Patchy Poems

With Spring Comes Fall

there is beauty in falling in love
like soft spring
the sun blazing in all its bright glory 
but not too harshly
the clouds adrift - patchy enough to let the light seep through
the trees create a wonderful view
even the flowers bloom differently

and when the fall comes
the leaves leaving their branches
almost flowing through the wind
to end up on these pavements
there is also beauty in letting go

Words Fail

Words fail to match the beauty of the park
The magic stillness of the early autumn day
Leaves fall across your smile, completing your remark
Leaving me speechless in this colorful decay 
The trees look tall in their patchy outfit 
Lone robin sings somewhere in the height
So shall we go, before the dusk commits
Its usual crime, obscuring the daylight.

Words Fail

Words fail to match the beauty of the park
The magic stillness of the early autumn day
Leaves fall across your smile, completing your remark
Leaving me speechless in this colourful decay 
The trees look tall in their patchy outfit 
Lone robin sings somewhere in the height
So shall we go, before the dusk commits
Its usual crime, obscuring the daylight.

Cloudy With a Chance of Stories

the tortoise-shaped cloud
as tall as a skyscraper 
and a half as wide
floats slowly across blue sky
with no hare-shaped cloud to race

patchy cloudy sky
with shapely stories to tell
hare-brained ideas 
and the tortoise will always
slowly and steadily win

The Winter

Smiles and blooms have crawled away in haste;
Cool sweetness and incense of the prime
Have receded into the pothole of time
With the irritant summer and the rainy waste ;
Winter is an epitome of the silent knell --
Pale , pensive, plaintive, heavy and cold ;
Colours are all lost in the grey fold,
With the bright charm of the bygone spell ,
As she sits robed in ashen attire again ,
Streching herself with limbs wide across
The deceased crags and the patchy moss ,
Lining randomly along the sickly plain 
Weary, withering, wany life and all. ..
Are thus sadly shrouded in the last fall..!

Desperado, beyond the lines of belief

Desperado – beyond the lines of belief

What patchy rogue rejects the rule of blue,
This cosmic quilt of fragments casting shades,
Who shreds the fabric of the known and true,
And weaves a trail of riddles with furtive braids?

What patchwork seeker chases the fringe of light,
This maverick with a veil for a face,
Who scans the void for clues for a flight,
To realms beyond the grasp of time and space?

Oh! this patchy dreamer is a spark,
A glimpse of selves in altered skins,
And a call to kindle the new and the dark,
With hues that mirror our desires for sins.

Possibly the patchy pundit probes a line,
A stroke from the art to the eye,
To blur what we see and redefine,
The borders of the land with the soaring sky.

LITTERED LIFE

LITTERED LIFE

Does every life have a twist in the tail
One follows the trail wherever it leads
At higher speeds, life flashes by so fast
And at last, so little detail one can recall
The bitter gall mixed with pleasantness
But the rest has gone, into the void
Perhaps destroyed by the superficiality
Yet in actuality, it was the usual stuff
And good enough, but not for all time
A paradigm of sorts, a patchy history
A solved mystery, but there’s no prize
I’d surmise that most might not care
Never aware of what richness was lost
Nor count the cost of merely skimming
With the light dimming, it’s only the past
At last, a patchwork life one remembers
Like dying embers, preserving the glow

The Wifi Blues

It's working in the laundry
It's working in the hall
But when I'm in the office 
It doesn't work at all 

It's terrific in the lounge 
And good on the patio 
But in my favourite chair 
It just doesn't want to go 

Sometimes it is sneaky 
And it drops out quietly
So I annoyingly find 
My data's used entirely 

Sometimes it is patchy 
But at others it is fine 
My WiFi's temperamental 
And I'm in the firing line!

Happy Skin Bad Hair Day Only 1 Thing In Common

She has spotty skin

Whereas he has warts on his 

He has freckles

She has boils

One's too oily

One's too dry

He is too pasty

Her's is too dark

She is too yellow

One's is patchy

The others too red

Yet for all of these many differences

There is one thing they all have in common

Is we are 1 and all

Universally unhappy in our own

Skin , within and without

Scary Film Shooting

We heard a most scary gunshot:
A shooter shattering a pot,
In marksmanship what he has got,
Energy spent stupendous lot…

Nelson needed whips and whipping,
If it is true a script acting;
Down to his patchy brown waist stripped,
A shirt madness had apart ripped.

On clean record Nelson builds dots
With ink that clean paper blots;
Life could drop, if off his slugs slipped.
Nelson’s slugs soon a walker tripped!

“So, this about film shooting:
Asking death to start its hooting”
Fear had nice folks glued to a spot,
While watching not Nelson but Death’s Slot…

Gumpa and Me

We’ve seen a lot of stuff together, Gumpa Bear and me
He’s been my cuddly confidante from one to seventy-three
He’s looking pretty tired now - his fur has lost its shine
His head is very wobbly, but I’m really glad he’s mine

He’s listened to my worries and comforted my tears
Shared a million secrets, banished all my fears
He’s guarded me through childhood, been there throughout my teens
Been steadfast in my adulthood - who knows what he has seen!

He’s kept a silent vigil and watched me as I sleep
Perhaps it’s just a blessing that he cannot speak 
But he has a hidden voice you see that only I can hear
Special words of wisdom whispered in my ear

I’ve made him many outfits to make him look so smart
To cover up his patchy bod and warm his teddy heart
He’s looking rather dapper now in navy blue and white
He is my guardian angel each day and every night

He seems to understand me with his gentle brown-eyed stare
I love him more than words can say - my darling Gumpa Bear
I’ll never ever part with him as long as I may live
And then I hope that someone kind a home for him will give

Thanksgiving - Repost

How can so few have so much -
so many have so little?
I am rich beyond belief
yet am not considered rich.
I count my riches daily:
the warmth of heart and
home, the patchy grass,
faded paint, rock garden
(each stone rolled by
my hands).  The heart,
she waves to me each morning
as I leave for work,
greets me on returning.
Other hearts, now scattered,
not too far away yet never
near enough, have left their
emptiness to fill the rooms.
I sit, well clothed, warm, and
free.  I am ever grateful for
this freedom, freedom to be,
freedom to be me, to love,
to sing, to speak my mind,
to write with passion of
passion.  And yet I ache for
those who know not freedom,
nor peace, nor joy, nor a
day of Thanksgiving.  I cry for
children who will not be
fed, nor cared for - not because
there is lack of caring - but
because the caring lacks
the backbone of freedom,
the hand of compassion,
the hope - of Thanksgiving.

John G. Lawless
11/28/2013

A Wiser Generation, I Hope

My lawn is patchy from cooler nights
The growth stunted into a paler green
Autumn is coming sooner, in August,
At least a month earlier than last year
I see definite signs of weather changes.
My farmer friend Shane says it is cyclical, 
[A normal pattern over a long period]
It is apparently coming much quicker,
While slow change is barely noticeable
This is evident throughout the world.
I suspect human technology is to blame,
And like so much that is wrong nowadays,
Folks are unwilling to chart a new course
Or to do what must be done to amend,
The next generation will be wiser, I hope. 

Written September 5, 2022

Cunning Contractor

In The Adverts the lines were catchy
But buildings of a glamour patchy,
Behind The Grand Pictures Cliff Builder:
Husband of Contract-Catching Hilda…

Smart-Eyed Hilda gets Forty Percent;
He’s Satisfied with Sixty Percent;
For one year, he won’t be buying her Gold:
No halting at spots the stuff is sold;
Once in a while restaurants not seedy,
Avoiding pubs run by The Greedy;
So that he might save; Who knows When next?
Times there were he never got A Text!
But he had Treasured Trust sadly sold,
Contracts to grab from only The Old:
Before one knows it one’s firms just fold….

Through and through: Poor Quality Jobs;
God Knows Cliff Morgan Shall, at last, Sob!

Weird Stuff

A winter sun doodles dandy-long legs shadows
over my eyelids.
Closed eyes from the glare, now
an insectivore brush of fine shadow hairs.
Knuckles rub eyeballs until they water.

Sunlight jumps into the day again
plays 'hide and seek' around passing clouds.
A patchy sky dumps a snow flurry
down the back of coat.
Squirm, wet spine, squirm.
Do a little dance with tingling toes.

"A daddy-long-legs is not a spider,
though it is an arachnid
related to the scorpion family."

Later on, mind winces upon reading this.
Sun shadows akin to scorpions,
not a thought to play with
when your back is still damp
and cringing.

• Short Patchy Poems
• Famous Patchy Poems
• Best Patchy Poems
• Read Patchy Poems
• Long Patchy Poems
• Patchy Quotes