Best Frothing Poems
One summer day, enraptured by the Goddess Sea,
King Sun shone down with all his might; most splendidly
he moved the Goddess, for she rippled laughingly
a shimmering reply to Sun in azure sky,
and while reflecting that same hue where King Sun dwelt,
her turquoise ripples lengthened, for the goddess felt
herself now rising up with joy. Wave after wave
was leaping, frothing. . . as King Sun more strongly gave
his final rays to her. Then he descended low
that he might kiss the lovely Sea on earth below -
to kiss her soon before the last day’s shadows fell,
and so he touched her where she’d let her body swell.
With yellow gold, his final glow, he bathed her face,
but when the night arrived with sable colored lace
to drape the goddess, Sun had vanished from all sight;
below Sea’s depth he’d sunk - to love her through the night.
For Suz's "Let's Be Open" poetry contest and now for
PD's Anything Goes Contest
Categories:
frothing, sea, summer,
Form:
Couplet
After a long and stressful day
Running the bath and adding scented oils
Watching the bubbles foaming and frothing
Climbing into the deep soapy suds
Sensational scent of lavender rises
Relaxing in the steamy atmosphere
Blissfully all my troubles melt away
Drying myself in a soft warm fluffy towel
Climbing into freshly laundered sheets
Sheer bliss!
21st January 2015
~awarded 1st Place~
Indulgence Contest - Shadow Hamilton
Categories:
frothing, happiness, heaven,
Form:
Free verse
Blue washes over me sometimes and will not let me go.
Melancholy soon becomes the ROAR of frothing ocean waves,
toppling me into navy blue.
Frustration too arrives, sometimes in the form of gulls screaming in my mind!
That is when I’m sinking sinking sinking into deep dark blue.
Other times, however, blue is light - an airy powder and nearly tranquil
except for the occasional whoosh of a gentle breeze.
I love to hear its aqua lapping lapping lapping softly at my feet
while I lie in warm white sand beneath a cloudless expanse of azure sky.
Blue is often glad - winging its way through fields and trees
singing notes from throats of happiness’ birds
or raising heads of periwinkle flowers to beautify spring and summer days.
Blue nearly fades away completely in the fall
but reappears at times as splendid sapphire sunsets
melding into cardinal, amber or rose
and utterly silent - like the stars that glisten in the indigo of night.
Once in a blue moon I might see on snow
a rare glow.
It beckons me to venture out into winter’s beauty
like a brand new lover enticingly ice blue
so many sounds and nuances of blue!
but the one I always love giggles like a child
I want to slide into a sexy sports car - shining baby blue
and glide away Vroom Vroom Vroom
11/2/2013
Entered 1/28/23
For Mark Toney's 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 26 Poetry Contest
Categories:
frothing, blue,
Form:
Free verse
Hell's perpetual fires
Burning up my frenzied desires
I'm gurgling up a rebellion
Can you feel it frothing?
You sure have claws
That scratched my skin raw
The blood is everywhere
Do you see it spilling?
I barely recognised your voice
Cold and harsh like beaten up ice
My ephemeral lovesong was meant to be sung
Can you hear it dying?
Just one more knot
Tied up your body to the cot
I'm pouring the fuel around
Don't you smell it burning?
Goodbye my sweet love
Endure what you deserve
I've been waiting to burn you to ashes
Did you see this coming?
Categories:
frothing, death, deep, mystery, ,
Form:
Free verse
the beach’ll be a blast
of sand and surf
relax,
of surf and sun
enhance.
the ebb and flow,
a slow
down swish
of flow and romance.
the embrace
of salty air,
that we share,
and seaside beat
of gulls and feet.
a splash
of feet and hands
forming castles
that retreat,
with each push and pull
of the seashell
adorning,
ocean core.
a retreat,
seaside beat,
hot in sun,
a breezy-beachy blast
of romance,
complete with clinking
hurricane glass.
paradise of piña coladas
and sunny smiles
under attentive palms.
back in the sea,
the swish of waterfalls -
plenteous and frothing.
marvelous
enchantment
of vertiginous
waves pulling
me away
from the shore…
5/2/2022
Categories:
frothing, beach,
Form:
Free verse
Marred and minced remnants pile high in a storm’s swarm
Yesterdays, hardened-soft, surface where sea’s warm…
Flotsam found, lays tales around, in frayed traces
Another shattered shell whimpers of graces
vying with the sea-swept sands: gloss embossed fades…
Ocean’s dead! These are castaways of Hades,
rid of depth, stranded upon the dry shallow
Interred where the sun bleaches out the shadows
till whitened ivory fills cavern’s echo:
enmeshed lime, crunching upon errors callow
Jazz died - June’s sun sank into august abyss…
Undertow currents ceased their torments of bliss
Nipped life, silenced like frothing foam vacuum-sealed,
kept smothered in an opaque ocean congealed…
Yard junked, Neptune’s home’s now a derelict mess
and yet he clings to the crap amassed, crownless
Right always, up to the end --------- that no return.
Death will erase the un-sunk bones when they burn
(10/3/2019: '90 Sea Ray DA 350; Discovery Park; ‘my favorite junkyard’)
Categories:
frothing, allusion,
Form:
Masnavi
Whirling, whirling, whirling along distinctive paths
originating somewhere farther back, beyond the crest. . .
foaming frenzied water (once but mere faint streams
as placid as our souls before we met)
now travels faster, faster,
gaining in strength and intensity.
Beneath the glow of an amber moon,
we, young lovers, lie where we have fallen
in this jasmine-scented night.
In our rapture, we hear the rushing streams converge
and make their sudden dip.
Thundering, thundering, the frothing water falls. . .
Our hearts, like the streams,
have become as one,
pounding, pounding. . .as the beautiful cascade
plunges
plunges
resounding endlessly inside our heart and mind
this splendid night.
Feb 16, 2010
Categories:
frothing, passion,
Form:
Free verse
after the painting by Vincent Van Gogh
Does she even exist? Doubting her own reality,
seeing herself vanishing in undulating undergrowth,
fading and merging into summer-scorched scenery.
But cold lurks there beneath shafts of sunlight, phallic trees...
He wears the night underneath, a fabric of dark and unease,
his hand heavy upon her arm, silver-tongued charm
smooth as the silver-limbed leafless trees,
disappearing now on a twisting breeze...
Sinuous stems suffocate, writhing and thrashing;
convulsions of shuddering green and yellow.
Enticed ever deeper into flailing flowers,
evanescing into foam of frothing flora...
Did she ever truly exist? It's doubtful.
The flower-frail faceless and nameless
will always be lured and laid, invisible,
dissolving, under bare, phallic trees.
Categories:
frothing, abuse, dark,
Form:
Ekphrasis
She climbed the liquid staircase
just to gaze at gleaming stars;
all she wanted was a wee one
to light up her fair boudoir.
A thousand times she spied them
flash across the midnight sky;
she strained so high to catch one,
but the mermaid could not fly.
Exhausted with hard striving,
she lay back against the sea,
rocking on the waves, gently,
as she rested peacefully.
The moon, climbing his set arc,
saw her glistening on the foam;
at first sight so madly loved
her, longing to take her home.
To lightly comb her flowing
hair, he sent a small moonbeam,
who tangled in her tresses
and woke her from her dream.
With a flash, her glittering tail
slapped the water and she fled,
sliding down in the ocean,
hiding in her pearl lined bed.
The moon, absent one moonbeam,
wanders heaven, round and round,
surveying seas and oceans,
praying his mermaid is found.
Sometimes in the deep, dark pool
he sees a shining light start
beneath the frothing billows,
and he clutches for his heart.
Forever in his orbit...
she, forever in the waves,
her hair with his beam glowing,
all of love he ever gave.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, May 31, 2014
Categories:
frothing, imagination, love, moon, sea,
Form:
Narrative
I bent over to touch my toes
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]
The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.
I dared to taste oblivion,
and the sky swallowed me.
My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming,
but inside out.
I bent over to touch my toes,
and my spine tore open;
the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
like the tines of forks.
I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
but I only found where I end.
Categories:
frothing, allegory, confusion, depression, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
Love sets our hearts on fire,
not the city.
We abide by the eternal victory
set forth by life’s Word.
We are about the Lord’s business,
not the entanglement of choice,
not the frothing of the masses.
We kiss the feet of Jesus.
We don’t soak our own feet
while we spit hatred to the wind.
We hit our knees, black and blue bruised,
the devil crushed beneath.
Our prayers are real,
not tortuous to our mirrors.
We don’t think ourselves God!
We don’t lean into our every word.
We don’t deliver arrows to the great or weak.
Instead, we beseech the creator of our land.
We are wise as a serpent, harmless as a dove.
Peace is our governance.
We seek it.
We read it.
We live it.
And when we fail, and we do,
we repent and start anew.
Lies are not our gospel,
that is good news.
Pride comes before a fall.
Before you turn your finger outward
you’d best look within your own universe,
thoroughly, completely, no drawing back,
no hiding places. He who is without sin
throw the first stone. Boomerang!
2/24/2021
Categories:
frothing, christian, introspection, love,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Doth it not thrill thee, Poet,
Dead and dust though thy art,
To feel how I press thy singing
Close to my heart?
As though they were dried palm leaves
In Indian catalogue, your works
I would press so close
To my chest like man's third-leg
Snuggling to the thigh. I count
The beats straineously of the melody,
The vibrations of your works strike
Me to rhapsody. Who am I then?
A little child by the stream
Waiting for your sensual song, bird
To bide me somnolent
In a reveberating cacophony
Redolent of the train swiftly buzzing by,
The train that was you.
I would often sit at the threshold and wait
Till the moon grow to become sickle-thin
And the monstrouos night has sucked away
All the oil in my clay lamp. I still stay on
Like a good sentry, my eyes rummage hungrily
Through the pockets of a page,
Where the blood of your ink was shed-
For your sojourner I have become.
We will go together
In peregrination into the labyrinth
Of all those pages from the cream,
That was your brain.
I will be the mute acolyte,
Benignly I will wend,
Stepping into the trail you left like
Smoke unconcerned about direction,
Its flow turbulent, not the lamina vein
Of subtlety. Sometimes I feel cold,
My garb, goose bumps,
At the stark, sometimes shocking
Reality of your judgements.
You were and still is a victim of truth,
And I gloat at your judgements jealously,
Almost perfect. When not correct, you were
Honest, at least.
I would often dream
Of you smoking your pipe;
Your small, dainty frame silhouette nailed
To the wall by the pyrexed testis
Of electric bulb as Jesus to the cross.
Then your pipe bleed forth smoke
Like blood from fresh wound, seeping out
Ceaselessly, ideas sream forth from your brain
Like liquid from a boiling pot
Frothing over.
So I will proudly say I have
Some portion of your blood in me
To inspire my dazed memory
On those dark gloomy days.
for my uncle and late Nigerian Poet, Chris Okigbo.
(c) Onyebuchi, 2011.
Categories:
frothing, on writing and words,
Form:
Epic
There I stood, flushed: gripping
a diaphanous pelvis of his guitar,
he rips a pulpy drool of velvet notes…
glossy under a roulette of lights,
saucy on the parquet floor upon
an artist's feet :his body movement
resembling a twisted weave; the
bossa nova of high timbre frothing scales
of primitive jungle moans,
while Latin hands roll with dizzy
Carribean beats as if Santana
and Jobim grooved with him.
Oh he aches, shakes like a livid soul,
more ravished than refined
in his groping music, my night's balm.
Streams of ‘Oye Como Va’ entice a trance
rippling down my spine, ready
to tug with the accompaniment of
drums and sax; till the last rhapsodic groan
prolongs a dazed jiggle for hips
to leap unto the heat of the sky.
My flesh perspires as I whirl,
unmindful of the exotic rhythm
prancing like a black magic woman!
-------
10/17/2015
Trashed Poem #3 Contest
Sponsor: Broken Wings
By nette onclaud
Categories:
frothing, magic, music,
Form:
Free verse
tug-o-war of sand
underneath frothing footprints —
swashbuckles the sea
8/2/2021
Haiku Challenge
Regina McIntosh
Categories:
frothing, beach,
Form:
Haiku
HOT!
HOT!
Inspiration?
Low
Humidity?
High very high
One really doesn’t feel like writing poetry
But what does one do on a hot steaming day?
I’ll tell you what one does not do –
Work!
Oh it’s a day for invention
Conjure up something not too taxing on the brain
Even the thought of mental effort is painful so
Here goes
There is a peaceful verdant cool valley
Between two snow-capped mountain peaks –
Mount Serene and
Mount Bliss
A frothing bubbling murmuring stream
runs happily through a meadow
I can hear the Tonkawonka song it sings
as it splashes against the rocks
(The Tonkawonka were a local Indian tribe now no more)
It is beside this stream I have spread my Indian blanket
set down my small ice chest
just across the stream almost obscured by the rushes
a young deer bows its head to drink
I lazily uncap a cold beer – take a sip
WONDERFUL!
I lean my head back against a willow stump and
Dream
Not a cloud in the sky
The heavens so blue it nearly hurts my eyes
I close my lids
Am just dropping-off when
I have this waking-dream
I’m in the city
Tall buildings surround
Eggs are frying on the sidewalk
Sun beating down beating down
I can’t stand it!
This is a nightmare!
I wake up
This is no dream
It is HOT!
Categories:
frothing, fantasy
Form:
Narrative