Soaring so high
fanning the fire
spontaneity angel
of infinite desire.
Sampling the grain
exposing the
straight jacket gang...
love spilling shade
spitting lye and blue rain.
Then they deem you insane.
What they can't control
what they can't contain
they shame into silence then cage
feather and flame
sweet feather and flame.
Feather and flame
golden heart splayed then flayed.
On silver sleeves of stained-glass dreams.
They wish to stain the tigress untamed
what they can't control
what they can't conceive
to blind to see
monolithic egos
of white-hot conceit.
Feather and flame
flying so high
cornucopia of love
Capricorn on fire.
A meteor shower
chandelier cutting the gray
robin egg sky
feather and flame.
Feather and flame
precious petal ordained.
zig-zagging soul
sparkling eye
torn and alone
just another name
on a forgotten stone.
To what do I owe this fear
The feeling of God coming too near
No shadows or footsteps or voices appear
Just little places and thoughts made clear
Yet day after day looking to find
What I find everyday that little sign
Sometimes I surrender to that I pine
Jumping with glory after His being kind
But still I fear hearing that voice
Knowing what I know now is it my choice
It's undiscovered if I would fear or rejoice
Sometimes I wonder if His mischief is boist
I see the world around me crumbling fast
Yet my Bible says This is'nt the last
I never think of the economy or if it crash
My interest lye in history to some the ancient past
Scriptures have a way of coming to life
Predicting the future was a Prophets way of strife
God has His chosen, The Groom has a Wife
Is the wedding over was there any requite
Or could God be thinking over
What to do with my life
Are little signs a calling To God and his might
When does seeing God beholding a Holy Light
Or asking His request with in reach of your sight
When will I finally see It's the best thing in my life
When will i ever find that Gods voice is His right
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bell above the door still jingles~
a sound like nickels spilling from a tin.
Inside, the air smells of licorice and mildew,
of something sweet refusing to let go.
Dusty glass licorice jars sit on the shelf.
A single ceiling bulb flickers
over penny candies wrapped in wax.
Wooden floorboards groan underfoot,
remembering when kids reached for treats on the top shelf
A rotary phone rests on the counter, black and patient,
its coiled cord a noose for yesterday’s conversations.
Behind the counter, Mrs. Nicholson stalworth stands;
she’d grown up in our town,
knew everyone and just about everything
about everyone.
She also knew where everything lived~
the peppermints, the lye soap, the brittle
catalogues from 1947 curling at the edges.
She moved slowly, dust rising in her wake,
a pioneer woman who remembered
world wars, the Great Depression, and
when bread cost a dime.
Behind the register, her apron now hangs empty,
still smelling of peppermint and camphor.
I pause.
This is where time comes to loiter.
there was a brave teeny tiny tsetse fly
he tended to zoom up extremely high
jealous gnome cautioned him “you could die!”
he did not pause to even ask him why.
Sunday, he landed in blueberry pie
dragonfly was there, who said, "it is a tie!"
next he stepped on bread, grained and rye
damselfly followed him as way to defy
stop following me, he said with a sigh
she argued, knowing she would never comply
he landed on a soap bar made from lye
next to him he heard a tiny “hi”
dragonfly had landed on tsetse fly’s thigh
he thought he would try to say goodbye
damselfly was there, and in no way shy
they both zoomed with him into the sky
In debt
with a dollar’s
down payment
on lies
Veracity
hiding
the truth
in disguise
Intentions
repaving
the highway
to hell
With blood
on the toll booth
and lye
— in the well
(Dreamsleep: November, 2025)
Two triangles for an eye
a nose has to fit
That orb for a pittance
the veiners stay pritt
To be as a gourde lye
then hold to a pose
What vineyard for crawling
night snot up your nose
Bruised birds
Inside the deepest of hearts
Where flight is possible
But the
Birds are
Bruised
Bruised birds
Ringing bruised voices
Through the million tunes
Of a bruised
Universe
Bruised birds
They cry within my soul
Deep where no one can reach
There lye
All
Bruised
Birds
…
Bare bear Bayer
A naked big pharma omnivore
Covered in hair
Soul sole Seoul
The bottom of a Korean spirit’s foot
Out for a stroll
Right write rite
A well-prepared nuptial sermon
Gripping but light
Si see sea
Affirmatively spying the ocean waves
Pleasant and free
Lye lie lai
A burning falsehood sung in style
I must ask why
Seen seine scene
The visualized setting of a fisherman’s netting
Trawler’s routine
Pare pair pear
Trimming a duo of summer fruit
Sweet treat to share
Von der lye-ing says there is a beast.'
Snarly and growly, its out in the east.'
quyeer and macron; rutter complain
All un-masked' their con-vid lies well slain!
Even bread is bugged, this report is the least!
The moons awake
I lye at night and stare out to the sky
A tear that falls
Expresses all that hides behind my eyes
An angels face
Another place
As you dream I often gaze
This love we share, unspoken care
Has helped to make me brave
Sometimes lost my soul is found
Within your trust and guidance
Your always there to make aware
The strength of loves reliance
Some crazy times I look to find
How we ever made it through
It must be fate that brought me here
To spend my life with you
Belief only comforts the fool
wondering is a tool
Everybody's going round in
cycles
never settling down
with someone
They are at once all lye
and drowned
ringing for a chance
penchantly they rob
themselves of honour
digging a hole
to cover their tracks
I've always wished
to live on an island.
No problem with sacrificing
deceit and shallow dialogue
for the song of gull and sanity.
Bowls of lye and cold
for pans of warmth
the soothing sand.
Older now, I can see the dream
emerging from the waves.
My winged circle shrinks to a point of decay
love fades and hope shuffles away.
Careful what you wish for old man.
A wish may blossom into a John Doe grave.
Laziness
(hand up or hand out)
Miracle Man
11/1/2024
Those always bathing in entitlements pool,
will awake each morning, lazy, and unclean.
Which brings back thoughts of older times and lye soap,
Neither is conducive to a good lather.
lovely time traveler came by
did not recognize greeting “hi”
understanding with his third eye
tried to give us a real try
conveyed his name was Mister Cy
of this age he kept asking “why?”
assigned his chores to another guy
could not grasp concept of hair dye
spoke with beeps, never said goodbye
evaporated in green lye
me oh my oh and my oh my
I hope to again see our friend Cy
You are the reason I lye here awake
Thinking of the things from you I’d take
Your humming and even your sighs
Owning your beauty that comforts my eyes
Your touch of your loving hands
Without my asking or of command
Your voice saying “I love you to”
After my confession of love to you
Your ears listening to my replies
Of each thing you say each time you cry
Your presence sitting by my side
The source of my being filled with pride
Your thoughts the reason I’m alive
Of our being together and being one life
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.