You can definitely not write for too long.
Words are weaving around a stand still.
That stands still like a sidewalk crack.
They burrow.
Road smudges.
The other universe doesn’t go away.
It just gets sealed in pipes.
And we hear the pipes creak.
You can definitely not write for too long.
What’s worst is that you don’t forget how to write.
But when you grab a pen or pencil?
You feel the temperature creaking.
Words get torn down.
An empty wasp nest of a head.
Easy Street
What would you rather Easy Street, or Blessing Boulevard,
Before you answer be vey careful, for choosing the right one may be hard.
One is a way, wide, broad, and shady, the other straight and narrow by far.
Down the one least popular, one will scarcely make it, the righteous, is who they are.
Rapid and rushing, merrily, merrily we go, like countless little fishies going one way,
Everybody’s doing it, just follow the leader, the Easy Street travelers will say.
The other way requires, that those who will travel, will by faith, and their faith to renew.
Like with “The Eye of a Needle,” a rich man and his camel, must kneel and burrow through.
The way of the Christ, is through the gate called Straight, and few there be that find it,
The way of the world is down Easy Street, a death contract to those who will sign it.
You shall receive, a crown of glory, eternal life, the Blessing Boulevard way.
The pleasure and sins, of the Easy Street life, have the wages of sin to pay.
Sundown creeps,
across adorned amber,
sky whose welkin,
shades volte face,
as evening edges,
into cosmic chakra,
of visual feasts,
orange, pink, purple,
prelude which emblazon,
point of day exodus,
atrophied moon winking,
mystic morph of,
dwindling halo,
to homeward bound,
throngs thirsting,
for redress within,
winter jasmine enclave,
cabal, clique, cluster,
in shrunken retreat,
from dreary toil,
nudge from nightfall,
whose cryptic code,
a dark art patois,
exemplified by,
eastern screech owl,
whose stocky medium,
and varied volume,
that twilight tremolo,
purring incognito,
among other creatures,
wet soil genus,
brisk firefly flash,
in town backyards,
wing rubbing katydid,
tree top rasp,
or amid green bush,
chirpy cricket,
midget burrow dweller,
allow oneself to wallow awhile,
in evening habitat,
in all its allure
Some landmarks are bugging me.
I zigzag.
Centered in this car is an air freshener.
Which I almost listen to as well.
Some landmarks are road signs, or traffic lights.
I’m creative.
The GPS reminds me of turns.
The struggle to make a visual map.
Makes me so embarrassed that I would rather burrow an underground tunnel to get places.
Some landmarks are rotted away for the time being.
That rock with spray paint.
I’m bad with directions.
I’m standoffish as a GPS.
I watch for the clock tower.
Calls in all directions.
Tells me it’s 1:00 pm.
I could climb that tower to look down.
And still not understand the way home.
eradication of the new world screw worm began with
stem cell research.Cochliomyia hominivorax the new world screw worm
is a threat to all humanity.
It can undermined the effects of generations
of people across the world. A flesh eating parasite
that only wishes to thrive and survive off
off mammals. Maggots burrow into the sjin of
warm blooded animals. Gene editing and male only lines
Researchers are utilizing genomic resources to
identify genes linked to host-seeking behavior
and sex determination.Scientists at facilities like
the New World Screwworm Program have
developed transgenic, male-only strains of the fly.
This prevents female flies from developing in the
lab and streamlines the release of sterile males.
Biotech Partnerships: Institutions like Texas Biomed
are collaborating with private biotech firms to
develop next-generation biological
suppression technologies.
The most wonderful sight’s you will ever see
Is made by nature running free
Amongst the rolling Dales and Hills
Are pictures, magnificent, no made up frills
A combination of summer, winter in one view
The ground a mixture of green and brown hue
In the distance the trees so brown
With dying leaves hitting the ground
Bare and naked as nature intended
Its autumn so be not offended
It is their natural living state
As the time of the year is getting late
So, as we career through the winter days
A time when the cold Frost and Snow lays
The hills a patch of living white
From which the Moon reflects at night
Hidden by day from the noonday sun
Yes, nature’s illuminations have begun
The Badgers and Rabbits all dig deep
To find a burrow for their winter sleep
Only venturing out in search of food
And only then when in the mood
Trees snow covered look beautiful but forlorn
Each winter as nature becomes reborn
Always take the time to view
What Nature has provided for you
The most enduring sights you will ever see
On the land wild and free
Hidden deep within the verses
Of what is and what was
Things are not what they appear to be
The forest is alive and things are hidden deep
Life grows and life moves
It breathes
Always just out of reach it seems
You see it, you dream it, but it feels out of your reach
The words elude me
Playing hide and seek
My poem feels like an earthworm
I dream it
But upon surfacing from my dream
It’s gone
I saw the words upon the page of my dream
Then as I wake they fade
Back into the dark, rich soil.
Let them burrow.
Let them feed the roots of what comes next.
For the forest does not truly lose what falls;
It only digests, re-shapes, and waits.
I will close my eyes again tonight,
Trust the blind crawling of the verse,
And wait for the loam to speak.
Stale, summer
Heat.
Boiling in this
Skin bath
Are you and I.
An obsession,
Now a memento
Of dark complexion,
Stiffened surprises.
I burrow into the
Pill case now
With no more than
An ant farm
In my pocket.
toroidal heart expands
bliss mists burrow in deep
noise external fades
we feel within nectar seep
Some people think they’re talented
When clearly, they are not.
Yet maybe they are better off,
Believing that they’ve got
The kind of skills worth noticing,
Perhaps to lead to fame,
A place where everybody
Everywhere will know their name.
Yet others criticize themselves,
Believing that they lack
Whatever talents that might earn
A pat upon the back.
No matter what they try to do,
It seems to come out wrong,
So to those more accomplished types,
They never will belong.
The truth is often in between,
For how we are perceived
Is often quite the opposite
Of what we have believed.
Yet it might be impossible
To burrow deep inside
To change the way we see ourselves,
And most have never tried.
Joyful ice blankets coat Soldier's Monument
Air full of condensation, hands warm with hot chocolate
Many families gather to the stands, breath cool like peppermints
Amazingly, I feel content in a cramped apartment I call home
In case I change my mind, the balcony door is left ajar
Calling my lover briefly, I let him know my urges
Answering to heart's demanding beats of passion
Pet my cat goodbye, then run like I'm playing at Fenway
Lunar energy gleams, caressing my shadow
Arduous quests became feathery to my muscles
In the nestled Boston burrow that I was born
Never will I leave somewhere else to die.
I'm a furry Aussie wombat
I'd like to ask you for a date
And if it all works out
you could become my best mate
Together we'd go bush
where we'd scratch a little furrow
The start of a conjugal home
we could extend and build a mighty burrow
We could feed upon the Aussie native grass
to that menu add some leaves and roots and moss
And if we become a couple
I'd always let you be the boss
I'm regarded as a cuddly kind of chap
who knows we might eventually elope
I would send you birthday cards
communicate by post, in a brightly, coloured envelope
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Small paws drumming,
hot sun humming~
short legs running.
belly dragging,
tail flag wagging,
groundhog snagging.
burrow maker,
earth embracer,
scent-trace racer.
long and so fast!
never bedfast
zoomies won’t last.
small paws patter,
rain don’t matter~
brown mad hatter.
tunnel digger
endless chaser
loves with rigor
Feels delight when a mouse comes out.
He knows what this squeaking sound is about.
You wouldn’t think this squishy little guy-
Would have a taste for meat in his eye.
A hunger for crunching bones.
For which he never atones.
So when this mouse burrows away.
There’s nothing to keep the caterpillar at bay.
So he sits outside the burrow.
As his teeth start to unfurl.
His antennae turn sharp as can be.
He’s quite strong you see.
But when the mouse doesn’t come out-
He starts to pout.
Because the mouse just let himself starve underground.
With nothing to eat around.
Maybe that’s better than an insect fate.
Which anyone would hate.
But caterpillars are small as can be.
Can crawl underground you see.
And hey, this burrow is quite wide!
The mouse carved it when he was plump inside.
But when the caterpillar reached the end.
There was a nothing to upend.
The mouse was nothing but bones and tendons now.
So the caterpillar almost took a bow.
But hey, who says a squishy guy like me can’t chew through bone?
Why would I complain and moan.
When my teeth get longer and stronger with hunger and pride.
Chomp through bone, let’s see what’s inside!
Erotic Thoughts
I woke up early, and my right leg gave me pain
I had to change position often
Position!
My thoughts went erotic, so many variations
and they are all exiting
I went a bit further, to be in a green tent
a spring morning with soft soil, to burrow
My member is in the soil and making love
to a glorious morning
Didn't you? No, but the thought was there
I have always loved free-wheeling women
those who like sexuality without it ending
in a marriage license or a new dress.
Never of a property-minded person
It didn't matter that the woman had other
men before or after me
Women who liked making love for its sake
and live long enough to tell a story
I tried to think of something mundane
The rubber on my left wheel needed fixing
Did you say rubber?
I had a short affair with a woman who liked
to throw used rubber on the floor
I thought this was unsanitary and avoided her
I noticed the day was beginning to open
the curtain and thee a glorious winter sky
painting clouds pink, and I knew this was
going to be a great day
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.