Short Sough Poems

Quite pliable plump.
Makes soulful sough souffle sound.
Tonic topical unbar country funny....

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Tick tock tinkle time's
slowly slipping softly
away always acting accurately
sounder sough sounds
each eager executed
hour....

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Silence is a monk
in a mountain 
of deep
In meditation
Of heart
Silence is a water
In drench
In dream
Silence in his talk
whispering
within sough
Silence is a monk
In crystal 
secret in depose
 in his heart...

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Violaceous lulling bell
 Enchantment be thou spell
Prodigious tortile entwine
Weathered be thy vine

Solstice utmost fair
Lay waste to arctic air
Embedded mossy root
Colossal venue afoot

Keeper of florid bliss
Ambrosia ne’er remiss
Petals supple blush
Lavish wisteria lush

Wispy balsam waft
Caress be e'er soft
Atop verdant bough
Tender be thy sough...

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Imagine that the stars have roots
just below the surface.
That dangle down for nourishment
and crack the Earth of Purpose.

Then take the dawn to circle round
what others hope to grow.
While making what comes natural from
the facts remade to sough.

And wander through the gatherings
that other stars will hold.
To take the time to answer them
on other farms of fold....

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The News is my woman
I hate her for sough
She lies to the wind dough
and fakes what she'll guff

She's proud of a lege_up
and drowned for a britch
She's bred for a bastard
and brash as a bitzch

She's faulky and nasty
and bled to stitch
She's heddy disgraceful
and reft for a ditch

She's all of the words
I lied for a heart
When all the the times
were fake and apart...

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Seeds start petal grows
Beats heart winds blows 

Birth begin fresh souls 
Dance elkin storm rolls

Teens dwell learn quick 
Adult excel passe chick

Older comes elder bring
Lifes drums death sting

Lives reset cycle renew
Plant hopes dream adieu

Grain sough alive chose
Seeds start petal grows

December 19, 2017 
Fem Bogstaver (Danish) - Poetry Contest- Rhoda Tripp...

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Dampened earth announces its worth
with rotting leaves, moss on trees.
Dew’s panache from morning’s wash
mystic glow with sighing sough.

Senses heightened and enlightened.
Hare bides hole, fidgeting mole; 
musky muskrats, batting bats;
sweet sugar canes, berry stains.

Nature feeds our feral needs.
Nature clears our eyes and ears.
Nature hones sensitive nose.
Nature touches - grand duchess....

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If I don't call anymore,
My texts lack the proper sough,
Perhaps with you I'm a bore.
The hand writing on the wall;
I'm tired of feeling sore.

If I'm dwindling in call,
My texts are not inspired by a fall,
Perhaps the mountain is becoming tall.
The hand writing on the wall;
The first verse of this poem grows sure.

But hey you
Appreciating this piece as art,
The handwriting here hold no heart
And this poem isn't for you....

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