Short Prodding Poems

doctor barely glances at patient
nurses take the most time with her
poking and prodding needles
patient treated like meat
hospital visit
cold stark ugly
in stage four
cancer
sad...

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human interest in the unknown
extra-terrestrial creatures
from a faraway galaxy
who display long faces
and come in search of
humans to experiment on
probing and prodding
to see how we tick...

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Moving through a hollow tunnel
Of dreams
Hope prodding us on,
Swiftly, so swiftly we gather
Love's warm illusion around us...
We push with all our might
This door to nowere
Marked
Ours!

Cynthia...

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Tiny furry adorable kitty
Whiskers so frail and white  
Gray fur behind them all striped
Pouncy pink paws prodding
Slipping on tiles as you try to run
Beautiful tender shmooshy you
All is adorable... tender and fun~...

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Write i didn't mean that right
i meant the direction
not the words
I meant rite no wait a minute
not that one
or the flying brothers
I meant right as in ok
or okay no i'm not prodding that one
this poem better start
or it wont see the Dight of Lay...

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I lie in the reclining chair, 
sucking my teeth
and wonder why the passing cattle
only stop in the field next door

and then the herdsman comes
with his tortured, twisted cattle- 
prodding stick, and they all move on,
me, the herdsman and the cattle...

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Mary of Berry was wary.
Deceived by a man who would lie.
Disliking men that were hairy,
also, most men wearing a tie.

She had her fill of directions,
from anyone telling the time,
men prodding her with discretions,
or drinking their vodka with lime....

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I TREMBLE AND SHAKE
COLD AS THE ARCTIC
MY HEAD
FOGGY WITH FEAR
EYES DILATE
HANDS CLENCH
MY HEART HEAVY
THIS NAGGING
AND PRODDING
MY FEARS MADE TRUE
I'VE RUINED ME
AGAIN
I WANT TO ESCAPE
FROM THE MADNESS
OF ME
THIS BUMBLING UNCERTAINTY
THIS HURRICANE OF DOUBT....

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Faith*

in God

upholds me...

prodding my heart

strengthening spirit

against turmoil

midst worries...

bracing

trust!

*1Corinthians 2:5 That your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God.

August 15, 2018...

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poetry is more than written words 
plunging down a river or mountain stream 
they are conscious thoughts pouring out of the mind 
creating, shifting, and changing  
words spilling out nudging, prodding, coaxing   
gushing down like a waterfall  
falling into the current below
seizing an image...

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FRIENDS FUREVER

                  prodding and poking the puppy lot
           vivacious squirm of fur so exciting
puckish pup nuzzles the neck of an only child

4/6/2019

APRIL 2019 PREMIER,ANY THEME,ANY FORM
UP TO A MAX OF 3 (T H R E E ) LINES Poetry Contest

Sponsor: Brian Strand...

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Christmases Past, on Mantel Hung

Three stockings line the hearth, each one a "tail"
of warm Christmas past, of love
hand-knitted, chewed by pup!





submitted by Susan Buchel for "Christmas Stockings Tribute" Contest.
Written 11/6/2011 with thanks for prodding homespun memories!...

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God, the voice of Scriptures’ command
     
     Moves my service* with love-demand

          Along His mercy’s prodding drive 

               For me to do my best and strive

                    Along holiness-reprimand.

*Ephesians 6:7 With good will doing service, as to the Lord…

May 30, 2019...

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Evangelical: “Would you like to be saved?” 

Normal Person: “What from?”

Evangelical: “Don’t you know?”

Normal Person: “I want to be saved from you!” 

Insipid flurry, blushed rough terrain;
They poke, prodding at private things, 
Only wishing to push another construct, 
To a race so in need of people values....

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Time creeps along, slowly,
Slowly never ending,
Ending in remorse,
Remorse evoked,
Evoked sciamachy.

Shadows all about,
About me poking prodding,
Prodding at mine sawol,
Sawol of eternity.
Eternity of sweet memories,
Memories lost destiny unfolds,
Unfolds then enfolds,
Enfolds over mortal life.
Cruel life sleeps....

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I scribble, scrabble, scratch and scrawl
Squiggly words on walls down the hall
I am a scribe, and I must write
Sentences flowing out of sight

Some people might not be able to comprehend
My ideas are pushing and prodding me to begin
I have a pencil or pen in my hand every day.
Almost every moment is grand, writing is play....

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What is it about friends, 
that makes them so dear?
Makes your heart always glad just to be near?
Always more dear than the loveliest love,
because there is little to fear.
When life seems to rough, they're always there to pick you up,
prodding you to live life again 
Because they love you for you. 
Alone, you'll never have to walk again....

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INTRUDERS



She brought with her a bus queue of troubles,
All waiting for a place in the warm dry seats of my ears:
They trampled my quiet like Mexican spurs,
Insistently prodding me to respond to her fears,
Ringing my stop bell, dropping ticket stubs 
Under the seats where a brush won’t sweep
And a mop never rubs.



9   April  2021...

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Waiting
For the ready
pains of labor 
For the juicy 
ripening of that peach
Poking and prodding
At vacancy
It won't be forced
Knocking on the cold
Door of a hollow house
Staring in at 
Still and silence
There is no pulling 
the sun up in the night
Clocks tick and time 
Is not our own 
Hearts breath
Words to poetry
Maybe another day...

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Honking geese are prodding me,
I have to get out more.

One slice of cake in the fridge

I leave the house
but the image of that cake follows me.

Back home
and someone has pillaged the cake!

I turn, surprised to see a trail
of creamy goo and crumbs
leading to the same door
I left from.

It all seems perfectly clear now;

my stomach has Alzheimer's....

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As if to spy upon
some rapt adjourn
more devellish
than their own ~
existing for the slug of virtue
from some forgotten dream

Their aim ~
outdated with resent
yet stealthy earned.
Their ears, like prodding volts
reversed to bring return.

Life's focus ~ now forgotten
with its yearn,
seeking noticed space
that all but clutters . . . 
     nothings
     scorn!...

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There, peaking through the window,
the first rays of morning light.
They dance upon the wall and 
play within your beautiful, 
scented hair. Your features 
are highlighted by the rays, 
as you look even so much 
younger, as young
as your heart.
The sun appears 
to be prodding
you awake 
as you turn, 
stretch
and even 
give me a smile.
A great way to start the day....

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The words are prodding,
At the soft edge of my tongue;
Urging me to write.

Paper screaming blank,
under my hand so gentle.
My pen hovering.

My mind whispering,
A thousand words per second,
Transferred on the sheet.

The book of knowledge,
Feeds me poems of beauty
Late in the evening. 

And while my conscience 
Is dreaming but wide awake,
I need sleep once more....

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A glass dome, smudged
 
smudged from past fingerprints
from prodding, trying, sometimes
 
just too hard
to get in,
 
The dome glass was not too thick,
but impenetrable, a dream too
far away,
 
Inside the dome was confusion,
 
an impossibility of extremes
a life too perfect
and with sighs of; “if only”
 
Each day
more fingerprints would appear
upon the glass
 
of the dome of disatifaction....

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October tumbled into November
And brown leaves 
Wilted, damp and derelict
Loafed idly beneath trees
That stretched naked
Amongst the rich 
Sweet floral,
Of the winter Jasmine.

Oak trees cried
 Slow tears
Of brown and orange,
That permeated 
A scent of watery fruit
And lavender -
- Dreaming of spring,
And prodding the
Neighbouring birch trees
With cumbersome boughs
Like an errant brother....

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