rooster crows his morning song
pridefully male
apple blossoms arrived last night
deep purple lilac bush in full bloom
feels like May
verdant meadow lawn nearly fluorescent
i choose my paints
ready to follow my artistic muse
(“Glimpsing Hokusai”, 2017, original encaustic)
Intifada aka “Kill the Jews!”
While we were sleeping content in our lives
Something dark and ugly was growing inside
Spreading across the lawns, and fibers of the net
An intifada of hate as old as time,
For those People of the Book who hold the power
Maybe we fear, maybe we envy.
“Kill the Jews” was once tolerated,
Then condemned in shame,
And now pridefully in distain proclaimed.
“Kill the Jews” may sound hip and cool
Until you realize where this led last time,
And how a Jew is no different from you.
Everyone now who’s saying it,
Gleeful as you rise up to burn again,
What it’s taken so long to build,
Consume with a hate as old as time.
But how will you feel in the morning
When the next wave comes for you…
(11/25/24)
5 in the morning, Why
do you keep at it? Howl-
ing and wail-ing, the wall
cries out in fear as
you press your weight
into it.
Heavy, heaved breaths
as it pulls inwards,
afraid for its cracked fate.
I sit and stare, a loaded
gun
inside the room.
Should I? Why
do I bother.
My door is kicked in
and he stood there,
a picture of red, red
vengeance. El Diablo--
is this a dream? He
is chest-bare,
nothing to hide
his eyes’ hate. I
hear his heart wind up--
inside, Memory tastes his pulse.
The wall creaks and is
curious, rises pridefully
and cowers all at once.
There are no words
to baptize hatred,
not the child I saw
beneath his skin.
It crawled, like a worm,
slithered out his heart
and up up up
into me, the croaking wall
a silent witness
to all. I sit
and stare and sin(g)
a thousand stars' choir of rage.
Father’s toes are steel-capped,
Rough, worn-out leather, a layer
Of thick polish that cracks
With each bend, each step.
His feet carry a child’s weight,
A bundle of laughter and bouncing curls
Balanced at his ankles, shuffling
Across outdated carpeted floors.
A moment of decompression
After a day of hard labour, father
Carried the child from infantile morning
To the matured evening.
There came a time when the child,
Older and weary, thrust father’s feet
Upon her own, her arms under his.
Mimicking the act of childhood,
The child walked her fatherly puppet,
The body limp, unresponsive,
Across those once-carpeted floors
And into a place of refuge.
Father and child rely on each other
To pick the other from sullen ground,
Shake off the dirt and grime of worry
And lift them pridefully to their feet.
Father and child are joined in blood,
The same small features, the wide smile
That consumes half the face, and the ethic
Of working hard for little merit.
Father’s steel-capped toes stepped aside,
Gave way to slow movements with purpose,
And heavy breaths subside
Any desire to pick up the pace.
Like rain drops but not ??
06/08/2023
A collaborative poem by:
°Chelsea Marie StufLeben
& my 9 year old daughter,
• Claire Christine Maki
•A dark stormy day,
With the city at Bay.
°Way off in the distance,
was a luminant ray.
•While the city was dark,
the people would say
•It was not a good day,
for the clouds to be grey.
°Why oh why,
won't the clouds go away?
°•Will we ever see Sun,
or its bright gleeful day?
•Oh look! Said a man,
On the streets of his town.
•°As he saw the clouds fade,
And the sun was now found.
°But even more brilliant,
The raindrops now glistened.
°•They'd turned to sundrops,
the town pridefully listened.
•To the birds as they chirped,
Far off in the distance.
•°They soaked in the sun,
In it's vitalized essence.
•So now that they bathed,
In the light of the Sun.
•their hearts were all full,
Joy had filled everyone.
Paula’s partying parrot paraded pridefully past Pete
Particularly poised Petunia pranced persimmon sweet.
Pete preferred Paul’s personality, plowing past Petunia’s pail.
Quizzable questionable quandary quickly confusing quibbling quail.
In My Garden of Freedom
To no human, do I belong!
I am the afterglow of freedom’s song.
My friends bring me water and light.
The hour matters not, even at midnight!
It is no secret, one need not kneel on floors.
Begging for others to open their heart’s doors.
My friends are humble yet accomplished in life skills.
They are not dancing pridefully, to some selfish quadrille.
They rarely, suddenly, disappear nor fall silent in my life.
And those who do…I know their hearts are experiencing strife!
My Lord, has provided more than plentifully for all my needs.
And, I look to that final day, when he brings me home,with Godspeed!
Through many centuries, I am fortunate to have flourished and lived.
I hope that in my final hours, I realize I have taken less than I indeed, gived.
A miraculous life, blessed thrice and spared the gnarls of death!
Let my final words, be in praise of God, in a humble breath.
9/20/2022
My mother did it again!
She laid it pridefully on my plate.
A coagulated, creative, colorful texture.
She called it Suzeeka.
I said, "wait!"
"Oh mom of mine what is this feast?"
She studied the mound carefully and said,
"Well it's green and brown."
I took my fork and stirred it around.
"It's healthy too".
I sniffed at the phosphorescent glow.
"But I still want to know!"
"Is it fit to eat or will I groan in my sleep?"
"My dear", she said in a huff, " I make it three hundred days
a year. I notice that you are healthy
and still here."
She turned around.
I quietly slid the Suzeeka off my plate and on to the ground.
Murmuring softly to myself, I debated the fate of what had been
on my plate!
"See, I knew you would like it if you tried it," she said.
"And it filled you up better than bread!"
How can you treat me so evil. Believe me when I say this earth is lethal. In all his glory he made this world but you tore down a loving soul. More then gold I was worth to you and yet you wanted a pleasure fool. I shed my deepest concerns that I pray that you don’t perish and pridefully burn. You were someone who was special to me. I tried to make us work and help you see. God has the last say that his righteous judge will have its way. God Bless everyone and repent for the kingdom of God is at hand!
Listen to this song by Marvin Gaye
It’s too late on youtube
https://youtu.be/ab3YPDwYBHs
Behold the flageolet wizard wand —
at each windpipe end,
it toe tag taps the same dirge sound
Abominable Gomorrah black buries
to the left
Vile Yeti blinking Babel blue buries
to the right
This voodoo mint stick
shows you the same Al Jolson face,
no matter which dark side
of the hex coin you flip
Deep indigo Far West hue
is gonna bullet mark your forehead
with a transactional tattoo
Shallow turquoise shade rear East tint
will sunset your hope
with burning crosses double helix bent
Wooden voodoo baton
carved with pagan imagery
On each side of the prod stick,
cattle cull call
is tased with ballot trickery
Some pridefully pip
they be canary pawns of the right wing
Others proudly chirp
they be pigeon fawns of the left honking
And the independent night owl souls
sniff how the trade wind blows,
to decide on which way they gonna lean
Pogo patsies on a voodoo stick
bouncing to-and-fro billow mindlessly
Drowning their fears
in patriotic waves of I-pod conformity
They do the death dance,
head bobbing self-sacrificially so
Voodoo chicken tenders
turning on the fiery pit spit slow
In the sixth hour,
of the sixty-sixth day,
another doubter stood on the edge
of the dark abyss
Void chasm in the mind;
canyon to nowhere,
null directions written on a blank page
In the sixth hour,
of the sixty-sixth day,
a scoffer peered down into the darkness
And in that dire, precipice moment ...
a fateful decision had to be made
Babylonian in nature,
the implications were grave
Willingly eat the Nebuchadnezzar curse,
swallow the rage
Stoke the volatile belly of beastly hatred,
then sphincter lip open the cage
This skeleton key decision has you so afraid
Explosive emotions ... violently untamed
Wrecking havoc,
innocent blood will have the soul stained
Every precipice moment begins and ends
In the sixth hour,
of the sixty-sixth day
Pridefully stand tall, and
fall asunder or bend to pray ...
the choice is yours
Fear the scarlet marked nay,
should you choose to temptingly fall that way
In the sixth hour
of the sixty-sixth day ...
The birth of reprobate iniquity
died in a stillborn womb,
where mercy was taken away
A Captivating Rose
A rose's petals are tender to touch
The delicate nature is pridefully pure
That blazing beauty entices the eyes
While their thorns may leave you sore
They hold a scent of carnal passion
A deep perfume that dreams of love
They dare reveal their hearts, like fashion
That crimson glow is too beloved
A rose will drive you mad with envy
And transform your mind with greed and sin
They will grasp your heart and soul
As those thorns slowly sink in
There was a beautiful painting
Sitting high on the wall
Painted perfectly
Pitching pridefully
Partial color
Taking time
To reveal its true definition
Admired by many
As guest walk by
Astounded
By hard work and dedication
The effort was less
Purity at its best
With silence
It caress
Something royal
Like a crest
Worshipped everyday
As i leave home
So precious
It could light up an entire room
Sing to me
A lovely tune
Remind me
Of why I painted you
For years to come
Ill pass it off
To show many
Where you come from
An Original
With an array
Of beauty everlasting
Priceless
And fragile
Promiscuous passions pretense
Promiscuous passion puts on a pretense
as he pridefully tries to prove his physical prowess
Promiscuous passion presumptuously pursues prey
by projecting his powerful persona on the perfect person
Promiscuous passions asks would you dance with me please
as he pours profusely personal admiration along with the drink
Promiscuous passion persistently says you are so beautiful
but it's only a pretense to persuade her to provide permission
Promiscuous passion promises perpetual devotion proclaiming
permanence of passion as a possibility (but remember the pretense)
Promiscuous passions pretense provides positive proof so she falls for it
promptly providing privacy... so predictable.
Promiscuous passions pretense plan works perfectly mission complete so...
promiscuous passion promptly puts on his pants and parts ways permanently
Leaving the pitiful prey to ponder what happened and how to proceed with this perfectly predictable predicament.
John Derek Hamilton
April 09,2016
Framed out pridefully perfect above the crisp glow of embers, is Family.
To each side sets sarcastically cocked crooked, Love and Hope.
Reality streams blindly through the window
While drapes try bravely to filter the unwanted.
Slightly above the door, where the dust has long been gathering,
Hangs curiously a sign stating, “Trespassers will be shot on sight”
Engulfing the significant part of the room is a hypnotic piece of art.
It has “Your Life” meticulously designed within it's brilliance.
This place has been kept cryptically locked away for ages,
Safely out of the reach of any who try's gaining entry.
Lyn Church
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.