I always find myself
getting upset with little things,
whether it’s the way my best friend
acknowledges me like I am a burden,
or the way my boyfriend
can’t just be happy with one girl.
I’m always upset,
and I don’t know why I’m like this.
I’m a happy person,
at least to people’s knowledge,
but on the inside
I am angry.
Very, very angry.
I feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
I can be happy,
but that’s only when I have a distraction,
like when my best friend does listen to me,
or when my boyfriend makes me feel
like the prettiest girl in the world.
Those are meant to be happy moments,
but somehow I find the negative in all of it.
Is she secretly judging me?
Why is he suddenly nice?
Is he cheating?
Why can’t I just enjoy something good
without wondering what’s wrong with it?
Why do I always have to find something
to be angry about?
I’m happy to people’s knowledge,
but on the inside,
I’m angry,
and sometimes I don’t even know
what I’m angry at.
Ruminating on Li??le Bo-Peep,
and sadly,
her badly-missing sheep,
the evidence will show,
in the time allotted,
to get all her ducks in a row,
she had not spotted
the reason they were lost.
It was because her t's were dotted
and their eyes were crossed.
With my hands aloft I hail and
greet you all,
woolly slow-traipsing souls of Australia,
the motif in innocent art, holy and treasured,
bleating to the call of soundless dawn.
BOIMA.
Pelo e rwalego meloko,
Mogawo wo o sa fetošwego ke nako.
O wa ka mangwele—
fela
wa se khuname!
Botiipane ke matlaka
a go gana go robega phetšong;
Lenganego ke kotse e tiilego ya sebopego,
e sa letlanywego ke tšhošetšo.
Boima bjo—
bo go tlema fase bjalo ka thaba,
gore moya o se ke wa go tšea.
English translate
HEAVINESS.
A heart carrying whole generations,
An unyielding stance against the drift of time.
You fall to your knees—
yet
you do not bow!
Stiffness is the dry stem
that refuses to snap in the gale;
Starch is the crisp, unruffled shield of form,
unwrinkled by the threat of collapse.
This weight—
it anchors you deep like a mountain,
so the wind can never steal your breath.
Black sheep of the family that is me,
middle sibling of three.
No -one talks visits or phones
Yet when they all talk about me its nothing good they all just moan.
Guess im ment to be all alone.
Love,talk,and care i wished I recieved from you.
I wish things was different I really do
Us siblings once was close,
but now drift so far away
I look back on the old good day
Why does everyone push me out
All I can do is cry and shout..
But on my own I will survive without a doubt.
We were not about to clone a plain sheep like Dolly
Our scientists went sixteen steps further by golly
We cloned a rainbow sheep and called her holly
Her belly shook and she ho-ho-hoed ever so jolly
The prototype -vs- The polished versions
Imaginary wool that doesn't match, separated
from the flock.
Just reflect what they are.
They speak in implications and secret codes,
Do they resent you for making everything
crystal clear?
The Black Sheep learned the truth has no
inside. Black Sheep is your honesty called
"Aggression" their silence is called "Peace"?
Being called "Difficult" for naming what
everyone pretends to agree to ignore.
They refuse to acknowledge the prayer, the
Black Sheep were born first but cursed last.
The uncut Gem too sharp for the polished
settings where the rest of the clan lives.
The mirror hung backwards, it showed the
truth, so they face it toward the wall.
"The Black Sheep "does not" apologize for
its wool.
I was sitting on the corner, stoned
When out of the blue, my dead aunt phoned
How could this be, she rests in peace
Right beside my loving niece
I answered the phone, and my auntie said
"I know you think that I am dead"
"I'm alive"- my auntie moaned
Or- could it be that you're just- "Stoned"
I rolled over and went back to sleep,
counting red and yellow sheep.
I heard auntie say, "the sheep are real cheap."
Then I rode off in an old broken down jeep.
Maybe I needed to stop getting in the stoned zone?
Now the sheep farm I do own.
My loving niece Joan said, "be carful Charles."
I did not listen, so I am now all alone.
O be a sa bonale
O nnyame o sa
Tsammae
ducked away out of sight
Sitting In a hidden corner
Fifi se kukutweng
Gongwalo
O kga a utama
Unnoticed
done with a little witch trickery
In pure deceit is manyami
a secret i fihlilwe
Shadow like,hangs a
heavy presence
drifting like smoke
Trapped in the untangible
O sa kwamegeng
A magical thing
TSA maselawatana
Encountering Of the divine realm
Seeing A ghost is sethotsela
Beholding wonders of great Is mabohlokoa,
And that is tangible and touched is se swaregang
until Is finally revealed
disclosed as se utollwago
Time for me to go to sleep
the task at hand, counting sheep
dreams like water flow and start
a special form, dreamscape art
drifting now, going deep, credit to the sheep.
Sleepless Nights,
I have trouble at night and don't sleep very well.
The doctor gave me,
funny colored little pills.
Life gave me,
counting sheep one by one.
The bible gave me,
counting my blessings one by one.
WOW!!!
counting blessings really works.
Many used to tell me it's time to drop off
that's 'cause my initials say I am a DAG
This nickname occurred when these initials
were engraved on a gladstone bag
In days of yore
these comments made me glum
Because a dag is the poo that is found
sticking to the wool surrounding a sheep's bum
DAG can also mean a humorous man
can crack a joke to bring about a smile
That's me that's what I do now
I'm also modest. I do it all with style
If you are feeling rather blue
feeling rather sad feeling rather glum
Just be a happy Dag and not the one
that's sticking to a woolly bum
I told the truth, and made some mad
Felt threatened, and told me to stop
Tell me who I am, no they cannot
Control my reality, no they could not
Better the view, way from the top
They see me rise, and I see them fall
I got fed up, and said enough
They criticize, I say shut up
Comparing me, and cannot match
I raise my voice, and they are shocked
Some mocking me, and then I block
They had a say, now it’s my turn
Out of my way, have them kick rocks
Call me black sheep, better than lost
I am the one, and they are pawns
Triggering them, with just one word
If the shoe fits, it’s not my fault
I am now free, I know my worth
The slate is clear, facing the sun
A brand new me, I have transformed.
Raven Archer.
We frame his daily work of love
along a mirrored river of calm
brown legs and arms reaching for above
snow white their wool where they belong
such peace not to be fleeced ~
he cuddles them where nature is song
Hills ribboned breasts peachy orange
prime colours are all we need
this is how we feed from Earth’s
core green sweet …
______________________
Art piece :
Shepherd and Sheep at Vlaici
Nicolae Darascu
Date: 1912
Style: Post-Impressionism
Genre: Landscape
Source : Wikiart
_________________________
3rd PLACEMENT : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand : March 26
Nights awake dreaming
Restlessness stalks her victim
~ Convalescent home
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.