The Gathites had heard about
King David by word of mouth
Then in song and dance
King Achish’s servants
Sang of Saul and David’s downing thousands
It was fear that King David bled
He acted the fool instead
Insane and inane he did pretend
And King Achish said
“Do I lack madmen?”
A high pressure is moving up from the south
Which means fair weather for tomorrow, I think,
At least that’s what I’m getting by word of mouth.
According to all our charts, we’re on the brink
Of foul weather toward the end of the week,
But our chief meteorologist is reputed to drink.
Understand, tomorrow we could have a shower
If the low pressure from the west moves quick,
We could very likely get a drizzle in the next hour.
By noon tomorrow the cumulus clouds are thick,
So don’t count on seeing a bright, sunny sky --
It won’t be the afternoon for a warm spring picnic.
After this week, we’re thinking it will begin to dry
However, next week storms are unpredictable
So, I wouldn’t be planning an outdoor fish fry!
When it turns dry, the garden soil will be tillable
Looking for shirt-sleeve weather, quite comfortable.
Written March 7, 2022
especially for "You're a Weather Forecaster" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Matt Caliri
Written By: D. Collins 9/15/20
Its all in your pattern, amongst everything else.
You would likely spot it, if you looked inside yourself.
I can see it from a distance, That's how obvious it is.
God gives me the signs before it rolls off your lips.
Anyone paying attention know an attitude change.
When a simple conversation becomes such a drain.
The pattern is what teaches us what we need to learn.
It shows the character of a person beyond no return.
These revelations don't come by word of mouth.
It comes by knowing a person, and wathing the clock.
The cycle is repeated over and over, again.
I've got it down to a science without even knowing.
Out in the country that’s where I’m from.
The Northern Plains, Redneck to some.
Born and bred by God’s own hands.
We’re tough as hell and rule these lands.
From the Red River Valley to the great Black Hills.
We follow one law and do Gods will.
We’ve paid our debt, formidable and ready.
Tred on me and I'll rock you steady.
We hail from the North and from the South.
Known far and wide by word of mouth.
We are the strong who protect the weak.
God’s chosen few are of whom I speak.
We’ll never fall we watch the many.
Our guns and ammo are good and plenty.
We run on faith and fueled by love.
We are protected from up above.
Today's Sounds
Music rolls off the banjo, bluegrass
Active cheery sound, gland it’s around,
Folk music in little town passed down by word of mouth;
Family remembers and other people too, and songs abound.
Symphony sounds dynamic notes through the grand hall,
Aria Nessun Dorma rapturous great joy emotion,
Opera transports to a lofty feeling, heavenly classical,
Piano music and classical guitar uplifting feeling locomotion.
Listen, echoing 14th century chant cathedral music,
Hymn captivating, baroque music alive to this day,
History’s not historical, it’s not even past; and organ rolls on,
Waltz smoothly wafts across the air through the dance hall bay.
Ice cream parlor music cheerful tunes with hot fudge sundae,
Oldies music reminiscence rock ‘n’ roll, jazz, country and western feeling,
Big band dance music, rhythm and blues, brass band thrill,
Gospel music, spirituals, and blues, highland healing.
Motion picture music score jumps high fidelity positive
Enjoyment, touching stereo button to instrumental music roll,
Relax in the day, easy listening music comfortable rest,
Sound waves motions ear drums, people listen alive soul.
From Africa to America spanning the world, quite possibly
My DNA struggled to survive to make me,
My existence is a testament to survival fitness,
My life is to nurture the future and bear witness, the past,
My name is the name to property they gave,
My heritage my lineage is that of a slave,
Yes, slave, property, harsh words to hear,
Great Granddad was born enslaved, three generations too near,
Granddad laid bricks, played music and sang,
Hope from Grandma’s illiterate lips, I sprang,
A lineage broken in Georgia or Carolina south,
passed on and on by word of mouth,
The legacy must pass through me to give my children power,
For their momma’s line stepped off the Mayflower,
In both I must help them see honor,
For the strength and the pride that made me must endure,
Listening, and teaching, and learning I press on without blame,
Learning from the past about my past I move on without shame,
Each new day, new creation, I write the story,
One of survival, renewal, reflection, doggedly pushing toward glory,
I am black yesterday, I am black now, I am black history.
The sunlight doesn't seem as bright as before,
while Autumn's warmth is fast fading away.
And ominous grey clouds bring rains that pour:
sending kids scurrying inside to play.
Fall's exquisite colored leaves fall from sight,
till no trace remains; their beauty is brief.
And day relinquishes its length to Night,
as trees stand naked, not a single leaf.
The honking geese are all migrating south,
along with most of our precious songbirds.
And, daunting rumors, spread by word of mouth,
whisper, winter's near, in so many words.
While wailing winds start to whistle a tune
that warn winter flurries are coming soon.
At tables scattered round the bar
they hug their drinks and wait,
to see whose empty chair is next,
who's visited by fate.
They listen for the footfalls
which for them will surely come
to take them on the last journey,
slow, maybe quick for some.
The widowed and the broken hearts,
divorced and cast adrift,
all qualify, their day draws near
with every glass they lift.
They treat each draught with reverence,
each day a hole to fill,
from footfalls try to run away,
they run, while sitting still.
The news comes through by word of mouth,
another comrade downed,
the footfalls wash out like the tide,
one more lies in the ground.
A brief respite, still sleepless nights
'till footfalls come again
when fate returns to reap harvests
of lonely single men.
No lessons learned, through khaki eyes
of hopelessness and pain
they sit and wait for footfalls
listen-
here they come again
For Chris, Jenko and Dave- rest in peace. Sadly, you will have company soon.
Contest ' Fate's footfalls', sponsor John Lawless
March 5th 2018
with paw fruits of sizes
purchased at birth for nothing
thrown on the chest by word of mouth
young, ripe, old they are
but a taboo for adult diet
Public Cyst
The public cyst, from the big bad city,
The one who tells you, how to be pretty
And sell yourself, for the dollar;
Let the general public attach a lead to your collar.
Be exactly what they expect you to be,
Then let them condemn you, after they stopped you being free,
To express yourself, musically or poetically;
For their policy, is simply make you agree.
They only buy your work, if it’s deemed cool by the magazines,
Which are only deemed cool by word of mouth;
So maybe we should all let out a scream and shout:
No to the government,
Yes to empowerment.
No to taxes,
Yes to investment.
No to prejudice,
Yes to justice.
No to inflation,
Viva la revolution.
Yes to freedom,
Yes to salvation.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Antiquity Born
Formed from chemical reactions on the tongues of infants
Tales with meanings, without letters were born
Hatched under desert rocks with bones in evolution
From grunting cave creatures
Human family members if memory serves
Records from that time came by word of mouth alone
Tales to tell their stories without words emerged
Evident on stones in color and design
Etched bold enough to hold them throughout time
Old words are thicker than the past told
Through symbols, pictures, codes formed in antiquity
Tools tell their story without the use of letters
Ancestors return from history
Brought back to life
In images in form in ancient art
The signs are here, for all to see,
The thunder clouds, the dying tree.
The shining lights, that draw you near,
Loud heavy music, in your ear.
By word of mouth, or through cyber space,
The hidden pictures, of your face,
The northern lights, are dancing south,
The rumours you hear, by word of mouth.
The sign are falling, from the sky,
Raining stars, on the passers by,
While the battle rages, on underground,
The innocent dying, without a sound.
The cries of heaven, the screams in hell,
That no one hears, down in this well,
The terrible beauty, the open wound,
The innocent babies, in open tombs.
For all to see, for all to hear,
The blind man's painting, the deaf man's ear.
The birds are falling, the fishes drowned,
What once was up, has now become down,
The tender and loving, an empty shell,
The gross and the ugly, now the rallying bell.
The signs are here, for all to see,
Titanic sinking, on a blood red sea.
More poems at http://labyrinthoflies.com
Don't you just hate it
when you dig a spectacular hole
only to realize that you can't get out?
What's worse is when you
advertise the event, before having practiced,
and now the whole town is here simply by word of mouth.
"Legend of the Raintree"
an ancient legend about the raintree
derived from the old South
a tree shedding golden tears
a promise of length of years
if found ... exclaimed by word of mouth.
young lovers searched to find this tree
buried deep in forest green
whose raindrops melted into the Earth
a treasure chest of enormous worth
only a truthful heart would reveal unseen.
in nightly storms cascades of rain
hypnotized with exotic call
branches without bloom
spelled ominous doom
still the legend lingers as raindrops fall.
*For Carol Brown's Raindrops Fall Contest.
*August 20, 2012
The man, the man, the man is he,
spinning his web for you to see,
he'll lure you in with out a doubt,
he offers a dream, another way out.
People come, people go, from all walks of life,
the man feeds his army, with endless appetites.
Like fly's to the web the man will entice,
as he slowly traps you with endless delights.
He'll stalk you, he'll hunt you, he'll seek you out,
he'll pray on your weakness, even by word of mouth.
The treats he has in store go by many names,
but once he traps you, you will never be the same.
So deceptive is the man and the web he weaves,
trying to leave to trace of where he has been.
If the man leaves another will soon arrive,
there is a man everywhere, in poverty he thrives.
He has so many faces, and goes by many names,
but what he does always remains the same.
For the man and me are no stranger you see,
his treats helped me escape my reality.
I was dependent on the man, for the longest time,
trapped in his web, not understanding why.
Do you know what the biggest impact the man has had on my life,?
after he visited my father, my father died.
(In memory of my father, who died of a drug overdose when I was 12 Years old)
M.Mahauariki © 2012
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.