I don't endorse 'going with flow'
for of course you never know
if the current will funnel
you down the drain
the tubes or flume
through the tunnel
toward the spume
to where you end up
in the sewer below
so as I'm in no rush to gush
or feel completely flushed
here and now I do avow
for me the bowl on the whole
is a non-starter a definite no-go
Still lakes can listen
A babbling brook cannot hear
Cast your words with care
Into this sea of people
The source, the flow, from the mouth
Smelling the clothes rinsed,
Easily he winced
Then, freed a waiting sigh
For the ones not dry …
Now, quite The Helpless-Tired,
He shall have a launderer hired
The Heart he needs that of A Lion
To The Settled Ones iron …
Clothes keep waiting to be washed,
Even asking that this be rushed
But in reply a face is just flushed,
Because Tap Water still gushed.
Trust me, have I ever lied to you before
You tickle my pickle and so much more
There should be a law
To restrict my awe
Else I'll gush on the floor as I rush out the door
Huh???
Mind over Muse
or Muse over Mind
What does it matter
if a tongue's in a bind
Words need gush forth
as a swift-flowing stream
When water's confined
No poet can dream
The gush
The moon is full not completely round
but elongated and so near I can almost touch it.
A pity the moon only reflects the sun
it diminishes it somehow.
The Chines planted apple trees at the back
of the moon
if they bear fruit, it will be bitter and never harvested
it will cost too much to pick them.
The apples will fall by themselves
down to earth like bitter tears
this should teach us not to tamper with nature
it will take 154 years before a moon like this reappears
As mockingbirds flee in the cadence
of pellucid rain , drizzles hide a vermillion moon
that is twilight’s burst: still, a gush so dulcet
spawns a melody while stray buds, pebbles,
and lit ripples tap my feet on a menagerie of glass.
And droplets infuse a mid-January tempo
granting sweet content, where luscious drift from trickles
slip-slides on hours bathed in a fresh cycle ,
her ancestral rite of cleansing past errors...
then to tug, devour, to grasp a new purpose.
Briam's Choice Y
Trust me, have I ever lied to you before
You tickle my pickle and so much more
There should be a law
To restrict my awe
Else I'll gush on the floor as I rush out the door
Huh???
gush of wind passing
as leaves open frazzled reams--
for promise of rain
Trust me, have I ever lied to you before
You tickle my pickle and so much more
There should be a law
To restrict my awe
Else I'll probably gush all over your floor
© Jack Ellison 2016
With downpour hued in starlit gray,
And fallen eyes are interlocked
In drizzles where the torrent bites
Till candles wane on fabric soiled
(As evening slips its frail chemise).
Her boudoir cluttered by the wind,
Sighing a pitter-patter scream
(Old woman dwells on passing sprees)
And on a chair, her drooped spine curves,
(To track hazed lifetime’s reveries);
Receding off so constantly.
Heels tip tap rhythm on the floor;
Alone, betrothed to lonely sheets
(Entrusting stars for pain’s release).
How cold the gush in Summer's flight.
......................
For Craig Cornish’s Intermingle Contest
---------------------
Inspired by poems” How Cold The Gush"-- 5/25/2013
and “ Seeking Evening's Peace-- 11/17/2013
............
by nette onclaud
With downpour hued in starlit gray,
And fallen eyes are interlocked
In drizzles where the torrent bites
Till candles wane on a fabric soiled
Her boudoir cluttered by the wind,
Sighing a pitter-patter scream
And on a chair, her drooped spine curves,
Receding off so constantly
Limbs tip tap rhythm on the floor;
Alone, betrothed to lonely sheets
How cold the gush in Summer's flight.
Rain, Rain, Rain Contest of Francine Roberts
by nette onclaud
5/25/2013
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