THE WIZARD
Maxwell is a jolly old wizard
One day he got caught in a blizzard
never again will he go
to a place where there's snow
Prefers to lie in the sun like a lizard
SAT AT AN ANGLE
Perhaps this story I should not be sharing
Nothing under his shorts was he wearing
when he sat at an angle
from his shorts it would dangle
Not bothered not a sign he was caring
BLADDERWRACK
A group climbed up a high haystack
Then consumed a plate of fresh bladderwrack
constipation relieved
expected outcome achieved
They are now all feeling quite laid-back
DAISY
There's a myth surrounding old Daisy
reputed she was always quite lazy
always dux of her class
every subject she'd pass
The evidence seems to be hazy
A FULL BLADDER
Decided she'd climb a five metre ladder
Thirteen rungs up !! Bursting!! She's got a full bladder
peed from way above ground
many ants they got drowned
Job done she's now feeling much gladder
Soft grey veils descend on the plains,
The world grows quiet, hushed and blurred;
I stroll back home amidst the fog
Without a sense of direction.
My breath makes cold and hazy clouds,
Lost in this murky frosty shroud,
My thoughts start to roam far and wide
Where worries waltz and fade away.
I found myself in Japan,
somewhere on a highwire-bridge,
balancing two feet in a haze.
More than two feet above the solid ground, way up high.
My eyes dart to and fro. Where I started from, I don’t know.
In a country, not my own. Travelling with eyes shut.
I’m with someone - my spouse?
In a dream with forgotten baggage,
it seems - do I remember this clearly?
Clearly not, as I’m told to roll over,
and by the way I pressed the snooze
button half an hour ago, or
I’d not progressed over that bridge without rails and eyes.
Somewhere in Japan - having no idea where I am.
I woke up thirty minutes later, back at home.
I roll out of bed, instead of onto my side,
pushing the sheets, pillows, my spouse
aside for the coffee cup, wondering why
I remember this dream where I left my feet and my eyes.
Is there really a bridge of this sort - how can I find it?
Where did I leave my baggage? Back at home with all my clothes?
Who needs more clothes when you are who knows where?
My mind seems topsy-turvy, as if I’m three sheets to the wind.
It is not a puzzle worth solving; stirring cream in coffee. The end.
I have no sense of time,
the pride from my accomplishments
is as null as the concept of permanence,
besides the fog —
seeping into my mind
as deep as the proverbial soul within me.
in the mist of what is left of myself,
the only depth i can catch is lost —
lost recognition.
Summer smashes into Spring with violent heat that leaves the air in a hazy daze. All of the tender, green rain-draped brilliance of young foliage giving way to the drab, sunbaked drowsy green that swelters and gasps for rain all through Earth's yearly simmering. Boiling and drying in invisible and malicious rays, all green tends to brown and lush tends to shrivelled. And so shall oppressive the weight of this season be. Yet, Autumn comes.
Stirred.
Blurred.
Deferred.
A haze of thoughts.
In the raw.
Unprocessed unpolished.
Ethereal feral.
Impulses really.
I might drown.
A sea of ambiguity.
Random content
in my private universe.
At times, I want to scream and be heard.
But all in time that can’t be rushed ~
Excerpt from Collaboration with Kirk Tierney, based on my poem 'Writing Is How I Connect'/ Painting by Suzanne Van Bebber
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
I catch junk with a stick
Whip it like batter
Make it thick
Set it firm in an oven brick
A sleight-of-hand trick
Flipping a well-rehearsed schtick
Pulling it out of the fire quick
Cool…then plate with a crispy breadstick
Sink your teeth in…taste the kick
A feast of rhyme…a bold remix
Juicy lyrics on a drumstick
a hazy moon
hangs low tonight
~ sweet midnight song
AP: 1st place 2025
Written: May 03, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Isolated each aspect—bereft of any link,
An ambrosian aura encircles an empty clink.
Lenses produce rippling prisms out of embrace,
They glide through a quivering mind—arcane case.
Someone has trapped an aura in an optical hall,
Awareness is molded by external gaze—it recalls.
Whispers of sunshine and shade intertwined,
Cast shadows and advise on edges—undermined.
Memories faded into a sepia hue—silence now,
The howling gusts serve as audible avows.
This ancient wind originates from the past,
Weighed down by sorrow—of dwindling cast.
Smiles in darkness—as tongues held quiet,
Time is ethereal, and memories are defiant.
A sepia-hued whisper-echo beckons me,
An aureate beleaguer core is to foresee.
A hazy full moon sighs
As poets search
For her beauty
Lose it in
Syllabic paralysis
Stuttered
Alliteration
Conjures up images
Stolen
From magazine covers
A barn owl
Cherishes
Her shadows
Wolf eyes
Reflect her gaze
A silent lake
Swallows her
Apparition
As frogs
Recite
Her poetry
Hazy Horizon
David J Walker
The terrible annual winds
That condemns
The lusty Prairie Floor
On a gusty Spring Day
In a dusty Remembrance
Of Youth
And what might be left of a Truth
We once prayed for
And what is left is all the more
The Hope of a Hazy Horizon
Sail the Unkept Sea
Of secrets unforeseen
Dream of dreams undreamt
Of failed obtuse lament
And childish sentiment
That were but are no more
The Hope of a Hazy Horizon
Variegated streaks
criss-crossing,
soothing lavender
then fiery maroon,
with belts of amber
in between.
Slate blue bluffs
catch the sun before it lands,
dipping into the rippling orange
of the mottled lake.
The pitch black pines are still,
passed the rusty mesh
of a rickety screen door.
Our eyes were fixed
up to the moment
your coppered profile
became shadow,
and I could see you no more
in the hazy light.
Walking in a haze of sadness
My heart feels heavy, shattered
Echoes of memories, once so bright
Now dimmed by the shadows of the night
Tears fill my eyes, but I push them down
I must be strong, I must not drown
But oh, the weight of this despair
Is too much for me to bear
A glimmer of hope, a spark of light
Seems like a distant dream, out of sight
But still, I walk, step by step
Hoping that someday, my heart will forget
Forget the pain, forget the hurt
And remember the love, the joy, the worth
For in this haze of sadness
I seek redemption and happiness.
Balloons are beautiful and light.
Without grip, always high in the sky.
That’s what happiness to some.
Long days gone hazy
Maybe due to my crazy
I see deep into my mind
Where nobody else will find
A place of memories gone so wild
Some are of me as a child
For these memories I don't care
Back then life was not so fair
Memories are the ghosts of the past
None of them days went very fast
Time does not heal
These memories I feel
Lost in the echoes of a childs tears
At times ,I still feel my fears
Who was the lost boy I see
Can that truly be me
Memories dimmed by times gone by
At times I still feel the need to cry
days best forgotten, my childhood
Memories of a child that
understood
Love, even then ,meant pain
Dragons ,his mind has long since slain
Trying to bring peace to a child lost inside
In my mind he still does reside
Healing scars of a long wounded soul
Finding peace the only goal
bringing peace to the boy in my mind
Maybe this memories left behind
Will help the man, he is to be
So that he too, will be free
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.