All is quiet except for the heat pump pumping some warm air
It is doing the best it can do under the circumstances.
There is no poetry swimming around in my swimming pool
Nor high stepping through the ruts in my brain
Just lost are the thoughts and imaginations
I know something will happen to awake them once again
A bird in flight
A crow cawing
One deer or a whole herd
Run out into the road
I or the other person driving
Just barely miss them
Both at the same time
Say a prayer of thanks
I wonder how many children
Are already jumping for joy
How many are disappointed
How many are still asleep
Christmas morn can go
So many different ways
How is yours?
I am wishing you one of the best in your whole life
God bless each and every one
Sara K
Deus Volt I scream by my brother's side,
a distinct bell rings measuring 39mm wide,
high stepping over the deconstructed rubble,
klashnikov volley is what's giving us trouble,
our advancement through the city begins to slow,
primary and secondary left with one mag to go, (clink)
armor so tight it impedes the breathing, (clank)
honor steps in like a sword unsheathing, (clink)
clinking of a grenades stops under my chest,
my brothers have been saved you know the rest.
artic somersaults 11-30-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
artic somersaults
arctic colors bluster
gossamer rainbow ripples ~
northern lights fanfare
north winds of daybreak
electric neon highlights ~
polar bears snoring
pink and green streaks flash
watermelon auroras ~
iceberg skyscrapers
auroras fox trot
light in staccato steps ~
high stepping brilliance
tundra skies blush
frozen lights do somersaults ~
polar breaths glow
a formidable stallion Prix came into the yard and we gasped
His turquoise mane was shaped like peacock feathers
with their kind of spherical designs at the fringes
his coloring rivaled a male peacock’s feathers
Prix glistened in the sun, showing off his purples,
His blue greens, his gold’s with his flashing blue eyes
As he got closer he began high-stepping it
Showing off his Nancy Sinatra’s white boots.
This stallion changed the entire ambiance of the barnyard.
The fillies and mares were neighing in appreciation.
Our other stallion had turned his back, and began chewing violently.
This is going to be good, we thought, and of course it was.
An upland valley
where sunlight runs upon rippling grasses.
Spirit, dressed in motley camouflage,
pirouettes, scanning dark cliff tops,
its light quickened by the press.
of looming shadows.
On the narrowing pathways
of a sky-lit vale
a clambering heart dares to climb
the high vine of being.
Dark nights have long burnished
an armor of discipline.
The dancer in the warrior
leaves the open glen
reaching toward the penumbra of death
its eternal life
elated by a high-stepping conviction
that reveals spacious green acres
already spreading above.
Well, I guess I’m finally that cranky
old Slow Poke: the one who does
25 in a 35—the one who rolls up
his driver’s window, when you pull
alongside with your rock-n-roll
blaring. The one who always signals
the same direction whether turning
right or left. The one who keeps the kid’s
ball when it flies in his front yard attacking
the roses--he talks to them, and God alone
can decipher their colorful language.
But the one who also limps from an old
war injury, the reason why we are not all
speaking German, and high stepping in
Bone-crushing boots. No Rockettes
do I speak of. No smiles from that merciless
Chorus Line. He was also the generation
who dropped the bomb--the big one--
and had lived 50 years with that fateful
decision. “It was the right thing to do…
them or us” repeated through the decades
of nightmares. War is something most young
people only write songs about—protest against...
smoke a joint and have a beer afterwards….
While brave young men and women
leave limbs on the battlefield to protect
the right for so many to be thankless
fools….
A plow horse woman without ribbons or accolades
outworking the glittering high-stepping
show horse parade.
She'll never get promotion; she doesn't play their game,
She just puts in an honest forty- eight
lays another callus on the day.
You'll never see cherries on her knees.
From climbing slippery corporate ladders.
There's no aces up her tattered sleeve.
Her conscience is free from clutter and clatter.
Year after year she mans the boats and rows.
Making "the man"-another pot of gold.
Her sparkling soul is made of blood and sweat.
Not from stabbing flanks or tossing stones.
In the fading season when all crops are in.
She's earned that dapple of golden shade.
The show horses are parading plastic ribbons.
While wiping her blood from their muzzles
without a bit of guilt or a hint of shame.
Sorry honey, BettyeJean can't come over and play
with you- she's got a show today
my mother said, patting me on the head
as my father muttered something
barely audible about those
mumble-grumble horsey-people
and their shows
He despised show horses
and the people who showed them
My father believed that
all things wild, animal or child
should be left alone to do their “thing”
but BettyeJean's Mama said
show horses couldn't do anything
naturally- as it might ruin their training
and I think she was afraid we might
ruin BettyeJean's training, too
All this impressed me
maybe not so much
my father's philosophy
as his choice of wording-
Horsey-People.
I pictured them all
my friend, BettyeJean
her Mama and
her Mama's high-end friends
with huge horse heads
on long arched necks
proud and haughty
resting on human upper-bodies
with horse rear-ends and legs
reared up, upright
they were quite a sight!
High-stepping
in useless circles
busy impressing themselves
The lions are not called upon to dance,
High-stepping dragons have been shooed away,
On burly drums mallets don’t spryly prance,
Golden gongs coyly blush in hushed array.
Its charm the moon needs no frills to enhance,
No lantern can mimic its full display,
The city it gilds with a placid light,
The eye it woos from its Mid-Autumn height.
Here's one just for the fun of it!
Beau
I saw him at a show,
a handsome stallion named Beau,
horse with a high-stepping prance,
every judge he would please,
winning horse-shows was a breeze…
but he secretly wanted to dance.
“Cause a man named Bill Willy
had the most beautiful filly,
whom Beau really wished to impress…
but his insides turned to jelly,
when he got cramps in his belly,
thanks to Bill, he was now in a mess.
The filly called, “How do you do?”
A cute whinny Beau took for his cue,
then he gladly neighed back with delight.
Yes, Beau then took a chance;
just one direct gaze in her glance…
for he had dreamt of her, day and night.
Her coat was shiny and fair,
there she had the most stylish flair,
to Beau, she was a beauty quite unique.
She nearly took his breath away,
as his heart started racing that day,
although his legs were shaky and weak.
This filly was ready to dance,
so Beau started a hot romance,
though it seemed touch and go for awhile.
Beau forgot all about his prance,
he finally learned how to dance
and he was glad he’d gone that extra mile!
By tiptoe
That is not my elephant
High-stepping in the basement.
Ardently preparing for her pachyderm placement.
Tapping her trunk on the window’s casement.
Instantly intriguing, oh, the fashion statement.
Surprisingly sprightly swinging resplendent pendant.
Nonchalantly swaying as she strolls, compliant.
Opulence sparkles one gorgeous graceful giant.
To top it all off, her temperament is pliant.
Metrical motion moves this perky pageant entrant.
Yesterday’s wildlife intellectually scathed though brilliant –
Ella is my elephant; she wears casual raiment.
Laughs and eats spaghetti, always thinking, ideas salient.
Endlessly explaining the elephant’s Bill of Rights, relevant!
Protecting second graders from every evil social rodent.
Heart-fully relating principles, she is strong and poignant.
An awesome able activist against any aggressive tyrant,
Nurturing each nascent one, noticeably effervescent.
Tenderly flapping her ears, because of pure love’s placement.
© January 15, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Form: Acrostic with monorhyme and alliteration
Sunlight's shadows, breeze tumbled
Kaleidoscope of jig saw puzzles
Pond's wrinkled face, old and wise
Accumulated knowledge
Fallen coconuts, lazy lay
Pink skirts, deeper eyes; hibiscus, oleander
Flirting friends, fat bladed grass
Green with envy
High stepping investigating crowd
Folded flapping wings, noisy as teenagers
Squirrel holes, mounded soil
Half a hand full of wounded earth
Gaggles gather, egrets entertain
Maintain pecking order, crowded, gossiping
Around the corner, brisk pace
Home is sight
Viewing nature's gifts
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.