When I walk,
beneath my feet,
the road begins to sound.
I listen
to the music of the road.
When I walk,
beneath my feet,
the road begins to dance.
I move my feet
to the rhythm of its dance.
When I walk,
beneath my feet,
a map of the road takes shape
.
I scatter myself
across the map of the road.
I want to play
with the road.
Hungry map
It gobbles up
my body.
Sometimes it shrieks, hoots or creaks,
whistles, cries, trills or squeaks,
rattles, russles gurgles or moans,
babbles, crackles, grunts or groans.
Sometimes it chatters, chirps or howls,
baas, ribbits, hisses, roars or growls,
cackles, coos, squawks or crows,
chitters, bleats, clucks or bellows.
Sometimes it, barks, buzzes or caws,
clicks, gobbles, gurbles or heehaws,
moos, humms, oinks, meows or neighs,
peeps, purrs, quacks, snuffles or brays
the silence of nature is a never-ending song,
forget your troubles and come sings along.
I have raised a popcorn eating dog
he gobbles like a garbage-eating hog
crunch crunch crunch he likes it a lot
refrigerator opens, it is butter he’s sought
My dog Cosmo is a puppy eating machine
for every meal he licks his big bowl clean
Cosmo a piggy not, the boys a full hog
he gobbles his food than the other dogs rob.
He is a very handsome boy, a Pyrenees
with the softest blondish coat to squeeze
He is 8 months old and 41 pounds
rather a bit lazy loves lying around
He sleeps in the doorways like a rug
blocking the way as he's ever so smug
Try to move him and he turns on his back
wanting you to scratch his chest, at that
He didn't even bark till the third day
whatever it was he scared it away
Genghis avoids him but Sassy does play
he keeps mounting her, he's neuter they say
Got him at the city pound he appear compost
just lying in bed while other dogs boast
Barking and yelping to be taking home
I left with the dog who was calm and alone.
Octavian couldn't, Skippy wouldn't so suppose
a name that fit him the gentle giant Cosmo
He is very sweet and playful yet ever relaxed
Genghis weary, Sassy he cautiously attracts
Another rescue makes my dogs number three
sometimes I realize my dogs recused me.
Halloween is like a spleen.
Busted up, hurts, and patches.
Then I saw worms splashing around.
The stardust glazed over.
Halloween is a fog-monster.
Just eats stuff like a blast of cool air.
Groaning cauldron.
Enough mess to carry me away.
Halloween gobbles me up like something that spins.
Or has pins and needles that are invisible.
The stardust makes me do it.
And the mush halts me.
Halloween is like a molding miracle.
Halloween hats and grimacing.
Nothing between the grates.
Just me and a sewer somewhere.
Halloween snatches me up like a garbage truck.
Halloween is like organs and mush together.
Halloween is a bone on top of a mountain.
Halloween has a lot to say!
I gave up all of my inhibitions.
Sat in the cauldron with nothing else inside.
Expected something-
Unsettling.
I- Into the night I slowly drift
S- Singing myself into a slumber
O-Oh how cold and numb, my whole body tingles
L-Leaving shivers down my spine, realization hits and
A-Alters my entire reality, that I must walk this path alone.
T-Trusting people have gotten me nowhere so unfortunately
I-I must be forever alone, confined in solitary eternally
O-Or maybe just til the darkness of the abyss gobbles me up
N-No longer feeling the pain of being alone.
© A Poem by Jacinda Petermeier
Sassy and Genghis they now get along
Sassy liked Kublai but he is now gone
Old Genghis still a little grouch
he growls at Sassy if she joins him on the couch
Sassy will at times kiss him and sniff his little face
when he is behind her sneaking a sniff takes place
Under the desk Genghis loves to hide and stay
when she crawls to greet him he growls her away
If on the bed Genghis cautious for Sassy rolls
he will yap at her and even hide behind pillows
Treat time Sassy gobbles hers right away
Genghis takes his time teasing her all day
Sassy lies down in front of him whimpering and whines
Genghis growls and wags his tail taking his sweet time
Though Genghis is little and Sassy twice as big
she never angers toward him is playful instead
She will steal his treat right under his nose
when playing keep away stay on your toes
They love barking together at anything in sight
they are more amusing than causing a fright.
Sometimes Sassy will sleep beside him
and Genghis is okay.
Without our sweet Sassy
Genghis would be lonely every day.
My dragon Rutherford is a dare devil out for a thrill
Along the way he likes to roast a good kill
I climb on his back, not knowing where we are going
If he says “bring a coat” I figure it might be snowing
He flies easily between continents in a couple of hours
He has other talents, some truly remarkable super powers
Invisible during flight, he sometimes messes with a 747
I tell him to stop it, or he might not make it to heaven
Rutherford knows I am strict but loving, he is my tight pal
He flies me to other galaxies, I am his favorite old gal.
He has been my dragon since July thirteenth of 1972.
Exhausting summer if you knew how many miles we flew.
He eats along the way, roasting pigs, sheep, cattle, and one time a boar.
I know he is getting ready to feast when he drops out of a soar.
He always wants to share, but I bring my own snacks.
I don’t like to eat anything that moos, gobbles or quacks.
Last week we flew to Scotland, which was quite a trip for me.
All because Rutherford had a craving for Welsh apricot tea.
He is a marvelous pet, who has best intentions about me.
I love my dragon Rutherford, together, we are happy, you see.
1985. We looked for signs
not so much had changed
Wars in far-flung parts –
the same-O-blame-O.
An acceptable amount of body bag counts.
Was Orwell too early to be this late?
1996. Upheavals are restricted to
marginalized mobs. Heads are talking more,
there is a nameless fear and it's getting near.
Fewer western countries are smoking, though
many simmer silently.
There was this elongated period,
decades drained away
leaving only a vague residue,
a smear of narcissistic self-indulgence
begat a numbness.
Then we began to crave more.
2024. Now we see it.
its head is a swollen tumor,
it talks in tooth bites,
monstrous cover-ups go unchallenged,
its control is iron clad.
The monster is now global,
it gobbles up dissident thought,
it re-imagines the nature of
Jello.
The only way forward now, is through
the monster's ever narrowing ********,
besides,
most now consider
the nature of the beast
to be the same that it ever was.
she has an ethereal ambiance
not of this earth, the pirates say
this does not keep them from staring
she is a gorgeous wench,
worth the trouble she might bring
get away from the bow, the captain warns
she is a siren, dangerous, not of this earth
she can do damage you will not quickly see
with that golden hair and that luscious body
the men ignore him, thinking he is crazy.
She is a beauty! Smitty argues.
We have not seen a woman for a long time
Not a pretty one! Some of the other men agree
The captain pushes Smitty into the water
a shark gobbles him up right away
What did I tell you? He says to the others
They finally get away from the bow.
TURNING OFF THE GHOST
what’s up with the ghost
who boringly stares
through two holes in a sheet
he watches
her every mistake
slow and agonizingly
she gobbles up a pie
her fork stabbing it
we don’t know
if it’s savory or sweet
it goes on and on
like a crazed murderer
then she spews
thankfully running first
from floor
to toilet seat
and still, very still
the proverbial ghost
in his long white sheet
silently watches
the best part
is when he slowly slowly
strolls to the window
and across the way
spies another “sheet”
they lift up a cloth paw
to acknowledge one another
this movie was listed as horror
i turned it off
it was a horror
i turned on “Good Times.”
I watched the peaceful cattle stroll
around the pleasant field.
We gain from them both food and milk,
such benefits they yield.
However, when they eat the grass,
they digest all that stuff.
The gas produced from peaceful cows,
makes air a little rough.
But what about that lowly bug,
with termite as his name?
What he can do, with little help
can change the breathing game.
He gobbles up the wood and grass,
and does his worldly part.
Wet tears roll down my glist’ning cheeks
when I hear termites fart.
They pump their methane in the air,
not ending once it starts.
And all the people hang their heads,
whene’er the termite farts.
Termites are a major contributor of methane and CO2 into the atmosphere.
Wabi-Sabi 12-21-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wabi-Sabi
Empty the mirage of perfection
Whose shadow wears scars
Of perpetual broken rainbows –
Cracked rose petals –
Gilded edges joined by hibernation and spring.
A pilgrimage into amnesia
Timeworn victories fade into badges lost to time
Moonlight swallows the waning heart of morning
Sunlight gobbles up unfinished faces of the moon
Storms inhale fragments of sunbows.
Out of exploding ephemeral stardust broken beauty
As galaxies toss and turn creating quasars
Like waves sculpt eroding sands
In the orbit of perpetual opening ceremonies -
A journey into morphing excellence of golden seams.
And love grows to bloom then scatter rosehips
Into time’s silken wrinkles
Star born magma bows with gratitude
For unexplored shapes crafted on new shores
Where only eternity lasts forever.
I’m run by rising rhyming rant,
You wish you caught me but you can’t!
I wish to stop this run of rhyme,
It gobbles up my time, no dime.
I wish to turn to poignant prose -
Unstructured, unrhymed and verbose.
I wish to write an awesome book
With King of Horror’s type of hook,
Jurassic Park or Bridge of Spies,
(if nothing else Jaws would suffice)
The one that catches Spielberg’s eyes.
So here’s a clean slate of my quill
Upon my fresh prosaic will -
To write like Stephen, sought by Steve -
My resolve by next New Year’s Eve.
As I construct my verse run free,
These darn rhymes still won’t quit on me.
I guess I’m doomed and so are you!
My rhymes rejoice, each year anew!
Therefore for a New Year I wish
For perfect rhymes, not perfect-ish!
I am younger in words than Shelly or Wordsworth
not as old as Shakespear's sonnets,
should I care?
I never did read a sonnet, that I could bare
to eat whole.
Those carefully quilted works of yore speak less and less -
so forced, so fed to the very last tooth.
Poetic perfection has a shelf life.
A fresh salad gobbles up itself.
Don't be annoyed, I did not invent the wooden ruler,
or the yardstick that inches along the page.
I go just words; I got words like roots
for tumbleweeds, and dandelions.
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.