Best Leap Out Poems
River rushing
River rushing
Swim
Leap
Swim
Leap
River rushing
River rushing
Swim
Leap
Swim
Leap
River rushing
Leap
Though obstacles may wait, if you choose to swim against the current
You must frequently leap out of the water to make true progress
This boogeyman was scared of the dark
But tried frightening kids in the park
When dusk started to fall
For his mummy he’d call
He'd go dashing home quick as a lark
Young children thought it was great fun
Seeing the poor boogeyman run
They’d leap out from a bush
Make him fall on his tush
For he didn’t scare anyone
So the boogeyman joined in a class
His assessments he quickly did pass
He leaps from dustbin lids
Now he’s scaring the kids
This transition he cannot surpass
Contest Boogeyman sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
05~24~16
Beauty
We admire beauty as we revere art;
We seek beautiful things to adorn our homes.
We crave to have an attraction on our arms,
So we can show our success to those who have none.
We want to love beauty;
We want a beautiful love.
We search for something purely pretty enough,
That it makes all else look so dull.
Her face lights up a room every time she smiles;
Her beauty is blinding and my feelings I cannot hide.
Her mind is an organ that needs stimulation;
Her hair an extension of that undeniable attraction.
Her beauty is on show and it leads her forward;
Wolves whistle when she walks on by
And my thoughts are never spoken and never heard.
I want to see a world that is more spectacular;
More vivid to my eyes.
I want to find a beauty within the vernacular,
So even I can write something beautiful and make myself smile.
I see a beautiful truth inside of your heart;
I hope it wants to leap out and grab hold of my life.
I tell myself it could, to accept the fact that we are forever apart,
Because the thought of never holding you,
Is a tragedy inside my mind.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
As I stand before this old, dilapidated house,
A structure fast decaying and about to crumble,
With its walls painted grey and white,
And the plaster bearing cracks and marks,
Memories leap out,
From the moss-grown crevices of my mind,
Like snakes uncoiling, rather like bees swarming,
Fragmented, scented, and sour!
I remember my old maternal uncle,
Who had turned a widower at forty-one,
The presiding deity of a joint family of sixteen.
Most of the time he sprawled in the armchair,
In the enclosed patio of this big house.
In the living room was an old grandfather clock
Ticking away like the faint heartbeat
Of that decadent house with crumbling plaster
He had seen heydays with many ceremonies of great fanfare,
When the house used to board all kith and kin,
And the granary was full of paddy and tons of black gold
But as time slowly weakened his torso
The house too lost its onetime splendor.
His children got scattered far and wide.
They went to hoard fortunes abroad.
But grand uncle refused to move away.
One day he left the house orphaning it for ever.
Now the house is sadly left to total decay.
Its life gone, its soul frozen,
A fragment of an old memory.
Though once I thought I had escaped,
The compulsions of the past
Now I discern, I am still pinioned by it!
As I stand before this house, my ears perk up,
For the lovely sounds this house once produced
And pine for the love
That once so luxuriously bloomed around!
A game of hide and seek breaks out
In the living room I duck behind the couch
Like a ninja on vacation
My dog trots by
Sniffing
Chuffing
Absolutely unconvinced
Until I pop out with a peekaboo
She jumps
Like she just met a ghost wearing my face
She sprints around the house
In victory laps of pure joy
Tail wagging so hard
It could power a small village
I pretend I meant to hide better
But she’s already celebrating her win
Like she solved the world’s greatest mystery
Round two begins
I “stealthily” slide behind a door
My dog staring straight at me
Because I’m terrible at this
Yet she still plays along
Bless her goofy heart
When I leap out again
She wiggles with delight
As if hide and seek was the greatest game on earth
A Night Walk, Nature Then Talks
Forgotten, my life,my dear sweet sorrows
images fading fast as deeper I invade.
Nature sings,cares not for our tomorrows
nor our vanities we so foolishly made!
Forrest path was wide and very well worn
I had walked hundreds of time before.
This night my mind and my heart both torn
my wife had just walked out the door!
My flashlight was not needed much at all
full moon spraying light on the ground.
I reflected back to our love and its fall
how love troubles follow me around!
Yet farther I went,calmer my soul became
mother Nature sensed my agonizing pain
She was assuring that she'd be the same
giving me a renewed spirit like rain!
I saw night creatures scurry all about
watching me with those glowing eyes.
My heart almost happily sang to leap out
beauty came and my mind felt the skies!
Starlight merged,shining moon cried aloud
trees then began to very softly speak
Starlit night-sky without a hiding cloud
warm tears were now wetting my cheeks!
Why O' why did my dear wife wish me to die
had not I bought her this sweet land.
Nature showed me lonely in the night sky
sometimes leaving is taking that stand!
Then an owl called out its lonesome hoot
there was healing in that great call.
Had I not my life and good health to boot
life again could be a dancing ball!
Nature moved me to settle this great hurt
to enjoy so deep the God gifted scenes.
Allow the heart to again dance and spurt
Grab onto hope by any and all means!
Forgotten, my life,my dear sweet sorrows
images fading fast as deeper I invade.
Nature sings,cares not for our tomorrows
nor our vanities we so foolishly made!
Returning now,down this old well worn path
stars and moon spraying ever brighter.
Gone were pains and my dark and evil wrath
heart and soul soothed and much lighter!
R.J. Lindley
Sept,3rd 1975
Note-- Presenting this poem , a gem from my private
journal. Forty years ago today! Written when I was
a healthy, robust young 21 years old and so full of
piss and vinegar.
LANTERNE PHRASIS 3
Tedium ends with the setting sun,an
angled view that reaches into life.
Loud sighs,piercing eyes that erupt
from unconscious minds.A lyrical dream
abstract fantasy of multiple emotions
that leap out in varied shapes,
an angst of moody blues in a
perversity of remembered views
that climb into the staircase of
the mind.A chaos with no focus
point,images shadowing the floor
as in a dream near and far and
beyond as random gestures
inwards&upwards that launch
a thousand still lifes,with slow
soaking stains into evolving
moods that pass away with
time in gray graduations.
From my Lanterne poetry publication 2005
Listen to me recite this part phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthys chiro
PARIS WHORE IN THE FOG
All evening fog is settled from the ground,
not right in where it goes, nor where it's found;
the Seine makes distance to each barren tree
unmeasured from the mind to what should be,
and blended to the world that's all around.
And from the limestone walls, echos the tap
of femininity, in evening wrap;
she's hurried, lest the night finds her alone
and vulnerable to Paris she's not known;
yet she's desirous of what couldn't hap.
The corner street lamps lend their halo'd light
grotesque in their own way, as if they might
leap out of time and drag her by the throat
and cast her down into a timeless moat,
where she would die alone 'for ends this night.
She clutches to her breasts, where minds go mad,
as if it's all the love they've ever had,
but she will cry all night, when she's alone
into the pillow love has never known,
and that's what makes her tale so very sad.
Her plea's for love, that doesn't have to end,
like only poets deem to comprehend,
but all she finds are bodies falling on
what she has sold from evening to the dawn,
and not a one could even be a friend.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
I have had a black and white print on my wall for years
it is by Karl F. Halder from his photo portfolio
it is a calico kitten perched on the edge
of an old wooden window with white lace curtains
it takes me to a time and place in my life
when I was lost, alone and in total poverty
I first saw the print in a second hand store
but did not have the money to buy it
I would visit the store and look at the print
and the lady at the cash would smile at me
something about that kitten ready to leap out from that ravaged
building
called to my soul and gave me hope for myself
one day, I had the money to purchase it
but when I went to the cash, the lady took off the price sticker
and handed it to me with a smile
we have been on a long journey, this print and me
__________________
January 19, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/the black and white print
Copyright Protected, ID 01-634-573-19
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, A Strand (1071)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 02/12/2022
First Place
My heart aches when I read poems with word play,
Like mixing all colors in painted clay.
Random images just leap out like sparks
The meaning intended misses the mark.
Some write and label their poems a nonet
While not taking time to see what is it.
Writing's a school for learning till the end
Tossed words are not salads we write and send.
Poets take time to weave their creation
Poems are born, like a child of expression.
Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~03.19.16
WHORE IN THE FOG
All evening fog is settled from the ground,
not right in where it goes, nor where it's found;
the Seine makes distance to each barren tree
unmeasured from the mind to what should be,
and blended to the world that's all around.
And from the limestone walls, echos the tap
of femininity, in evening wrap;
she's hurried, lest the night finds her alone
and vulnerable to Paris she's not known;
yet she's desirous of what couldn't hap.
The corner street lamps lend their halo'd light
grotesque in their own way, as if they might
leap out of time and drag her by the throat
and cast her down into a timeless moat,
where she would die alone 'for ends this night.
She clutches to her breasts, where minds go mad,
as if it's all the love they've ever had,
but she will cry all night, when she's alone
into the pillow love has never known,
and that's what makes her tale so very sad.
Her plea's for love, that doesn't have to end,
like only poets deem to comprehend,
but all she finds are bodies falling on
what she has sold from evening to the dawn,
and not a one could even be a friend.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Mentally choking on paranoid covers,
No matter where I am, everything is next.
The corners leap out— one after another,
Trapping the resolve in its reckoning hex.
Unfolding like slabs of sidewalk before me,
Briskly walking through billows of fret,
A thousand eyes so brash and stormy;
The houses awry with windows in debt.
Turning my head would chisel the cracks;
For taking the time to survey each one
Would only inflame this cerebral tax—
I would gladly favor the night to the sun.
I am but an ordinary woman resting in my easy chair after a long day of work.
However I am about to transform myself into a great explorer.
I travel through the many realms of space and time all from the safety of home.
My journeys cost me nothing but time spent in their enjoyment.
I close my eyes tightly to contemplate whom I shall visit this night.
Shall I sup with King Arthur and the knights of the table round as bards entertain,
Or feast on nectar and ambrosia with Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus?
I could feel the angst of Cyrano’s unconfessed love for Lady Roxanne,
Or that of souls from Poe’s pen with his mocking raven quote it “nevermore.”
Choose to learn the life cycle of the bee, lion, or bear through a scientific work,
Or fly through space on a star ship with the creator of a masterpiece of science fiction.
I can recapture the whimsy of childhood while chasing cars with Clifford the big red dog,
Or take a brisk run with Pooh and Tigger through the hundred-acre wood.
I may celebrate glorious new beginnings with Mother Mary and Baby Jesus,
This holy birth portrayed forever within our sacred Bible.
I might also choose to contemplate death along with Caesar during his last moments.
Only the playwright Shakespeare could portray these with such tragic effect.
I may discover the secrets of gourmet recipes from master chefs,
Or learn how to sew a patchwork quilt of old fashion.
Vicariously visit the culture and religion of various peoples,
Or study the history of my fellow Americans.
Maybe I should check the financial reports to see how the stock market is doing,
Or it might be pertinent to examine the latest advances in law.
Let me discover the origins of favorite words in a volume of etymology,
Or distinguish quartz from quartzite whilst leafing through a book of gemology.
Books, yes volumes hold the secret keys to my voyage,
It is they that conduct me each night worldwide exploring.
I need not to plan ahead pack luggage or gather tickets,
Fore when I wish to escape this world a book is always close at hand.
I may travel safe and undisturbed through numerous times and places,
And leap out of one adventure headlong into the next without moving a limb.
When I am weary from the road or have chased enough beasts as warier fine,
I simply mark my place, fold the pages together gently, and retire to sweet sleep.
Ho’oponopono
forgiveness a virtue
virtue an attribute
requiring identity
needing healing
thus choosing
forgiveness
as a tool
no matter
Ho’oponopono forgiveness prayer
has four seemingly easy steps
softening attention in silence
first of all we say ‘I am sorry’
ouch!
many stuck at the first step
conceding we have erred
making hearts asunder
for what matters the truth
if love itself stands abandoned
we pause
reflecting that we are all one
the one we love is in anguish
leap out! reach out in embrace
brooking not for an instant, delay
say, say, please say, ‘I am sorry’
load lightens
our heart begins to tremulously smile
vibrationally, we draw near our love
‘please forgive me, my dear heart’
simply know this: ‘I love you!’
then, the quietus
having stepped forward into the mist
suffused with God’s love vibrations
in gratitude we say ‘thank you!’
lingering for eternity thus
time dissolves
the void of oneness alone remains
pulsating with omnipotent power
our lower ego mind vaporises
we accept all as they are
transcending the need
to forgive, because
there is no one
here within
save love
02-May-2021
Market Scene
multi coloured beans
harvest tools scrap upon stone
a place full of sacks
bright colours leap out
thawed ice under moon lit feet
chinking coins, chit chat
creatures glee with spill
drenched gold leaves with bees honey
market noise withers
© Shane Cogan, 2013