Staring at her reflection in
chatoyant mirrors, learning my
last blessings, creeping past
poltergeists during marauder
inspections while I transcribe
her flesh on caesura, pleading
with the Pleiades for soprano
notes to stay on his alto clefs,
hanging gardens in her image
Ombrielle mistress,
Black Narcissus as my witness —
Extravagant, solivagant nymphs
born from lascivious river spirits
want to hear their voices Echo
in mountain cliffs, carried
by arid winds to places
gods’ garments are ripped,
convicting the Prince
it’s the small things, always,
like a locked door, like silence after 3 a.m.,
no more eyes watching over the sheets I sleep on,
and the laundry, god, the laundry—
clean and mine, folded by my own hands,
no strangers to leave their fingerprints.
freedom smells like soap,
like a shirt worn only by me.
I’ve washed away the bedbugs,
the stench of old compromises.
it’s a lie, the safety they sold me,
but here, alone in this room, I don’t need to buy it.
no alarms, no inspections, no knocks on the door—
just the rhythm of my own breath,
the slap of water on my face
as I stare in the mirror and see
a man who still knows how to stand tall.
they talk of dignity, control,
but it's only found when no one is watching.
Jack of All Trades
Miracle Man
5/3/2024
I once hired a man who never followed directions,
which required on my part, frequent inspections,
Though an old hand,
He didn’t understand,
So each task completed required some corrections.
it is not raining
yet the sky seems like
a tall waterfall
bones crack
under the weight of falling water
if I crane my head up
my eyesight get washed away
as a kid
drowning in a lake
the sky not the water held me down
the water was trying to push me up
the sky turns your mind to rock
just another falling rock
All wings falter
nuts and bolts come loose
seams open
despite daily inspections
you begin to rattle
Like when kayaking
I flew over the edge of a waterfall
the gravity of light-weight mountains
can send you plunging
yet it is in our very nature
to spread tinfoil wings
hope and theorize
Spiritual Listings
By Mark D. Stucky
HGTV loves flipping homes
for fun and improved listings.
Houses, although important shelters,
are impermanent human structures.
Human spirits, in contrast,
are eternal…but need restoration.
Inspections show we have
cracks in our foundations,
seeping leaks in our minds,
hardened holes in our hearts,
and jagged scars in our souls.
But after difficult demos,
substantial repairs,
and urgent upgrades,
our listings will be priceless.
(First published as “Listings” in Agape Review, 28 April 2022. See also my poems “Broken Beauty,” “Hate Vacuuming,” and “Dumpster-Diving Deity.”)
(Image by Mick Haupt on Unsplash.com.)
shore leave
The ship, in the bay, had a load of grain from the fertile soil
of Ukraine, loaded in Odesa, and sent on its way across the Black Sea.
In the Dardanelles, a stop for inspections to see if the ship had
gods other than grain, not on the manifest.
She voyaged the Mediterranean to the Strait of Gibraltar, turned
sharply, starboard, up the coast of Portugal and anchored in Cascais.
Some of the crew was going ashore, shopping and drinking a few beers
as they waited for the launch on the larboard of the ship.
The ship was due to be unloaded in Lisbon on Monday, where other
crew members could go ashore and see the sight of the great city.
The lot, god’s will, for a seaman to be eternally outsider, passing
through, but only at home on the high seas.
PENNILESS AT THE TOLLGATE
Wish I had a cat,
or maybe just a friend.
Mother says it's not the end,
but it is.
Reflections in the mirror,
inspections of the interior.
She's gone, I'm wrong,
and the soul can be so empty.
The milk is sour in the sink.
To wish, to think,
over the horizon the sun peeks,
the Blackbird rumbles then it roars.
A morning breeze or maybe the flap of wings
rustles the curtains.
Yes, it's certain.
The sky is not mine, it never was.
Hubris atop the Big Fish, a mighty serpent,
leaping over the waves, and the mermaids too,
thinking I saddled Old Screw.
I'm in the dirt, and it should hurt.
But I am empty, planted none too deep,
feeling little, a carrot or radish,
ready to be reaped.
A man without a spirit I am, I fear it.
A friend would be fine.
A cat? Just divine.
It would help pass the time 'til the end,
'til the end of mine.
The Alternative
In just twenty minutes,
The kids are all grown,
From cradle to college,
With kids of their own.
Still -
It beats the alternative.
Gray hair and wrinkles,
And routine inspections,
More aches and pains,
And pills and injections.
Still -
It beats the alternative.
You're given the news,
To your great dismay,
Another old friend,
Has just passed away.
Still -
It beats the alternative.
May ne'er come the day,
When the pain is so terrible,
That day-to-day life,
Is completely unbearable.
Then -
I'll take the alternative.
A means was hurriedly devised
To have their profiles revised,
A great deal improvised
And staff strictly supervised…
Also, a means to be apprised
Of Interview questions not surmised,
To have them earlier analyzed
For minds to be better advised…
And what it should cost summarized
To have the inspector’s toilet standardized,
His official car customized
And reserved fruits liquidized!
All ahead of his notified inspections
With staff-dropping intentions.
When used as directed, proven to be clinically effective on some of the following conditions: term papers & science projects, monthly bills & quarterly reports, Christmas shopping, pregnancy tests, motor vehicle inspections & oil changes, diet & exercise programs, campaign finance reform, colonoscopies, learning second languages & musical instruments, vacations of your dreams, changing careers, getting married & having children, changing smoke alarm batteries, cleaning out closets, garages, basements, junk drawers & attics, shoveling driveways & walkways, doing something that really makes a difference in the world.
Satisfaction all but guaranteed to result in continued use of product.
(If your symptoms persist, consult someone who actually gets things done.)
THE DUNNY BRUSH
It has been here since modern sewerage was begun
and each water closet usually has at least one.
But to get a participant to use it, can really be a chore.
Most folk will use the paper but sadly for some, the Dunny brush ignore.
We have warned, scolded and abused them about their stain,
To grab the handle and scrub up and down again and again and again.
Many just don`t get it . They will not own their own poo,
so they leave it in the bowl. It is not their responsibility to clean the flamin loo.
So we have had workshops for the solution,
To brainstorm and solve the concern for this ablution.
Some have installed water jets to clean the soiled parts,
While others have janitors who make regular inspections while pushing their cleaning carts.
Alas, around here these luxuries we haven`t got,
so we ask you the Guest, to give it your best shot.
To learn the art of the toilet brush is easy, so don`t do your thing and run.
Grab it by the handle between forefingers and the thumb.
Now scrub it hard and sure till all traces are unstuck.
If it has caused you to sweat a bit, just remember,
It isn`t ours or theirs, its your smelly muck.
Cars are made of rubber in the land of US
Asphalt highways twist and turn in pain
Erased for your protection at the curb
Life is no ones fault but yours
May the DMV have mercy on your souls
May they require daily inspections in your homes
Stay inside away from stores
Closed but open to suggestion
Avoid shopping at all cost. Walk.
-Safety comes first-
Leave keys on the dash and tongues in the mouth
If you own objects throw them out
Souls are subjects of interest to the powers that be
If they bounce they become intriguing
Gum and coins can be found in the sofa
Couch potatoes can be found above
If you lose your keys don’t blame God
It is not His job
If you look real hard you will discover…..Rubber
Objects are another kind of trouble
You should let them be
Concentrate on the subject at hand
Find the keys
Authors Note: Why are cars made of dangerous materials like metal and glass? Why are they not made of rubber? Rubber bounces during collisions.
Making Her Feel Like A Teenager Again.
.
It has always been my ernest endeavour
To satisfy a woman make her feel special
And make her feel like a teenager once more
But this time
Make the feelings last forever
.
How sweet and tender
The warm melting sensations
And the nervous fluttering butterfly inside
The idle daydreams in school and college
When youth and time was on our side
.
The little scribbled love notes
Names scrawled on walls within a heart
Diane loves Pete forever
Never to depart.
.
Those budding emerging blossoming
The naive aspirations
And unrealistic inspections
Hormone overload
Secret fantasies and tastes of puppy love
That remain untold
.
That first crush and the first date
You were told you were too young
But your urges couldn’t wait
.
Pop songs at the time had more meaning and feeling
And you’d play the same record
Again and again the broken heart
And painful tears that dell like rain
Summer love lost forever
Never to come around again
As growing pains
.
Infatuation and heady intoxication
True loves poor relation
But nothing beats
Those oh so sweet
Tender passing fumbling valentines.
.
Peter Dome©2021.
Tunnel to nowhere-
once the promise of a dream
abandoned neath city streets-
brought to light in color
through bold artistic fantasy.
August 15, 2019
Contest: Second Edition of Wayra
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Syllable count 5, 7, 7, 6, 8- Unrhymed
"Inside a never-used Second Avenue Subway tunnel. Aside
from some inspections by MTA workers, the tunnels have been
sealed for decades." Jose Martinez/NY1
"Stretching from 110th to 120th Street, it was built in the 1970s,
part of a still-unrealized goal of running subway trains all along
Manhattan's far East Side. It's a reminder of an era when
New York dreamed big- and of a time when New York didn't
have the money to fulfill its dreams." Spectrum News, NY1
Click on the link above, below photo, to read more if you wish.
Someday I Want To Be...
What I want to be someday I will keep secret.
For if I tell you I'm afraid I will regret.
Because to shine a light on future hopes.
Opens the door wide for idiots and dopes.
So someday I want to be what I want to be.
It's really not for you, it's only for me.
So if and when that day does come.
I hope it all adds up to a tidy sum.
Looking in the mirror of future reflections.
Is a solemn journey meant for private inspections.
I've spent my whole life waiting for that day.
But as you well know, what comes, what may.
Someday I want to be happy to be me.
To know a little joy and to just be free.
To just be comfortable in my own skin.
And get out of the trouble that I've gotten in.
Note: Day 4 of writing exercise.
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.