Short Hovel Poems

wrinkled woman hums,
     
plants flowers round her hovel

at the garbage pit !...

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The snob went out
I was alone in the mud hovel
Kind of wistful
After the sunbeam
I saw utter splendor,
Nimbus....

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Haven of rest
A quiet tranquil recess
Balmy cove
My Solitary retreat
Hovel where nature calmly unfolds
Resuscitating faint soul...

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the grainy half dusk
when the sun gives her last wink
hours spent in thought 
to leave the safe sanctity
this lonely little hovel...

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it is my hovel
I have a shovel
but will not use it
for this is my fit

your opinions are great
but you arrived much too late
This is my home
And I have some of my own...

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There was a man with a shovel
Whose house was a relative hovel
Digs a hole in the floor
Think his dad was a boar
Cos he cant stop sniffing for truffle



Penned 17 August 2013...

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on a long hike the pebble reminds me... 
to take note-that every step
is precious-not to be ignored.

Never remove a pebble from its leather hovel.
Sometimes irritation is the price of knowledge...
when a pebble is the teacher....

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how easy we follow
always thinking tomorrow
if i could give it back
a smile and raised hat
obey a word they say
ran out of rules and play
choose the evil
looking for the torments hovel
never found a right
worth the fight
any back to freewill
an exit
a choice...

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*Image of Free Sky & Nature provided by Pixabay.

A Journey to Joy
Poetic Form: Monoku

I crawled midst hope, then stood and cope, now hovel I ~~ with Heaven nearby.

2021 April 27
*2nd Place*
Paradox of Life
~~JCBurl: Judged 2021 April 30...

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Tried and tested by a virus, novel
I sit by the hearth of my lowly hovel
Taxed some more, without relief
Our kings, of their infallibility, grow in belief

Stimulus packages to the Lords
Home based care for the lowly sods
Dynastic games they play
The masses can only moan and pray...

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As I slowly fade in my hovel,  TV speakers  playing.  I dream of a cave a lone figure?  A whisper, "Zareba."  Zareba?  In my head.  I ponder.  A monolith appears, so transparent it is.
Ohh!  The admiral bounty of this scene, in my head?
I reminisce of happy times.
The traffic noise is distracting.
Wait!
Is this really all but a dream?
Ohh! 
How I wish this dream.
SO true?...

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I like the night because it’s time for sleep
The quiet time when work is done for day
At night my small hovel will safely  keep
Me free from some rain that might wet me through.
It is not much of a place I might say
Tis a blessing there is no rent past due
My mind is at ease this night on that score
Tomorrow’s another day come what may
Care I not a fig for what is in store...

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He loved that summer hovel.
In the middle of nowhere (his somewhere).
With its misty hills of emerald spires.
Fireflies to kiss the night.

Fall arrived, exposing a tin shed on the next hillside.
Every time he gazed out the window.
The shine from the shed, shackled his eye.
One sentinel of shine crushed an army of dreams.
Once again, he prayed for summer and its thick canopy....

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Adrift in your eyes
     The night is deep
I search raven skies
     I cannot speak

What is this embrace
     Held to your darkness
I touch your face
     I feel the starkness

The powers that be
     This mysterious night
Have come unto me
     Your rule they indict

I am left to grovel
     Desire unyielding
A lecherous hovel
     A whim to your wielding

8/4/17...

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Dearest Vicar –
Late came the regency bells;
The voice of your acolyte:
The mezzotinted voice of the verger
Rang at last for mass extrusion.

Dearest Vicar –
We all heard the fragile peels:
All the birds of riot 
Must disjoin in the new exodus
Of the new testament of single nests?

Dearest Vicar –
Confusion and uncertainty
Reigned in the hovel:
The restive communal nest....

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Take me to the place 
where the air is clear
and transparent, like the water 
that flows down the sides
of the monolith
an ever flowing, bounteous treasure
where my soul feels free

take me to that quiet hovel
that lies deep in the woods
an admirable little zareba
where a cave sits in the monolith
a cave that never ends
like the flowing water
and the dreams in my head


February 22nd 2014...

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Pulling myself from the brush
thorn ripping tictures in skin and cloth
a mumble from the darkening clouds
whisper traces of slipping rain
before me stood a battered domain
its windowed eyes
unwelcoming and barren
turning the path behind me swallowed
by decaying leaf fingertips
once again surveying the hovel before me
my eyes darting between shade and light
hoping for a trace of life...

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Cheerful little bird,
You are so very strange,
To land beside my window,
Upon this lonely day

Funny little bird,
You are so very brave,
To sing your tender treble,
Though sky is cold and grey

Caring little bird,
You are so very kind,
To be my sole companion,
When warmth I cannot find

Silly little bird,
You came so very close,
To craft your grassy hovel,
Then flew across the coast....

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Malt-o-Meal sitting on my desk
Left over from last year
Found in a box I never unpacked
in August and this is April 25th

Cleaning is not my thing;
Even when I do it no one appreciates it
And no one knows
For there are no obvious clues.

So here I sit, 
Enjoying my hovel 
Finding whatever I need
Knowing it will be here again tomorrow

Discouraging others
From disturbing me
or my mess that 
Completes me....

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Once in the dresser out of sight
Forgotten upon the drop of night,
Will this favored blue blouse be found
Or will she merely hide around?

For once you enter the dressers’ hovel and glut,
And that small drawer is tight and shut,
And you are not seen at quick first sight,
You are swiftly forgotten until you are too tight.

Little blue blouse, I hate to do it to you,
You are the prettiest blouse, oh, one so blue.
But in the drawer you suddenly must be.
As I am getting some company....

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