here comes a poem that is a snowfall with each flake a different color
here comes a poem that will wrinkle your nose and smooth out your tongue
here comes a poem with a chip on its shoulder but if you knock it off it will cry
here comes a poem that will hop around your front lawn looking for worms
here comes a tough, hard-bitten poem with a cigarette dangling from its lip
here comes a poem looking for its Mommy
here comes a poem as powdery as saffron sherbet and rosewater tea at dawn
here comes a poem with its wife kids grandma and Uncle Jake they will eat all your food break your computer and stay with you forever
here comes a poem written by the little man on the walk light it says Go
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Expecting a flood of love letters
as scribbling on a sheet of rosewater
the fragrance crushed earthy scent
a thornless moonlight rose
an aesthetic storm is brewing
beyond spiritual vitality flows.
Breaking down obstacles
It's because I don't fit into stereotypes
I intend to be myself on this journey
I'm not unique but I'm lacking wisdom,
Yes, I am a free spirit and a bold mind.
Indeed, I am eccentric and disorderly
I'm just rusty and dusty
I may fall, but I will always rise
If you talk easily, I laugh bitterly
I wish to be "me," despite my flaws.
Written: January 29, 2023
knew him as he walked in
A Port boy by the size of his grin
That went from ear to ear
And we shook hands like old friends dear
There was sea water in his veins
And a story for each move of his game
Growing up there was some time around
In Rosewater Ethelton Henley Seaton and Semaphore bound
For the summer it was at beach time
At the carnival Semaphore road for mine
I remember laughing with my mates
In those days when fun was our fate
Being a Port boy from a Port family
Meant that there was no hiding easily
Aren’t you the son of.. was for real
So you had to stay on an even keel
Even though we may move away
Coming back it’s like we stayed
For we are forever bound to the place
As a Port boy with some grace.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Her world is a paranoid marketplace.
Fear is the zeitgeist and panic her shame.
She’d married her psyche to a dog whistle pimp
Who’d promised her he’d drain the swamp.
And sure enough, he did.
Drained it right into her swimming pool.
Idea thieves, poetry forgers, and high-water prophets
Trouble her intangibles to no end of sadness
With pressed-flower language, and wallpaper promises.
They give her Teflon skillets, microwavable plastic,
Flushable wipes, and jade v*gin* eggs
With which to contemplate the world to come,
While she’s sipping absinthe with Pablo, of course.
Now the dinky engine is on the narrow gauge
Approaching a junction packed with
Fingernail dirt and tactical nukes.
The flood of refugees is on the rise,
Taking the road to more primitive times.
Someone drank all the sanctified church wine.
Now she waits for the suicide drones.
Rosewater tonics won’t offer relief
When the bill for the wedding comes due,
Her field of dreams beneath a mushroom cloud.
Swain…
I wanted you to stay with me forever.
Swain…
I wanted you not to go there
where I left my heart ache.
Till the end of life, I want you to be mine
Put up with me till the dark…
Swain…
I have a glass of wine
And the feeling of divine
Just for you…oh baby…Just for you.
Twinkling stars embellished us,
Full moon night cherished us
With the brightness of love.
Swain…
You are my peace,
You have the tiny space
Inside my heart.
You are the reason
for the celebration.
Teardrops in eyes of mine
are dancing with joy,
My heart is skipping beats
just after your arrival! Oh my, Swain….
Swain...
Oh, my gorgeous you are
the delight of my life,
You are the bit of rosewater in the drought...
You are the cure for my all pain,
And the angel for one who's dying
with the broken heart and the broken wings...
Oh, my swain...
I sank into the rosy waters, my
skin sensing silken dreams fading soft,
to blissful dreaming on passionate tides.
half opened red buds
in petal folds raindrops tucked -
rosewater drizzles
Epaulets of schmaltzy eyes set to be so loose
Given a glass of rosewater, its perfect booze!
This cattish damsel in the planetary alignment of swank
Regularly chichi, sometimes bltchy
Never mind, always kind, two-up for a Blanc.
A scene isn’t required in this oratorio of vigorous clap,
Attend our burlesque all graceful, with a strap,
Ready for a striptease of the intellect
In the house of opaque ornaments and frill
No defence, for I've come to kneel
Before the throne thrown a bone
And over it like a dog I bog-in
Committing - a sin after sin.
Where to stop, when to cop?
Though if it is dead when all is said
In the endless abyss of frenzy and tears
I command the battle of no fears
Until the end of Act 1
Stay put, it’s not done!
You’ve moved, you’ve improved
It’s time! It’s time!
When nothingness of a blank canvas
is smudged by glossy crayons of a child,
a messy picture chuckles in a new carnival.
When thoughts twinkle stargazing the sky
unfurling a drama in splendor of limerance,
an enchanted soul chimes like a chandelier.
When fingers tingle in touch of embrace
trembling underneath a virtual warm wrap
a fragile dream meanders, on dainty tendrils
When a fresh shower arouses scent
of a landscape lined in primrose and peony,
a luscious splash of rosewater permeates.
When daisies laugh in brightest yellow,
music sunbathing a vast green meadow
a melody in beats of que sera resonates.
When a dawn waiting beyond the horizon
hangs the moon low, over the ocean,
a complex world , blurrs out of vision.
That scrambled emotion, has a beautiful name, they say it's called love.
You say "You're mine" a thousand times and still never enough.
9th June 2019
Sponsor Sheri Fresonke Harper
Contest : Going Deep within an Emotion
She reigns with rosewater essence and long-stemmed style,
the honey of perfection and purring elegance;
with feline finesse in stilettos she walks on elevated air -
her shapely legs of lyrical rapture in rhythm
with the refined beats of her high heeled heart.
Susan Ashley
June 2, 2018
This boat is full
a vessel overflowing
a shoal
afloat
in bitter mist
Dream boy, dream—
drab gloom
sunlight on your husk;
damp frazzles
lightweight trunks
around your gaunt calves;
fields of algae
spacious green meadows,
gannets
chanting larks
You buried memories
with clawing fingers in scarred soil—
- small hibiscus petals
rosewater fragrance
one rippled giggle
tattered pink of her dress
small scabs under band aids -
fertilized dust with saline grief
This boat is full
a vessel overflowing
darkness howls
***
August 8, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
O BELLADONNA AMARYLLIS!
Lovely petals in bloom
A bride and a groom
A honeysuckle room
a tiny seed
Gathering the sheaves
Greenback leaves
For her folded sleeves
a watered seed
Rosewater wife
Healthy strife
A perfect life
a split pea
A former bach*
Time tick tock
Pregnant frock
naked ladies breathe
~ 6/29/2017 ~
Rhyme Form
Belladonna Amaryllis -
also known as Naked Ladies
Bach - bachelor - pronounced “batch”
What is my conception of love?
Now that I let me straw hat rest
On the rocks of Moses’ teachings
Now that I behold robins pick my seeds
What is my conception of love?
Love is an old cotton Djellaba
I wear early sometime in December
When Goethe’s muse rambles alone
The deserted Georgian streets of Borjomi
Eliza found a perennial Canadian love
Probably in the wings of a broken dove
She tends to it by late May rosewater
Sadly, she shuns the idea of a second abandonment
You know that I know that nothing remains the same
Not even my grandmother’s sesame candies
Let me just sip alone those cups of rusty mirage
My brown Turkish beret shall rest alone
On the broken trim of a shaded window
Overlooking a battered copy of Truth and Method
Years my father nostalgic for my mother.
She'd set the Shabbat table
Guess the white cloth the flu vegetable land
Let the fine flour, put the meat
Put the tomatoes and garlic
She could cook.
It tasted feed came from us
And so would put us as cookies Yu Yu Tonisaiot
Sweet biscuits dipped in liquid dam
Rosewater would add my grandmother if she had been allowed to
But here in my mother would make the salads very thinly
To unite us at the Shabbat table.
I did not learn a foreign language parents
My parents speak their language changes
Request a sweet Polish father
Tunisian mature mother
And I did not learn of them a foreign language
Only Hebrew sucked mother that it was not her mother tongue
She spoke with her sisters in French
Arabic
Jewish and jargon that far.
In the kitchen I did not learn a foreign language
Only Hebrew
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.