Two heads live in hot and cold
Caramel sky melts, defy the horizon to sleep
Grass swings in melody of wind, yet, forbearing to hear a story of inverse pole
Through some scenery, we try to dip
My days hostaged by summer and heat
The caramel sky melts, defy the horizon to sleep
Sweats and manual fan are my daily treat
Having your icy picture lend me some air to feel
My days hostaged by summer and heat
Longing for a fresh air, my paradigm thirst to reel
Having your words of poem tickling my poet side
Having your icy picture lend me some air to feel
My paradise and your paradise are collide
We simply envy eachother for something which not better
Having your words of poem tickling my poet side
Piling up some inspirations which randomly scatter
We simply envy eachother for something which not better
Two heads live in hot and cold
Grass swings in melody of wind, yet, forbearing to hear a story of inverse pole
If I write a poem that doesn't quite meet your criteria,
or the title or topic fails to peek your interest or your liking,
or the content doesn't flow in your preferred display and meter,
does that make it distasteful or worse, irrelevant?
These ramblings on life, love, sadness, sorrow, pursuit of happiness
fail to wane, they are persistent recurrent waxings of a mind,
singular and focused, hostaged to the written word and rhyme,
its cadence that enrapture a ponderance, a dance and a ache
within the confined thoughts of poetry both read and written.
To you, they may not always seem relevant
but that's okay. How many words revealed
are not worthy of re-reading or contemplating point or purpose
or so beautifully awesome that a comment not be made?
May your ramblings sing and dance
appearing on the written page
to tease and taunt and teach tenaciously
so that your gift be opened and freely given away.
She was the proudest of birds
Her nest was made of woven gold with silver embroidery
Her two little eggs polished to reflect the mother's loving smile
And guardian over this lavish nest, a warrior bird with razor sharp talons,
But she was proudest most of her plume
Wild and extravagant, rich red speckles covering an array of deep hazel feathers
Their edges, like the hems of a dress, entwined with brilliant white gold;
But the envious world sent an eagle to take her plumage
And her husband dove with him to the skies, and still they battle
Next they sent a winged fox and he ruined her nest, hostaged her eggs
Humbled, she shed her plumage, scattered it for the world to hoard
And Naked without husband, she looked down upon her plain little eggs,
And reflected there was a mother’s loving smile.
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.