Foraged Poems | Examples

List of Member Poems

Illness of Mind

The whit of peeve groans 
   slopes & rise, 
     slopes & rise as looping voices under disguise, 
heave of raving voiced begrudge,  

slopes & rise these inward knolls 
burden streaming brooks 
                       and un-foraged load,  

so far, the mile, path to uneasy soul,  

therein mirage fairing inward ethos’ 
grave starved quieting the mocking groans; 
                      in the real, not so. 

O suffering, 
those unconscious woes’  
deprave, hast wander’d thorough. 

Still I sleep. Still I dream. 

Whilst dormant conjures probe 
tiniest relate with ancient lunatics, 
                                         inward hidden.

Premium Member An Affair Espinela

Felt it from the initial line,
the joy of the writing process.
Poetry wins when it’s a mess,
old words crumble into fine wine.

Four stanzas and a form align,
every word foraged plays a part.
This is the birth of written art.
Potent smell of ink’s oxygen.
A poet discovers her pen,
an affair ripening slowly.

Premium Member The Finest Arts

    Makeshift art 
      patches of cloth
    second-hand music
      on textbook drums

    Cuisine foraged
      from lawns untended
    literature culled 
      torn pages blended

    Creative genius
      knows no bounds
    objects of derision 
      make beautiful sounds


Premium Member A Dime in His Pocket

   A dime in his pocket
     hope in his heart
   Just his clothes on his back
     but he’d make a new start

   Constricted at home
     he took to the road
   Foraged for food
     yet upright he strode

   Three days and two nights
     of this, all it took
   For him to come home ~
     let mom and dad off the hook

Premium Member K-9

Once, I can't remember when,
A dog named K-9 came to mind
K-9 was a massive dog
And he was of a particular kind
He did not spend his time in play
He sniffed and foraged everyday
He was an undercover dog
And he was good
He found some interesting things
When hunting in nearby woods.
He had to pass his information on
To other K-9s
Of course, he should.
Not to every dog, mind you
Only a tiny few.
Just the particular kind
That K-9 knew.

Premium Member Text Minus X

Anxiously anticipating annual activity

Blissfully bound by bravado

Consuming cold contagious concoction

Dizzily developed devilish desire

Eagerly expecting ego's enlightenment

Feverishly foraged familiar fraternity

Garnished gowns graciously gathered

Hopeful heralded hithered happenstance

Instantly intimated identical ideologies

Jointly jousted jovial juxtaposition

Kaleidoscopic keepsake kept kinetic

Longing languid lustful longitude

Miraculous marvelous momentous movement

Nursing nocturnal natal namesake

Observing others obstinate opinions

Preparing precious paternal post

Quickly quietly questing quarters

Radiant reared remained rambunctious

Stifled stern stayed sturdy

Transmitting tantalizing topical teachings

Understanding umbrage utilizing unity

Vital vibrant visceral visions

Watchful wonderful whimsical wishes

Yonder yearning youthful years

Zanily zigzagged zesty zenith


Premium Member Treasures

TREASURES
mesmerising
  asides
reside
to
display
the
extraordinary
&
delicate
blooms

a choice
narrative
survives
gently
  resides
in
patterned
  fragments
swirling
 in the
spectacular
detail
so
  apposite
&
contemporary

a foraged
 signifiance
monumental
precious
of
  intention

NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE   using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand

Premium Member What a Mess

Greedy goats were invited to the Wednesday feast;
They foraged their dinners ahead of the sly wildebeest.
Quenching their thirst with quail juice alamode.
A gallimaufry of raindrops stirred within a commode.

I asked who invited these creatures, and of course it was Tom.
He did not realize they were all related to my husband’s mom.
I thought they were gone, I said as they came through the door.
My ex and his mother, what a mess, huh, Lenore?

Its the Best

he was pouring at the happening and usually there is a fair amount of disdain for the enthusiasts 
who like to sidle up to sample the snacks, libations and what have you goodies.

he was a wisp of fair blond - a hippy kid.

he asked me if I would like him to crack my can of brew
I told him that this was not necessary

I looked at some stuff and listened to some other stuff
trying to maintain a bit of elbow room 
while the crowds swirled and yammered
 biding some time before refill and then I went back for another and he 
cracked this one for me and said "cheers"

I drank it down and went for a walk down the street
I did not want to appear to be too gluttonous so I gave it some minutes

when I resurfaced in the crowded room and foraged thru the groups back to my man
he smiled and said "I grabbed this one at the bottom so that its chilled and now it needs to be shotgunned".

I laughed and retorted with double thumbs up
Impressed that this cat accurately assessed my quench and provided a 
responsive and congenial atmosphere in one that can be rather unpleasant and clannish

my man had it
and I salute him for it
the damn hippy dippy 
had it

kindness

Premium Member Dark Veil

A dark veil
O'er eyes and ears
Have set phrases to stun.
Standards for me
Omnipotence for thee, 
Tripping over
grayed limping liberty,
Crumbling to a blurry pause.
Trekking through a
Field of freedoms trampled, 
Foraged souls 
Appear and wilt 
In the fiery smartphone snapped chat.

Hypnotized by systemic doping,
we await elusive belly tickles:
To resurrect us from our 
collective nod.

Hoarding Conkers At Hailes Abbey

Not often
you find such a landslide
of conkers
but my father saw them
glossy brown
among the hedgehog casing.

So we foraged
with the rove beetle, earthworm, mite,
lifting box-loads of mahogany jewels
into the back of the Riley.

Going home
I was ready to stage my strung shells
for the big fight
in the playground.

Time was short
and I was in a hurry
to catch all the fun I could hold.

Next term
it could be origami
or the sprung reel
of the Yo-yo

and then the winter snows.

Premium Member Fourteen Frenzied Folk Dancers

Fourteen frenzied folk dancers telling fairy tales
Finding fifteen frisky folk singers, some with tails.
Friendly folklore frightening fools, freckles and more.
Forbidden folktales foraged by frisky faeries galore.
Fitting a folksy framework of fulfillment in field number four.
I am inspired to folk dance my way out there, my interest doth soar.

The Pinancles

40000 years of aborigine dreaming
As a hot sun beat down in daytime beaming
A sacred place where women foraged and gave birth
It was a place for water in a life balancing girth

The local Nyoongar people lived their Dreamtime
In nature’s circle forever intwined
As you walk the pathways with the whistling wind
Feel the Rainbow Serpent turning time without end.

© Paul Warren Poetry

Autumn Kiss

Suddenly, the days are colder
  wind rushing briskly on my shoulder;
summer shadows fade and disappear
  in the cloudy grays of the northern sphere.

Here it comes, the autumn fall
 mix of windy colors in each squall
crimson reds, glints of golden perfections
  glowing florescent, irridiscent pink reflections.

Brilliant purples in India ink
  with summer teetering on the brink
in saturated mocha yellowed hues
  brittle brown in between greens of yews.

Color me a picture palette changing
 blended in each shade arranging,
foraged leaves and pumpkin bliss
 released by autumn's subtle kiss.

Slayer of Sound

“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.” 
—Ernest Hemingway 
  
An incandescent drip of flavor   
falls from the tip of my lip 
words gathered and built   
as my thoughts delicately fulfilled 
the symphonies played throughout my mind 
  
Entranced, my spirit soars   
seeking its solace   
in an empty space 
where the lines of your soul are traced 
  
I am not a writer but a slayer of sounds 
echoing each emotion   
foraged in the fortitude of light 
  
My fingertips are their caretakers 
they caress the pulse of your bosom 
encircling each bit of tenderness 
rising alongside my words   
  
I put you on display   
with every drop of ink 
oozing out the fibers of my grain 
  
My craft is a heartbeat 
You are my sea

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