Best Poke Out Poems
The pale face of nature, of flowers and treetops
Has been lost without color, behind frost in the meadow
Under snow on the fence post, and the ice on the willow
So tattered and bobbing, and weary of hiding
So weary of biding her time in the fog
Tired of the doldrums, tired of the ho-hums , and weary of crying...
The pale face of nature, of gardens in springtime
Will drink in this morning, to find it surprising!
A lekker arrival !!
Of sunkissed horizons
Is blissfully welcomed with gold in the morning
All smitten with cheer !
Trees lean to the side
Drunk on the sun
Lifting their branches
And keeping it near
I long for it too
As I move out my chair
From under the shade
To drink in the sun
After dark winter days
To welcome it here
A lekker arrival
Is speckled in sunshine
I find it to be fine, to bask on my deck!
I'll poke out my neck to soak in the bliss
And what could be better than this? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
________________________________________________________
For Suzette's Contest: "LEKKER"
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A sunbaked pile of dead sticks in the ground
I’m a divine oversight, it would seem
Hundreds of long spines poke out all around
Yet inside resides a colorful dream
I’m a divine oversight, it would seem
Look past my thorns, though they do seem countless
Yet inside resides a colorful dream
Deep down, I’m hiding a beauty boundless
Look past my thorns, though they do seem countless
Moisture kisses my roots in the springtime
Deep down, I’m hiding a beauty boundless
To this kindness, sprout tiny leaves sublime
Moisture kisses my roots in the springtime
Chlorophyll captures hard radiation
To this kindness, sprout tiny leaves sublime
Transmutes into my dream’s pigmentation
Chlorophyll captures hard radiation
My plumage explodes forth with colors bright
Transmutes into my dream’s pigmentation
In proud defiance of sun's bleaching light
My plumage explodes forth with colors bright
I sprout a thousand flames rose tangerine
In proud defiance of sun's bleaching light
Brush bold orange on the baked desert scene
I sprout a thousand flames rose tangerine
Hundreds of long spines poke out all around
Brush bold orange on the baked desert scene
A sunbaked pile of dead sticks in the ground
3/27/16
For contest: A Pantoum, A Poet's Choice
Sponsor: Eve Roper
A mackerel sky fillets the village
then hides it in a breezeless blear.
Heads poke out of net drapes
sniff and fish behind trawling curtains.
Shopkeepers brace for
wet dog splatter and spray
for slopping boots and salty puddles.
On the sightless sea
far beyond the shore and shingle,
lost fog horns are lowing deep
like colicky cattle.
Later, misty reeks will be scoured
from groggy docks.
Hauling hands will rope together
tide-tossed tubs,
then tired feet trudge to taprooms
where the brackish parts
of codgers and young alike
can be oiled and quenched.
I’m tilling to forget that night
of fire and betrayal.
Turning the soil over, over and over,
over days months eons.
Waiting to be fed when belly
aches with hunger and thirst.
Did you have to poke out my eyes?
Make me remember silk?
I am a thousand fists shaken
in night sky. I am broken
on gravelly field, a puzzle,
my boiling blood walked off
left me skin stretched under hot sun
bleached bones poke out.
The others walked off in disgust
when you left us without.
Once our riverside hideout
let us launch our toy ships,
rode bubbles, slid over rock
churning fast and away...
The baby down pasted nest no
longer holds us inside,
too noisy, cramped in quiet spots
by sea, beg drown sorrow.
I’m tilling to forget, turn soil
over and over, hope to eat,
hope the fire that escaped our soil
hope it was just a dream.
Hope you didn't steal our resources,
steal all our heritage.
We have no future echoes loud
down the halls of lost time.
We did the tilling that launched you
into a tomorrow.
There you are, sailing free, happy.
We remain. Left behind.
I reach for another Kleenex.
The box sits empty on the shelf.
Have I really cried that many tears?
Has my life turned into a sad tale?
Have all the tissues floated down a river of lonely tears?
The time for crying has ended.
I will lift myself.
Poke out my head.
Had not the sun continued to shine in my absence?
My friends cried with me for a while.
A few of the tissues where crumpled in their hands.
Still I was not to be consoled.
What choice did they have but to leave?
In fact I was so sad I barely knew they were there.
So now I rise.
Lift my eyes to the sky.
Let a gentle breeze dry my face.
Smile with thanks for a new day.
For in the end
a river of tears and tissues is enough.
The Empty Kleenex box contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
Still some entry spots left, join in the fun/sadness.
FEET
When I hear the tick, the gong
Too long?
Too short?
I mumble, “Too damn long!”
Cold feet, raw,
How they poke out
And not enough blood to withdraw
Hah! A marathon,
Kick the can, the dog, the football,
90 yard run!
They were always too big, with moles,
Too clumsy, too heavy,
In the 30s, that fat kid with paste-on, rubber soles
Wouldn’t it be just too intense –
Toe jam and all –
If they were the last thing sensed?
Dave Austin
Amidst the tall trees
Beckons a spire
Climbing to the sky
Down below the moors
Ever covered in mist
Fog so thick like blankets
Gravestones poke out
Hauntingly the fog swirls
Images appear them puff
Just like that they are gone
Knaves lurk waiting for a victim
Lucky if you can avoid them
Murder is whats on their mind
Not just robbery, they been paid
Opals for to end a life
Plead not for mercy there is none
Quietly try to slip past
Right ahead of you in the tower
Sits the maiden of your dreams
The treasure you put yourself at risk for
Utterly silent you slip by
Venturing ever closer to your goal
With bated breath you slip inside
Xenocryst ring ready in your hand
Yellow crystal gleaming
Zap the guard and claim your bride
Now I don't have a decent job
Or expensive, flashy car
Somedays I don't brush my teeth
Or brush my beehive hair
Get my bra's from bargain bins
My coat's a hand-me-down
I try to act all grown up but
Let's face it, I'm a clown
I've got a filthy accent and
Sometimes I pick my nose
Somedays I don't change my socks
There's jam between my toes
I'm not a morning person
Til I dunk my head in coffee
I'm often unaffectionate
And then a little needy
I hate it that my ribs poke out
And my front teeth aint straight
I hate it I depend so much
On destiny and fate
I'm not the kinda girl you could
Take home to meet your mum
I live in jeans and hoodies
She'd think I was a bum
I don't need you to tell me
There's more perfect girls than me
I'm showing you the truths
Even though they're plain to see
Despite my imperfections
I'm sure there'll never be
Someone who is saner and
Could love you more than me
In the vast deserts life struggles
clinging on by their toe nails
short scrubby plants poke out
a hot haven for scorpions
See the marks in the red sand
of where a snake slithered by
side winding its way over
the baking hot sands of dunes
Here all life is sparse
only the fit surviving
Yet in the vast oceans
life teems with brilliance
various colourful corals
with sparkling little fish
Immense whales roam at will
see their water sprouts
gushing up in fountains
as silently they glide by
shoals of fish darting by
seaweed lazily waving
Then there are the snowy tundras
life here too is for the fittest
majestic polar bear with cubs
fishing at an air hole in the ice
Penguin's scurrying as fast as they can
they have no intention of being supper
sea lions lay on the rocky snowy shores
here to mate and give birth to pups
The wolf pack roaming far and wide
searching for their elusive next meal
As I travel these places in my mind
I am struck by how alike our lives are
we go through hard times as we traverse
the winding paths set before us
Then there are the times of plenty
when all is sunny and delightful
a time to enjoy and even to reflect
to give thanks that all is so good
On to the winter which comes to all
a time too of hardship and being slow
the sense of life starting to wind down
the reluctance acceptance as we near the end
When I met my wife, I thought that I was blessed.
But I changed my mind when I saw her hairy chest.
I didn't see her naked until our wedding night.
When I saw her topless, I nearly died of fright.
She has hair all over her chest and it's thick.
I puked when I saw it because it made me sick.
Her chest is so hairy that she looks like Austin Powers.
I have to get away from this woman because things have gone sour.
The judges won't grant a divorce even though I've given it several tries.
If I can't get out of this marriage, I'll have no choice but to poke out my eyes.
(This is a fictional poem.)
There, my eyes fixed on the yellow paving stone.
Amongst a slightly tangled dandelion leaf is a
little purple demon staring back at me.
Just stood casually as the suns rays continue
to bounce vividly off the heated ground.
I notice those pointed eyes all sharp and looking frightened,
that I might disrupt his peaceful unity with the warm breeze.
I won't, but I'll remain enchanted by such presence.
His gold earrings reflect many colours of the passing day,
as they appear all the way up those elongated ears.
A tiny ruby shines from a chain around his neck
and there I see the hour glass dangling unthreateningly.
The indents of aged muscle mould above his chest bone
to form perfect pectorals. On each tiny nipple is another hoop;
only, they are bronze in appearance, almost wilting in their achingness.
I'm overwhelmed as I thought I recognised the curling of his mouth,
a smile for me. I smile back uncertain if he would think I am afraid.
Then his sharp ivory teeth poke out and I know I have done a good thing.
The greens of his emerald eyes enlighten the evilness,
he just wants fresh air from the summers sky as I do.
A tail slivers like a python in the air with a triangular form at its end.
His nails look dangerous on the edges if his twig like fingers.
But I do not feel them piercing my soul.
For his hour glass is not pouring any golden sand on this day, no.
So I watch him leave and I am left to thoughts about a small world
with the beetles, flies and mice.
I find myself then laughing at such mythical fantasies.
How strange this year has been. You see,
in my front yard’s a special tree.
By April seventh or about
the 10th, at least, its blooms poke out!
My prettiest of trees by far -
like fluffs of cotton its blooms are.
This April has gone very fast.
No blooms appeared as days flew past!
But on this 28th, with glee,
I saw the blossoms on my tree!
Written April 28, 2023 when I saw the blossoms.
For A Brian Strand Premiere No 1216 Poetry Contest
Crocuses are gone,
Daffodils are still holding on.
Tulips begin their parade,
Grape hyacinth still poke out above leafy blade.
Fall I’ll replant bulbs thinned out by rodents,
It’s my yearly battle with loyal garden opponents.
Pansies shining beneath greenery need trimming,
Make room for petunias, keep the front fence brimming.
All a precursor, just marking time,
As rose leaf shoots behind them climb.
These queens of my garden through September have their season,
First flush is best but I’m impressed with all beyond reason.
Petunias will then vie for my attention,
Dense blanket cascading to sidewalk with abandon.
Asters at my roses’ feet,
Will thicken and rise, competing in the heat.
The trick with gardens is to make greedy plants share,
Space, sun, water, food and air.
Plants are easier than people in that regard,
Just pull them up by their roots and plant in the back yard!
MRT/5-3-19
Sit up straight,
Sit up tall!
Criss Cross Applesauce,
And relax above all.
Put your hands on your knees,
Palms UP please!
Touch your thumb to your pointer,
Like you are squeezing green peas.
Close your eyes,
And repeat after me,
“AAAUUUMMM”
And let your worries go free!
Deep breath in,
Then slowly let it all out,
Repeat “AAAUUUMMM”
Quiet, don’t shout.
Deep breath in,
Then let it out again,
Feel calm and cozy
Like a bear in their den.
Release all your tension
Sit up tall
Deep breath in, Relax
Feel your weight fall
Put your hand on your tummy
Feel it poke out
Deep breath in
Feel at ease, No doubt
Slow down your mind
Count “1, 2, 3”
Deep breath in, Relax
Feel free
Practice makes perfect
To help manage stress
Deep breath in, Don’t forget to exhale
And you will progress
When you are done, you will feel great!
Calm and ready in no time,
Practice makes perfect
Just you wait!
I was just a little one, in the grass, enjoying the sun,
when a shadow covered me.
She had appeared suddenly, in one swell hop.
It was a tall warm-feeling shadow. I reached up my hands,
and pulled down a cozy nook
That no one could probably ever top.
I promptly jumped inside, and settled down,
feeling loved and wanted. In a pink pouch.
I hoped this instant love would never stop.
I now had a Mommy who was a kangaroo,
and she was okay and so was I.
Best of all, we both like to power shop.
We went everywhere together, my new marsupial mommy and me.
Wonderful dual relationship did crop.
For years and years, she home-schooled me, I had tap and violin.
I dreamed to be a doctor, or a cop.
She brought in tutors, when I did not understand Latin.
She urged me to try my wings, to play and hop.
But I was happy, inside my pouch, safe from the others.
I never felt rain, not even one tiny drop.
And when I want the sun, I poke out my head,
I sometimes feel it on my face, but then I stop.
For I am staying here until I am dead.
Staying here always, feeling loved, is what I opt.