Best Recoils Poems
The dense stratus manipulates the sunlight
Rugged heath fades as day turns to night,
Solitary tree recoils
Unaware embroils
In respect
Toils,
Self respect
In winter’s turmoil's
Evokes and then disembroils,
When with groans of naked limbs doth fight
Sees off the weary wind on its way in flight.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
An Andaree form
The Doll Collection
The necklace scattered: all into little pieces
Another quiet doll for my collection
I twisted her throat until her eyes shown dead
Into the night they stare so very red
I stand her up, on a small doll chair
Crafted with loving hands that freed her from breathing air
They are all in a row, so pretty they are, staring at my wife
She is paralyzed you see, her neck would not even tear for me
I collect dolls, for my loves doll collection
She doesn’t move, only stares in murky recollections
Small pieces of deep anguish leak from her eyes
She recoils at the new dolls I give her as a surprise
They sit in chairs; the doll house is so pretty
With amber and gold, I wrap a necklace around each
Such pretty dolls, that me and my love keep
Each doll face is my path towards guilty redemption
No one knows the secrets we have hidden so deep
No one knows the dolls that we collect and keep
No one knows I have saved them all, they shall never weep
No one knows my wife, paralyzed; so shall never speak
That fateful night she refused to die
Her necklace so beautiful wrapped in blood so dry
In our doll house, my shrine devoted to her
Her tears rain down her face mercilessly clear
Notes: I had just purchased a book called “The Doll Collection” a compilation of short stories edited by Ellen Datlow. For one purpose, I was sure it would inspire me some poetry, of course on the dark side. Then I read a poem by Andrea Dietrich called “The Necklace Broke” From that I had my idea and off I went. I borrowed a few words from Andrea with her permission, and did so on purpose to pay tribute to another great poet here on Soup! Even a poem is so completely different, I think its wonderful that reading other poets provides such great inspiration. I would also ask that people read her poem, and here I provide the link!
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_necklace_broke_831425
I stand naked wrapped only in the truth
you vile, loathsome reptile.
My contempt of you is limitless
as I have been force-fed your hypocrisy.
Your postulations are lost on me
as my insight into your repulsive nature
is exceeded only by the palpable stench of your aura.
Eyes opened to their widest apex,
ridiculously lends support to your “jokerish”
smile overly exaggerated in a…
Carol Channing kind of muse.
It seems your purse a revolving door
to his wants, has an ideally broken clasp…
Your shoulder, a never ending
tissue to his every sorrow should be waterlogged.
Which stands to reason why your legs
stretched open as wide as the earth’s axis,
“she-doggedly-in-heat” sniffs attention from him
and remains open like an all night 7-11 just to
provide “respite” in the name of “friendship”.
You find joy in slinking and scurrying through
the misfortunes and/or gains in our life,
all the while professing your love to him
and masticating on a stolen covenant
you have orchestrated in destroying.
There is no sector of my day
allowing me peace and escape from your
treachery and continued debauchery.
Your hair once a mousy shade of brown
now waxes blond in your further attempt
to assure he remains suckled at your breast
knowing his lust for blond haired, blue eyed
women that are six shades lighter than my ebony hues.
There is though, an appellative to my anguish,
which recoils from my tongue at
any attempt to voice this rage.
Escalating anger marinates and broils within
my breast as your ubiquitous presence
in my life has finally left me little strength
and no shelter from the uncloaked
vicious pain searing me to the core
in this deep abyss I have found myself in…
Unleashed fury beckons me, reaching back beyond now
when day was night and night was only imagined
barely controlling this hate and
the exigency to extract myself
from this nefarious, cheap, vaudevillian
show, which no longer can be ratiocinated
through your insipid lies before I...
Can’t imagine your expending this much
energy with your own household or husband because
you’re always living and breathing in mine!
Contempt has a name…and its malodor is…Linda.
Emotional scars can cut deep,
manipulating how you feel.
And at night, when you try to sleep,
phantom tears suddenly turn real.
Everything seems so surreal,
when demons empower the blade.
And exonerating the steel,
your inhibitions slowly fade.
With every cut, blood oozes thick,
while the tides of guilt ebb and flow.
And time, pausing to watch this trick,
grants the only relief you know.
Anxiety, sends each heartbeat
pulsing and pounding in your vein.
And purging your soul with its heat,
blood flows, to extinguish your pain.
All alone, you question your worth,
cringing inside your broken heart.
And the world that's hurt you since birth,
recoils, as your life falls apart.
WHY DO WE DREAM IN COLOR
Slime-green jealousy of serpent,
Recoils around forbidden spread.
Eve’s curious of its foul scent.
Why do we dream in apple red?
Eyes look up at the dying sky.
A plethora of silent doom.
Each new dawn causes tears to dry.
Rainbow petals of dreamy bloom.
Dried red resin upon crossed wood.
Mercy causing our knees to bend.
God looked out for the greater good.
Why do we dream in color, friend?
6/27/2017
Kyrielle Form
Strand’s Late June Standard contest
1st Place
Her touch is gentle
Seeking only to comfort,
To search out the source
Of their trouble, their pain
They lie at first, silent
In fear of what dark form
Has sent this suffering
To disrupt their peace
The worry tears at their heart
Speaking only to their ears
Painting pictures only for their eyes
For they are alone; only they can feel
Her gentle touch, her voice,
Her presence reassures them
They are not alone,
There are those who care
Their fear retreats, recoils
Their ears turned deaf to its voice
Its pictures now but shadows
That no eyes can see
This gentle care, this courage
Opens their hearts, their hope’s restored
They share then, feeling close
To those who cared for them
If I will talk to myself, well I will
And I do,
As the spring of my mattress
Recoils; I get up
Put on my shoes
Left,right,left,right
Tight they march
At my words
O my word
Three-hundred and,
and sixty-five
The tears held back
What is the point
To talking to you
When the peas
Deep dived, from the oversized
Can, leaving just enough
For the salad and ashes
Left, right, left, right
Five months go
And dark circles appear
In the corners
And the morning smothers
Early Hallow-
een, and March
brings screams
If I will talk to myself, well I will
And I do,
As the spring of my mattress
Recoils
And I get up…and I get up
5/11/2022
You are King of the Hill!
A full eight years done with teachers in a private school!
You are not foul-mouthed nor spoiled.
Everyone you meet, thinks the world of you, nobody recoils!
You are not going to an ordinary high school,
Where you have to apologize for being white nor step down
academically, too.
Nor will you study the destruction
of the American flag or be taught new, faux, history.
Nor is your sex a mystery, you know you are, a boy, to which I
I am ever grateful, there is no mystery!
An immense star in Little League you proved to be!
Not only for the a ball you throw at 80 miles per hour, we see.
But your amicability and friendships with many,as welcome as
fresh, Spring flowers be.
You will be no moron, Grandson, in a nutty high school.
But one of the best and brightest!
Why?
You only honor and play by God's rules.
The Bible, being your life's tool!
I miss that little boy I once held in my arms.
That's the blessing of being a Nana, who still feels your warmth..
The most blessed~experiencing her grandsons's Linfinite charms.
With all my respect and love, dearest Edward!
Nana Pangie
~Thank you for coming into my life~
Winter scatters moth bones.
For a while,
it refreshes the turgid and lax.
Then the chill legs of small dancers
pirouette over warm bodies.
Flesh recoils, lungs curl around
each breath.
Hedgerows offer their huddled masses,
to the underground and hidden.
The light is going color blind,
Wind-crones whip rabbit hair
into wickiups
for the newly dying.
“The fog may come on little cat feet”*
But Autumn eschews silence
The thick crunch of crisp fallen foliage
Hastens the homebound honking of gaggled geese
Soft whispers of falling rose petals
Fade into the haze of hoarfrost
Cold winds whistle wildly through naked Maples
Flags snap loudly to attention
A brutish barn cat recoils from the touch of snow
Squawking ducks slowly slide across an icy crust
Chattering children board a school bus
Winter awaits its curtain call
| I Dream Poetry in Darkness and Light |
Unbroken, my light rises like deep alluvion of sweet rivulets,
Craving passions and tragedies like written poetries of Juliet.
In softly spoken words I quell, of streamed sheen of sunbeams and spells.
Where worlds of fallen reality and fantasy live in parallel.
Playing with dreams and it's ruinous luminosity,
Through my skin, I feel its pale softness glow.
For, my ferocious heart beats for disaster and catastrophe.
Between the beginning of dawn and it's closing dusk evenings.
Reaching with ardor towards it's warmth,
The bitter transparent wind on my lips, I kiss.
Nevertheless, the dark reminds to hide all my mess.
But, this febricity itch with within my hidden fears,
Recoils and quivers like a mournful Mimosa.
Hiding under midnight treacherous treasuries but, I falter closer.
Let me lay in darkness; between these verses.
Let all hatred consume me with unbearable curses.
Let me die within these spiralling pages and vortex verses.
But, the scintillant light lends it's chi,
reminding my lungs; inhale deep; exhale free,
Like a pretentious vapour; I keep climbing.
My senses swell; atmospheric rising with spring tides fluorescent rhymings.
I move through like osmotic whispers; jolting with winged feathers of sweetened writings.
Because, I dream poetry in darkness and light.
And mourn with unspoken words; simultaneously, day and night.
In the cradled of life's dark garden,
It dwells amongst the murky waters
Primeval,
Behold the creature from the black lagoon.
Nay what is this creation, neither fish or
Reptile.
Yet a blending of both, a high bread's mixture,
Intelligent, and cunning, the last of his species,
To survive.
Brought unwisely did men, bring beauties
Forbidden fruit, unto this lost oasis of Eden.
For alone sentinel awaits to partake in such
A luscious morsel.
So does it not say in biblical text, go forth
And multiply, by a driven basic instinct he
Cautiously watches from the thicket brush.
What a graceful motion moves within the
Jungles domain,
She swims idle caught unaware, the bride
To be herself, charms him with every stroke
Across this lake placid.
With Chameleon like stealth, the groom appears,
Taking his prize to their cavey honeymoon retreat.
So tenderly he greets his mate, from shocks
Dreamy like state she awakes, and recoils in repulsion.
No love's scorn, and tragedies broken heart,
Can do more damage than rejections expulsion.
Bullets may have cut the flesh to the bone,
But was it not beauty, which killed the beast,
And the last sight he saw, was his love in
Another's arms.
So ends natures final verse in this evolutionary
Experiment,
The creature from the black lagoon now lies
Dead, upon this tragic stage of life.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
-
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
The Elephant and Mouse
Way back a long, long time ago, when mouse and ‘phant were new
They thought that their relationship would always ring true blue
But the mouse one day got randy and the elephant was handy
And don’t you know, a rape did soon ensue
Though small, the mouse was mighty, the elephant a wee bit flighty
And when the deed was over, the mouse still felt the same
But the elephant was fearful; felt nothing but the shame
And so you know the two of them then went their separate way
They grew apart in mind and body and thus they are today
And though it’s been 4000 years, the feeling is there yet
For as you know, or so they say, a ‘phant does not forget
And so today an elephant encountering a mouse
Recoils in fear and loathing of the little louse
Mdailey 9/8/12
How emboldened the man who speaks of love
Fanning the ashes lying cold and dark
Arousing the flesh, exciting the heart
Elusive emotion dreams are made of
Lethargic mind, not controlling the tongue
Which utters the word and ignites a spark
Self inflicting such pain n'er to depart
Then curses the powers that be above
What manner of fool seeks such destiny
One who entices lasting anguish and shame
Then recoils in debasing self pity
Crying out to others for sympathy
Why put one's hand in a flickering flame
Love will always be fleeting and pithy
Italian Sonnet Rhyme Scheme ABBA ABBA CDE CDE
14 lines 10 syllables per line 140 syllables 96 words
An original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner