Crystal ball, thy spirit.
Cast thee a mighty spell.
Vision sacred, let's hear it.
Voice of mine, pell-mell.
Tress and trawler, set thy hooks.
River bed to dredge.
Recipes we learned in books?
Formation, wild wedge.
Coal, control, bell toll, sail, soul.
Down the delta wide.
Wasteland, when you set a goal.
Woe, when you betide.
Chicken farm, thy tender.
Politics, tough thy game.
Doubtless, O defender.
Katabothron, quay, claim.
Current, channel. Atmosphere.
Particles, spread out.
Cloud cover, sere or severe?
Cannibal, red rout!
Trickle, stickleback. Code crack.
Fortresses, thy stack.
Under attack? Dinner pack.
Flak ahead? Shellac.
Yawndrift, yucca, yellow eyes.
Oceanic rift.
Circumspect the council's cries?
Petrify, wood. Gift.
Bank, holding of money.
Tornado, spinning fast.
Clown, well, life is funny.
Mead honey, my good ghast?
Some say I am ahead of my own time
My journey propelled me through the storms that one wouldn’t be able to stand
Experiences shown me the possibilities full of vision and reason
A mind that circulates the before into enter
Some fear my entrance of philosophy
Wisdom leading out
Boundaries in knowing how to get around
Bearing the storms alone
Through the fierce and mighty fortresses
Reality and courage settling in
Uncontrollable thoughts
Unseen that nobody knows
A world that doesn’t understand
My tomorrow is not Secrete, but wide open
No secret, but just expectancy
Clever tongue
Beyond one’s own imagination
My indication
Simply far out.
Sacred whispers of fortresses forgotten
heard no more in sandcastles begotten
I remember in days long gone
our neighborhood boys
scooping large fallen branches
from the backwoods’ trees
and fitting them together with rope,
finishing off their crudely constructed creations
with old used blankets atop
and anchored down with rocks.
Leaves and pine cones were decorations
for these tiny fortresses
behind which they hid with toy guns
to play out their cowboy fantasies.
Little girls preferred the cute private chambers
of their best friends,
where they chatted and sipped tea
from tiny tea cups
while munching on mom’s cookies.
There they could imagine the day
when little boys gave up forts
to make them queens of castles.
Fair lady, so delicate and refined,
a single touch might sully your beauty,
and so, you have politely declined -
your security, my sacred duty.
Your exquisite, diaphanous skin,
becomes impenetrable armor.
Yet, I feel somewhere beneath, within,
a playful, loving place, much warmer.
Shall I sally forth or softly retreat,
where fortresses and castles meet?
The maggot is weary of children it eats,
Of women laid down in Rafah's cold streets.
It's tired of salivating on innocent dead,
With no parting words and no tears to be shed.
It dined with the war-lords who broke Palestine's door,
On limbs, and on bullets, and on Hind's final core.
It gorged on a nation, sovereign and free,
And now seeks a prize for its "nobility."
So give the maggot his Nobel Prize,
Who seeks a false peace for his villainous eyes.
A peace made of cluster bombs, blood, and our pain,
On dishonesty's altar, for conquest and gain.
The maggot is sated, his tools are all shown,
In Tel Aviv's fortresses, of steel and of stone.
On aid-seekers' bodies, in Khan Younis's sands,
His peace is enacted by madmen's commands.
Then give him his prize, let the world acquiesce,
And grant his nobility to wickedness.
Let his name be inscribed in the blood of the slain,
For a Nobel bought with terror, and perpetual pain.
A whirlwind of chaos, a joyful loud-sound,
Three wild spirits I love, on adventurous ground.
Fourteen, then twelve, and the youngest, a seven,
Bringing antics and charm, a small piece of heaven.
They build with their LEGOs, grand dreams in the air,
Fortresses, spaceships, beyond all compare.
Then out to the yard, where their sports battles rage,
I'm there in the stands, for each thrilling new stage.
My cheers ring out loudly, my voice strong and clear.
A beacon of love, dispelling all fear.
In the pool we all splash, on a hot summer day,
I'm caught in their currents of boisterous play.
The fighting erupts, a familiar refrain,
And I'll admit, sometimes, it drives me insane.
But a part of me grins, though I might roll my eyes,
Their bold, mouthy spirit, a delightful surprise.
For though they are noisy, and mischievous too,
And every day brings something wonderfully new,
I'm there for their plays, and their triumphs, and strife,
My nephews, my niece, the true joy of my life.
My Fantasy Holiday
Another grey and dismal day so damp
To work I trudge along the streets of old
Through puddles ankle deep I grisly tramp
All muffled up, clothed to fight the cold
Each day I pass the poster on the wall
Inviting me to far off tropic isle
A place I’ve never been so can’t recall
But I imagine and within me comes a smile
Today I linger for a moment there
And flinch, when I let out a shout
Maybe a trick of light but I could swear
The boats upon the sea, bobbed about
Warm waves are gently lapping round my feet
As silently the sea rolls to and fro
On bare shoulders, burning sun does beat
For once my body feels all a glow
I run along the beach far and wide
Great fortresses I build upon the sand
Lay on a bed of leaves and by my side
Exotic fruits and drinks are close at hand
I look into the bluest of blue skies
Beneath the shading leaves of the palm
I dream as if asleep with open eyes
In this place so peaceful and so calm
Across my feet the icy waters flow
Down my neck, rain begins to drip
The picture fades, I know it’s time to go
One day I’m sure I’ll really make that trip
Foundation.
Some say to truly embrace someone, you have to know all their everything, to help build something.
The hidden and the openly seen.
Did you look deeper than what's openly seen before falling in love?
Title
Unity
(A lone voice whispers)
Like the wind
I pray to caress the inner recesses
Where the light can never seem to reach
To breach the fortresses hidden beneath your skin
Piece your soul
With one only goal
Togetherness
In the mess
Whatever this life
Brings us
(C) Copyright John Duffy
May my words fly,
to high and lands far away
For this world could never lend me its grounds
To ever build my fortresses
May my words travel,
to all the planes of multiverses
Allowing me to lay the foundations
Weaving each Word into a Poem
Bringing equilibrium
And may it all be only in my imagination
But now, I have emerged as a Poet.
Or so the world decided to dearly call me
For what my words have carved
were not merely palaces for me to live in
But great poems for people to dwell in.
And now, I wonder
if to call myself a poet.
Or a warrior.
And I ponder
if to live inside those walls
that I so dearly made
Or to wander
For many more such to be created.
Impenetrable fortresses built from the many stones of regret,
re enforced with the concrete mistakes we can never forget.
Confined within these walls only your guilt shall dwell.
The cruelest prisons are the ones that we build for ourselves.
it’s not its striking unique slate of tones
as if vincent had risen from his century
long sleep
it is not nature’s rich hypnotic melodies
or the slim fingers of gusts touches our
very cores
stirs emotions in the coldest of humans or the
crackling sound under our new walking shoes
it is not the acorn berets chipmunks discard below
white oaks once they devour its scrumptious meat
not the wagon rides or the hot chocolates that
stamps its marker on children’s innocent faces
it’s not the bliss(greater than any gift) our kids
ingratiates us in displaying their unadulterated
love returned continuously and unconditionally
this adventure reminds us of our blessings
a welcomed little something beyond cities
however it’s not any one single happening
of this season which fills our hearts warm
it’s the multitude of many moments
the ones greater than any reality or
of all the fantasies found in dreams
deep within our fortresses built
it’s all the endearing memories
autumn leaves
armand~
Roses are red
Violets are violet
Oh look I see my love in its full glory
Standing in the wasteland like it's guardian
It's massive cannon aims at the enemy Giving them a warm welcome
I can't wait to see you In a fashion of explosions.
Perhaps who I am for you to be bothered
For all I know
I'm just a big gun enthusiast.
In measures of heart
we choose our fragility
in fortresses of loving
by practical arrangements
bottled up messages sink
"Have your siloes become fortresses?"
Anna Sundt
Pictures are Anna Sundt's product; visual art, the occupation
Her job achieves its mission when customers are living well.
Wheat is one product; farming, the occupation.
Its job succeeds when company siloes are full.
Siloes can be a fortress; old siloes merely provided storage.
New siloes destroy team effort during pandemic lockdowns.
Siloes hinder
communication observation
participation integration
expectation motivation
accountability
February 17, 2022
Contest: Buzzwords
Hostess: Kim Rodriguez
Note: Anna Sundt is a an award-winning artist and graduate of the Glasgow (UK) School of Art. She is Chartered Occupational Psychologist and Associate Fellow of the British Psychological Society. She founded ABSTRAKTOLOGIE and creates unique pieces of art to take you forwards on your journey... Their mission is to create original abstract art to share lessons in living well.
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.