Best Zagging Poems
Meandering blues
Zig zagging natures terrain
Oozing beauty amor
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature2.php
On the day you told me you wanted to die,
I stared at the glowing screen,
Mouth gaping,
Wondering if I was understanding your words correctly.
You toyed with me to throw me off your trail
A rabbit zig zagging through the brush
But Im a hunting hound
Trained for the best.
I caught whiff of your suicide sent
Its smell is familiar to me.
Casual jokes, silence, im fine lies.
All a mask to hide the truth you don’t want me to see.
You don’t want me to see the razors in your pockets
The empty alcohol bottles under your bed,
The pills by your sink for illnesses you do not have,
The belt hanging from your fan, that is four sizes too long.
You don’t want me to see this side of you
But I see it whether you show it to me or not.
You tell me to forget and move on
But how can I?
How can I forget the awful panic
That I might one day respond to the call
That you have tried to take your life
That I might hold your life in my hands one day.
How can I forget the awful panic
That I might lose you.
That I might cry rainbow tears
As your father serenades you into forever sleep.
Forgive me if I seem selfish
Its just I have only now found a reason to live.
And it kills me that
My reason to live also wants to die.
*I've been called a 'shrew,' told I am self centered, petty, and a few other rather insulting and invective names, so here is my rebuke.
Who plays the straight man for the one known as 'Schmoe?'
It's the Jester who juggles where ever Schmoe tells him to go.
Then there's Mr. DoGoody who seeks the spotlight of fame,
reproaching PS poets by pointing his finger at them in shame.
Three fatuous figures who lie in wait for Poetry Soup blogs
Croaking like three pompous bullfrogs in criticizing dialogues
Verbal abusers, slanderer of a nation, and he who prances
hoping to give Schmoe, his bro, the stage... the lackey dances.
It's a tragic case of fools rushing in where wiser men never go
A disease suffered by the egos of DoGoody, Jester, and Schmoe
A threesome pretending they're Red Barons in control of awacs
but they're just three old wacky muggins, Poetry Soup Quacks.
Ask a question and see what nonsense they will spew at you
Swearing their intent is righteous, and their cause is true blue,
but the more they protest, the deeper the holes they are digging.
A misguided clique always zagging when they should be zigging.
So if you bother to read what they write, just consider this...
the underlying meaning to their dribble shows what's amiss.
It's a game they play...one where they often make mistakes
Nuts have to be added to the batter while making a fruitcake
Now if you're thinking I'm just as guilty for some name calling,
I'm ready to be under attack with their whining and squalling.
I've already been accused by DoGoody of talking behind his back...
So here I am, you're all unblocked if you want to talk more smack.
Through my window I watched it float gracefully by
An eloquent specimen, a rare butterfly
Wings painted black and the brightest of green
The most breathtaking creature I ever had seen
It flew to the forest in a zig-zagging line
And landed to rest on the bark of a pine
Flushed with the thrill of the game hunters play
I stalked up and captured my elusive prey
It struggled and fought with great strength for its size
Prying and pinching, I heard muffled cries
“Release me!” It squeaked “I will NOT be your prize”
I saw tiny legs and angry little eyes
‘My god it’s a Leprechaun!’ I shouted with glee
‘You must grant me one wish now’…”So be it” said he
He slashed through my palm and bored to my thumb
Til it bulged to the size of a cartoonish plumb...
My fingers exploded in bits all around
Flesh and bone spattered, blood gushed to the ground
I stared in stark terror and mad disbelief
My mangled hand swaying like a dangling dead leaf
‘I’m wounded, I’m dying!’ In panic cried
And fled to my house to the bathroom inside
‘It’s ruined!’ I screamed as I bled in the sink
‘Now they will notice, now what will they think?’
‘I know I can never remove all these stains
I know that my eyes cannot hide all this pain
The veil has been shredded, the wall broken through
(I saw something move at the edge of my view)
There in the corner the Leprechaun stood
Black eyes spinning secrets of evil and good
He spread out his wings like a butterfly should
Ready to fly back to his tree in the wood
He spoke without speaking, "So, what have you caught?"
(My mind was struck dumb, stripped clean of all thought)
“Now” he laughed softly, “I shall grant your demand”
I sank to my knees then and reached forth my hand
Meandering rivers, streams and burns
Zig zagging, flowing in contour turns
Sparkling waters as pure as can be
Flow through the glens and down to the seas
Much life is found in these translucent waters
Species of fish, and delightful otters
Along these rivers, streams and burns
Grow many grasses, trees and ferns
Varieties of greens in wonderment bloom
A most beautiful sight is natures front room
Her seasons dictate, the rise and the fall
The pictures she paints, delightfully enthrals
These graceful rivers, streams and burns
Lured us to settle, for beside the seas we yearned
Villages turned into towns, and towns into cities
For the lure of these waters, some murky some pretty
For all around the world, the patterns the same
These are just a few, the Thames, Ness and the Seine
Look after all waters as they are all our concern
Our meandering rivers, streams and burns
" My entry into Brian's contest Flow, River, Flow "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-4.php
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads,
following the same schedule
as the other…identical
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The weed interrupted,
“Didn’t…don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back
and flew, holding onto
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared, hopping happily
Jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
"And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…"
I live in middle land between fuzzy bottom
and the high hazy skies
I peer down quantum wishing-wells, waves entangle
observed as they collapse
I scan beyond forever where dark matter lurks
in unforeseen disguise
I think I am, I blink, ... something is shifting there
reality perhaps
I count the zeroes descending beneath my eyes
to out of sight below
I sum tens of noughts piling to the very brink
of distant space and time
I ask why half-way along this fourth dimension
our knowledge seems to grow
I ponder my vantage, asymmetric centre
position so sublime
I play with grateful gods gathering me in close
where when can be no more
I move by osmosis, membrane passing on through
the other side of hope
I absorb persona essence, no hereafter
no self was here before
I am continuous love, joy and pain caressed
I am the learning-scope
I seem potent but feel a much greater power
the birth of potential
I flow with constant change, buoyed up by warm current
rising through the ocean
I feel procession from the dizzy atomic
to cosmic sequential
I record the dancing rim of life, strange song soothed
holographic lotion
I stir prime numbers, multiple integer broth
then fractions of the whole
I greet the old ones, memories morph and cuddle
sprinkling their magic hue
I mingle many species, their varied voices
shape the galactic goal
I embrace fallen youngsters, stricken babies scream
all pleading to renew
I swing with orchestral relatives, out of time
off-beating ticking clock
I watch minds simplify, beguiled by certainty
discordant chords strumming
I am blown by the erratic winds of zeitgeist
zig-zagging round the block
I pause to query, am I this zany creature
half-way to becoming?
Patches of snow are left behind
A patchwork, in the lawn to find
Zig zagging flights, songs can be heard
Different directions, from each bird
They are now, talking about spring
In bright sunlight, the blue skies bring
Flowers wait to show their faces
Soon, their smiles will be all places
Joining the birds in a spring show
As warmth designs the melting snow
So much movement has caught my eye
Winter, it's time to say goodbye
Heidi Sands
4/9/24
8 syllables
(C)opyright
This is a journey, a trip call it what you will
It follows the footsteps of my ancestors, and allows my thoughts too spill
Firstly let me take you back, to tell you so little of my past
Indigenous I am, from the "Stolen Generations" I did not last
This is why I must make this journey, to allow me to find the real me
To retrace the few steps I made, to rediscover what my young eyes seen
How ironic that the person I'll ride with, is the son of the then official
Whose deliberation to round up us children, the scene, locale
It's now the morn of our travel, where I look I find hard to see
The peripheral of the distant horizon, is all that really captures me
The town where I grew up so young, barely to the age of five
Perth, now bustles like a termites nest, zig zagging in busily strive
Into the bush we go, to a place where us youngsters so enjoyed
Moore River Native Settlement, which soon became children void
As I walk my arid lands, patterned in the heat of this day
I recall with every step, where us Indigenous children played
We could survive on the smallest of fruit, water we could easily find
Even the son of the then official, said that we are a superior kind
He marvelled when I spotted tracks, traces of where animals crossed
Remembering back to when I was five years old, our lands always talked
We opened up as we led our horses, introduced all those centuries ago
They opened up my lands, rivers we walked, now the white man flows
This is a journey I had to make, it's called, it's in my will
No more "Stolen Generations" no more will my culture spill
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"
Nine small words have leaped right through the decades.
Jumping through my brain
Thumping through my memory
like a drum that still complains.
Dedicating dancing sounds
on keyboards of old Remingtons
and Underwoods, that understood
young fingers tapping, zigging- zagging
rhythms beating , small bells ringing
to and fro, a carriage swinging
to orchestrated yesterdays
While papers flew, and fingers numbed
with sly old fox tricks, lazy dogs, mixed
with mindless sounds of drumming bits of
gibberish verses, hands rehearsing
the fox, a hound, a cadance clicking
tick-tick-tocking back to classrooms
clocking words now locked in time
Sitting straight, with neck erect
a sticky "J" key...a whiz kid sat
next chair over, such a brat,
she'd try to race me, set the pace
that I could never match, no trace of
satisfaction on her face, and
I would lose my concentration
my head would wander into clouds
where foxes should be chased by hounds
instead I type the same old rounds
of foxes jumping over dogs,
that clogged my mind with silly sounds
which hummed inside my inner child
Old clacking sounds, are still around
they pound today, inside my head
and still I ponder all the while
how that old fox could leap a dog
unless that dog was dead!
..............................................................
Inspired by Craig's Contest: Typewriter
4/20/13
Unsolicited advice
against its storm I brace
Showing no fear or shame
as they get up in my face
In other words ...
They tell me to zig
when I'm zagging
"Hurry up man!"
when I'm lagging
"That's not the way
I'd do it!" they opine
"Better listen to me,
get to it!" every time
Hmm, if that's true
then I'll know
just what to do
when I am you!
More precisely ...
When I do what you say
in my own peculiar way
You stand
beaming with pride
taking credit
If I dare to complain
you declare me insane
then expose me to
ridicule on Reddit
(You don't regret it—
there, I've said it!)
Now I had my say
what will you do?
Hopefully MYOB
not misconstrue
"We just told you
the best way to go
You must listen to us
don’t you know?”
Thanks! If that's true
then I'll know
just what to do
when I am you!
As odd as that sounds
it must be true
I'll be doing sooo much better
when I am you!
Spiny stemmed buckthorn, sunlight shimmers tiny shiny leaves.
Even though in pastures you are mowed down like worthless sheaves.
Ziziphus celata, your family for thee still grieves.
Future exposure: progress, genes raped; developments’ deeds.
1987 six populations, scientists did discover.
This rare and most imperiled plant in Florida must recover!
As controlled burns had hoped, recovery sprouts with ardor.
Amazingly, new plants emerged; respite, fire’s ember.
Miraculously Florida ziziphus live; we now know.
There are some plants in Lake Whales’ pastures growing slow.
Eight populations revived perilously struggling though.
Friends against extinction work, thwarting final fiasco.
Help them find home in longleaf pine, wiregrass sand hills.
“Zigging-zagging” spiny branches embracing life’s fragrant thrill.
Visiting insects would stop, sip and buzz; singing softly, shrill.
It will take help from everyone, not just the government bill.
Agribusiness and urban sprawling must take time to care.
Genetic diversity lost, extinction starts; beware!
Builders, landscape with vanishing plants; sell their added flair.
Farmers grow your splendor with a mini-ecosystem lair.
Let all join hands and set our sights upon a brighter day.
Where lust and greed no longer need and wanting fades away –
Let us learn to value biodiversity’s bouquet
Let not beauty on this earth become man’s grim lost way.
© © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
June2, 2010
Poetic form: Rhyme (Each stanza is a four line monorhyme.)
Asking you to be you
Because you are seeming a little blue
Carless from life, taking into mind
Doesn't that keep you on time!
Even though you have been a leaving,
Freedom has brought you back to my door
Geese laid their eggs, right by your sore
Heaven knows why you come back
I just open up the store
Joyful you come ,at last
Kindly I give you some cash
Loving the way words roll off your tongue
Mindless to say they
Never did they want you to stay
Obviously they said the rudest things
Politeness was not one of their ways
Quizzing you solely
Respect has got take away
Sadly beating you just so you have a place to stay
Time has seemed it will take forever
Under the weather is the
Vases of the loved feathers
Why you seek to get a hold
Xerox is not in
Your behold
Zig- zagging is your only way you would be sold
Crack the light and spread the bugs
as bugs go zig and zagging.
Bold black bugs to cause us fear.
Our tongues afraid of dragging.
Chase them down to pinch their body
and place them in a cup.
Save them all for pest control
to prove their count is up.
Wait for them within your bed
and pray your bites are few.
Then wake up to your bloody sheets
when itching's all you do.
Have them spray when you go mad
and know they're in the wall.
Then find your faith in God above
or lose your mind to all.
Lament, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem : Lamento
Ma mie est morte.
Plourez mes yeux.
(from an old poet of the fourteenth century whose name escapes me. Paul Verlaine)
The town hoists its high roofs
Of a thousand zig-zagging hoods.
A sound of joyous bubbly words
Rises up to the heavens, reassuring voice.
____What this vile gaiety does to me
This gaiety of the city !
What vastness of peace reigns over the land !
The bird sings within a great oak tree,
Midday renders the plains all shiny
That turn golden at the setting of the sun.
----Little does it irk me your glory pure
O ! Nature !
With the signals of her waves
With her solemn moan,
Call to us the vast ocean :
All of us, dreamers and sailors.
----What do you want again of me
Sonorous sea ?
----Ah ! Neither the waves of the Oceans,
Nor the countrysides and their shadows,
Nor the cities of ceaseless noises
That giants raised over lands,
Nothing will bring to life my beloved lover
O ! So long in deep slumber.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013