Shuffles Poems | Examples

Country Setting

A stream, searching its limits, laps the bank.
Water falls gently over a small dam.
Fish nip at flotsam in usual prank,
And find protein at weight less than a gram.

All's well and calm in this country setting
A whiff of wind shuffles a nearby tree,
Yet the shallow banks soon will be letting
Gallons of overflow to be set free.

Soft water's whispers now shriek in a scream.
A precipice grips the liquid off-guard.
It spills its mass in a powerful stream
Down to twirling whirlpool's cold disregard.

Stone Cold and Heartbroken

In the quiet of my lonely room,  
Your laughter echoes, a distant tune,  
Time zones stretch, and miles divide,  
A love once close now feels like a sigh.  

Letters linger, words on the screen,  
Each message a hope, a flicker unseen,  
Days turn to shadows, weeks follow fast,  
Memories whisper of glories past.  

I trace the outlines of your face,  
A map of longing in every space,  
Night falls heavy, the stars feel far,  
Each one a promise, a lingering scar.  

Phone calls bring comfort, hearts intertwined,  
Yet silence breeds doubt, am I still aligned?  
Time shuffles onward, its cruel design,  
As we chase the clocks, your heart—half of mine.  

Yet in the silence, a truth I find,  
Love knows no longitude, nor ties that bind.  
Though distances stretch like an unending sea,  
In dreams, my darling, you’re still right here with me.

The Beat of My Heart

Without a word I slip out of bed
and a thousand conversations
run through my mind
as I walk barefoot across worn carpeting.

Two nights ago, I barely made it home
while driving through a deluge
and water on the roads.
I defied the warnings
and survived
as bolts of lightning laced the sky.

I was the storm.
I was the silence.

Now as the sun pokes through
a thin veil of clouds
the sense of nothingness I embrace.

I must admit a year ago I loved someone.
She said that she loved my humor
my new stories and poems
and there was so much to share.

Now she’s a memory lingering in my heart.

This is my life, I say when alone.
This is what I’ve made it
as I watch a shadow dance on the wall—
it can be anything.

My chest ached the other day
when I bore the weight of humanity
while working at a grocery store.
Customers and I talked and traded jokes
but as the day wore upon me 
I longed to be in my time and place.

A housemate downstairs
shuffles through the kitchen
while I sit in my loft and play with words
longing to say what’s never been said.

Hedged In

They are under the hedge, the elderly,
the silver whiskered. Threadbare possums,
frail chipmunks. The feeble,
squeezed into narrow parts of the day.

Her apartment is hedged in.
Her telephone is a blank land line.
The television is deaf.

A groundhog comes out to gaze at the sunset,
some myopic sniffing, then shuffles back
with that stout old man rolling gait of his.

She forages in her living space,
from a window she blinks at the moon,
only yesterday it slipped from her purse.
Her hands hang soft and blue.
Pills pend under a bedroom lamp.

The hedged in
listen to the small, contained movements
of their elder days.
They will abide here
knitting the hours together
until the long forgetting.

iMan - Apr 13

Observe the modern generations walk
on by; they suckle from the plastic teat
of coffee cups, and stumped by stamping feet
they shamble unaware from flock to flock.—

infant adults—if earnest I may speak;
Look there: one loops in circles (a grand feat!) 
and, as if an ornithological suite,
the gaggle shuffles behind,—“squawk squawk squawk!”

Yikes… I suppose that if I ran at ‘em 
they’d scatter faster than frightened pigeons.—
Wouldn’t even need to make the barest noise,
merely the sight of a threatening poise
is enough to disperse their religions
(yes—religions—phony, false—“fun”:—numb!).

Murmur

My father's heart beats beneath the baseboards
of my chest
What scares me isn't the furnace inside it
It isn't all the hate and ignorance

It shuffles on its cane
Buh bump
Buuuuuuh bump
Buhbump
Dragging slowly, out of time

Learned it from his dad,
He told me.
Maybe his uncle
Maybe his brother 
Maybe his grandfather
Maybe his sister 
Maybe his nephew
"We got weak hearts son" he said
"I found my father holding hands with his and that's how you'll find me, too." 

I ran. 
I couldn't find him like that.

I put my ear to my son's chest every day.

Wish Upon A Cay

I've always wished 
to live on an island. 
No problem with sacrificing
deceit and shallow dialogue
for the song of gull and sanity
bowls of lye and cold
for pans of warmth 
the soothing sand
The details to be worked 
at a later date.

Older now, I can see the dream
emerging from the waves.
my winged circle shrinks to a point of decay
love fades and hope shuffles away.

Careful what you wish for old man
a wish may blossom into a grave.

How The Echo Filters Reality

It starts with a hum,
a thread unspooling through silence -
soft, sure, and annoyingly insistent,
like the world is whispering
secrets it’s dared me to misunderstand.

The first echo hits,
ricocheting off the walls,
and suddenly this isn’t just a room -
it’s a kaleidoscope of sound,
a ripple of moments reborn,
sharper, louder,
more alive than their beginnings.

Your laugh?
A sparkler snapping against dusk.
My words?
Half-forgotten confetti,
colouring the corners where truth hides.
Truth, after all, is always shy
until you catch it staring back.

Reality twists,
shuffles its cards,
pulls an ace out of its sleeve,
then smirks like it planned this all along.
The echo rewrites everything -
makes shadows dance like they’ve known the steps forever,
makes silence flirt like it’s in control,
but you know it’s just guessing too.

And when it fades?
It doesn’t leave us empty -
it leaves us cradling shapes
we can’t quite name yet,
hands full of questions
that glow like lanterns -
flickering, daring us to follow,
only to vanish when we get too close.
We laugh anyway,
lost in the dark,
as if it was the plan all along.

Outside Looking Inn

Hiding again from the dazzling sun
Why am I here, I’ve no clue
There’s no necessity to walk around
No urgent business to do
Sounds like I’m killing the time, but I’m not
It is exactly the opposite 
Time is the killer in this endless plot
With a space, an accomplice of it
It’s never a conscious purpose of mine
To sit in the Outside Looking Inn
One time its whiskey, one time its wine
And sometime a deluted gin
I wonder if Mr. Debussy comes round 
With his friends Ravel and Satie
I guess they would talk to themselves rather loud
It would have been quite a party
And I can imagine me in Deux Magots
Mr. Jean Paul Sartre puts his pipe out
And says if one proves what existence is for
I’ll buy for the house a round 
I’m pleasing myself with illusions, you’d say
I have to agree, in this place
Out of sight, my time shuffles away
With its old accomplice, a space.

The Blessing

Was not the words he wrote,
     nor the words he spoke . . .
     rather the song he sang of hope
     that brought him before the Pope.
As he stood in the rain
     he searched not for fame . . .
     yet in his heart there burned a flame
     as he hummed his soft refrain.
Blessings came down from high,
     though he could not grasp why . . .
     all he can do now is sigh,
     for all he wants is to be dry.
When the man dressed in white
     disappears from sight
     and the crowd shuffles into night . . .
     he sings his song with new delight.

Syncopating Sisters

Once there were sisters in duet
a pair that were tough to forget
Their tap dancing was entwined
as their two lives always aligned

Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat
kinda sounded something like that
Shuffle ball change, shuffle ball change
shuffling shuffles hard to arrange

First it was toys, then became boys
dance routines turning into noise
Decades spun by, twisted in beat
well worn tunes that seem to repeat

Life with children, illness and pain
plays out its old classic refrain
Tapping toe to heel, heel to toe
sharing small joys, letting them go

If life is a matter of fate
staying in step is no debate
Sense those feelings between sisters
see all the passion it still stirs


Couplet 123 Words 20 Lines
Colored pencil and ink illustration by G.Gaul

Anyone

Facebook flight, a messenger pigeon 
Each Pageant shuffles pretty women 
Most admired tiara sparkle temporal 
Sash off strategic take trick terminal 


No need to tweet esteem over media
Stern sensei recites reprimand, sepia
Cyber courier delaying defeat in fury
Gathers fragile artefacts via the jury


Thrown to past season, bent bouquet
Creases curtain backstage, showcase 
Effort effected in gloom glows wattage
Wife writes fairytale wedding marriage 


Health heralds husband’s regard sole
Seashell static fuzz phases out vitriol 
Ocean sunk scroll in bottle, lost title 
Cut circuit campaign silences recital



        
             25th January 
       Objection Overruled

Leggy Winds Disrupt Weather Girls

Longshanks drainpipe and whistle through the day.
pterodactyls got it easy in this wide-open sky,
they glide too far up to be real anymore.

The beady-eyed slinkers that wriggle under our plodding boots,
they also avoid the earthshaking heaviness of light sleepers.

Beyond the curtains, a plastic pelican
has got its bill and belly stuck on a satellite dish,
now we can only receive small-minded thoughts in a soup bowl.

Strong winds are disrupting sleep patterns,
static pictures can only take baby steps or crawly shuffles.

Leggy winds go out to play in front of green screens,
illusions, made to promote the good-looking and perky.

Odyssey

she shuffles in tattered slippers
held by elastic bands
securing them to her feet
bindings taken for granted

her thoughts settled into routine
to cross the dining room floor
to her table
lunch still matters to those buzzed by fog
dessert still stirs the blood to move

dysfunctional in age
she could go off in any direction at any time
like a heart monitor jittery, at the cusp of letting go
a harvested jumble of beats that still hang together 

her odyssey 
a matter of edges 
stunted steps
close enough to the movement of others
bickering bodies sometimes
but removed enough to breathe

SPRING

SPRING

Imagined days of the warmer kind
As Spring glances nervously behind

Echoes of frost still haunt each day
As Spring glances nervously behind

Sensing winter’s cold icy fingers
As Spring glances nervously behind

Winter’s reluctance to surrender
As Spring glances nervously behind

Winter now slowly shuffles away
As Spring glances nervously behind

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