Horizon holds hope
tomorrow, crowds out the scene
clouds rehearse elsewhere—
sunshine has packed for the road
leaving warm coats on the hook.
The mirage shimmers
beckoning us nearer still
distance swallows steps
closer is, further away
the mirage has played its game.
Footprints trace failure
back to where old hope began
mud obscures the route
the horizon keeps its word—
always staying over there.
Evening inspects shoes
muddles, each odd pair—
the map folds itself
learns to leave the porch light on
for what was never coming.
Evening shuts up shop
footprints wander back, alone
the horizon stays
still selling tomorrow's light
to those who come to its stall.
A beetle begins its shift
where the day left off~
at the edge of a stone
it has moved before.
It tests the surface first,
tapping once with an antenna,
then proceeds,
lifting each leg deliberately
as though the ground requires
confirmation.
A pebble blocks its path.
It pauses,
gives a soft scrape,
nudges it half an inch
then continues,
the adjustment noted
only by the beetle itself.
On bark,
its carapace catches
the a pale pull of light~
a thin, ancestral shimmer
that recalls the long night
its kind has always known.
It inspects a fallen leaf,
turning it slightly
to read the underside~
a task completed nightly,
never hurried,
never skipped.
By dawn,
nothing looks changed,
though the beetle has worked
every inch
of its small world.
And yet the dark feels steadier
even in our quiet daily labors~
minute corrections
that keep the hours aligned,
and meaningful
until the first pale light
lifts the edges of the day
and carries work
forward.
Active days and silent nights,
To and fro in all its might.
Break of myth and lies,
One is rigid and one flies high.
Sun inspects the day ,
Moon does the night.
One burns itself,
The other gets the light.
Clouds cover the Sun,
The brilliance is gone.
What clouds get in return?
Glittering ring of saturn.
Bees and flowers together,
Make honey for others.
They are its only provider,
Together hold its frontier.
Laws are eminent,
To be followed in intent.
It's Nature's patent,
To make all magnificent.
I keep the House of Silence—
Its rafters built of Air—
The Relatives that visit me
Are ones I cannot share—
My Mother—Discipline of Snow—
My Father—Thunder’s Will—
My Sister—small Anonymous
That slip the windowsill—
My Family is the Province
Of rooms the Soul inspects—
Where Kin are stitched invisibly
By unrecorded texts—
What lineage I cherish
Is breath—returning, plain—
The Hearth that never asks of me,
Yet warms me—just the same—
So should they call me “Daughter”—
I bow—but keep apart—
For Blood is but the outer door,
And Silence—keeps my Heart.
He takes another labored, raspy breath;
there’s spittle in the corner of his mouth.
The veil between this life and certain death
is stretched transparent like a piece of gauze.
His semiconscious mind would seem adrift,
inspects the gossamer for tiny flaws.
The voices from behind him ring a bell,
and yet he knows the path is up ahead.
A break among the trees reveals a dell;
he grins, leans in, and takes his final breath.
—————
for the B Forms and Words Poetry Contest
sponsored by Sotto Poet
checked with HowManySyllables.com
written on 03/04/23
The old Luzzu lies on a slipway beneath the sun’s strong rays
In one of Malta’s most beautiful Mediterranean bays
An elderly fisherman gasps when he sees the damage on his luzzu boat
With current rising costs, he can ill afford the to keep this Maltese treasure of a boat afloat
Tears streams down his eyes as he inspects the state of the bow and the stern
The sorry sight gives him heartburn
And his face puckers up knowing the unpredictable weather is mainly to blame
Even the colour of the sea does not look the same
His youngest son stands beside him and consoles his father
But he cries harder
Suddenly, the old man clutches his chest and drops to the ground
The son screams for help but there is no one around
A large thud shakes the house
Waking up a farmer and his wife in Georgetown, Texas.
Did you hear that? She nods.
What do you think it was?
I think the oak tree came down.
They go back to sleep.
The next day they find an immovable piece of stainless steel in the yard.
Too heavy to budge with a tractor.
“I think it’s a piece of a rocket,” she says.
He thinks this is hilarious.
Tells his friends at McDonald’s.
They laugh about it for years.
The tale is told over and over.
The guffaws are large.
Until 1997 when an engineer inspects the steel.
It is a tank from an old rocket, he tells the farmer.
I imagine it weighs six hundred pounds.
“Shh!” the farmer says, “Don’t tell the wife.”
Pausing on the way to socialism
The entrepeneur inspects a prism
Many colors shine through
They are red, white and blue
He vows he'd rather die than see it through
Greensleeves, hawk came for release.
During acclimatisation, fearless kitten crept
up fence by hawkstand.
Both Beings eyeballed, briefly touched ---
surprise, fright, flee.
Next day, kitten hitches a ride in my car
and gets out at dairy!
Left home!!!
wing'ed One inspects
intrepid four foot climber
universe expands
Written 5th July 2020
Father In Heaven
Further searches our Father inspects us creator of all (US) our Father
Appropriate Father consulting free will giver of free souls our Father
Troubled souls evaluate comes to terms to Our Daddy God our Father
Higher moralities face in earth and in space Jesus Magistrate this world
Enlightened souls assess, address the openness of His truth our Father
Regular checkups reprimand many chance to be rebirth again our Father
Internal repress suffer; stop repent start over God love in earth and heaven
Nameless kindnesses aspire to take your souls higher above in heaven
Humble digs paced heaven our eternal home the believer rome in heaven
Emotional repress determine by our feelings spirit flung new home in heaven
Ambitious hopes intend Our heavenly Father of all and Abraham
Very souls flavor choices life or death, giver of ALL breathe in earth
Earlier moralities focus on forgiveness eternal life in heaven
Neurological consults preside choosing life over death eternal life in heaven
3/10/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
Mourning Dove
Mourning Dove
Eyes to the skies above
Head bowed down
In sorrow she will drown
No pain a mama should bare
For her dead young bring dispair
Other chicks stay warm in nest
As tired mama rest
One did not survive
Saw the world and died
Papa crafted nest with stick and straw
And with mighty claw
Papa lured mama in with his mating call
Papa wouldn’t stop even if he did fall
He deserved a glance
Even a first chance
The last five did hatch
A strong and able batch
Born hungry , fed worms and insects
Mama dove cleans and inspects
Everyone of her young are well
Here they will dwell
Marckincia Jean
Rhyme
06/08/19
I used to be German of true Prussian decent
These days I am European to my content
Travel without passport for thousands of miles
Meet people of all kinds who offer their smiles
Am free to live work and enjoy in 27 countries
Which is how it should be and is rather funky
No customs control no one inspects my trunk
Whether I seem established or look like a punk
Don’t need traveller’s checks or money conversion
Use what little Euros I have on all my excursions
Journeys are user friendly for the average folks
Just think what supreme liberation that invokes
One extra bonus if you want to voyage up to an old age
These days we are not fighting wars and hostile rampage
We may happily live and not die for some sort of madness
Ideology foreign conquest or industrial military apparatus
The EU brought decades of Peace to a once belligerent place
‘No ... Sherlock’ to understand that we are one human race
05th June 2019
God Judges,
Man Only Inspects the Fruit
Written: by Tom Wright
7-13-2016
When viewing others as inferior,
We’re not giving them respect.
Regardless of our place in life,
Or even our perceived intellect;
At that moment our morality,
Becomes a matter of concern;
We should never judge another,
Over matters we can’t discern.
Time passes and night succumbs to day, dawn
The harbinger of renewal and the mourning of
Past moments. Pallor in the eastern sky
Takes on a crimson hue, as some courtesan's lips,
Flooding the world with rich vitality and promise.
This memory fades a little more, though emotion
Argues that it should not disappear into oblivion.
And the sun inspects the world, indifferent to
Our small hurts and despairs, more concerned that
Light bring joy and the small death of forgetfulness.
And as the day brings awakening, the bustle and
Distractions of life, that memory is pushed aside;
And a subtle relief unobtrusively pervades the
Busy mind, and future promise beckons.
*Like Caesar I wrote this in the 3rd person:)
In third person he talks just like Caesar
Stuffing bagfuls of sweets in the freezer
Mumbles loud in his sleep
An appointment can’t keep
Often plucks at his brows with a tweezer.
With false tan he conceals his complexion
In shop windows inspects his reflection
Cracks his fingers and neck
And exclaims ‘What the heck!’
When he drinks has no sense of direction.
He’s allergic to pollen and sneezes
Throwing up at the smell of blue cheeses
Hair extensions he wears
When it’s windy he swears
Swallows tablets in fear of diseases.
He invents and tells lies for no reason
Any week any month any season
Does it all with a smirk
(Yes, that’s also a quirk!)
In a cell he could end for high treason!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
For the Contest “Quirks”
Hosted by Madison Demetros
© 9th February 2018
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.