Long By word of mouth Poems
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Antiquity Born
Formed from chemical reactions on the tongues of infants
Tales with meanings, without letters were born
Hatched under desert rocks with bones in evolution
From grunting cave creatures
Human family members if memory serves
Records from that time came by word of mouth alone
Tales to tell their stories without words emerged
Evident on stones in color and design
Etched bold enough to hold them throughout time
Old words are thicker than the past told
Through symbols, pictures, codes formed in antiquity
Tools tell their story without the use of letters
Ancestors return from history
Brought back to life
In images in form in ancient art
At tables scattered round the bar
they hug their drinks and wait,
to see whose empty chair is next,
who's visited by fate.
They listen for the footfalls
which for them will surely come
to take them on the last journey,
slow, maybe quick for some.
The widowed and the broken hearts,
divorced and cast adrift,
all qualify, their day draws near
with every glass they lift.
They treat each draught with reverence,
each day a hole to fill,
from footfalls try to run away,
they run, while sitting still.
The news comes through by word of mouth,
another comrade downed,
the footfalls wash out like the tide,
one more lies in the ground.
A brief respite, still sleepless nights
'till footfalls come again
when fate returns to reap harvests
of lonely single men.
No lessons learned, through khaki eyes
of hopelessness and pain
they sit and wait for footfalls
listen-
here they come again
For Chris, Jenko and Dave- rest in peace. Sadly, you will have company soon.
Contest ' Fate's footfalls', sponsor John Lawless
March 5th 2018
Written By: D. Collins 9/15/20
Its all in your pattern, amongst everything else.
You would likely spot it, if you looked inside yourself.
I can see it from a distance, That's how obvious it is.
God gives me the signs before it rolls off your lips.
Anyone paying attention know an attitude change.
When a simple conversation becomes such a drain.
The pattern is what teaches us what we need to learn.
It shows the character of a person beyond no return.
These revelations don't come by word of mouth.
It comes by knowing a person, and wathing the clock.
The cycle is repeated over and over, again.
I've got it down to a science without even knowing.
It's easier to tear things down
than it is to build
Fewer every day have love
many more are killed
Some would rather look away
than to lend a hand
when a needy person's day
doesn't go as planned
Ripping someone else apart
by word of mouth or pen
is the latest social craze
done time and time again
You just insulted someone's mom
with fingertips on keys
but never knew she's suffering
a horrible disease
That young girl who is overweight
your comments cut her deep
and you all had a hearty laugh
like herds of rabid sheep
Some who came across your path
had nowhere else to go
but hatred and sarcastic wit
were all you cared to show
People aren't obstacles
to roughly push aside
humanity is family
from which one cannot hide
Strangers might be future friends
whose names you don't yet know
just open up your hearts and minds
and see where life will go
I shouldn't have to say these things
they should be understood
but human beings typically
choose evil over good
Spread kindness everywhere you go
so little is the cost
for it could easily be you
whose life is nearly lost
Let someone lean upon you
if they find it hard to cope
you never know when you'll be called
to be someone's last hope
Is it autumn, when silence has come to a lonely lakeshore?
Throngs of reveling summer tourists are flocking here no more.
Is it autumn, the water's sitting still in the swimming pool?
The rowdy children have gone, unhappily, back to their school.
Is it autumn, when the blooming gladiolus have been lost?
Tonight, the garden's bounty will be bitten by our first frost.
Is it autumn, do golden cornstalks hang heavy with their yield?
The farmer has a scarecrow propped, out standing in his field.
Is it autumn, the pumpkins have no orange spattered 'round them?
Their deep green color is fading now, up near the browning stem.
Is it autumn, the farmer has left his apple orchards bare?
The spiced aroma of baking pies goes drifting on the air.
Is it autumn, when the gathering geese ready to fly south?
Two neighbors saw them yesterday, I have heard, by word of mouth.
Is it autumn, with dying leaves turning shades of rust and red?
The maple tree's timbers brave the wind as they begin to shed.
Is it autumn, with ever shrinking sunsets and chilly nights?
There comes a whiff of warm woodsmoke as the first fire alights.
Is it finally the day when autumn will at last arrive?
Twelve months ago was a long, long time to wait to feel alive!
Date - 8/26/2022
(15 syllables per line)
I ran by this thing with haste, that malevolent beast as to school I went
Centered In a beautiful field i never played, because we all knew of the shallow graves.
We never saw them, no one dared to find them, and no one ever even looked
For the other children that were buried there, trust for a child is given by word of mouth.
The rumors grew, as the tulips did in the field that held That Old Red Barn.
A child’s fancy, the minds plaything sometimes given over to the rule of what it thinks must
be
Because Jennifer said it, it must be so; I don’t dare to find out the actual truth. I’m not that
brave
So I leave it alone, this beautiful thing, because the cover does not always tell the story
within.
If I had given it a second glance and not been so scared that I didn’t notice,
That just beyond the reaches of the trees at its circumference laid a house of golden hue
And in those walls, a grander story than even of that of “That Old Red Barn”
A family of two … now ancient to me spent their time growing corn and raising grain
That would one day come to the table I sat, nourishing me and giving me strength.
Letting me have the energy I need, to quickly run by “That Old Red Barn”
So that I could fly past this place that they built and in their hearts would always treasure
I don’t think that they knew of the fear it instilled all because of one child’s rants
But now that I know and am older now, I look out my front door and see what they mean
This Beautiful Field and “That Old Red Barn” once seemed a curious creature
Full of fear and malevolence, they were too old to invest the time to restore it to splendor
So I purchased from them all this vastness of pleasure, That Beautiful Field, and yes “That
Old Red Barn”
Written By: Ryland Joshua Matthews
Date: 11/13/2010
7/20/19
"I'll be your Joker"
Still a registered voter
Signed up to be an organ donor
And finally became a car owner
I rarely use a controller
When it's time, I'll man up and buy a stroller
As well as panels that are solar
Near and far from areas that are polar
Doesn't matter if I ever get a Range Rover
Or Roadster
I'm barely ever sober
Always been a loner
And stoner
3 months away from another October
If you want to be my Harley Quinn, I'll be your "Joker"
Not no poser
Where are you Scully? This is agent Mulder
Anytime you want, I'll be your shoulder
To lean on
From here to way beyond
For eons
Where's my Marge? I am Homer
I'll be your rock over and over
Since I've gotten nobler
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder
I've seen it so much, I could compile a folder
Life's one giant rollercoaster
It's really revving my motor
All these women giving me a b***r
And then the cold shoulder
As if I am an ogre
I remain a soldier
Drinking high end coffee, no more Folgers
Getting wiser and older
Becoming bolder
As the world gets colder
I'm not feeling dolor
Just multi tasking, while a fire continues to smoulder
Maintaining my composure
Finding closure
Getting closer
To greatness instead of being mediocre
I enjoyed the work I did with several growers
As well as trapping some gophers
Occasionally I'll partake in poker
Even though I'm not the best hoaxer
Once or twice I used a fire stoker
When it came to Mary Jane, I was a doter
A fan of it's fragrance, it's not what I'd call an odor
I consume some products made by Clover
And am usually in places considered remoter
It's time I get a toaster and holster
I don't really need a Flame Thrower
Or to get my face on a most wanted poster
Suit yourself if you want to wear a boater
Or choker
Houses in continual foreclosure
Not always wise to go for the price that is lower
Someday my mind and body will be slower
And one day it'll all be over
10-4 over and out
And now you know, what i'm really about
Not just by word of mouth
As they say don't look a gift horse in the mouth
Regardless of if you had your doubts
By: Dalton Ogletree
The sunlight doesn't seem as bright as before,
while Autumn's warmth is fast fading away.
And ominous grey clouds bring rains that pour:
sending kids scurrying inside to play.
Fall's exquisite colored leaves fall from sight,
till no trace remains; their beauty is brief.
And day relinquishes its length to Night,
as trees stand naked, not a single leaf.
The honking geese are all migrating south,
along with most of our precious songbirds.
And, daunting rumors, spread by word of mouth,
whisper, winter's near, in so many words.
While wailing winds start to whistle a tune
that warn winter flurries are coming soon.
It happened by coincidence
that I stumbled upon this site,
and ever since I followed that light:
there was a desire to share my poetry with others.
This poet is a dreamer with a realistic vision,
not truly appreciated as other genre writers;
and it isn't money, or fame I am after, merely admirers...
it's an urge that must be expressed without pretension.
If my income depended on the craft of poetry writing,
I would surely starve as many have and still do today,
and in my spare time, I step into a fantasy world and write away;
I pick any subject that tackles my fancy...while many are sleeping.
Is this passion a need to fill a void into my righteous soul,
or something I was called to do by His supreme will?
Looking back to History, He chose prophets to deliver those messages
by word of mouth or sacred writings like those of Hosea and Moses....
am I also chosen by Him to convey His thoughts of sorrows and delights?
I reflect on this often and realize it is an awesome gift I should highly prize!
I have been immensely moved and inspired by the support and kindness
that this friendly community has offered me, welcoming me with open arms;
I have done the same, being thankful and appreciative of their mindfulness:
let's keep a lasting relationship...reading and praising each other poems!
Entered in Michael J. Falotico's contest,
" What brought you to Poetry Soup? "
Written by Andrew Crisci
Public Cyst
The public cyst, from the big bad city,
The one who tells you, how to be pretty
And sell yourself, for the dollar;
Let the general public attach a lead to your collar.
Be exactly what they expect you to be,
Then let them condemn you, after they stopped you being free,
To express yourself, musically or poetically;
For their policy, is simply make you agree.
They only buy your work, if it’s deemed cool by the magazines,
Which are only deemed cool by word of mouth;
So maybe we should all let out a scream and shout:
No to the government,
Yes to empowerment.
No to taxes,
Yes to investment.
No to prejudice,
Yes to justice.
No to inflation,
Viva la revolution.
Yes to freedom,
Yes to salvation.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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