Best Spikey Poems
Daddy brought it home to mother
She did not like it at all, in fact it made her angry
Those innocent tough spikey, sword-shaped leaves
Centered with white rosettes in tight buds caused anger
Today when I see those buds appear
I think of you~ Sadness wrenches my heart
You meant well and that Yucca has spread
There are many white rosette buds dripping dew and rain
You called it bear grass while laughing
Finding it in the woods you dug it up
Those rosettes still in bud waiting to open
Mother did not laugh~ she wanted a lilac bush
Years later I told my husband not to dig it up
Let it stay, memories flood my heart, mind and soul
Each spring when the spikes appear straight and strong
Loaded with rosettes of your laughter~ my grief wanes
Then joy fills my being because
Yucca's creamy buds remind me of your love and joy
How your emotions could change
When seeing the beauty of the simple Yucca buds
I think you were a poet and romantic at heart
I know this is not a quatrain but is more free verse.
(*Note- I suggest you read this with a boom box going in your head. Can you dig it?)
Yo,
Now gather round, my brothers ,settle down while I regale ya
with some tales about my lady from the kingdom Animalia,
and it's gonna take a while ,so listen up, coz there's a lotta
things I think you need to know about the Phylum Arthropoda.
Now, mah baby's got some colour and she's lookin' really cute
with her wings so finely tailored that you'd never find a suit
with such material so delicate and colours that just gleam
if you checked out what they sell in Rubenstein's in New Orleans.
Well, her six legs work together in a symphony of class
as from head down through her thorax she can really shake some ass,
though their fronts are smooth and silky, on her calves they're real spikey
food receptors on her feet so she ain't never wearing Nikes.
All the same she gives good lurvin', such a passionate embrace
though I wasn't too impressed first time I ever saw her face.
With her two big baby blues (and they're real mothers) compound eyes
I can never tell if she is checking out some other guys
and I'm careful when we kiss, as she has got one big proboscis
gotta make sure that ahm well away when every time she flosses.
Never saw her family photos and it's somethin' ah should miss
'coz her pupae was damn ugly and so was her Chrysalis.
Though we're going steady now I couldn't marry if I wanna
'coz she says in six month's time that she is going to be be a gonner.
And she only drinks from puddles, for the salts that appetize her
so I sit and watch and crack mahself a bottle of Budweiser.
Well I thank yo all for hearing me and listening to mah song
and I know to some my love affair may seem just slightly wrong
but I caught her eye and she moved in with just her heart to guide her
and I fell for her and we began to- hold on...DAMN! A SPIDER!!!
4th December 2015
For contest 'Butterflies- men only, sponsored by Skat A and Poet Destroyer A
male pampas grass blooms
spikey, creamy, shoots against green....
bumble bee's hums roar
P erchance has anyone seen something fishy
I n the pot of soup we all like to eat?
R aucous spices of refute with long spikey teeth.
A re there some questionable ingredients that do
N ot blend well with all the others?
H ave you smelled the odor, the fishy stench they put out?
A dding a little more water may tame the flavor down.
I ngredients in a broth should compliment each other
N ot over power like the bitter taste of thistle weed.
T aste and see if the soup really needs any more salt
H ere's hoping some spices will not assault your tongue.
E njoying a bowl of soup should only bring dining pleasure.
S o be careful when you measure the spices from the shelf,
O r you might find you'll belch and have to spit it out.
U ntil you know what seasonings are thrown into the pot,
P lease don't let a piranha chef spoil the soup in the kitchen.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would rush about the place,
I would hold my long pointy fingers in front of me as I sprang from door to door,
My pointy boots deftly propelling me from shadow to shadow my pointy ears sleek in the dark,
I would wear an elf’s cloak like a slender bony wraith and be like Pan in the woods.
If I was Leonard Nimoy, ceaselessly running here and there,
I would fondle things, peruse things, and look under things and open cupboards,
A real nosey sneak, climbing through windows and going through draws,
I’d sniff other people’s belongings with my long sensitive nose,
trying on peoples clothes, reading their diaries, wearing their shoes.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would be a real cheeky bastard,
Quickly rushing about, hands in front, cloak flapping behind,
Stooping like a thief in the dark, arranging dinner dates, making phone calls,
Then I would vocally abuse people and adroitly cut them down.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would use my Vulcan logic to orally molest people,
I would line people up with my stone hard glare and coldly hurl verbal perversions at them
Willowy fingers, hunched shoulders, flat black hair, pointy ears, spikey shoes, cloak fluttering behind.
Expressionless, cool, thin and dexterous, I’d cause a right awkward mess behind the scenes.
SWEET SPIKEY
A snowy spike of fine feathers,
Rested atop his diminutive crown.
Striking onyx eyes nestled in golden cheeks,
Great thieves are these of frowns.
An engaging and colorful character whose
Amusing antics entertain from sun to set.
An ample possession of mischief & charisma,
Made him a family member, not a mere pet.
A tumultuous captivity before his fated adoption,
Gave way to his deep dependency and fear.
A large void to be filled in his new mother’s life,
gave birth to a need to keep him safe and near.
The bond that formed was unbreakable,
As profound as a mother and her child.
A joy to wake up to & to come home to,
He was a destroyer of loneliness, & I was beguiled.
A change in behavior, a lackluster demeanor.
Fatigue and lack of play brought aches of concern.
A visit to the animal hospital was a one way trip
He was a young soul, it just wasn’t his turn.
This little bird was the best friend that I’ve ever had,
A life that could not be forgotten nor replaced.
Spikey, I will miss and love you forever,
I carry with me our memories that can never be erased.
It’s a weed in name only
Spikey green leaves, a yellow face
Hearty with a no-nonsense enthusiasm
Growing with total abandon
With no regard for rules
In gardens, lawns, in tiny cracks
At last forming a perfect ball of silver threads
Pouf! The seeds blown by the wind
Or by little ones with childish delight
The dandelion….
4/4/19
ice crystals rest on my window
like a second skin
a season's restless spirit
in water vapour
condensing
a winter picture frame
spheres of spikey stains
in a silent closing
patterns complete
symmetry looping
luring
ice flowers tangible
that carve their way
down my window
till a warming sun
swallows them whole
Poem composed January 29, 2023
I watched the gentle waves lapping the shore
And taste the salty breeze from the ocean air
I saw seagulls flying horizontally without a care,
Spreading their wings in the calm atmosphere.
Politics powers reign and lovers claim romance
Parties began, and the united theme stood strong,
Crowds weave merrily in victory celebration dance
On land, demons ran until the spirit caught everyone.
Summer days filled with hazy languid sunny rays
Night retreat stay softly in the moonlight glades,
The heaven displays a theater of stars for our eyes,
Make grassy meadows appears like spikey blades.
Set the stage for the season of nature to mature,
And let out of cages the cocoon time to grow,
Harmoniously into happier moods of pleasure,
Brimming with gaiety, and abundant love to show.
When it's dark the heat goes where slumber snooze,
And search out of our dreams what reality withholds.
Until fantasy throws open the doors that were close,
To make summer days filled with memorable goals.
Beautiful kisses in the sublime recess of relaxing way,
from the ocean floor we make sandcastles on the shore,
Runners jog effortlessly in the generosity of the day
Embrace lazy heat and soak up the change of employer.
Summer days bloom with love that envisages adventure,
Laughter stays longer, and humor lingers fragrantly,
With smiles that turn heads and eyes hot as fire
Summer is a portrait of time to make people happy.
Waving daisies, Spikey grass.
Tree branch swords and running fast.
Collecting stones, spider's and worms.
A tire swing with new friends,
We're taking in turns!
Close your eyes, do not peek.
Count to ten, play hide and seek.
Some have seesaws, most have slides,
My favourite are the bars to climb.
Mum packed snacks, picnic munch
Parks are great to eat your lunch!
Fallen acorns, giant leafs, and resting under shady trees.
I love the park , its fun to play.
Spending time here every day.
I had spent time decorating my home for Christmas Day,
but felt forlorn when I should be quite gay;
the blinking lights on the tree were bright and pretty,
as I wept tears of sadness holding my sweet kitty;
you see, I am all alone now all have died !
I fell asleep in front of a smoldering fire place,
waking with tangled hair to find an elf face;
but this elf had real jewels in his spikey hair,
well, you are not really the answer to my prayer;
you see, I am all alone now all have died !
Suddenly, a tiny beautiful fairy appeared to sit beside him,
and they began to sing loudly a Christmas hymn;
stop, I begged you are off key for heavens sake,
and can you not see I am full of heartbreak;
you see, I am all alone now all have died !
Well, not anymore silly they both said at the same time,
I looked and noticed she also had jewels sublime,
they heard my weeping and they just had to come;
what are your names please and where are you from,
you see, I am alone now all have died !
He is Donica and I am Evadne from planet BOB,
you see visiting sad people is our forever job;
this odd little couple beings really tickled my funny bone.
it was so NICE to not be visiting a headstone;
you see I am all alone now all have died !
So, all Christmas Day we sang all kinds of songs,
mostly off key but with the joy where it belongs;
but the next morning my house was stone cold,
except for the jewels left- for me to forever hold !
__________________________
December 12, 2020
Poetry/Rhyme/Beings From The Planet BOB
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1311-466-12
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the contest, Fantasy with fictional beings
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger, Judged 01/02/21
First Place
the silver birch
it likes to hide
so as you search
at eventide
you find it there with many friends
playing poker through the night
the common oak
a wise old man
an aging folk
since time began
grandfathers of the forest they
speak myth and folklore when they can
the sycamore
with helicopter seeds
sets out its store
among the weeds
then grows to be big and strong
from people’s picnics on which it feeds
the horse chestnut
is the conker tree
the children’s favourite
but too spikey
until they are ready later on
and why kids were late home for tea
the yew
is old
and grew
so slow
its age is in millennia
and battles from the archer’s bow
the hawthorn
its blossom white
and at dawn
as if it snowed all night
then all too soon the white has gone
a desperate case of bad stage fright
the conifer
fir, spruce and pine
a regular
likes mead and wine
to keep it warm in winter then
comes into homes at Christmas time
Oh how I wish with my yearning nostalgic heart
That I could wake up to find
Today had just been a nightmare of a dream
And it was still the wonderful 1980s
When I was still young carefree and so nieve
And what I could have been
And what I could have achieved
Life back then was less complicated
People were generally more happy then
And we still had hope to cling onto and dared to dream
Those cherished halcyon days
Sadly to know they will never come back again
Everything was new and exciting
There was a kind of buzz in the air
There was Phil Okey from the Human League
And Boy George looks like's
In town everywhere
My mates and I with our mullet spikey haircuts
And New Romantics gear
Would go from pub to pub drinking
And songs by Visage Soft Cell The Cure The Thomson Twins
Were the bands we loved and the music we'd like to hear
The first Sweet blossoming of fumbled romance
So tender as I remember the butterflies fluttering nervously
In my belly and how we used to love to sing and dance
We'd kiss and embrace tenderly and be lost in a blissful dream
On the back seat of the cinema is where we used to go
In a bus shelter and the park
Hoping my Blisters and Mother
Wouldn't know
Strawberry and Canada dry glossy lipstick
Was what they used back then
So luscious sweet and delicious
The heavenly and delightful fragrance of their hair
And the appealing feminine pretty clothes
They used to wear
How I miss those days and the girls
Everyone has a place in my heart
No matter what they put me through
Both Good and bad
Although it rips my heart apart
Back then I really lived
But now something inside me has died
I'm not the happy person that I used to be
Only dear God knows the internal tears
And how I've suffered and kept it all inside
No longer loved or wanted by anyone
I spend my days alone
And still haven't found myself
And although I've searched endlessly
My heart still has no home
I worry about the future
And don't want to die alone
If only today
Was a bad dream
Peter Dome©2024.
Dry river mystery
The river in the domestic landscape was not as big
as it used to be, for years, the rain upland fell sparsely
when the hot summer came, the river dried up.
The river bed was eerily white with a massive overhang
spikey plants as a scar of lumpy skin after heart surgery.
Of the farmer’s four children, three liked to play
in this mysterious scenery of skull-like rocks, when lifted
had pockets of water like there was a hidden stream
under the bed, the fourth child had an instinctive fear
of the dry river’s strangeness and kept away.
When the summer was over, rain of epic proportion
came to the mountain where the river’s nascent began.
Suddenly a wall of water ran faster than a train
drowning all in its rouse to meet the sea.
The farmer whose wife had died when giving birth
to the fourth child was devasted, those will lose
tongues blamed him for being thoughtless.
Of the surviving child, nothing is known, fading away
as never born.
Let's get this out front
I think I'm in love
With an angel who flies
In the sky high above
My protector, she guides
Or calls down when required
When the future gets tangled
Or perception gets mired
In the thicket of doubt
With it's grey spikey temptress
Angel gently release me;
From unnecessary distress
For my wandering life
Or my future, corrupted
With a laser like focus
Evil plans you've disrupted
Those mysterious voices
With felonious intent
Propaganda or fear
On distraction are bent
A dangerous flight-path
Is neutralised quickly
You're healing my heart
When it's troubled or sickly
Destiny Angel -
Here's my heart, you can keep it
I rely on your power to discern
As you see fit
Let me trust in the future
In you, I believe
As high in the heavens
You dance and you weave
A light laden tapestry
An angelic balm
Such heavenly presence
Of colour and calm
Oh restorative angel
You release me from fear
With a gentle persuasion
And your fore-sight so clear
As I wander unfettered
Through this life; go before me
My affection is clear, yet
Can I trust you'll adore me?