Written: June 22, 2025, for contest: Sponsored by: Joseph May
Image #1
************************
Pristine splendor, saunter dark path
I glimpse mandrakes in sparkling gleams
Orrery hymns swirl in sharp wrath—
Pristine splendor
I hope my tender truism teems
The delights of daylight might bathe
In aureate blooms and blest beams
Shades of lilac writhe through dark lath,
Hushing zephyrs, snuggle word-streams
Heart lilt, bearing proud thorns of cath—
Pristine splendor
The root people were gearing up for war.
They had their swords and axes out.
They were heading toward the store,
Where a rude man had been a lout.
We are taking all our kin home, they said.
You will have no more turnips or produce.
I stood back and watched the mandrakes
As they let their tempers loose.
The shopkeeper was sorry, he appealed to the potato.
I am sorry, she said, but you’ll have to settle for tomato.
The root people stay angry for days, and sometimes weeks.
So this means no rutabagas or beets or maybe leeks.
Crescent Time Breathing
There is no reach by which we as breathing creatures of crescent time,
Can ascertain the crouching intentions behind an elm tree with acorn outbursts,
Designed to scan the visions of the seething statues which stand upright in dark halls,
There is no grasping the dog tail complacencies by which we as mandrakes can navigate,
The crest-line urgencies behind drawn curtains which beggars a pittance of mild regret,
Absorbed obsessively with intense window flashings at noon with skin and lace,
3 o’clock connivances wearing nothing but a wistful grin seeking summits of perfumed ice,
There is no reach by which any living contrivance can mock the wags of crescent time,
We are ridiculous in our incessant acorn outbursts designed to scan the farthest atom.
Manageable merry-making makes many memorable moments
more mischievous and malleable.
Marvelously multi-talented muffin-makers and mandrakes may
Momentarily mollify Matt’s merriment.
Masterful melodious music might add magical, mystical
Mettle to my magnificent minx’s manageable merry-making.
Maniacal mean-spirited micro-muffin-midgets may
Momentarily be maintained, micro-inspected and mollified
By my marvelously multi-talented Mama Mitzy.
My Muffins! Mickey and Minnie Mouse momentarily
May be meeting Minx and Mama for my monthly
Manageable merry-making!
Mercy me!
Sleeping giant,formless,not yet born,
You will awaken as poison.
Rising up from retention ponds,
Dragonflies with nephilim wings.
Writing prophecies on liquid scrolls,
Your iridescent words we'll eat.
The fire,raining down to earth,
Feeding the mandrakes, of old eden.
I wonder if God hates cowards, for
My sins mushroom near Satan's apple
I live and die in my own filth
No human or angel treads
Near my Mandragora hub
Its narcotism excites my senses
Uncotrollable erotic desires
Grip me in its poisonous beauty
I surfeit in my inhumane pleasures
No saviour can save me
From my aphrodisiac pleasures
The spell I cast on all trespassers
To join me in my hell
Whether now or later, I'll trap you
Whether now or later, I'll trap you
April 21, 2016
For Rob Carmack
Inspired by Tom Hawks' song, 'God Hates Cowards'
Mandrakes/ Satan's apple are the fruit of the Mandragora . The plant is known as an aphrodisiac.
Today's society says,
"You're not a man
If you can't turn flesh to stone."
So drug after drug is manufactured
To make men feel like teens again.
"Bigger, longer, faster, stronger"
Is the motto of this money game
With a pill, a caplet or capsule.
From ***** stars to "Smiling Bob",
They convince man that drugs are the answer
To natural male enhancement-
All the while influencing addicts "once a day"
To ensure such lasting effects.
In yester years' society,
Abraham was dead in his body
And became the Father of many nations.
Sarah called him "lord" and made him feel
Better than any drug, and the benefit was hers, too.
In her old age she was satisfied with a child
And was blessed with laughter unspeakable.
She was his aphrodisiac, not a mistress with mandrakes.
Her spirit touched his emotions and effected his nature.
Maybe man could learn something from these saints
Instead of just desiring to be stiff and rigid.
Become addicted to love and each other.
"There is nothing to lose but to gain."
Two sisters, one man-
Well-tricked for his trickery,
Jacob gained two wives.
Two sisters, one man-
One weak-eyed and unwanted;
One was beautiful.
Two sisters, one man-
In love he wept for Rachel,
For sons loved Leah.
Two sisters, one man-
Mandrakes, sex bartered in hopes
Both would feel equal.
Pelting shapely pebbles into the lucid lake,
Lonely, among daffodils and golden mandrakes,
And rejoicing the dance of silver flakes,
A delicate penumbra catches his fancy great,
And in a sweep, away, his heart does take.
Ruthless in love and incredible in stake,
He dives deep down,
Into his own grave.
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.