Sun-streaked topaz,
of faint silhouette,
woman gulping phrases,
uncanny mirror’s orbital,
of resonance,
in blind recess,
seeing, hearing icicled image,
psychic blobs melt,
in close locus,
hair-raising halo,
hallucinate my opal eyes,
sultry smokescape,
furnace of,
walnut garland,
from ambling weeper,
whose shaken trauma,
I shudder and pine for,
at red coal pit of,
my abdominal agony,
this lava veiled,
human’s sideswipe,
“you remind me of someone,”
whilst being eclipsed,
by vanilla vapours,
in a hazy billow,
rippling stream heart,
inducing isthmus of,
harrowing bereavement,
blue vault fluke
surreal concoction,
shrouded in mystique,
enigmatic shroud,
shrouded pang,
otherworldly episode
Spain won the world cup yesterday, one to nil - but it was never close. Spain spent 70% of the game in Argentina’s backfield - pressuring.
Spain had nine respectable shots at a goal - scored one with another called back. Argentina had one shot that almost went in. I know losing when I see it - Argentina winning would have been a fluke.
Speaking of losing - Madonna at halftime.
A critic wrote that, "Madonna has come to represent America’s fear of aging."
Yeah, aging has never looked less appealing.
I may take up smoking.
I know, she recently had a single hit #1 on the Billboard charts.
Back when the Beatles were cranking out 24 #ones in a row, you had to sell a million records a week to crack the top ten, and 1.3 to 1.5 million a week to stand a chance at a #1. Today (with streaming) you can get a #1 with a 7th of that number.
I love early Madonna - but I know creepy when I see it.
Who’s older, Madonna or Trump?
Whatever, both are too old for their jobs.
.
.
A song for this:
Vogue by Madonna
Cruel and Pretty by Over the Rhine
Oh fiddle-dee-dee!
Oh fortuity!
Come take a chance with me—
on a slippery-dip slide,
down to serendipity,
where happenstance
shakes the dice,
and takes the chance
to dance with me,
romance with me.
I tripped on a maybe; I slipped on a sigh,
did a dance with chance, as it wandered by.
That flipped the switch—in the blink of an eye—
My fortune lit up, streaking across the sky.
Call it a fluke, call it a break.
Call it pure chance, no hands could fake—
When you riled the give-and-take,
you made luck, drive in its stake.
Let fortuity fling! Let serendipity sing,
Let fortune shuffle its luck through everything.
A stumble, a tumble — then you swoop right in!
to play all your cards—go bold, all-in!
So spin the wheel to clack, clack its spark,
let chance light a match to scatter the dark.
Make merry, and rouse the larrikin lark—
to laugh, sing, dance—a fling in the park.
Oh fiddle-dee-dee!
Oh fortuity!
Come take a chance with me—
on a slippery-dip slide,
down to serendipity,
where happenstance
shakes the dice,
and takes the chance
to dance with me,
romance with me.
What an opportunity this would be
to be able to write a book
little old me's name in print
let's take a peek so it's no fluke
My two great loves in life
they are poetry and classical music
together they truly connect
holding each other up with a pen stick
Melodies fit into them both
bringing rhythm together in rhyme
both have skills that suit each other
combined, they are in equal time
Many a poem converts to a song
ably penned through skilled writers
then music brought the piece to life
listening in makes it all brighter
There's such beauty in poetic classics
it brings one to calmness and peace
sitting in silence, taking it in
wishing for it all never to cease
(This is written with the idea that If I could write a book, what would it be about.)
My husband laughed
When we bought you,
Little basil.
The year was new—
"Let's help Jack, too.
Cook some sweet stew."
My husband smiled.
Still green, surprise,
A brown thumb fluke.
Through furnace skies,
Broken clouds' cries,
Expanding size.
We chase your pests,
Taste our small crop—
Piquant petals
On countertop
Yielding non-stop.
Seasoned leaves plop.
Having eyes to see is a gift
with that gift, you can read
read whatever books you like
then you may plant your seed
That seed can bear great fruit
which may produce abundant crops
within your mind, amazing things
opening books of knowledge never to stop
You may have a favourite subject
that you want to focus upon
which would be your goal in life
it may be your secret, simply anon
Books do clearly change lives
transformation does come with a book
words are the means to finding you
your destiny happening is no fluke
So travel down your right road
catch your flight on that plane
get on your bike and pedal hard
find your seat on your express train
This is your destined destination
a journey that leads to home location
Quote:
("Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.”) ? Anna Quindlen (born 1952)
electronics
manipulated by ghost
babys room whisper
explained as a fluke
parents are in denial
baby claps her hands
I made a tiny bit of noise
the parents did not notice
the baby and the cat lifted their heads
toddlers and animals usually sense spirit
I started an electronic toy
the parents explained it as a fluke
baby clapped her hands and laughed at me
she looked directly into my eyes and smiled
the cat screeched and ran out of the room
animals sense and see me
I never said they like me
The next time that I decide to take another ride
I will choose the countryside
City life is too busy, too confusing but it’s alright
I have all night
I can catch a train if I like
The last one leaves at nine
When I get there, this is what I will do
I might take a ferry if I like, the next one leaves at five
I might go down to Waterloo
On a river so clear and blue
The sun is out or is it a fluke?
No smog, no fog and the sky is hazy
Can’t go back to the city
it makes me crazy
Down South, Up North Out West, back East
Every Cornfield is my pleasure
Every Pasteur is my feast
Air so crisp, you can taste it
Life can be gone in a wisp, why would I waste it?
The city is my home
But the country is my pride
Come take a wild ride with me through the Countryside
You wore Achilles’ armor when things got tough
You slayed Trojan after Trojan, and seemed invincible
When Sarpedon went down they knew you were no joke
You turned their heads and raised their eyebrows, shields, and swords
But every hero gets lonely, and every hero falls
This was no fluke but a peak that then plateaued
How much can one man do, with Jove and Apollo on the other side?
Hector may have ended you, but not without their help
Of course, your legacy lives on
No warrior really took you down
You made Achilles proud
You made the Achaeans proud
The Trojans may have your armor
But your body is well preserved
Just like your spirit and your honor
Forever, the Trojans will shriek when they hear your name: PATROCLUS!!!
Sisyphus
A man, who by the fluke of nature
had lived for 500 years preaching
unity and peace
He used to ride on his white mule
from the village to the next people
listened to him and agreed also
Everybody wants peace when we
Get rid of so and so, we must be
ready to fight and kill the enemy
When modern times came, he went
around in a car and his audience
has grown worldwide
He is a secular saint
Looks like a Jewish scholar I met
in Copenhagen, playing the piano
Lately, he has been depressed; it
has dawned on him, man is not fit
For a peaceful life, strife is the glue
Binding us together in common
disharmony of righteousness and
the hatred that brings
O’ Casagemas,
what is this Heartbreak I hear,
from this woman with sagged, fired breasts
and onion hips that tell a strumpet?
This cruel, shameless voyeur
with little mind — who owns a
vainglorious torso;
a Lady Serpent, viperous!
O’ Casagemas,
this Heartbreak hurts,
running streams of cold blood at cockcrow.
We cannot be counted among men
but among lizards with tail monuments.
Veronica, Juliet, Ada or Ulu?
How does one even spell her name, with votive
words, or with streaks of bleeding ink?
Heartbreak spills from a hollow platter, gushing
cascades of heated tears.
Caustic! A ruinous fountain.
Dream.
Casagemas sprouts, a monocotyledon
on which she feasts — succubus!
Incubus at noon.
Night.
Painted on the frame of a subtopia,
this naked virago — pulse of falsetto —
weeps at the feet of the grave of Casagemas.
Morning.
Velvet roses and tailored satin, pink and white fluff
for Casagema’s Rebirth
and christening ceremony.
In attendance:
fair daughters of Eve, naked, baby-fresh and
Casagemanous, to wreak vengeance on this
hag with a fluke in her liver.
O’ fluid friend,—
—O’ liquid lover, please
embrace me, soothe my sootheless, stranded soul—,
—caress my restless thoughts, and set them still.—
O’ sap of spirit,—
—sweet sip of ambrose!
O’ potent potion,—
—O’ magic mixture, daze
me, dazzle me, nuzzle me, numb my frill
fringes |— —| Droll Dame, find me a drooling fool.—
O’ nectar of the night,—
—dose me for a doze…
Keep me cohere,nt and comp,osed—‘sxcu,se me—
I’m stumblin’ on your slippy words,(I meant
mine,—ours?)and now you sweep me to the flo,or.
…
O’ fluke of fortune!, wicked whiskey’s woe!,
why wrong you me thus?, morn’s scalding sun askant
breaks blaring through my window,— head — aches — …sore.
Until we meet again
Not by chance
But by design
Not by accident
But by choices accepted or declined
Not by coincidence
But by the alignment of our souls
Not by a fluke
But by universal sparks that unite our unrelenting goals
Not by a stroke of luck
But by focus and a guided decision
Not by blind impact
But by stars on a predetermined collision
Until we meet again
And we will meet again
Let’s be ready!
He holds me tender,
Yet I feel nothing,
I should feel something,
This will be the relationship ender,
I stalk in the night,
My ungodly deeds hidden,
He cannot know,
He will not know,
What once was a fluke, is now an addiction,
The feel of a strangers body beneath my own,
The exhilaration of something new,
Someone new.
I have no need to love these people,
Not as I have loved him,
As I still love him.
He shares my bed,
He shares my house,
He shares my name,
And Yet, he will never share my life,
Despite our vows, I feel nothing,
Despite our life together, It is empty,
There is love, much love,
Yet there is nothing else.
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.