Best Frisking Poems
POTD 23 Mar 2024
THE PATH WELL TRAVELLED.
Two paths diverged, and I was thrown by doubts I had never known
To my left, thickly overgrown, was a path to dismal dimness prone.
To my right, a lovely sight-fragrant flora flamed in light
Forms so graceful, beauty rare, a wonderous vision beyond compare.
Both seduced with equal right, torn was I between dark and light.
Resisting limits of time and sight, a liminal border of cosmic might.
Hesitancy rapt with fear and doubt, the pondering heart beat aloud.
Tempting was the path so grand, but instinct cautioned of a treacherous hand.
A feathery touch, a breeze stirred, and in its sigh, a voice I heard.
Was it Hecate who whispered?
"Take heed. Beware, for each path leads to a different lair."
Crystal clarity knew what I must do, and with a heart filled with valour true,
Joyously, I strode wild and free down the well-trodden path ahead of me.
The leaves, like frisking lovers, played as I embarked my chosen way.
Future paths ~ So many dreams ~ Each a thread in life's grand scheme.
Though true discovery lay in paths, I'd roam ~
The one well travelled always led back Home.
By Maria Williams ©
Greeks worshipped Hecate as a guardian and gatekeeper who could ward off evil forces. She is often represented carrying a torch and a key and standing on the liminal border between one place and another. She bears three heads and always has a dog by her side.
Inspired by Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken', I chose to write an alternative version.
'The Road Not Taken' is one of Robert Frost's most famous poems. It's natural and understandable that many readers take the poem to be Frost's statement of individualism as a poet: he will take 'the road less travelled'.
The metaphor of the road is one that immediately evokes a journey, not just of the local or day-to-day kind, but of the life-defining sort: life as a journey, with many roads which we must travel along, and with many alternative paths which we must choose between.
POTD 23 March 2024
Categories:
frisking, inspirational, journey, life, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh, the stress-free, carefree world of children
O' take me back to the lil kids' playpen
When we tried on mom's cosmetics and lipsticks
and built playhouses with plastic blocks and bricks
And had fun with cooking set picnics
Anything could be a toy
and our racket could annoy
We turned everything into play things
We played pretend queens and kings
We then played 'mom and dad'
Oh the squealing fun we had!
Teasing, chasing hens and kittens
climbing the grumpy neighbour's fence.
There was paper airplanes
and frisking in the rains
Paper boats too were made
and hide'n'seek was played
And when that wasn't enough
we played blind man's bluff.
We nimbly climbed the trees
hair flailing in the breeze
But our child's play naturally mimicked the grownups
Lil plastic ones instead of real porcelain cups.
Life was all play and games
in our growing mental frames.
Sand castles and kites
childish fights and frights!
And kind parents just let them frisk and play
for all work and no play makes one a dull boy
Categories:
frisking, childhood, children,
Form:
Couplet
(ALLITERATION)
Cows milked: mitigated mooing in the meadows then
Weaving on the warp, some workaholic women
Harvest of hapless halibuts on hooks
Bookish book-worms buried in books
A palomino and a pony patter on the paving
Hucksters and hawkers hawking every housing.
Ravers out on the razzle raising a raucous razz-ma-tazz
Beavers busy building beaver-dams but about it quite blasé.
Doves cooing in divine chorus
Frogs frisking out of focus
Horoscopes are hocus pocus.
Tidal waves of tsunami treacherously tread
Sea-anemones scattered upon the sea-bed.
Geraniums genuflecting in jungle-like gardens
Hunters wary of wandering wild-life wardens.
All this when I ventured about videotaping
Nature's much nicer even with no landscaping
These are direly different scenes from different parts of the globe
Perhaps like a space probe's kaleidoscopic poetic probe
( this poem has every letter of the alphabet except x)
Categories:
frisking, imagery, poems, writing,
Form:
Alliteration
I'd have loved to see the bluebirds fly
above the white chalk-cliffs of Dover--
and as they were blithely soaring over,
immersed in thought I'd lie
in calm repose upon that beach,
admiring their swooping forms,
evanescent, in fleeting storms,
like ballet ... far beyond my reach.
Frisking, fragile, carefree birds,
symbolic through intrinsic meaning --
like sterling hope and freedom's words
light English springs, forever greening:
while England fought the bitter fight
to hold at bay the 'fall of night.'
Author notes
November 20, 2004 - approx 112 words
What makes Britain great? The entire world would be speaking German and Japanese right now if not for British courage in the face of overwhelming adversity.
Setting, approximately June, 1941, Dover Beach, immediately following the Battle of Britain.
This is a published poem, copyrighted, and it takes you to a specific place as well as a specific time, when the world was at war and the fate of all mankind hung in the balance. It is relevant because we are fast approaching another such time. Bluebirds are not found in the British Isles, but I wrote the poem before I became aware of the fact. The curator at the Dover Museum said I should just leave it that way, as bluebirds, since the song, The White Cliffs of Dover, specifically named bluebirds.
Update: BLUEBIRD is an old country name for swallows and house martins, which have a blue sheen to their plumage. These migrants arrive from the continent in spring and leave in autumn, crossing the English Channel. So these bluebirds appear at least twice a year over the white cliffs and no doubt many spend the entire summer in the vicinity of Dover. As portents of improving weather, swallows and martins are traditionally believed to bring good fortune.
The poem, a quasi-Petrarchean sonnet, is being archived with other writings about Dover and The Second World War by the Dover Museum, in Dover, England.
This sonnet was published in Sonneto Poesia, Volume 3, Number 1, Winter,
2003-2004
Written July 20th, 2003
Categories:
frisking, world war ii,
Form:
Sonnet
The Many Ways God Speaks To Us
There are many ways God’s seeking
To make Himself known.
But is man listening and looking
To understand Nature’s revealing crown.
It talks to our human senses
Every waking moment of the day.
And in the night so deep and dark,
His starry heavens come into play.
In the smile of a new born baby
And those tiny hands so sweet,
God shows us His creation glory
Our own image to repeat.
In Spring it is the flowers
And their aromatic perfume;
The lambs frisking with each other;
Birds and their babies singing the same tune.
In the lakes and babbling brooks
He speaks to us as well.
Full of fish and waterfalls—
Many ignored stories to tell.
The wind whispering through the trees
But never can be seen;
Sways the tallest of the forest;
Then disappears like a dream.
We see Him in the thunder storm
And in lightning bolts so bright.
They light up His majestic heavens,
Even in the darkest night.
In the white snow of winter,
When those flakes begin to fall,
Gently in their uniqueness
They rest to cover one and all.
If we would but look and listen
To see God’s many ways
Of teaching us precious lessons
Of obedience and praise.
Stars in their trackless courses
Follow their appointed place and time.
Why does man think he’s so different;
Self-sufficient, yet needing the Divine?
The many ways God speaks to us
Are far too many to name.
How can anyone say, “There’s no God”,
Such blindness should be put to shame.
God’s creation is all around us
In the sun, moon, stars and sea;
In everything beautiful He’s created
That surrounds us lovingly.
Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2012
www.maureenlefanue.com
Categories:
frisking, faith, inspirational, nature, god,
Form:
Rhyme
TINY FACE SMILING AT,
REFLECT THE MIRROR.
SHE WENT TO CORN FIELD,
SILVER CORNS SANG LULLABY TO HER MERRY!
SHE WEARED THE FLOWER'S HAT,
THE MIRROR'S BEAUTY BEAUTIFUL.
ONE MORN, SHE PUT ON A WHITE GOWN,
SNOW WHITE QUEEN IN ME, MIRROR AMAZING!
SHE SUNG A DREAM SONG,
STRAWBERRYS SPRING FALL INTO HER BASKET.
SMOOTH FINGERS WEAVING WREATH,
FRISKING BEADS CAME INTO THE RIVER.
SHE PREFERED FOR DOLLARYE FEST,
PEARL AS LITTLE HEART EXPECTING WITH ZEAL!
IN THAT DAWN, HER ROSY LIPS HUM,
MIRROR BLOOMING FOR LITTLE BLOSSOM.
UNRIVALLED BEAUTY STEPPING SLOW,
PURE KISS TOUCH UPON, BYE FROM MIRROR.
STAR DOLLS CIRCLED SNOW WHITE MOON!
INEVITABLE HOUR! TERRIFYING GUN SHOTS!!!
MANY DOLLS SLEEPING IN SILENT.
CRIMSON HOARFROST COVERED SNOW WHITE BEAT.
A LONELY MIRROR,
WAITING SNOW WHITE ARRIVAL!!!!!!
Categories:
frisking, allegory, loss, passion, beauty,
Form:
Narrative
Human race, don’t boast on the casualty coast
Frisking, seeking, pricking and nicking the truth
On a continental coast as to your truth you toast
Sending to Coventry the uncouth
Pummeling the truth, belittling the youth
Whose views you deride
As your rollercoaster swings South
In the company of your petty pride
In tow to brandish the interpretation
You vaunt with no iota of shame
At the place of honour you accord to the incantation
You blurt in the claim
You push far above merit
Twisting the truth, alienating allies
Although the truth you fail to inherit
In the realm where lies and flies
Sometimes cohabit
Dancing in tandem with hubris
Cultivated into a horrible habit
Which tends to increase
At sunup, at sunset
When the truth cries
Causing a major upset
As the zone of the truth decries
Sufferings the truth endures
In diverse fora
Where jesters ensure cures
Arrive fast to prevent error and terror
From decimating puritan platforms
Preventing them descending into the farce
That demeans the truth in its multifarious forms
While ascertaining misinterpretation remains sparse.
Categories:
frisking, poems,
Form:
Free verse
Designed by the man,
extortion from subjects.
Who gave you the right
to adjudicate effects?
We pay your wage
for treatment of cattle.
We stand in your lines
to pay our yearly shackle.
Payment for own property,
on which, you've thrown a saddle.
Your strong men sit smugly.
Traitors of the revolution.
Taxing without representation.
Coffers full, forced by institution.
How dare you charge me.
Payment for property, already mine.
Failed promises of what's bought.
War machine payed by tax and fine.
Keep pushing corporate politico!
Soldiers gather, backed into a wall.
Who is going to defend you
when justice arrives to the ball?
Our system makes it so easy,
as to which side we will choose.
With numbers growing steadily,
we've grown weary of the fools.
My house and mine,
the decision has been made.
We don't recognize your rules.
I'll recover what's been overpaid.
Are there any true terrorists,
or just oppressed majority?
Those who won't vote for you,
crushed by assumed authority.
An entire country
built on the back of a slave.
Promised freedom, murdered some.
Lied to ensure their enclave.
You're not the greatest country.
That time has passed.
Look at the stats.
This carriage has become a travesty.
Better change fast.
Your current stance,
won't stand to last.
Stop frisking our economy.
-Angel Fatale-
Categories:
frisking, international, satire, social, society,
Form:
Rhyme
Written By: D. Collins 4/9/2018
The New York feds came in kicking in doors.
Frisking, then putting them down on the floor.
Snatching evidence and just about everything.
It just doesn't look good, from what I am seeing.
The "Fixer" got "Fixed" by the U.S. Attorney.
Trump quickly realized he may see a jury.
When did a raid become an "attack on the country?"
When will we learn where they hid the Russian money?
They both know what's coming. Some orange jumpsuits.
A date with "Big Bubba" and the widening of chutes.
The "Fixer" got "Fixed" so he will be no more.
And, Trump has now become a casualty of war.
Categories:
frisking, farewell, journey,
Form:
Sonnet
We walk about bristly in the heat of the day,not knowing when it will happen.
Some watch mere predictions on picture screens before setting out to complete routine tasks;
but who is to say what will happen for the unknown dwells with us.
I see a beautiful lady frisking her hair, wiping prespire from her mascaraed face whilst
pushing a stroller along the busy sidewalk.
A dog sits in the shadow of a street sign; its mouth gaped in a state of exasperation.
Without warning it happens...........the first wave of attack.
An obscure lone drop comes down and taps you on your shoulders.
You look around feverously ...but see no one in view.
An audious rumbling is heard above your head sending everyone in motion.
The downpour occurs and the smell of dampened earth cuts the once humid air;
The ground is filled with myriads of liquid puddles collected in different places.
Those who are armed hold up their array of colorful shields to fend off the heavy invasion ,
whilst those who are not,scamper about in astonished utter despair.
Categories:
frisking, imagination, nature, parody, seasons
Form:
Narrative
Is there a view?
In a rotten bed by the window
Where the crow sits all by itself
Every morning and inspects the wasteland
Surrounding the edifice,
That once sheltered my wounded soul,
My mother
And no one else...
The vista of a forgotten life
Stood in front of me like a dead construction.
Exposed bricks, molested window panes
Cried hollow: The screams
Got lost in the shadowed hallway,
Rumbling the staircase;
Scaring the odd dried leaves
That made through one naive autumn..
I see the youth in me
Frisking through the kitchen;
Hugging abruptly like an insecure child
An absorbed mother in cooking,
A kiss on the cheek,
And i was pledged happiness for eternity.
The vision sways away
Its swept under the rug of my crooked,
Bruised soul, that had seen and felt
The days' sorrow
The door is ajar, and
It is upset..
The disappointment in my betrayal
The bereavement in my indulgence..
The crow looks at me with astonishment:
I wished i was there when
My house was raped.
Categories:
frisking, mystery, visionaryme, me,
Form:
Free verse
The nation sprawls, prostrate:
broken limbs, crumbling bodies;
valley of vultures,
cloud of flies,
frisking scavengers.
Victory throws a party for ghosts;
a once boisterous land—
now a silhouette of what was:
a land of the dancing dead.
The victor towers over rubbles,
wearing rueful impish glee.
He stands, stern, gaunt as death,
tightlipped; grim irony on a face
pondering the weight of victory
as soot settles after an inferno,
soothing the pain of death
paling the pants for life.
Civilization without humanity;
blood turns muddy,
red puddle, and bricks—
homes for ghosts
in a land once of the living.
© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi
Categories:
frisking, war,
Form:
Free verse
Mildew mops are prevalent only in oily sandstorms. Ah, said the furry scorpion the witche's brew has collapsed causing wisdom from the inner triangular arc. When racing with ducks pay no heed to flapping as water can be corroded from a single feather clap. Frisking in a fragile petal isn't really an issue as arrival of hats signify a reality so absorb the great truths contained in a shell. In one given moment a building could develop sea legs and urchins could wade then do battle in a seven metre pit. Wash away curly costumes and whirl the plugs in a mesmerizing circular formation. Birthing a born book of dreams and eradicating the myths of manifested mobile lie. A peach arriving at a maths table is a pleasant face but sitting in a pattern is nit very wise as alpha rays can digest many underlying weather patterns so why would one belch at an antique watercolour. Mixing monsters and milking moons. Manipulated mannequins of large breasts. Whilst a skirt is thrown away in a wind to reveal silky nectar between thighs with caress of gold and silver tongues. Gates open can close. To beetles eyes remain sealed. No vast unimportant giant's sneeze in a fight for forever sits the governess in charmed tights. Skintight military is a gathering of visionary monks. And lions roar on many boats in the arc of the equator. But semi equilateral is the triangle under which ancient truths are rife. Ingest not a tidally formed pie. Purposes of an organic fruit tree underwater. Cosmetic cats argue over lipstick prices. And markets make a grand exiting bow to a deficit dump in ever increasing noises. Is now or never nowhere and nobody. Painting a hall with a bucket of soda. And dance in hallways of timber. One two three one two three. Count in count down. Radio. Radioactive. Radius. Rid. Rid. Rabbits. Rampant. Ramparts. Rampages. Right. Risky. Rusks. Xx talismanic glows. Xx fireflies. Xx. Combustion
Categories:
frisking, beach,
Form:
Inevitable destiny !!!
So, why all this fuss is about?
so, why all this frisking is about?
Inevitable destiny!!!
Make you calm and sober.
It gives you silent sigh with tears.
Inevitable destiny!!!
Make you moving Paralysised.
So, **** off this things,
Kick the Doors of Heaven and Hell,
White wash the faces
Those goddamn faces
Who talk about it.
Be a Hawk of Ted
Or prepare to be his male-tart.
Categories:
frisking, anger,
Form:
Blank verse
Yearlong, we have waited,
yearning for vacation,
yet like nomads we dwell,
yon from city life, spritzed
yellow frisking through firs,
yielding to swift trail bends,
young, sleeping in bunkbeds.
6-13-2021
Y Plieades
Categories:
frisking, adventure, fun, green, holiday,
Form:
Pleiades