Destiny arrived on a Tuesday,
in a box marked
FRAGILE: REGAL.
I signed for it in my slippers,
holding half a piece of toast.
Inside: a sapphire crown.
No instructions.
Just joy,
heavy and brilliant
as the midwinter sky.
Naturally,
I took it out.
I didn’t wear it—I carried it.
The rain applauded.
Every puddle on the footpath
tried to catch its reflection.
A magpie, professionally suspicious,
followed me for three blocks,
hoping I was a very shiny chip.
At the crossing,
waiting in the drizzle,
I cradled my glittering fate.
A tradie’s ute splashed past.
I didn't flinch.
Instead, I gave the driver a slow,
magnificent, regal wave.
He honked, entirely confused.
I grinned like a fool.
At the bakery,
the woman with the tongs said,
“Special occasion?”
“Apparently,” I said,
carrying destiny in both hands
like a cake too beautiful to cut.
By dusk, even the clouds
had put on their best
sapphire hue.
I still had no kingdom,
no horse,
no useful instructions—
only a sapphire crown in my arms
and the extraordinary feeling
that winter,
at last,
had remembered my name.
The other day I saw a platypus
Licking the feathers of a real-live goose
Goose honked something fierce
Platypus’ heart pierced
Tomorrow it’ll smell a north woods moose
I am running away the four-year-old told his parents.
Take some clothes, his father urged him.
Better take your piggy bank, said his sister.
Would you like a sandwich? Asked his mother.
He said he did not need any of that stuff.
He was only taking one thing, his puppy, Ralph.
Ralph happily followed him to the gate.
Where they sat for a bit, staring at the neighbors.
If they went to the left, there was a loud barking dog.
The people living to the right had a mean cat.
A car honked and their neighbor waved at them.
The four-year-old asked, “had enough?” and they returned home.
The quiet words, the trembling lips,
we’ve heard it all before.
Keen questions dwell within our minds,
like who’s behind the door.
We saw the lights, heard voiceless words,
asked, “Is there any more?”
The speaking’s frail and actions flail,
but who’s behind the door?
The Wizard drew his curtain and
he fooled the land of Oz.
But when the curtain opened up
they saw just who he was.
He turned the wheel, he honked the horn
he put on such a show
The room was filled with smoky light
and braggadocio
As cultures clash and leaders stall,
great fearfulness prevails.
When people feel they’ve been left out,
then lo, their system fails.
All people want to feel secure.
They want their qualms allayed.
As leaders walk on shells of eggs,
the folks feel sore afraid.
We feel compelled; we have to know,
real answers, we implore.
Please tell the truth and let us know,
Who’s that behind the door?
Fiona and her pup Scar decided to go on an adventure
They hit the Pacific Highway at four in the morning on Tuesday
There is nothing like the open road! Fiona sang to Scar.
Scar was happy, there were doggie treats in his sidecar.
Many people honked and waved as they journeyed.
They ran out of ocean soon enough, but saw other things.
Dusty dirty tumbleweeds blew into them in Wyoming.
No worries, Fiona told Scar. Things will get better.
Scar was not worried. He had a new t-bone now.
Thanks to the generosity of the cook at the truck stop.
“We are on the road to somewhere!” Fiona sang.
They were steering through Nebraska now.
It was the tornado season, so they might have to lie in a ditch.
Scar did not care. He has his bone, and he had his memories.
He loved traveling “the road to somewhere”.
It was his favorite thing to do in the summer time.
no true destiny
just anywhere else
penned the sign
backpack will travel
cars honked
many smiles
some waved
I felt like I was drowning
perhaps in a sea of indecision?
His clothes were tattered, in vivid shades of red blue & yellow
he wore leatherette shoes blackly polished and gleaming with shine
Red fiery hair that summoned like a fire hydrant and a big fat rubber nose that honked when it was squeezed.
He had a polka dotted hanky that protruded from his well padded suit,
and a kangaroo pocket in which he kept all his most precious belongings.
Aside from the fact that those big blue eyes of his were undeniably sad,
every part of his retinue screamed, "I am funny, I can make you laugh"
People came to the circus to watch his goofy antics and
to forget their worries for a little while. One day while he was blowing up balloons for the children, he died of a massive heart attack.
In heaven the angels took Tatters to the children's room. Sitting on a big shiny
red stool he was asked to make balloons for every child in God's creative nest.
His eyes were never sad again for he knew that here,
he could make a child smile and never grow old, or ever be sad again.
The End.
A perimeter with firm block seats
For teenagers patrolling the streets;
More needed to strengthen their gossips;
Jokes about Dads who wash plates in ships!
Seat blocks for kids from the Broken Home.
They might on them lie: consoling foam,
Dream of saving marriage blessed in Rome:
Their lost umbrella, Uprooted Dome…
But on this not a concentration
Of honked horns in ears penetration
Some of them flutists’ composition,
One or two ghostly exposition
Stating a warming disposition.
A driver’s wish you watch rolling tyres
So you don’t meet stretcher Risk hires!
No one knew what kind of car she was because she was an antique.
She had a mind of her own, a colorful one at that, and she ran.
She lived in a small Alaskan town, so people knew about her.
That’s Claire, an old timer told me when he saw me taking her photo.
She has a name? Sure, he replied, “They all have names, don’t they?”
All cars have names?
No. All spirits have names.
You mean she is a spirit and a car?
We never think of Claire as a car, but we always think of her as a spirit.
When I left the state, she followed me to the edge and then honked goodbye.
No one believed me, because she had no driver.
But I have never forgotten Claire.
He could paint the air and draw the winds.
Of course that brief eulogy
was only spoken after his demise;
while alive he was often considered a clod and a bore.
Foreseeing no such post-mortem fame
he kept writing on water
knowing that there was an archive of his works
in an after-life waiting to be discovered
by his wandering soul.
In the meantime, ducks quacked, geese honked
and the little birds in his still beating heart
twittered on.
****
Her name is Miss Pitty Patter.
She's the concrete goose outside.
She's quite a fashion statement.
as she adorn the stoop with pride
Although she doesn't say anything,
She greets you with a smile.
She's quite the talk of the neighborhood.
as she sports the latest styles.
The other day, a flock of geese flew by.
One dropped into say hello
He honked and fluffed his feathers,
"Howdy there! little lady, My name is Joe."
.
"Honk"--"Shall we go for a walk?"
"Honk"-- "I really like your style."
Miss Pitty, Let's sit down and we'll talk.
He did a little dance, and she gave him a smile.
Miss Pitty, "You are quite a handsome looker,
But your heart is made of stone. "
"I believe this relationship is over,"
as he flew off all alone.
Miss Pitty Patter frowned.
Written 11-10-21
I had a dream, a pleasant dream,
A dream in which was only peace…
No wars, no hate, no crime, no tears,
Only peace each day for men.
All evil ways were cast away
And only good deeds did man do.
No one went hungry, all were filled
With good fresh food each man grew.
Then came a time… I had to go…
Return to living life for real.
So, I awoke to singing birds
And two men outside fighting.
Some harbor ships were blaring roars,
Off-loading, loading at their docks
And morning traffic beeped and honked.
I said to me…“Welcome home”
W.C.Hull © 2020-27-5-WCH10
a gaggle of geese, Parades on by
Under a morning sun
They make no sound as they amble by
nor feel a need to run
"Why don't you fly?!" I yell
angry about their pace
"When you can ride the winds on high,
this gift you truly waste"
Then to me one fowl replied
As if my query did offend
"Because we can!" he honked
At least it felt as though he did
"Why do you go back to work?
When there are adventures to be planned
You could even join us
Save your factory needing manned"
And with that they left
Just as quickly as they had come
And alone with my thoughts
Feeling slightly succumbed
"It's true!" I said out loud
I hadn't realized all this time
It was really me who chose to walk
When I should have learned to fly
I wonder what it means to save
Or what it means to be saved
I watched the sun set over frosted mountaintops
Munching on a candy cane
I was just a small boy back then
Without looking I walked out into the street
And a car honked and the lights swarmed
Before my boyish eyes as large as dinner plates
That should have been my swan song act
But a gentle soul saved me from oblivion
By pulling me back on to the sidewalk
He was dressed in the tatters of clothes
With a scruffy white beard he might have looked weird
But there was a warmth in his smile
That touched hot chocolate eyes
Eyes that were dormant for so long
Now more alive than ever before
Perhaps more alive than before the war
Before the youth was sucked from his soul
He sat me down on a stair step
And he gave me a Star Crunch
Asking where my parents were
And he spent his last coins on a payphone
Calling my parents to pick me up
And get me out of the chill
And while I sat there then I didn't know it
But I touched the heart of the heartless
And he knew what it meant to save
And also what it meant to be saved
I was over at a friend's house
to watch the superbowl
with three other friends 2 years ago
Mid-game, he started telling us
about the weirdest dream he ever had
where he jogging on the sidewalk,
one evening, homebound,
when a passing car
honked and pulled up to him.
The driver of the car
asked him for the nearest gas station.
After kindly giving the man directions,
it turns out the driver wanted
something else from my friend;
the watch he was wearing.
The man stuck a gun out of the driver window
and yelled "Give up your watch!"
After the watch was thrown into the car,
the driver sped off.
That's the thanks he gets?
Very funny when the story takes place
in a dream. He had us laughing
uncontrollably
Not funny at all; not remotely
a laughing matter
had it not been a dream!
Craziest Time At The Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Date written: 08/04/2020
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.