he's flying a kite
it flutters buoyant in air~
what a lively sport
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// it flutters buoyant in air~ \\
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v/ lively sport \v
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Tell me about your hobby in 8-20 lines of rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Tania Kitchin
I remember the days of flying a kite
Watching the dragon I made taking flight
It would twist and turn and soar
As it takes to the sky with a roar
A ball of string held the dragon tight
As it leaped with all its might
Up, up, and away, passing the tall trees
It sailed with the wind and breeze
From a distance, I watched in awe
But its long flowing tail is all I saw
The colorful tail was as long as our yard
Onlookers said my hobby was starred
I painted with the colors of the rainbow
Where his body and tail were a beaut
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet
For my dragon came in peace and wasn't violent
To this day I still take the dragon for a walk
Up, up, and away he sill loves to rock
That hobby has aged since I was ten
Yet it never gets old to feel young again
Have you ever thought of flying a kite?
A crazy dancing hueful delight.
You don't just need a bridle and a spool,
But an impeccable foresight as a rule.
Pick up a kite that is sturdy and correct size,
Then check the trees and power lines as an exercise.
East or West, what is the wind direction?
The wind speed too calls for a circumspection!
Launch your kite with meticulous care,
Enjoyment will be the heartbeat of the affair.
Each loop, twirl, rise or dive is a choreography grand,
Crafted by skill as your dreams take a stand.
Flying a kite in an electrical storm
Frying an egg in the desert sand
Parachuting into a big, red barn
Pitching a tent in quicksand
My army training prepared me well
Stayed calm midst crises, never yelled
The consummate pro... 'til I babysat five kids one night
Said, "Go to sleep now, kids," and turned out the lights
A picture-perfect day for flying a kite
The sky was blue, not a cloud to be seen
Sunshine fairly sparkled on the snowy white sheen
that covered the meadow, the hard ground beneath
as the little boy drew the shiny new kite from its sheath
Nobody'd told him folks don't fly kites in the cold
And come to think of it, such wisdom's too old
to stand up to the spirit and gumption of a lad
~ who's got an Alpine ski-jumper for a dad
Parenting is like flying a kite…you do an awful lot of running around
using every breath you have to get your children up off the ground.
And you never feel prouder…remember how you grinned
The first time you saw your children fly…
the first time they caught the wind?
For you knew you’d helped them off the ground…
you helped them find their wings
and you knew, though they were up there flying,
you still controlled the string.
And when you realized they were good fliers.
when you finally had no doubt
Slowly…gently…lovingly…you let more and more string out.
And you kept letting string out…and they flew so high in the air
that you could barely see them…but you could feel they were there.
Until the day you understood just how high they’d flown
so you cut the string and smiled as you watched them fly off on their own.
Hoping that…wherever they go…in whatever they may do
every now and the the winds…will carry them back to you.
Hoping they know whatever joys or heartaches their life up there will bring
you will always be down here…
and you will always have more string.
The mountains look down their nose at us all.
With disdain they find the facts of mans fall.
They remember those who climbed their north face.
Made it to the top then to outer space.
If only we knew just what we would find.
Alien spieces of the divine kind?
Maybe we should stick to a simple thing.
Like flying a kite or learning to sing.
There is a reason we must sieze the day.
before they find a new fangled way!
Vibrant Festivals Of India .....
Colourful, bright,
full of light ,
Lighting lamps,
spreading colours,
flying a kite ,
reaching a new height,
What a tremendous sight!
Worshiping God Lakshmi's might .
Holi is Vibrant and colourful ,
In Diwali you 'd better be careful .
It may be lunch or dinner hospitality is our mentality,
Christmas is here Christmas is here,
the festival of joy and cheer!
Eid Mubarak to everyone !
come lets have lots of fun ,
Every one is going to mosque to pray .
People are grateful
it's special day.
India has its culture display in customs and traditions.
It's known for its festivals and celebrations.
If the truth should be told, you need to know a couple of things.
Everybody can step aside, because it's all about Me when the bell rings.
Oh, you can talk about colorful birds, big dogs, and monkies if you like.
And on a windy day, you can have all the fun you which, just flying a kite.
That is until you take a look at Me with my head out the window and
the wind at my back, and I'm enjoying a country ride with my master Jack.
You can see the mountain behind us and blue skies above my shaggy head.
I know that you are wondering why we did not bring my brother Ted.
Why the very simple answer to that question is, 'It's all about Me' today.
Rain is on the way, but it's a warm and sunny day in the month of May.
If the truth should be told, I must say, every day is really all about Me.
That's why I'm constantly on the road, because I have a lot of worlds to see.
051020PSCtest, Pantoum Rhyme and Personification, Eve Roper. Photo #2
Tale behind the kite
Black Butcher flying a kite by the hair comb by laugh laugh a breath taking breath hue dance up above the natural taste of food and resources of lively hood money is raining by clouds on earth happyness flowing by the cry with out a blood child jumping and learning how to understood the life cycle of religious matter puase for time about God hell and hell to deeds of heaven of knowledge butcher flying a kite been happy in un told nature of life running from up above the water and salt and precious little flowing kite for you by God bless us
With love all
Jagdish bajantri
It’s Friday again
It’s Friday again and old soup is asleep
Slumbering, dreaming and snoring so deep
Or maybe out shopping, a new pair of shoes
A purse or a tie or whatever they choose
Perhaps they are climbing the side of hill
Their head in the clouds always comes as a thrill
Or out in the yard with their daisies and roses
A camera in hand in case anyone poses
Just maybe their driving somewhere in their car
Staying quite close or discovering far
I guess they could all be out eating their lunch
I’m not sure of that, it is more of a hunch
They could be out golfing or skiing I guess
Though ask them and I’m sure they will not confess
Maybe the dentist, a tooth that does ache
Out at a barbque eating a steak
Flying a kite or out rowing a boat
It’s way past the day they allow us to vote
Riding a train across rickety tracks
Pressing their shirts and then pressing their slacks
Something has happened, of that I am sure
There’s nobody hanging ‘round soup anymore
I know it is Friday and always the same
Only a few diehard poets remain
Man it's boring around here on Fridays
love is like flying a kite ~ letting out too much string ~ risks losing it
Susan Ashley
March 17, 2018
I remember a time when I was much smaller,
I remember you having more hair and to me were much taller...
I remember you teaching me how to ride a bike
I remember days at the park and flying a kite
I remember climbing mountains and cliffs out to sea,
I remember times it was just you and me
I remember finding quartz and keeping it for years
I remember me crying and you drying my tears
I remember adventures with big boats and subs
I remember you being there for air cadets and cubs
I remember times that I have driven you mad
I will always remember, I love you dad x
The horizon cuts straight, long, hard
silently declining less than a degree
like toys across a cartoon’s one frame stillness
a small yacht rocks like a child’s boat
a helicopter putters, a small jet silently
bellies over the sea thundering suddenly
against a graded blue sky
children flying a kite
a plummeting twisting tied bird in its death throes
falling from the warm seemingly red-speckled blue
broken only by a smudge of grey cloud
curling white-tipped waves swirl against rocks
a lonely Zen-meditative crab in their shade
the sand, ridged, striated, pockmarked
small holes left as bubbling miniature blowholes
fine lines webbed around
sand rippled like the sea, waved and cleansed
a poetic transgression? – Neptune’s impost?
the soap-sud foam his in-coming joyful jouissance
the thin receding water a pin-spot bridal veil
and a bridal train, its white scalloped lace edge
pleating, folding, hiding under the next wave
in rippling curving line-patterns
A Modern Rendition
At Poetry Soup poets have been here again
Seems like they always love letting us in
Which is a perfect for our poems to enter
Of our attention is constantly the center.
Many poetry services there they provide
Of course if by all the rules we will abide
All of our comments are correctly made
Even if old and into past may one day fade.
To write many more poems we should try
As all of our youthful years go flying by
Poetry Soup is excited and perfectly delighted
When poetry friend of yours you have invited.
To write poems all of us have an appetite
Which is way far better than flying a kite
While poems from our minds start to flow
Temptation to write more will grow and grow.
Poems we write improve and are better by far
May be here at home or wherever you are
Poets are promoting petition for new tradition
To make old poems into a modern rendition.
Now who would actually believe I
was talking about me, myself and I.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
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