If I could turn into mashed potatoes faster.
31 miles and my feet don’t hurt.
There is no detour.
If you run for 31 miles.
There is no detour that doesn’t need to eat.
And my feet don’t hurt, sputter, and gurgle.
Even after being turned into foot chowder.
I took off my shoes.
Going underground in the sewer is nice as her famous ribs.
But ruins shoes and there was no reason to run so far.
Clunk.
"Hallowed be her name, who's art is Earth".
She stood sheltered, a companion
to Maple, Alder and Willow.
A busy brook flowed
in accompaniment
to the chorus of bird song
perfect in her presence.
The patron had fulfilled her will
for a magical and protected place.
A peaceful tranquility
that celebrated her coming as a completion.
As though nature knew an absence
without her.
Through the sculptor's wielding
of her chisel and hammer
she conveyed the features, the stance
that would become her persona.
Her enkindling presence illuminating
the rough studio of her origin.
Where the vision that furrowed the brow;
informed the craft and art to reveal,
hands compliant, what slept within the stone.
Distraught by a midnight's harrowing
I come to her, seeking solace
from my existential crisis.
By sliver of silver moonlight.
My hand against her chest
her chill and my warmth flow.
Until languid, I lay upon the pedestal.
A reverent supplicant
in Pre-Raphaelite pose.
The brooks rhythmic gurgle and splash
benumbing my anguish, till words surface
intuitively, of blasphemy and beauty.
1448 Newly Posted Poem 3-2-26
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~storms~
gathering furies
wild winds whistle through pine boughs ~
finches feast on birch seeds
streams of freezing rain
leaves slippery signatures
finches feast on birch pods
~rain~
pounding winter rains
bathe the thirsty desert sands ~
wildflowers bursting
drumbeats of raindrops
reverb in wind symphony ~
drip plop splash gurgle
~ice~
thin icy edges
winter white moustache ~
platinum hoar frost
thick coats of blue ice
blanket every barren twig ~
snow melts winter blinks
~snow~
ribbons of snowflakes
flow in a gossamer gown ~
ruby skies crackle
across the smooth ice
dainty snowflakes pirouette ~
bare birch boughs applaud
~spring~
tumbleweeds rumble
springtime sprawls across prairies ~
precious gift of rain
crocus shout greetings
as snowdrops push through snows ~
blustery mischief
white plum blossoms laugh
tickled by wiggling raindrops ~
gold and grey skies dawn
Oh, melty cheese, your temptress sly,
Deep-fried bliss, you wink an eye.
Comforting carbs, a doughy friend,
My cravings sing, and my willpower bends.
But wait! A rumble down below,
A traitorous gurgle, oh no!
This love affair, it comes at a cost,
A belly full, a battle lost.
Pizza Dreams and Burger Towers,
Funyuns, eaten by the hours.
They whisper sweet, then make me groan,
In this love-hate dance, I sing alone.
Food, my frenemy, oh so dear,
A continual battle, year after year.
My stomach wins, a joyful ache,
But oh, the price my pants will take!
Hear Ye!
the babbles of brook flowing on by.
the fizzy hiss of foam floating on tide.
the howls of a waterfall crying into sky.
the raging roar of waves crashing on beach.
the pitter-patter raps of raindrops on window panes.
the splish and swish of paddles straddling lake.
the tinkle taps of gentle rain showers on rooves.
the guttural gurgle of water sinking down drains.
the blink and plink of dew drops tumbling down leaves.
all singing in cadence, a lulling lilting lullaby,
caressing ye to sleep.
But, Beware Ye,
lest Ye hear,
the alien tap of
drip,
drip,
drip,
drops in sink!
relentless, incessant, clatter,
insistent for a fix!
I pried with a screw-driver driven into a lid
sealed with age, and rust, to crack open a
callous retribution, set aside, tombed over.
I was curious to learn how much remained
and in what condition. Up came the lid with
a gurgle, fizz, hiss, expelled with age smell.
The paint on top, had dried, to a skin, a curd,
a viscous scum of strange foreign color that
did not auger well for its pending redemption.
I poked through the thin skin, scooping it out,
to reveal the paint separated into its primary
colors. Once, thrice stirred, it slowly rejigged
into its original color and form, ready to adorn
marks on the wall, scraped and sanded ready
for a fix, now all's done dusted, and forgiven.
{For 5x5x3 Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Miranda Hawley
Date submitted: 20/4/25}
ARTIST
They shone daring green avocado
in dark adverse period swearing
guilt ridden heart vanquished free
sacral scrubbed pink and ready
plumed serpent in magnificent bloom
with candles God watched supreme
from blue misty mountain clean
knowing Artist was not insane
two green irises unusually plain
pierced her luminous spine divine
naked Eve eyed painting quiet
easels of unfinished tired purple
massaged her throat coloured gurgle
rooms without curtains collapsing sad
Artist pierced Love bubble mad
Hot Breath
excited crowd waits impatiently
earthquakes shake the ground
lava heated boiling water
pushes towards the surface
hot steam spews from the vent
anticipation grows, ready for the eruption
a mighty whoosh and the vented steam
reaches for the blue sky
for a duration of ninety seconds
the crowd is awed by natures power
with a gurgle the steam cloud
settles back into the earth to await
another cycle
You don’t cry
Doesn’t, I know, if yes, then it is just a dramatic comedy
only. Feed your cruel soul, gurgle your dark blood
in your heart. Your being grows fat in a suffering fool
This guy loved your dove, she was in disguise, well
I was wrong. I drink the dark clotted blood of my mistake
– cursed price. My blood is dry, a vulture eats my corpse
Don’t cry
Just fly
I was
your victim.
You were
my reaper
Waiting for you
my angel
Bare, bony fingers probe
nature’s naked cupboard
Nary a morsel seen
nutrition confined to dreams
December winds howl o’er barren ground
January storms muffle all sound
February thaws gurgle whispers of hope
Crushed by March, snowdrifts abound
Bears in hibernation, birds down south
We humans alone, down in the mouth …
One glimpse of Robin redbreast
~ no longer depressed
In Autumn
In Autumn pumpkins hang out in
hedge mazes, corn visits wreathes in
Finland, spices go to
music festivals, photos of
chestnuts do
the splits, marsh mellows make
prank calls, haunted houses tailgate
tourist buses and
fire trucks and
ambulances, porcupines stop
thinking, umbrellas talk
24/7, squirrels read
encyclopaedias, jam people pretend
to be dead, candle people pretend
to be deaf, scarves wear
boots, maple syrup gurgle
nursery rhymes, hens learn to
play the
banjo, chickens lay
cell phones, cherries chase after
bunnies, cupcakes plant
trees, wallets take out
the garbage, and
mittens dip themselves in
cream cheese.
Stolen from story book disbelief
Leather cape swoop, hooks my veins
Fork prong fangs drink, blood drains
Bubble in ruby bead eyed thief
Gurgle as furry gargoyle fills
Helicopter hurricane flurry vanishes
Clutching my haemorrhage damages
Explosive throat, dizzying thrills
Attack on this dreaded day, theorise
Opened as old time, musty pages
Terror in an unexpected text message
Dirty diseased creature in disguise
Heroic helper - no - unobscured horror
Giving me a role in rancid plot
Grave digging past reveals rot
Historic vampiric bombastic bother
Haunted Taunted
Spooks Peek
Last of October
Today I listened to the rain,
its soft fall and trickle down
patter on a metal roof,
its melodic tap tap
on a large leaf and the gurgle
of its spill deep in a downpipe.
My world was distilled to drops
of rainwater clinging like silver beads
to the length of a clothesline,
glistening furiously in a brief
burst of sunlight.
I gave the moment no rank
or a place in the hierarchy
of meaningful things,
hardly worth a mention,
but simply offered the world
some room and was moved
to feel the rain wet my face
and taste it's tears. It shared much
with me today…..and this
is a thank you.
The thing about Nature is...
By Michelle Morris
03/10/2024
The thing about Nature is...
She helps slow your pace right down
Your heart beats with Gaia's heartbeat
And She shows you how it's done
The green spaces in dappled woods
Where sunlight winks at you
Trees reaching for the blue skies
As Nature shows Her Truth
Where rivers gurgle and giggle in delight
Playfully running to the sea
Where faeries and mischievous creatures
Show you how magical Life can be
Here in these Sacred Spaces
Between Time and Humanity
We can reach our own Soul's Spark
Listen carefully to its Secrets
For each one of us is born
To create beauty in this Universe
No Life was created for Destruction
We're meant to lift our collective Spirits
But only when we know ourselves
Can we walk the best Path for us
To create Magic and Miracles in our own Lives
Until we return to Nature as Dust
© Michelle Morris, 2024
living in the country was the life for me
attracted to no other place; this was my destiny
we bought a meadow with strawberries wild
I became even more in touch with my hippie child
my husband said “This is God’s country”.
I loved knowing he also felt a bended knee.
Cows next door banter and bellow.
wild woodland sunflowers are extremely yellow.
Today a swarm of something came by.
There were hundreds of them in the sky.
Were they wasps? Faeries? Angels or bees?
They came over my head, floating on a breeze.
They were dragonflies, at least fifty or more.
Way up high I saw a long wing-span hawk soar.
we have fox, opossum, raccoon, turtles and deer
Next door is a marsh, the water gurgle we sometimes hear.
Our gentle country life is slow-paced, and feels great.
We are not in a hurry, going nowhere, never late.
My husband and I have loved the country all of our life.
For fifty-three years I have been his happy wife.
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