We’d go exploring along the river and through the woods,
We’d run, and we’d whoop, then go silently to try and see a rabbit if we could.
We’d push through all the briar and the bramble,
Then chase each other in one big scramble.
We’d get covered in mud and was soaking wet,
Then we’d try to hide from other people, those that we didn’t want to meet.
We’d be out there all day and we would drink from a sparking stream,
We’d still be there as it got dark, but we knew when to go, it was when we heard our mum scream out, IT’s TIME FOR TEA!!
I scrambled on the hill,
avoiding any spill.
The rocks required some skill
to stay upright.
A covering of leaves,
hid brambles, thick as thieves,
and roots, I do believe,
lurked out of sight.
So pick your path with care,
some sturdy shoes to wear,
with lots of sunshine there,
not at first light.
----------
A Violette, which seems to me a tail-rhyme with specific additional requirements: 6/6/6/4 stanzas with aaab, cccb, dddb rhyme. (You can
continue with more stanzas, all using the 'b' tail). There is a mention of a 'feminine rhyme', but I've not found a good definition for that yet.
Ol' Nellie Bramble; she loved to drink
She never washed and boy she did stink
In every bar in town, she'd cause a scene
And her rich language was quite obscene.
She spent many a night in a police cell
And all night long she'd scream and yell
She'd cuss and sing throughout the night
Then challenge all the duty cops to fight.
Every day when the jail clock struck noon
The police let her go saying "see you soon"
She'd then head for a bar and order whiskey
Try it on with the barmen and get frisky.
One dark wet night Nellie ran out of luck
When crossing the road didn't see a truck
The driver braked hard but he was too late
and poor old Nellie met with a terrible fate.
She was cremated, and ashes put in an urn
The bars proudly displayed it, each took a turn
And at the end of the night they'd raise a glass
To toast ol' Nellie that 'sweet' smelling lass.
Written 9th June 2022.
Atheist or Pagan
which gets to dream
reasoning stilted
spirits unseen
Rational narcissist
tribal taboos
if given the choice
it’s easy to choose
Atheist or Pagan
contrast to compare
the first in self-worship
—the second aware
(Dreamsleep: March, 2022)
In the day of digital, I withdrew all my cash;
one hundred and seventy-three
and drove around town buying up
all the roses that I could see.
Will this conglomerate of different colors
which make up a traveling bramble
touch her heart as I need it to,
a garden of my silent ramble?
I walk to her door,
face hidden by petals and thorns,
a desperate madman seeking redemption
for which I wish her soul to be adorn.
But it would not be, I didn’t get it right,
I’m surrounded by blue and red authoritative lights.
When the sun kisses
the morning skies
Soft fluffy clouds murmur
like floating tides
Dew drops coat leaves
with faint sighs
Gently caressing my
petals open wide
Showing off where
the brambles lies
The summer can no
longer hide
Natures beauty with
a small surprise
7/5/2020
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
some say
the world is
flat perhaps
theirs
but mine has
curves that define
no straight lines but
places where the
sun can set
behind the
pear and
peach
trees
or the
rasp
berry
bush
I took a hike in Bramble Bog,
and reveled in the croaking frogs;
the singing crickets and river song,
were lovely, so I whistled along.
By the river, on a great cypress branch,
upon which, I chanced to glance,
sat a bull and two young elves;
they were doing something swell!
Clearly, I’d walked into a peculiar land;
elves and bull behaved like man.
There they sat, painting away,
with brush and canvas, on a field day.
I’d never disrupt this cheery band,
for they had such talented hands;
and cloven hoof with paint-filled brush,
was painting a portrait of a tiny thrush.
I snapped a picture with my cell,
quietly so they’d never tell;
and slipped away into the wood,
believing I had something good.
Oh, my friends would all love this,
I went home in ecstatic bliss.
but, when I went to show my friends,
I noticed something on the lens.
The picture was a blotchy mess,
an unidentifiable, amorphousness.
There was nothing to show my friends
and I never saw that sight again.
A curious thing in my backpack,
was a canvas framed all in black.
A tiny note, there beside,
read, “Elvin magic, we’ve applied...
surprise!”
Build me a mountain of uncertainty,
A stone of distant fears
Find me an army of losses
And empty hopes,
Some cluster of aimless hours to call my own.
Teach me about heartache and closed doors.
A broken way with nothingness in every direction.
Create in me a heavy heart,
full of misunderstandings and distrust
to keep me hurt and forever confused.
In the depths of some divine despair,
the wind stirs softly.
With a prayer from her soul’s deep core –
a plea in awful repose…
A melancholy crack in the smile she wears,
with mildly stern eyes in command;
and silent lips of a paler-hue:
remain filled with lamentation.
The Bramble rose
wears a thin veil
to cover cool radiance in glorious eyes:
virtually perfect…
Hauled up
the breast suture.
You were following the milk route,
epitomizing the fall. From the
golden clouds. Wanting to
swim in blue veins,
you were drowned. The fire
has spurted the blood. A carbon
copy of exit strategy
in your hands, you unreel
the chains of libido in failed
state of limbs.
The cartel has littered
the street with gentle greens,
to buy the lips. Spurned
lover commits a suicide.
Satish Verma
Concealed by a bramble bush,
Fixated to her tight swathe.
She takes a little look around,
Then peels off her clothes to bathe.
Standing there with just a pink panty,
The small of back had perfect dimples.
She hesitated for a while in the cool breeze,
That kissed her skin to form goose pimples.
Hugging herself, she dipped a toe in the water,
Then performs a shivery dance.
My eyes made love to her beauty,
My body succumbed to their romance.
She turned to the side as if walking a tight rope,
And skimmed the water surface with her foot.
I saw her perky mountainous breasts,
And almost let out a coyote’s crying woof.
A goddess, a picture, and artists dream,
Every man’s vision of heavenly thighs.
I stood unblinkabley mesmerised,
Thinking “Thank you for my bramble bush disguise.”
This is how I met my second wife, Jane, by the way
And love her with the same passion as that very day
I found out later that she was the sister of Glen
Who is my close Imaginary friend
*I think I killed the end for you all :-)
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