Vaults of wealth, goodwill
Grabbed fistful, spill o'er like sand.
No one's worried still.
Sweeter are found fruits in hand,
And sour, higher up to fend.
Mocks a mocking bird:
Not grapes, sour seem ways to mend,
Change ere sour turns curd.
_______________________
Tanka (Senryu) | 08.11.2025 | bird, change, fruits, goodwill, wealth
Note: Wealth and goodwill when invested and nurtured would yield well. But man’s first instinct is to grab like a miser. For, grapes are sour if too high to fetch. A mockingbird mocks in this Tanka.
A misfit in Liverpool
I think of oranges, and saw a painting by Constable of a morning sun
that looked like blood orange dripping nectar down on some
Fishermen are trying to catch eels on the dark surface in the bay.
There were sail ships too, ready to hoist sail in the morning wind.
When I lived in England, I met several police constables, most
of them, nice blokes, alas, during the miners´ strike, they became
radicalized, they had a good talking to by those higher up, and
were also promised plenty of overtime.
John, the constable, - fifteen years on the beat and no promotion-
A friend of mine refused to partake in hitting miners over the head,
He continued his lonely beat, but at the station, he was ostracised,
a lonely figure in need of a friend- He often came into my cafe after
hours and we drank vodka with orange juice, lamenting the time we
lived in. John retired early, and I sold my cafe.
Honesty always wins the Victory Cup
So, lift your hands...higher and higher...up and up
Drink it down...or sulk it up....
Let's toast & cheer while HOLDING-UP
our small and little sippy-cups
In everything you say and do,
Make "Honesty First" your Priority Rule
So all "litter-lies" and every "waste-for-excuse"
stand appalled and OVER-RULED…•
A misfit in Liverpool
I think of oranges when I see a painting by Constable of a morning sun
that looked like blood orange dripping nectar down on some
fishermen trying to catch eels on the dark surface of the bay.
There were sail-ships too ready to hoist sail in the morning wind.
When I lived in England, I met several police constables, most
of them, nice blokes, but during the miners´ strike, they became
radicalized, they had a good talking to by those higher up and
were also promised plenty of overtime.
John, a police constable fifteen years on the beat and no promotion-
a friend of mine refused to partake in hitting miners over the head,
he continued his lonely beat, but at the station, he was ostracised,
a lonely figure in need of a friend- He often came into my cafe after
hours, we drank vodka with orange juice, lamenting the time we lived in. John took early retirement, and I sold my cafe.
The wild wisteria's vine in winter
Sends its roots out and deep
It draws up moisture and rich nutrients
To prepare for coming spring
As in each rest period of winter
It goes deeper into the rich earth
So, its shoots can gain momentum
To reach for the sun when spring touches earth
When all is ready in spring
And winter disappears
The plant searches for the sun
To make its blossoms appear
It climbs higher up its support
It reaches farther looking for other ways
It wraps all in beauty _and
Then_ winter helps it rest
In winter let's go deeper and be filled
Let the Holy Spirit search within
In winter soak up God's teachings
Rest, get ready, for spring will come
It would be amazing to live off grid
Just think no hustle and bustle
No alarm screaming at you
to wake naturally at dawn.
One would settle into new patterns
mainly following the sun hours
labouring for one's self, no boss
to answer to. building your shelter
Getting water to it from higher up
from a clean stream loving the taste
sunlight from solar panels for night
planting and harvesting your own crops
No pollutants in them just healthy nutrients
fishing for what you need or maybe a crab
working the land and cutting timber for wood
Nature can provide what you need to be fit
Using natural medicines when you need
digging down for your outhouse
taking a swim in pond with a water fall
yes that sounds a good way to live.
A dog for company and chickens for eggs
Other off girder's but not too close.
Like wise a small town half a day away
no taxes to pay just wonderful freedom.
I am young but I have grown up
some, and with a new job set up
now, plus home and car all got up
here, thanks to how I was brought up.
Interviewed with the higher-up
then, the foreman and I met up
and, got things before I start up,
turned, the crew gave me a thumbs up.
The work, like my past jobs, speed-up
so I had no time to warm up
cause, 'twas busy now we're caught up
in time for lunch, we all eat up.
'Twas a great first day as we wind up,
... byes and smiles that just lift me up.
An odd thing happened to us on the Blue Ridge parkway
we were enjoying the Fall colors…taking our time…driving slow
but as we drove higher up the mountain…it suddenly started to snow.
We stopped to enjoy the moment…we were thrilled, excited, enthralled…
to be standing on the apex… between the Winter and the Fall.
Down around the bend Illuminated by the sun
we could still see the Fall leaves glowing
while on the part of the mountain where we were standing
it was cold…and it was snowing.
As the snow fell faster and faster…we came up with a plan…
since it was also wet and heavy…we’d build us a snowman.
It’s a rare opportunity to build a snowman in the Fall
but as he fell in tiny flakes from out the sky
we gathered them together…determined to give it a try.
The finished product was a snowman…He stood about 12 inches tall…
With a large oak leaf for a hat…our one nod to the Fall.
As we drove away from our snowy wonderland
we were still thrilled and excited and enthralled
having been blessed to experience a little winter
in the middle of the Fall.
Dappled dawn slowly raised its shade
As brindled pit-bull puppies played
Patiently the fisherman hooks the mottled rose-dotted trout
Peppiness in his laughter rings out
Lazily the varicolored finch's wings raise him up
Elaborately bedazzled is a spring buttercup
Day to night nature is dappled from higher-up
Written: February 07, 2023
Sponsor: Constance
Contest: Writing Challenge D Word
So I got lights on the hills in my view tonight.
Glistening little lights from this window of mine on high.
I can see the movement of vehicles on the motorway.
Beyond that moving line my hills disappear over the way.
So I got lights on hills in villages I can see.
It’s quite magical to watch, it’s quite magical to me.
I can hear the train before I see it snaking lower down.
Follow a car on the motorway until it gets behind a hill and then appears higher up on the other side of town.
So I got lights on hills out towards the Peaks tonight.
A light flickers in the sky as a jumbo jet silently goes by.
I can hear the drumming scratching of the engines three/four miles away.
See a car on the criss-crossing country roads behind the motorway.
The panorama from this window covers at least twenty miles I think I’d say.
So I got lights on hills and dark areas where no lights there are to see.
If I lean out of the window Emley Moor and Barnsley football ground are the furthest I can see.
But I love this view as it flickers so gently. It’s relaxing and beautiful to watch, it’s relaxing and beautiful to me.
The stillness of hushed chaos,
whispers of the ocean breeze,
postponed were silent cries
now permitted to run by.
Alone with my thoughts,
invited are plans meant to prosper
around these story-telling trees,
full of wisdom.
I welcome you, light to my days.
Instill in me more of
what I should be made of,
empower me, birds of freedom,
teach me to soar higher up
in the clouds, as do you.
For this is where I seek clarity,
sensibility in tranquility,
calming of storms,
this place I like to call home.
20 July 2022
A Quiet Place Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
In days of lore a sword was held in hand
not a vest strapped to a chest by some command
Terror a very strong feeling of fear
how far this is to what Poets hold dear
In younger days terror was contained in a nightmare
not a bomb or a threat carelessly sent everywhere
How different are they from you and I
both looking upward into the sky
They have a mother and father too
often than naught they don’t have a clue what
their offspring is up to
We may write for many a reason
though their cause is more likely to end in treason
All have feelings galore to share
even if theirs seem like they don’t care
Here I sit and lament how another explosion to prevent
looking for an answer that may be from higher up sent
So what is our role at times like this, is it to write about
happiness and bliss or those that we will miss
Is it my task to ask you to ponder and pause
or coach you into looking for another cause
Know that there is good in everyone whether you
be a daughter or a son
So my request might be to pick up a pen to deliver your message
a passage or two to get you through to removing the vest from your chest
Andreas Simic©
A lonely swing hangs from a tree
It seems as though it waits for me
To share the joy of sunset sublime
Something I feel, more than I spy
Red and orange autumn skies
Solicits me upward on every try
Higher up towards the sun
Then back down, just for fun
Arching under blazing leaves
Burning hotter with each swing
As wind whistles at my ears and hair
My feet go flying through the air
Soon, my sway fades with dimming light
The tree limb holds me quiet and tight
As the two of us share the sky
And a moment in painted time
In the dell the trees are old,
grim they are and obstinate,
they persist.
Higher up on the slopes
silver barks and slim trunks
reach and stretch, light
is their mood, and young their growth.
Further still,
A few mountain climbers hang on to
a thinner earth. Strong trees, yet
supple enough to withstand
the wind and the ceaseless blows
of the elements.
Above them nothing can withstand
but tussock grass
their roots are as deep as death
in the buried scrabble and rock.
Up above, the peaks soar;
for this mountain is the root of
all that ascend.
Thus high and low, all those that grow
bow to the earth
that uplifts each to its place,
a just allotment
of heaven on earth.
When my mother said I could wear heels
I thought HIGH heels; was disappointed it was almost a flat.
About an inch high.
It did not make a satisfying click.
I had hoped to be taller.
At five foot two, I coveted being higher up.
Only one eighth grade girl got to wear heels to our first dance.
The rest of us hated her; our jealousy floating around the room.
Until her feet got so sore she started to limp.
None of us cheered, but there was some gloating.
I gave my girlfriend a thumbs up.
I wore my first high heels at prom.
They were beautiful. I could barely contain my joy.
Now I was the one limping with callouses.
It was worth it, I told myself, because I felt beautiful.
But it wasn’t.
When I was a young mother in my early twenties,
I fell off both high heeled shoes when I was walking up concrete steps
On my way to work.
I had sprained both ankles.
I went from “feeling sassy and sexy” to miserable.
It was the last time I wore high heels.
This was in 1980.
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.