My doctor likes to see the Earth
I get a nosebleed, she’s wading the surf
Maybe off Thailand, maybe Brazil
Who’s gonna save me when I get ill?
Yeah, there’s satellites, I can always text
But she’s out of town at the smallest pretext
Running a marathon, maybe in Rome
Everywhere is her home away from home
Maybe its that she sees all the frailties of man
Maybe that galvanizes her to move while she can.
I shouldn't grudge it, but I've just broken my toe
Kicking a wall when she mentioned "Idaho".
So I’ll drive like a saint, not drag race the streets
Not eat the wrong things, not trip on my feet
Not mouth off to strangers, not poke at a bear
Not flirt with disaster or agree to a dare.
I'll use Gemini or Grok or Chat G P T
Then I'll order from an offshore pharmacy
That might finish me off and I'll complain no more
Hope she feels sorry before heading to the Jersey shore.
(note: she really is a good doctor, I'm just having fun here)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The dragon lies in its burning remains~
a furnace of teeth snuffed out,
its igneous breath hardening
into black, sooty scales.
You stand where the pyre was,
your sword no longer shiny,
dulled by ash and effort,
a weapon that did its job
asking for no acknowledgement,
no revelry.
This is how victory sleeps:
not in banners or ballads,
but in the quiet settling of smoke,
in the way your hands shake
when they have nothing left to hold.
The villagers will come~
they always do
to poke at the carcass,
to marvel at the size of
the dragon’s claws.
But you know the truth:
dragons are not slain by heroes.
They are undone by the stubborn,
by those who refuse
to become kindling.
And now,
with the monster’s heat
still radiating from the earth,
you feel the oddest thing~
the absence of its roar,
the space it leaves behind,
like a missing tooth
your tongue keeps finding.
you may read the accompanying memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/victory_over_the_fire-breathing_dragon_13612
Having counted wooly sheep
was woken from a deep delta sleep
in the middle of the night
thought I'd heard a pig snort
but no that can't be right
tho' kicked out of bed
and landing on my head
knew where I stood
for delegated to the floor
then relegated to the room next door
when in no uncertain terms she said,
'You're sawing wood, you snore!'
Not as such a silk purse,
but a sow's ear would be worse.
Not so much a pig in a poke
(jiggery-pokery),
more a poke at a pig in a joke
(piggery-jokery).
All in all,
Sy-hokery!
We walk the same road every day
You walking one way and I another
We need rarely to ever speak when we pass
because we can read each other’s looks
What is never said speaks the loudest
We know what is there, and what is not
You poke at me and I play along
I get silent and make you wonder if I am mad
We play this wicked game but laugh under our breaths
But we do complement each other like the butterfly and flower
I have written these feelings down many times,
though, many times have I had to rewrite them.
I need not brag to any friends but keep quiet
about things that two hearts left unread.
Helpless! I stare up at human children.
Their discovery of me has begun.
I, slow- moving in undergrowth
before I know it, am flipped
upside down.
I move my legs, desperate, they grip air
while, amusement of children
ripples like a brook,
Look they chuckle. “ He’s stuck”
And they poke at me and form
a ring of eyes, above.
I am desperate for kindness now
I retract my neck and limbs
quiet as death until
bored the children
seeing no movement, right me
again, I stumble on,
until a foot with toes poised to flip
is stopped by words
I prayed for
defensive, kind
“Let the poor thing go.”
I hide in the cool leaves before my last
desperate lurch, pond water surges
over me, I swim, my legs paddle.
The water lilies are beautiful
the scotch pine looks white
herbage seem to poke at him ---
snow nostalgia
08 December 2022
Winter Nature Themed Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
We have a pool
And side by side
Slack on rules
This mama’s tried
To help her boy
Have all the friends
The coolest toys
And hottest trends
But he’s left out
He’s ostracized
I have no doubt
It’s no surprise
Overbearing
They fill our space
Never sharing
Or showing grace
They waste my money
And use my time
They think they’re funny
I see the signs
They poke at him
For being small
There’s more of them
He takes the fall
They have no clue
Believe they’re winning
But we’re not through
We’re just beginning
I think I’ve written some doggone good stuff
Hey, I am sorry if, for you, it wasn’t enough,
Submitting it was sometimes an afterthought
Because my skin is thick, your N/A was for naught,
I write my poems for me, and I can happily say
I’ve already had my joy long before your “nay!”
I am nonplussed when your choices seem biased
But then, who am I to second-guess your highest?
I admit, when your winner does miss the mark
I wonder why my entry apparently did not spark,
I am taken aback by a lack of judging credentials
Your seeming ignor-ance of absolute essentials,
Realizing entering is seeking only one person’s nod
Please do not think your opinion is the ultimate god,
And be as fair as you can be when selecting who
Writes the best piece and deserves a Woo-Hoo!
In closing, let me say I thoroughly enjoy contests
But love them most when my poem is the best!
Written July 23, 2022
[A fun poke at our contest sponsors!]
The Kings Craw
I’m sure sometime tomorrow, we’ll have our sad goodbye
now make your last attempt, to try and make us cry
once more a broken promise, lays shattered on the floor
another failed attempt, like so many times before
they poke at other poets, then retreat into their hole
why must they pour more vinegar, into our poetry bowl
venting on a blog is against this site’s decree
and now you’ve used a name, for everyone to see
a screen shot has been taken, for admin, I’ll send it in
but when you least expect it, till then I’ll store it in my bin
you need to read the rules, you’re not above the law
your spitting days are over, now let that stick into your craw
Hocus-focus
Take-a-poke-at-us
Tell-a-joke-on-us
Egg-yolk-all-over-us
It's hilarious to think that you can poke at my skin
and think I can feel anything above an inch thick
the thought of your words pinching dead skin
as if I could receive a word like a stick
or be pushed over by a shock wave from a disapproving look
you can throw things, you can spit, you can punch me with your fists
but you will have to try harder
and walk longer and faster
and be braver and bigger
than a bully that stands alone
and follow me home
to a truer hell than you will ever know
Walls of red dripping light
Heavy on my flight or fight,
I am the Igor gaurding these hallways.
Hunchback green with a crimson stare
Past the gates of Truth or Beware,
I reside on the house on the hill.
Floors that creak and stairs that wind
Taunt the these scary demons of mine,
You cant conjure these ghosts that reside.
Dracula's coffin, Frankenstein's chair
Ride on the back of the Wolfman's hair,
But Im the monster they all still fear.
What they dont understand-
They raise their torch and sharp pitchforks
And poke at the beast within me.
Gaslight the extremes
with a frightened flair
As I haunt these rooms
Who would dare to step in here?
I am Quasimodo personified.
And all the townspeople chant:
Demonic Devin under the bed
While Emotional Emily could wake the dead.
For Manic Mary never fear
Paranoid Pete will bring you to tears.
Insecure Ira has banshees screams
But Schizo Stan has nothing on those streams-
The haunted attraction lives inside me.
Now Enter me,
Im a Castle Freak-
You misunderstand my daydreams.
See me,
Im that sideshow creep-
I need a therapist to conduct this exorcism.
I wish I was a monkey
a-livin' in a tree
Where if I bit your fingers off
Nobody could blame me.
You shouldn't poke at monkeys
Unless you're a dummkopf
Who gets precisely what's deserved,
Your fingers bitten off.
You shouldn't poke at monkeys
unless you're a dummkopf
Who gets precisely what's deserved --
your fingers bitten off.
There are some things that I was taught
when I was just a lad
Some by father’s knowing words
and some by being bad
Never, ever hit a girl
no matter what she’s done
The sting of belt or Dad’s firm hand
was never any fun
Never play with matches
You could burn the whole house down
Never sass your elders
the response will be a frown
Never place your hand
upon a red hot stove
Never spit into the wind
or wetness you will know
Never stick your tongue
near any freezing metal pole
For the laughter of your friends
will be a hefty toll
Never poke at bee’s nests
their sting will cause you pain
Never pick on bigger kids
If you don’t want to end up lame
These are just a few of the things
that each of us should know
Oh Yeah, I almost forgot!
Never ever eat the pretty yellow snow!!!
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.