Fascinated, Gainfully Harnessed, Impishly Joyful
Again, a contest I can't deny.
There's someone though, who makes me grateful
While I sit and ponder, knowing my.
Kind, Loyal, Muse, Nicely Observes
My constant request for her inspiration.
By finding words this poem deserves
Through her obliging communication.
Perusing Quests Requires Studious Time
To edit, correct, some lines rearrange.
Ensuring then my end words all rhyme
Therefore, deliberate lines to exchange.
Unquestioned Victory, With Xenial Yes!
Together my muse and I agree.
These words are ours, but now confess
My secret muse is really like me!
at a patio table
sat a pangolin and penguin
pondering
and there they pursued
under a parasol
perusing
diving with questions
delving for answers
they had a universe
in front of them
unpicked
undone
suited and solved
by the pangolin and penguin
Take of a turn of three
time to talk of penumbra tales
beneath a taramond tree
trials and wailings of two lives in the vale
The life of young from it infancy
thence gradual, conventional neither fantasy
the sweetest of them all to behold
incomparable to an undelectable life of old
The sun and snow that oldlings won't deign
in them, we striplings all times do reign
like the suns of Africa, stronger shining wards
young wild eagles of Amerie, freely soaring beyond word
Dearest mates from the state of mine
move not like king Solomon's mine
who danddied, drove so great and high
cruising, perusing our skin into prime
yet says its vanity, a full of crime
we chaste conquerors, with wreathe all nigh
Ruined by puddles of porch rain
before you had a chance to bring it,
much less break it in;
The robotic reply of ‘Order canceled.
Your item is out of stock. Refunded.’
throws you into a total panic;
As far away as it seems,
there was a world before Amazon;
A girls day of enraptured perusing,
labels brand boxes and Big Brown bags;
A flurry of stores flowing with specialities
speak to patrons who pause then pay them;
Pulling apart plastic to try that purchase,
nothing feels quite like retail therapy;
Pivot from store to store bargain hunting,
in the end you always leave with something;
As far away as it seems,
there was a world before Amazon;
At the mall you don’t need patience,
just indulge instant gratification;
No need for a new notification;
Online is simple, until it isn’t.
If we were forced to let computers go?
We’d still keep spinning and shopping.
As far away as it seems,
there was a world before Amazon.
Dear Karen, there’s something I need:
I’ve got you a poem to read.
A deficit in one’s attention
is probably best left unmentioned.
If boring writes get you distracted,
my outcome’s adversely impacted.
For when the dear reader is addled,
strong placements just up and skedaddle.
Before you’ve a chance to retort,
just know that I’m keeping it short.
Disorder escapes its confines
perusing these final two lines!
Attractive and luminous,
Burning on your golden path
Like an adamant against the sun.
Symbolising every entity,
Caught up in spontaneity
Perusing the conscientious.
Uninspired to aspire
Yet inspiring the phenomenal,
As they claim all of what you grant.
During your death, they wield smiles
Making wishes of a lifetime
While you dance in cosmic time.
It is the season of Giving Thanks
so I am perusing my life
for things to be thankful for
and I have so many
I give thanks for my family
and the unique personalities
that are within and most
of all the loving hearts
I give thanks for my spouse
who has travelled this road of
life with me for more than
30 love filled years
I give thanks for good friends
who make each day special
and make me laugh
even when laughter is hard
I give thanks for my creativity
and the joy that it brings to
my life each day as I express
myself with words or music
Most of all, I give thanks for
my faith, the rock on which my life
is built and the many ways that
God blesses me on a daily basis
I breathe poetry into my lungs,
It is my lifeline,
Together, we have climbed many rungs,
'tis a great pastime!
I breathe poetry out to the world,
It is my message,
My thoughts in rhymes and verses unfurled
on the written page!
I breathe poetry into my veins,
It refreshes me,
I pen it down in rhythmic refrains,
'tis my muse's plea!
I breathe poetry out to the earth,
It is my musing,
I etch it in paper for it's worth
someone's perusing!
I breathe poetry into my blood,
It keeps me alive,
I cannot stem it when feelings flood,
It helps my mind thrive!
Sailing on an ocean breeze
In the vast depths of my mind
Like a sailor on the open seas
With a world of wonders to find
Perusing points to ponder
Through the night unto the morn
On a global scale I'll wander
Till an epiphany is born
Perusing the tea, what it brings, vitality, refreshing, or tranquility.
tea’s altruistic -
the elixir gives itself
to succor ailments
I warm leaves up when my hands and feet are icy cold. The boil arouses my expectations. The raucous kettle poured over a roomy sachet.
the tea bag’s floating -
my bobbers are on its craft
as the scent surges
My hands rejoice as they gently wrap around the cup and rebound. When the minuet knells, the unfurled dose is tossed and what remains is to be enjoyed in a calm and comfortable setting, ideally with pretty things and perhaps a nibble of treats.
lift from lace doily -
a sip of essential oils
and crumpet or two
What’s better than to sit across from special friends. The setting of a magnolia tea house or with one’s teddy bears.
little ones practice -
imagination infused
with love’s sugar cubes
Perusing the tea, what it brings, essence to our lives.
on way to Ulster
saw a cumbersome cluster
in a big bluster
while amicable
did become despicable
was predictable
when perusing on map
flowing from tree was much sap
between ears big gap
when with day of grace
of what we saw was a trace
egg all over face
when wearing bloomer
based on the latest rumor
died from brain tumor
being demented
was hard when he had hinted
hair would be tinted
of ice cream ate scoop
saw another nincompoop
doing hula hoop
tippy-toe tap tap
pitter-patter slosh
splish splosh, splash,
drip of tap
purr of cat
twits of bird chat
ratter tat, ratter tat
knocks on my door.
The unintended muse
was stifled
by the hiss of bliss
perusing the lines
while muffled mute,
ignoring
what was installed
between them,
instilled!
The Sound of Home
The rugged moor top
grew shapeless hiding
within the grey shroud,
invisible steps
to endure in lieu.
The dense stratus
manipulates
the morning sun
losing the day.
Distant call,
tower clock
chimes the way.
On track
soon home.
Safe.
© Harry J Horsman 2019
I never knew Harry Horsman personally or read any of his poetry before, but from perusing his page, I've come to realize how awesome his writing is and know that we miss a good person on PS...
This particular poem, "The Sound of Home" spoke to me because 'home' is where we feel safe and protected, no matter where we've been or what we may encounter along the way. Here, one can feel the dense clouds shrouding the moor as evening sets in. The clock tower chiming could refer to the late hour, yet when we finally reach home, we are secure. Reading this, I know that Harry is resting safe in His heavenly home..
On the dock, we took a step into the storm
When wood glades are full of colorful forms,
We were both awed and warm as we spoke
Many of us believe life is a joke
The winter sun sparkled as it set west
Kissing my crying child, I hold it to my breast
We fantasized over a world without ailments
After an exhibition, snap public impalement
Due to the wuthering event, my mood can shift
In a wild sea of turmoil, we felt our lives adrift
I'm retracted by the unexpected rage
Some have died or escaped over the ages
It urges me to be humane to my brittle chunks
Quit obeying bail, leapers, striders, and drunks
I relax when I find my vitality still in my core
Yet I tried and couldn't find any doors
Windy gusts beat the glaze, making it elegant
To execute it in virtually every element
Perusing the Apocrypha in the glow of a fire
Excessive nothingness may render a man a liar
I waited, expecting a spectacular twist.
The ridiculous spike and rope on the wrist.
Written: May 29, 2023
Someone perusing all the lines I penned
before this century would surely think
I must have signed a contract to produce
just poems with the strictest rhyming schemes!
It seemed my mind was programmed to create
rhymed couplets or a-b-c-b quatrains.
I asked myself then, “Must you always rhyme?
If so, you could at least try other styles.”
Because I’d always liked to read blank verse,
I vowed I’d take the plunge and write some too!
I love the partial freedom it affords.
While rhyming’s not included, meter is—
those five iambic feet I so adore.
April 5, 2023
for the Simply Poetry 2 Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
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