Forays Poems | Examples

Some Good Advice

I know the life I led
is no good
I want to make it whole
Get the right advice !
but the slope is too high
Trying not to worry about foreign forays
or the streets are not paved with gold 
The Preacher man is something else
Still I need guidance
feeling this way
as if on the bottom of the World

Robber Baron Passengers

In South Croydon station
They walked tall
Brief cases and ironed Daily Telegraphs
Back to the 80s
They spoke a Corporate language

I remember the old school
but now we are living
with Generation Z
with acne to match
(If they can ever leave their homes)
for office jobs
The performed voyager
to a new world
with resplendent coffee bars with Wi FI
where they plan
their robber baron forays
see them scurry
their mission to
ALT control delete
their World

Deconstructing Trump Derangement Syndrome

    On his watch no attacks on Israel or Ukraine
      Yet they say he has no ‘smarts’ or brains

    The border was quieter, illegal immigration down
      Though my Congressman called it ‘fascistic clampdown’

    Taxes cut, the economy hummed right up to the pandemic                                                                          
      Vaccines enabled at warp-speed quelled the epidemic...                                                                                
 
    A difference clearly defined 'tween a woman and a man
      which eludes so many Dems as they celebrate ‘trans’        

    Elites so uneasy when Trump shoots from the lip
      as if they don't engage in brinksmanship

    And for those who despise DJT for his sexual forays
      Bill Clinton was no altar boy, nor was JFK...

    The media promotes Trump Derangement Syndrome ~
      We 'deplorables' want to protect our families and homes

Winter Comes Early In the Mountains

Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped
Wintry weather creeps down with passing days,
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

Many of the larger critters are sadly trapped,
For they have not adjusted to our urban ways
Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped.

Tall, spindly pines are in thin snowsuits wrapped
In the wind a snow-laden limb melodically sways
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

Native brown bears, fat and lazy, seem zapped
As they search for a safe place while winter splays
Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped.

Before the snow can melt, it is once again lapped
Piling up high, thwarting mountain hiking forays
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

For years the mountain trails have been mapped
It’s possible to enjoy those Christmas Eve sleighs
Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

Written October 29, 2022

Vogue

VOGUE

en masse
charms
in equal
measure
so
curiously rare

previously
a pleasure
yet
unaware
with
flashes
of
liveliness
stutters
by
bound by
the diverse

so poignant
interlaced
with affectation

such
enlivening
detail
& experemental
forays

a flurry
of the innovative
now
long
forsaken

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

Her Velvet Cloak

The velvet cloak is cascading, all adorned with sequin stars,
Final streaks of sky colors fading, as pearl moon gazes afar.
The queen's lately departed, from the plush burgundy room,
Blue Neptune on her left, and and scarlet Mars on her right,
Trailing stardust in her wake, on the way to beautiful night.
Forays into mystery are waiting, at the dark end of the sun,
And tomorrow's queue of colors, await the orders of golden!
Blueberry darkness lies in its soft, eternal folds everywhere,
And beauty travels always, diamonds and jewels in her hair!
Varicolored flowers await fiery sun, of burnished days of old,
When sunlit cream tulips went on for miles, capturing smiles.

Poetry Soup

A world community like no other, this troupe
Of writers and lovers of insightful poetry
Gathered under the imprimatur of Poetry Soup --
Delightful, inspirational, sometimes contrary 
With verses ranging from wildflowers to poop.

Something for everyone in these lofty environs
Even historical forays and pedantic endeavor
From sonnets to limericks, epigram, and puns,
Versifiers here are creative and extremely clever
Someone might even write something that stuns.

Here we meet trolls, gremlins, and a gleeful fairy
Playful nursery rhymes and some serious thought
An occasional juicy bit like a fresh ripe strawberry,
An incredible story with a convoluted poetic plot
Poetry Soup can make a most stressful day merry.

So, join us here and find pleasure in our pieces
Take up your pen and write for us a few keen lines
Find a place where your pent-up anger releases,
And all the best muse in you matures and refines
Expression is welcome where wonder never ceases. 

Written April 21, 2022

Coin of Reverence

It is often said you get paid
in your own coin you arduously accumulate,
which happens when the table turns,
and destiny rolls the wrong dice for you.

You strive to climb the ivory tower,
the price you pay with the money you pile up,
often making designed forays 
on dubious course into the realms of grey.

You try to fill treasure in the vacuum,
may end up in the end being one.
You deceive none other than yourself,
let your priceless self-esteem devalue.

You stockpile the wealth for the future,
that never comes, and you depart.
Let the conscience act in the present,
help the needy with your benevolence.

You’d then find place in many hearts,
and get paid in the coin of reverence.

June 13, 2021
Contest : $
Sponsor : Anthony Biaanco

Son of Hannover An Amalgam

forays
  with the 
            commonplace
collaged
     spatial
            merzed

assimulated fragments
of the
      immaterial
         by chance
made
material

    indescribable
without purpose
yet
enduring
       memorials
displaced
in time
         
three dimensions
monuments
    as
     reflections
       of the uncertainty
                       of life
an
   essence
       of the absolute

The Levels

The Levels

The reeds, like tattered banners limply hung
From slender, ghost-like lances held on high,
Like ancient armies, waiting in the mist
To heed the call, a long lost battle cry.
A steel grey shroud lies thinly on the fields
Whilst scattered tussocks, shoulders weighted down,
Keep vigil 'round the distant gathered host,
Lest any try to steel their winter crown.
Serrated blackthorn hold the picket line
With swirling cloaks to mask a savage blade,
To pierce such light as morning’s sun may throw
Against them, should a charge be quickly made,
	Then with the first faint forays of the day
	The legions fade, for spring is on the way.

Phantasmagoria

Projected on to a large screen
The gruesome shape of evil’s face
A haunting form from Halloween.
Projected on to a large screen
A lantern cheats – don’t intervene
To stop the nightly ghoul’s forays
Projected on to a large screen
The gruesome shape of evil’s face.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -    
Pick-A-Title, Vol 24 – Triolet Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh 
Chose: Title 2. Phantasmagoria  
          Placed 1st
© 20th October 2020

The Joy I'M Without

I walked with Colby,
  he never walked with me

His spirit to guide us,
  his love in the lead

We circled the globe
  a time and a half

His tail was my compass
  to guide us steadfast

In all kinds of weather
  we stuck to the trail

Under sunshine and rain
  our forays prevailed

In May of last year
  he collapsed on our walk

And with valor he tried
  but his body would balk

Its been downhill since then
  with him not knowing why

The knowing inside me
  his neuropathy slide

I knew it was coming
  as he struggled to stay

And he fought till the end
  on this very sad day

As I looked in his eyes
  for the last final time

Willing to give up my life
  for his health to revive

The fates were against us
  his clock had run out

The pain in his parting
  —the joy I’m without

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November 9th, 2018)
 ‘Today, I lost The Best Friend I Ever Had’

For the Fallen In Flanders Field

Famished and flagging footsoldiers;
facing fatigue, fitful fever,
faeces and foul, foetid fungi.
Fostering feelings, frustrated,
for this faraway, foreign field.

Forays so fraught with fine failure;
forfeiting furtive and fiendish,
fatally fettered from the first.
Forged by such fatuous fawners,
for folly to feud for a field.

Forced forwards with fleetness of foot;
firearms flash and fragments fly far,
feigning the firmament aflame.
Forces fight so ferociously,
fratricide set free on this field.

Forthright and filial feelings;
families of fine forefathers,
fought fiercely, for fear we’d forget.
Familiar flora forms focus,
for the fallen in Flanders Field.

- - - - - - - - -

8 syallables on every line (www.howmanysyllables.com)
November 2018

Entered in Brian Strand's "Contest No 515".
(1st Place)

I wanted to do something special - and a bit different - to mark the centenary of the end of The Great War (11 November 1918).  This poem is dedicated to all the brave souls lost defending freedom during that terrible conflict (and all conflicts since).

Microsoft Dictation Found Poem Four

Green tree 
 is in the Kingstown Property 
in Alexandria 
with her mother
 and are tended to Jeff

 my mother in the wall
 is berating jobs for some reason 
to handle 

and tell my mother to calm down 
as Jeff has a temper problem 
job is getting very angry 

Juppe pulls out a gun 
and serves the shooting of my mother 
the mall and should serve five or six times 
in the head 

my wife forays into a closet 
and Hans hoping that jobs 
will not find her 
and she wonders

 what would happen know
 that her mother 

in all my mother’s death
 and the she wonders 
what will happen 

because im not there 
at the time 

and she fears Jeff
 shooting in the wall

 and that is the end 
of the current in that age

I Am Because God Is

I Am Because GOD IS!

If the spirit's not everything, poetry's dust
And if God's not our author, the future is rust,
And if I'm not right well then how am I wrong?
Or have you known from birth all the words of your song?

I'm not trying to tell you what I say is RIGHT!
Just that FAITH is my answer when things "Bump" at night,
I can study creation, but God's beyond ken,
And I postulate FAITH is one way humans win!

If my faith's not the truth, well for me it still works,
If I'm right and God's there, there might even be perks,
And if love's not His essence, then what would it be?
And if love, I think soul, hearts that love God are key!

But I'm not like Pascal; I'm not making a bet,
If you proved that God's dead would not move me and yet,
It does sadden me truly if you doubt His ways,
Is your death real, God dead? Simply logic forays!

Can you hear me? Consider this world, then, His Will.
Are we not well provisioned?  Do you feel a chill?
How can man fear soul's loss who trusts Justice is fact,
But that Grace is sufficient, because of Christ's act!


Long Tooth
August 25, 2018

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