.
whilst thuh scop
cloak'd royal-blue
en
gazing 'cross thuh prairie
'vision'n embrasure
uh'citadel'z
grandiose overtook'em
delusionz
uv thuh trap'd damzel
an emerald crown
bottling an auburn tress'd
pink princess
leap'n from thuh castle'z citadel
thus
tramp he did 'to hern az
bastion
az down hern
az feather
thuh
float'did
into grateful
hiz
torso'z limbz
hern flood'en
auburn
thuh bard'z think
vim
By: Khomotso Makitla
Wake up and smell the morning mist.
Though the morning offers sunshine and butterflies,
some bring sorrow mourning, I’m mourning.
A lion that hunts its own shadow dies of hunger.
This must be a gift,
being able to fit all my problems in a sealed jar.
Indeed, bottling my pain felt like the best decision
all my emotions numb and dull.
But be careful… I’m fragile.
One crack in the jar,
and screams will echo through the world,
painting it with pain.
Rain, rain, go away
that’s what I tell my tears.
Why do I feel fear, though I’m fearless?
Is my courage just a phase,
a feeling afraid of being caged?
I’m to blame
I paved the way for pain to leave its mark.
I cry a lot,
screaming my lungs out, begging for help.
But I’m a quokka
I smile though my heart is bleeding.
And my knees are proof
that in prayer, I lean.
Even though my life’s rhythm
is out of sync.
Toska
BY:KHANYA
an immense ache for nothing and everything
all at once
An anguish from the bottom of the heart
and yet how can one star shine
without being bright
when it has lost its light
so i kept mine in deeper darkness of the lonely night
knowing the world made me so fragile
i chose to hide all the feelings burning inside
what good would it bring me if i chose to cry
so just let me be that guy
The one known to hide , bottling everything inside
and inside that bottle is everything you’ll find
behind every scar given by life
what happened to the heart that had every smile
instead of burdens washed down by the river sorrow
and how can i borrow
one’s smile without it leaving me hollow
the chest tightens up
the airway so narrow
making it so hard to breath
and yet i still believe someday my heart will bleed
again
till it can no longer hold so much pain
Busy…Buzzing…Bumble Bee
Busy Buzzing Bottling Honey
Jumbo Bundled Bumble Bee
With Bold-Brown Buttoned Bottoms
And Billowy Belted Blemished Top
All well-suited for yet another
Busy-Busy Beautifully-Buzzing
Kind of Day
Bottling Golden Malted Honey
For the Bubble-Blowing Honey-Bee…•
Sitting, knees bumping, fingers tapping
waiting for the Great Wall of China
to move. An angelic rift wafts over
the stereo, calming the boiling rage
bottling up in the gut for a few
more minutes.
The ambience, a slip into
outer space, the guitar
sparking child-like awe-
a blessing to my strife
Holding back insanity with reins,
I scream I’m coming home
I’ve been gone for far too long
Brake lights two-step ahead
teasing a false reality
of turning tires
Thoughts drift across
the gaps in the music
the pot stopped boiling
an unsettling calm, into
A thundering storm
formed within the car
It seems I lost the reins, since
my hearts burst into flames.
I'm waiting for her,
Coz she is magic,
I'm bottling up all my love,
To shower on her one day,
I'm waiting for her,
I didn't give up,
I'm collecting all the dreams,
That we are gonna live one day,
I'm waiting for her,
Coz she's worth it,
She is the woman of my life,
And I'm waiting to be her's one day,
I'm waiting for her,
Didn't stop loving her,
Just stopped telling her,
And this is for her.
CIDER TIME
Just like the leaves, apples eventually fall
An early hint of October’s natural bounty
The time to be making more cider is now
On misty mornings, picked from the bough
Recognised as due, throughout the county
A sharp taste not sweet, preferably small
Washed and sorted, chopped and crushed
The juice is strained, then left to ferment
But a little sugar and yeast may expedite
With years of experience, one does it right
Then a week or so until the bottling event
But it takes its own time, best never rushed
A popular drink ever since the dark ages
Especially in climates that are temperate
It’s a simple route to drinking satisfaction
That every time, secures a good reaction
And requires a good sleep to recuperate
Nectar of the Gods, as said by the sages
Peace isn't rare
It's just a habit you bare
5minutes of affirmations every morning
A jog around the neighbourhood every evening
Talking about everything that hurts you
Instead of bottling up every emotion that bothers you
And when in the busy city life
stress and anger twist in the knife
Find your peace in the glimmer of moonlight
sneaking through your window every night
Find your peace in reading a tale
Find peace in the fact that your food isn't stale
Find peace in droplets of water that hit the pavement in the cruel summer heat
Lead your heart to where all the pheonix and dolphins come to meet
And when you find your peace in crisis
Let go of your gadgets and devices
Because peace isn't rare
Its a habit you bare
There was never enough time with you,
so I decided to go back to 1970
and bottle up moments
that brought us laughter
and tears
proud moments, happy moments,
moments of togetherness
we shared in secret, when your hands touched.
excited moments, thrilling moments,
moments that no one else could understand
moments that could not ever be explained.
the moments that belong to only us
Four score and many more
And still within her prime
In her mind and in the woods,
Hunting, fishing, trapping,
A workhorse of a woman.
Watch her go- swing the axe,
Cleaving wood, making fence posts,
Shoveling sand, raking it,
Trapping rabbits, beavers, bears,
Skinning, cleaning, bottling,
Pelts, skins, berries wild,
Out doing many a man is
This woman of the North.
She built her own houses, a carpenter,
Lover of her cabin and the wild
In Hawks Bay, Newfoundland.
Celie never rests.
God bless her as she attributes to Him
All her abilities and good health.
Celie - the woman does it all.
A W.C.Hull Poem © 2010-2022-704 (D)
Why are many people perpetually angry?
Seems they look for reasons to growl
My father was always disgruntled, frankly,
He was always wearing a scowl.
Nothing we did ever pleased him, I recall,
He was always ready to criticize,
And when it came his turn to take a fall
It was someone else’s fault, in his eyes.
I grew up trying to stay out of his way
Avoiding any confrontation, you bet!
Biting my tongue, not having my say
Bottling it inside with tons of regret.
I’d have my say, come hell or high water
I avowed, with the utmost determination,
A resolve that came direct from my father
Never shared with him, to my consternation.
Written August 15, 2022
Today is one of the days I feel like smoke.
Choking myself.... bottling every feeling,
not allowing myself to breathe.
Covering everything with white ashes,
turning things monotonous...black and white.
I am not kerosene yet.
I am not kerosene yet...it never corrodes,
it forms impenetrable layers…
not allowing a chance for reversal.
Not letting down a breathe,
excluding from every other thing...
I am not kerosene. Yet.
I am not even wrapped in a warm blanket.
I am cold.
I'm cold.
Sitting in smoking temperatures, I am cold.
Frozen. Numb. Insensitive.
Not wrapped in a warm blanket, I sit cold.
a child collapsed cold in the garden
talisman waved with the wind
violently close to a pardoning-
hardening, molding the kin to her seam inter-winged
horribly marbling volatile harmony
azure veins fold under skin- jittering
gently golden it stings
effigy holding the strings
partially fondling close within cartilage-
pieces now bloom into things-
before following-
thin choreology
thew ending progeny
posed they erode intermittently-
honestly,
iridine progeny,
how are you possibly
watching atrocity knead etymology
skin abound covering, sleeving impossibly
sinew renewed where it feeds on bare faucet leaks
farther it blossoms then seeps something bodily
oddity, pardon me
lovably blue and it bleeds out so audibly
fissure pains bottling
lowly imposingly-
nearing a prophecy
budding up slowly to figurehead modesty
petals all grown out- they shelter so somberly
flay splayed out flower-wise neatly and modestly
peaking autonomy
inky tear conjuring
pink from the fostering
nauseously
cautiously failing to breathe
In his mid-30s but still a boy
Given $14.50 an hour and 12 hour shifts
Six days a week
His driver’s license confiscated
For five slung beers over a night long ago
Cost him $10,000
Contributed to the system
Of judges bailiffs lawyers and Presidents
All residents
Of the lakes and new mansions up north on weekends
Five years it will take him
To pay them for his sin.
Out here on the way to work
There are no buses
So the boy joins a line of third world refugees
Walking an hour and a half a day
Each way
Through the sweat of summer
And the snow of winter
From Greatdale Apartments
To the soda pop company’s bottling plant
He limps down the shoulder of King’s Road
Texting a screen scream to his desperate dad
“I can’t do this anymore!”
This
The only demand the son can manage
While Escalades
Roar by him
Side mirrors whisking within inches of his elbows
The thought of the American Dream
Or even the idea of a violent union revolution
Pouring out of him
Like his 10 cent returns
After work at the Party Store.
Here's how much-sponsored brands get a boot—
Get public's sharp brow, and absolute,
There’s a point here to moot,
A point not in past put,
Nor passed a fair test ere:
Should ads talk in thin air?
For a change, shoes sold bite seller's foot!
______________________________________
Happenings|20.06.2021|
Poet’s note: This limerick follows what happened a few days back. Cristiano Ronaldo, a well-known footballer, removed a Coke bottle at a press conference and replaced it with one of water, and soon the company lost four billion dollars in its market capitalization. This does raise a few fundamental questions. India’s home brands, Amul and Fevicol, took a jibe each at these brands. Amul (the milkman of the nation) taunted: ‘Not bottling one’s feelings’; Fevicol (makers of various adhesives): ‘These bottles cannot be removed, nor will its valuation dip’. I loved it. Yes, markets do need some earthy humour in these hard times, a food for thought for them to mull.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.