Best Forays Poems
Notus comes creeping furtively from the south
hot and bothered from the blazing summer sun.
The wind of change...concealed it launches sudden storms
as clouds pile up across the sky, dark and towering,
lightning flashes, thunder drawls, torrential rain descends;
rivers swell to bursting point; fields are swamped, crops destroyed.
Then once again he sneaks away, planning his next move.
His neighbour, Eurus, wants to show he’s no less able.
Bearing his inverted earthen vase he goes along
clumsy in gait and spilling water on dry soil.
His forays from the east tend to be unlucky.
Autumn fades with a sigh on Aura’s gentle wings
as ice-cold winter rushes in impatiently
from northern frozen lands to take its place
goaded by the domineering force of Boreas
who moves ahead with strong, intense authority,
his violent temper uncontrolled. Despite his age
he pushes his galloping stallion to the limit
riding forth relentlessly, cloak billowing behind,
his white beard curled; shaggy hair spiked and frosted.
Roaring, across the land he speeds with utmost haste,
a sacred conch shell grasped firmly in steely hand;
tremendous power he exerts and blows aloud
while humans cower in dark caverns, shivering.
They know his moods and fear his devastating wrath.
In their minds, princess Oreithyia’s forced abduction,
rape, and carnal satisfaction are still fresh.
They yearn for winter’s bitter ally to move on
so that the gentle Zephyr enters from the west
bringing with him rainbows and showers of spring,
calm serenity, greenery, flowers, shades and hues,
romantic feelings, fiery passion and intense love.
Ultimately, all four have to heed and appease
King Aeolus, firm ruler and keeper of the winds.
----------------------------------
*Aura = breeze goddess
*Oreithyia = mountain Nymph
----------------------------------
18th December 2014
Contest: Gods of Winds
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placed: 2nd
Categories:
forays, wind,
Form:
Verse
It's Christmas Eve and through the house
there creeps a curious little mouse.
He climbs into the big arm chair
and finds the cookies waiting there .
He only takes the smallest bite.
Santa will find his treat tonight.
He gazes with wonder at the tree
and the bright wrapped gifts left there to be
a mystery tale to tell his spouse,
when he gets home, this curious mouse.
What an adventure it has been,
he has drunk of some spilled gin
that had been left upon the table.
His wife will think it is a fable
he has concocted to amuse her.
She is homebound, we must excuse her.
He once came home all out of breath
to say he had been scared to death
by a huge rat with fluffy tail.
She noticed he was very pale.
"While I was nibbling off some cheese
to bring to you, my love, to please,
he almost had me in his paws.
I'm sure he wasn't Santa Claus".
But this night is so very quiet.
He spies some fruitcake, has to try it.
It reminds him of that sip of gin
and wonders if his head will spin.
He hears a noise, runs for his life,
carrying fruitcake for his wife.
Christmas morning, spread before their eyes
for the baby mice, a grand surprise.
Their mama had fixed a Christmas feast
from food their dad had saved from beast.
A bit of butter, a glob of jam
and a fairly good-sized piece of ham.
Bread crumbs saved from other forays.
They had enough to eat for days.
Those little mice would never waste it.
If they didn't like it, they'd still taste it.
This food their mama set before them,
their dad risked his life to get it for them.
11/22/14
Categories:
forays, adventure, christmas,
Form:
Narrative
A world community like no other, this troupe
Of writers and lovers of insightful poetry
Gathered under the imprimatur of Poetry Soup --
Delightful, inspirational, sometimes contrary
With verses ranging from wildflowers to poop.
Something for everyone in these lofty environs
Even historical forays and pedantic endeavor
From sonnets to limericks, epigram, and puns,
Versifiers here are creative and extremely clever
Someone might even write something that stuns.
Here we meet trolls, gremlins, and a gleeful fairy
Playful nursery rhymes and some serious thought
An occasional juicy bit like a fresh ripe strawberry,
An incredible story with a convoluted poetic plot
Poetry Soup can make a most stressful day merry.
So, join us here and find pleasure in our pieces
Take up your pen and write for us a few keen lines
Find a place where your pent-up anger releases,
And all the best muse in you matures and refines
Expression is welcome where wonder never ceases.
Written April 21, 2022
Categories:
forays, poems, poetry, poets, writing,
Form:
Quintain (Sicilian)
A Chair and Music
How deep in pain I met the day,
Yesterday’s old emotions had gone into play,
To top the mood, the skies were gray,
My mind toppled into past forays.
Drifting, not thinking, just in pain,
What could I do to undo the past,
Knowing full well the impossibility,
Hoping, praying, this mood would pass.
To have a “chair” is a heavenly thing,
To leave the world to think, to dream,
Music loved without voice or clash,
To leave the world to think, to dream.
Minutes passed and quarter hours,
Conjuring visions of coming spring flowers,
When recalling Your gifts – I had let You go.
Paints and brushes saved my soul long ago.
I picked up an old brush and then a tube,
While music washed me, changed my mood,
And I spent time away from my guilt-filled place,
When I came back, You were there with Your grace.
To leave the world to think, to dream.
And find that your hell was not what it seemed.
Categories:
forays, perspective,
Form:
Narrative
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
formerly fitters and farmers.
Facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forsaking fissures and furrows,
forced forwards with fleetness of foot.
Firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Fighting so fierce and ferocious,
fratricide set free on this field.
Fuelled by freedom, nay, falsehood;
for their fellows and friends, foremost.
Forays so fraught with fine failure,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
focus firmly fixed on this field.
Forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fulfilment was falsely forecast.
Fate flexes her fickle fingers,
future’s foretold and foreshadowed.
Faustian favours forthcoming,
for folly to feud for a field.
Families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Forthright and filial feelings,
forgo fun and frivolity.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
(This is my original / extended version)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
Categories:
forays, conflict, death, history, memorial,
Form:
Alliteration
You stand there in your pride and raw beauty,
But don’t forget that caressing you is my decreed duty.
That warm and sturdy fabric my heart can feel,
Because of your humbling courage-stimulating appeal.
My arms are ardent by desire of your body to hold,
And with due grand and tender affection to neatly fold.
I pray you will always be a symbol of power for peace,
And a force for the oppressed to use to gain release.
No longer will you flutter like a vulture over divisions.
But flying o’er a land of unity with matchless decisions.
You give none of your glory to racist sexist bigot forays,
Since such tyranny abuses the favor of the Ancient of Days.
May the blue field of stars display its splendid raiment,
As the blue of our lakes and rivers reflect the firmament.
And our valor and devotion let the red stripes impart,
Reminding me of the red blood throbbing in my heart.
Lastly the white stripes symbolize mountain caps of snow,
Given its magnificence by the light of the daystar’s glow.
It floats o’er the expanse of the brave and fairest land,
A mighty responder for every just and proper demand.
When the oppressors are humbled and shackles burst,
Supporting the liberated our colors must be risen first.
The justice seeker knows this is not the end of the story,
But may God continue to bless the sway of Old Glory.
Categories:
forays, america, devotion, freedom, patriotic,
Form:
Verse
Earth trots
Behind the meandering
Leashed by their anxieties
And we in silence
Cannot tell of our perplexities
This age
Is too politically correct
And will not stand
Such truths
There is no lattitude for correction
No urgency
To mend fences
'Fore the frivolous forays of destruction
The seeming acquisition of intellect
Is nothing more than brawn of tongue
Defending the flimsy vulnerabilities
Of hoisted egos
A status quo of exhibitions
The panting tongue
Exalting empty ambition
Tempestuous slobbering
It is such a sensitive subject
Our fragile self esteem
And the earth
At dog school.
Categories:
forays, political
Form:
Free verse
Long ago in Littleton, when just a little lad
My parents bought a coat for me of rusty-orange plaid.
Not made for higher fashion, nor one of tailored fit
Yet of all my favorite coats, I’d say this one was “it.”
While I wore it for a time through all that nature threw,
It had another purpose: it was The Coat for you know who!
More than my protection, my “call to arms” to say the least,
I would head out to the back, to confront the wagging beast.
With the single word of: "Up!” a playful ritual began
She lunged upon my sleeve and our raucous bouts began.
I would pull her left, then to the right with all my might
Though often growling loudly, her tail revealed delight.
So many memories of her, I just can’t recite them all,
But here are just a few, I think you’ll see she was a ball!
She could pull her winter sled, with red-cheeked kids aboard
Or endear you with a look, that all of us adored.
I would sleep out in her doghouse, and her bring bones from Mr. Burke.
We would chase her ‘round the basement, when winter storms would lurk.
She would nose a sea-green skillet in the window well for us,
To let us know she’s hungry, and to come and fill it up!
I’m glad I had the privilege, to tussle with Argen.
She gave a million smiles then, as now I smile again.
I’m glad God gave this Newfoundland, to be our pet of choice
She spoke in countless ways and would always heed our voice.
There is something to the notion, that a dog is man’s best friend.
I must concur and plainly state, for me… it was Argen.
While each of us hold memories of what we loved the most,
I go back to days of great forays, in a rusty orange coat.
Categories:
forays, best friend, dog, memory,
Form:
Free verse
Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and
read Part 2 to complete the poem and leave your comments on the Part 2 submission. Thank
you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain diminished
Me, Myself, and I...
“There are things that concern us,”
Consensed my “Selves” in earnest
““We” fear that “I” have succumbed to delusion”
“And after careful deliberation
It is with much hesitation
That we choose to delineate upon this confusion”
“Fact is your intuition
Is riddled with superstition
And your judgment leaves much to be desired”
“So you leave us no recourse
Don’t push us to use force”
It is then that the “I” was summarily fired
I exclaimed “By whose authority?” Response, “Rule of majority”
“The “Myself” and the “Me,” (forthwith the “We”), are experts in our field”
“And with much technique and time
And some forays into the sublime
The nature of your malady will be revealed”
“So to keep yourself from having a fit
Step back and just calm down a bit”
“We,” they said, “certainly have this under control”
“We swear this won’t hurt at all”
Then I felt my inhibitions fall
Still I said a prayer to God that He keep my soul
You know, fact is I do feel off axis
As evidenced by such parapraxis
As this prose that I, (or is it “Us”), seek to pen
And with my mind feeling numb
I finally chose to succumb
And allow the “Me” and the “Myself” to begin
And then came questions in a flurry
Answer, answer and please do hurry
Not one moment of respite did they give
They pushed and they prodded
With every “T” crossed and “I” dotted
My mind felt like it had gone through a sieve
And all this psycho-analysis
Is causing my mind paralysis
The questions, can you stop with the questions please
“Yes, oh yes indeed
I do believe we have what we need
To make an attempt to identify your unknown neuroses”
Categories:
forays, angst, confusion, death, depression,
Form:
Narrative
A Warrior's Blood In His Old Age
Warriors bled, most now are dead and gone
tales read of blood, guts and dried bone.
Those that found residing in sad old age
were few comforts for lost youth's bitter rage!
Tired of waiting for another call to arms
not satisfied by women's alluring charms.
Holding onto craziness of courageous times
of forays into dark lands and hot desert climes!
Waiting for last mark on a white tombstone
resting in quiet solitude, shadows all alone.
Warriors bled and gave away such brave hearts
You will not find that on any military charts!
We that fought not should see deep sacrifices
thus consider the costs and bloody prices.
Such they see in vivid dreams of and battle cries
are memories honored with that heavy sigh!
Warriors bled, most now are dead and gone
tales read of blood, guts and dried bone.
Those that found residing in sad old age
were few comforts for lost youth's bitter rage!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-18-2016
Note- Dedicated to two of my deceased friends, now gone but not forgotten!
Both decorated combat veterans, one in the Korean War, the other in the Vietnam War and to all their military brethren that have sacrificed so much in order that we may live free...
Categories:
forays, appreciation, conflict, courage, death,
Form:
Rhyme
22 June 2010
A Breakaway
For mankind has the power to think big
History puts them on the pedestal of their career
Aimless drifting until fatally engaged into a drilling rig
Raised a surface at the heart of the sea to exploit oil on its frontier
Oil wells at the deepest sea-bed formed million years ago
Also, a marine habitat that proliferates at the cold bottom
Rendezvous for waterfowl and aquatic mammals arrived apropos
To add spectacle to the blue water, as accustomed
The freshwater flowing in a cascade of sparks
The sea free access to an ocean while some in landlocked
Life on Earth comes in the seas and we proceed to embark
As ocean currents supply the heat energy round the clock
Many ritually unclean substances are passing into oceans
Adulterating the purity of water in its freshness
Oil spills from off-shore and tanker spread discoloration
Suffocating marine life and ingesting illness
Chronicling the ecological cycle literally affect the food chain
Stripping resistant to their organic structure and suffer
From the toxins of oil spill prevents water replenishment
Coating aquatic surface with stain holding tougher
A closer look at dead birds and aquatic mammals
Leaving a baleful mark on the waterways
Cleaning up the breakdown oil is costly and fatal
That I may see no more escalating sense of bad omen into the ocean’s forays
13th place winner to:
GULF OIL SPILL CONTEST
7/4/2010 Sponsored by Team PoetrySoup
Categories:
forays, health, life, nature, ocean,
Form:
Rhyme
When folly leads; to wisdom…
By the way of endless dreams
'Pon a backdrop psycadellic where,
There's nothing all it seems’
I have struggled with good reason
made forays to shore-less isles
Lived a lifetime in the instant
Rode the shine of unforced smiles
Finding ever more to disconcert me
Through crowds of motley folk
Senses were overshadowed
Seams burst at senseless jokes
So on without an Inkling,
To a place I can't discern
Where tomorrow or forever
All I know is..' more I'll learn..
© Joe Maverick 23-9-2013
Categories:
forays, inspiration,
Form:
Rhyme
INTO THE WILD
I dreamed ......
An arboreal wandering into the wild
Creeping in narrow-leaved green herbage
Afraid to be mashed by other wolverines got riled
Their safe abode is now in the siege
The rampage and stampede make a harsh noise
Joining the rumble will stumble into near-death
Swiftly moving away, intend to do a ploy
Taking hold of strength and a grasp of pure breath
Chasing the weak and hear the piercing shriek of pains
The fauna now in a vain attempt to meet and regroup from the maze
A lurking prowler just outside ready to take his aim
A Carnivore’s rendezvous dealing another round of faze
Forays refrain them from regression
Marsupial bearing young is watchful and vigilant
For a hostile entry, a swift run from apprehension
Saving the younglings and safely back to Taiga so verdant
With balsam fir’s magical warming in winter and cooling summer
Tall trees get blown over osiers, shrubs, and miniature spruce
Hear the wind swayed the trees gently just like a hummer
A walk to wet spongy forest ground that has a soft carpet of moss
A truly look at life into the wild is precarious
Feeding on flesh and a quench from trickling stream
Some nocturnal species tending to be gregarious
To survive in this biome is a short-lived dream
Previously posted in voicesnet.com poetry site last 21 October 2009.
Categories:
forays, life, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
he placed his dreams on a Greyhound bus trip
headed west down that interstate highway
the nectar of labor beckoned his lips
fruit of the strangest kind graced the front page
signs more telling than the constitution
categorized this creation of God
blood flowed freely from this institution
through Jim Crow and Emmett Till he did plod
this journey left his soul drenched in hunger
food passed through a crevice was not his way
holy guardians danced like whoremongers
basking in the glow of hooded forays
two bars of candy were his blessed meal
in the hands of the Lord he found a shield
Categories:
forays, dad, father, father son,
Form:
Sonnet
Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.
Forays so fraught with fine failure;
forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
for folly to feud for a field.
Forced forwards with fleetness of foot;
firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Forces fight so ferociously,
fratricide set free on this field.
Forthright and filial feelings;
families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.
- - - - - - - - -
8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018
Entered in Brian Strand's "Contest No 515".
(1st Place)
I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918). This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).
Categories:
forays, conflict, death, history, remembrance
Form:
Alliteration