Bothersome
The black kitten on my desks bookshelf
In my poetry meditation is small
Only as the poem
Undiscovered
And without
To push the book down
We will not
Only because you stranded me here
All the writing requests
Is simple socks
And travelling coffee's
Yet spectacles bets
Vetting my mystery netting
Tara took me to school
To find her bonnet
Tara Gendron and Kevin
Go to piano
Read Rupi
Rupi
Tic of knock
As sitting drop
In road tin say
Melting kettle lay
Hat and pat
Greatly treasure sap
Long in ago
Settle bets with go
Stepping Foot
The young limb
Clicks out of water
Grasping the dreary weather
Porcupine painful painting it's sun
The mirror of moon
Conquers the files sands
Landing in return of lust
Teaching the fawning shame
Wood plucking a feathers painting
The romance of wind and winter
Iceberg and seal
Feather behind harp
The foot eats the porcelain fingers
Building the painful yawn
Of concerts
The birds chirp invented from a voided life
Alone ousted without sound
Haunting of meaning
The flying fortress is found
To sound is sound and bound by ground
The harpsichord is hidden
In waters snap
My process is like dots.
Not stars, just nothing dots.
Rearranging.
Tangled netting and dragonfly parts.
Whatever I can grab and throw in the shopping cart.
That sinks through the tile.
I thought things were solid for once.
Then the holes got torn up.
And the dragonfly eyes too.
Disintegrated.
In such a poem which is made of sentences and more.
My process is like dots.
Spiky, horned dots.
Maybe a few blobs and globs enticing.
The end of a poem isn’t scary.
Or strange.
It's thirsty, but the end is that drink.
My process.
Like a pen that doesn’t worry about anything.
Nothing dots and dragonfly parts.
Wheeling me away.
Like they did five years ago.
We see our kids or grandkids
In our home’s familiar setting
Or at gatherings of kith and kin
Within that safety netting.
Yet when somehow there’s a glimpse
Beyond where we’re supposed to go,
We might be surprised to find
A person we don’t really know.
Perhaps in a performance
In the arts or in a sport,
A confidence might sparkle
Which will find us caught up short.
It is fascinating watching
As that talent is unfurled
And we witness as our loved ones
Make their way out in the world.
Now, not everybody gets the chance
To catch this in the works.
I am lucky, seeing one of
Watching children’s greatest perks.
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
O Praying Matis,
what prayers do you post
through this wire netting?
Are you basking in the sun
or are you on the run
and hiding from the woodpecker
and the kingfisher
who snack upon green bugs
just like you?
Poor prayerful mantis,
so under appreciated
by those
who would feather their nests
with your holy carcass.
Keep praying -
for stronger mandibles,
yet larger claws,
for crunching and devouring
really are your natural faith.
Pray. pray, pray,
that one fine day
you will grow to six feet tall,
the very scourge of all -
and sundry.
Urgent is the will,
The self is as still as the night;
Apathy controlling;
Urgency calling,
The will remains imprisoned;
And apathy, keyless;
Urgency calling,
Apathy, shedding useless tears;
Fear controlling action:-
Genesis begins all,
Revelation ends it all;
Life dwells in between:-
Apathy is like a cold stone
Nestling in the mud;
Decision, like a swing in the wind;
Action roars like a lion,
And races like a waterfall
Roaring to its destiny;
Cold stones are no match
For angry sledgehammering chaos,
And in sunlight, mud dries and crusts over:-
Life should be woven
In a web of love, netting all
In a beehive of togetherness;
Indeed, there is no apathy
In the lives of hiving bees;
They live in onederful oneness:-
Let us strive to live life
In conscientious, concentric,
Cosmic onement;
Let us strive to live life,
Void of all senses of neglected apathy;
Let’s choose to be as bees, not as the mud:-
The sun having a frozen side~
a wish like a snowball in hell,
or netting the wind while oceans b o i l
in f i r e.
The rage of its heat needs curtailing.
I'm melting...
like chocolates and candles~
roasting like chicken in an oven.
How then
do I hide the cry of my fat?
With the frozen side of the sun,
snowflakes fall but never thaw,
painting my doorstep in white,
chilling my bones dry,
shaking my limbs stiff.
Birds hide their faces...
and songs become faint echoes in snow-draped distance,
while rasping hoots of early-rising snowy owls
mimic the whispers of restless winds—
announcing the coming of an impending
dark sky
that will not abate...
the ceaseless dropping of white flakes.
I'm b o i l i n g—
a tempest brewing...
not as a boiling frog syndrome
but like a fish out of water
in a slough of despond.
My skin scathes,
heat burns leave sores on my soles.
Long rays of shine pierced my sunshade;
sweat formed oceans on my skin.
And I w h i s p e r e d—
in the absence of ears~
"I need the frozen side of the sun."
Households unhitch, clapperboard hulls creaking -
the sound of storm-lashed rigging, as washing lines
and telephone wires twist
netting loosening foundations.
Where we once believed roots gripped bedrock,
planks bob in the swell, chests and their drawers
billow and fill.
Bed-springs gape, cupboards
turn inside out, what surfaces
is the face-up exposure
of our everyday innards.
Even as mailboxes are torn away,
we refuse to believe that a river and some wind
could move our lives so a far afield,
or that this world was really in fact,
just this shipwreck on a shore
that is always moving.
What we once thought of
as an address,
has turned out to be only a buoy
on an ever-moving wave.
Write Eleven Beautiful Lines Poetry Contest
Constance La France
"A rush of excitement fills the air as their maiden voyage comes to a climax."
By author
Up in the sky, baby seagulls leave the crib
Taking virgin wings to the blue skies and puffs of clouds
The siblings' baby steps come without a rattle
Only a blanket of wind at their backs
As they glide from their playbox in search of silver
Below, they see their mother lode
A pacifier, a fishermen's boat netting jumping sardines
Together, the seagulls fall from their highchair
And dive towards their food chain
That they'll hang on their dinner table with all the silverware
With their catches, the seagulls return home with their calling
Long Thin Blade of Weariness...
gloom of daze parries the long thin blade of weariness
metaphors adjust frequency matched patterns of
interwoven connectivity through mirrored meaning...
sameness, a variation of conformity, eventuates in
perennial lack for something notable to
be rendered as an attendant distraction...
corsets laced tightly although furtively hidden...
armatures support long in the tooth masses of
wobbly flesh and bones devouring kindred signs of desire...
levied endowments of netting bespoken quietly
as their whispered confluence of thoughts,
still wet from their birth, makes for an interesting
Sunday brunch as served by some, received by others
halve to have not - who says who scrapes the salt
from the mines of harvested beingness?
who doth say anything at all?
2024
A row of jazzy underwear
Wafts gently in the breeze
Pegged to the clothes line
Strung between two trees.
A garden brolly provides
Shade from the evening sun,
Chickens scratch the earth
In their wire netting run.
The cockerel struts his stuff through
The chicks of this years hatch,
Beans and peas and potatoes
Grow profusely in their patch.
Veggies for the table
All home grown
In what I've always wanted
A garden of my own.
Discarded children's toys
Are scattered on the green
But the kids are in bed
Quietly sleeping so not seen.
Blue Geraniums are covered
By wasps and bees and flys
Flitting to and fro for pollen
All sights restful to the eyes.
A summer Friday evening,
A whole weekend ahead
Stretched lazily in my lounger
In my hand a glass of red
Contemplating life, counting
All my blessings one by one
Hoping the rest is as good
As as that already gone.
In my little country garden
Resting in the shade
My loved one by my side
I've really got it made.
Next week is round the corner
For now just living for the day,
This gentle summer breeze
Blowing all my cares away.
Everyday hero's going to capture some zero's up in the
Mountains where theres lakes streams and fountains
Where a war never comes, yet they oft beat on its drum
Where theres wealth health and a blood store.' Thats
Un-modified to be sure.' Only the best if they need some
M n r a less is more see.' All they need is your fealty.!
Be quiet as ordered. While is sown worldwide disorder
From Nigeria to New Zealand, how their minions love stealing
These vampier's gorge on your feelings, in ecstacy they're
Reeling..' filling nations with notions' sickness by potions
While you just cower in the corner' with less than jack horner
As the plums rich they; are taking (while your mind they're baking)
Can you remain waiting? while your freedom they're taking!
You question my words
Wanting them to not be heard
Flying like a bird
You call me verbose
But see I am quite the pro
With much wit to show
I do cry these days
But I am finding my way
I will be okay
I do not mince words
You may say that I'm a nerd
You smell like a turd
My rhythm and rhymes
Fall into place all the time
Netting me a dime
Focus on your works
As I stand here with a smirk
I guess that's a quirk
You question my words
But your silly hate is cured
And your shade deferred
These words are not guns
But have the power to stun
Now I think I'm done
Sea surreal in darkest nets
Nocturnal-ness in jaws and tentacled breasts
still the thrill, breathless at my thoughts
the sea - a catch
The sea a catch, oh my stars
that settle like flickering candles
on tremulous waves
The sway, the dance, oh
the romance of candlelight
aboard the deck of dopamine
I resist the thought
that I’m in-between
cruise ala royal dreams
The drift of ebb and flow
I fly so slow, slipping
undertow, envisioning
serpents and maids
I’m made for the sea
See my tales splash
flibberty-thrashing
about in a net
netting the seashell gold
of surf and turf
sweet sands that tug
my eyes and heart
I blink
back tears
When will we see each other
‘gain, this match
of tenderness and angst
Let the torrents roar
Let the sides capsize
Let me touch your silkiness
your depths
your traps
of playfulness. The reader
must think me silly
as I surrender to the crests
and climb aboard
to see the sea
and sky collide
I’m given over
and under
in thunderous claps
to sated and salted
direct attack
of anything that might arrest
my joy
my exploration
my destination
my ploy
to dream without danger…
the cat took to sleeping in the kitchen
where there are less windows
the wind hammered at the front and back doors
it circled the walls
then raced off
to spook my shadow
a sparrow
flew up under the eve of the roof
it clung to it kinda sideways-on
the way parakeets do
the wire netting of the screen door
bulged in and out
as I held onto the latch
the eyes in the birds head bulged also
its plumage did a crazy dance
its neck got crooked and stiff
the howling wind took the bird
out onto the road where it fluttered
later I watched TV
a movie about some demented weather
was on
I switched channels
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.