Best Souring Poems
The Old man of Merces
His wrinkled face bearing slaps of time
His eyes barren like a desert starved of rain
Glittering they must be during his prime
Crumbling body holding spirit in chain
His trembling hands resting on knees
Sinking and floating in thoughts deep
Oblivious of dry leaves falling of trees
Looking exhausted from lack of sleep
Unloved by loved ones abandoned by friends
His profile silhouetted like a ship aground
Tired of beleaguered life’s twists and bends
Wishing his soul ascended the chariot Heaven-bound
A loveless life senseless for him
Agony and heartache ceaseless for him
The society appears as heartless for him
A longer living meaningless for him
My heart urged to stop by and greet
His souring thoughts from confines of chest release
The man with love and compassion treat
But alas my tongue isn’t Portuguese
Each day in the morning cold
The snow-haired I found, resting on a boulder
Wearing a coat lusterless and old
With the muffler around neck hanging over shoulder
After absence of few months as I return
I find him no more on the boulder dozed
Like boiling waters in vapor turn
Seeing everything with eyes closed
With spirit in bondage and soul in chain
The picture of despair in a society blind
The symbol of affliction, anguish and pain
The venerable old man I failed to find
---
1 A small town in Sintra District in Portugal
Feb.2010
Categories:
souring, allegory, caregiving, depression, lifeold,
Form:
Rhyme
POSSUM JUGGLING
Written By the Poets Listed After The Poem.
Possum juggling is a trick conjuring sport.
You should never do it if your arms are short.
Nasty teeth are gnashing as they're tossed in air.
The juggling of possums requires flair.
Full-grown possum are very massive fellows.
Their bulk when lifted, like handling jell-o.
They are so at ease as they fly through the trees.
Are you ever so tall? Fight them on your knees!
Though cuddly and soft, please never be smitten.
Asleep they appear, in a flash you're bitten.
Upon one look, so UN-cute the ragged claw!
Surely reminds me of my mother in-law.
In my compost bin found this fury creature.
Pointed nose, stinky as my English teacher-
For that part which sticks out of the can at dark.
Not a pretty site though pink, duck. It’s a fart!
Quickly grab his leg and throw him really high
Let the little blaster soar into the sky!
Be quick, juggler, Granny Clampett is waiting
It's possum stew she hopes to be creating
Wait, I forgot! My arms are too short for this.
Now on my face sprinkles a souring mist.
The moral of this story, surely you see!
Never juggle opossums! Just let them be…
Contributed Poets (in alphabetical order)
Charma Chircop, Austin Daver, Carolyn Devonshire, James Frazer, Robin Gass, James M.
Goff, Raul Moreno, John Robbins, James Peranteau, Dane Smith-Johnsen,
Categories:
souring, animals, fantasypoets, , cute,
Form:
Couplet
I see you in deep thought of me,
and I ask myself if I should ripple your complexion..?
I gaze in those reflective eyes,
And simmer yet swim in those limpid pupils,
Staining your liquid sheets.
While subtle things begin to heat...
...Love’s stir infuses us as one concoction.
As souring...sweaty lemon juice…
...beads from both of our shiny brows,
…I lowly steep in you.
Bubbling suds of passion,
...conclude our boiling saga.
I in you...you on me...water and tea,
Together we make...a nice warm beverage…
…for the world to sip our love.
Categories:
souring, love,
Form:
Free verse
The warmth no longer comes
it seems to only leave.
The furry ones, all
caught in hypnotic disbelief:
hardening ground's
taken root
where once
gardening grounds
(forsaken, mute)
were once and again
makin' fruit.
Each beast, shaking
like a leaf
(though, truth be told
I've only ever
seen 'em dance)
as if to compel
the sun to
sidle up
'n stay a bit.
The butterflies are all turned
to windblown, drying leaves.
The biting clouds of gnats
are now
the biting cold of early flakes.
All hatched and reared
(the secret thrush, the ungainly, splashtering loon,
the burly snakes)
as evening hurries home
to be home for the night.
It's so early, so late.
The fatted robin's gone
just as the field mice hid
from barn-now-lapcat.
This constellation of crows,
a raucous perch, tried
that hiding ploy: their clotted knotted
silhouetted faux-leaf blackening hide out
where the leaves’d lived but crows are not
meant to blot the low sun as they’d plotted...
And so it was as so its been since Oh, so ever since -
a bird of prey, answered their
plaintive caws with painted claws -
a fracturous startle from above
a crash! a cry! a scattering!
one down, one murder
still.
Nothing softens, nothing greens.
No flowering as Southern urges
force flocks into making V-lines.
Each nest left: all break routines.
Summer is souring, as frost emerges
and last-one-picked, the pines -
lefties left in left field;
icing soon, their needles their shield
and, the coach never intervenes...
The light more slow to show
more tugged and bent to slant.
The sunshafts seem to push
the cold ahead as snow by plows.
And for our part we too as well
well, we turn away, turn indoors.
We turn our dreams to
make-it-through this.
We turn our collars up,
and too, our eyes to floors.
We turn our (each seems to)
thoughts inside this shell
not towards Inner but
rather, of course, truly from-
far and away from the
Cold & Falling, closing crisp.
How unlike the Scholar's Cup!
Our husks indoors,
our thoughts follow
but burrow deeper still.
Don't blame the light
for not keeping company
so deep where hides
a fearful, frigid 'you.'
It's Autumn
all turns on
one point.
It's Autumn
Fall burns on.
It's Autumn
sun burns on
one point
(of light.)
I have never felled so alive
as now.
Categories:
souring, autumn, philosophy, seasons,
Form:
Free verse
My tears are pouring,
And my heart is souring,
My heart is racing,
My body’s pacing,
I heart beating fast,
I can’t let this become the past,
I will answer tonight,
Before he’s out of sight,
I think I’m in love,
My heart is souring above,
The skies it seems,
This boy redeems,
And says he loves me,
And that he wants to be,
With me forever,
And leave me never.
Categories:
souring, devotion, love, passion, teen,
Form:
Rhyme
child on a swing souring skyward - frozen mountain peak slices through iced clouds
Categories:
souring, mountains,
Form:
Monoku
You promised me the days we sung and cooked and danced, painting each others nails would come back someday
You promised me, so i sat restless, watching the pass of everyday, pass me by, memories souring as the clock ran
Harmless illusions wipe away as i realize what i had been surrounded by, with each spent sunday i realised i was lucky when you ran away
Harmful children come from hazardus playgrounds,i was raised to bring pain, i know a million ways that i can
You promised, something so insignificant, you are someone who should never have been given a second thought, so why do i feel this way
You promised something so small, years later something that didn’t matter yet my mind still paints you a con-man
Harmless was never really a word i’d have thought to use for you unless in a singular action like today
Harmful even when you don’t realise i guess your the same in one way, you were a liar before our relationship began
Categories:
souring, betrayal, boyfriend, child abuse,
Form:
Rhyme
CRY THE BELOVED CONTINENT…
(Apropos The Ripping Veil of Pan-Africanism)
In all her blackness
her soils run red
with the blood of her children
Whose bloated bellies
mock the pregnancy
of liberty
And her breasts
sag in union
with faces
of hopeless hopefulness;
While hollowed eyes
of mourners
gaze into the wholeness
of nothing---
Smiling death stalks
the narrowing corridors of
life---echoing souring laughs
to virgin wombs
screaming from the shadows
of the valley of death:
But believe brethren---
mock not the gods---
keep plodding;
for in the theism
of this imposed dystopia,
a wretched mother
tenaciously clings to time
and history.
Categories:
souring, africa, black african american,
Form:
Prose Poetry
My beloved wife
It was the crows calling that gave the final warning on this mid October morning.
Just as the mist began falling upon the hills in a strange manner that was almost unnerving.
This morn shall be my final calling as my soul begins souring high above the clouds on this mid October morning.
Signalled by the single rose placed upon my coffin.
Not a healthy rose but one that's wilting, It's red petals fading and it's leaves browning.
It was placed upon my coffin by a loan woman who stands morning on this bitter October morning.
She turns towards home and begins walking, towards my old manor house that now stands rotting.
She passes the spot in the garden where she hid the knife the other morning, just before the police came calling.
Alerted by the chamber maid screaming upon discovering by body laying bleeding.
Murder was the diagnosis, probably by a burglar was the prognosis.
The window was broken and my jewellery was stolen.
They didn't bother to ask about the missing kitchen knife, it was all falling into place for my dearly beloved wife.
As she approached she questions what she saw, large boards placed upon the entrance door.
Upon the door a sign held by a single rusty nail, it read this property is now for sale.
Due to deceased occupants an auction will now take place, in gods grace she calls out from behind her veil of lace.
This can't be true, I felt the morning dew seep through into my newly bought shoe, she pauses for breath as she begins to think things through.
Now the truth begins dawning that it was her soul and not her body that left the hill this morning.
We are now two souls exploring, one up and one down on this bitter October morning.
Categories:
souring, funeral, grave, halloween, horror,
Form:
Narrative
Orekelewa Jojolo,
ripened womanhood
juicy-full of future too
how your innocent bloom
of purest passion ooze
sink gleam of grim eyes
a hungry devour, deep, high
to steal and feel your fruit
your prime prized protected fruit
in sweet streams of throat music
a fire dance so heavenly fantastic
to your form and bum, so yum
from the beats hard of rock rump pump
pound a rich rhythm of cruel cries
and stinging mock of whipping why
from a mound very nice of nine
souring your future painfully fine
Orekelewa mi,
its a red swoon prey
sweet poison they all say
and a red fright of bait
the dazzles that you are laid
lose not your head and heart
loose not your bra and pant
my poem is your angel sent
let it not weep of bitter regret
N.B.: Orekelewa Jojolo means young beautiful maiden in Yoruba language
Categories:
souring, beauty, christian, daughter,
Form:
Free verse
Above...
rain and thunder
starts to upset the stomach of a now souring sky
it prepares itself to release a few tears
upon those seeking truth for their lies
in the distance
a white dove cries.
Thunder strikes up a conversation
clapping rudely, during the rains flawless audition
i stand amid not to be judged
but to be cleansed
by my own remission.
to fear, means knowing how to love
in the distance it cries
the white dove.
Those who seek out these healing waters
peace, they shall find
but the lost refuse to drink
and prefer to gargle from the man-made pool
of illusion and lies.
sadly, they never learn to fear
in the distance the white dove cries.
Categories:
souring, faith, forgiveness, happiness, hope,
Form:
Free verse
Temperately cooled shade
From Cedar trees off the
Coast of Lebanon
Shielded our state of
Nudity. Sincerely we
Speculated; as I wonderfully
Whispered in her esthetic ears:
"Eve my emphatically enlightened,
This garden is stimulating
Like paradise." As
Sweet musical rapture
Soothed our souring
Souls from melodious
Harps of grander,
She warmly whispered,
"Just let your tantalizingly
Soft sizzling fingers
Entwined with the
Hair curling on the back of
My warm neck,
While I taste your lips"
Splendidly we sipped warned
Warbler feathered wine
From Macedonia’s vine, as
Our bodies tingled
With rapture for—the
Honey to come…
~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~
Dedicated to LMB and all the Eves in the contest.
Mar sin leat!
9th Place Winner
Adam in Eden Contest
Sponsored by Linda-Marie Bariana
6/15/10
~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~
Categories:
souring, adventure, imagination, love, passion,
Form:
Burlesque
This thing that they call love can not be measured
it comes to us all whether we want it or not.
Sneaking up it hits us in the eyeballs and
turns our lives around giving us both strength
and at the same it makes our knees bend in weakness.
This thing called love has the power to move obstacles
to ease our way. It makes people see life afresh.
It is a feeling that brings wellbeing into daily life.
We are now responsible for another person and our path
together can be sometimes rocky we learn to take
the rough with the smooth trying always to better ourselves.
It makes the world go around as it pushes us ever on
A feeling that tingles our spine as the loved one draws near.
When we love it opens new doors and gives a sense of sharing
and we become more tolerant of the foibles of others faults.
This thing called love gives us so much joy if we let it in.
Remember how it welled up when your first child was born.
Filling our hearts to breaking point as we gaze down and also
filling us with strength and determination to be our best.
To make a good life for our offspring after all it is through
them that eventually we will live on.
Love comes in all shapes and sizes. Never should it be measured,
to measure it is to belittle it and make it small. Accept this gift
with open heart for this is truly what life is about. It is said,
that love conquers all and this I believe, many are life's battles
and loneliness and solitude weaken the human spirit.
Welcome always with open arms this thing called love
let your eyes and heart open, enjoy the small things
nature has to offer. They will enrich your life and enhance
your very soul. Take pride in your achievements, forget
your disaster's, they only matter if you let them and then fester
souring all that should be good and pulling you down.
Yes open wide both heart, eyes and arms and even though
you can not quantify and pin it down just rejoice that we have
this thing called love. Ah Yes it is "la mort" and also "l' amore."
Categories:
souring, love,
Form:
Epic
How to keep microbes from souring alcohol?
Submit them to pasteurization and kill them all!
Want your ale sweet when it is done brewing?
Destroy all the bacteria with heating and cooling!
And when your yeast is done with fermentation,
Use germ theory for vaccinations!
His work led to prevention of anthrax and rabies,
But also the whole field of stereochemistry!
Although being paralyzed probably stunk,
It was probably bearable being always drunk!
Categories:
souring, science, silly,
Form:
Light Verse
As I open my wide brown glazing eyes....
I stop and realize.....
This is who is am...
You get one soul as you do one mind....But as you know when its your time you will fly...
Fly high in the sky with the angles above with no shame like a white feathered dove....
Souring like a bird,swimming like i fish in the deep blue sea...
Standing perfectly still with no motivation of moving....
Going down 99 just crew-zing...
Waiting on god to answer my prayer......
I keep thinking to my self life just isn't fair...
As i lay me down,I sit an think....
There's better ways to get my way!!!!
Tho hes by my side.....
Still no tears i cry.....
I shall not die,With out goodbye......
So for now be still..........
Categories:
souring, deep, depression,
Form:
Cinquain