male mockingbird grasps
last year's bean vines in May's brisk breeze
plumage flies westward
down to line newly made nests
harm-free, warm place to rear young
down-in this poem means the soft under feathers(usually goose down is used but here it means the soft feathers of the mockingbird)
He that walks most tall amongst men
amongst men has the furthest to fall,
when in ancient times in yonder Scar Ghyll
brazen stood the hanging tree
without redundancy.
The morning had not yet spoken
waits upon sunrise, natures trill,
only one man there stands broken
facing the north wind’s icy chill,
a storm cloud rolls in
the preacher reads the last rites
talks of redemption
this illusion stabs the mind
the noose tightly grasps his soul.
© Harry J Horsman 2018
“The Eagle Grasps”
There rose betwixt the turquoise seas,
Two garnish’d wings of crimson pride,
They bloom! Behold, what liberty!
To strecth untangl’d ‘cross the sky.
She did not wander, did not blanch,
The eagle grasp'd with her hands,
The hearts of all the world and then,
Chain’d them down—to equal men.
There! She glides, o, may her glide,
And never thus in passing by,
Let us beneath her shadow lie,
Or say that freedom’s flame hath died.
I am running away eloping
with you sweet love
inside the mind
Silently breathing ore sighs
A golden whisper blowing honey
melting treasure treats
softly in the wind silent warm
Blowing on precious pure beauty
Touching petal feelings
fluttering without wings
sweet carrying emotions from the soul
Dancing within music one song forever
Glowing warmly desires
sings gentle satin drumbeats
in a cotton echoing harmony
Always chocolate kissing nibbles
In every single thought that whispers
love endearing each heartbeat
skipping gasps
Sweetly grasps the soul
warming echoing sighs deeply loving you
As times have grown yet still unknown the boundaries of our excistance, we are all alone. From death to birth we remain on the earth to understand what our life is worth. Midlife crisis, cuts and gashes, midnight sky curs, and turns to ashes. Is it a dream? Or is it a lie? From what I have built up, Im going to die. Thinking grasps the loop of which reality sways, back and forth in our dreams confusing my days.
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.