Leavings Poems | Examples

Private War Profits are Hiding?

In the space a forgotten person is left to entertain
The remainder of civilization has been acquired 
The unfinished civilized area per "your" affront, complaint, insult 
Inflammatory remarks is creation of code
Creating colony
Demanding colonization by war

The financial crimes which capture attention are all in time.

Havings leavings 
Feelings frustrated

Poor troddings while wasting into the poor shallows?
Allowed to do so.
Beneficial beginning from behind.

Avoid all affronts

Immediate rights?
Separation from extreme exposure 


The writers block of monetary syndrome survivors
The elements for one
The news arriving on earth
In the way the news was arriving
No obstacles?
Really?


Greetings!

 

Thank you so much for submitting your letter to The Washington Post. 

Portion control included, have fun?

History allows one the Japanese quartermaster position

Footnotes

A thirst for walking shoes tightens ankle bones –
it would be sure enough a miracle
if for at least one morning
I could parachute out of my own inner attic
to make a soft landing into
lighter than air sneakers.

Alas this world is overrun with footnotes,
warnings that we are not to take anything at all
for granted.

Amazing how some days
allot me just enough time
to recall, that I am not yet,
or may never be,
Bonafide.

The spiritual path is rocky and narrow,
agile mountain goats get ahead of us,
as we slog behind
picking up their leavings,
each dropping a footnote an*
that the race we have been losing for years
may be already over.

If (by any chance),
I have any wisdom left to me,
I would vehemently caution all:
for God’s sake
to always read the small print -
*

Remnant

I am the remnants of a man,
The embers, not the fire;
I am the leavings in the can,
The smile without desire.

cake and steak

The cake was sitting too close to the steak
The steak was done well, which was a mistake
The cake began melting, and the candles fell off
Worse yet, said grandma, your uncle gave it a cough

We had been digging around in the leavings by then
Scooping up frosting and pieces, my heart and my kin.
The prissy ones stopped, which left more for the rest of us.
We are Tennessee hillbillies who get around in a bus.

Lindsey, Heart Start

Lindsey is Olde English for “Linden Tree by the brook”,
A tree universal, celebrated in many cultures being namely,
Doctor Tree, of Health, Feminine Arts, nook,
Of soothing calm, Light, Truth, an amulet tree,
Its deep shade is a knowing look,
Friends see another, marriages be happy,
For Heart shaped leaves do hook!

A Linden was at village centers,
Parks, Hospitals, court hearings,
Lining many noble’s garden shoulders,
Litigant conciliations endearing,
Testimony credible, curing opponent smolders,
Body ailments, “Quarts of Hurts” rearings,
Colds, skin blotches, spasms not enduring!

Volcanoes of bees, honey exquisite,
Perfume fragrance, edible leaves,
Salad makings requisite,
White or yellow tiny petal cleaves,
Linden shade hosts visits,
Motherly care, compassion sheaveings,
Fidelity, fraternity, matrimony, humble wits,
We need more Lindseys less poet leavings,
Lindens increase peace & alertness,
Be a Lert, we need more Lerts!

N Is For Nature a Happening

The wood pigeon awoke on her roosting perch,
fluttered with a nervous jerk;
warilysearching for sustenance,
above the peregrine made a fateful entrance.

The winter harsh and icy cold,
driven far from its familiar fold,
seeking food further afield 
to an urban garden that might increase its yield.

Under a biting wintry sky 
the short tailed falcon hovered high,
an efficient killer from above,more than a 
match for pigeon or dove.

Taking its chosen meal in flight,
swooping sudden from a great height,
the momentum imprinting our window pane,
her throat slashed she soon was slain.

Talons sunk deep into the pigeons chest 
this finicky eater pecked at head and breast.
The lawn strewn leavings of a ravenous raptor,
as nature's journal leafs another chapter.

The Tumultuous Tracks of Nature

As my legs grow into trunks and my arms into branches, the leaves of my leavings fall and sprout seeds among the grasses. 
Spreading my roots through the mud, bringing myself a sort of immortality, though fickle it may be, comes about like destiny in its thunderous Ill-natured glee. Helpless be i to stop or divert the urge in which the need grips hopeless in my earth. Acquainted with tunnels and scar well enough to know how marred and barbed are the vines which strangle and tangle about me. 
Pleading cries lie flat upon descent to the unhearing ear. And now true motives are clear and what I fear has come stomping.
And stomping.
And stomping.
Oh yes, they come stomping.

Shedding's

Before dawn, I press my palm
on the windowpane,
leaning gently into the night
feeling it slipping through
cold fingertips.

Later
when sipping coffee I glance out,
there are shedding's now,
fragments and scraps,
a littering of a flimsy
day breaking light.

I wonder how so great a thing
as the deeply fathomed dark
could be lost in its leavings?

My hand wants to say
something more of this
but its bones are sleeping
and cannot now be reused.

Living Together

Living Together

The small mouse crossed the floor, 
fleet of foot, and fearful for her life. 
She did not want to wake, 
the farmer, 
or his wife. 
She simply wanted to feed, 
her family, and go in peace. 

The cheese was waiting on the wood platform. 
The metal bar, also... waiting. 

Now only steps away from fate, 
the tiny creature realizes there are cookie crumbs, 
left on the floor from the grandchildren's visit 
late yesterday. 
What a find, how kind... 

The animal changes her path,
and gathers the leavings... 
gratefully. 
Then she turns and is gone. 
No one, not even the cat, 
noticed her passing. 

The farmer's wife was only a little surprised, 
when she woke up to find, 
clean kitchen floors, 
all the way up to the small 
mouse door, 
in the wall.

Buddy Is Our Excuse For Having No Company

I am not tempted to invite company
We have been taken hostage by a pony puppy
He chews up everything including mattresses.

How can we invite someone who likes dogs here?
He will sleep with them, and he is heavy.
He likes patting you in the face with his enormous paw.

How can we invite someone who dislikes dogs?
They would have to gingerly step over his leavings.
Shoes, pencils, bones, toys, dog chews, spatulas.

Buddy can open doors with his face
He has proven that often enough
He is a great excuse; we live quietly and happily.

My husband gets to watch his nine tv sets
And I get to write poetry and paint
And no one feels the need to come here.
Nirvana!

Estate Sale

Advertised as an Estate Sale
Which I took to mean
Not just yard sale discards.

Here are some 
Of the things you could obtain:

Aluminum baking pans
Plastic punch bowl
Four segments of track from a train set
Discolored tea-towels with embroidered edges
Christmas themed throw pillow
Velvet painting of sailing ships
Flimsy dollar-store wall mirror
Cheaply framed picture of Jesus
A used tire with "free" sign taped to it
Tupperware, a bit stained
Tiny shelf for back of toilet
Chipped bowls and plates
Mismatched spoons
Wobbly lawn chair
Book club mystery with coffee cup circle
Bread basket, slightly crushed
Half a box of staples
Cookie tin, rusty inside
Fragile teacup with handle glued back on
Melamine resin plates
VHS tapes in sun-faded boxes.

The leavings of a life
Can certainly be sad.

Naturecycle

DEATH IN THE MORNING

on her roosting perch
a  wood pigeon awoke 
      fluttered with a nervous jerk
warily 
searching for sustenance

above
    the peregrine made a fateful entrance

a winter harsh & icy cold
driven far 
   from its familiar fold
      seeking food further 
afield 
to an urban garden
     that might increase its yield

under a biting wintry sky 
       the short tailed falcon
 hovered high
an efficient killer from above
more than a match
 for pigeon or dove
taking its chosen meal t
in fligh 
   swooping sudden 
from 
a great height
the momentum imprinting 
     our window pane,her throat slashed 
she soon was slain
talons sunk deep 
    into the pigeons chest 
this finicky eater 
pecked at head & breast

the lawn strewn leavings 
        of a ravenous raptor
as 
nature's journal
       leafs into another chapter

Original Year Posted 2007

The Falcon and the Pigeon

The wood pigeon awoke on her roosting perch,
fluttered with a nervous jerk;
warilysearching for sustenance,
above the peregrine made a fateful entrance.
The winter harsh and icy cold,
driven far from its familiar fold,
seeking food further afield 
to an urban garden that might increase its yield.
Under a biting wintry sky 
the short tailed falcon hovered high,
an efficient killer from above,more than a 
match for pigeon or dove.
Taking its chosen meal in flight,swooping sudden from 
a great height,
the momentum imprinting our window pane,
her throat slashed she soon was slain.
Talons sunk deep into the pigeons chest 
this finicky eater pecked at head and breast.
The lawn strewn leavings of a ravenous raptor,
as nature's journal leafs another chapter.

Natures Cycle

The wood pigeon awoke on her roosting perch,
fluttered with a nervous jerk;
warilysearching for sustenance,
above the peregrine made a fateful entrance.
The winter harsh and icy cold,
driven far from its familiar fold,
seeking food further afield 
to an urban garden that might increase its yield.
Under a biting wintry sky 
the short tailed falcon hovered high,
an efficient killer from above,more than a 
match for pigeon or dove.
Taking its chosen meal in flight,swooping sudden from 
a great height,
the momentum imprinting our window pane,
her throat slashed she soon was slain.
Talons sunk deep into the pigeons chest 
this finicky eater pecked at head and breast.
The lawn strewn leavings of a ravenous raptor,
as nature's journal leafs another chapter.

Bad Cheese

Bad, Cheese

The carpet smelled old, with dust… and other things. 
I sat outside your door, on the floor, smelling it. 
The odorous sweetness, would never leave me, 
Completely…
Until I asked God to take it away. 
You had nothing to do with that. 

You were evil, you are evil, 
I pray you will not be lost forever, 
as no one should go to hell. 

Trading comfort for the price of your child. 
Trading comfort for the price of innocence. 
Where you also given away? 
I would like to know what made you so? 
What made you… the mom, that you are?

The Monster’s appetite was fed by wicked flakes of skin, 
peeled back and roasted, slowly over a pit, where things moved. 
You never saw it, as you preferred blindness. 
How? How then could you keep out the smell? 
Like a lovely meadow, scented with the leavings,
of the careless, and defiled.

Angels came, 
they washed the awnings, 
the windows,
and left…
all the doors wide open. 
You can no longer hide the truth, 
as the brightness pierces walls. 
Evil is a shadow, that can not find space now, 
to cast it’s wickedness…toward others.

• Short Leavings Poems
• Famous Leavings Poems
• Best Leavings Poems
• Read Leavings Poems
• Long Leavings Poems
• Leavings Quotes