are not as young as
we may think.
Drink up and enjoy that glass of whisky or wine or beer or coffee or milk or juice or just
plain water secure in the knowledge that we truly are of the same stuff as the ancients.
Categories:
depositing, education, science, sea, water,
Form:
Free verse
Morning Sounds
by M. Griswold
06212000
I awake in the morning to all kinds of sounds.
First of which is me, snoring profound.
Next usually comes a burp and a fart ,
but generally speaking, I can't tell them apart.
Then comes the alarm clock ringing at me,
causing screams of confusion momentarily.
Banging frantically in the half darkened dawn,
I cuss to put an end to its clanging loud gong.
My other half rolls over and groans,
then lets out a big fart all of her own.
Sniffing in self violation she painfully moans.
God help the poor fella that shares her home.
A symphony of flushing can soon be heard
as we each take our turns at depositing turds.
Followed closely by snorting and hacking
as we clear our nasals of the snots unpacking.
A chorus of gargling, bad breath to be cured.
A shrill sheik or two of reflections mirrored.
Brushing of teeth brings that wash board effect.
Then the spattering of paste in the sink to eject.
After all that audio abuse, we finally arrive at this,
the best morning sound of all, a first morning kiss.
It makes it all worth the torture and horror to ears.
Of all those god awful sounds made over the years.
Categories:
depositing, funny, hilarious, humorous, marriage,
Form:
Rhyme
As I turn my thoughts inward, my imagination runs rife.
Melted candle wax paints my mind in the colors of my life.
Dripping over the surface in a dazzeling display,
leaving trails of colors mixing here and there along the way.
The candles burn in sequence; each the other lights
depositing layers of color as another one ignites.
Pink is my compassion, nurturing and love.
Blue is my tranquility and faith in Heaven above.
Green defines my roots and Irish ancestry.
Yellow is my imagination and creativity.
The colors keep on growing and expanding on my mind;
Each represents all I am and everything I find.
Someday the candle will burn out and the colors turn to black;
Until that time, I will seek out the colors that I lack.
February 24, 2018
Categories:
depositing, imagination, introspection, life,
Form:
Couplet