Best Pitchy Poems

Fragrance of Life  ©

Cool rain drums on blistering 
asphalt, the scent streams into 
the nostrils--hot, grassy smell of 
summer, freshly cut-smoky 
cedar lingers on the air 

Fresh popcorn drenched in 
butter, I sit in the dark, musty 
movie house. Childhood 
memories of Tom Mix...

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What is love?
A sea of nonexistence
both tranquil and calamitous
where the mind
does not dare enter.
(Rumi, M. Mafi, "Day By Day", p. 120, 2014, Hampton Roads)

What is timeless synergy?
Our sea of coexistence
both confluent and dissonant
where blind consciousness
seldom dares disembody.

Aging time,
This house, not home, hums and strains pitchy...

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How good to be in a 
countryside,
Where there is full of 
laughter;
Chirping birds,folklore 
stories,
Where there is freshness 
in 
the soil;
Tall trees magnificiently 
grown,
Untendered 
flowers blooming wildly.

Ways 
are narrow,pitchy path,
Yet give an exquisite 
pictureque;
Mountains and vales 
with misty clouds,
Carried away by the azure 
sky;
Where your mind...

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cloistered in this dark chamber     
a somber muse keeps me captive   
ringed in by gloomy colors              
obscured inside her pitchy tower    

a somber...

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In sandy Egypt lived three men
In ancient days when pharaohs reigned
The kingdom of the pyramids,
Osiris and that Isis’ den,
Whom everyone worships and heeds,
Or at least doing so they feigned,
And those gods too blessed them and deigned.
But these three men round whom my tale
Will be revolved,...

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Here they come the prancing drums and fife
That call the children from their village life
To run with glee and meet with fear horsehead,
Whooping bway or devil costumed in dread
And there pitchy patchy dancing for his fee
I hear the grater still and feel my skinny knee
Knocking...

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.

I dance in desperate movements,
stepping on toes as I go
Spinning out of control as faces grimace in my wake,
changing scenery like mirrored ball illusions,
tiny reflective squares, blinding as they move 
Still you stare, questioning gazes,
not making eye contact
but sensing my heart through the song…
playing in...

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Genuflecting specks of passion, stupored,glistening
waltzing gel of probing and probed, simmering
yet tranquil in streams on plateau milky whites,

each rivulet wailing its tale rosy ballad sung,

spasmodic staccato on pitchy highs

volcano erupts hot and high 

the writing intensifies etched deep

air is filled with stifled and escaped gasps,

yet...

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Heaven...

Have you ever traveled to the garden
finding the most precious flowers
who bloomed in a thorny crown
through out the land of ours?

Have you heard the lagoon
with roaring passion and anger
as it weeps to the silver sand
holding back many of its danger? 

If you have not then...

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~The sun sizzles on the horizon
like a fried egg in a cast iron skillet.
Yellow yolk bleeding across the treetops.
Semi-solid seeping across the backlit hardwood forest.
The dusky branches of maple and blue black pitchy pines
dress in liquid light, a sailors warning…

The air, wool muffler thick, smothers...

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We get so caught up in right and wrong, discussing it is this that will benefit us and that that will harm us, we get so caught up and tired and so very thoughtful on things that don’t even matter as much, we have to...

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The grandfather clock solemnly struck two.
In the pitchy night, shadows seem to flit about.
I close my red rimmed eyes tight
Yet I can see all around me for sleep eludes me.

I lie on my bed like a dead crab on the hot sand,
not daring to move...

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Wanting the hands of time to turn back,
Just so I can have one last try.
I want to hear the perfect
                         ...

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Writing in pitch-dark pitchy begin 
Upon the stroke of silent pen 
Touches my words across the night sky 
Where me inner self meets a spirited lullaby

Silent space is a lonely place
Where altar sits in poet grace
Night sweats; pearls of sweet verse hone
As I cradle and...

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I am john kunno
Drums dancing on Christmas morning,
Breaking the silence
That bans my tongue from telling troubles here;
Masking my face
And the new identity forming before your eyes;
Dancing pitchy-patchy
Distracting you as the devil's whip draw near;
I am john kunno
From slave barracks memory, from huts
Far away in Africa...

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