Larking Poems

The Clumsy City

I wandered on streets of that clumsy city, 
Like a cloud that hangs below the sky,
And sits over the hills, dull and so heavy, 
Then it breaks into tears silently over the night.

The glowing moon stretched through to the dewy grass, 
The crystals shone, the ghost town streets' lights,
My stealthy steps tapped, and maybe echoes of breathe, 
Amidst a dense thunder of inherent thoughts.

Dense masses flew and hugged with a spark,
Like shooting stars; bright and quick,
And roared; soaring high in the squall, 
The city was a horror in a dark movie hall.

Embracing the marvel is catching smoke on hand,
I wish I had wings to fly high and meet them,
They scattered, larking far away and beyond,
Left still; longing in brainstorm like a lost dog.

A Handful of Haiku: Laughter of the rain

Middle of July
Breathless days and sauna nights
Summer's lethargy

In their garden pool
Irises rise cool and tall
Like pastel water

Laughter of the rain
Crisp and clean like silver bells
Cool as lemonade

Larking breezes spread
The old secrets shadows tell
In idle gossip

The Sunlight was Playing

The talkers were talking,
texting.
Walkers were walking,
skipping, jogging.
Strollers were shaking,
prams rocking.
Kids were shouting,
yipping, yelling.

The pond went roundly around
a circling ground of sound,
shorts on bicycles
were lazily wheeling.
Girls were sky-larking,

He sat under the sun,
a drowsily winking sun,
eyelids heavy and closing.
lashes flickering, tickling.

Sunlight was playing,
Shape-shifting his thoughts,
images
that turned around and around
the ring-a-round pond,
while he slowly melted
into a sleepy smile,
over there somewhere,
where no one looked to see.

King of All He Sees - A Royal Digression

1066
Sad day on Senlac Hill.
King Harald takes an arrow 
Through his royal eye.
And that Norman bastard,
Duke William, steals his crown.
Though it’s embroidery, 
Not tapestry, tells the tale,
He finds himself the king of all he sees.

1297
Lord Warden of the March.
His bones well-sheathed 
In tightly leathered muscle,
He guards the Western shore,
Ensconced in Carlisle Castle,
And stalks the reavers’ trail
Through Cumbria.
He finds himself the king of all he sees.

1922
Mud-larking on the Thames.
A muck rake in the hands 
Of a common man,
Canvassing the northern bank
‘neath the trestle near 
Cannon Street Station,
Searching for everyday treasures.
He finds himself the king of all he sees.

Eye of Darkness

In the soul's darkness
An eagerness is thriving
Living on life,love, ambition 
Empty its dwelling depths 
Eye of Darkness, light is hope 

A heart yarning,lost,daze 
Pain felt in its mist 
A love far away as moon 
Star twinkle in her eyes 
Stranger has awaken the beast 

Her heart, emotions felt 
A darkness larking there 
The essence of bitter sweet 
Crying wolf, crying love me 
Saying pleasure my desires

Larking Deer and Squirrel

festive lark 
she has a deer for pet 
that day chases flamingos 
fawning at Santa Domingo 
Deers and squirrels shutters yet
All quiet at weeks end


2/14/21
Written word by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021

Emotional Shape-Shifter

emotional shape-shifter....
able to switch from mood 
to mood in the blink of an eye
emotional shape-shifter....
never know where it will
rear it's ugly head
emotional shape-shifter....
always waiting 
always larking 
within the shadows 
emotional shape-shifter....
waiting for the right 
moment to attack
the unsuspecting 
victim  
emotional shape-shifter....
since it can not be anticipated 
it can not be destroyed it will
live forever praying on the poor
weak willed passers by
emotional shape-shifter....

My Prince-Apples

The wordly world is doggy-doggy,
You need a choice, oki-doki?
Boring bloke whose flavor's labour,
Or just choose, to be daily lazy.

Life is ocean, harshing hardship,
Who gets on its board, gets bored,
But who are the king of larking,
Whose life's used as the fund of fun.

Be polar, bipolar, open to the new,
No focus on hocus pocus of the news,
Otherwise, you're wise nevermore,
You are not, to believe in every lore.

Be an absurb bird, absorbe you heard,
But select the fact without affect,
No attach! Not on a word, nor the world,
Be alone without a loan of anybody.

Give an "X" to the things you learnt,
Give no appearance to give up to learn,
Be the expert of experience, hence,
Your vitality is wit with crazy mentality.

Though the worldy world is doggy-doggy,
Health is before wealth oki-doki?
Choose a real mate, really anti-material,
You, Priceless Prince of Supriseness.

Guard your garden's Prince-apples,
They are golden pieces of your world,
Through 'em you may throw more poems,
Since all you were right in is to keep writin'.

Learch In Church

Learch In Church

I like leaching, leaping and larking
Set your light on fire that now is sparking
Not embark but find canoe made of birch
Learn how to paddle lazy self to church.

Sound familiar?

Jim Horn

The Poor Man

Saturday Night
in the township of Zithobeni
the poor man
screaming again
beging for his life.

The poor man love 
larking,but this time 
he was attacked by hyenas
filled with anger and ego
to split blood 
like vampires.

The poor man was assaulted verbally.

Through the window
I saw the whole
incident,the poor man
is lying in the 
pool of blood
and,his flesh is
torn apart like
ripped jeans.

The Proud Aurora

Let larking bliss on zephyr wings descend
And meadows fill with gleeful mirth and song;
The proud aurora’s sparkle then amend
With daisies spread in an ambrosial throng. 
   The cheerful gods pour nectar into grails,
   And the Elysian Fields unveil their trails. 

Not made by inner storms in wet lament,
Nor wrung in waning light at lonely hours,
But dressed in asters and with lilac blent,
Alluring hungry bees to laden flowers:
   In such attire was passion brightly born,
   Swathed full in beams of love and never lorn. 

The fragrant bed where bashful muses lie
To lose the world, forget and softly doze
Away for hours is yet the same place I
Stole your first kiss and gave you a red rose. 
   I judged the bow of Cupid too benign
   Before I won your heart and you had mine.

Hereward College - a New Hope

So much hope for understanding bright, 
Larking sombrely, vertical as a servant,   
Reluctance explained, quite irreverent,
For the first time feeling justified, right, 
No matter the obliqueness of my plight; 
But I could not certain issues circumvent, 
Even though I risked an unstable mind, 
Nearly there, almost ninety percent tight, 
But not completely at the table spread;
I pull myself together with both hands, 
Facing the community, my world given, 
Steadfast guardians need a talking bed;
Conversation is sway and will enliven, 
But disappointment visits me in strands. 

Rhoda Monihan 


Poetry form: Italian sonnet

5th November 2015
For Contest: Dancing With Description

We Could Get Caught

"How's yours coming? Got any ideas? "
"I'm in the fifth stanza already, this is going to be neat!"
That's me and 4 other friends of the poetry club, 
Scribbling away in a corner where the tree's shadow
Builds a shelter from the sun, and for the Muses
Larking away in its green rustling branches. 

Really though, we should be in class....
But what's the point in hunting for an "x"
Which is written on the page, and has no meaning, 
Nor content? They call it a "variable"! 
Well, these words for sure are variable too, 
But to play with them and twist them to falter into 
New meanings (see what I did there?) is divine. 
No weird symbols from a Cyrillic alphabet today for us! 

We're scribbling our souls on pages, to see them live. 
We could get caught but no beating could ever beat the
Exhilaration of the ink dancing into new thoughts like Adam's first breath. 

(c) Nyonglema

Ravishingly Black

They could be heard across valleys with their screeching echo
Flailing above tree height they’d flock in their thousands - the Black Cockatoo
Like nature’s eclipse, they would descend in clouds; all great gangling wings
Flapping madly at each other, swaying this way and the other
A perch full of hysterics - oh ravishingly black

Black raucous baffling broils of beak n feathers and 
Snapped off sticks and nuts that crack and pop from
Ancient giants tall

All crowded in crowns hanging and swinging and larking about
A jest from the nest, others cuddling n kissing
Fanning tail feathers – pretty

But now they fall, their numbers appal
Thrown out of their homes, death by starvation, another species lost
But who gives a toss…

A red tail feather once so common on the forest track
As we yearn for their call, the lone screeching echo
That haunts the valley floor

We no longer hear the vanquished
It’s only when they’ve vanished
Will we truly pray for these ebony eccentrics?
Of the Australian bush



28 August 2014

If Only

Now then Dracula my man,
You really must stop this.
It virtually scares me to death
Every time you nibble my neck.
Why can't you find others
To fulfil your night time larking?
Your nocturnal longings are not for me.
Please visit during the day 
So you and I can love in peace.

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