Best Roped Poems
"Selkie"
Tomorrow never comes
shadows dance on walls
the wanting of bodies electric
pressed fast and tight
in the hot surrender
of wet sheets sailing
over solitary satin skin
neroli oiled slick in the scent
of a foreigner's musk
bitter sweet orange and honey
touched in the moment
by a hint of green
limbs tangled
like climbing jasmine
wild orchid
drips off moist fingertips
a rapture rising in notes
piercing velvet chords
stroked out from cherry stained lips
caught on the turn of a tongue
not spoken
as you turn relentlessly
in the tumultuous burning
Sea of Dreams
graced by tears
kissed fresh by
saltwater lips
Ocean eyes
breezes in
towards your
rising twin peaks
whispers over your forest
where the wild lives
a warm breath delivered in the
hollows of the curves
of your waist
fascinated by
something
incomplete
he’s replete
with poetic
soft roped nets
your sung in
like a Selkie
you shed your skin
living naked
eyes half open and drugged
in the sensual unspoken
But you are never kept;
for the moment
suspended
you let him in
but he doesn’t
own your skin
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"...And if some lover, such as we,
Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him still mark us, he shall see
Small change, when we’are to bodies gone."
("The Ecstasie"/John Donne)
"...When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee."
(The Dream/ John Donne)
""I was thinking of Bourbon Street
in New Orleans when I wrote it -
I was getting ready to go there and I thought:
what the f--k do I think I'm going to find?
It's about the incredulity that I
could still be fooled into looking
for a perfect moment."
(about "Fascination Street" / Robert Smith, The Cure)
The old wood framed home stood stark and abandoned, a
shell of herself, where now new homes were standing..
Rotted roped windows wept with the rains and rattled and
trembled with each passing train..
The once solid foundation now unmoored by silt causing the
aged house to lean, a precarious tilt..
Yet inside her ancient bones still chiseled and grand with her
high molded ceilings and oak floor plans.
For over a hundred years she was home, haven, shelter, thru
cold winter storms and hot summer swelters.
Many years had passed and her families moved on.
She stands out of place where she once so belonged.
Rolling in
Meadows in her hair
A tango mass of
Butterflies
And what knots
Roped in
Tongue tied
With a pollen smeared smile
Smack smitten by every cinch
8/22/2019
Wow Me Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Nina Parmenter
I flew alone in the white winter night
Cold winds and ice deep within my weary fright
In the night my mind in the darkest of dark
Death was close, close to my lonely heart
The tomb at the ready
Even falling apart
Some would say this is fine art
Or better yet Art at his finest…
Wrapped in winters black roped plaque
All I wanted was to lie down and rest
In peace and upon a widows breast
For then we could know each other
Pains shared, blood expressed
Oh Cassandra
You are an angel divine
Winters mist and love sublime
Umbrellas to shield us from our earthly fears
Of natures whims and weather so ghastly grim
I turn my head, staring into the past
Your breasts of life make me gaze on back
When I was the raven
Flying noble and high
Now all I see are empty dark skies
Oh the images we freeze in time
the sweet, sweet scents that bring recall
the sharp and painful longing that belongings bring
for those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender
on shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice
soap roped in shower stalls.
Oh the images warmed and torn, sun burnt to brown
upon what's left of glossy crenulated sheets
showing frozen plumped out peeks of
blistering love, gape toothed girls
and sour apple dreams.
We freeze in time on scrapes and shards
on compasses far from the woodlands scene
the tobacco scent of Papa, his yellowed fingers
as they touched my dimpled chin,
blue eyes behind wire rims.
The sweet, sweet scents that bring recall
White Shoulder's between her wholesome breasts
Mother's satin, Chantilly drenched negligee
and father's black onyx ring
ah, I still have him.
The sharp and painful longing that belongings bring
guilty pleasures hidden from the public's tut-tuting eyes
hoarded in ornate boxes, or pressed between stout boards
relentless, heartless is the passing
passing into the frayed, worn fringes
of our dollop of mirrored time.
For those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender
with drawers of balsam pillows to recall the olden days
bring forth the buds which bloom on taffy and apple pie
do not forget the taste of the love
the cotton candy kisses
their first chocolate cone.
On shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice
soap roped in shower stalls, no sense comes
without its call to memory. Oh you do not sit alone,
play all the old tunes from radio days
and invite your loved ones
to come home.
This is my form it is called Etcetera.
Definition: Write a line or a stanza, take from that line or stanza words in the
order they were written [ from 1 word to whole lines or phrases] begin your
next stanza with it continue until you have written using all the words in the
order written in the line or stanza being explored in depth in a stream of
internal dialogue. ALL poetic devises/tropes may be used INCLUDING internal
rhyme. The verse may be as long or short as you wish, no meter required, no
syllable count.
I would say Etcetera and Blitz are sub forms of Free Verse - Stream of
Consciousness - Etcetera- Blitz
My love, you roped all the stars for me
My life you held in your hands
As children we swam in cold blue seas
Sculpting castles in warm wet sands
My fairy tale prince in childhood dreams
Certain that I’d marry you
You garnered my sun and my moon beams
Time passed, my love only grew
Entrusting whispered secrets to keep
Guarding hopes and dreams with care
Twin souls in love, impassioned and deep
No doubts you’d always be there
Alas forever, was meant to be
Three days before we were wed
A fool and drink took your life from me
I wanted to die instead
Such pain I’d never known in my life
My soul surely broke in two
My heart was pierced with grief’s jagged knife
The seam of my life unglued
My heart, my soul, I’ll miss you forever
I feel you though I can’t see
My tears will fall 'til we’re together
Without you I'm half of me.
Written for LOVE STORY - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by SILENT ONE
11/3/2017
ME, MY MUSE AND ME!
ME
What I am about to say and do,
Would be inconceivable by more
Than a few,
How could I dare,
Its isn’t fair,
For it is Christmas season,
Do I have a valid reason
I hear you say,
Please hear me out I pray!
My muse has been cheating,
Spying on me and meeting,
With another website,
At first I cried,
Then got angry, would put this right!
Called my muse in to chat,
Boutique clothes, expensive red hat,
A Rolls Royce parked outside
Ostentatiously no intention
Of wanting to hide,
Jewellery and attitude,
Don’t get me wrong
Have always felt much gratitude,
But this was never anticipated
And by me sorely regretted,
And totally unexpected,
So with no emotion,
Said,you are fired!
MY MUSE
What said my muse,
Is it that time of the month,
Have you any excuse!
You must be mad,
And clearly, your
Husband won’t be glad,
For he will be roped in,
Where will you both begin,
You’ll be wiped off soup,
And lose this poetry group,
Don’t make this mistake,
Are you calling me fake,
I will not be fired
Nearly 2 years since you hired
Me, tread carefully,
I will take you to task,
For I wear many a mask!
ME
Are you threatning me,
You disreputable chump
Behind my back,
You dishonourable punk,
You did all this,
For a moonlight kiss,
Someone phoned me and
Warned me that you do
These rounds and cheated
On many a poet,
Don’t deny it, I have proof
I know it,
Be gone you miserable thief,
Your stay here should
Have been briefer
With a huff and a pout,
My muse walked out,
And disappeared
Without a trace!
Goodness me,
No sense of decency,
I now have a vacancy!
I stood too long
in the public square
strangers wearing masks
desecrated my presence
tossed paint upon my visage
roped and toppled me
shattered my past
erased my future
all because I paused
to gaze upon the beauty
of a common ground
John G. Lawless
7/16/2020
All along the bent and angling coast
seaweed strands in sunken coves
abandon their beached forms
from wave to wave
I always chase after them
their strewn bobbing heads
roll as dead bodies
from wave to wave
What seaweed does not hide
short stories of unknown depths?
submarine worlds where time itself
folds into layered shelves
Under every rubbery leaf
striped then strung to tether in running bands
veins on my father's arm
long long ago
An unseen drift marks the sea's closing line
to leeward straits where I now stand
feet in the sodden growth soil
hand against the shaded bulb
A frothing whirlpool gathers all the seaweed
roped and braided in dulsing patterns
soft crests falling soundless into outstretched arms
then slap against the burying stone
THE HOUSE OF MIRRORS
Come one, come all to the fabulous House of Mirrors,
Souls and the soulless, all are Welcome here in these
Reflective cell prisms.
Enticements glass thunder dome, clear crystalline panes,
Shimmering in the well-lit maze of illusionary frames, of
Reality or fantasy!
The ring master a little man of slight size,
Stands upon a wooden crate, directing the flow
Of humanity’s human fright seekers, one thin dime
He so yells for the fear factor of a life time,
Come one, come all, to the fun house
Of reflections living nightmares!
A ticket taker hidden within a glass box,
Appears out of thin air, a wax figure Gypsy
Woman dressed in satin silks dirty rags,
Laughingly rocks back and forth, as you
Place your dime into her wooden box
Stall, and a golden ticket pops outwardly
As each person prepares themselves to go in,
This funfairs torture chamber of glass!
One by one, a single being enters,
As a sliding pane slams shut behind them,
Curves, illusions and convictions of delusions,
Confuse the individuality of each patron within
This side show of self-realization, as eerie
Music and bodiless screams echo, throughout
This crystal palace of icy fear!
Corporal phantoms slide from panel to panel,
Leaping behind the terrified guests, deadened
Jackals of the afterlife, relishing in the tormented
Screams of those held captive within this
Mirrored house of horrors!
Hands at the glass press in panic, trying to
Find their way out to sanities realm of reality,
But with each pane exposes their inner fear
Until their heartbeats trobe against
Their chest, and their nails scratch at the
Fragile glass cutting it so thin it shatters
At last!
Suddenly outside the roped lines, these
Terrified customers of evil’s displaced,
Find themselves freed from the spell
Of invocation’s demonic force of this
The devils carnival house of Mirrored glass!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Hank had cowboyed on the Triple T Ranch fer nigh on fifty years.
He'd rode the range herdin' beef peerin' betwixt his hoss's ears.
Durin' cattle stampedes he'd broke bones and many a time was throwed,
And he'd been astraddle his saddle so long that his legs was stiffly bowed!
He loved the cowpokin' life but he didn't become rich by any means.
He'd even come to savor Cooky's usual grub of bacon, taters and beans.
Durin' brandin' time he roped and branded many a steer's scruffy hide.
He was a master with the brandin' arn and he wielded it with skillful pride!
He liked lollin' 'round the campfire a-jawin' with pards beneath the stars,
Sippin' java that smelled like old socks, smokin' roll-yer-owns and ceegars.
He pulled many a nighttime guard duty in sleet, snow and peltin' rain,
Blowin' on his harmonica to calm skittish herds which was quite a strain!
He'll miss huddlin' 'round the bunkhouse stove as storms blew driftin' snow,
While he and his pals listened to Tex sawin' away with his fiddle and bow.
Hank hung up his scruffy boots, tattered chaps and sweat-stained hat.
He'd already given away his well-worn saddle and his 44 caliber gat.
This was Hank's last roundup herdin' cattle to Abilene up the dusty trail,
Cussin' and sweatin' to get 'em loaded up to ship on the Chicago rail.
He stopped by fer a few snorts with the boys at the Long Branch cabaret,
Then cantered off into the sunset on Old Dan his trusty hoss, callin' it a day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
There was once an old cowpoke named Meyers
For decades he'd rode an old hoss named Squires
He'd roped steers and fixed fences
Enjoyed beer and square dances
And was bowlegged as a pair of pliers
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
My parents’ repeated refrain -
“Money doesn’t grow on trees.”
In my dreams, a lush tree grew
with leaves of high numbers,
nothing under a twenty.
On our 25th Anniversary,
our church threw
a surprise party.
After the pot-luck dinner,
a gaily wrapped gift box
sported a top slit, waving
a bit of green. As we pulled,
a chain of bills roped up
through the slot, coiling
ribbons of green.
I had seen “Money Trees”
as special occasion gifts,
but for the one and only
time, we experienced the gift
of “Money in a Box.”
Limerick croises : Once our ‘Rita jumped into Sea Anne-Anne – 14
Once our ‘Rita jumped into Sea Anne-Anne
Sirens howled « panic stations » refrain
One Valhalla Rani
Offered her much money
For a shot sans mantilla – in vain
Our ‘Rita – you bet – a stunning beauty
Not given to falling for flattery
Was all of prime six feet
Which she tucked under meat
For Sevillan beds stood (on) two feet plus three !
So they put her up that night till Morgan
Classified her as subterfuge weapon
NSA roped her in
To put one o’er Putin
Now Chinese wish her to test rat poison !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
We bought a cow at the state fair
and loaded her on the truck
to take her home, but halfway there
we had a stroke of good luck.
We hit a rock, and from the crash
she bounced away down the hill,
she mooed and made an awful splash
in the stream beside the mill.
The water was still awful cold,
the cow already freezing…
resisting as we roped and pulled
her breathing turned to sneezing.
My father said this won’t end well,
he couldn’t have been more wrong.
He thought the cow, we ought to sell
but changed his mind before long.
We took her home, our shook up cow,
unloaded her in the barn.
We thought we’d let her sleep for now
then see to her in the morn’.
The next day, just around sunrise,
the cow already awake.
I milked, and to my great surprise,
I got a frozen milkshake!
05/02/15