Jostled Poems | Examples

Thunderstorm

The fury of a thunderstorm
Should not be a surprise,
For prior to its sudden booms
Come dark-as-nighttime skies.

The wind whips up, the branches sway,
The air cools down a bit
And lightning zigzags right before
The thunder seems to hit.

Then with a crash the storm attacks,
The booming close and loud,
Which causes shrieks and running feet,
Dispersing any crowd.

Umbrellas open, wipers snap
And car alarms might beep
While anyone caught napping
Will be jostled from that sleep.

Most typically, the storm won’t last
As rumbles move away 
And rain lets up to save itself
For yet another day.

Quite often, then, the sun appears
And brings with it the heat,
The only proof of the event
The puddles on the street.

1am

It’s one in the morning.
I zoomed into Lisa’s room
and threw myself on the bed where she lay reading
in a near virtuoso, Fosbury flop.
She bounced, jostled by my mechanical bed wave.
“I hate goodbyes,” I said, indignantly.
“You’re not strong on hellos” she said, not looking up.
“They’re so bone-marrow deep,” I went on, “they steal hope away.”
“Did that sound pretentious?” I asked her silence, a minute later, somewhat self-consciously.
Lisa took the yellow, #2-pencil out of her mouth—just long enough to answer.
When she studies, she chews on them, seemingly eating them like french fries.
“Yeah,” she says, “but I get cha.”
“I know,” I said, smiling at the ceiling, because in a rooted and real way, she always has.
I’d be a different person if we’d never met.
I feel very grateful for that.
“Your boy’s flown?” She asked, using her pencil to hold her page and finally looking up.
It was an ironic, near-rhetorical question, she knows he’s gone and she knows I know she knows he’s gone.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
.
.
Songs for this:
4am by girl in red
Don't Stop The Music by Rihanna
blushing! by BETWEEN FRIENDS

Idly Fret

I'm sitting with device in hand, 
Trapped in forked thought,
Derailed, enqueued, attention spanned,
All plot but ought for naught. 

Zephyr-jostled oriel,
Jalousie jingle jets,
Venetian piped boreal,
Cochlear tingle sets.

Typing taps of tip-toed pitter-patter,
The thumbs' chagrin of screen,
Ticking ornamental chatter,
As if later's to be seen.

Body borborygmus begs,
Tasks at hand be dealt,
Rather held in barreled keg,
And later burst in welt.

Nonetheless, here I am,
Sitting glass in hand and foot,
Sinking skin: a traffic jam,
Where later tasks are put.

Janitors July Jamboree

jaunty jack-o-lantern joined
jingly jangly janitors’ July jamboree

jaundiced Jasper, Jack’s jackhammer
juggled and jostled the journey in jovial jollity.

Jovial Jukebox Julep juxtaposed Jasper and Jack’s
jonquils, joining the July Jubilee

Javelin, a jazzy jaybird, jangled Judy’s jaguar,
who jabbered jokingly and jauntily.

Woven Worlds

A mother sat and watched her daughter playing
with the other girls, whose parents had also come to watch
the performance. They gathered in clumps, chatting brightly,
awaiting the start. The girls jostled each other,
giggled, and high-fived. 

dancing princess
	palest pink tutu
   exiting stage left
perfect updo spilling
	“Batter up!”

Life on an Applecart

   Jostled to and fro
     ruts in road take their toll

   Bruises are his bane forever
     No one'll claim him ~ ever

Labyrinthine

LABYRINTHINE

An injected nanobot in the bloodstream
I am now swept along by the constant flow
And I transmit what I see back to the team
They can see what I see, wherever I go
Jostled by red and white blood cells, thick as cream
If I come across a blockage, then we’ll know
Labyrinthine, with tiny capillaries
My feedback will determine how bad it is

The Teat and the Bath

A seed that was planted, turned a seedling.
Two farmers; one for the seed, the other the seedling.
I remember drinking as if from a bowl, through your teat, the drink of life.
The soft cushions of your gland when I jostled at them, sprang to life.
Then I'd be lulled to a series of sleep dreaming of milk and of breasts.
So often I'd kick in my sleep, and my mouth would still suckle as it rests.
Sorry! I always wailed like an ambulance whenever I woke.
You would carry me off gently, conjure a song,  as you paced ,stood, or sat.
Nothing was more important to you; I was no joke.
I remember being in-between your laps, and the various bathing sessions.
You'd wash my head, tummy, other areas, and even my butt.
I doubt any other can fulfill such duties for me as you have.
Fate has taken you from me, but you'll always remain my love.
When I think of the teat and the bath, you made the greatest of impressions.
Now I'm a giant oak, but you can't enjoy my shade.
I may now love some other woman, but my memories of you will never fade.
See you soon!

The Plumed Crown

The crows are a feathered crowd,
a dark cloud
jostled together as they are
over the roadkill.

They peck and tear
lift a little in the air
allowing another beak
to stab at a morsel.

Black wings
iridescent in the morning light
flutter in the cram and bustle of
their feeding.

Above them a lone hawk
watches from a high perch.
If it swooped to steal a crumb
form the crows table
it would be instantly mobbed
made to flee
swerve and dodge
the anger of the many.

The raptor waits,
for the crows will eventually
fall to bickering and dissent,
some will fly away cawing
others will strut the highway
seeking more edible scraps.

Then the hawk will descend
rummage the remains
and fly off
with a hard won piece of gristle
content to be
the king of its invisible castle

that is
until the riotous corvids return again
to claim its throne.

As Broken As a Petal In Your Hand

I didn't think anyone would ever argue that I am broken
Life has thrown up one too many challenges to me
I survived but I suppose i am more like magma from
Volcano
I am like molten rock that's been aerated by fire
I am to be fertile soil eventually
I still have fire in my soul but my substance has been burnt out
I lack  beauty
I am ash
I'm told Ash makes great fertilizer
Perhaps I can fertilize your soil
with words
Tired and accelerated ... exhilarated
 it rises 
and I see it cresting through my window. 
And as it does
I feel as if I am brand new
Granite and limestone 
and I am gold 
I am frankincense and I am Mir
Lines on the mountains 
I am a  million years old
I am 600 million years old
I am worn but I'm like that white rock you find on the beach
You can't help but respect the beauty of the lines that show up in a rock
jostled and beaten and tormented by the sea

I am purely round and all of my edges are gone
I am no fairy tale nor whimsical dream 

 this small white rock "knows"

pumice that from Volcano was born 
 only to become ash and then to become soil 
and then become the  fodder 
forth from 
new life
Small rock
Big Story

Old War Stories

I am young, a tough nut,
hard to crack.
Thick mud splashes half-blind me.
Bones are jostled, pushed into aching flesh.
I am spun around and dumped,
lifted up shoved back in.
A pummeled nose bleeds into my mouth,
stagger, run, beaten down by panting hulks,
heave myself to my knees. arms thrashing, finding
bodies to bruise. Chasing through cold air
stunned, brained, swapping pain thud for thud,
ear bashing clubs, yell for more, hack
and flay one sprained ankle dragging behind
a black and blue knee, plod on through the mire.
Limp away damaged and done.

Rugby is not for wimps.

Listening Is Loving

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OeJWKSbbq68

On the brush of morning a wisp of air 
a tendril round my senses, like sweet perfume 
Liquid skies that move with the waves 
of a soft whispering wind 
Calling the birds of the air, calling butterflies;
Each jostled thought calms as my remote lips  
cup and my eyes feast on a clear view 
of one Godly, beautiful day*

Special calls from ancient pine trees with arms 
loaded with pinecones and sentinel scents 
My oh my, how I love the early morning 
with all its aerate lawns and flower beds 

First glance, first kiss, first contact 
nature is cupping her velvet ear and 
listening to me, truly listening;

As I gulp each morsel of peace it imparts, 
I know without doubt that have been 
truly love, this very morning. 

July 30, 2022 
Mystic Rose 
Example for contest 
 
this morning.

The Lost Bell

Out of the provinces, lies my line...
Toiling the toxic night, 
Nightmarish lackey of the routine... 

I, child of the leaves...
Left the soil,
My Memsahib detached... 

My soul beats the sidewalk,
A drain to a city's sidewall... 

Am a volatile turbine,
Urging my soul to rest in the shed,
Away from the jostled shadows... 

Losing time, 
I lose the fragrance of the sunshine.

Pete and Danny

The weather was hot on this New York day
People jostled in the crowded subway 
Danny had a dinner date with partner Pete
He was running late and feeling the heat 

Out of the station Danny's eye was caught 
A baby against the wall or so he thought 
His suspicions proved to be so very true 
Rang up Pete and asked what he should do 

A call to the police would then be made 
The romantic dinner soon began to fade
The police took over this interesting case 
Such an incredible story had taken place 

Not quite the end of this remarkable tale 
Love for this baby would eventually prevail
The parents were not a mother or a granny 
Would actually turn out to be Pete and Danny

Fame Will Ruin Everything

Fame will ruin everything!
Just ask
Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton
They paid for it
with their happiness,
their lives.
They yearned for it
and once
it was achieved
they couldn't handle it,
let it get
the best of them.
So be careful of
what you strive for
because it 
could cost you
more than
can be imagined
in this jostled
situation that 
we exist in.

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