Best Prickling Poems
Cool raindrops kiss my cheeks
A warm breeze rises within me
As I recall the moments
Which linger in my heart forever
The pulsating sphere of light and dark
Polar opposite lovers in the circle of life
Encompassing magnificent visceral nuances
Infinite shades of gray, slate, and steel
With mauve interludes
An elegant intimate tapestry
Complete with tears of joy and pain
Sharing love and grief
Gazing upwards I join my brothers and sisters
On jagged bare branches
As cool wind rustles our feathers
The white hawks, eagles, vultures, and their tribes
The birds of prey who gather
Sharing tales of their journeys through time
We all stare out
Our senses prickling with anticipation
A silence hovers
A shared glimpse
A collective inhale
Our ears and hearts awaken
Virgin raindrops fall on thirsty ferns
Their limey tendrils outstretched
Quenched in gratitude
A low rumble
Footsteps below
A clearing in the forest
Created by children gathering
Giggles and dust rise
Excited young mouths
Speaking in pantomime
Gesturing with kind intentions
Young creatures of the world kingdom
Unconcerned with language barriers
Sharing evolving consciousness
A wink of an eye
Hands on chest - feeling our heartbeats
Laughter emanating from within little bellies
Spinning freely in circles
Arms outstretched wide, heart open and exposed
Vulnerable in delight and anticipation
A low cello vibrates nearby
A gentle breeze rustles leaves
Which float in the air embracing light rays
Mesmerizing all
Pine boughs perform shadow puppet dances
On cascading rock walls nearby
Elders lean contently against tree trunks
Smiles slowly emerging as silent tears flow
A young child skips over
Tenderly grabbing her grandfather’s arm
Opening his hand, she plants a wet kiss
On his age-stained palm
Then gazes up at his toothy grin
Before returning to the gathering
Wild beasts arrive and quiet
Kneeling by water’s edge
To drink and watch
Hands clasp
A sharing ensues
A vibration rises
As souls gather
Radiating light and hope to all
Categories:
prickling, animal, appreciation, children, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
I may never know what exactly happened,
but I think I know the why of it
Tadhana…Fate…Destiny…Kismet…
Put it in so many words,
but it all boils down to that.
Tadhana…
shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
She was being stupid,
crashing into the waves that day
just for the thrill of it
He was being pensive,
reflecting on how those waves
just somehow seemed to soothe him
People slowly left the shores
as dark clouds loomed in the horizon
save for these two souls...
She wasn’t even supposed to be there,
just a spur of the moment thing,
forgetting her other worries
she loved storms, she loved the beach
combine them and for her it was bliss…
He went there for closure,
the 10th year of his brother’s death
trying to accept that he did all he could
he loved him, he loved the beach
but guilt drowned him…
The rains then came down in sheets,
winds whipping, storm waves crashing
she was almost at shore though,
when the undertow pulled her back
He thought he was imagining things,
his brother’s ghost perhaps?
When he saw her again,
and fear was tossed like jetsam
Was she the answer he was seeking for?
His redemption in another form?
Was this the reason why he was here now?
Her only hope for salvation?
Rushing out to sea,
adrenaline rushing through his veins
Faith and Fate working together,
he swam towards her
and as they reached the shore
the winds dropped to a whisper,
the waves went back tickling sand,
the raindrops trickled into drizzles
She was breathing, thank God
He lay beside her, exhausted
She could only thank him with a smile
well, a smile that could match the Sun
and she took his hand...
and put it over her heart
It was not so much that their hands fit perfectly,
but there was something else...
mole on her right ring finger
perfectly aligning
mole on his left ring finger
Tadhana.
Shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
and of why I am here.
** tadhana is a Tagalog word, it can be translated as fate/destiny/kismet
July 25, 2010
Categories:
prickling, inspirational, life, loveday,
Form:
Narrative
...oooOOO Tears of Gold OOOooo...
Prickling hot glistening tears from the eyes above
Fall in little rivulets round the nose out of pain, thoughts or love
Hot tears roll down the cheeks cooling as they fall
Salty on the lips they pass they don’t stall.
Tears of pain, tears for the dead, tears for the dying
Tears for the newborns the weddings and tears for the sighing.
Tears that roll onto the bared chest with arms open wide
Giving comfort and strength as they try to stem the tide
Tears for the fears unrealised but real
Tears for those lost or that’s how they feel
Tears that flow for those we have not met
They need our tears but they will not know it and yet
They may feel our tears shed for them all
Tears shed out of pity or love they can fall
Tears for the free who think they are not worth it
Tears for the captives that do not deserve it
My tears are falling without knowing why
But the tears that are golden never run dry
They run for the love of all human kind
Wishing and hoping the deserving will find
Some one to bare their chest for them all
And comfort them as their own tears do fall.
Categories:
prickling, fear, friendship, hope, life,
Form:
Light Verse
Hope is hated when wasted on naught
When energy is drained by strained excitement
And when at last realization strikes
The ostensible happiness dissipates into despair
Doubt sweeps over as cruel fact
As others see a decrepit smile
Sovereign frowns reign from within
Embarrassment embraces prickling the skin
Hands don’t know where to go
Body and mind began to slow
I see him walk past me
Not even a glance of acknowledgement
Nostalgia and shame as one smother
Why would I expect him to remember?
Why should I expect him to even bother?
Things change but emotion remains
Something else stays . . . it is unexplained
I try not to look his way anymore
Without a speck of hope left
But eyes flee and lightly brush against him
He doesn’t seem to care
So why should I be here?
Questions torment and turn into declarative despair
There is no more time for him and me
So I’ll stay on the sidelines
Can’t say I won’t be hurt there
Categories:
prickling, absence,
Form:
Free verse
What’s the use of trying any longer?
Nothing comes out the way I want it to flow
Words perpetrate my every being
And I strain to get my temperament to slow
But my cognizance is reeling in a panic of waves
The voltage of emotion is overwhelming me
What is this journey impending to?
What is my purpose?
To obliterate or build?
I keep assurances only to splinter and shatter them
I melt into their regrets and apologies without looking back
Then I am slapped right back in the face
With my own waves of shame and qualm
I wish I was like you
I wish I could put a guise on and never show my face
I wish I could take a dagger and extinguish the sorrow
Destroy tomorrow
But it keeps coming back with twinges and pains!
I want to scream my way into your existence
I want to end all the overwrought thoughtlessness
I want to be lifted in your ease
To be beautiful and clever like you
The demon is me and I am foaming with misery
My horns are melting by your pertinacious confrontations
I can’t reply to the desolation of nothingness
I can’t make it all go away
I’m trapped! RELIEVE ME!
Cursed adrenaline rushes about me
My body is prickling and waterlogged in blackness
I swallow the poisons of my backwash
And back-fire every stab in the back
Categories:
prickling, angst, confusion, death, depression,
Form:
Free verse
The deepest burgundy I have ever seen
The soberest black ever
So dense..so mysterious
but still dont show its loving quiver.
The velvety touch
not resembling to hatred much
The silk of my heart it sways
Mysterious yet like a gorgeous love in heaven it was made
Like a diamond it shone in the endless sky
and the beautiful scent of its prickling cry..
takes my heart in hollow
Neither owned by someone
no needed to be borrowed.
In the barren land, I walk
touching the earth with my toes
But yet it blooms intoxicatently inside me as it was a black rose.
(Thanks guyz 4 reading d poem..ur precious time means a lot!)
Categories:
prickling, blessing, fantasy, heaven, mystery,
Form:
Free verse
A waste paper basket, a trash can, a bin
Whatever you call it, some things won’t stay in
The things that you write
Long into the night
May make, when discarded… one hell of a din
*
Don’t write by moonlight at midnight
Do not trash your tale late at night
For powers unseen
And terribly mean
May use it to give you a fright
I know, for it happened to me
I tell for I need you to see
I binned every word
And later I heard
A screech of malevolent glee
*
I lie wide awake in my bed
My discarded verse in my head
I tiptoe downstairs
With prickling neck hairs
For something smells like it’s long dead
A full moon sheds just enough light
In the room where I sit down to write
But somehow I know
It won’t let me go
This thing I created tonight
It lives for it never can die
I think I now understand why
I wrote about strife
My words gave it life
And you can’t kill words, though you try
The waste paper basket taunts me
It’s dark in the room but I see
A claw on its rim
My thoughts turn to Grimm
It mutters my name… and I flee
Categories:
prickling, horror, writing,
Form:
Limerick
A Rose with No Thorn
In the Garden, the bouquet of life
There bloomed a rose whose beauty caught my eye
Incomparable is this rose’s design
Unlike the others, she is not the prickling kind
I know they say that every rose has its thorn
But here blooms the exception, of the spirit she is born
One of a kind, the rarest in form
For she is a rose with no thorn
Oh what a fragrance, so lovely and fair
A scent of sincerity sweeps through the air
A pristine beauty from the realms up above
For she is the flower primeval of love
And as I bask in her blossoms of compassion
I find I am fashioned by love that’s everlasting
And in my heart she’ll always be adorned
For she is a rose with no thorn
Though weeds, thorns and thistles have tried to choke her
The rain has wet her; the sun has even scorched her
But she’ll not wither, neither will she wilt
For she is rooted in the love that God has tilled
Amidst great turmoil, never to be foiled
Arrayed in glory that could never ever toil
One of a kind, yes the rarest in form
For she is a rose with no thorn
Copyright2008 by Kenneth J Thompson
Categories:
prickling, love, metaphor, mother, rose,
Form:
Rhyme
The time for frost has not arrived, the morning sunlight’s dampened
by the chill of evening dew, the grass still grows though slowly now.
Within, chill copper pipes ping, once again breaking the silence of night.
The field mice come unwelcomed to their winter nests inside my walls.
Morning glories, mere days ago abundant now shiver in the shade.
Dropped seed must wait until the springtime’s sun to rise, to grow.
Clothes in closets all packed high, shelves to ceiling, must topple down.
Release the felted wool, the flannel bright, the knitted sweaters of Iona.
The pumpkins wait impatiently upon a field of green, crisped, vines.
Still connected to the prickling twine and fan like leaves, the blossoms fail.
And, I reflect within a picture perfect room, of what has been and what is.
The light of day’s a graying tone of mourning, whose length slowly fades away.
First Published in Eunoia 4/6/14
Categories:
prickling, seasons,
Form:
Couplet
It's mid-summer again with its mild and moist morning,
Soon whisked away by the mid-day sizzling breeze.
The gorgeous wildflower drinks of the sun's offering,
While butterflies sip of the lily blossom's wine on the lees.
Mid-summer is a time when love beads of rain cool the air;
The gentle beat of its falling seem a song of beneficence.
Then using the rainbow with his incomparable epic flair,
The Great Poet punctuates this grand verse with elegance.
As the birds are resting from their morning serenade,
They now allow the cricket its course at center stage.
The songbirds are cooling their throats in the shade,
Letting the hot sun with its prickling heat fiercely rage.
As the summer sun begins to appear as sweet red lips,
Like a dessert of refreshing sugared berries before me.
The evening breeze cools and my brow no longer drips,
As my eyes grow heavy and I dream of the new day to be.
Categories:
prickling, butterfly, god, morning, seasons,
Form:
Rhyme
-
My braces are pinching me and I remove them but really I only want to get closer
The harder grasses prickling our arms but why does she complain so little
The sun beats down and the clagg is to swished away from exposed flesh
Her focus is love or lust or me for now at least
The wood wasp announces its arrival and stands still in the air and looks
Too early for distraction he thinks and gone in a split second.
The summer sun beats down and hums as far as the eye can see
She arches her back a little and peels her long auburn hair behind her ear and smiles
Anticipation pent up amoungst the tall waving ears of meadow grass and poppy
She asks is this grass tall enough beside the river bank
The river chuckles and laps and quacks with ever notes of time going by
Again can anyone see us she says. Don't worry there's no one for miles.
She stiffens and recoils in a fractional notice and my torrent ebbs some what
I sit up on the tartan rug. Look there is no one my love and I stoke her ankle
I turned my head to the river bank opposite to an anxious man sitting up too
The tall waving grass as if supporting the lone head of this man this courting spoiler
My torrent disappears down. A drive becomes my angered disappointment contained
My beauty in lace white and of steady eagerness then abates with my news
I told you. I told you. And her heart shows me no sad disappointment no loss
Gathering our selves and bits of grass dart away past cocks of meadowed hay
Categories:
prickling, loveme, love, me, river,
Form:
In swirling mist, I inch along the roads,
There are no passengers aboard the coach;
This is no night for driving heavy loads.
The headlights full to warn of my approach,
My scalp is prickling: wonder what this bodes
(My instincts always prove beyond reproach).
And then dismembered hairy hands appear;
An evil laugh the last thing that I hear…
* based on a local legend
Jack Horne, 24th August, for Nette’s Through the Mist contest
Categories:
prickling, fantasy,
Form:
Ottava rima
I opened the top drawer of my mind
and carelessly took out some words.
I threw them about with little thought
of where or on whom they might land.
Many bounced when they hit becoming scattered and lost;
Some stuck like burrs holding fast where they fell;
A few jabbed like barbs causing prickling and itching;
One flew straight as an arrow into the heart of a friend.
But I was amused at myself and filled with conceit,
there in the midst of an admiring crowd.
Caught up in the wonder and pride of it all
I gave no thought to the missiles I'd fired.
But wait, the crowd grew quiet, and
suddenly I knew something was wrong!
They were all looking at me with disbelief and fear;
then the circle parted and I gazed on a terrible scene.
My words had become visible, each ugly one of them,
glinting and mocking me everywhere I looked.
I ran from the crowd, from their jeering delight
thinking only one thing, disappear, disappear.
It was then I saw my friend.
Fighting for breath and losing the fight;
impaled and dying on my careless word.
I cried, "Oh my dear God. Please, what have I done!"
And I ran to my friend saying, "please, please hold on."
Then I opened the bottom drawer of my mind
and carefully, so carefully took out some words.
I carried them to my friend and gently held them out
hoping, praying that they would be enough.
My friend lived that day, no thanks to me,
and forgave me for my awful deed.
But oh what I'd give if I could recall
that word and the pain that it brought.
To you who, like I, have been careless in your talk,
take care what you say, set a watch on your tongue.
Else you too some day will see effects you never meant
from words you can't get back, ever.
Submitted 5 Sept 16
Categories:
prickling, words,
Form:
Verse
Don Johnson Yuan-orang
We was in Coles a shopping center,
The wild man from Borneo appeared,
He reared up an started spraying
Yuan Oranaga-Taunga was here
Followers in their blue-gum robes,
With bark a prickling round their ears,
With dollar coins attached to ear lobes,
Dodged and sidestepped as they savoured
Uric acid and sweet urea,
Holy-man was gesticulating,
Gonads flashing so sincere,
Red hairy waistcoat ever stating,
Yuan a Tanga was the seer,
Deported then he was so,
Dropped by parachute we hear,
Back to the wilds of Borneo,
Thought blinking Wombats bloody *****…
Don
Categories:
prickling, adventure,
Form:
Ballad
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Breathe - I breathe ! Beauteous be the rose
I planted the bush - the roots I cherish
Thorns - those beautiful thorns in my heart
Prickling ! They inspire me with thoughts of beauty
Day by day! The daylight winter sun
May it nourish this beauty in my soul
And may God bless the little tree inspiring me
Thus be it be may it also instill thoughts
Of the beauty of words in my mind for prose
As each day goes by hour by hour , feeling the power
Of love ! of which the bud if it shall grow
Flourishing me, keeping me as a person whole
If it shall blossom - watered and nurtured each day
Then shall I wander in my mind the words
To encourage bloom after bloom , love at its best
And the bush I planted that I appreciate
In presence - Hence the beauty of the rose
My mind - my mental stimulation of prose
I write - with the love in heart , my senses clear
May my littler bush! shine in my breath each year
And may my roses bloom - may they bless my home
Capturing those thoughts - of the most beautiful flower
The power of love! represented by the bud
Blooming the beauteous words blossoming
Truly within my soul - I am assuming
That by petal by petal - the roots may grow
Implementing strength - the rose I still get to know
And as I speak - may love be also in my heart
May then the rose listen to each word I encourage
And with strength of telepathy , may the blooming start.
Categories:
prickling, rose,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue