Best Feathering Poems
Once there was dingo, rabidly mad as he could be
who thought he was a Bruce of a man by how he spoke
But no man would call him their 'mate,' for you see...
he was a mongrel dog who pretended to be a bloke
The dingo who called himself 'Keefer,' was all talk-no bite
got caught chasing a galah (chicken) for want of a feast.
But ol' Keef got clawed by the rooster night after night
He was a drongo (fool) who thought he was a beast.
"Crikey!" I heard real men screaming from inside a bar
when they laughed at Keef wearing daks (male trousers)
He tucked his tail and ran from feathering with hot tar
"Get out, ya Hoon (hooligan)! We scorn rabble-rousers!
Keef was a loud mouth when he was blotto (inebriated)
Downing snag (sausages) and guzzling frothy (beer).
Tried to mate with a sheila (girl) but he'd been castrated.
Fair dinkum (that's true). He was neutered last year.
Some say he likes wearing female clothes, they swear.
He's such a hostile dingo, telling them to 'Rack OFF!'
But there's pictures of him in knickers (ladie's underwear).
and some of him before his little stub was sawed off.
I guess sometimes he gets to feeling clucky (maternal)
cuz he uses phrases like 'mother this and mother that.'
Looks like he'll end up some place heated and infernal
Dingo Keef's punishment for hurling all those brickbats.
A rabid dingo, that fool proved to be a fizzer (fizzled out)
His rants and threats to beat guys up were just a joke,
who was well-known as a bogan (hick) and a social lout
who accepted the truth. Ol' Keefer is now socially 'woke.'
Last I heard of him, he'd taken up with a mate called, Roo.
Another misfit creature roaming around in the outback
He played for hours each night, blowing into his digeridoo
because he couldn't stand Keef's braggin' and talkin' smack.
Roo felt relieved when the dingo, kinky Keefer disappeared
The one who'd been called 'the blunder from down under.
He'd mumbled for days about Milton Creek and Roo feared
that dingbat dingo would try to tear that town asunder.
Categories:
feathering, character,
Form:
Rhyme
Some say Love is everything
Some say love is nothing
Of course, if one has never been loved,
never felt such warmth from another;
absent the caring nearness of a dear
mother, father, sister or pal-of-a-brother
not been taught by nurturing family
but, in fact – of love deprived
then, before lived,
to one's buried heart
love has already died…
It is not, necessarily, that one’s heart
has never sincerely desired though not tried,
but the painting of his world
his experience has so lied
any chance for developing
empathetic features --
his nature has been cruelly
deprived –
therefore,
before the feathering brushwork of him,
his portrait of love
has already cracked, peeled,
unrecognizable~ dried….
Sometimes things lost
are never found: that sand-castle
on beach, adult, sunny, encouraging
faces, painted by the sun
like a silly made-up clown --
Somethings lost, are never found
Some couples meant to be
are never joyfully bound
by faith in cherished sacrament
of marriage...Cupid and his trusty
bow left sadly to disparage.
God has His
Heaven, and the Devil
our misguided low-some hell
before learning to soar~ man fell
the joy of loving stopped
before started – and the Spirit of
Love, yet brokenhearted….
Categories:
feathering, easter, emotions, feelings, heartbroken,
Form:
Free verse
How did a cherry kiss? Bitter flower petals with sweet pistils.
So laden they act as halos while we breathe the love
in a pink hollow, silence sounding like taste, acting like epistle
to hold this moment in a silvery image, like moon, or dove
low, low, a bowl formed while sunshine flickers above.
Chains of yellow petals hang over our deck, the leaves hands--
offer welcome resting branch, our sheltered home.
Seeds follow close, fragile like beans, hard case to feed the land
crawl before God, they say, be grateful as we weed and stir loam.
Together seeds and flowers and hands make a life a poem.
Awaiting the sumac, the flame at summer's ending is fruitless
we've passed the feathering, the pimping of red underneath bristle
the deer horn softness crawling out in oddest places in a mess
lining the sand pond, above the purpled iris, the pestle
of stone and sun, no rain to bring down sumac's fiery trestle.
Vulturous crows squawk and fight the ring-billed sea gulls
waiting, one in the bared hollow hands of the cottonwood
the other fat-bellied and waddling after rain finally dulls
we're under hoodies, under shivers, our neighborhood
waits the pinking and mossing, will it unfurl new wood?
Categories:
feathering, age, autumn, home, love,
Form:
Rhyme
TO A POETIC TIME LAPSE
As the sharp rays
of sunlight slowly sliced
through the tarrying tinted clouds,
I wiped away the web
of darkness of night;
broke off a piece of time
and used it to scrape away
the corrosion of agony
from the heart of my mind...
and resuscitated my eroded faith.
Today I will open
dusty luggage of creativity
and pull out wrinkled war worn words:
etch ebony emotions of long lived life
onto refined pulp of trees;
weave soul stirring songs;
mould scented flowers
of peace and love; justice...
feel the breath of God
warming my serene sweet soul
while feathering the nest
of my pregnant poetic mind.
Categories:
feathering, allegory, emotions, simile, word
Form:
Free verse
I have always known,
I was a slender
pale vein beating
in the throat of the earth
feathering at its nape,
and that I was rarely
noticed
but the hand of a god
was rested on the pulse
of me and a speck of dust
has been anointed by his hand
the Snow globe of winter
cracked open
as incandescent fingers
of light dropped through,
I knew then
this was a day
unlike any another
I was in
the thrall of madness
the last time
I felt the eyes of a god
rest on me
but now I’ve been touched
Is this the madness
of divinity
or a reality in awe?
I don’t care, anymore,
this speck of dust
has now been mapped
by the hand of a god
and in his heart
there is a place
ever waiting my return
this simple speck
has found a home in heaven
kissed by the stars
Categories:
feathering, faithgod, god,
Form:
Blank verse
As I listen to the lark’s surreal melody to her mate.
I wonder does she ever feel there’s too much on her plate?
Ever beside him juggling, tediously feathering the nest,
in her discomfort struggling, incubating without rest.
I wonder if in her daydreams does she laze as her mind lingers
in bygone days pursued by teams, of young and gallant singers?
Or does she occupy her days with tending her small brood
not entertaining winsome ways as gaping nibs crave food?
Does he while out a’gathering, squirming tidbits for their young,
ever give way to lathering ‘cause his work is never done?
Does his keen eye ever wander over lighter creamy breasts
allowing himself to ponder his days of youthful quests,
or does his steadfast honor seek but to gather and bring home
supper for each tiny beak never thinking once to roam?
As I hear the song bird warble, with expectancy to her mate
I’m thankful for each morsel placed in love upon my plate.
And listening to the lark refrain his bride’s devoted call,
I find being called a birdbrain the best compliment of all.
Categories:
feathering, allegory, family, husband, nature,
Form:
Couplet
A flock of kisses left the shores
Born of love and they be yours
On loving wings they shall fly
Lift your gaze and fill your eye
Quickly follows a skein of verse
Be of love, at your feet disperse
To bind me to that beating heart
To be of comfort whilst apart
Behind a feathering of thought
All the love that you have brought
And I that longing soul
And that you my heart control
And then came me
To you on wings of poetry
Oh that smile I miss
Sensual lips await the kiss
Categories:
feathering, lovelonging, love,
Form:
Artists are not so different,
at times glossing over truth,
hiding beneath a sheen --
some extra linseed goes
a long way...
What is this cry for realism?!
Picasso sought deeper meaning
via grotesque breasts~ elongated
elephant snout limbs -- perhaps believing that
the human tale needed elevation, himself
turned off by surface vistas; his squares and
points dulled by well turned chips, projected
missile-scraps flying from Leonardo's festive lathe of
tantalizing symmetries --
We marvel equally at
Dali's vaulted extremes, teetering balance --
a bleeding martyr of old Faith; despite all his
fiend distortions, imagined glorification~
dear, yet mere echoes, stills from the sable of
an unrequited Christian brush --
So...is the poet so different?
The Metaphysical digs, tunnels,
(anthropomorphic God)
chambers and catacombs to romp
about -- secretly displacing what
would otherwise be a straightforward
pleasant lyrical walk -- We
confound paint and words
presenting two types of portrait
of the same elusive image
the greater decipher, if there is
one to be had, will never be the
product of personal tribulation,
but the spirit behind, within, carefully
feathering, dotting and dashing
each of man's extended biographies --
a dance of human veils....
Categories:
feathering, art, freedom, inspirational, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Early morning vapors emulate a lady's veil,
diaphanous, a softly shifting secrecy;
inconstant as the tide and deathly pale,
feathering the lake in fragile mystery.
Minstrels scarce can sing with proper import
of the dawning of the day in violet haze;
e'er we hear the skylark, nature's joyous consort,
and sunshine bathes the fields with warming rays.
First light is fully fledg'd, the veil is lifting,
the surface shines, a vision sparkling bright;
day fades to dark, again the morn comes drifting,
as the mist sprawls like a spectre from the night.
Categories:
feathering, inspirational
Form:
Quatrain
It's autumn fall
floating fluttered leaves
amidst transparent skeletons of trees
a shivered chill on the windy fly
a feathering along the field of grasses dying
where tassled stalks stand and wave salutations
hello autumn and to summer - sad goodbye;
the woodland heroes lay
in the nested gatherings up high
hidden in the forked branches of the oaks
birds are on the wing soaring in the sky
and the earth below whispers
howls, then cries
with resistance holds autumn too,
that slowly begins to unwind;
clouds disappear into the paling blue
and forests shed their once colorful capes
undressing in midday to slip into the nude
November's cold awakening exudes.
Categories:
feathering, seasons,
Form:
Verse
A feathering song,
Played upon the quills
Of winging seagulls,
Releases my mind
From the daily grind.
Glorious birds
Are the seagulls;
Welcoming all
To Gaia’s womb.
Once we’ve birthed;
Spread our wings,
And touch life;
The womb
Restores
Peace.
4-23-2020
Enter the 'STRAND PICK D,any theme,any form' Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
Categories:
feathering, animal, appreciation, bird, nature,
Form:
Diminished Hexaverse
Peacock
Beautiful Blue
Dancing Fanning Feathering
Dainty, Pretty, Proud, Precious
Bird
Categories:
feathering, animal, beautiful, dedication, miracle,
Form:
Cinquain
Tears bring the eyes its shivering spangle of stars
In liquid pools dilating light
The firmament spiraled to bandage time’s scars
Shining in empty bowls night
And sometimes the common carbon of the air
In soul deep fires like butterflies
Becomes the diamonds from our despair
Uncut by innocence to prudent eyes.
And you from your shining White House saw
The fluid dreams of frigid seasons
Bent to touch us, and in your warmth to thaw
The icy conducts of pride’s false reasons
We had only eyes to tell the luster of our glee
Muted with wonder at your love
Bridging the callous constellations of history
To dent the songless cages for each dove
How shall we thank you for feathering our dreams
To vault the pole-less blue of sky
Dear First Lady, the joy that in us stuttering gleams
Make us the jewels of your eye
You bring us hope, you shining tiara of the sultry past
You jeweller setting us to shine
Against rabid scorn of white winters' withering blast
No cheap rubble again, the stones you leave behind.
Categories:
feathering, inspirational
Form:
Quatrain
Floating in the sky, I love my fluffy cloud.
Sometimes other clouds accumulate,
drifting toward my own.
Hey, that’s okay. I don’t mind the company.
Everyone should feel as good as I.
Achieving small successes,
I am feathering my cloud.
But my cloud is not alone.
To achieve its heaping towering effect,
I depend on clouds of others.
The more I work with them, I can achieve,
and soon I’m lifting, with them, to a higher plane.
I’m buoyed up and riding high the sky.
Sometimes clouds arise that fill with rain.
We all have our moments,
but there are some who seem to stay
constantly on clouds of gray
or hardly will allow the light of sun.
Others love to ride on thunder clouds
sitting close to earth and looking sooty.
They might try to bring me down.
but I’ll not try to hear their constant rumblings.
If your cloud is low and dirty,
you might think to hurt my soul,
and push me from the cloud that is now a part of me.
I say , Hey, you, get off my cloud.
You can play alongside me.
making pretty pictures all the day
while wafting through a sea of blue,
but first you have to earn that puffy cloud!
I won’t let you trample on the cloud where I reside,
for my cloud is my protection,
my comfort and my self-esteem.
For Skat's get off of my cloud (MY CLOUD By: ?????)Poetry Contest
(hope I did that right, putting my name in the title heading!)
Categories:
feathering, metaphor, self,
Form:
Free verse
Robin Hood was captured
Thrown in the castle cells
Here he met an inmate
By the name of H.G.Wells.
Herbert George is fascinated
By the story our Robin has to tell
but he knows Robin will be executed
When the church sounds the morning bell.
So that night together
As the guards around them dream
Herbert George and Robin
Escape in H.G's time machine.
They set a course for the future
March 27th 2014'
Robin so excited
To be seeing things he's never seen .
All his hopes are soaring
Thinking about the things he hopes to see
Fair wages and taxation
and an end to poverty.
But what he finds tears him apart
In this age of depravity
The super rich are just as greedy
and the peasants as poor as they ever used to be.
All Robin see's are broken promises
Nothing much has changed
Conservative, Republican , Communist or Democrat
Favours for the super rich are still arranged.
Politicians feathering their own nest
Against the poorest all weapons are ranged
Yet we have no modern day Robin Hood
Even H.G. thought that strange.
Back to the time machine
Robin has never felt so low
All the things he fought against
With just a few arrows and a bow
Are just as prevalent in the future
and after thanking H.G. for the show
A broken hearted Robin Hood
Climbed the steps to the sheriffs gallows.
As he stood astride the trap door
Returned H.G's time machine
Herbert whisks Robin off to Eden
A garden beautiful and green
Here he learns the lord never intended
For man to be so mean
He now knows the poor will inherit gods mansions
The super rich for eternity will scream .
Not for a contest.
Categories:
feathering, future, , cute,
Form:
Narrative