Best Mull Over Poems
Awakening from a restful night,
I thank God for my humble home,
For His keeping watch as I slept,
And for His morning show of charm.
Enjoying my breakfast with delight,
I feel God’s presence in a brimming cup.
And before I grasp His amazing provision,
All my morning meal has been eaten up.
With joy I sit in safety and comfort
While I mull over visions in my head.
I think of words to express my pleasure
For having a window above my bed.
Clouds overhead sailing thru sunbeams
Are like ships on a sea of blue sky.
Such placid scenes have a calming effect,
When a rare day of strife is nigh.
Everyday I receive God’s daily bread
And wash the dishes happily indeed.
I know my heartaches are rinsed away
And replaced by what I badly need.
God blesses me with gifts every moment.
And every night I sincerely pray.
Though I can never repay His charity,
I thank Him for gifts He sends each day.
Poems from old and yellowed
Chinese scrolls make me sad,
make me sad: stored in shiny,
lacquered boxes of perfumed teak,
they crumble when unrolled.
And the hands that must have written
Chinese thoughts upon the rolls:
little, leathern, patient hands,
painting poems -- stroke and stroke
and careful, delicate stroke --
stopping, meanwhile, to twirl
a waxed mustache --
for someone else, a foreigner,
who cannot understand, to read,
mull over, and be sad.
And this when Chinese thoughts
are gone, and tiny, trembling
Chinese hands are dust.
You cannot articulate in words
To the one that is glancing from the outside
The total chaos on the inside
Because on the outside you wear a smile
Of order and calm
In silence you mull over
The I “wishes”
And the I “could haves”
Even though deep down you know
That is burnt ash
That it will never come to live again
But it is the only thing that keeps you going
For now
At times the in between moments
Are the ones that take your breath away
Because they happen unplanned
Those tender moments of joy
You know you can have again
So this is not you throwing in the towel
This is you at rest
Preparing yourself for the next step
Because when you eventually get through
All the chaos
You will smile with your soul
What a quandary Dan, you find yourself in
Choosing a membership fit for a PS king
Why mull over it to see what others think?
You know you love exploring the PS link
Reading and writing poetry everyday
It seems obvious that Premium is the way
One, two or even Life – Just do it, Go Life
Then you can get up to all kinds of strife
Absorb yourself completely, in all it gives
Post a new contest and have us as captives
Create an awesome blog and have us in fits
An attentive audience to your fun and wit
Poetry Soup community know you are clever
You know you want it, membership forever
Written for Dan Kearley - A reply in poem to Dan's poem
titled "Should I become a Premium Member"
SILENT ROOSTERS SLEEP
Dads don’t sleep. They drive over-packed cars, and sip coffee from a thermos cup. Kids in backseat mull over grandma’s home ~ roosters never move, cuckoo clock never quits, and grandma’s always at the door, waiting. Front passenger divvies out cheerios and chips. The turnpike yawns with well-worn pitstops. All seats salivate for grandma’s homemade coffee cake. “Are we there yet?” echoes, bounces, plays with the driver’s nerves. Dads get revenge, transforming the auto into a tour bus. Pointer finger flashes toward a birthplace, a high school, and a park, and finally a hearth in the suburbs of Depew.
silent roosters sleep
moonlight auto unpacks dawn
crowing door exhales
7/14/2017
Haibun Form
I keep watching the river run
Always twisting
Always turning
It’s there I sit
Beneath your eyes
And mull over dreams of paradise
With you
Someplace where the sky is white and blue
Yet I’m thinking much too much
And I hate walking alone
It’s not often that I ponder such
But when I wander
Thoughts come rushing in
Willy-nilly
I don’t have a special place
Where all these thoughts begin
From the left
And from the right
Without warning
They attack me when I wake
Early in the morning
I wish I knew what I had done
So I’ll sit here
With you standing there beside me
Beneath your eyes
Beneath the skies
Where clouds and birds and angels fly
And listen to the waters running free
As you watch me
Watching the river run
If only I could bring back
those willful days
When the sun shined
bright all my ways,
When the nights were
a fair field to sow many a dream
And the days dawned
to reap them at whim,
My life spread its wings
for miles unseen
And flowers bloomed
all the way umpteen.
But now I dread the break of day,
Aimless upon the bed I just lay,
I mull over many a bygone day
And stress over that fateful day
When a new sun with
all its glory to share
comes looking for me
and I won't be there!
"Days" contest by Thomas Martin
Who am I?
I mull over my identity…
And I ponder
Each one of us in this society,
Belongs to a ‘religion’…
To a set or a group,
And each set of people
Have their ‘rules of conduct’
Have own customs, laws and legislations,
I feel I am a misfit,
As I don’t belong to any of these groups,
Though I was born to a Christian family,
When I was baptized,
I did not even know what baptism means?
Yet I got the tag of being a ‘Christian’
Weird, weird world
Who is right? Who is wrong?
What is true? What is false?
Who defines it?
Human beings after all!!!
Here each set of people,
Have a name for their God,
Some say Jesus,
Some say Allah,
Some say Ram,
Some say Laxmi,
Some say Ganapathi,
Some say Krishna,
Some say Kali,
And the list goes on,
It is hard to assign an image of God,
Comes in all shapes, sizes & forms,
In all genders,
Be it male or female,
With fascinating fables,
Surrounding God,
Aren’t all these characters?
Who people worship?
Created by man?
Weird, weird world
We have built churches, mosques, temples, synagogues
And other places of worships,
As our God’s abode…
But have we ever thought,
God created this whole universe,
The creator need not dwell
In these concrete man-made edifices,
He is there within you and me,
Why search for him in these structures,
Weird, weird world
Religion divides humanity,
Into chunks,
Adds to the anarchy,
Creates boundaries and conflicts,
Among humans,
That only love can conquer,
So many lives have been lost,
In this struggle for supremacy,
Across centuries,
Yet humans fail to understand…
Weird, weird world…
Wish if things could change,
And people could realize the worth of life…
.
-The Last Straw-
Sometimes he went too far
Shunning the sunlight, wading into the dark
swimming in places the sun couldn't find
shifting the wind to suit his own fall
speeding through life with his back to the wall
where he'd spit in the eye, and bend all the rules
yet with something to find, that was not of this world
spilling his guts
wading through fog, feeling the chill
unfurled in a dream
that was seen through a glass
while he looked for asylum in the black of the night
Boomerang words were like bats out of hell
to dwell in the mind and rattle the bones
of someone with soul, who feels all alone
changing their world from the outside in
Students mull over his words, taking sides
A skate on thin ice
Some call it nice........some call it sludge
slugging it out, from opposite sides
Some can't decide........ some claim to hate it
Fate has a name. Genius I'd say
Some of us stumble, and tumble right in
_________________________________
For Contest Sponsored By Amy Green 4/7/14
Genius
Resubmitted for PD's Contest: 101 in a Row #14
9/16/16
All the poets I invited.
"Mull over Beauty". I asked.
To their waiting inkpots they hied.
On their prolific imagination they relied.
The senses they all becomingly exploited.
Awe- inspiring tropes they invented.
Fetchingly, tuneful rhymes they produced.
Pompously, their musical verses they chanted
"Stop it! Stop it!" I shouted, discontented.
None of their odes, my feelings, awakened
To the curtain I walked and the 'beauty' I unveiled
Speechless,they all stood,totally affected.
When they talked, they hardly babbled.
Their muse, they furiously cursed.
The soul-stirring poet I praised.
The lord who your beauty he molded.
If you're lookin' fer home cooked fixin's, stop by Flo's Café and Deli!
Her meatloaf, smashed pertaters and cherry pie will delight yer belly!
She's located catty-cornered across the street from Buford's Hardware Store.
Flo's been caterin' to folks at the same locale since the Second World War!
Herb, the crusty cook, spent over twenty years as a cook in the navy.
His specialty, savored by old vets, is his biscuits and sausage gravy.
Each mornin' five old soldiers, Cletus, Clyde, Bob, Claude and Moe,
Confiscate the same table to swap war stories and slurp their joe!
Farmers in overalls and John Deere caps have done their mornin' chores.
They gather to mull over milk production and the market price of boars.
They argue over the prowess of their huntin' dogs and the merits of goats,
And whether the weather will hold so they can reap their wheat and oats.
The Red Hat Society meets there each Thursday of every month at seven,
And the Baptist Women's Sisterhood has lunch there each Friday at eleven.
Kids flock there for 'burgers and shakes after basketball and football games,
And, I almost forgot, its the meetin' place fer the Revolutionary War Dames!
The place ain't fancy and you better not be caught puttin' on any fancy airs.
There's a dozen or so tables, booths along the walls and plastic covered chairs.
Myrtle the waitress bears watchin' - she's quick on her feet with spicy mots!
Its a great place if you can tolerate Herb's salty lingo and bangin' pans and pots!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Exhale the pain
Breathe in the joy
Exhale the sadness
Breathe in the laughter
Exhale the hate
Breathe in the love
Exhale the criticism
Breathe in the complements
We get both joy and pain
We are surrounded by sadness and laughter
We are exposed to hate and love
We are criticised and complemented
The trick is to cling to the positives
Not to mull over negativity
©180220181921
Late rain sums
Cicadas delight;
Cold night tryst
~~~~~~~~~
Words plus words
Disrupted poise;
Confront conflict
~~~~~~~~~
Icy splash
Cold water surprise;
Morning face wash
~~~~~~~~~
Stormy afternoon
Wetness redecorates;
June somnolence
~~~~~~~~~
Umbrellas galore
Unforgiving rain;
Wetness everywhere
~~~~~~~~~
Midday siesta
Day dreams collide;
Rainy day lot
~~~~~~~~~
Celery and fruits
Blended slurry;
Detox routine
~~~~~~~~~
Savvy story
Placid poise;
Nothing more
~~~~~~~~~
Noisy terminal
Airport hallway;
Buzz and fuss
~~~~~~~~~
A happy meal
Just for two;
Noontime matinee
~~~~~~~~~
Thoughts surge
Moods sum;
Verse craft ooze
~~~~~~~~~
Early wake up call
Alarm clock screams;
Fatigue burdens
~~~~~~~~~
Dead weight
No escape now;
Hope floats
~~~~~~~~~
Mull over matter
Insolvent state;
Too much, too late
~~~~~~~~~
Weary hands
Weary feet;
Weary sleep
~~~~~~~~~
Prosper then
Be good;
Live well
~~~~~~~~~
Facial recognition
I see you;
Happy endings
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
09 June 2015
Singapore
It’s so easy
for me to just say,
I never wanted you
in that special way.
It’s even easier
for me to declare,
not once did I ever
really truly care.
It’s just as simple
to curse you out,
whenever I have any feelings
of my own self doubt.
Trying to control where
my mind wanders to,
but it effortlessly continues
to mull over you.
But the easiest thing
for me is to conceal
how broken my heart is
and how I truly feel...
I sit by a lambent flame,
To mull over a thought;
My past haunts me,
As I look back on what I had fought.
As I look back upon my past,
I see this and that.
Somewhere I lay broken,
Somewhere flat.
When I see myself upright,
In the face of my soul,
I turn tremulous
To see myself now, lost.
I doubt lying flat again,
Since I optimize myself;
Now to mull over my future
Is the object of myself.
As I stare through life's winding streets,
I see sharp twists and bends.
I understand that life's path is sinuous,
Where our wound has hardly any mends.
As I sit by the lambent flame,
Mulling over thoughts,
My present looks at me and asks,
"Where are your present thoughts?"