We’re having a heatwave
our clothes are all sweat-stained
Everyone’s dressed to the minimum
my board-shorts are all dri-wick fabric
and a bikini top hides my little secrets
How hot is it?
Standing still counts as cardio
Still, everyone is suffering beautifully
I’ve got a handheld fan that sprays mist
and getting some rewarding second glances
Those coming ashore from yachts
dressed in Missoni and Camilla couture
act like perspiration is a styling trick
but they’re casually hugging shade,
like vampires avoiding sun
If fashion is fantasy. Sweat is reality.
The heat is very democratic.
.
.
A song for this:
heat wave by Bing Crosby
.
youtu.be/lMwZ6LvY7NM
The Monologue of Saul
(A lone voice whispers)
Have you ever wondered if your soul is just mirrored reflections
Fragmented shards of an augmented reality
A divine kaleidoscope of your own perceived ideas
Of what to do to get to your version of heaven, and how to avoid hell?
Overlaid onto a real-world environment
Are you too logical to ever really understand, but just bravely parading around like another human being
Locked into a social engineer's dream
Trying to live within, and under its dark magical, mesmerising spell
Hypnotized by whatever is subliminally repeated, on your handheld screens
Slowly waiting unconsciously, before it's too late for spiritual understanding
To return to just you
To truly see there's more to life than chasing paper dreams
Before you catch the last bus, to take you home to atone
In The Great In-Between
Where you'll be asked
Did you live a life clean life or did something happen, that was unforeseen
That caused you to live temporarily, unclean
(C) Copyright John Duffy
“Hello”
Hello, Hello, Hello.
I say Hello to all who pass me by,
No matter the trail,
No matter how steep,
No matter the street,
It is my treat.
I say Hello,
For the smile it brings,
To the young,
To the aged,
To the lonely and the sad.
To all who pass me by.
I say Hello,
For the friend I wish to be
To those who look away,
To those running by,
To those in chairs,
And handheld walkers,
To all who pass me by.
I say Hello,
Even if they can’t,
Even when they won’t.
It’s my way of being kind,
To all who pass me by.
A simple word,
A simple greeting.
As simple as it gets.
That we are one,
Sharing highways in our lives.
I say Hello, to all who pass me by.
Hello, Hello, Hello.
(amar sakal dukher pradip)
Thistle Thal, My reverie floral, beyond the valley and greenery, handheld delight, the sun
Incomplete ritualistic my pain, meditation to be fulfilled in completion
Whence the day is done and the returning birds are back to the nest, very own.Bestowed
Dusk of the twilight hue heard the bell, still afterglow dispersing the beset, even though
Then my last log will be my solitary feast, the fire of the divine, my life
A festive fire will have my pliant knead, and a plethora of my remnants chime!
.Shinangan through shenandoah , knew us through delighted knickknack, canopy
The fullest brim is tossing and turning to greet you whence wilmette, wills met a noon
The festive fire will lit up starlight one by one , aurora borealis, the kindled and the boon
They’all a rise together to the superlative, in chorus, a hymn, on the eve, beseeching
The flight of a song , the sunset, and the reason, and the resilient passion of yearning !
A lover and a brother are heavy.
Recounting the contents of life is work.
A vessel holding unaccountable dust
may be volumes for a biographer’s notepad.
“I miss she real bad!”
Whittled words.
Ponderous, leaky expression
surrendered by gross vulnerability,
and maybe a short lexicon.
A lover and a brother
and their handheld tomb,
this wild man pair in tropical print-
cotton tops mirroring loopy island ladies
under pineapple/banana coronets-
standing shoeless upon burning shores,
bearing their dead love,
gone sooner than hope had promised...
fish feed in a jar.
I remember the two nights
You we’re up on the stage
With your handheld Mike
I was up but it was you
With your handheld Mike
We swayed herkie jerky
Yes I enjoyed the way you moved on stage
It was your motion
My delight was your sleight
Your sleight of hand
And as the dance was about to end
You caught the bouquet in
and with your handheld Mike in hand
You also caught the Mike stand
This is dedicated to my Belle
Into Mike’s mic sing girl sing
Remembering those two nights
Hearing Belle's pealing
SPONTANEOUS ART
My spontaneity
of pure chance style
is to use
paper on a handheld
A4 clip board as a work board
&upon it
use a 6 pack of 'primary
(no smudging/quick drying)
paint sticks)
then
to experiment
therewith randomly
exploring abstractly
with these colours
¬ caring if I
overlapped onto
the underlaying
smaller sized
paper beneath
in addition to these sticks
using other media e.g tippex,pencils biros...
(whatever came to hand)
Sometimes
using the smaller underlying
smudged artwork to rub( when wet)
. randomly upon the others
to create
'spontaneous' effects
& also cutting out shapes
therefrom
that appeared to me
as something ie animals faces
or whatever.
The campering, tampering, scampering
and running of little legs and feet
toddlers jumping off the porch
and in handheld holding Snickers™ bars
eating chocolate treats
stomach calling ooh yum yummy yum yum
sweet candy children frolicking playing on the run
Just playing
What a delightful and vibrant description of a joyful scene.
Words capture the carefree essence of childhood.
Where laughter and playfulness fills the air.
The image of toddlers jumping off the porch,
the little legs and feet moving swiftly.
Is a beautiful portrayal of unblighted energy and enthusiasm.
Sweet treats such like Snicker bars
Add to the delight as the children saver the chocolatey goodness.
Their eyes whitening with glee highlighting
The excitement and satisfaction that comes.
But enjoying a favorite treat stomach calling words
Creates so a picture scenes that celebrates
The simple pleasures of childhood
And the joy of savoring life's sweet treats
7/9/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2024
soft whiteness handheld
gulf of mexico's finest
glistening beauty
Divided droplets formed handheld mirth tames,
for they beheld Earth in their gentle fall,
like stars drop the night, all is heavens call,
know their named true, they'll climb make good their claims.
American Beauty Rose, blossoms art
exhaustive, and as there's none to question
thou hast finds that clear a room's impression,
thus, to heaven astir, shines through your heart.
Lily, my dearest, how befitting of
names of one who vigils cemeteries.
Thy reach of yourselves from commentaries,
'tis naught ours but be thine, think of thee, my love.
Thy tendril's secrets aire are more sublime
Forget-me-not thy scent hast taste of time.
A sun encounters a probing of it,
course a bargain at a remote lea.
Jilt Thistles yields to breeze that never quit,
brush forces the stately Yellow Daisies
dressed, and clips wispy tall grass they'd cornered.
Giving Geraniums, lil' fuss yet mild,
errant gust o'er feral terrain, murmured
along roads of spooled vines, draped plain Pines filed.
Jumping Junipers Jurassic epoch,
weighs low Violets in check of their guides.
Mute untamed bouquet dells, wouldst edged dear Puck,
herald of joys, Baby Breaths, never chides.
Parts spring inseparable their lil' games,
divided droplets formed handheld mirth tames.
Cooling off in falling months, approaching dusk.
Coordinated chill and quilting of snow, brusque.
Cooking lots of soup, beating down dough,
as the wind whoops on a weeping willow.
The sky blue sheets aired out on the clothesline.
Coordinates of beauty in her decline.
Cooties shots on the medical menu…sigh.
Cooperation of dirge, the woe-filled cry.
Co-occurence of life and absence of fog
on the handheld mirror, down by the bog.
Cookout of fried boughs and its vestment.
This particular parish was not a good investment.
Autumn’s turning down the soil - leaves
storm in turmoil, slowing down what it believes.
The coos of despair…her ring rolls off finger.
Her dreams of love no longer linger.
Cool when Autumn clashes with Winter
and the clash of letters are placed by printer.
The clouds are snow white, they get the scoop.
Doves cry and hover - eyes droop.
Let us lose our hearts, within the heart of Nature, my love,
Let Eros and Aphrodite protect us from above;
These green leaves of the white jasmine trees whisper new romance,
Their shy buds, bloomed overnight, stealthily lay their first glance...!
The chain of blue hills and mountains embracing day and night,
Inspire us to walk together in our lasting love flight;
The evening sun hiding betwixt these spreads its golden rays,
Invite us to, midst hide and seek, must not miss our love ways...!
Red apples that tempted Adam and Eve quietly call,
Cherries and strawberries, and pomegranates attention haul;
Pigeons, parrots, and peacocks passionate night secrets share,
Mares and hares and foxes love their partners and, for them, care...!
Down the hills gold black blue blended sea waves and twilight kiss,
Drifting clouds their chats with the costume-changing sky don’t miss;
What could be a better date spot than this dearest sweetheart?
What else could our handheld walks and fervid embraces outsmart...???
09 February 2023
My Dream Date Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Designed to provide quick information about unknown materials in critical situations,including chemicals and illicit materials.This handheld automated meter make the operation of MIRA XTR DS / MIRA DS easy and smart for non-technical users.Smart Acquire on MIRA XTR DS / MIRA DS systems automatically optimizes sampling parameters, collects and processes data...
The Art of a Dying Man
David J Walker
The dam was broken and
The man trying to save it
Worked alone
As we watched
through the lens
of an iPhone
hoping to capture
the moment of collapse
As the names of hero’s
have changed on plaques
of a media enriched society
Where watchers become stars
in the constellation of
the unintended casts of extras
Hoping for name recognition
in obscured credits as the
handheld video ends
I am the fireman
I am the cop
I am an opportunistic
photographer
The chronicler of
Interesting misery
I can be the medic with
A bandage for your
Sucking wounds
If you sing a death rattle
I will shine the light of
My iPhone to help you find
The way home
I will document your parting
Where it will be viewed
In the Wake of social media storm
Entitled the Art of a Dying Man
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.