Best Thyme Poems
Staring in the mirror when I'm down with these scissors I found.
With my wrists out and prescription lids littered around.
I've scribbled out a bitter letter in wicked accounts and written down twisted sentences in crimson.
I drown in no bounds it got me tripping out grouchy for outlets.
Now my hound pulls at my trousers.
When I'm face down drowsy with a mouth full of downers.
I'm pale looking clownish.
I ain't clowning around, see my self esteem floundering.
Out for the count as hells demons seen prowling around me proudly twisting and dancing entrancing.
Slipping away fast last vision left glancing enhanced with a mixture of doubt.
Knowing there's no one to laugh with and be found here alone with a sinister frown.
I've got to get out.
Haunted in this mysterious house that time forgot.
A place where damp rises and shrouded in all types of moss and lichen, rotting with the slime from condensation.
A sodden formed Forrest where I'm under sedation.
A clock work decision I watch myself gazing transfixed on my mission across amazing mazes.
As dreams fade into sight I stay silently praying.
Embracing the night watching day light escaping.
Remain in this safe haven I'm taken away safely remaining unshaken, grey and unshaven, eight shades of my aura shadows the ravens.
The creature with talons and the beak of eagle seen clutching a talisman to defeat it's evil.
I see through people. Phycic and tight lipped.
Leaving hindsight to guide you through life is wisest.
Am I dying or buying my time in this crises like I'm finally deep in abyss.
Analysing my past thinking did I even exist.
Forever with bliss since I slipped away tearful
Surviving myself I won't ever be fearfully trapped in this labyrinth with Pan and he knows me ghostly he came close cosey and held me closely through apocalypse start dropping atom bombs not stopping Babylon.
God got him banished like exhiled angels deep into faranheit heat like my minds a scotch bonnet.
The child of the scorch trials in the maze at night.
Was made strict then was bitten by count
Dracula.
Come the blood sucker parasite cancerous spanning round my brain like the legs of a tarantula.
Tendrils gargantuan.
Attaching the canula straight from the ambulance.
Inserting the catheter.
Wired like capacitors.
Body kept alive with 240 volt adaptors.
A little bee flew across the sea, to see what he could be
He herd a giraffe with a throaty laugh : still continued on his weigh
This pour we bee had too pee so he stopped on a Specific Ocean Eyelid
It took him severed ours to pollinated Pollynesian flours and than he flue away
If Yew can reed this rite yore a better POET then Eye
Hand Grown In Thyme.
On Brummie Sea and Burnley oak,
In bearded wood and clove
I hidey in this Mutton cloth
That strangles like a choke.
Lampooned upon this Ferris wheel,
A chuckle for a hoot.
I swung with empty boxing glove
And knocked a joke aboot.
I thank you from my Uncles chin
And dear old Auntie Pat
Who did asunder to a sin
And dogged her pussycat!
They trundled stubborn as a toe
And caring not a care
Sent humphing parties to and fro
Though knew not who they were.
‘Bejees!’ I crippled all a goat
What finery I’ve found,
Four friends in foursome charging free-
A bargain at a pound.
‘Well fancy that,’ a woman sat,
And bending like a river
Weaved not a spell but nasty smell
And sent me all a quiver.
‘How come you like to gape alewd?’
I asked but half an inch.
To which the Lady took a fence
And hit me with a pinch.
the scent of wild thyme
wafts temptingly through the air
I follow the bees
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Traditional Haiku
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey
.
Rosemary didn't want to be next to Thyme
For she couldn't stand his awful scent.
As the mountain sniff the thyme
The valley the basil,
The forests the trees and swamps.
As the waves launched their rein and foam,
And the chest of the sea open to his sensualism and obscenity
As the knower's wisdom roar in the ebb and flow night ,
As the remnants of ruins linked to her argillaceous cradle,
And the seas to their shores and islands to their seas.
....
My face attached to his freckled crescents shadow,
Carved by myths gods, and sacrificial rites,
Attached by panting poems,the smell of death stories..
Escapee from the sand,and dissolved in his nucleic acid.
Remission
The living soft redwoods rose up into the furthest skies
Rough dark brown and grey pines stood like warriors nearby
The roads are always wrapped in blue and gray mist
as large lumbering trucks and black Suvs swing by
A young deer from the forest forages for cones
old jazz filters over the bay and hills in a sorrowful sigh
We moved from the highway back into the tall mountain road
with its forests and blue birds singing in a curulean sky
Gone are the parking lots, the hospital glass windows
uniformed people pacing the buildings 7 feet high
Gone are rubbery gloves held in doctors' hands
nurses in masks using Purcell over and over again.
The smell of the Eucalyptus, the grasses, the pines
a place living without masks, needles and antibiotic lines
life again with rosemary, hummingbirds and thyme.
Thrill touching teach
Heap healthy hitch
Yell yielding yes
Mind moulds mess
Empty ends each
Trust treasures truth
Hurl hounding hoofs
Youth yielding yore
Maze motions more
Etch earns explore
Time travel trip
Hoist heavy heaps
Yield yonder yeast
Meet myriad mist
Enjoy each ease
Text timely tome
Hidden hope homes
Your youth yielding
Move marks meeting
Etch end etchings
Leon Enriquez
11 Apr 2014
Singapore
(Note: This is an Acrostic poem with Alliteration.)
As a strawberry sun rises
Changing clouds to cobalt
The coolness of the morn delights
Before the sun's assault
Thyme was in the herb garden
Before the sun arose
He brushed against Rosemary
Came away morose
The sun changed to clear radiance
Illumination bright
White clouds now are wispy fanbrushed
So still no kite takes flight
A few crickets chirp jiminy
Crows caw from their far perch
Other birds are silent, waiting
Nestled deep in their Birch
A dove coos in the distant woods
His coos a welcome sound
Other birds are silent as snow
When it floats to the ground_
Such a precious quiet time alone
A few minutes of repose
The the day of duty overtakes
With life's work overdose
Just a few minutes out on the porch
Once a pong of thyme
Adrift upon a gentle breeze
It’s herbal scents did find me
And it brought me to my knees
For once a pong of thyme
Inhaled by pauper or by king
Has that man an allergy
Then wheezing it shall bring
Though once a pong of thyme
Did test my hooter without ill
Alas a pong of garlic
Made me run for yonder hill
See once a pong of thyme
Gave way to scent of allium
This poor old aging vampire
Was in need of Valium
Once a pong of thyme
Was finished messing with my head
An awful pungent smell came from
My wife’s vegetable bed
And once the pong of thyme had passed
She said by way of reasoning,
“I’m pepping up our liquid lunch
With home grown garlic seasoning.”
So once upon a time
My Queen decried me when I said,
“O Queen of Dark we need no pep…
For we two are undead.”
“Once a pong of thyme,” she said,
“Has all the pagans sniffy,
The garlic will deter them
For our house will be too whiffy.”
I told her, “Once the pong of thyme
Leads yet more garlic through our door
Egor will be finding us
As ash piled on the floor.”
So once the pong of thyme
Revealed the potty plan she’d made
I told my Queen, “Get Egor in…
And give that man a spade!”
The Romans preferred a good soak
But ladies choose pools with a bloke
For even a fool
Knows water gets cool
Unless there is a bloke to stoke
A little bee flew across the sea, to see what he could be
He herd a giraffe with a throaty laugh : still continued on his weigh
This pour we bee had too pee so he stopped on a Specific Ocean Eyelid
It took him severed ours to pollinated Pollynesian flours and than he flue away
If Yew can reed this rite yore a better POET then Eye
How I crave the warmth and cool
Hop in a puddle, then a pool
Sit on a throne, then a stool
How I wish I can go to school
Half of me broke off, and has gone away
My life stays an unmolded piece of clay
I want to hop around and play
with others my own age
I smell the air of thyme and sage
Wish me luck,
Maybe I will someday
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Doing a rhyme..
is like mixing pepper, curry and thyme..
and it comes out fine..
the smell is sublime..
its just like fine wine..
a blend of many a kind..
if done at the right time..
with the right mind..
will definitely be worth someones while..
perhaps, bring them a smile..
afterall what is life without different styles..
it'd b bland boring and not worth a dime.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`