Puddled Poems | Examples

Whispers of Rain on Christmas Day

The sky unwraps a silver veil,
Each drop a hymn, so soft, so pale,
As rain begins its tender play.

It drapes the earth in crystal lace,
With every bead, a sweet embrace,
A gentle calm on Christmas Day.

The lights reflect in puddled grace,
Like stars descended, face to face,
In every splash, a dream will stay.

Oh, how I love the rain's refrain,
Its hush more pure than caroled strain,
A holy hush where hearts can pray.

The Final Turn

I’ll admit 

I’ve 
Thought 
About it 

The moment where 
The ground underneath my feet 
Reverses

My life
An old film strip 
Burning up after the last breath 

With the weight 
Embedded to my bones
Of mere existence 

Leaking from 
My skin 
Like bubbles racing to the surface 

Sharp points 
Of windshield glass 
Like freckles on my face 

Numbing 
The feeling 
Of lukewarm red 

That makes me 
Look like 
A morbid drip painting 

The scissors 
They hold cut the one restraint 
Holding my body here 

Making me 
A puddled mess 
Of a being 

Crushed 
Up against 
The hardtop 

Where my future aspirations 
Wishes and dreams 
Are now just stains on asphalt

In Moonlight's Rising Tide

Adrift in dreams while romance reading
Asleep e're night shadows began creeping 
She lay puddled in moonlight's rising tide— 
Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' at her side

In reverie, Elizabeth stood on the misty moor 
for what seemed to her a lifetime of waiting
Held her breath when in front of her he stood
Sighing as Darcy brushed a gentle kiss on her lips

Rice

“If you give me rice, I’ll eat today; if you teach me how to grow rice, I’ll eat every day.”
- Quote by Mahatma Gandhi
------------------------------------------------
sprouted, sowed, dressed, transplanted
soil rich, fertile, warm
puddled field, drained well, weeded
panicle to grains
gently harvested
life staple
food

NATURING PEACE

NATURING PEACE

Hungary hates hunting…
Love’s lone lamb looks luscious…
Puddled peace preferred…

The Ramblings of a House Wife

The soft clouds of cotton white
Wipe away the tears of the earth
Absorbing the pain poured and puddled below
Swarms of pestilence incubated in muddy melancholic pools of despair
From clean, fresh, white fluff, these clouds absorb the real us
Aging each one to the salt and pepper gray and musky stench of filth
Mop it up
Wring it Out
Over mountain, valley, and field
The dirty emotion and sordid feelings like mop water rain down
Yet at the dawn a clean shining light
The sorrow of the night
Washed away with clear, blue skies and
The crisp wind snap of clothes line white clouds.

frozen farewell

your breath upon the window freezes, lace
    ?  yet soft upon my cheek, its somber strains
         as dampened words collect in tears to trace
   the spoor of sorrow weeping from my veins

your perfect bows then tremble with a smile
      soft-pressed, your pitied kiss upon my eyes
         three words, a whispered falsehood to defile
   the beggar's hope I held of sweet goodbyes

one last embrace thus mocks this frigid air
      of warm skin buried deep inside your coat
         the final knife "goodbye" you bring to bear
   and drag the jagged word across my throat

your chilling crime of passion now complete
      my love, like blood, lays puddled at your feet.

Yard Work

Yard Work
Written: by Miracle Man
5/13/2024

The morning has started with a drizzle falling,
my name, the tall grass, seems to be calling.
But a puddled yard,
makes mowing hard,
and daily rains have made mowing appalling.

how paints a poet? -

(inhale)

aim, undetermined ...
what purpose do I serve?
what is poetry’s primal essence?!?
my words only
cover pages that ghost
the spaces of better intention ...
that garland upon
my brow bleeds 'neath the
clawing shadows of
naked branches, thorns twisted
and braided with the
lightness of feathers, and pressed with
poetic care to let my
red ruin run ...
it drips with the weight of
indifference and
careless consideration, and clots
about my feet ...
cold witness, there, the moon -
it's visage smiles from the
surface of my weeping veins, puddled ...
such impeccable beauty
there in the coagulating remnants
of my mortality ...
and though it's a lie - just the
mirrored image of the
heavenly beauty that daubs
the great expanse,
it is enough ...
sufficient grace to squeeze
the last languorous
gasp from these tired,
grateful lungs ...
LIFE, I love you with my being ...
your breathtaking elegance
and your exquisite pain,
and I am naught but blessed to
have simply ...
breathed.

(exhale)

Almighty God’s Son

He visited Simon's mother-in-law, who had a fever.
Did he do so because she was kin of his disciple?
The elderly needed care. He knew this as a healer.
Wasn't their psyche more than their physique what made them ill?

A lesion in reason and logic rots the mind, like rust.
Depression, delirium, dementia, and rifts in moods
Loss of autonomy, grief, loneliness, and lack of trust
Optimism fades like a waning moon, and pessimism broods.

He knew these puddled muddles. Was he a psychoanalyst?
How was he able to read each mind like a telepath?
Wasn't he, for-bye, a universal philanthropist?
Was he not the zenith of extraterrestrial math?

Innocence, like crystal clear streams, flooded from his person.
Wasn't he, after all, the Almighty God's precious son?

The Weaver's Yarns

I find small groups of words huddled
Bound together and befuddled
Their meanings over time now muddled
Yellowed lies of passing dogs now puddled

Others rant, claim they’ve been born again
Lost within deceptions now and then
Whittling their meanings razor thin
Thus, none can use such words except for them

To form a phrase was once considered art
For open minded thought was at its start
As words would step on stage, play their part
Not caring for the place of horse or cart

For words are but the spindle’s flowing threads
Ink the weaver’s yarns in blues and reds

Errosia

I swung my mini fridge door wide 
Revealing tiny porridge pops and coke
They puddled the shelfs dripping down, 
Sticky little oats and fructose 

The mess muddied my socks
Soaking my bow and sole
Like a beach of sweaty skittles
Carried by the melting rocks

I raised my knee to my shoulder
To watch sludge fall and splat
Ingraining my mess in the carpet 
Compelling my toes to stretch

Analysis Paralysis

By criss-cross catalysis,
Pillaged from memory—from pill.
Paralysis of analysis:
Stuck inside, and outside still.

Eyes locked,
No sign,
Neck straight, head cocked,
Eye-socket lined,
Long curved spine.

Focus inside outer locus,
A junk of mental hocus-pocus. 
Bogus begs the beggar be,
Rather than fathomed,
Of withered crocus.

Lillith spillith an eider-dew;
Upon the eider-down.
Willith he then simmer, stew, 
A ‘neath the Summer New?

Winter fell, and song-man cryeth,
To’ve been and not much else.
Itching on an itch till nigh death!
Approaches oceans inside of shells.

Echo yonder Spring in light,
And sight might be delight.
While still the tactile tends too trite,
Yet flickered, ever glowing bright. 

Eyes ‘hind,
Blind mind,
Find neither sign,
Nor time,
By petty dime.
Found ground,
Deep down,
6, puddled clown,
Without beast at behest. 

By liver drowned to dialysis,
Watered words upon the sea,
Crissing-crossed heaves—phthisis,
Waits for numbed catastrophe.

Ja 'Quelle

When the lights go off
When curtains are drawn  
When stillness settles here
    
 I lie thinking 
        
 It is you swirling in me like feathers in soft winds or letters over an ocean
  
 Like a little girl swings in spring time
 Swaying slow
 At the bus stops by the ways where vineyards grow
 At times you try  and hide 
Some how your feelings show:
 Puddled eyes, swaying hips both arms in a hold, 
 Drawing circles in the sand with the end of your toes    
 
 Over time you became so quiet     
 I left you in the stillness the nostalgic silence like the lost bow of a violin
Perhaps in time retirements
Perchance someday we'll find it
 
 You fell and wept, I knelt as you bled, there's a scar that I've nursed on the side of your leg 
              
 Ja 'quelle

The Cooling Cloudburst

As lightning brights the meadow
And thunder dulls the air;
I feel it still,
A stormy chill,
An aura everywhere.

I wander o'er the pathway
And paddle through the rain;
My bootheels squash
The squelchy wash
Along the puddled lane.

My face refreshed with teardrops
The clouds have wept from high;
They gently wet
My eyes, and yet,
They barely seem to cry.

I dance on midst the moisture
The hail sends down to earth;
I sense the beat
Beneath my feet
And sing for all I'm worth.

But then the fulgid sunlight
Warms the land once more;
I'm home to you
As I step through
A rainbow's archwayed door.

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