Though sapient vision limps short,
And digs no eye into nirvana's fort;
Albeit most vivid dream’s flips stop,
Instinct excels where iffy triers flop.
And that sharper divining seer tells
Sweeter tales no deft lyricist's bells
Ever rung a one bereft of Love's ting,
Who jilts fine gold to hear a bird sing.
He needs no fumbling eye to behold
What yet lies beyond horizons’ fraud,
Nor flimsy ear's wit to sweetly divine
Blisses and nectarous lickings mine.
His are all-espying orbs steeled in hope;
Netting honeyed things before here pop
Tangible sights for showy ears and eyes
To grab and boast and stir belated sighs.
Known to him are times of lost rest
From lonely stints icily cold at best,
Thrills discerned many days before
They stir faint ears and eyes below.
As They Danced Incognito
From where I sat that night in 1971,
I could see in the distance south LA,
Lit up like grounded stars in black mud;
As a rude wind brushed up against me,
I saw you wearing navy blue with black shoes.
You were at the Roxy with my best friend.
Making out in the back row with popcorn and ice.
Tears of rage filled the ego ducts for two dark hours.
Then Broten visited, sitting distant under crushed stars,
My young earth, shattered in haphazard fragments,
You flitted like a engorged fly away from me, and us,
Your silent watchings and downward betrayals then,
Killed whatever love-embraces connecting our moving souls,
Our bodies, always lying clenched and breathing in a tangle, your
Milk chocolate cupcakes set before me in the naked candlelight,
With salty, salivating tongue-lickings bringing you to rise in my arms.
We lay with spent emotions in the dark room with doors closed.
Now we exit the bricks and the mortar to spy on the seven sisters,
As they dance above incognito in the cold firmament of trackless time.
“I wish someday to go to sleep and not wake up in the morning.”
Midnight Appraisals
The overhead street lamp was our only illumination,
As night shielded our concealed touchings within the moment,
Yet we saw light in the eyes of the stars as they watched us,
Peering at lips pressing past eyelids in the shrouded darkness,
There was music inside the shadings, along with hot breathings,
Made for the late embracing hours of our youthful yearnings,
With astonished meanderings and midnight appraisals of young lickings,
We first saw the highlands of our explorations in the mindless kissings,
We first realized the apex of our desires in the brazen lovemakings,
With the closing of our minds and hearts, surrendering to the moment.
The skillet’s on the old wood stove
And mamma’s frying chicken
The aroma is driving us crazy
As we know it’s finger licking
Sister’s setting the table
Daddy’s reading the news
Johnny’s washing his hands
And I’m tying my shoes
The winter storm is outside
Trying it best to enter in
But the cabin’s built really solid
By daddy and some of our kin
The water’s in the bucket
I drawed it from the well
And hurried back inside real fast
Because of that chicken smell
Southern fried and crispy
It don’t get better than this
And if you’re late for supper
Finger lickings what you’ll miss
Just a simple family
Living a simple life
With all six of us children
Just a daddy and his wife
All those years behind us now
But those memories linger on
As someone will still recall them
When we all arte gone
The skillet’s on the old wood stove
And mamma’s frying chicken
The aroma is driving us crazy
As we know it’s finger licking
To the theater went bold Mary Brown
for her sweetness she's surely renown
then she salted her corn
when her date wanted ****
Now he lies in the aisle quite facedown.
Life’s Ikat Weave
by Odin Roark
There was once another him
Oh he was the same flesh and bones
He even kept track of both his names
One for the stage
One for the IRS
That other him
The one that migrated
Leaving behind the stage of make-believe
Venturing across landscapes of real-life drama
Found that dramaturgy had taught him well
It was gradual
This departure from his norm
Everyday beginnings arose before dawn
Flicked its prickly tendrils across nocturnal escape
Awakening his senses free of alarm clocks
Elbows from a bed partner
Or wet lickings from a dog
And…
Something else was different on rising
Gazing out the window
Nothing but time he now owned
Put him at the ready to explore
Pre-dawn darkness with illumination
How much laughter and stories
He had to share
He was ready to run into
Rather away from
The promise to find out
Who he truly was
Thus streamed forth his ikat-life
A fabric of his past
Layers of experience
Tie-dyed patterns of what hopefully
Would become rainbow-threads of wisdom
A future-weave
Void of mistake’s knots
Another part
One revealing…
Through lickings, like a Timex, my husband’s hard-core.
Evermore, heart ticking, he goes on.
They don’t make his model any more.
Not cut out for college, he gathered lore
in his craft; he learned it all, hands-on.
Through lickings, like a Timex, my husband’s hard core.
Into night he’d often work, his body sore,
developing both calluses and brawn.
They don’t make his model any more.
Once a fall from two floors up he bore!
Days later he was at his work by dawn.
Through lickings, like a Timex,my husband's hard-core.
Robbed and scammed; so much to abhor!
This self-made man felt like a woebegone.
They don’t make his model any more.
New trials that he never knew before
now face him, but he’s still a hanger-on.
Through lickings, like a Timex, my husband’s hard core.
They don’t make his model any more.
For the Anne's Favorite Poetry Form: Villanelle! (Any Subject)Poetry Contest
THE FACT REMAINS
They need to have an excuse or else they look guilty
so they choose a group who seem easy pickings
and so they go after the deep pockets
then decide to give them and their management lickings
they'll kick them in the shin and the jury will see
they'll describe audio foolishness in detail
while the defense will use a tactic so the truth will out
and in their eyes they simply cannot fail
so they show and play the evidence
while 13 people don't detect a thing
but it's important for both sides to win
it can mean money and all that it can bring
so they listen and re-listen and listen again
listening to it backwards where idiots hear “shoot yourself in the head”
of course the parents are going to defend a well raised boy
but it's not backwards audio, it's the parents fault little billy shot himself in the head
© 2013.....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
He stared me frozen;
stiff as a board.
A long hard stare;
a gawk, as frigid as hoarfrost.
A cold stare, as cruel as words.
Eyes know my father’s smile,
as broad as imagination.
That stare, that I alone know, is an omen;
a hunch to unbend my crooked ways.
What eyes and some ears don’t know,
buttocks know so well.
His blind and silent motto
is unknown beyond this roof.
A neighbor heard the wailing
and decide to intervene,
‘cause eyes can’t rest
with all that vicious screaming.
This slogan echoes brutality,
and confiscate my smile.
And the restless neighbor hollered,
“lickings won’t work!”
And I believed him,
until his son stole the farmer’s goat
then drown himself at sea.
Hard ears cause a painful tail –
the motto always wins.
Soft skin burns for defiance’s sins.
Father’s conscience never speak to him,
‘cause he did it by the book.
“Don’t hold back the rod and spoil the child”
is the thief that stole my smile.
WORDS ARE SO.... WONDERFUL
USE IN POETRY. THEY FLOW AND
GROW WITH CONSISTENCY.......
POETRY CAN MAKE YOU LAUGH
AND CRY AT THE SAME TIME,
AND ALL THE WORDS RHYME ON
A DIME. A POET HAS A MIND
THAT'S ALWAYS TICKING AND
LIKE A TIMEX WATCH IT HAS
TAKEN MANY LICKINGS .....
THE LICKINGS ARE USED TO
TELL A STORY THAT WILL
KEEP YOU THIRSTY..... ..
THIRSTY COMING BACK FOR
MORE.
THE WORDS OF POETRY ARE
SOOOO...AMAZING WONDERING
WHERE DID THAT COME FROM..
THE WORDS OF POETRY COMES
FROM THE SEAT OF THE SOUL...
WHERE THE EMOTIONS OVERFLOW...
THE WONDERFUL WORDS OF POETRY
THEY FLOW AND GROW WITH CONSISTENCY.
THE PEN IS A POWERFUL TOOL
THAT THE POETS USE. TO OPEN
UP THE MINDS OF THE READER
TO CONFOUND THE CHEATER,TO
LOVE ON THE LOST AND ABUSE,
AND TO ENCOURAGE THE ONE'S
THAT'S GOING THROUGH.
WORDS ARE SO WONDERFUL USED
IN POETRY. THEY FLOW AND GROW
WITH CONSISTENCY, AND THE PEN
IS A POWERFUL TOOL THAT THE
..... POETS...USE...........
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.