I am in the dancing mood, my sister said
She twirled and whirled, kicking up to her head
I played my dulcimer, and tried not to look
She’s such a show off, my sister Shook
Shook laughed at me, her joy flinging off
She did not see my eye roll or hear my scoff
Nothing takes joy from my sister, you see
She can be happy in spite of you or me
Relentless yearning colors unrestrained
the spectral edge of the halcyon horizon,
where the nascent scarlet sun unveils
the fervent facade of the decorous dawn,
bringing to me across the million miles
the seraphic sparkle of the sapphire sea,
shining with the tinge of azure allure.
I stand whelmed at the finite fringe
of the primal vastness of the aquatic vista
as its timeless vigor tosses ceaseless
on the crests of the swelling waves,
adorning the beach with pearly garlands.
The silent spread of the silver sheet
wraps your faint footprints in fluid embrace.
As the melancholic waves intone incessant
in the moonbeam ballet of the blue night,
I search in cobalt obscurity for my mermaid,
floating away along the stardust trail,
setting sail on the serenading winds
to where my heart hovers on the sea shore.
As a rolling pebble flinging lonesome
with the rhythm of the tides of time,
I’m submerged in the sea of sanguinity
of the rapturous immensity of reverie.
Through the ardent frame of my fingers
I don’t let the golden sands of longing slip,
I turn them into topaz on mystique beach,
design a dainty diadem to embellish you.
Come , hush of eve as hands unfold
stillness tinged with prayer;
My breaths flinging the gritty cold
As peace lies restful there.
Inner core lilts, to flow
With gentle soul aglow;
Dissolving frayed hours' blow.
When' mind's roars leave...
Come, hush of eve.
~
2nd place
Saturn waits in the cold quiet of space,
A sentinel wrapped in golden rings,
Its pale light leans over hidden moons,
Each orb dances in elliptical patience.
Storms turn on its vast gaseous surface,
Cloud bands swirl with silent secrets,
Ammonia crystals shimmer in the upper haze,
There is no ground, only layers upon layers.
Shadows of rings sweep across its pale yellow,
A crown of icy debris, ancient and unbroken.
Enceladus glistens, flinging geysers skyward,
Titan cloaks itself in an orange mystery.
Saturn whispers stories to distant spacecraft,
The wind is measured in hundreds of miles per hour.
Light takes more than an hour to reach it from our sun,
Patience is written into every orbit.
It is both beacon and enigma to astronomers,
A world of hydrogen, helium, and longing.
If we listen, the planet hums with unseen music,
Its beauty is the silence between the stars.
Who goes on his way
As glad unto sad
Has met you halfway
World, acceptably.
Not summer's nor winter's
But autumn's child; he.
That would explain it!
Through quick shifts of mood
Pushed this wantonness
To flinging things about
Was, intoning a squall
Heard. The year throughout!
fly flitting on wall
listens to loose tongues babble
spinning prayer wheels
flinging barbs at absent foes
behind walls, out of earshot.
Soon the fly grows bored
of vain drivel chasing tales
sense left long ago—
so it slips out open pane
to sense truth in rubbish bins
words jump out of my mind in spits and spurts
Flinging themselves onto a page in scribbles and squirts
their determination is admirable, their resilience insane
these words are often clever, other times barely inane
I blame Trixie my muse, she stands firmly on my heart.
Sometimes she is hilariously funny, other times a sarcastic tart.
I never know what these words will do. They have minds of their own.
I am always amazed when they make any kind of poem.
You came across as lovely and sweet
messy, not neat, but wildly complete
I was smitten and eager to have you around
you put me up on a pedestal before flinging me on the ground
I was completely thrilled with you and I as a couple
the ways you twisted and turned me were endearing and subtle
At first you acted like I was a slice of German chocolate cake
But the relationship changed, and you became an earthquake
You gave things away that I thought you truly loved; I was fooled.
I was one of them, now completely re-schooled.
You acted delighted with my quirks when we first met.
Called me lovely names, I felt like a cherished pet.
But the shrew you became twisted me in my gut.
I will never be the same, for your words certainly cut.
I do know one thing, I will look for someone who is real.
falling for a liar and a trickster has a horrible feel.
thank you for that. Your schooling is absolutely complete.
You have taught me to not fall immediately for lovely and sweet.
Could we not at least exchange some crummy
anecdotes about our recent pasts
some poorly recalled bus stop or shop incidents
semi memories of there was this time when
I'll take any half digested subvocal passing thoughts
and an inappropriate and unvoiced yet sincerely held
opinion which you know is safe with me
Throw me a crumb here and I'll toss you
the whole hog utilising my award-winning
(and vigorous) masculine muscles
Instead of flinging it angry apelike
into the webvoid in the form of
incoherent cackhanded freeposts
begging for any minor engagement
This morning’s slush is melting
From last night’s dust of snow
Which, since it wasn’t pelting,
Left little trace, although…
Some little mounds keep clinging
To surfaces of grass,
Enough for snowball flinging
Before the urge might pass.
This weather’s awfully fickle –
It almost feels like spring,
But it’s more like a tickle,
Awaiting winter’s zing.
Still, I’m out by the river,
Just soaking up the sun
Which the heavens did deliver
To get all the melting done.
Sometimes I go on a weird out-of-my-head writing spree
Devouring crazy insane ideas
Spitting them up onto a page
This morning is one of those maniacal times
Thoughts are flinging themselves at me
Demanding to be not only heard, but shared
I feel it would be dangerous to ignore them
Lois looked super dainty and delicate
With lace collars and tiny white linen gloves
Shiny patent leather shoes and pink ruffles
she sat as if on a throne, a little princess
Her three brothers knew better.
They called her the lava flinging volcano
When they riled her, she gave better than she got
She was a terror, cloaked in a little girl costume
words stream out of me
unbidden, unheeded, uninvited
as if they are spewing out of a defective faucet
flinging themselves into the ether,
some lost, others dancing and singing
they have no trouble flicking onto a computer page
or a notebook.
They need nothing from me
except my fingers.
As their puppet, I watch amazed
wondering how they use my hands without permission.
Do these words come from my mind
or someone else’s?
This is unknown to me at this time.
The moon?
A king that needn’t tout his might,
just lounges up there, cool as a cucumber,
as stars tumble like glitter from some cosmic party,
just enough shimmer to keep us wondering:
who’s really in charge - us or them?
The sun elbows its way in,
boisterous and brilliantly loud,
flinging gold across the sky like confetti,
yelling, “Let’s go! Daylight’s wasting!”
It doesn’t ask for permission to set your soul on fire,
and if you’re not burning by now, that’s on you.
The ocean doesn’t bother with formalities.
It rolls in, pushes its weight around,
tosses your worries out to sea with a lazy,
“Nah, you’re done with those.”
There’s no negotiation, just the quiet peace
of letting go when you didn’t even know you needed to.
And the forest?
Old as the first breath,
it doesn’t rush, doesn’t care for clocks.
It whispers, “Stay still long enough, and maybe
you’ll remember how to grow.”
Roots so deep they don’t care if you notice—
because they know life is in the waiting,
and you’re a part of it whether you realise or not.
Early in the morning, he woke up
Up flinging his wings to God’s House
God’s House perhaps with some reason
Some reason for mingling
Mingling with some congregants
Congregants singing to praise their God
God did not create butterflies to sing
To sing like human beings
Human beings go to church to socialize
Socialize because they are not butterflies
But butterflies follow the wind all over
All over up until at a church
At church, they see no flowers to suck
No pollen to lick and cannot sing
Cannot sing a song they do not know
Not know but can expose their beautiful bodies
Bodies uncovered with colorful wings
Wings they fling intentionally
Intentionally for exciting humans at church
At church, they are still butterflies
Butterflies who come to irritate God in his House.
Poem by Mugisho N.
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.