At the grand old Springtime Mingle Fest,
Folks arrived all groomed and dressed their best.
One wore stripes with dots,
One brought fifteen pots,
And one came in pajamas for “comfort and rest.”
A banker discussed gourmet cheese
With a pirate who sneezed in the breeze.
A poet nearby
Recited to pie,
While bees chased a man through the trees.
A lady named Myrtle from Maine
Danced wildly like runaway rain.
She twirled with a mop,
Knocked over the punch pot,
Then blamed it entirely on Spain.
A shy little fellow named Clyde
Tried mingling but mostly just sighed.
He smiled at a chair,
Spilled soup in his hair,
Then proudly announced, “Socialized!”
Two cats crashed the gathering hall,
Ignoring good manners and all.
They stole half the fish,
Licked every dish,
Then napped on the mayor’s best shawl.
The music grew louder at nine;
An uncle attempted to shine.
He moonwalked too hard,
Fell straight in the yard,
And rose saying, “Just part of the line!”
By midnight the minglers agreed
That chaos was all they would need.
For though things went wrong,
They laughed loud and long—
And friendship grew faster than weed.
gave myself three goals this week
dye my hair to camouflage the glaringly white roots
burn the twenty-six empty boxes stacked in the kitchen
the pile is high enough for beaver living
drive my car somewhere; anywhere
mice chewed the wires out of my last sitting car
It is Saturday.
I have blown through five days of doing not one whit of a goal.
I dyed my hair around two a.m.
burned the boxes at three in the afternoon.
procrastination wore me out.
I had napped all week, avoiding these three huge goals.
Mice are probably having a heyday in my car.
Winter flapping much the whole night
The foggy breeze wandered very tight
Mundane body wished the honey warm
But no rose napped in the blanket farm
She came with the pretty nuptial harness
Swinging the waist, stirring the girdle mass
Full of glittering bangle with luscious lips
Lac dyed ankle and whispered eye peeps
Adjacent lie down, sharing the pillow silently
Excited hard breathing disheveled impulsively
Amber eyes to dyed toes were all attached
Close, too close go round the hearts in merged
Lonely darkness escaped by the chirping light
Dawn’s eyes feel a fragile body’s ecstatic fight
©Mahtab Bangalee
In the misty woods
As time and place blended
Into something outside each
We made love
In so many ways
As dolphins laughed
And humpbacks sang
And after when we napped
Our lives unfolded
Year after year
In work and pleasure
Challenge and discovery
Again and again
Meeting and parting
In patterns of a dance
Always sharp and clear
Yet just at the edge of sight
Peripheral moments
Adding up to lives spent
As so many coins
Held and saved
And released
One by one.
(10/26/24)
Seven days in the green-browed mountains.
Time retreated to the horizon.
Sun casually took to the foreground.
Moon sighed into its gloaming.
Seven days inhaling green-
wildflower sashaying into the veins
No more migraines-no chain of coughing cars.
No barbed wire news or plastic drama.
A bumblebee made a path for my eyes.
Seven days bathing in green-
Like a bronzed-faced kitten, I napped beside a stream.
Didn't see God but felt him watching over me.
Seven days fasting in green-
A spirit half-cleansed in the sheen of brevity.
Tomorrow, I return to the grey-eyed misery
Into the padded infirmary of puppets, madmen and kings.
(( “Most of the enemies you have now
are people you once helped in life.'' ))
Here we are!
The times are no longer the times ..
The places are no longer the places ..
And everything is not anymore the same ..
We offered them our trust;
They brandished their deception.
We helped them;
They let us down.
We built ships to them ..
In them they napped
And further sneered at ..
They burned them afterward.
And the promises;
The good promises,
That we kept nurturing ..
They caused to wither
And fade out ..
Here we are!
And now should be now ..
Not later or maybe or it depends ..
Time has now come to fix it up.
Chokri Omri
(Regueb, Sidi Bouzid, 2022)
Baby Dean
By Franklin Price
02/18/2022
Last night around ten-thirty
I heard my silent cell phone play
I was wakened from my slumber
It was about to make my day
The call was New Mom Bella
And the picture on the screen
Put a smile upon this Pop Pop's Face
There was Great Grand baby Dean
His tiny face, made my heart race.
His head was warmly capped
His cheeks were new born rosy
Bella held him as he napped
What a joy it was to see him
Barb, I know you saw him too
I felt you looking o'er my shoulder
That's what I knew that you would do
They were home and in the great room
Such a place of cherished care
Could see your presence was there with them
Could see your love was in the air
The phone was panned around the room
Daddy Dalton smiling proud
Grandma and grandpa Perry
Were also beaming in the crowd
There on display a family
Three generations on the scene
That had gathered there to welcome,
The youngest, new born, baby Dean
I was glad to be included
Through the wonders of the cell
To see results of Cupid's arrow
Not the one of William Tell
SATURDAY
The 10th of April
the sun rose
yawning
shadows stretched
as blinking winds moaned.
Night shifters scurried home
day shifters chirped.
A tired moon napped
in an evergreen.
John G. Lawless
©4/10/2021
tonight on the back deck
the cat laid in my lap
while rain poured like heck
and lightning's thunder clapped
as bolts sky-cracks wrecked
the darkness was in color wrapped
all round and the rain never slacked
as fifteen year old iris simply napped
stan sand
Dexter John, baby calf was tuckered, he had been playing all day.
He laid down in the Kansas grass, brown enough to be harsh hay.
His fifteen-year-old human cousins picked him up without a peep.
Placed him in a green wheelbarrow, comfortable enough to sleep.
His mother was comfortable resting her teats for a little while
The sun came out and filled the sky for a delightful country mile.
Dexter John snoozed loudly, his dreams of barley, oats and hay.
He was being weaned from his mother, and this truly was the way.
Bull Daddy came across his wife, with no calf youngster by her side.
Where is Dexter John? He snorted, for Dexter was his loin-filled pride.
He’s in the barn, taking a snooze, giving me a little breathing room.
When he gets ready for some milk, he’ll be back out, probably quite soon.
The teenage boys heard Dexter John bellowing for his tasty mother.
They gave him pats and set him on his feet and he ran to join his brother.
Why did they put you in the green thing? His twin asked, was it a dare?
It was not so bad, Dexter John replied. I napped. It was kind of fun in there.
Double down fuzzy bomb
Walking artistry a Willie
Love to see the body talk
Flopping wormy wiggle nilly
Beset enamored for a while
Engrossed in evil play
Kill a mouse and munch along
Then simply walk away
Groomed and napped perfection
Baby Biggs still sleeping in my heart
His magical soul reflection
Forever more my raving starts
Laid you down my finest friend
You sought me like no other
To bear this pain another time
I shall not seek another
as i napped
i took a snap
a photograph
of you
in the nude
but your back
was in front
of me so i
couldn't
see
your
eyes
or
your
smile
those first two refugees
driven from a gorgeous garden
where bananas napped
and grapefruit zapped taste buds
where leafy limbs gave shelter
and water was as sweet as wine
no hunger sapped them
no horror slapped them
they looked back after their sin,
hoping for mercy
the garden gone and no pardon
only a disappointed God
and they wept, face down in the sand
did God weep too?
Syrian refugees
driven from their country by ISIS
where shells dropped
and guns popped
they hike under a hot sun
no water, no shelter
where hunger slaps them
and horror saps them
they looked back too
homes gone, yet they cling to life
hoping for mercy
except for that one little boy
face down on the seashore
does God weep?
There once was a woman named Hang.
She frankly could not have given a dang.
She fought and she bit.
She slapped, and she hit.
This angry old woman named Hang.
There once was a gentleman named Nang.
His bark was much worse than his stang.
He punched and he slapped.
He pinched and he napped.
This angry old man name of Nang.
There once was a carnival in the town.
It had rides, a hot air balloon, and a clown.
Cotton candy galore,
Trick dogs, and a store
This carnival completed the town.
Hang wanted to ride the roller coaster,
She jumped into a seat next to an oldster,
They fought and they bit
They pinched a big fit,
This cute old couple named Mr. and Mrs. Nang Polster.
There they sat on the park bench.
Both of their legs draped across the same knee.
Their shoulders were at ease, laid back against the bend.
They've sat for hours, the few people whom come and gone.
With shoes made for comfort, their heel felt the breeze.
Faces stretched in laughter, deep wrinkles found their shirt.
His arm napped around her, cheeks held up high.
She looked up ever so slightly nudging him with her elbow.
Time flew by, another afternoon spent in the park.
They looked straight ahead.
Orange leaves fell from the tree, she leaned closer to him.
Time walked right on by
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.