It has been undone, the titled piece this is forerun and took that last leap of faith off the table, it has been tabled indefinitely like warlocks oft weasel, and so the middleman paid the price but Katie's price is not a lady of the night, so we gallivant and palaver so sneaky that shadowy nape, per-chance it prickled like steepes of the southern crates, so we sit in fervor only when we gather, like a wish made clearly in the night's dappled skyward cloth fixed the firm glance that must distrust, the wish indeed, a fervent oil, like early morning that has been left to roil.
The World Approaches.
Swarming waves of cyclones swell to unfathomable heights, unfathomable depths,
Walls of sea and blasting winds tower like angered and frosty alps,
And I cower in its shadow,
Unable to decipher if I survive even the first crash of water,
The first crackle of thunder,
If I should step out of my quiet cave,
I wonder, would there be anywhere left to run,
Would I disintegrate in that quaking, burning sun,
Collapsed in its shadowy, unknowable force,
Crushed beyond the feeling of remorse,
Would I live in that fire, that razed hellscape,
Among lustrous gleam and sharp steel,
Prickled by nails and progress,
Pinched by paper and persona,
Flourishing and dying,
Reforming, reaching, and being torn away,
Flames licking the pages,
Flames lingering on our minds,
Flames watching from the walls,
Flames digging under our fingernails,
Flames placing money in hands,
Flames pulling bones and twisting lips,
Flames intertwined with us,
Burning through canvas,
Burning through pages, and pages,
‘The History of flames’ in flames,
The stage is staged,
The stage is set,
The World Approaches.
Look! Can you see? Out of the window?
Snowflakes are falling, white blankets are forming.
Patience, little one,
Soon it will be quilted and quiet.
Not far away, three small mammals are doing their sleeping:
The dormouse, pipistrel and the solitary hedgehog -
Mystical prickled pig of the hedgerow.
Ssh, she's away with the fairies.
Snug in her nest, may her slumbers be blessed.
One in a million,
She's a spherical urchin
Curled tight on a cushion of twigs.
Hedgehog is dreaming, snuffling,
To chobble on tanklements of millipede and earwig.
No, no, no!
No mediaeval harbinger of doom -
She's a bristly broom,
Self-anointed by toad skin and poo,
She brushes in spring anew.
And in the half-lit, moonlit summers,
Her little donnies will write spells -
Not ‘ills’, with her quills,
As trails of silvered cursive script
In the glistening ink of snails -
Near nanny’s pots and pails on the patio.
Later, little one,
Her thorny needles will stitch cobwebs of autumn
Between the railings on the hill,
Knitting together a tapestry of seasons.
Shapeshifting.
Bewitching.
preening queens prickled~
queendom prerogatives quashed
prized predilections~
I inhaled,
and the breeze flourished upon my skin,
I exhaled,
and the grass prickled at my fingertips,
I loved,
and the world exploded with its wonders,
I cried,
and I got sucked into the ink adding wonder to your pages,
Dark,
Aglow with beauty.
I grew roots in my solace of gray
Time crept in silence
I found calm in her chaos.
She doused my soul in gasoline
but not to ignite wonder in me.
I became her supply, the fuel for her fury
Her scapegoat, someone to blame
I am no longer me but a puppet on
a narcissist string.
My heart held hostage between
Love n Hate
Torn between chambers of unhealed wounds
There whispering chants, wrecked havoc on my brain
Fiery embers slowly die for
I am no longer me inside.
Covered in weeping blisters
Scorched and torn
Prickled vines punctured like knives
Pain grew as these roots settled deep
In the days haze, I found comfort in
this familiar city of gray.
The narcissist has emptied me.
I sat by the dewy morning grass,
as a robin drew scrawls in the air
with her melodious voice.
The sun's gaze prickled my skin,
as the breeze twirled between
evergreen leaves of a Willow tree.
Chilly water flowing beside my feet,
we raced each other in the rocky springs,
sitting by the bank to compare the rocks we’d seen.
Drenched in the autumnal winds' cool touch,
we’d dance in piles of fallen leaves.
We stood by the rusty train tracks,
shrubs overgrown between metal cracks,
and picked the wildflowers
to braid in each other's hair.
Yet, they were only fragments of a dream
delicate memories like the petals of
a forget-me-not,
an illusion made to escape the world
we destroyed to reach our aims.
The sheriff had a visitor who growled like thunder,
a rabid dog, teeth bared trying to tear him asunder.
She howled that he'd attacked a member of her pack
Saying Mark was the aggressor and giving him flack.
She told him he'd listened to those who are wrong
then called him a troll, singing that same old song.
He replied to her comments, showing no disrespect
but her defense of that yobbo is hogwash that I reject.
She accused the sheriff of robbing PS of a great poet.
But all the real troll offered was trouble. We know it.
The doggie's heckling prickled me like a thorn or a spur
I won't miss that cowardly 'deleter,' that cocky old cur.
She can defend her crud bud any way she chooses,
but he will always be the one many of us accuses
of bullying, for each time he returns he reeks of ill will.
Hope we've seen the last of him and his snippety quill.
ALL IN
Sometimes things shimmer
and you have to know why,
like the way water lingers on rocks
at the edge of a mountain brook.
It catches the sun a hundred ways
and you are frozen in delight.
It is best to learn a new place
deep, rather than wide, like
on that shore when you visit the
beach and do not understand until
the blue green waves wash you in,
time and time again;
your belly becomes the rumbling surge,
and you are ground into
the white sand and purple coquina.
Free-falling from ten thousand
feet is my measure of new love,
I am prickled with a torrent
of hormones, mouth open in a
silent wail…
I can step too near the thought of you
without words and am tied by the very
sinews of the Earth, and thus to your
muscles and bones, so when our fibers
get tangled and our sweat becomes one
by the side of a mountain brook,
our vision can narrow time to nothing,
and we are the only thing there is.
Copyright
Vol Lindsey
06/16/2019
I was acquainted with you for one night
Not bright by moonlight nor candle to-light
The romance that could be brighter than this night
I am acquainted with you and the discomfort of pain
Unpleasant emotions try to gain and leave its dye stain,
The ache and sore and prickled sting that causes pain.
I am acquainted with you and with the heavy dew,
Of tears and fears walked out in the rain upon you
With scars that look like stars wet with the dew.
I am acquainted with you and the earths ploughed dust,
That came and drew the empty cross now turn to rust
With the pain that hurls its lance as I scatter your dust.
I am crush, with the flood and the great agony of rush
They were not enough to pay for what we cherished.
There once was a chance
I didn’t take, a path
I chose not to travel.
It seemed that the wide
And well-used road
Was safer than the gravel.
I followed the way
That many had trod
And always watched ahead,
Never looking aside
Or trying the new,
Just earning my daily bread.
As the years went on
I felt in my heart
An uneasiness settle in.
I longed for something,
I knew not what,
But it prickled under my skin.
Life was passing me by,
And I thought, I’ve naught
To show for my life so far.
What would have been
If I’d taken the lane
That led to a different star?
It bothered me more
As time went on,
So I made myself decide.
Do I want to go forth
On the safe highway
Or a route I’ve never tried?
I made up my mind
And searched and found
A little used off-beat lane.
It wound over rocks.
There were hills to climb
But my spirit felt no pain.
My heart and my mind
At last were freed.
In this energizing space
I could stretch my thoughts
And free my soul
To reach a higher place.
I once had a chance
That I didn’t take,
But I had a second try.
I’ll never look back -
I’m glad that I dared
Not to let this chance go by!
I don't care for snakes
They hiss and bluff me
I'm not really sure
Is he friend or foe
Cats, I really take
Though cats don't give she
any return purr
any loves warm glow
Steps away not fake,
soft as cotton he
claws like prickled burrs
begins tapping slow
Around pretty lake
Strolling light as bee
Among fair flowers
Light dainty halo
Set atop him, make
head held high as thee
proud hero allures
and females follow
Prancing gay fine rake
along path, high knee
dance he follows pure
His own tune mellow
I don't care for snakes
They hiss and bluff me
I'm not really sure
Is he friend or foe
By Doris Culverhouse
6/12/2021
I lost myself in your quest,
Fate denied what was mine..
Burning within was a heart that died,
Leaving scars that did not lie..
Leaving me helpless,
In this world full of dead..
You went ahead,
Driven by your desires..
I was left alone once again,
Not to be ruptured but trained..
Finding myself was again a task,
Losing to you wasn't that hard..
Hath not I let go of my emotions,
I would still have had the chances of resurrection..
Nobody could enter this prickled heart,
The reason you were lone inside this ruined turret..
You awakened me, repainted my soul,
Made me strong enough to hold myself..
Then left me alone in the wild sea,
Never to come back..
The first few days were hard,
The struggle real with the wretched pains..
Love is not a bed of roses but of thorns,
You showed it right and held me tight..
For it helped me rise and fight again,
Tame the waves and tide again..
You left me to thrive,
I soared higher to cry..
You set my soul ablaze,
And cut my chains..
You were a traveller who settled,
And I became the restless bird of passage….
A woman so selfless
Queen of generosity and forgiveness
The thorns, prickled its throne
To whom, so lovely, place a crown
A new bloom sunflower
Let poor bees suck its nectar
Fulfilled the sweetness of hunger
Though they shall not be parted
For human's mindset curved a rainbow
Few colors, quite distinct, have dark shadow
Gazing, adoring, so gorgeous petal
Turned exposed, too old, torn by sharp metal
An outcast smiling under mask
Forgotten by people she trusts
Molded paper fly freely through darkness
From Mia, who died, drowning under sadness
Looking at the sheep
but there was only one
saw a murder
but then they flew away
each lion makes me proud
prickled all the porcupines
in the caravan they all had humps
basking with a crocodile smile
and with zeal the zebras chuckle
at the parrots pandemonium
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.