spine not straight
had to wait
for fertiliser from miser
was it that expansionism
took lubricating oil
from loamy soil ?
arms to be palms
legs walking eggs
buckled, I shovel
___________________
Allpoetry Contest Honorable Winner
April 26
Prompt : " In the month of harvest.. I still feel half grown.."
seemingly undeniable certitude and conviction
handle hinges slats panels lock and key
maybe a cat flap for escape towards illusions
a trap door of revolving gates
sometimes we are framed by cemented beliefs
of what remains perspective and opinion
seeking for external validations
we fail to search for what is inside
stay on the threshold of immobility
minds need lubricating agents
rust prevention or sometimes a chisel
to determine what certainty is
a conundrum delusion of impermanence
which steals happiness and adventure
of open-minded investigation
there are moments however
when we can crawl out of a window
or simply break through walls
self-made incarceration is futile
and the chains shackling us
are the ones we crafted ourselves
How does one define
great poetry? The best
rhyme in time? A musical
phrase that stays, reverberates
within the catacombs of a Devotee's
celestial sign, lubricating his every thought
as a priest's wine, sipping while he prays,
saturating his blood with the effervescence
of an all loving, redeeming deity; who knows
well His creation's need for affirmation, the urge
to write; so invented He, neat words in sympathy
to both inspire and delight –
Or is great poetry
more antithetical?~ no conscious effort
to unseal, for never prescriptively hermetical –
a sacrilege if sanitized like something
contrived for medically medical; enters the lull
like a masked virus in the night, awakening soundly
sleeping hands to their inherent flight~ a light
clicked on to feverishly, tappingly, divinely compose;
such all powerful driving might, pouring
out of every orifice I suppose: from one's mind,
eyes, lips, punctuating backside and
imperfect often grossly ventilating nose....
Most annoying thing the body produces
Is eye gunk to me it's downright useless
But helps when we cry
Lubricating the eyes
Aren't we due for a 10,000 mile service
I heard a squeak beneath my seat
I must protect my trunk
I’d give that squeaker such a clump
If I were grown and drunk
I heard a squeak beneath my seat
It gave me such a scare
Those tiny squeakers make me meek
Is there one under there
I heard a squeak beneath my seat
I quickly raised my feet
I did not dare to take a peek
Or beat a quick retreat
I heard a squeak beneath my seat
It’s messing with my brain
Every time I move a bit
It seems to squeak again
I heard a squeak beneath my seat
And now I need my dad
He rushed out when he heard the squeak
The squeaking made him mad
I heard a squeak beneath my seat
And now it’s squeaking faster
My seat moved when I moved my feet
For each leg has a caster
I heard a squeak beneath my seat
It made my dad’s blood boil
But now he’s back and in his trunk
Is lubricating oil
The sum total of well being and self-hypnosis’s potential,
the bull eye and perfect timing existential.
The ball players reference to space and momentums reach,
or the weakest link of efficiency in breach.
Gifts and wrath given in time to individual charisma,
maturity of spiritual growth and wisdom.
The secrets of success by strength of conviction,
a seeming death and birth of soul in its friction.
When lack of patience starves virtue to death,
while wondering dreams holding all breath.
He who is the master of his own domain,
is the ruler of destinies and very sane.
Repressed faith is to suppress divine impulse,
spirits tangible and formless temple.
By wishing means and its breaking goal,
cosmic alarm clock and season of soul.
Reverse psychology and lubricating ignorance,
the self by self fabricated circumstance.
Not by self-realization that one realize God,
it is by God-realization to realize in oneself the odd.
Closing my eyes I lie;
My breath exhales in a sigh;
The music in my ears,
Lubricating my cerebral gears;
My head sinks into the pillow,
Deep into limbo I wallow
Free of the demanding reality
Sucked into a singularity-
Where no cogitation shall prevail;
Peace sans ail.
Lost in the words, in the voice;
Tumbling amid blues and joys,
Falling, falling down the rhyme
For a infinitesimal infinity of time.
The greeter-teacher,
the smirkier at the door.
I feel his gimlet eyes at my back
and though it is 5o years later
and his mouth is now plugged with dirt
his leer can be traced
in the brown water stains
of mottled walls.
A female slave-unit whose name was ‘Miss’
I cannot recall her ever speaking to a child directly,
only through the thin lips of her personal intimidator
a third level teacher who spat into her ear
as if sexually lubricating her fears.
I am put right by a serial wrongdoer.
A second tier maniac with a lust for rhetoric.
His large hands flay like wind-sails, they
slap books and heads.
On, on,
through narrowing corridors and echoing rooms
counting sadists, ticking off
a long mental list of ghouls
all dead and gone
except for the abusive drills.
One dead grinning fish-head
even opens a door for me
as I leave forever.
They all said when you left
It would take a few years
And some time for me to move on from here
But this guy won’t soon forget
All the good times that we had
Yeah those days of ease and memories I hold dear
Yeah, I tried to figure it out
While lubricating a lot of fear
Yeah, the whiskey kept things inside of me
But the memories clear
In time I began to see
A future where I needed to be
And all it took was some warm tears
And a few cold beers
You know they all were right
I was holding on too tight
I thought I was fearin’ but I was just here-and all-alone
But with help from old man time
And some tequila, cold beer and limes
I took over the talkin’ to do some walkin’
On my own
Yeah, I tried to figure it out
While lubricating a lot of fear
Yeah, the whiskey kept things inside of me
But the memories clear
In time I began to see
A future where I needed to be
And all it took was some warm tears
And a few cold beers
These days I’m doin’ just fine
I still toast you with Tecate and lime
Cause in all these years
With just a few tears
I still hold you dear
And all it took was some warm tears
And a few cold beers
smoothness
imbued with character
his essence
imbedded deeply
in every crevice
sweet oils
of everyday labor
lubricating
its monotony
burnishing
the hard patina
of life
©6/29/2018
for Patina Poetry Contest
Every night, the same damned chain
After the show she is looking for some love
An unwebed girl with innocent eyes
A princess with a craving lubricating between her legs
Voluptuous raven-haired beauty in need of romance
Sentencing out honest human emotions
Swaying on her dark stage
Swallowed up by the invitation
Sending you with a burning smile
Sweet little darling Julie looking for her Romeo
Lewd thoughts with a perverted appetite
In a black light room racking her desire with the delight of flesh
Succumbing to the glee
Going into convolutions releasing her love nector
Exclaiming her heartfelt screams
She feels fervent as you kiss her neck
Lick down on her ornament
Warm sweat dripping down her caramel skin
Her flushed flesh with blush
An orgasmic sensation on leaves her flustered
Happy to please Julie the midnight queen
Translucent droplets descending aimlessly
Thudding to the earth, exploding into fluidity
Transcending in sync with any exterior element
Condensing intensity with each thunderous blow
Caressing the atmosphere with friction intensifying heat
All the while, lubricating the possibilities of limitless evolution
Plush carpet of primitive sod
Seducing the blades of foliage budding with comers
Embrace the earth in a manner of plow and grace
Let Briar patches catch the droplets of reflective charges
Let us flush our cheeks in the breeze of calm
As we knead our nails into agil land
We perspire in the moistness of the dew of creation
The earth is its own composition
And we as entities must coincide
Because Vitality exist only within the rawness of us all
Reverie
Saturday in the arms of Mother Nature
That state – in between – just before one leaves consciousness
in order to cross the threshold into that world of the subconscious
That place between semi wakefulness and the land of dreams
where life is surrealistically richer, deeper than reality
and clearer than the images one sees in the world of dreams.
In this fantastic, altered state of being, I felt, I touched
a beautiful pink where all life begins, and begins !
My lips, my tongue, my fingers tips sailed across a body
of pure water, caressing every atom, every epithelio
of life, stroking your soul from head to your little toe
and back to the world of pink, where sweet lips met mine,
lubricating my tongue in the most passionate French kiss
your motherhood has or will ever have known !
My state of reverie !, my dream, but not your reality.
The reverie of my Saturday, I’d love to make your reality !
B. J. “A” 2
February 18th 2007
The meaning of Christmas, is this I see
This I knew not, yet this I blaze to meet
This I swim and swing in beat
Lubricating on its wind and heat.
The Christmas I knew, the Christmas I remember
Dwells in those days gone but tender
I remember slaughtering a goat or even a sheep
Then roasting the meat and warming its blood
I remember eating the meat in sensational comfort of traditional beer
Then blessing the occasion more, with fermented milk on guards.
I remember those days with love and urge
Needing them more: the exuberance moments of touch
But in turn I curiously wait to see more
More of winter’s heat in the embrace of Christmas,
I await to taste the intimate taste of their beer........
written in 2006
It looks like a tidal wave if looked under a microscope
Its valid only for the user the manual says
Salt is the antiseptic that prevents infections
It didn't prevent you
You my last tear and the salt
Did the wife of Lot feel her last tear
When I sleep the tears are still made
Washing and lubricating my eyes
Our love should have been washed
The words twirled and cleaned and rinsed
They would come out fresh and the kindness
Instead the last tear waits silently
It won't be recycled
One last tear waits with hope in the hamper
Sub Categories
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.