Getting the Point
A stitch
a stitch
to silence the witch
A sharp sharp needle
to make her twitch
Two eyes of coal
with grey grey hair
Eyeballs gone
and still she stares
Earless rabbit
She pulled them off
His mouth sewed shut
So he can’t cough
Riddle me
riddle me
Why skin so pale
inside my brain
She pokes a nail
She’s as real
as real can be
a creature crawling
inside of me
Poke the poker
Jab me in the eye
Stitch my lips closed
so that I can’t cry.
October is around the corner. I thought I would create a Halloween state of mind.
As I kneel down to this great monolith a black rectangle tablet has droned in through boundless space. My eyes rose with tears precipitating. A blinking of coup d'œil of a great being calling as an adherent red glowing goo comes trickling down my chin and neck from the bottom of my lip. For I see the birth of an old universe beyond invisible walls. and god calling was an earless wolf serpent with many quills and arms.
In women, ears are more important than breasts.
And disputes about this are stupidly airy.
Against small breasts women there is no protest.
But earless, the ladies are scary!
DANGER LURKS
My muse is somewhat brazen and always most fearless
Yet takes no heed to my countless calls, I am scared,
Wanders the empty streets of the City, quite gearless
No mask has she with her, police angry, had dared,
Them, oh my in danger, silly muse has been earless,
Faced hovering criminals, pleaded, wrote SMS, am spared!
Entering Poem Contest
Each Letter Threads The Verse
Sponsor Joseph May
2020/04/25
I love my earless cat-a-moints.
She wears a pink knitted beret.
To hide her lack of ear-filled points.
Cute on her head though every day.
She has a clever hearing aide.
Usually refuses to wear it.
A haughty little parlor maid.
Ignores me ‘til I can barely bear it.
Old sky, how high you lay
up there, in your complacency
your faceless dome
your eyeless spread
your earless tomb.
how high you lay
and how bitterly
we see you there
lying in your terse complacency.
how bitterly we cry your name
and your language only guess.
your faceless dome
your eyeless spread
your earless tomb.
Old sky, how high you lay
come down from your complacency
come down Old sky, come down.
how bitterly we weep
Old sky, come down.
how bitterly we cry your name,
and language only guess
Old sky, come down.
Ducks in a row.
Tails lower than currents of pebbles
on glass shards of reflecting power
Here and now fading
with ripples and lily pad vibrations.
Geese squawking
wretched wretches of who and what.
Sounds only nature could imagine and love.
Somewhere below scales out of tune
Play sunlight serenades
to all the earless in the world
With no sounds
like thumping in a drum.
I am an Iris
Sometimes sporting a fuzzy beard,
I hear wisdom say, “Do not shave.”
“It would come back thicker,” it warns.
To razors I’ll not be a slave.
Elusive is “promise in love,”
but my purple face is fearless.
Nurturing true love takes effort;
to snapdragons I am earless.
Faith has shown I reap what I’ve sown.
Though Iris’s lifespan is short,
a bulb of hope roots in my heart
where butterflies are my escort.
*Iris means “wisdom and valor, faith, promise in love, hope”
Written May 3, 2015 for Andrea’s Flower contest
SUBMERGED IN FEMININESSENCE
e valued price of
precious key
unchaining doors imagined locks
that set free
a girl is born
the stage is set
manoeuvring moves
that control and direct
discerning a world
through perceptive eyes
instinctively she knows
all truth from lies
then
we fail to….
RECLAIM OUR
LUMINESCENSE
FEMININESSENCE
F earless faithful friendly funny and frank
E xhuberant emotional energetic or easygoing
M ultifaceted masterpieces mighty yet modest
A ffectionate adaptable amicable but ambitious
L oving loyal life-givers lusciously lofty in lingerie
E nthusiastically effective embracing edified by
FEMININESSENCE
“Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did
but…She did it backwards and in high heels”
(Inspired and written for all woman to remind them they are Princesses and Perfect in Gods eyes)
© Kim van Breda—9 August 2014
F-earless...
A great man is not the one
fighting in a battle
Nor he who can jump out of
space shuttle...
How about a proud man
holding a baby bottle?
A-ffectionate...
The moment he hears the
child's first cry
His eyes overflows with
tears..."Oh my"
As if he could fly as high as the
sky...
T-eacher...
He plays a huge part of who
we'll become
Teaches by example, he is
really awesome!
No wonder for us, he's the
most handsome
H-ardworking...
He has a sturdy hand that
works all day
And/Or even at night if it's
necessary...
Finish our education is what
he wants as pay
E-ncouraging...
He teaches us to be wise and
to be strong
Shows us what is right and
what is wrong
For us to realize, sometimes it
takes so long
R-ole Model...
Fathers can sometimes be a
steel man
In shaping up his beloved
daughter and son
Love our father, because we
only have one!
Flirty feisty fists pummelled pretty parts of her bare skinned body,
Lovers long lost in eyes the size of lies, decisive ties of their unwise love,
Hector hatching heat, his aching heart searching for a hopeless home,
Saw so silently the cynical smile of his partner's palpitant part,
Her smoothed skinned slender body congruently curved into his,
Their bellowing breaths singing soothing songs to earless walls,
Both similarly stuck in a soporific frame of time, slowly sinking down to truth,
Angrily aware of the love they'd never share, the happy lovers brooded,
Shamefully,
The loathing lovers hid under covers, rovers of love that met meticulously,
As fate would have it, Cupid rapidly read through, mixing up numerous names,
Hector fell in love with a woman, he knew he could never have
Speak to the Night
Can the night hear us cry?
Can it see the pain we sow?
Night is blind to the world around,
And senseless in its black depth,
But its children listen.
Why I speak to the night I do not know,
But for the solitude I seek,
There is no other to speak to.
The light spreads our words to the four winds,
So all can hear the solemn words we speak,
Hear we the night, and its children
listen,
Though it does not.
Why do we listen to the night
and speak to it of our troubles?
Why do we speak to the night,
When it has no ear to listen with
And no eyes to see, and no mouth
to speak reassuring words?
Why waste our free time with black night,
When its only interest is the moon
in all its phases.
Blood, full, and blood moon.
Thus are night’s companions,
Among the other stars,
And asteroids, meteorites, and meteors.
Smile upon the moons bright façade,
The children of the night listen.
Why do we speak to the night?
When no words reach its earless ears,
And our words are lost on nightmares
of the night.
Why do we speak to the night?
Because it is there.
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.