Best Hurtle Poems
shadowless meadows
ears of corn sway with the breeze
dragonflies hurtle
© Harry J Horsman 2022
There's four ninja turtles
Cleaning up the streets
Trained in the art of ninja karate-e
They hide down in the sewers
Watching for criminals
Could it be for real or is it April fools
Teenage mutant ninja turtles
Six foot dudes they can hurtle
Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles
Ancient arts in Japanese circles
Leo, Donnie, Mikey and Raph
Quick with their hands
And smart with their mouths
Trained by Splinter their sensei rat
Turtle doves with shells on their backs
Teenage mutant ninja turtles
six foot dudes in Aprils journals
Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles
Ancient arts in Japanese circles
Red, orange, purple and blue
Coloured masks to give you a clue
Fast with their feet and their weapons
Teenage turtles a force to be reckoned
Twin katana’s, Bo' that staff
Nun Chaka's, sai, there first class
Teenage mutant ninja turtles
Six foot dudes at your dispersal
Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles
Ancient arts in Japanese circles
These turtle buddies slip and slide
Still in their teens their skills sky high
Their quick and mean and fast on the scene
Fighting the evil foot clan team
You better believe it, better run fast
These ninja turtles will kick shredders ass
Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles
Round house kicks in reversal
Teenage mutant Ninja turtles
Martial arts in Japanese circles
Cowabunga!! what’s up dude??
I love you guys!! I'm in a digital mood!!
© Copyright K.C.Leake
30th October 2014
All Rights Reserved
Saint Blackheart walks the Autumn streets and smiles with diamond eyes;
She's well-aware of what you think, but listens to your lies.
Confess your deepest fantasies or never look her way --
She's free with random kindness, though she won't have much to say.
Saint Blackheart seeks the shadows for the secrets they impart.
Her life's a patchwork puzzle made with jagged shards of art --
Impressionistic paintings on a canvas dipped in red;
She dances like a demon for the angels in her head.
Saint Blackheart loves the twilight and the elemental rain;
She'll stand and watch you suffer, yet she senses all your pain.
A soft, Franciscan echo making up a primal scream
Can hurtle from her crimson lips and dart from dream to dream.
Saint Blackheart lives in solitude among the ancient trees --
You'll find her there within the mist, but never on her knees.
Her hands will offer nothing which is not her own to give;
And though you wish to die in peace, she may just let you live.
Saint Blackheart will not weep with you or wipe away your tears,
Yet she may catch their crystal hue and treasure it for years.
She'll lay a little flower on a long-forgotten grave --
A tribute to the tortured soul she never tried to save.
I am a photon
a tiny bundle of energy.
My brothers and I
oscillate in synchronized breath;
as a wave,
we hurtle
through black voids,
three hundred thousand kilometers
each second,
a dizzying ride.
Four years ago,
we were flung
from the fire of a star.
A long journey,
but not a lonely one,
for there are many of us.
We are nearing
a beautiful planet
where green continents swim
in blue oceans.
I hope we arrive
in deep darkness
when their star
is on the other side.
Perhaps one of their beings,
gazing at the sky,
receives us.
We will slow down
as we travel
through the gelatinous matter
of her eye
and die
on her retina.
I will no longer be,
but her miraculous brain
will decode our message:
there was a star.
He remembers when his many bolts
weren't ringed in rust,
and his seams weren't blackened
with years of grime and dust.
The post upon which he sat
was gray and weathered now,
and had become just slightly
west of plumb somehow.
The screw that held his little flag
had long ago come loose,
chipped and faded, no longer red,
it was of little use.
The driveway that he guarded
was dirt and deeply sloped,
and halfway down it gently curved
around a massive oak.
Now some might think that he'd be bored,
stuck there night and day,
but he found entertainment
in the things that came his way.
He pondered long and hard on things
before making up his mind,
there was no hurry, he reasoned,
when all you have is time.
He carefully watched a nest of ants
both day and night for weeks,
before he reached the conclusion
that ants must never sleep.
He marveled at the seasons
and loved both sun and snow,
but sometimes he felt beaten down
when the wind-whipped rain would blow.
He loved the feel of bird feet
when they used him as a perch,
and when a truck would rumble by
he'd feel his spirit lurch.
He delighted in the field mice,
and wept with the mourning doves,
was suspicious of the furry raccoons,
with their masks and leather gloves.
Though days and months and years went by,
and he was oft ignored,
his life of perfect stillness
was itself a rich reward.
So as we hurtle past him,
with our tires spitting rocks,
perhaps we could learn something
from our stoic old mailbox.
I was looking at the starry sky
When past a comet sped.
Oh, how I wished I could
Attach to it a sled.
I'd hurtle through the universe
Such things would I see,
Planets never seen before
And distant galaxies.
I could watch a super nova
Dodge pulsars cosmic rays,
And marvel at planetary rings
As I toured the milky way.
I could fly through a nebula
As on and on I sped,
Then shoot off to infinity,
Aboard my celestial sled.
Unburdened by mass,
star born
photons
hurtle
through vacuum voids.
They reach a planet
where green continents swim
in blue oceans.
It is night. A woman
looks up at the sky.
The photons travel
through the gelatinous matter
of her eye and die
on her retina,
sparking electric pulses
that race
along the optic nerve,
and her miraculous brain
translates:
I see a star.
Jingle-jangle bells
Sing-song syncopation
Ambulances hurtle down streets
of post-war Europe
Eerie bells; haunting bells
ghosts of round-ups, of Auschwitz
of Buchenwald, and Bergen-Belsen
sounds of death and doom
Shades drawn suddenly
blinds sealed tight
Breath held; pin-drop silence
'Till the peril passes
Bells tear at tortured souls
Dragnet's tentacles probing
Reaching for fresh corpses to feed
Insatiable crematoria ovens
Decades later, survivors flinch
hearing jingle-jangle bells
So, too, sons and daughters
living victims of inherited terror
June 02, 2019
Entry in 'What Makes You Flinch' contest
Sponsor: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Autumn winds sway the trees,
blowing, swirling dry brown leaves,
coats of dogs and cats get thick,
dusk is grey and comes too quick.
Early morning skies are pale,
fog becomes an earthly veil,
great piles of pumpkins crowd the stores,
Halloween candies by the door.
Iron colored is the sky,
jostling clouds hurtle by,
kitchens smell of pumpkin pies,
lightning crackles through the skies.
Meadows brown and fields lie fallow,
noon is bleak, the light seems shallow,
October is a month of death,
poppies draw their final breath.
Quick as death the summer's gone,
rain and tears are Autumn's song,
silent God who answers naught,
thirty years of answers sought.
Under bleak and barren trees,
voiceless sorrow no one sees,
weary souls detest their fate,
and search in vain for heaven's gate.
Yesterday was just a dream
of zippered lips and childhood screams.
In a thousand city
rooms
lovers caress each
other
On the streets
auto lights are reflected
in pools of rainwater
Trucks hurtle by
carrying needed goods
to businesses
Policeman gaze
at the city scene
with wary eyes
As the rainfall ends
pedestrians close their
umbrellas
A young woman walks down
a crowded avenue
turning heads with her pretty
face and fine figure
Skyscrapers rise up
and challenge the sky
City of a million dreams!
Don't forsake your inhabitants!
Let them live between your towers,
find peace in city streets
and even taste urban love in the
heart of the metropolis!
This night, I am trapped behind a face.
My eyes are barred with tears that blur
the look in them I would like so much for you to see.
I try a different face, one that splits into a smile at the lips
but the teeth are whitewashed, and they encage
a voice—a song—a story—that needs air to breathe.
Anger means I must glower, perhaps brighten my
pale cheeks with artificial colors. Who was it
that said blood within must always be crimson?
I choose laughter next, but I am tired of my own laugh;
it has stayed the same for countless years
and the sound is so distant that I cannot hear it
from deep down there inside my heart.
This night, I cannot bear this face I wear
for it is too small a field for my emotions to play.
There are lips, red again, meant for speech
but the words I utter must always be of some language,
one or another I must choose amongst the millions
made by these same lips in revolutionary times.
There are eyes, “windows”, they have always been called
but the cutting winds have long since deprived
them of their original clarity—now they are clouded, dull,
and always cleansed back to nothingness by constant tears.
This night, I cannot bear this face I wear.
So I plunge my fingers into the skin, tearing it away,
feeling the wind scream and rush into the vast space,
swirling down the tunnel toward that heart at the bottom
that is thumping with anxiety; it has long awaited this day.
A day of freedom, a day to shoot up into view,
when nothing is contorted and fitted into words,
tears, smiles, sounds, colors….
My faceless face gapes at the night sky, where stars
hold together another faceless face,
and the feelings, tangled and ripe, ripe from all the anticipation
shout and hurtle upwards like a pack of angels.
Dedicated to my favourite poet - Shelley
If a tortoise, if a turtle
You are never going to hurtle
Witness how your limbs are placed
Splayed east to west, all carapaced
what if some meat-eating moron,
Jonesing for a snack to gnaw on,
sees you sumo-stepping by
thinks "Hey look - a fresh meat pie"?
Running will beget disaster
You beat a hare so now you're faster?
You let your tasty bits protrude
and pretty soon they're getting chewed
No! Stop to suck your vitals in,
and hope he likes his toothy grin
Cause it's going to get busted
your gooey filling's well encrusted
-
Drones abound the London sky
Search lights stray and flick to something and nothing
The bicycle dings its bell every sixth house
As the warden swishes his front tyre left and right up the empty evening street
The council house drapes of black and brown are shut tight regulation tight
He's coming he's coming tape up tape up she shouts
Don't want another fine for light
The grub is ready at the back door for a quick dash to the air-raid shelter in the night
Sirens whail and bellow and bomber engines humm in ever louder melts
Fire fire and the engines leave the call centre and head the regular route to the city
God bless em souls the dear old lady calls as she stirs the black current jam
Whistling bombs and Stucker dives throttle and hurtle a miss
But they land too well and devastate the docklands and the strip
Hell's fire rages along the wharfs as fire-ships spray the warehouses
Brave soles are they who stay out amid the descending droplets of terror
Face the wrath of Germany's luftwaffe who continue to pour water and pull souls
And morning cannot come fast enough for to French shores a retreat
Arrival of Dawn and the last bombers chug away hasseled by the RAF
And down descends a lonely Tommy ace one of our own bewildered lads
Parachute wrapped and Tommy sitting on Sally's polished red front door-step
Here are her two prides of joy: One sitting on the other; the live one her brother.
(One of her biding memories of the London Blitz)
Night time Bombing raid in London's fair City during Second World War
Saturn's rings appeal to me,
I'd give them a try.
Get myself a rocket ship
And hurtle through the sky.
Travelling at the speed of light
It wouldn't take a day,
As I looked in awe at countless stars
That grace the milky way.
When I pass Mars and Jupiter,
It's Saturn straight ahead.
I'll soon be spinning on the rings
If only in my head.
I often dream of a wonderful, galactic destination
I can travel anywhere, using my imagination.
Written for the Where I want to go poetry contest
Sponsored by: Nicola Byrne 23/2/2017
I was looking at the starry night
When past a comet sped.
Oh, how I wished I could
Attach to it a sled.
I'd hurtle through the universe
Such things would I see,
Planets never seen before
And distant galaxies.
I could watch a super nova,
Dodge pulsars cosmic rays
And marvel at planetary rings,
As I toured the milky way.
I could fly through a nebula
As on and on I sped,
Then shoot off to infinity,
Aboard my celestial sled.