Perspiring Poems | Examples

5 Haiku

1.
quiet morning _
petals love the watering hand 

2.

shadows of a tamarind tree _
your company 

3.

jute bangles _
smell of perspiring hands

4.

light warmth _
cups love having tea from your teapot 

5.

pale yellow hydrangea _
our moonlit evening walk

_____________

July 2, 2025

Oh Gentle Gust

I 
languish
beach side on
a blanket by
an azure ocean
perspiring profusely.
Then comes a soothing coolness
wafting its wonder over me.
It fans my sun-drenched face bringing me
refreshment and breathing sweet peace to me.
It whispers in my ear tranquility;
lying on my back, I’m so at ease.
Oh, gentle gust, you are my balm
on this sweltering day of
July. Oh summer wind, 
with all the magic
you possess, please
linger long,
blessing
me.

Zephyr Oxidation

Written, March 24, 2025
For Contest,  Your Choice E sponsor, Brian Strand

            ******************
hands aegis
        sculpting lullabies
 cradling
      warmed by 
          candlelight - wax
                  flesh
                      muscle 
                
  breath
      zephyr
          exhales 
                 inaudible eulogies
      exuding oxidation
                    of
                turpentine

         nectar 
           of 
        ebony & 
               onyx
varnishes in 
                      liniment
           to coddiwomple
fingers &             
          dactyls
 tracking 
                     ectoblastic 
                                     layers

 labyrinth puddles
                  yen's fuel trigger
   perspiring
                    bruised   blooms
           quivered    reverberations
                declining
                        blossom

           obscured in
sunken strands 
of 
sprouts
&
   burial site
         effigy melting 
Inside
              silk gloves

An Ode to the Doctors

They, who are readily and always available;
Checking if your vital signs are stable.
They work round the clock with lives in their hands.
Carrying out nature's most delicate command. 

They go into the surgical room without an iota of fear,
Bringing the much needed hope and chasing away despair.
The surgical robe, a garment light as a feather;
Worn by the doctors, heavy as a boulder. 

ECG steadily beeping, ECH continuously whooshing,
They are intricately focused, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they are perspiring.
The nasal cannal steadily pumping oxygen into the patient’s nostrils,
Leaving no room for disaster and peril. 

They're racing against time, or rather, in a race with the Grim Reaper;
One trying to harvest lives, the other trying to preserve.
They deserve their flowers, a kiss and a thumbs up,
For sticking with us and never giving up. 

By;
Solace.

Timing

A listless wall-clock tocks.
Pedestrians sleep-walk to their garages,
strung out nightwalkers arrive home
to unwind main springs.
Neighborhood cats want in and dogs out.
Pet-free I arise
to pee.

Hung upon marshmallow bones
I roll back onto the perspiring mattress,
Its pillows are still drunk on mind-fog.
The slamming of distant doors
tweaks fine ear hairs.

The clock stops to rethink the notion of time,
hands flop out of its face,
those hands will never reach the floor,
not until bare feet repossess the rug,
nor until my toes can hack their way through
its pile weave jungle,
only then
will the wall commence to tick,
and a thick-tongued world clock in.

Swaying Sensibilities

Swaying Sensibilities

In the sultry summer nights, wistful waves weave a seductive spell, wet and wild, while whispering winds waltz with wistful wonders, writing tales of tantalizing temptations, tip-toeing towards a torrent of tormented desires.

Scintillating sensations serenade the soul’s sensuous sanctuary, stirring subtle symphonies of sultry seduction, swaying sexy sensibilities.

Climactic contractions culminate and course through our corporal connection,
Pent-up passions pour into your pulsating pelvis,
Powerful primal prowess, pervasive pain, provokes penetrating pleasures,
Our hearts pounding, peak pulse pressures, panting and perspiring; covered in coveted carnal contentment.

-Edward

Sipping Coffee

Listen to the silence, 
before the sip of this brewed potion, 
an enticing concoction, 
Do you hear the harvest , 
The songs oozing from the volcanic sandy loam, 
perspiring earthy herbs that graciously glow, 
sprinkling notes of the sweetest flowers, 
the heavenly dark red golden lake that awaits, 
in the ark of this marble mint mug,
For a minute, the rich roast takes hold on to these lungs, 
Pulverizing every weight that rests on my ribs, 
Singing songs of spring to my winter brain,
Have I been too needy, 
for the touch of coffee to run down my throat, 
hoping it would wipe away every artery clogging my heart, 
Maybe I yearn for these beans way too much, 
Or are they simple my subconscious crutch.

Memories of My Youth

The quiet sound of dear old mum
Rocking gently in her old rocking chair
Perspiring from the summer heat
Watching the few neighbours pass by
On their way back from the day's labour
Sweating in the fields in the burning sun
Very few autos in these days
Memories of resting on mom's breast
The smell of lilacs embrace me
Humming the tunes from times gone by
Memories will be with me forever

Breath: the Symbol of Hope

BREATH: THE SYMBOL OF HOPE

In situations & circumstances, a man must grow,
perspiring until when the storms will eventually go.
Irrespective of hardship & what he goes through,
a man must hold fast to what is profitable & true;
his tenacity & will to succeed must penetrate 
the impediments that make life fluctuate. 
When your clan swims in riches and plenty,
And you flush down the drain with no penny,
think of many who accumulate wealth diligently
but couldn't spend it cos the grave open-mouthedly 

swallowed them up in victory & left them with vanity.
Benevolent spirits only crack when swayed by anything.
This is absolutely irrefutable and objective verity.
A living dog is better than a lion death-bound 
and hope isn't hard to find where breath is found.

May it be that your breath is your symbol of hope;
So grope to succeed and cope with your life scope.
Don't elope too long with your feelings,
but watch your steps and your dealings
'cause it's your doings that saves you from ruins.


VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP} 
FORM: Rhymes 
Copyright ©? 17th August 2023.

Special Victory

Freely surmounting impediment hill
            My special child propels himself with mirth
Geared up well by his wheelchair journey thrill
Signifying another milestone worth.
                        
Behold his triumphant contagious glee
Toward great well-being zest, he does flee
Perspiring, exuding thanksgiving spree.

      Such to me is a miraculous sight
            Highlighting answered prayer of faith’s might
                        Assured by divine grace against doubt’s blight.

Trusting the Lord, I keep peaceably still
            Assisting my son to enrich his dearth
      So he can be what God wants him to be
            Victoriously* soaring for progress height. 

*1Corinthians 15:57 …Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

February 19, 2023
6th place, "STRAND PREMIER NO 1196" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 3/11/2023.

Endless Love

Will you leave our nest
in the spring
hearts intertwined 
to sing
flying back 
to the north 
cause you're strong
defiantly survive
on your own?
Midday shadow
black veil 
of dawn
rose fragrance
perspiring 
through thorns
in the north
will you shiver alone
yet another in your nest
will find home
love debt in time
will melt
to an endless sea 
of regrets
with wailing
returning to sand
to an empty nest 
your heart 
never left.
A whisper 
as from living dead
by ear of the heart
only heard:
smile to me
don't be sad.

Brian Strand Contest 1265- Fifth place winner
Constance La France: Writing challenge-E words contest- Third place winner.
Brian Strand Contest 1199- Honorable Mention

Best At Room Temp

My dear, a Romeo I fear I'm not
When the temperature is too darned hot.
I prefer to do my wooing,
And my billing and my cooing,
In a thermostatically well-regulated spot.

So the choice of where to rendezvous
Presents a slew of problems, too.
I don't mind trysting with a lady
In a nook that's nice and shady,
But on a beach in mid-July just will not do.

On a cloudy day I may essay a walk about,
But the stroll will likely be cut short, no doubt,
For I must quickly duck back in
If the sun comes out again,
Else I'm perspiring back to front and inside out.

So, when next romantically inclined you get,
And ere another beau you find, my pet,
Just keep the room temp, if you please,
At a steady sixty-eight degrees,
And I'll Romeo your socks off, Juliette.

Life's Sometime Like a Clock On the Wall Not Moving At All

There’s a clock on the wall
And it’s not moving
The sun rains the clouds are moved
A non-moving clock doesn’t mean times standing still
Sweats running off my face I’m perspiring
Daylight turns dark, it’s it is now night
Waters toils rivers flow
Just because the clock on the wall
Stalls and the hands are not moving
I do be believing
Though! The hands are still
Daylight hues turn to dark
The sun and moon rises and sets
We keep ourselves moving



3/3/22
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©

A Scene In Kashmir

Within Armpits of
Snow-flakes-dipped
Quivering trees,
Cuddled with
Pale puffy leaves 
Perspiring fogs,
Nevertheless
Siblings
In transition of
Crisis times,
Oddly red
Plump apples 
Hide within
Wombs of snow,
Hungry red robins
Performing
Midwifery...

22 January 2022

Senior Screen Time

Since retirement
I have gradually become more disappointed
with watching
and listening
to performers,
to on-screen entertainments,
to emotional yet disembodied hypnosis,
to vicarious fascinations
now suspiciously corrupt

Performance watching
becomes a cheaply vacuous substitute
for real life engagement
in compassion with embodied hope;

Or even social disengagement
in disdain 
with chilling cynicism.

I feel drawn out of retiring
and into some healthy perspiring
in a fluid multicultural river
watering compassion,

Steering clear of a tangle of wires
and technology
feeding isolated despair.

Mindless entertainments
are probable on screen
and possible reading choices too

Feeling guilty as I age
leaving way too much
for future generations
to undo.

Too needy
and wounded
and busy protecting privacy

Projecting charismatic fame
to blame
and shame
for all my ambivalence,
doubts
dark nights leaning into fear
to risk more
than breathing through another episode
of Mary Tyler Moore
and more

USA middleclass white folks
entertaining
without engaging
Show

On screen time
is too much less
than Just Show Up.

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