Best Skirting Poems
Our dinner, boiled to death root vegetables, we swallow in silence as night closes-in on the school. The co-opted Buddhist monastery housing us empties its porcelain thrones into the walled garden’s weedy rear yard. Village women wash: the floors, the pots, the laundry from first light to deep dark. The water runs downhill. War does not stop the drudgery. Where the women sleep is unknown to us. The owners’ are small men; they rule the house with a heavy hand. They teach the techniques of shamanic healing and Thai Massage.
the Green Tara
hangs upon the room's wall:
geraniums on the ledge
The drowse of Friday evening evaporates in a burst of gunfire. Behind the high walls surrounding the school, the sounds of violence escalate. Through open, screen-less, windows sirens sound, the sky lights up and red, yellow, blue, and white prayer flags hang lifelessly from the eaves to the locked gate. Sleep hides, as I do, beneath the covers.
coiled
insecticide smolders:
temple bells sound
The monks, long gone, leave remnants of themselves on the incense coated plaster. Peace sought here was not found. Poverty necessitated the building’s sale. Here on a side street in walking distance from the American embassy, a school for westerner’s storm cellars. The desire to learn Eastern Healing techniques and a common language, English, binds us together: American, French, Spanish, and South African captures of the internet, pilgrims. We come, healers all, undaunted by the Civil War, to Kathmandu, Nepal.
Monday, the riots end on cue. Tourists, again, meander the dust clouded streets, skirting the alley’s begging children. Tea is served in the burgeoning shops. Butchers swat flies from hanging haunches of meat, rare bird vendors walk the street with baskets of exotic birds. And, brazen Westerners stride bare armed, sari-less exposed, and rude, at least until next Friday night—they own the world.
First Published by Mulberry Fork 2016
Categories:
skirting, anxiety, fear, war, ,
Form:
Haibun
He defied tragedy as he rowed
His sturdy boat towards the middle
Of the cursed lake where once
His wife fell into the icy water
And drowned. He could not swim.
Time passed and he learned to bathe.
For he was not ready to stop rowing.
Every time he was on vacation leave,
He would challenge the cursed lake.
Let’s see if he’ll drown now that she’s dead.
He arrived in the middle of the large lake.
Suddenly he could not move his boat.
Instead, a current dragged him towards
The dreaded place where Sophie had died
And the boat came to a halt. A wood thrush
Flew down and rested on the farthest bow.
What a symphonic song it gently warbled!
A breeze rose and the bird flew away.
He felt strength in my arms and began to row
Skirting the shore with its many sandy beaches.
Until he saw a woman waving at him
Now he admitted she did not look like Sophie,
But had the same red curly hair and lithe figure.
She wanted a lift to her boat house, so he complied.
No word was spoken and off she went.
He rowed to his boat house, changed and got in his car.
The redhead was there thumbing a lift. Hamlet came to his mind:
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Was his destiny running after him?
Categories:
skirting, best friend, desire,
Form:
Free verse
Art Gallery. Museum. Parks. Zoo.
Cultural Events.
Glazed like raku pottery
In charcoal rainbows warbled all dark
On pidgeon necks
Like hell’s angels, dumbed,
Blowing smoke through your mind
In a haze of dreams
The city is made of a giant fractal wart
On a witch’s cheeks there’s blush.
Movies. Games. Bars. Clubs.
Cultural Events.
Maybe she’s singing a hymn
With forked tongue
The green fires burning gold and money
Into the skies pitch red
Flirting and skirting sale-priced
Fashion iconography. Architecture
Sophisticating the simple desires.
You’re lost.
Foreclosure. Lawsuit. Divorce.
Cultural Events.
Emblazoned with some valor
Flags of the dead days
Killed like a haiku short-lived
Plopped one by one
Your teeth fell.
Bankruptcy. Fired. Laid off.
Cultural Events.
Brightly darkly the shiny sheens
Of sweat they bubbled in blood red and iron
In that champagne of success
Guilt. Acne. Alcohol. Headache.
Cultural Events.
The feather dust flies and the smell of tar
Rubber in your face
We have drug solutions for your
Unhappiness.
Cancer. HIV. Vaccines. Death.
Cultural Events.
Beer gardens, beer babies, beer bellies,
Beds, homes, and wined babes
Pretty victims and voices they make
Cultural Events.
The city life careened my poetry
Towards those
Crazy wronged right fools
Still swimming the street in search
Furtive, arms afire just fighting
Firing, fleeing into those chains.
Claims. Refrains. Drowned Voices.
Cultural Events.
Categories:
skirting, urbancity, drug,
Form:
Free verse
The walker prevails without his brimmed hat,
skirting whirling dervish of hungry gnats
which seek to explore each orifice bare -
to sample the blood from here and from there,
as discerning vintner sups from each vat.
Tackling a gradient sure to task fat
the rambler struggles, with scowl for farm cat
which extended stretch and yawn smugly shares.
The walker prevails.
Somehow, surroundings seem terribly flat -
land less a life-force than foot-worn doormat.
Even the birds have no energy spare;
in the heat of this day, fox ignores hare.
Yet, like strong tail-ender last in to bat,
the walker prevails.
Categories:
skirting, analogy, anti bullying, nature,
Form:
Rondeau
.
U-umph, Oof-fa ha!.... There, comfy now?
Hey, would you pick up your tush,
reach in here and pick up your wife's locket?
It's down here under my cush,
and please get that screw driver outa your pocket?
That's good for me, yes much better.
Is it good for you too?
Yes, now go ahead and read your letter.
Hey, you remember when you and your wife,
saved me at that Auction in Aspen?
Talk about stress and strife !
I sure was a mess back then.
One last chance,
and I was headed for the rubbish bin.
The Auctioneer grabbed my arm,
And hollered out, "who'll bid it at a sixty?"
I remember being on stage watching you,
then it was "fifty five or bidit ata fifty -now fifty",
You didn't bid ; ..I thought I was through.
No one interested and he was droppin' fast!
"Biddit ata fortyforty thirtyfi-five bidit atta thirty two!"
"Bidda wudda gimme good chair, just alil bit dirty"
I was so nervous ; you just stared at your shoe!
"Lookin big bidder cudda cudda bidder thirty!"
Biddit abub bidja bidja bud, gimme gimme bouta fifteen on "er
well right then I Frayed My Hem! And thought I was a Goner!
"Wudja wudja cudda cudja gimme gimme biddit at about ten?"
That's when you looked up high and I saw the gleam in your eye.
I shifted my skirting, straightened my back and looked real bold,
You caught his eye, nodded your head and he hollered "SOLD!"
Well I rocked back easy and you went in to pay the man,
loaded me up and brought me home in your old van.
Y'all cleaned me up and gave me a nice shampoo,
and set me just so in your cozy library den.
You know..I'm really comfortable with you two.
I Have been since that auction in Aspen.
Hey! You dropped some popcorn in my... Oh ..never mind..,
Ahh..the memories..it's all good..it's all just FINE.
'
Categories:
skirting, funny, imaginationme, me,
Form:
Free verse
Skirting the vast edges of my reality,
wavering between creature and Creator~
A single choice is all there is~
Future is a thought, past is a thought,
now is all there is~
Moments slip into moments slip into moments…
Pure Awareness in all there is~
Viewing bubbles of consciousness from my own little bubble,
contained and refraining from touching your light~
Afraid to own the fact that I am you as your eyes reflect the
innocence that is our bond and birthright~
An empty canvas awaits this masterful stroke, hues of grace~
Painting grace from the vantage point of “I”~
What immaculate perception, nothing less than pure magic~
My wizard’s staff glows brightly,
shedding light on all that lay motionless
and dark on this, the night of my return to you~
Power ripples from my being and reverberates to touch
all I have made real Now~
Alas, I have returned home to receive my inheritance~
Accepting the Divinity that is “I”, in place of a thorny crown
that was once wore so well~
Copyright © Satprem 2015
Categories:
skirting, desire, fantasy, feelings, imagination,
Form:
Prose
Sisters J E L L O cake madness
Illuminates smiles
Baked golden brown then cooled
Portholes jello jammed
Marshmellow skirting
Lip smacking
Good
Categories:
skirting, education, fantasy, food, health,
Form:
Epulaeryu
Over in the corner
By the photo of the Queen
Lives a great enormous spider
Trying hard, not to be seen
He is very very hairy
And he’s very very fat
And the last time that I saw him
I could swear he wore a hat
Now he’s lived behind the picture
For a while, I am sure
He moved there from the gap
Between the skirting and the floor
He used to be quite cosy
In his space against the wall
With his appetite for flies
He soon found it far too small
When I walk in the room now
He will give me such a stare
And looks at me as if to say
“I really couldn’t care”
He’s bigger now, it’s frightening
And the family live in fear
When I popped out for my tea
He made the budgie disappear
My minds made up, he’s has to go
And so, I grab a towel
I walk into the lounge, and,
Did I really hear a growl?
My fathers says I’m stupid
Are you man or are you mouse?
I’ll answer him tomorrow
When I’ve finished moving house
© John W Fenn 13-07-2009
Categories:
skirting, animals, father, children, funnyme,
Form:
Light Verse
She lies, tan gentle lines and curves so sharp
she pairs her heart horizontal to zero
Her body falling from great cusps above
Then deriving great pleasure from the angle
Skirting the limits, fleecing the boundaries
She breaks the surface of space
Then her shell is unfolding, unraveling
Wildly spinning out of control on her axis
The ground giving us no differential treatment
Then her inflections begin to fluctuate
Now she can’t ignore the signs anymore
For a symptom hopes a cure will appear
Strum soft sweet chords on wire lyre strings
A convergence we’ll hold, integrate, we’ll come
Together to throw arc shadows on walls
------------------
Expanded on my older poem "Tan Gentle Lines"
Categories:
skirting, love, lust,
Form:
Free verse
If I close my eyes I can almost smell the flowers
buttoning into summer with a vibrant petal stir
Walking through the lane I own a sweet review
of all the roses that once hugged my fence
A little squirrel skitters through a leafy tree
skirting in the distance like a flying superman
The sound of children 's laughter in the sun
is a magnet to my ear, I am lawning once again
The tea is served in mugs of goofy decalettes
beneath a parasol umbrella green and white
The hours melt away like a season's peep show
but I need not memorize this momentary glow
for I know each year that winter doors will close,
and the spring will reappear like the iris & the rose .
Feb. 28, 2019
Categories:
skirting, memory,
Form:
Footle
Craggy snow-capped crowns,
Skirting skyline’s golden hue.
Windswept clouds, your gowns.
Categories:
skirting, appreciation, beauty, color, image,
Form:
Haiku
A scented paradise of floral escapes
beneath a blue Cerulean sky
Azure thoughts of you aside the river
flowing through my senses
like rivulets of water
pleasant hot winds skirting my wisteria trees
wrapping me in chiffon, frissons of pure delight
The taste of Mojito still cooling on my tongue
I touch the pearls you proffered so lovingly strung
bright as heaven's luster from an aquiline moon
You loved me deeply
but then again you left me
way too soon.
Categories:
skirting, appreciation, summer,
Form:
Free verse
Stars, like glowworms, surround the gibbous moon
Like cold mood of a play, blinks blue lit sky
Dark clouds, like ghostly shadow shows, puff up
Moon moves toward dusky clouds that puff up
A night heron flies across the full moon
Like Hera in black-blue gown, shines the sky
Angels enter, exit in scenic sky
Smokes, as though from Elysium, puff up
Skirting the boots of the silvery moon
Soul is bliss-filled by the charms that puff up
Heart is enchanted by the blue-whale sky
Mind muses on marvelous marble moon
23 March 2022
The Night Sky Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anna Marie Kaianah
Categories:
skirting, nature, night, sky,
Form:
Tritina
With flowing robes,
pungent herbs,
arching doors,
organic walls,
and eerie lights,
you take on trappings
of one thought evil.
Yet in you beats
an open heart—
one always skirting
curdled customs,
sterile allegiances,
trivial tyrannies—
one ever seeking
reunions with roots,
transforming spaces,
raw possibilities.
Categories:
skirting, freedom, imagination, nature, perspective,
Form:
Free verse
Written: August 18, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the half-light of another realm,
A day without you—my heart overwhelmed.
I claim the stillness as my own sun.
Seeking solace until our souls are one
Time slides across the surface of a frozen river.
Echoing memories that bear my heart shiver.
I wander through the depths of my mind,
Searching for—the love I left behind.
Skirting the stars—I yearn to find the way.
To bestow back the light and bear your stay.
But I do not cognize when I became the night.
When darkness consumed me, I took flight.
I have lost my memory—my thoughts a haze,
But the feeling of your love is still ablaze.
My dear, all I remember is you.
And the way you made my heart pursue.
In the depths of my soul, your love lingers.
A flame that burns, my eternal muse, my singer
I do not remember when it all began.
When your love courts—my heart spans.
But I agnize that in the half-light embrace,
I found my purpose, and I found my grace.
With every persuasion of you, my dear,
I became a poet—free from fear.
Words flowed through me as a gentle breeze.
Painting pictures of our love with ease.
In the half-light of another realm,
I found solace—I found the helm.
Categories:
skirting, analogy, appreciation, character, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme