Long Mulching Poems
Long Mulching Poems. Below are the most popular long Mulching by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mulching poems by poem length and keyword.
The shade of a swizzle stick
Clank to a glass
Stirring of wet stuff
Cooling of gas
Pleasure from drinking
Washing it 'round
Gushing then gobbling
Drooling it down
Clunk; there's an ice cube
Frosted in vision
Sunken till risen
Expanding with fission
Spinning the cherry
In circles that narrow
Mulching the flavours
Till bones fill with marrow
Blending the colours
In one seemly manner
Tasting the sword
Through lips you have gored
Stabbing the olive
With one splintered pick
Tasting the olive
In one bite that's quick
Laying the napkin
Aside of the glass
The glass starts to dribble
The waitress walks past
By Izunna Okafor
Oh ye the sun
Why have you been stubborn like son
Consistent in gazing at ground
Endlessly waxing around the town
The ground is as though as husk
But you never consider the gross of dust.
Why have you always unleashed your anger
Treating your people as though we are stranger
Have you forgotten your mandate to the man on earth
To the extent of being a straw to uproar his thirst
Oh the sun when will you dismount from us
Thy wicked eyes of drought and blocks
Thy hotness of thy eye is severe to man
And the warmness of thy time has defied the land
You cool a hand with liquor
But beat a man to stupor
Your good works are never rejected
But your hook ones are ever dejected
You dread not the men
And you fear not the rain
Punching out the rays to the cloud
And mulching out the blaze to the crowd
A pregnant woman you spare not
Not even a new baby you spare wrath.
You make a giant a lazy man
And rename a Goliath a baby man
Oh the sun when shall ye retreat
And remove thy bricks along the street
The calves of men are now like blades
Crushing the earth as ruin abrades.
Our body is now at stake
Just as our colour is now mistake
Your dryness is never to quench the quake
But to bring the earth to thirst and quake
Oh thy sun I beseech thee to leave the earth alone
Your mandate to man is to bring the earth to growth
And not to bring the earth a groan.
Thus we appeal thee the sun
Dismount thy host from men and go.
About The Poet:
Izunna Okafor is an award-wining creative Young Nigerian Novelist, Poet, Essayist, Journalist, Editor, Translator, Publicist, Igbo Language Activist and an Administrator who hails from Ebenator in Nnewi South L.G.A of Anambra State Nigeria. He writes in English and Igbo languages, and has published enormously in both, nationally and internationally. Izunna has received over 25 awards, and has over 800 articles published online.
a crisp chill fills the early morning air
dew drops periodically appear on the
yellowing blades of grass
as a light frost coats
shimmering panes of glass
viridescent leaves
have long become burnt umber under the
emerging light
bronze branches
are losing their grip on decaying foliage
scattered
beneath is a graveyard of the last remaining
memories of summer
crunching
under the feet of cawing crows
looking for a feast among the
mulching wreckage
as a swift wind sweeps in from the east petioles separate
from slender twigs
dispersing the final layers of a once cherished umbrella in
the midday heat
what thrived in the prime of life now lays among fading
tomorrows
and bygone warmth
night begins to coat the faraway skies
and with it brings the first signs of a bitter winter
the last remaining signs of vibrancy fly away with the
canadian geese
now all i'm left with is the hollow emptiness of a forlorn
season
lighting the wick of an ivory candle just to have a flicker of solace in this deadening
dark
Fungi, fungus, funguses thousand fold,
eukaryotic life kingdom of yeast and mold.
Ancient legends and myths from many times,
beginnings and ends through mulching slimes.
Egyptians sensed the connection in fungi to gods,
only Pharaohs allowed to have them as foods.
Consuming the fungi to become immortal static,
Mushroom stones in Mesoamerica enigmatic.
The Rig Veda describes the juice of Soma,
considered as precious liquid of stardust and earth aroma.
Indispensable in all worships and ritual,
similar to Greek deities of cognate ambrosia.
Consumed in Shamanic sessions to contact spirits of the dead,
fortifying long hunting trips an dreams thread.
Penicillin antibiotics against bacterial infection,
surviving the war with needed invention.
Psilocybin and psilocin magic shrooms,
DMT, acid blotters magic truffles booms.
Alice in wonderland and the philosopher’s stone,
introspective hallucination and psychosis throne.
Natures secret language by mildews organisms,
earths everlasting fungi dew compost prism.
SPRING GARDEN PREPARATION (20150213)
After the winter season
But before the rains begin
Catalogues of heirloom seeds
Delivered just in time
Earmarked and prioritized
Farmer’s Almanac consulted
Given planting periods
Horoscopes included (but useless!)
Individual seed varieties ordered
Junk mail shredded and added to compost
K (potassium) added as potash
Lumber purchased for trellises
Mulching around transplanted seedlings
Non-Genetically Modified Organisms only
Organic fertilizers only, too
Planting by phases of the moon
Quick-fix pesticides are anathema
(Round-Up kills everything--US, not just weeds)
Seed boxes keeping seedlings warm
Testing the soil for minerals and organics
Unleashing ladybugs and pollinators
Vertical gardening to conserve space
Watering just enough, but not too much
Xenocide, killing unwanted weed species
Youngsters helping (or hindering)
Zoning plants to vary root depths
Into the woods she walks wearing a red
hooded plain woolen cape; moving cautiously
as she talks to herself to ease the dreaded
fear she wants to escape.
She hears the crunching of dry leaves mulching
under her feet. A maiden friend she'll meet
on the other end of the woods;
a shortcut to her neighborhood.
She wished she'd brought her fearless dog
in case she got caught by a dangerous wild;
he would scare whatever was there.
The ascending sun brought streaks of blue sky
as it peaks casting shadows across the ground.
She follows the path through the woods. A sharp
breeze springs up slicing through the autumn morn.
She freezes drawing a short breath of dread.
The quiet is broken and drowned. Branches
creak and leaves rattle, with the flapping of wings
as frighten birds quickly take flight.
She quickens her steps and made her way to the end.
Left behind, where the wild things are.
1/8/2019
Poetry Contest: Free Verse Style Only
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet