Best Summersault Poems
Where did you see her? The North Wind asked the south.
The south wind was not forthcoming, for she trusted him not.
Seriously, I have never seen the leaf elf, the North Wind said.
He was not about to see her either, she was not easily sought.
The Leaf Fairy Queen was at his feet, hiding in a pile of leaves.
She giggled a tiny bit, for she got tickled and forgot….
She was not supposed to give her away her identity, said Jeeves.
He was her prissy butler, and caretaker, but a father he was not.
The South Wind bristled up when she heard the tiny fairy giggle.
Luckily North Wind was busy chasing a flighty jack-a-daw.
Leaf Fairy Queen could not resist a summersault and a wiggle.
North Wind saw her and winked, to let her know he saw.
If I was part machine, a steampunk woman, or a steampunk dog, or a steampunk cat,
I would choose to have a machine heart, so I could be less soft.
So my feelings would not get hurt so easily, so I could
Stop crying inside when people get mean and mad,
Or a tsunami kills a bunch of innocents.
I would also choose machine eyes – big round soft brown ones,
Because of the floaties I have in my older green and hazel eyes.
Floaties could not get into steampunk eyes, right?
I would choose bendable, new steampunk machine knees.
They would jump and summersault and do cartwheels and
Other stuff I can no longer do after tearing my ACL and
Meniscus which never got fixed, because it happened
At work and Workman’s Comp told me at my age,
Surgery would not be smart.
They would call me Steampunk Annie, and I would
Run up and down alleys, saving people from the robbers,
And the drug pushers, and I would kick the drug pushers
In their petootsies and make them cry
Because they would not have steampunk eyes
Or anything. I would rock the Steampunk
World with sass and vim, and be
The super hero I know I can be!
Love is a poison that kills the heart and soul,
It forces the heart to yean for it's own death,
Beating faster and faster as the kiss poisons the body.
Love is a snake that coils through our system,
Poisoning every organ,
Crippling the brain,
Love is the Memories.
They cry the poison,
It bleeds from the eyes of the hopeless,
It causes a summersault of pain that churns the stomach.
It's the gauche walk of the drunken lover,
The jealous want of the free life alone with
The one who poisoned you.
Warped thoughts menace those who stand
In your way from the poison addiction.
Dead and scared is the heart,
Black is the soul
When the poison is cleaned from the mind.
Evil is love and, oh, how it hurts
Never does the poison bring peace,
It is our Death.
Our downfall.
through the window i peered
intricate layers of lace
painted by old man winter
obscured my view of any visible signs
the snow outside was deep
but the emotions inside ran deeper
i remember waking Christmas morn
empty plate and cup littered the sink
fancy gifts. delicately placed
beneath the now silent tree
giggles of children covered the sounds
of ripping paper being scattered about
beneath the layers of red, green, gold,
topped with only a bow, i recall that doll
trying to summersault her way over to me
(better than i ever could) little “tumbelina”
the only gift i wished for, the only thing
that seemed to matter that Christmas day
to a child who still believed in the magic
of santa, his reindeer and sleigh
November 10, 2015
If I were rich what would I have done?
I am thinking of places near and far
Perhaps a lavish mansion
Hidden in the heart of a mysterious land
Its walls build of Far East marbles, embroidered with shiny brass
Glass floors curved with diamonds, crystal Chandeliers hanging from every slant
I would bath every morning in the camel milk
And would put on the finest silk
I would demand kings and queens official visit
To brag about my newest shoe suite!
If I were rich, I could have even lived on the moon
In a spaceship in the shape of a cocoon
I would float instead of walk and do all sort of summersault
And sing Na Na Na Na while watching you catch a bus to work
Or I could take a knapsack and travel the world
Live in every five star hotels
Exclusive room service and personal hosts
I would lift my little finger
When sipping on the most exclusive Champaign
Flirting with fine young gents
And rolling my eyes at beautiful girls
You want me to tell you the truth?
I don’t really want to be rich
I am happy with what God has blessed me with
My family is my greatest treasure
My friends are my assets, my God my golden armor
Why should my heart yearn for any other?
When I am already rich!
Written for "IF YOU WERE RICH, WHERE WOULD YOU LIVE AND WHY?" contest
REMEMBER MY VICTORY.
On this tattered mat I yarn,
Bitten up my rusty thumb,
Reviewing all have lost to dust.
This sophisticated explosion about
To be awoken.
Wonder breed ready to conceive
Possibilities links,
Growth relatedly started as my
Time piece,
Unlucky attitude, I never checked
How I trim my weeds.
Speed stole all I lead,
With a windy shower in my dreams,
I never knew the dead sea will
Not sink a pin neither those she
Breed fish.
Neglecting worship for my gods
Became a choice,
Am presently stock in this complicated
Hall,
My sun begins to summersault.
I started to trek without trace,
The road was totally empty and
Strange to my face,
I sense my sandals would soon
Quench for teast.
Many thoughts, I have spat on,
My tongue rolls out of control.
This hole filled with hungry
Toads is all I own.
Have lost function with the
Doctrine hope,
My hair transcribe into my
Daily bread,
All my teeth completely disappears.
No more, I can’t spread what hasn’t
Been said.
Above the clouds is sourly for the
Dead, like me
Must sink in this earth.
No unnecessary tears for help, to
Wash my head.
I write in deep darkness, am sure
You can tell, just three letters
Are left for my end.
I await the call of any friend.
Air circulate without legs,
She never sleeps nor cheat all men,
It frustrate the witches and entertain
The birds in their nest,
Interestingly she keeps record of
Heir under her care.
You could wish to rub her dress,
Never disturb chickens in there
Fun fare.
AKEWUSOLA HABIB.
Philae
oh rocky outcrop met
a place to rest my weary gear
a slow flyby, a spot to try
and allay the lonely fears
older now and some weight shed
a bit of mass for wizened
a bounce, summersault, a slight tumult
now lying on my side and
post out now a Polaroid
pointing toward dark space
anthropomorphized
a place in history,
regarding likelihood
to ever leave this place
photons! give a bit more life but
no matter now, that place assured
to tell the sunny tail and
rest content to orbit old Sol
let earthlings watch me sail
on solar winds to round around
and back to dark reaches fly
obscurity has its place away in
anonymity from future's generations
on blue-green globe of peopled race
but for now - I'm the guy
and this is A Grand Day Out*
© goodguysoul 2014-11-13
* http://www.wallaceandgromit.com/films/granddayout/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philae_(spacecraft)
Shhh....Ok, quiet down, quiet down; let me smash this clown.....
Ryan, kneel before your father, or I will pop you like a cyst!
Writing this slam I shouldn't bother, you're not even on the "top 50 best poets" list!!
You've soupmailed me twice, so since you don't know, a "warlock" is a "male witch!"
I'm not here to play nice; what are you , P. D.'s bit#%?
I see you left me a comment or two, practically begging me...
Who the hell are you for me to read your lame poetry?
You need to check the soup news, I don't have a computer, I'm an inmate!
So you need to pay your soup dues, then your slams I may educate!
Look at your poems title; In "Destroy" you forgot to add the "E.R.!"
Is P.D. your idol, or are you just attracted to the bizarre?
Talking about my slams are "odd," are you mentally ok?
Download some Eminem on your I-pod, and learn some word-play!
And you do know a "shamrock" is for good luck, right?
Slamming with the Poetic Warlock you need to prepare yourself for a fight!
How many rhymes do you have in your vault? Not many?!
Watch my poetic summersault, because I've got plenty!!
I'm about to slam your butt for days, until you beg for mercy.
My stanza's will set you ablaze, so feel my fury!
You gave me a 29 line slam with no meter, that should be a sin!
Damn, if you're gonna be a cheater, don't you dare pick up a pen!!
This is 22 lines, the sixth stanza, now that's what cha call poetry!
Oh-my-God, it's a "stanza bonanza," so Ryan are you following me?
You're a poet-in-training, but I don't want your ass in my class!
These poetic bombs are raining, so don't throw stones if you're made of glass!!
I see you ran to Sidneys' rescue; Man, are you "Captain-save-a-hoe?!"
I'm gonna lyrically beat you black and blue until a "Souper" yells, "TKO!"
That's right, I'm going for the knock-out, straight for the heart.
You'll scream and shout, as I poetically tear you apart!
Ding Ding!!! This round has come to an end, but you'll not return.
So go on and tell a friend, how you failed as P.D.'s intern!
*Note: my fellow poets are encouraged to read "Ryan Emeralds" slam "War-locked with a
Poet Destroy"...My fellow soupers tell young Ryan don't slam with the champ! Peace and
love ...Jimmy Anderson #0459587 ;)
it's illegal now to be a kid
no matter what, once, was did
no longer allowed, they now forbid
put a sock in it, slam down the lid
there was a time, that many know
when it wasn't so
and kids romped wildly, to and fro
from yard to wood to overflow
across the day, squealing joy
the privilege of the hoi polloi
no silvered girls or golden boys
everyone was the real McCoy
and played innocent because they were
devious played plans did not occur
because life was all a sharpened blur
of play day friends in all grandeur
now, many lament of days gone by
when innocence was a feast whereby
kids grew flying clear-blue sky
to adults who can't see eye to eye
in fact those times - they still are
no adieu uttered - no au revoir
no quench of light from brightened star
childhood's about being a kid, so far
so kids are kids the whole world over
L.A. to Bahrain to country farms all over
they can see a day, fresh with sweet clover
to roll in, an' play on, an' lose their composure
kids don't have to remember that life's fun
they naturally want to summersault and run
it's been that way since time had begun
and will always be, 'til all time, is all done
© Goode Guy 2013-04-15
~Jules~
(Free Verse)
Jules was a French circus performer who lived a long time ago
He performed the first mid-air summersault in the year 1859
Thus at the tender age of twenty-one he became known all over the world as the
"Daring young man on the flying trapeze" and that for him was just fine!
He love the circus life but more than anything he enjoyed to perform
Doing summersaults was one of the greatest achievements that he did
But it seems that every time that he went to perform up there in mid-air
He thought that the clothes he wore to perform with was truly not good
What to wear during his performances was all the time with him in his mind
After a while soon enough he came out with the right answer to all of his care
He invented for himself a close-fitting one piece suit that he could wear so well
Something that he could wear comfortably all the time when he performed up there
Today acrobats and dancers of all ages still wear it and this is history a true fact
And still we called it a "Leotard" too and this hasn't changed can you believe it
This is in honor for the one who invented it more for more than a whole century ago
"Jules Leotard" that's his name, "The daring young man on the flying trapeze! And that's it.
That's a fact!
Dorian Petersen Potter
ladydp2000
copyright@2006
January,02,2015
Floating on sea of sunflowers,
Trembling in the summersault breeze.
Each sun of seeds uplifts my smile.
Each blooming orb, sets me at ease.
Trembling in the summersault breeze,
Vainglorious with giant stems,
Each blooming orb, sets me at ease -
The peace of God in brilliant gems.
Vainglorious with giant stems,
The peak of xanthous petal-waves,
The peace of God in brilliant gems.
His glory-light brightens my eyes.
The peak of xanthous petal-waves,
Each sun of seeds uplifts my smile.
His glory-light brightens my eyes.
Floating on sea of sunflowers.
8/17/2022
Pantoum with gentle rhyming
The night started out as a gift, a fable
with doves blooming white and alive in the air
The top of the tent open wide to enable
freedom of wingspan exploded and bare
Elephant troops with red sequin blankets
sauntering out past the blind ticket taker
Lions with whips in the grips of their teeth
winking and nodding goodbye to their tamer.
Streamers of silk fabric loosely attached
to muscle taut beings with black painted faces
Ravel, unravel like waves of bright color
and swirl around children in unawkard graces
Sardine car clowns crumble out of their vices
to summersault brilliant and wipe the ink paint
somewhere up in the tippy top of the bleachers
a thick popcorn muncher stops munching to faint
Horses with headdresses tasseled and gold
command the attention of those young and old
With a fling of their heads they are back in their coats
Their unrestrained power, black-eyed and bold
The ringmasters top hat is hooked by a bear
the ringmaster laughs and floats into the air
Grizzly parade on four legs, not just two
lead by a top hatted bear with no cares
In all such disclaimers, panic ensues
and patrons of frumpery clamber like ants
except for the boy in seat A forty two
whose attention is glued like the seat of his pants
The night changed the patterns of thinking of masses
it recycled ideas and absolved all we know
To cage bitter beauty is fraught with disaster
We learned this the night we let the animals go...
I need no dog, the arrogant, annoying flea biter said.
He promptly did a summersault on his sweet head.
Well don’t look at me, said the old man flea Lee.
I am biting flesh right now, but no dog I see.
The dog gave a yelp and scratched a hole in his back.
But he was not as quick as the flea known as Yak.
Yak jumped out of the way, for he was a jumping flea.
Haha! Yak yelled with a shout. No creature got me!
Let’s go for the cat, the flea biter suggested.
They don’t taste very appealing said Sue, who had nested.
I think this is a giant, maybe a mollusk, or a squid.
It cannot be a dog; he died. His name was Kid.
stretching taut in summersault
bending over the back bends
the ends of the middle
at the middle of the end
blinded blinders - the two-timers
left just right the hill climbers
seen clear as a piece of glass
left to see right through that other class
intransigence moving the new political
compromise defined as weakly criminal
preferable to know right than accommodate
cooperation too disturbing to contemplate
craning neck to the horizons see
what party line can fit master key
the middle way ain't between extremes
so via media ain't what it seems
life's water is wide, and cold, and deep
no matter to struggle to top o' the heap
when a house is divided, and so sits down
its arms folded across, to sink and drown
when given a choice between happy and right
can we choose cleanly between delight and ignite
tradeoff's made, are never completely the cure
but allowed to progress, our house can endure
© Goode Guy 2013-03-05
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Via_media
The kitty is on the throne! The kitty is on the throne!
Rye Roe the Rarely Roll! The kitty is on the throne!
I know he is having trouble saying his P’s, so I ask him.
The phone or the throne? He is two, his name is Jim.
The throne! The throne! And he is reading the news too!
The throne! The throne! And his grunts are turning blue!
This is all new to me, but I am a new grandma, a new sitter.
I open the bathroom door and see a reading cat using the litter.
The kitty is on the throne! The kitty is on the throne!
Rye Roe the Rarely Roll! The kitty is on the throne!
Jim grins and nods and does a summersault, happy now.
The cat is excited too, purring with happiness, giving us a big meow.