An ode to morning
Might the urges of night
Keep us entangled in
Our love affair
The snares of evening
that one claims their
desires in unashamed
want
That neither love or hate
defines truth
Such debate comes to
be heard with a doubtful
ear
Óde to me as you shall
have me yours
Neither poverty or wealth
Shall be éxcuse for our
togetherness
He wishes me merely
that I am with you
He longest me in spite of
You
Might night blanket the truth
Of our togetherness
that it is script of your undoings
Might the rightousness of
whoredums
Make me woman above all
Else.
Claria Minded Longings
From the book of Trickering Women
Published by
"Though then like me"
An inspiration to Male Madness
"He ain't even noticed"
Performed by
Hoochie and Dame Meanie
Ària Musica
Vhallez and Structure
Performed with permission
From Gett it and Ooh
From big city mußic co.
A fictious media group
Highest ratings ever Collaberation Co.
They wrote this play to target
folk like us to be together.
Anyone who share these types of interest
would find this worthy of paying
money to see.
It's a neither lacks excitement or meaning
instead it combines them both
with the popular detail that makes
something entertaining and great.
The play set it self uses a three room set
and a laboratory set where
the actors engage into the exciting skits
of know thingness
that fuses a storyline
which creates villans and heroes
allowing the folky people create
the narritive which
might instruct the audiences
sense of what's happening.
The guy wears a mask and stands
to distance him slef
while another man who knows whats going on
and he knows why it's going on so he
engages into foolishness with no purpose.
He dawns the same mask and stay's in the distance
too. The badguy mask wearer is looking for
the secret formula: he knows who has it
and he know's where it is. He must get close enough to
retreive the formula which he beleives to be his.
Goodluck Production company in collaberation with
Break a leg Drama Inc.
and VerbArea Music Company. Border and Cuclorama
Direction and Staff.
[Line one is an old schoolboy version of the first
Line of ‘While Shepherds’. I wrote the rest of verse
one based upon it, but was then astounded to
discover ‘my verse one’ word for word identical
online. As such, I must claim this poem as a
collaberation.]
While shepherds washed their socks by night
And hung them on the line
The Angel of the Lord came down
And said those socks are mine
Fear not he said though they be red
You washed them not with whites
Glad tidings of great joy I bring
They weren’t in with my tights
If you see David down this way
He’s bound to say this line
I’ll separate the colours, Lord
And things will turn out fine
O laundry maid did you not read
The instructions displayed
I must complain, look at this stain
Don’t think that you’ll be paid
My laundry sack produced forthwith
A purple, once-white thong
I also think that thong has shrunk
Can’t get the damned thing on
O God my thong it sure is high
How it hurt my cod-piece
Good grief I can’t wear it again
It slips right up my crease
The day when soul and mind collaborates-
We would see a brighter sun.
The night when boss and employee collaborates-
We would see a full moon.
Closeness of the table and chair is unavoidable-
Since it has been so since decades.
This is something called collaberation.
They never ask -shall we collaborate??
Love is the inherited by mother-
Since she adorns her child.
The collaberation here is inevitable.
Love never asks - should i come??
- Shruti Abhishek Shetty
TINA'S BIRTHDAY.
I am so excited,my little hands prepare,
For a party magical,unique that will be rare.
Its my dearest friend Tina's birthday,
A pixie cutest and tiniest of today.
Sunshine amiably reflects a smile like a pogo baby,
Daisies,lilies,roses in my garden get flowy.
Flowers wear makeup for Tina's bouquet,
Devoted fairies cook bake dishes and croquette.
A diminutive magical gnome takes charge,
For garden's ornamentation,he is incharge.
In collaberation with all,my garden gleams,
All well dressed,my pride beams.
A grand occasion its gonna be,
Birthday babe in pink frock,is happy to be.
Contest:Little People.
Sponsor:Shadow Hamilton.
28/06/2016
I saw her walking in the park alone and lost in her thoughts
it's as if the world around her froze and blew away from grace
her hollowed cheeks sang the litany of sorrow more precise
than a knife at the cutting edge of death. Her crimson gown
was soiled with tears and I longed to mend the tear
that pierced her baby flesh. She had matted hair of dark
and was clearly in a bout of depression. It clung to her
like a London ferry fog on a morning tramway ride.
I stirred the wind for her as she stooped to read a letter.
Fingers loosed and the letter flew- released, like a paper kerchief.
Poof! it went, out between the trees, tucking itself beneath a rock.
There it lay immobile waiting for human hands to find.
"What's an angel to do?" so I did the only thing an angel could.
I swooped down retrieved the letter and answered it. Perhaps to
alleviate her misery, perhaps not. Either way I was going to remove
those grenades from her delusive mind.
Words by Mystic Rose
Dan Cwiak
There Dan Cwiak was, utterly lost below.
The silent waters that surrounded his work,
All but had to go.
"Up Periscope", he cried into the night
"We will not go weakly and meekly,
No, we shall but join the fight!"
The Destroyer above is lost in the fog
This is the ocean we sail,
Not some murky bog.
"Fire One! Fire Two! Fire Three! Fire Four!"
As the tin cans rolled off the deck,
We heard the explosions, nothing more.
Our words boiled up from the deep.
Rising with the new dawn,
Killing the old refrain...New Words to Keep!
A Poet Destroyer Collaberation
Note: This poem is really special because it is a collaberation. Special thanks to Justin Connor.
In the perspective of a ten year old boy who has never seen the world above, who was born in an underground shelter after a nuclear holocaust.
8/13/12
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have never known the world above me
Yet I have heard of its dark history
But in my mind, I wonder why
Humanity would destroy its own kind
Many have fought, many have died
Jaded by their violent pride
Slaughters and bombing destroyed them all
Leaving us to listen to their muffled cries
It brings tears to my eyes—
Why did they let each other die?
Will we rise from the ground and heal the world?
Or is it too late?
I guess I will never know why. . .
But there is something here that will always be—
Parents who love and protect me
7/11/12
-a collaberation with my friend who wishes to remain anonymous -
------------------------------------------------------
Separated by the emotion barrier
Pierced by your absence of words
Anguished by annoyance and abnormalities
Calling out your name
Emptiness is your reply
From the twilight of absolution - he spoke in cliché, the fantasy of living his dream
having seen and done all the things he ever hoped to see and do, in moderation.
Yet, moderation, in and of itself, can be self destructive to the inquisitive self within,
fortunately, that nagging search of perfection which we all deniably seek, ended
for him, as the questions affectionately died in the growing of a new relationship.
She answered in riddles, softly smiling, relishing the thought of his consternation
a long distance friendship involving a badminton-like banter of wordmanship
a decade of age separated their experiences, yet, it only enlivened the language,
in all likelihood, they would never meet, surely, he had been part of a past soul group?
Day by day, words pinged and ponged, hopefully, into cyberspace, infinity and beyond!
Poetic Collaberation By Charles Henderson & Debbie Guzzi
From the twilight of absolution - he spoke in cliché, the fantasy of living his dream
having seen and done all the things he ever hoped to see and do, in moderation.
Yet, moderation, in and of itself, can be self destructive to the inquisitive self within,
fortunately, that nagging search of perfection which we all deniably seek, ended
for him, as the questions affectionately died in the growing of a new relationship.
She answered in riddles, softly smiling, relishing the thought of his consternation
a long distance friendship involving a badminton-like banter of wordmanship
a decade of age separated their experiences, yet, it only enlivened the language,
in all likelihood, they would never meet, surely, he had been part of a past soul group?
Day by day, words pinged and ponged, hopefully, into cyberspace, infinity and beyond!
Poetic Collaberation By Charles Henderson & Debbie Guzzi
Faithful and a friend who will defend to the end.
Always there when you need a friend.
Thankful for a loving son who cares.
Helps you and he gives you hope with his prayers.
Especially tries to know and meet all your needs.
Regardless of your circumstances, helps you do good deeds.
Acrostic poem of a father and son.
Nurtured in love just having a little fun!
Doing all he can to teach his son to be a man.
So here I stand, and dad I'm grateful for your helping hand.
Occasionally I was hard to handle but I made it to the end.
Not only were you my father, but you were my best friend!
*Collaberation with Marty Owens ( He did FATHER and I did AND SON)
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.