Grouping Poems | Examples

Fall

It’s gradually falling
Summer is increasingly lolling
The leaves are gently browning
We can’t wait for October’s crowning
When the gold leaves of lustre 
Charm the fold with their cluster,
Flamboyantly trooping the autumn colours 
And socially grouping them with lullers.

Shooting Bottle Caps

Shooting bottle caps,
ring finger off thumb.
And a little cake -
the two breaks in half,
fixed with melting wax
and lighter.
Light years of 22
in impromptu breakfast party
then the boy is parting
for Tennessee,
to see to making a few bucks.
Toodeloos to Mom, Dad,
Aunts, Uncles, a random cousin
and a visitor. Who
can refuse to fuse together;
never knowing when
this grouping will reoccur?
Always a little drama, a smile,
too many hugs (we huddle).
Call me. I come. Gather
the troops as todays
don’t come around again,
only the memories; and
they fail to capture
the whole snapshot -
bottle caps bouncing
off familial walls.

MANEUVERABLE MANURE-

"Running through a mile of wasted compiled vile
 I find myself conflicted sitting in a position
 groaning I'm foul planting a seed of tan and brown
 the snake comes out of me and it flees deposited manure
Gastly every movement is not pure, sometime it's deterred
 so now I gravitate as I clasp my cheeks
out from the plummets from the tests intestinal ...
verbiage I'm not on my knees 
Yet, yes I bow down bowel comes out of me
What I just planted was healthy indeed
 it was a groupings of so many seeds
 running in through my garden
 or would you pardon 
Me as I sit posture above a toilet 
and now I let Go of the grouping for you see is my bowels moving
My waste has been displaced
 into a porcelain throne filled with water clear 
as I touch the handle it's spirals down
Maneuvered Manure
 the tunnel to eventually become one with the sewer"

Compartmentalization

Haven't the brains of beings fractioned into lobes various?
The hearts of creatures have dissections multifarious;
My physique and psyche got several separations,
Like a train or a shelf, yet, these have conjoint relations...!

Classifications and categorizations are good,
If, like good deeds, they're optimistically understood;
Like roots, shoots, and fruits, the sentimental segmentation,
Just as constellations, should have a proper fixation...!

Boundaries are for safety and security we know,
Forming only frontiers, we shouldn't our strength and senses show;
Grouping of goals and prioritization of morals,
Must pave the way, like battles, toward attaining laurels...!

Am I, in the process, keeping away from kith and kin?
Does my passion for lonely liberty lead me to sin?
Do my conflicting thoughts and deeds bring me contradictions?
Does my anxious unconsciousness gift me many frictions?

If self-separation replaces cognitive action,
Compartmentalization is simply a distraction;
As bouquets of various flowers are placed in vases,
Prudent compartmentalization can bring in graces...!!!

Bird Talk

Different birds have different chirps
So I began to wonder,
Can they communicate 
Or do their chirps tear them asunder?

Is all the varied twitter 
More like dialects? If so,
They’d understand each other
But with accents they would know.

Or does each bird breed have language 
That is only recognized
By the others in their grouping?
That’s the answer I’ve surmised.

So if cardinals and chickadees
Would somehow get to meet,
There would be no ruffled feathers 
Since they’d not exchange a tweet.

Birds of Beauty

As the cardinal streaks across the sky
Leaving a trail of brilliant red as it flies
The woodpecker methodically
Peaks away at the distant tree 

The mighty bluebird looking royal in blue
Taking over the feeder it rules
Hidden in the trees
Is the black crows of three

The doves can be heard chirping
As they gather in a grouping
The finches small but mighty
Take the berries from the trees lightly

Soaring high in the sky
The bald eagles fly
The hawk screeches
Grabbing pry as it reaches

The bats soaring through the night
Scaring those who see it in flight
The owls are asking who
Are they speaking to you

When suddenly the hummingbird appears 
Hovering near to my ears
Sending me to a place of calm and peace
Feeling my soul release

Clerihew Muller

Otto Muller from Germany
briefly in Die Brucke grouping was he
His art though a little primitive 
something a critic can forgive

This Week

*** THIS WEEK ***

(“If my doctor told me I had six minutes left to live, I wouldn’t 
brood.  I’d type a little faster.”  Isaac Asimov)

The sliced portions of this week
Collapsed, an almost eloquent fall
Into a slow-motion slide 
Of morsels
Then, still unnoticed, on into
The soft blue crystals of
This week’s ending — being
Merely a measure of the journey’s recipe
For this grouping of days — thus…
I now see their floating,
Their flour-misty cloud descending
Through a sieve Life quickly set
Over time’s mixing bowl, wishing
To gather anew 
A batter for next week’s
Offered cakes.

——————————————————————————————————-    
(c) sally young eslinger 5/19/22
With thanks to God

The Almost Children

Unsullied nuns in a sullen line,
watching us six year old’s.
Again I hear the quacking of ducks
as new brown leathers shoes
creak.

We stepped and skipped,
though skipping was a serious offense
behind the school fence.

What my eyes took in
or let out
I cannot now recall
or what I was, or who all others were.

We were an ad hoc grouping of tabula rasa
jostling to be known.

Blank slates were our minds.
I do not think anyone wrote on mine
or I on any other.

We were almost children,
happy to be unquestionably
engineered 
to be good for Jesus.

Santa and Covid

This year Santa Claus is trembling with fear
 I will not go out  until covid will disappear
No gifts to children, he is very clear
So many rules I must adhere
Setting aside his fear, he goes out
On seeing him all children shout
They gather around him and stretch their hand
Police comes and cuffs Santa's hand
It is not a nice surprise
We thought you are wise
Now Santa is in jail
Wife trying for a bail.

Note: In India social grouping is banned and punishable under law.

After the Storm

Savage whims of winter
          that bring freezing rain
          unrestrained
          in a sky re-grouping
          flaired forceful with the cold

Ice coated, leaf-less trees that bend
          like old men over their canes
Trees from an underworld,  
          frigid
          brutally hobbled by their rich, new coating

Maple trees, 
          heavy
          that seem to weep with worry
Glaze baked into branches that gleam
          in sober sunlight
          like a church lit by candles

Ice that flickers with sorrow and beauty
           a crystal knave
           inviting awe and repulsion
           for sheeted frost that veils the landscape

Refracted light, 
          glistening
          to fill the cramped chill of winter
Still life stiffened that crackles and hisses 
          when the wind blows

An icy, lush world that loiters in our minds, 
          stealthily
          to shimmer in our slumber






Poem composed: December 17, 2020

Millennials Dont Know

Millennials standing most assured
need no knowledge of the war
Too evolved, won’t be anymore,
Yet lessons prevent they ignore

For war was long before their time
and now all are living fine
how or why not on their mind
assured all war is left behind 

Oh how dumb and naive they sit
refusing vision to help predict
unlearning our repeated habit
as though a choice to conflict 

See war is not always chosen
the survivors are not selected 
War is a need to oppose them 
Survive or naturally rejected

Every century, every place,
every grouping, every race,
every intention, every faith, 
war returns, war we face

And war will kill the ignorant
wipe them out so fast 
ignorance to war and,
it’ll be your last

You won’t evolve just follow circles
overtime repeat resurface 
think you’re clever, just a circus,
your attitude, your life, surplus

They who think they don’t need war
will perish and be no more
refusing know-how ignorant course
destined to lay dead on floors

See war is not what we want
but it is what we do
stop being a millennial pons
unintelligent and screwed

Plastic Truth

There is little love here
We are all just giggling gossipers
Seeking praise from one another 
Why do I resonate with such plastic truth?
How can I empathize with an evil flaw?

We are all stupefied mortals
Strung in with the same strands of death 
And even if I wanted,
I can never set myself apart from that
Unifying fact "We all have issues"

Yeah, drag me in with your empty exhilarations 
Your grouping condensations 
Look me in the eye when you say it
Make it personal 
Make us all laugh
Make us all hide
But we cannot deny
It's a human thing
We are sorely universal

And there may be love to be found here
When we lay all these truths down
So smile on 
And sail the next one 
Onto the open sea
To sink alone.... Focus on the next 
So the other star seems less bright 
As you burn on just a little longer more 
Only to die in the same waters
In the same engulfment of reality 
When you know longer can speak
While some other unreliable fool
Tells your story 
To other loveless fools

October 16, 2018

Time Out

My time outs
sound like your time ins,
he said
with proper indoor voice,
regretfully.

Your time ins
do feel like good reasons
for healthy,
more resilient,
time outs
She noted in return,
more hopefully.

Perhaps we could be wiser,
they reported back co-executively together
in larger grouping
of vast listening trees 
for ancient witness generations,

To think less of our home shelters
inside outside climate storms,

And feel more of our inside wisdom
as health wealthing shelters
outside Time
our inside Selves.

Here's the Slogan, Which Hangs Over My Bed

Here's the slogan, which hangs over my bed.
"Intimacy, my friends, do not propose to me.
I hate an intimacy, my preference instead,
The grouping sex, of five, of four or three."

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