Bundles Poems | Examples

On second thoughts

When instinct becomes 
an educated guess
And improvisation 
demands quick redress
Like thinking on one’s feet
if too drunk to stand
Be found all at sea
throwing up on dry land

Twisted situations 
we find ourselves in
When bundles of joy
reek original sin
Smack on the butt
for showing a bit of cheek
Do everything perfect
be labelled a freak

Gestures, signals, 
often appear to confuse
High five, fist bump 
a sweaty handshake defused
One or two fingers: 
the bird a sign of peace
Kneel with respect 
submissive purr on a leash

Diversions, promises,
never black and white
Passive aggression
silent treatment for slight 
Jack in the box, ripper 
jumps out with a knife
Break a leg, for the 
performance of his life

Police warning: never 
mess around with guns
Gut reaction sparks a 
stampede, or the runs
Playing it very cool, 
whilst feeling much heat
Praying devoutly, 
burnt at stake for deceit

Sticking out one’s tongue 
in contempt, no a kiss!
Sigh of relief 
they were just taking the piss
Such is living, such is death 
come friend or foe
On second thoughts 
syllabic verse, or sh!tshow

By David Kavanagh 
hms

Leaves and Leafy Grassiness

We sleep on each other,
lick on each other,
run around and nip on each other,
we are wholly 'each other,'
personalities
hid
in the ruff and fur around our necks
and the snaggle of our teeth.

We wag in unison
heart-timers synchronized.
When out in the big smell
we seek every scent
that sprout's
from the muddy baths and the great
wafting sky-waves that call to our blood
to come join,
come lope and snuffle.

The trails of other's drives us crazy,
we roll in bundles of ecstasy,
squat, squirt and snap at the thick odiferous airs
then inhale the news from every rump
we greet.

Under our skittering paws
leaf and grass, spatter and scatter
as we charge into each other.

What are these leaves of grass?
Each one could be a page
in poem of sniff and scratch.
The wind threads through our snouts
and we shake our heads
until our brains rattle in wonder.

Old Walt Whitman forgets to mention us,
but deep within his far pacing musings
we are there like an itch.

When he pauses his pen to nap and dream
our breathy huff huffiness
tickles his toes.

Escaping The Silence

Vitamins, chained to shallow waters. Buried in a cave. Below the world. I stand ready. Waiting for more. Seeds of sorrow planted deep.
Mercy or remorse. Shadows aside I sense you near me.
Nightly rain sparks my soul. Sheer pain take over the globe.
Holding fast to what brings comfort. Joy and Bliss belong to us all.
Ascend the sky and mount her clouds.
Journey toward the visions end.
Cosmic peace and faith to follow the wind. Wisdom in bundles.
Hope restored insight to seek the waves.
Questions tempt us to answer our calling.
Shape the stone and crave it into life.
Knocking the wall down.
Doom quakes the foundation of the earth.
He drew a deer that fled toward our home.
Still I stand in delight craving my own stillness.
Meet the owl as it screeches like a bell.

The Noon Sky

“The sky in changing shades enfolds many mysteries of the universe, the shifting clouds, the sun, moon, stars and other heavenly bodies. Its vastness is like the vastness of human mind, shape shifting every now and then, but capable of changing the amorphous into fascinating shapes.” ~ By Poet


In the noon sky, wade the truant clouds.
With the sweep of wind, how they form,
Into configurations of varied shape and size!
Giants, mountains and bundles of fluffy wool
To be woven into yet a hundred patterns.

What’s It All About Alfie?

Arrows, what are they good for?
In an embodied dungeon very near to
my molested liver
arrows pile up, bundles of barbs,
each one a love letter
that missed its mark.
Some older ones
still drip an attenuated poison 
from their blunted tips.
Yes, love can be cruel
but it is rarely accurate.
It lives only to maim you
until you know how to live
with yet deeper wounds,
those piercing near misses
lodged between heart
and hope.

The Poet Speaks of Madness

The poet speaks of madness--madness similar
to what?  What was spoken before this silly syllabus?

Each ant, lifting and carrying, adds bundles of dried
and curled rose petals to the soup simmerings.

Now, each ant stomps rose petals into a silken
gown, as if one could insult a shimmering insect.

The poet further sings of madness, high pitched at
times, then sliding an octave lower for suspense.

The ants love to nap on rose petals, dreaming of
rose scents which they store in their sinuses.

Rose petal soup simmers in ant kitchens calming
an parents and poets--driving ant babies senseless.

The madcap poet imagines herself simmering,
relaxing in a fragrant kitchen full of ants.

Shuttering

A lot of it happened when not looking,
they are captured as photo-images
still arriving
undeveloped.

Beneath the skin of a retro-vison
dark scenes of rain
slicing through confused clouds
forever caught as an opaque film
over half-closed eyes.

There are visible gestalts –
shadow dances of passing daydreams.
A mélange of cursory detachments
once mistaken for a life.

More small bundles of lost moments
left discarded
on the side of narrowing roads,
nevertheless, the time-ravaged
push on
to stake their claim on this day.

This morning or the next,
you vow to leave your camera at home
even knowing

that there are still empty spaces
in your ever-growing album.

Deep Moments

The shadow I cast on the corridor wall
Covers my father’s radiant photo frame

Night’s transcripts are saved on the iron chest
Stacking the secrets tied in bundles 

Apologies are like incense sticks and the
truths are ever scrawled on my arid skin

I want to talk but my voice down and down
till it becomes barely a whisper

It is one of those nights when I can't 
Close my eyes and sleep in tranquility 

Moreover moonlight wants to dance on the shaky railings and try to slip inside

I want to reach out and take his hand
Each moment waiting its own turn to go back

Light White Clouds

On summer grass
freshly cut
I lay relaxing looking up at the
subtle slovenly shape shifter
floating above
It steals my mind
and the world disappears
slowly changing
sneaking by
forming frothy bubbles
Candy floss fluff
A carving of mashed potato
Animals and faces
high in the sky
A shaping of marshmallow
Pillows and cushions
Cotton wool art
A squirting of cream
suspended in the air
Buoyant bundles of sheep's wool
and sculptured polystyrene
Light airy sponge cake
hovering high, hanging
as I escape from my life
to nature's creation in the sky
Light white clouds

what are we

bundles of atoms
the universe sentient~ 
mass for masses sake


“We are the cosmos made conscious 
and life is the means by which 
the universe understands itself.”
    ~Professor Brian Cox

Food Folly

I love mushrooms 
with eyes peeping out 
under their caps, their hats 

I love broccoli 
with curly green tops 
Curly green hair 

I love asparagus 
with their long slender bodies 
and pointy heads 
and they don’t taste like grass 

I love Brussel sprouts 
Little bundles of joy 
Bathing in buttery sauce 
Lots of buttery sauce
 
I love carrot juice 
Very orange 
but they don’t taste like oranges 

I love blueberries 
in yogurt, cereal or cream 
They go good with just about everything 
even by themselves 
One by one I pop them in my mouth 
There’s no singing the blues with blueberries 
Blueberries are absolutely my favorite
 
Not like all those I listed before 
'cause I was fibbing 
Don’t tell my Mom 
‘cause I only like them a little bit 
Or not at all 
    Yuck!

THAT WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW

THIS WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW
Pink for a girl; blue for a boy,
Was how we dressed our new bundles of joy.
It was easy to tell a lass from a fellah,
But now we have to dress them in yellah.
It used to be simple to know for sure
What gender they were; but not any more.
They’ll decide for themselves in later life,
Whether to be a husband or wife.
The midwife, when spotting the relevant bit,
Has to say to the mother, “You have an it.”
There was no such confusion when Adam met Eve
And she tempted him with a juicy James Grieve.
The difference between them was plain to see.
For he had one fig leaf and she had three.

Prayers from the Living

It whips legs, spins minds in a tumbler.
roars with the discarded clothes
of mad clowns.

Bundles of fine bones and twirling feathers
burst apart in a random turmoil,
deer swim toward a gasping night.
A mottled land shakes its muddy ribs.
as a whittling wind hammers on.

The sky has opened a double-lidded,
dragons' eye,
a pitiless tornado is upon us,
it lands to lift and discard,
then dances with the bobbing dead.

All who dodge that swirling danger,
thank a God,
who like us, shelters in His bunker.

Grand And Great

I am a Great-Grandmother
My Tee shirt tells me so
I only wear this shirt to bed
As I do not want others to know.

If I wore it out of doors
I think it would look pretentious
Some folk know I have many flaws
I find this contentious.

I could have been a grand dame,
Or maybe a diva of some note
I would have a great grand name
If I had married an emperor who captained a boat,

I was not born for greatness,
Or true grandness of any kind
Being grand
It could not be further from my mind.

After I married, I had children,
Five in all
Some of them had children
Seven at the last call,

The children call me Grandma
Mama for short
I became Grand overnight
Something I thought,
Would never happen to me

But then, those children grew up too
And had babies of their own
Which filled me with awe and delight
For the love shown
To these cuddly bundles of joy,
Two adorable, great little boys

Who have made me
A Great-Grandmother
Which I hope I will prove to be
One who sets an example to all
Who comes after me?

Winter Light

Winter Light 1-25-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Winter Light

Winter light streaks through trees
Laughs in games of freeze tag
Plays “catch me, if you can.”
Somersaults through the frost
Bare light’s playful game plan.

Winter light streaks through trees
Dashing on north wind’s breath
Inhales scent of new snow,
Trailing saffron streamers,
Dark escapes as light flows.

Winter light streaks through trees 
Pirouettes pastel hues
Branches stretch for warm light,
Morning light bundles boughs,
Chases dark tints from night.

Winter light streaks through trees
Twirls and shouts, wild and free
Shares secrets in dawn’s shades
Tints of yellow joy zoom,
In shades like gold brocade.

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