Best Percolate Poems
Each day dawns laden with secrets.
The morning dews are crystal balls,
each holding a secret trailer of
a fragment of day.
The birds, chirping incessantly,
gossip among themselves about the
delightful things you’ll find at
the weekend market.
In the crevice between the sun's
virginal light and last night's shadows,
an old friend waits for a
scheduled chance encounter,
bearing a gift of forgotten memories.
Fresh brew drips into the carafe of your
old coffee machine, tapping out
a Morse code of the new
thoughts and feelings that will percolate
into your brain in the hours to come.
And the curtains billow with echoes
of the laughs to be laughed.
The day is waiting to confess
its plans for you.
Categories:
percolate, future, happiness, life, morning,
Form:
Free verse
Somewhere in a strange land
An unknown heart throbs for me
Etching an amorous graffiti
On the blank walls of my mind
Where ever I am, I feel a pair of eyes
Fondly surveying and scanning me,
Speaking to me in silence
And keeps me awake in the night
I feel it all, I hear it all
Filling me with a sweet ache!
When night birds croon in the woods
And their mates answer the serenade,
When the moon begins her somnambulistic walk
And light beams percolate through pine needles,
When glow worms float in darkness
Like cruise ships over the sea,
When the opening Jasmine secretly exults
In her own exotic scent,
Sitting in my dimly lighted room
I draft this message of love
Pouring all my warmth into it
Thus emptying my love laden heart
That blazes with the fire of love
And encode it in cryptic script
To be mailed to you, my love!
Oh, it might take much time
Better it be a whispered endearment
Sent through this perfumed night breeze
That shall carry it from this end to that end
So kindly leave your window open!
~Placed First~
A Strand (1074) Poetry Contest
Nov.28.2022
~PLACED FOURTH~
Re-submitted for 2022 Poetry Marathon. Mile.21. Poetry Contest (with
modifications)
Categories:
percolate, devotion, friend, romance, valentines
Form:
Free verse
Oh poetry,
why do you not feel me.
I was once your poetic percolate,
the assonance to your consonance,
spilling in silver ink,
upon Earth's raw fibres,
but in your quest for perfection,
wanderlust words are now waterless roots,
resembling a mediocre muse,
cursed from rose tinted glares,
exposing pages of bad grammar.
Since the feather in my quill
set adrift with fireflies in the wind,
conflicting choruses echo
in an acoustic refrain.
In this musical merry go around -
I'm only composed as a last thought.
In chapters of contemplation,
wondering if you feel the art of my heart;
I ponder if I am a
vacant vowel in your 'why?'
An unexplained myth..
A rhythm not seen in your rhymes
or do questions only bring bitterness?
But without the reason for answers,
will there be anything left to express?
I'm just an empty cartridge
abandoned from your fountain pen.
Now only aches and angst alliterate,
as invisible ink slowly dissolves.
I'll forever be an unfinished masterpiece.
A long forgotten poem. An anagram of listen.
There is no metaphor for this grief,
so I say goodbye to poetry
and farewell to my muse.
Categories:
percolate, analogy, angst, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
O, black and potent beverage
each morning that I rise
you give me greater leverage
you make me strong and wise
O, elixir of higher thought
rejuvenate my mind
I percolate you in my pot
through dark beans that I grind
With sugar some would sweeten you
and lighten you with cream
but black and strong will be my brew
like women in my dreams
O, steaming dark deliciousness
please keep me wide awake
and bring me higher consciousness
upon my coffee break
© Mike Wise
3/23/14
Categories:
percolate, fun, humor, humorous, tribute,
Form:
Rhyme
For a little poem I do perform
A depth defying feat.
By all accounts I do seem shallow
Upon a surface read.
But before that N/A switch is flicked,
Let me percolate;
What once was shallow, when you dive in,
Becomes a spring fed lake.
Contest: You Be The Judge
Sponsored by: Bobby May
Date Created: 03/07/2019
Your Judgement Rating: 1st Place
Categories:
percolate, me, metaphor, poems, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
A solitary thought formed in my mind
Way back in nineteen hundred fifty four
I laughed as it made things become so clear -
Why,I asked, have I not seen it before
I let it percolate there in my brain
As it generated new trains of thought
Paths of tomorrow were clear in my eyes
And tactics were formed for battles I fought
Now I look back from eighty years of age
And I must marvel at what the brain does
I think of that single important thought -
And I smile as I wonder what it was
12/25/2017
Categories:
percolate, age,
Form:
Quatrain
From whence do poems come?
Some say--
they're children of the heart,
others say--
they're born in the mind's maze
but I say--
poems come from deeper
than any heart
and from somewhere
far more vast
than any mind....
I suspect they come
from that part of us
that lies under
the unconscious,
so quiet, so subtle
many never sense it--
but there, in the soul
(the endless mind,
the imperishable self)
are found the words
to percolate through
the blind and dense
unconscious to appear
sudden,
unbidden,
unexpected
in the daylight mind....
But their journey is still
only half-done:
when read by a stranger
those poems transcend
disparate worlds,
making their return journey
from a daylight mind
through the unlit unconscious
until the reader's own soul
feels brushed by Wonder...
yet from where
do the poems come?
They come from Eternity.
Categories:
percolate, analogy, appreciation, creation, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
It began as an idea.
Hopped up on my dendrite highway.
Zoomed through my wide-open interstate and took me on a ride.
I was holding on as hard as I could.
A smile turned into a flat out worldwide laugh.
Idea one turned herself into upside down girl,
Flatulent gorilla, chameleon on a stick.
A poem? A canvas? A play? A book?
A novel? Possibilities overtook me
And threw me into a soft nap.
Ideas do this to me sometime.
To percolate prettily while I sleep.
I never color inside the box,
Because I do not see a box,
I always see a diamond or a star.
My hazel eyes on the prize, I took out my favorite glitzy paints and began to devour myself.
On a canvas, on the wall.
Drew the brush swiftly onto the wall and down onto the floor.
Never stopping, happily, zanily out of control, abnormal to some,
Completely normal to me.
Beginning once again to create what will become a teensy bit of me...
Fully into the
Kingdom of “be yourself” which my dancy, prancy muse and I will leave
In my wake at my wake.
Furiously creating a non-final me.
Written 12-14-2019 Contest: Creativity in Visual Arts
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Categories:
percolate, creation,
Form:
Free verse
When a poem is born
What is the chance
Of words in rain
Drip drop dance
Ping ting sing
Pitter patter rhyme
Rain dance acceleration
Makes my poem climb
Dribble drench drizzle
Thinking on the fence
Sprinkle splish splash
Bring balance to my sense
From sweat sobs and sorrow
Storm surge steam
Murky thunderous blurry
Cry rage scream
To cleansed and quenched
Shower spray stream
Calm cool clear
My mind is now pristine
The Earth now drenched
It grew a poet tree
Thoughts and water percolate
Now it's sprouted leaves
Categories:
percolate, cry, onomatopoeia, rain, sound,
Form:
Rhyme
The ebb and flow of your life is in a constant state of flux.
While the “meat and potatoes” of a soul are at its’ core,
these sublimations are kept hidden deep inside.
They’re always under cover and kept hidden deep inside,
roiling your life with a tidal action to a constant state of flux,
while the “nitty grittys” of a soul are at its’ core.
The concept of souls are at its’ core.
Although souls are kept hidden deep inside,
they percolate life to a constant state of flux.
Your life is in a constant state of flux because the soul is at its’ core, hidden deep inside.
For Andrea's contest
Categories:
percolate, introspection, life, life, life,
Form:
Sestina
Let's not saunter to Saturn this evening
Or amble across to the moon
If we ramble up there in a rocket
We won't get there any time soon
I'd rather we didn't dawdle to Denmark
Or dilly-dally our way to Des Moines
That's far too slow and specific
You can ask - I'm not likely to join
You might suggest a jaunt to Jamaica
Or a stroll down the streets of Shanghai
Or even a schlep to the shops, my dear
But there are other things I'd like to try
We could mosey on a mission to Miami
Set our sights and percolate to Peru
Or meander to Mexico City
Where we're sure to find something to do
Why wander without any purpose?
Why sprint to a rendezvous or a meet?
What a waste of energy and motion
It'll ruin your heart and your feet!
But to coddiwomple to the Canaries
Where there's always a nice summer breeze
Is my idea of perfection
Can we go there tonight… can we... please?!
Categories:
percolate, fun, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
Ain't nothin' like a steamin' cup o' coffee to greet the early morn.
It'll calm yer nerves and git you goin' just as sure as you wuz born!
With mixin's added to suit yer taste, it must be scaldin' hot,
Decaf, regular, chicory-strong or mild, it really matters not!
Some folks prefer a styrofoam cup, others a massive mug,
But those proffer an indelicate way to down a gulpin' slug.
Others, a dainty cup and saucer, pinkie sedately bent,
Sippin' delicately so social faux pas one is sure to prevent!
I hear it ain't acceptable to dunk a donut in yer mug o' java,
Or pour coffee in a saucer to cool, tho' it's hot as flowin' lava.
But I ain't concerned about it bein' a great big social blunder,
As folks disdainfully stare at me as if I wuz some alien wonder!
Docs debate the merits of caffeine, whether it's healthy or not.
Let 'em bicker, I'll decide what to percolate in my coffee pot!
My dear old Dad had his daily caffeine fix, livin' 'til ninety-four.
I've done the same fer years and I'm approachin' nigh four-score!
Nowadays, fancy concoctions are brewed for the discernin' taste;
Expresso, mocha, cappuccino, even Irish whiskey laced!
Such exotic ambrosia to others I'll graciously defer.
I'll keep on slurpin' an ordinary cop 'o joe, which I much prefer!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
percolate, funnysocial,
Form:
Rhyme
Rain washing wet
Exit humid heat;
Bamboo pines sway
~~~~~~~~~
Weary estate
Rustic and ancient;
Old people pace
~~~~~~~~~
Orchid stalks
Crystal flower vase;
Beauty adorns
~~~~~~~~~
Class reunion
Familiar faces;
Change intervenes
~~~~~~~~~
Old-time movie
Once upon then;
Romantic poise
~~~~~~~~~
Property market
Doldrums percolate;
Prices go south
~~~~~~~~~
Precious moments
Fragrance lingers;
Touchy feelings
~~~~~~~~~
Red light district
Pretty birds ply;
Ancient occupations
~~~~~~~~~
Evening descends
Abruptly dark;
Distant lights hurl
~~~~~~~~~
Fleeting surge
Momentum flips;
Emergent thoughts
~~~~~~~~~
By the wayside
Weathered old man;
Limping bravely
~~~~~~~~~
Haiku blossoms
Plain fragment;
Frozen experience
~~~~~~~~~
One by one
Passers-by stream;
Distant dream calls
~~~~~~~~~
Economic downturn
Job loss escalates;
Grizzly bear bites
~~~~~~~~~
Stray staccato
Morning birdsong;
Balcony solo
~~~~~~~~~
Seek then the way
Live well each day;
Be one with bliss
~~~~~~~~~
Cruise to nowhere
Sea breeze salty;
Modern distractions
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
30 April 2016
Singapore
Categories:
percolate, change,
Form:
Haiku
There is no ‘you’ or ‘I’
Except that you choose
to call the fat clouds a name
and make them feel like overlords upon the others.
And, there is neither ‘you’ nor ‘I’
when we collect in droplets into rain
and percolate the crevices between rocks and questions.
The free flowing water you rinse your feet in
Collects the geography of the places you’ve been to
That the same water you now wash your hands with, is what
You once called ‘dirty’ and fed to the gutters of nevermore.
There is no ‘you’ or ‘I’, save ‘we’
We, driblets of water
Garnering into puddles,
Some, redeemed in pots of human bellies.
And, there is neither ‘you’ nor ‘I’
Little dribs charged with pain, break out
As saline rain, bouncing off troubled eyes,
A cesspool of wails in the offing.
And some others, not ‘you’, not ‘I’
Distraught to meet this uncertain world
Are lagged in rocks, trapped prisoners.
We are all waters, variously hued
To boil in teapots and warm the mien of takers
And a few, crystallized into heart-shaped cubes,
Are nursed between the parched tongues of lovers.
Loin waters all! Congealed over time
Sneaked into places like shy rivers
Collecting genetic snapshots of their bearers
Then those ones frozen by fear, iceberg-solid
Make the routes of our ideas unpassable
A few, like calm ponds
Unperturbed by gravity and noise
Undress before the caress of the setting sun
We all are waters,
Not you, not I, but we; streaming
In endless pursuit on the surface
While selfsame dispatch, gather like roots undersea.
**previously published in Sentinel Quarterly Review
Categories:
percolate, beach, together, truth, water,
Form:
Concrete
I’m ready for
Tic Tac Toe
Cause I got
my own rhymes to show
Watch me shine
My X’s are always in a row
Can you feel the room react
as it feels my glow
The Tickity Tac Tac
Clackity Clack Clack
Ricky Rhyme Time Show
My measures
don’t need tethers
I’m the man
for any kinda weather
High or low pressure
I’m a national treasure
No cold front here
Just sunshine and pleasure
No need for a sweater
Cause Baby
you rock that leather
You can’t stop
Fast and Furious
I’m the White Tornado
Bright enough for New York City
Cool enough to cruise Colorado
Driving my tricked out Eldorado
Others can brag
I show and tell
My musical bravado
Now it seems Trim the Trimmer
Has served me up for dinner
His words more potent
Than 100 proof liquor
They percolate and simmer
Rhyming sub-textually
Flowing quicker and quicker
Always the right mixture
So as his Rhymes grow brighter
Mine grow dimmer
Time to throw down the mike
and declare Trim the Trimmer
the Tic Tac Toe Award Winner.
Ricky Rhyme Time Rides again
Dedicated to The Rhyme Master Trim.
Just having a bit of fun playing in his sand box.
Inspired by Nick Trim’s “Trim Trimmer Chicken Dinner Winner”.
Categories:
percolate, humor, light,
Form:
Rhyme