Pelts Poems | Examples

blanket

I wish upon sweetest breathe,
Cracks egg  who knew death
with a hammer & choice to make
a war within a house by the lake....

Candid are toffee stickiness
rots white of baby's teeth,
shiny strands pelts to touch
Intimate hug or live without

Never the trophy for a runner
in focus of beating drummer
never my fault if there's rum
to fill my sickness spice of tum

Drools all, my security blanket
Can we pump and crank it?
sings to a day in my ghostly life,
pints to declare Poppins delivers
What the hell if I'm robbing my creator?

The sky
blackens
absence
burst
clapping
wings of
swan
not flapping
disappears
apple of skin
intimacy....

a protagonist

Shut the door to the purple and bruised
in the dark like an old dog and a bone
refuses the water too and a stew.
cooked to be so deliciously....
but her old bones are given
and stubborn of weakness,
I just need you to drink
and to eat something...

There's another of black of visions
I can hear the ravens and the pigeons,
after the flooring of my subtle empathy
and an old friend loses her grips
as that damn kitchen sink drips
I can't go with them to the Vets
as you are and will be everything.

I protected my little girl
its down, in so much hell,
when it pelts so much hail
and a dummy for sale,
that I refuse with......
a shore with a dead whale
of a protagonist...
and how I feel I failed
with a reality of no twisted,
just random of lists flicked
and I'm alone in Oblivion.

Tennis with Jai Liu

Flying foxes hang replete from the tall trees
dripping in the morning sun. They have sucked
the flesh of mamey sapote, rambutan and mangosteens.
Their dog-like pelts are copper pendants
that seep a dawn drenched dew onto our heads.
The summit of Penang Hill is reserved for the rich
who live above the heat and hustle.
Cool nights favor a fragrant adulatory.
Jia Liu has an 'Uncle' that is not related to her.
When he is away she takes me to the villa
as a tennis partner, and sometimes lover.
After the game we stroll under the bat dribble.
“It’s good for your hair,” she says laughing,
running ahead. I call after her:
“Where do they go in the heat of the day?”
“To the fruit markets in George Town,
“they hang from the rafters.”
Last night I was with her again - a dream.
We were drinking amrita of guava,
our lips smeared with a sweet red thirst.

One

I’d gladly take
one verse 
ill written
Than a tome
explicit
with words
unfelt

I’d gladly take
one moon 
still distant
Than a sunrise
hidden
by rain
that pelts

I’d gladly take
one real 
good tiding
Than a score
of praises
that slap
my back

I’d gladly take
one heart
on fire
Than a million
minds
no souls
— attached

(Villanova University: June, 2025)

Flashbacks

Open graves, petrichor pelts a casket nailed shut—awoken by trembling flashbacks, clawing for air.

Flip-Flops

Plain droplets plink downward risk-free.
Rain, that bristles on panes, weighty.
Rip-roaring, soaring, not boring,
as wind assists an outpouring.
Angled and claustrophobic dance.
Can’t see the light; cars take a stance.
Sky, a blue-gray, wiper flip-flops.
Shy, the soft pelts of ho-hum drops.

mad as a hatter

Mad as a hatter is a phrase that came naturally about
In the eighteen hundreds hatmakers were going insane
Using mercuric nitrate, which removed skin from pelts
A poison that had them acting funny, going postal
Another phrase that came along much later
In deference to postal workers who went insane
From the mundane repetitiveness of their jobs.

Kentucky Mustang

October gallops in as stolid as a gray mare,
a blunt wind snorts furiously through autumnal trees.
Foliage rattles, but does not fall, it clings still
to green stems.

Appalachian backwoods have tough roots,
shod as they are into an earth salted
with a dark gritty ore.

Bears are foraging and reaping,
their black silky pelts clamber over gusting winds
to reach the furthest fruits
before first snows overburden stoic pines.

Today the sky is unharnessed
and racing at full tilt
It whips my raw lips like a wet mane,
it rears up to stamp down upon its own
animated onslaught.

I adjust my rucksack and reshoulder a shotgun
grin, eyes watering
caught under the stampeding gale,
buffeted now by its muscular flanks.

I need to bridle this striding wind,
to halter its headlong charge,
or better yet just surrender -
turn my back on it,

let it ride me 
as we leap down from the hilltops
whooping it up like cowboys.

Spirituality

Poetry reading
Wind chimes singing
Animal pelts
Candles melt
Meditation resting
Yogis stretching
Soaps smelling
Tarot cards telling
Sun catchers gleaming
Water streaming
Dream catchers catching
Horoscope matching
Gem mining
Sun shining
Flower seeds sowing
Plants growing
Religious ritual
Nature is spiritual

Slipping

Slipping slowly into the void
No one's fault

The consequence of years spent in silence
The distance of unspoken secrets
You know me...don't you...know me?

Rain pelts the windows
The roof
My eyes

Falling into indifference 
Headlong without a net

The reality of a fire growing cold
The fleeting moments of glowing embers
You love me...don't you...love me?

The dark creeping across the grass
The windows
My heart

I Miss

I miss the days and nights
whether sun or rain
where I would run through a meadow of tall grass
   to reach the woods of Elm and Hickory trees
where a shallow rippling stream covered limestone rocks
   beneath a bridge of concrete and iron
where my boys and I would play
like mountain men, searching for beaver pelts
   building our small forts
to launch attacks from
before swinging on ropes we hung from tree limbs
   trying to be Tarzan
until we slowly headed home, searching for fossils
   along the banks of the stream, until dark
our small band of brothers, who thought we were mountain men
would always make it home to our mothers
   who waited for our return
with a hot tasty supper
made from old recipes handed down
these were the days of freedom
   it all passed so quickly...so quickly

BLOSSOM in ABSTRACT

blossom of baby's breath
soft white
gorse crusted yellow

weeping willow
rush patterned lace
 pasture in pastel green

buttercup daisy
comely cowslip mingle
&mix in fellowship

swaying pelts of grass
 with purple vetch
& ribwort plantain clover

scabious burnets
 butterflies & bees
scent the woodruff

briar brambles
in hawthorn sprawl
dogrose so tall

seabank of scattered seaweed
Alexander’s leaves so green
 & feathery fennel aniseed

fat hen so vibrant
 shoots of vimen
in Lamb’s lettuce

wild radish cress&chive
majoram &sweet cicely thrive
seabeet chard  survive

wild parsnip
& tansy to savour
stinging nettles so green

When Summer is Gone

When Summer is gone along with substantial flowers,
a lingering memory, I wonder “were you here at all?”

It will only be, in each new Spring reviving,
that the iris near the tear duct blooms.

When Summer is gone and leaves float downstream
blains renew with a chill in the air,

and the maples and oaks lose
their grief stricken hues.

When Summer is gone, that means Spring too,
then Fall is the midpoint so far from you,

as the years yield their acorn pelts
I pumpkin-kiss and miss you.

When Summer is gone and the “I love you,” is silent,
in the deep drifts of the Winter white blanket,

still I hear your motherly voice in the wind,
emphatically reap your snowdrop smile.

Love

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. The word is love.

Sophocles, Greek Poet

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tanked temps pools inky smears ere striking lights,
nightstand shelved as bed post warming invites,
facade postpones ceiling beams gold strike streaks,
soleless soul flits swarming countenance cheeks,
dance preps off-Broadway show and a bit more,
mirror laughs hushed, smiles aloud, assured score.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hogwarts seedbed on windows, one attends,
self-mocked reflect face, sees the village ends,
pressed off, Hogwarts seedbed--windows, returns,
swings, tick, chime, digital, sands, time-take-turns,
midday passes, pinks-whites-brown creamy melts,
boredom still on, chips and pops up, rain pelts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ain't an, Acro..., Aero..., Aquaphobic,
Where is love? Heal this ... Agoraphobic.

Murder Mystery

The rain it pelts
The lightning crashes
A shadowy figure
Through streetlight dashes

The strangers meet
The wine is poured
To infiltrate
The secrets stored 

The army man
The cook, the nurse
Field questions deep
Without rehearse 

To crack the code.
To solve the crime.
Complete the task 
Pre coffee-time

This desperate crew
This shady bunch
Explore, unblinking 
Every hunch

Accusatory 
Fists they slam!
"Rice pudding?" Please.
"A blob of jam?"

The time bomb ticks
Suspicions linger
The awful truth
Of pointy finger

A crime of lust?
Inheritance gain?
The washing-up
Will still remain..

At last conclude.
The mortal sin 
Has been revealed
The verdict's in

A lover's tiff.
A desperate heart.
But love enhanced
As friends depart

We all agree..
Despite the rain
To murder is fun
Let's do this again

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