Best Pitchy Poems
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 gives
room,
For peace and freedom of
thought.
How good to be in a
countryside,
Where evening never
passes
without gatherings;
Where you can hear
sopranos,
Never makes you feel
tiresome;
With same enthusiasm
you
open your eyes,
For another cheerful
day
Categories:
pitchy, nature
Form:
Prose Poetry
cloistered in this dark chamber
a somber muse keeps me captive
ringed in by gloomy colors
obscured inside her pitchy tower
a somber muse keeps me captive
with only a pen and paper
obscured inside her pitchy tower
i write poetry for my captor
with only a pen and paper
dressed in umber i stay active
i write poetry for my captor
and play a part in her theater
dressed in umber i stay active
i write for you her reader
and play a part in her theater
cloistered in this dark chamber
* this muse (she) could just as well be male (he) :-)
Categories:
pitchy, muse, poetess, poetry,
Form:
Pantoum
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 while crow head pitches over me
And behind him the cracking whip, devil's misery.
REFRAIN:
dum dudu dup dum dudu dup, dum dudu dup, dum
Form Freeport to Kingston
dum dudu dup dum dudu dup, dum dudu dup, dum
From Exuma to the Carolinas
It is riot in the sun
dum dudu dup dum dudu dup, dum dudu dup, dum
What rite was this? What strange festival came
From the plantation history of laden shame?
Given freedom to be animals, animals we exist
For we had no Saturnalia before in our forest.
Ashanti dance, yes, but assimilation all the rest
Except the costume, mask and colorful dress
These were mere exterior things hiding our pain
Inverted black devil with his merry animal train.
I shall not hear of it, something deeper inside
Scarred us, and we in nursery rhymes would hide
The truth we could not tell without punishment
Our tongues whipped lock our knowledge silent
The Christmas festival was for them, habit instilled
Survived deliverance form husk of foreign will
They come singing to tell children, not again
The whip and shackles, the iron cuffle of pain.
Categories:
pitchy, anniversary, fantasy, satire, social
Form:
Couplet
.
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 steady repetition
Fingers in your ears for fear
that it might touch you
in rhythmic hypnosis, shining pendulums
swinging in reverse tempo, challenging these feelings
you hold but still can not admit the lyrics
Prideful walls of bricked fortitude
built around your emotions sing of
locked entryways and barred windows
and It seems I have lost the key
Misplaced along out of tune wavelengths
while pitchy corridors of doubt
fill in the shadows of this that I desire
Still I extend a hand, “would you care to dance?”
Dark eyes squint as you focus, looking beyond the bandstand,
finding mistakes of the past playing in three quarter time,
heading towards the stage door exit,
tapping your toe in cadence with the drummer
who now stops…along with the beat of my heart
Categories:
pitchy, heartbreak, music, sad,
Form:
Free verse
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 neighbors do not seem to arise
faces flushed with oxygen,
blood rushing in good gather
closely entwined they tether
vines riding on each other
sometime this one and at other that
the royal tumble is an intense rumble fumble
victorious apparent is a loser all right
won the fight but lost marrow juice anon
the winner takes it all, bitten lips and contorted (sic)
gleefully smiling draining the juice of the lemon
guess she is royally consorted and orgasmic!
Categories:
pitchy, life
Form:
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 lest sleep evades me.
I imagine phosphorescent planes flying over fallow fields:
This is not a night dream that conducts to slumber.
For dreams can be soothing, this is anything but.
Almost dark despair as my tired eyes are wide awake.
I shut my eyes and imagine red full blown sails
weaving their way in a rubicund sunset
towards their berthing quays.
How quick they arrive and I am sleepless.
I think of you, dazzling and lovely,
covered in golden sand....like the crab.
No, no this does not work much for me.
The grandfather clock struck six.
Did I miss a beat? Did I sleep?
I don't know, I feel like the dead crab.
Categories:
pitchy, sleep,
Form:
Free verse
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 you haven't seen-
The home for the good and angels.
Yes- its Heaven and I think I've been
there before, watching lovely things swing and dangle.
And I've heard the lord's voice,
not so deep and pitchy as the wind.
He said, "Let the people know that
there's more room to grow in Heaven."
Categories:
pitchy, death, faith, forgiveness, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
~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 the early eve.
Drought burns the landscape and the wilt is on the lilac.
Gnats flitter, lighter than the dense layers of ashen evening.
Sucking creatures invade the weakness in branch, leaf and man.
And so the malaise of August continues
into night gasping~
Categories:
pitchy, imagination, introspection, life, nature,
Form:
Free verse
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 learn to deal with circumstances of our wrong or right behavior, cause fussing over it won’t end it or alter it.
And be brave enough to accept it and conceive the will to change what does not fit you perfectly, we are perfectionists in our own eyes, we distress over the smallest of imperfections and please on the even smaller of perfections
We are simple yet we yearn to complicate that simplicity and change it into something that makes us get along less, we love with our fullest and dream of the many happy days to come yet we know they will never, we are optimists to tragedy and pessimists to hope, we want and want and never stop wanting, we give our all and except our all to be given back to us, but it doesn’t, and we are left with missing pieces that were given by us so we lose ourselves and forget how hard we built them and how many and how much we’ve been through, we go through heaven and would think heaven is to always stay heaven but this world aint perfect in our eyes and something is always missing, someone is always discontent with this heaven we long for so we lose it and lose all those dreamy castles on the clouds for thoughts that demolished them .
And then comes the ache of those beautiful heavenly memories on those clouds with those hearts that were so light, and that light goes off and we are left with this darkness we try to escape, but we see no way out, we look and look for any illusion of that slight precious light and yet we fail although we glimpse it sometimes, live it for a few moments sometimes only to robbed the next morning where wed want it to shine so brightly and so it goes and so we live, blinded but alive, ceasing to look for any more light
And so it comes, engulfing us all, with impassive pitchy shadows, we are lost, we are lightless, we are indifferent to all that comes, we have reached hell.
Categories:
pitchy, heaven,
Form:
Free verse
Wanting the hands of time to turn back,
Just so I can have one last try.
I want to hear the perfect
Pitchy
Proud voice sing.
I want to listen to every empty promise.
You’re the one who ran,
But I’m the one who cried.
You wanted to be free,
Like the Beatles wanted to let it be.
Not knowing where you are makes it hard.
Knowing you know
Where I am
Makes it hell.
I try not to miss you,
But I do.
Because every time I look in the mirror
I hurt and long to be near you.
My sister, my friend.
My guide till the end.
I miss you.
Categories:
pitchy, angst, family, forgiveness, friendship,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
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 nurture in golly forest home
An owl calls goodnight hoot
The vista of darky shadows across the woods salute
While scribbling lyrical in darkness peep
Poetic drift, rush past, looking deep
Writer man licked in night-time dew
Shedding sleep dust to the dusky view
To sound of rhymes, the scripter re-awaketh
The wellspring of motivation for the Midnight Poet
Categories:
pitchy, Lullaby, poetry, poets,
Form:
Quatrain
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 forgotten by mutilation.
I am john kunno
A child dancing in sorrows with jubilation.
As long as I wear
This mask, this clothes that is not me
I john kunno have no past, no history.
I am john kunno
Breaking the silence with drum forged liberty.
Categories:
pitchy, allegory,
Form:
Free verse
I awaken to the pitchy darkness covering my face
and I roll over to dig through the nightless dark.
I peep out hoping to find the warm sun; I sigh
and scurry back to the warmth of my bed
amongst the nuts and seeds we stored
and snuggle with brother and sister.
Tomorrow, I will try again.
I know it will come.
Just not when.
Categories:
pitchy, animal, brother, hope, sister,
Form:
Free verse
black ...
as the vault,
those tresses
(your momma's ire),
and a universe beneath ...
smile to rival Sol
where hope dances,
and fearfully dark, those eyes -
a pitchy pool ever
deep enough to plunge ...
to swim through ...
to drown in,
(sadness disturbs its depths)
hips that toss killer
curves to any fool's gaze,
with a tempo to tame ...
and torture -
a sway to beguile the gods, themselves,
and transform a simple stride
into coy seduction …
oh, I'd give a galaxy of suns
to be your paladin ...
your Ferrix ...
your beloved
home.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, November 2, 2022
Categories:
pitchy, future, science fiction, stars,
Form:
Free verse
A froth of turquoise topped waves
pummeled the lava stone
grinding asphalt-black slabs into bits which hugged the waters edge.
Skeletal shards of white coral were scattered
amongst the dried, scorched after birth.
Relentlessly, the ocean pounded
leapt with a jet-engine roar into the air.
Balancing droplets of salt water
upon lichen covered shelves and prominences of pitchy rock
Growth in the cauldron of the Crone.
Categories:
pitchy, nature
Form:
Free verse