Clumping Poems | Examples

Seeing Rafts of Fire Ants

During Hurricane Harvey resourceful fire ants stayed alive
clumping together on waterways, forming a raft, not one dive
I saw them and my hair stood up and I let out a scream
Knowing how dangerous they are as they travelled downstream

I had been bitten by one, which was like being burned by fire
He had gotten me on my inner thigh, I was glad it was no higher
The poison he put in me left me weak, I was barely alive
hundreds of thousands of fire ants floated past ready to survive

Another raft of them floated past, a million, score!
I ran away from the river, for I could take no more
Hurricane Harvey seemed to have found a plethora of them.
My view of fire ants is truly pretty dim and grim.

Creaturely

Rough hands upon her,
not near, there, or where,
nor the seashell tip of a fingering care
            or other
            lack-lustering lapping's
but the groundless clubfooted grasping
                  of long incoherent passions.

A clinker of desire hammered anew
                by the forceful hands
of mist shrouded Nibelungen;
a dross now forged bright
  into red-eyed gleams of flame.

She who bears the weight
of such a slobber-lipped changeling
                covers his paws
with a tracery of spidery entanglements
the softest spell-binding webs
          that break his knuckles;
refining hot bones
              into phantom kisses.

For her satisfaction (and hers alone),
she captures that clumping stray
            caging him deep,
  and he left with no hands but hers.

How Much Capacity Is Enough

It's out there somewhere,
that marginal place where the elastic nature
of truth, reality,
the measure and fit of coffins,
baby cribs,
the doable dimensions of a a plasma screen
according to its scope, sufficiency, and relationship
to a plausible accommodation of any available space.
It’s the weight of a cut glass bowl of wine
on a rolling rowboat; anything that exceeds
an imprecise self-limiting amplitude
yet also be full or nearly so
to a hard to determine fill-line
of an existential brim or limit.
it is that overly deceptive inch, tittle, or quota,
a displacement that's great enough
to create its own capacity of
less or more.
We will know it
when the shrimp cocktail spills over
onto our dress shirt,
or when the cat starts to turn over the non-clumping clay
and silicone particles of its particular litter box
looking for where the bottom
is deep enough to cover the top.

Un-Fairie Queen

An un-fairie queene
from an unchivalrous tale
lumping and clumping
off beaten tracks
down beaten ones
so beaten
that they click and crack
criss-crossed with crabgrass
so tall that it looks
like some fiendish crag
it crassly sticks to soles
and copiously 
feasts on clothes
not only that
there are the pools
mighty, classy and cool
clamouring loud and clear
to be given their due
for they are 
the sole claim to fame
of those grumpy roads
they welcome cars
with their clip-clop
and lure them to splosh
to splash the passers-by
Then comes that tired 
un-fairie queene
holding a ray of hope
clinging to it
 lest it slip and fall
and though dim it is
she still believes
it can bring some light
and touch some souls
That’s what she has
her feet of clay
but come what may
she will forever
have faith
in her fairy ray.

Boulevard Life

Frayed edges, dust and dirt clumping in little hands
After the sun shower, cast out to the rough cobbled
Street. 

Newborn in her arms, mom watches as the children
Climb the three foot rope-swing, merrily dangling
Above toy trucks and doll-houses.

Smiling, we glide past, comforted, family at my side
As we carry treasures from the street market back
Home, knowing I too enjoyed such moments, and
Share them still today.


Portland, Oregon
June 2021

Angels With Green Faces

ANGELS WITH GREEN FACES
Saturday evening, big night everywhere,
Six teenage girls, hormones to spare,
gather in the bedroom to prepare.
Mirror, hairdryer, tongs for curling,
giggles and squeals, music blaring,
make-up, perfume, clothes for sharing.
“Mum” came the call, upstairs I trot,
enter the bedroom after a knock,
step back in horror, what a shock,
six green faces covered in face pack,
half-dressed, excited, hair tied back,
trying not to let the green mask crack.
Red lipstick, have you got some there?
and black tights, can we borrow a pair?
Please could you blow-dry Sarah’s hair?
I smile, comply with all their requests,
observe the whole going-out process,
masks removed, now dress to impress.
Duties done, I return downstairs,
shortly after, a sound in our ears,
clumping of heels, in fact six pairs,
enter for usual inspection format.
Is this skirt too short? Do I look fat?
Is this jacket okay with that?
Of course, we never dared to state
other than that they looked great.
Teenage egos are easy to break.
Front door slams, we sigh and smile,
peace descends for a precious while,
bottle opened, wine poured, chill.

Ruth Mawdsley
Nov 2019

First Snow

It falls in elegant crystals, forming blankets of pure white.
The whitest of the white that you have ever seen.
Each flake different to the other, unique in its own way.
The proudest of proud the snow has ever been.

It dances and twirls, landing wherever it may please,
Then melts when touching the warmth of a hand.
The newly formed blanket waits for the steps of children,
To pierce its topmost layer and create footprints as they go.

Round and round, then scrunch them together,
Clumping angelic flakes of white into a compact ball.
Like the glittering remains of angels that may fly through the sky,
Or the tears of a loving god, looking down at humankind.

Tongues are stretched out, under the blue sky,
Of children trying to taste, the taste of the snow.
And as one lands on the small tongue, it melts in delight,
As the child eyes light up, a snowflake I have caught!

But then as the day comes to the end, and the children rush back in,
To their mothers calling for hot coco,
The snow forms another white blanket, 
Waiting for the kids to come out again, soon.

Displacing Quantum Time

Within a wave-particle duality, I create my own immortality,
My heart exists in a centrality where love conquers finality…
In a vinculum vortex viewing lines of symmetry are renewing,
Of light-emitting particles spewing clumping matter is gluing.

Distortions in time advance upon magnetic resonance expanse,
Molecular quantities enhance displaying their galactic dance…
With ambient anomalies abound subatomic atoms surround,
Where echoes of love compound incarnate desires rebound.

Frolicking through time and space of the occupants will displace,
The dawning of the human race competitors in the celestial chase…
Amidst hydrogen atoms colliding where the God particle is hiding,
Where we coexist upon coinciding amongst the divinities dividing.




Inspired by and in dedication to...my dear friend Maria Williams
In reference to her lastest post..."The Time Traveler"




Aug.06.2019
Winged Warrior
Not for any contest


Music by
Inner Space Journey - 
Best Dreamy Dean Evenson 
Relaxation Music
With female virtual voice

Pink Joey Oh My

The Pink Joey or Dwarf Pink Kangaroo Paw
when cataloged made botanists quiver.  
For it's a rare native Australian plant
first found along the Margaret River.

A clumping evergreen, it loves the sun
however, it’s content to stay quite small. 
And unlike the larger Kangaroo Paw
it’s a perennial that don’t grow tall.

It bristles with copious strap-shaped leaves
flaunting flowers with downy-soft pink hairs.
And its subtle scent attracts butterflies
sipping on the nectar each blossom shares.

Its velvet blooms form small kangaroo paws
each a delightful down under treasure.
And displayed in their natural setting
they bring the observer so much pleasure.



(Quatrain)

Gibberish

A pointless dot,
clumping in the surge
of edges and curves

A clumping dot,
in the pointless surge 
of edges and curves

A surging dot,
in the pointless clump
of edges and curves

Skating On Thin Ice

He stamps the ice beneath his feet
Fallen leaves, gifted from the trees clinging to his soles
Softening the thud of clumping boots
Patterns shimmer in the fading light
As he trudges up the path
A reveller hoots
Somebody laughs
A drunk is haloed in the street lamp’s torpid glow
Echoes of himself; of seasons long ago
Surely the decorations were much brighter
Surely the streets were full of singing
Red robins; church bells gaily ringing
Fragrant pine and holly
Those were the seasons to be jolly
Couples kissing ‘neath the mistletoe
Santa bellowing: “Yo ho ho,”
Of course there was proper snow
Not damp and mist
And rain
It’s plain
They’d got Christmas all wrong 
Again!
His feet begin to glide
On frost mimicking snow
On his face a grin 
He sails through his gate
Never too late to recapture
The rapture......
Of an illicit skate

I Am

A selfish liar for hire
Setting fire
To more than rain
The pain
Succumb to numb,
Become someone 
Dying
Flying higher
Than our crying
I’m supplying
Something dark and
Dangerous
It’s been fun for us
Guess I’ll see
What we’ll be
Once the feeling leaves
Reach the sea
Wait
I paint
The sighs
Of my delights
Across the skies
Only know why
I wanna die
Not why I’m still alive
You’ll hear 
My fear
Blood clumping
I’m jumping
We’ll find each other
On the other side

Jovian Gemstone Precipitation

Based on the BBC news article "Diamond rain falls on Saturn and Jupiter"
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-24477667


Mighty Jupiter - king of planets
Noxious gasses form a blanket
Fearsome storming - red spot raging
Timeless tempest never aging
Lightning cracking - breaks methane
Sooty puff clouds fall like rain
Clumping forming - makes graphite
Dropping further losing height
Pressure rising carbon crush
Diamond snow in downward rush
Heat increasing gemstones melt
Further down as mist does pelt
To carbon ocean 'neath the sky
From boffins' sums in their mind's eye

Miners Tale With Audio

day in the life of a coal miner 

in the darkness you hear them
their boots clumping along the cobbled stones
not dawn yet ...yet still they are on their way to work
young lads of 15 plus.

these are miners sons
following the traditions
each generation go down the pit
twelve long hours
twelve hours in the dark and dust
twelve hours shovelling the coal
hewn by their elders.

horses are used to pull the trams along
eight hours they work....
young lads work longer.
their little food tins....tiny tins..
a chunk of bread if lucky a dripping sandwich
a bottle of water completed the feast.

they stumble on that cobbled road to home
tired and weary, hopefully a hot bath awaits them
in front of the fire.
nearly too tired to eat the meagre food set out
falling asleep dreaming of sunshine and fun
reality such a different story.


penned 18 May 2016

Audio Below

March 4th, 2013

i can feel it happening inside of me again. the coldness that slowly chokes the love out of my heart. it's clumping in my throat and i can barely breathe without remembering every fault. every fragment of my memory turns to you, and i can see you walking away. i want to follow, but the ice is so thin on this path that i fear i won't make it past. i try imagining a life without you and i'm brought to a world of gray. i just want you to understand. i want you to reach for my hand- not just when im torn on your rug, but when i'm happy. i want you to make me feel important- not just when i'm crying into your chest, but when we're laughing in the dark. i've put you on a pedestal so high in my mind; i wish my heart was big enough to reach you. i wish my words were beautiful enough to any hold value. i have always been the first to cry and swallow my words. i dont have the strength to tell you how much i need you and how i need you to love me.
oh, i need you to love me.
i need you to love me.
i need you to love me.

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