Poncho Poems | Examples

Cantata

Cantata
He stood there on a plateau that only had a tree,
And since he had appeared from nowhere, there
Was there no past to bother with?
He sat under the tree mainly because it was
getting hot, the tree had big, thick leaves and
Beside the tree, there was a barrel of cold water.
During the day, the plateau became shimmering
He saw ponies trotting past like a knitted poncho.
Since he had no past, a fragment of a future
Instinct told him they were going to the Green Vale
That had grass, shade, and a lagoon that reflected
The sky, or was it the other way around?
He sat there and tried to visualize the future where he didn´t
Exist, but he failed, which made him human.

Green Waves

2017.07.06
Green Waves 
Guess what, after two months of hard work,
Finally I completed the fine work.
It was definitely the first of its kind,
I did it with mixed sound mind.
It had modest imperturbable patterns,
It sure was a 'piece of art' fashion,
A great attractive amazing style,
It would fit a range of sizes.
Consisted of waving, and contrasting with straight lines.
Some showed lumps but others flattened.
The colour looked dull but mingled with sparkling.
It showed corners pointing,
Then surrounded by rounding.
It used natural normal yarn and feathers.
The arrangement of colours took forever.
At last, I completed it with pride.
It definitely would be worn with a great smile.
The main colour was emerald.
It was a lovely well knitted poncho.
What a challenge for me to take on.
Never mind, I had managed.
By all means. It was quite a privilege.
I was sure I was very proud of it.
I did it.

I Walk Alone

Streetwalking should be a solitary affair.
Night slips through unseen cracks,
bends the scant light
into dark-eyed windows.

A gangster is in my head,
a punk, scaling my smooth skull
seeking out weak spots,
those eggshell parts
where just a light knock
will shatter years
of confidential confidences.

I'm hatless, I should have a hat.
The sky drips like a leaky faucet.

Got to shove my head inside a collar,
reach inside a thin coat, 
pull out a neatly packaged,
plastic poncho
recently bought from a Dollar Store.

Time to confront
an unsolvable situation.
Time to listen keenly
 for the sound of a tiny piton
tap-tap, tapping.

Sombrero

sombrero 'pon peg
owner six feet underground....
poncho wiggles fast

The Rain Rides Away

It is the rainy season.
a cataract of warm liquid nails
hammers upon the road surface.
The thin tin jitney is sliding through
the traffic jams
gliding precariously near
yellow poncho clad mopeds
being rode by two, three or more.
The little three wheeled taxi
is packed solid.
She is sitting on my lap
as the vehicle jigs and jerks.
I am heading for Suvarnabhumi airport,
going home
although 'home' is an empty place of exile,
a land that I can love no more.
Duty calls, even for lovers to part;
she to her village and a dying father,
I to the embrace of loneliness,
a solitude that still yet brings me
to long restless nights
in a cold bed I made for myself.

Remember Granny Square Poncho

If you do not remember this granny squared poncho
Then you are a poser
And you never lived in the seventies
Or you never crocheted
Or you lived the seventies with blinders on
And a mop bucket upside down over your eyes

Welcome To Kansas

Ninety-nine-degree high yesterday, fifty-two-degree high today.
The leaves are not falling yet, and the roses are still budding.
We are wearing layers, not sure if it will be sleeveless weather or poncho weather.

Welcome to the Midwest in September.
The heat waves of last week made school recess unbearable.
We had to do inside recess. 

Today is the beginning of a new trend.
We may have rain for a couple of days, but no signs of snow.
Snow is preferable to the heat wave of the last two weeks.
Welcome to Kansas.

Poncho

When I grew up
I had a pup
His name was Poncho
boy could he put on a show

He used to knock me down
onto the ground
He was comparable to a jumping bean
that you couldn't wean

Reproach to him made no sense
one day he jumped the fence
He bit the neighbors lip
leaving a scar from the nip

We had to deliver him away
alas he had somewhere he'd stay

*A true story

The Tale of a Yellow Poncho

Isn't it strange that many years ago, 
A little girl wore a yellow poncho, 
And twirled around in her garden like a golden butterfly, 
A little boy watched her, and didn't forget the rest of his life! 

Years and years passed by! 
The garden lost its lustre! 
The golden Marigold and the white Chrysanthemums flowered, 
The red Roses and the hazel-coloured Jinias blossomed, 
But the swing was vacant, 
No one heard the laughter, the chatter, 
And the birds didn't chirp there any more! 

The Yellow Poncho was worn out, and faded away, 
And didn't look gorgeous any more to her, 
Something to get rid of, 
And finally that's what happened! 
The poncho got replaced by a stylish attire! 


The memory did not fade away for someone else, 
Who thought, it was an enchanting angel 
Who he found, 
The angel didn't have wings to fly, but 
Had a Yellow cloak! 


                        For  'ALL YOURS (Feb 24)' Poetry Contest
                                     Sponsor: Brian Strand

Pickle In a Pickle

This is a pickle so I'll bear-and-grin it
It's my very own pickle got me IN it

It was always sweet with pickle power
But all these wrappings make it sour

Perhaps you'll get the urge to peel it
For dressed like this I'll never feel it

Despite your valiant efforts twerkin'
I'll still be left with a gimpy Gherkin

Another tumble upon your hassock
Is a fruitless fruit not worth a Vlasic

For a pickle in a poncho is under par
And it's far better off in a canning jar

Cuz ...

It's not the pick of pickle, it's in how you aptly pack it
But I can't pack my pickle ... in a damned latex jacket.







~ 7th Place ~  in the "Pickle" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.

Out In the Rain

Walls loomed around me
Down empty streets
Streetlights flickering
A plastic bag dancing
Somewhere a dog barking
A distant roll of thunder
I clutch my poncho tighter
The rain tap dancing
Acrosss my bright yellow poncho
It's so very quaint
And somehow nostalgic
Scurrying down empty roads
To the patter of raindrops
But the sky is emotional
Crying on a ghost world below
I know not what causes it pain
Of if there's even any blame at all
Perhaps the tears just fall
Because it sees me all alone
In my bright yellow poncho
Always in a hurry
But never going anywhere
And every time I get a sense of direction
I'm once again reminded
Of the walls looming around me

Poncho

I used to have a friend named Poncho. 
We would walk to school every day.
There was a vending machine that sold pop tarts 2 to a pack.
We always split one after school.

In the winter, we’d throw snowballs at the people we knew.
In the summer, we’d walk in the grass beside the path,
And piss off the dogs with stories and ideas

But then we went to different high schools,
And I only saw him in the mornings while he waited for his bus.

Then he dropped out, and I barely saw him at all.

I know he has a car
I know hes working somewhere
But Im states away
And I will be for a while.

I think its likely that Ill never see him again.

When February Feels Like May

When February feels like May
And skies are blue instead of gray,
We flock outdoors, but do not know
Which way our clothing needs to go.

Winter jacket? Much too warm;
Lots of beads of sweat will form.
Sweater? Sweatshirt? Poncho? Fleece?
Doubts won’t let me leave in peace.

Short-sleeved shirt and if I do,
Does that mean I’ll get the flu?
Tights or socks or do I dare
Go out with feet and toesies bare?

I’m obsessing, I admit.
There are reasons, though, for it.
Temps today are just a tease
For tomorrow we will freeze.

In the Jungle of Vietnam

In the shadows an enemy lurks, it’s where they hide.
While inside my foxholes, a Marine grunt, I abide.
A poncho line wrapped around my body that shivers;
Steeled nerves, impenetrable will, I refuse to quiver.

I wait soaking wet in my restrained prime.
Its death that haunts me while I suffer this time.
My mind is troubled, yet there I’ll remain
There’s no pretending, its death, not a game.

Trained to fight and not to run for the Vietnam War,
Where time has forgotten, and joy comes no more.

Waiting for the enemy, faces without names;
Their bodies mount-up now God’s to claim.

Marines died in the jungles of South Vietnam
While outside of country, the world moved on.
They dared not dream, for it might be forever.
O’ Home, Sweet Home, twas' their bold endeavor.

Rainbow Coloured Camouflage

I get so excited
When the sky is grey
And the clouds hang low
When rain is falling
And the puddles grow;
For I just can't wait
To wear my fuschia poncho!
Don my periwinkle sandals
And away I go.
I forget about my age
Prancing to and fro;
Giddy like a child
In my rainbow camo.



For the Rainbow Colored Camouflage Contest!
Tuesday March 7th 2017

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