Mojubjub knew that the Corcoran tree
Was tall and comely and fair to see.
Yet all the worms in the House of Owls
Could not move; for Mojubjub’s scowls
Brought a score of ladies and their Pekinese,
Only to hear Mojubjub sneeze.
His mother said we shouldn’t mind;
For, after all, he is so kind
He gave to the princess who slept on a pea
A bouquet of roses and fleur-de-lis
To let her know there was nothing to dread
From spending a night in the House of the Dead.
And all the flowers on the Corcoran tree
Bent low to kiss Mojubjub’s knee.
While in the walls of the House of Owls
The worms stood still and heard the howls
Of a thousand manacled Pekinese,
Tortured by thousands of manicured fleas.
Dear Park Lake enchanted a quiet serenity,
In the middle lay a waltzing fountain, free.
We rushed ahead, our echoes scouring the air,
Sat awhile till the dazzling rain showered everywhere.
Hid our fortune—phones safe in pocket,
Heard the scowls, vague and unbound.
Was it fun, or a trap’s warning out loud?
I should have run; might end the haunt.
Reached the top, our feet began to slip,
Arms crossed, hearts passionate in race.
We giggled while spinning in tranquil delight,
Laughter howled, tears began to rise.
Oh my lord, what a day it was!
I smiled… but then a hidden misery crept,
Ambiguous, mesmerizing, obscure,
Fading, sparkling moments—a deceitful lie.
A fragile mask I wore with quiet grace,
The discovery of lust—an obscene trace,
A dissident scratch upon my soul’s flesh,
The only spark that kept him there.
Hoot hoot goes the owl
perpetual in disguise.
Resting on a twig he scowls
furred up in brown and white.
This superb bird stands wise,
in a forest filled with light.
Contest Name: Spirit Animal
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: Sept 26, 2025
for the children of the Holocaust, Ukraine and Gaza
Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails
when thunder howls
when hailstones scream
when winter scowls
when nights compound dark frosts with snow
where does the butterfly go?
Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill,
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief’s a banked fire’s glow,
where does the butterfly go?
And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?
Written: May 28, 2025, for contest by Nette's Color my Mood
**************
the soiling scowls of cumulus night
the life soars, and the broken locks blight
he shrugged off fears that pull and ignite
embrace a life ~ of ongoing grief and guilt
his hours brimmed with adamant wilt...
I only ride the subway
To a doctor or a show.
When teaching, that was not the way
To work I used to go.
Today, though, in the morning rush
I had to take a train
And I expected all the usuals
That make the trip a pain –
Delays and crowds and people whom
You wouldn’t want to meet
And cars so packed that naturally,
You’d never get a seat.
Instead, there was a transit worker
In a neon vest
Who smiled and shouted, “Welcome, people!”
Like she was possessed.
She clapped her hands and greeted all
With such a joyous mien
That commuters sported grins
Where mostly scowls are likely seen.
Just think of it – one person can
Spread happiness around
With just an upbeat attitude,
A lesson quite profound.
Motherly Love and Frowns
Treading down the memory lane streams to my mind
memories from far yet near, some sweet, some sour,
memories preciously shelved in the precincts of my inner sanctum;
so sweet were the mindful motherly hugs of love
like the embrace of a divine angel
so serene soft and self-assuring her smiles
like the spring selfless sunshine
so delicious her warm kisses on the forehead
that no other feel can replace,
yet interspersed at times with some harsh words
for playing hide and seek on the sideway street;
so soft was the caress of her hands on the cheeks
that not even a beloved can bestow
so cool and compassionate her cuddly care
no considerate nurse can dispense
so pleasing to rest on her merciful knees
more so after a hectic day`s fatigue,
yet interposed often times with some scowls
for dusting my clothing or getting home late after cycle rides;
In afterthought, her love and frowns have made me the man I am.
Courage and confidence, like lifeblood, flow in me.
From life-giving streams, waters of wisdom I drink.
In scowls of my foes too, beams of smiles I can see.
With my flawless faith, all my endeavors I link.
I wipe off my conflicts as though they are sweat drops.
Graces, like dewdrops, kiss me with a gentle touch.
Compassion in me like the monsoon rains drizzle.
Kindness grows and flourishes like palms on hilltops.
For stumbling blocks and obstacles, I don't fear much.
With the passion of selfless love, I sizzle.
Sisyphus’ Silence
I sit, a silent, carved-out zone,
A soul entrapped, unlit, unwhole,
The majority’s tide grinds flesh to bone,
While others’ feelings wallow, roll
In mud that clings, a river’s drone.
Sisyphus slumps at mountain’s base,
Scowls at the stone, then dares a smile,
“Nevermore” hums through empty space,
The gods, once loud, now mute, exiled.
Cranky crusty Codgers
Skeptical scornfully scowls
Youthful yearning Yonkers
Heartful happily howls
Spurned spiteful Spinsters
Graying gracelessly grumbles
Marvelous merry Maidens
Ravenous richly rumbles
Strong women would like someone there,
just not to rescue them;
All of those alluring silver screen dreams;
No they don’t need him but they’d like to
give love a second chance;
Rehab for hopeless romantics;
Yeah we’ve seen it all in the movies;
All of those alluring silver screen dreams;
Blurred vowels kissed into deep scowls,
all of this rotten love for sale;
The words resemble dribble and leftovers
accompanied by a timeless type theme;
All of those alluring silver screen dreams;
Modern reality is so tasteless and bland
we’re left coveting wild salt water passion;
When you have happily ever after eyes
nothing can ever quite measure up;
Strong women would like someone there
to pull them back and rescue them,
from every alluring silver screen dream.
when in the parlor
should see Christmas squalor
grow taller and taller
while really on a roll
Christas tree was full of coal
all my gifts Santa stole
when college scholar
who would receive a caller
head stuck in huge howler
when receiving shawl
for Christmas from shopping maul
stuck it in shower stall
for Christmas God came
forgot His fortune and fame
they gave me the blame
when on face saw some scowls
God with Him had brought His owls
would need towels for my bowels
God should always spoil
my pants He did see me soil
when I was on a roll
(my role was rock and roll)
(give out grunt was my goal)
God would make a stream
become part of drastic dream
Christas gifts will redeem
God made my fire flame
He even gave me my name
from my mother came
(with me played name game)
(my Terrier came to tame)
now for an encore
cold see ship crash into shore
not around anymore
when in the parlor
should see Christmas squalor
grow taller and taller
while really on a roll
Christas tree was full of coal
all my gifts Santa stole
when college scholar
who would receive a caller
head stuck in huge howler
when receiving shawl
for Christmas from shopping maul
stuck it in shower stall
for Christmas God came
forgot His fortune and fame
they gave me the blame
when on face saw some scowls
God with Him had brought His owls
would need towels for my bowels
God should always spoil
my pants He did see me soil
when I was on a roll
(my role was rock and roll)
(give out grunt was my goal)
God would make a stream
become part of drastic dream
Christas gifts will redeem
God made my fire flame
He even gave me my name
from my mother came
(with me played name game)
(my Terrier came to tame)
now for an encore
cold see ship crash into shore
not around anymore
Dark rainbowed wings enfold a tortured heart
An oil slick presence seeping through its core
As scarecrow scowls shout “oh please depart”
An ocean scent drifts idly far from shore
The corn has withered now the stalks but sticks
Old barns the only hope of hungry mouse
Sharp beaks and padded paws defy its tricks
Soft circling clouds of warmth surround the house
The raven perched atop the scarecrows head
Leans hard into a seasons angry wind
For even he has come to share the dread
Of pagans who believe it will not end
Thus, do they measure shadows cast by stones
And mark their length with cold ancestral bones
11/13/2023
Living in the glorious now, is the only way to go!
Stop thinking, you must be top dog in the show.
What good wearing that golden crown be?
Ignore the most lonely crowd, throwing faux-flowers at thee!
Your true friends will read you, no need to wear a crown.
Write exactly as you choose, care-not, their scowls or frowns!
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.