Sough Poems | Examples

Hearing Voices

I thought I heard your voice last night
A sweet familiar sound
No other human in my sight 
Not a single soul around
Up to the window moseyed I
Towards where the voice was heard
I called out loud while drawing nigh,
"Is that you, my Bluebird?"

Just then a slumbering breeze awoke
And rustled through the bough
So quietly to me it spoke
More zephyr-like than sough,
"Yes, it's her, she sitting there 
Way up on that moonbeam
She's calling you, go to her now
For this is not a dream"

Then so I did and up I went
To meet you in the sky
And time stood still the while we spent
T'was only you and I
When morning came I realized 
A dream indeed this was
But something caused me to sit up
Olfactory sense abuzz

The scent of Baccarat filled the room
And then and there I knew,
Plus a vase of fragrant lilacs,
These could've only come from you
Just then I heard your voice again
This time from far away,
"I've loved you for a thousand years
And I'll wait for someday"

Common

From beneath a veil,
A shroud itself hidden,
Anonymity It's masquerade.
Tired secrets languish,
Benighted by nature,
Emerald, to pale green and white, from jade.
A sough in the head,
Of their tepid maker,
Whispers nothing, wholly unaware.
Crafty camouflage,
For the crafter of secrets,
Who never knew they were there.
The irony aroma,
Stagnant blood without pressure,
Metallic, unmoved, unaffected.
Averse to sense,
Illusory marionette's,
Clear strings, turbid skeins undetected.
And the irony lies,
With an off thirst disguised,
By the growing pines of set minds thought unique.
And as trite as the urges,
Desperate purges,
Like mewls of the sheep seeking shade from critique.

In Absentia

She hears herself
in the distance
confess to undying love.
So out of touch
with loyal love to self.

The unholy ghost of him
demystified in mid-urn.
He is neither near, nor far.
No grave in which to turn
in rage, even if he could.

So much was left behind
in dust to dust return to earth, 
White lies, black lies 
to grey ashes burnt. 

The Love Demon left 
a twisting paper trail
behind 
his telling tales... 
As he took leave for good
of all his human senses, 
Truth time travels out of reach. 

A senseless sough
of dying sounds
wreaths potpourri
memoirs of thoughts
that linger around... 
Scented and impure. 

Neither here nor there, 
he left her at once. 
Bloody sighs cut off words
reverse from throat - 
backed out into a world
that didn't care. 

And still she wonders why
she has to remember
the good times. 
In silence. 

And in the loud sounds
of betrayal, 
She silently cries...
Again.


Aqua Marine September 2024.

Since My Muse Left Me

Since my muse left me, I wonder how 
Was a young crow born with a weird sough
Or maybe it’s fear that causes this outcry
Such unusual tones, I give a melancholy sigh 

The dove's soft coo, still a gentle touch 
Awakens me with the coos of hatched clutch 
Morn’s promise fulfilled, a new dawn’s birth 
As sun rays’ fingers, reach through cloudy mirth 

Streaked skies, a canvas painted gray, 
Reflecting the mood of this poet's day, 
The world is awakened with a gentle start 
How, oh how, could it mend my heart 

That crow's weird voice, a haunting sound, 
Echoes through, the morning's hallowed ground, 
A reminder of what once was true, 
A love that's lost, and a heart that's blue. 

The dove's coo, a soothing melody, 
A balm for my soul that's lost its harmony, 
The sun's warm touch, a gentle breeze, 
A comfort, that my heart can't seize.

Oceans

Oceans are not just the beauty of nature,
They are Earth's pride of culture,
They are the haven for each and every creature.
 
But now,
Our dear oceans are in danger
We shall not let this go longer.
My actions,only can't abide this earth,
But my every step is a million worth.
 
Stoping pollution is one of the solution,
Let's soon come to a final conclusion.
 
It's our obidience to show love to our oceans,
Let's join hands from all the world nations,
Let's bring a switch to our world now,
And wait to hear our oceans sough,
 
Our planet,
Our Earth,
Our ocean,
Our duty, 
To enhance the earth's beauty!!!!

                                             -Mamathi Priya

Campfire Nights

By the time the sun's faded o’er the prairie
well I’m just about as tired as tired can be
My horse has been fed and all the tack is clean
after a biscuit and a few campfire beans

I lay my head down on blanket and saddle
listening to lowing of grazing cattle
Somewhere cross the campfire a guitar gets strummed
and songs start to flow from those old cowboy’s tongues

Voices that float across those low campfire flames
telling tales of glory, riches and fame
Songs sung by punchers that history won’t name
about all those brave men who once roamed the plains

Lending voices to the songs, a coyote’s howl
the screech of a hawk and the hoot from an owl 
The shuffling of the horses hitched to the line
the sough of the wind as it flows through the pine

The strum of guitar and the hum of soft tunes
The sight of the stars as they shoot cross the moon
I pray I will always have these kinds of nights
with cowboys singing across my campfire light

Grand Duchess

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.

Wasteria

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

Not For You

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.

Fake News

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

Must I Wear This Crown

which nights of lovers are we?
that these days are
 restorations of days past
then we relate as people to be lovers
to be loved and in love that
we might see nights where we
 create the necessities of tomorrow
for those we will procreate to have
then as now
those days are gone
gone forever and ever
might tomorrow they be stories
to tell the people
who will listen to them


then will she make strange those nights with others
that those who wish to control tomorrow will
side with these strangers
to separate and conquer a world that they wish to rule over
they stand in the dust and are clean
they have nothing but are rich
they read not are smart
they speak of things they know thing about and are wise

this is what musca told lepus
andorion listened and overheard.
he sough food and became rich with
gossip.
he shall spend his wealth
to make troubles for those he wishes to be opposed.

Inside Me You the Soothe Bearer

the cynosure of the crystal night sky,
convergent to your unrivaled beauty
from far on the ground
the beauty I cannot count

I to me- a fresh skeleton of hackneyed ashes
barren field of all love,
grey yard of the cut grains straw
the bitterness of Amarone wine,
sprite of poetry and phantom of prose

see I all yours but in lures,
still seeing I'm,
crying life all to infinity,
decaying with infliction pithy,
you and my love are eternal,
perpetual all fraction in point of gaiety.
warm of heart feeling dazzling the shrine of love,
beneath your caring tears my imperishable entity,
I am seeking you,
horizon after horizon,
my love tours consciously to finding you not as alien,
calls in all of you and your caring

in the pinnacle of desire,
I sow my loving seed,
here every green leaf for you,
every root which you do not see,
where I pour my love philter,
every sough touches your fairness love with the belonging of one,
here every leaf oscillates as a sign of your greetings,
I see all my love into my sphere,
I find my soothe in you, inside me you the soothe bearer 


- Sunday, July 14, 2019 Chattogram

My Love

within eyes
blind I’m,
within tears
cannot shed a drop!

O’ thy all
invisible to visibility,
but after a while
stay all as a souvenir of relic

world's life lives in infinity, 
decaying with rebirthing

but you and my love is eternal, 
sometimes fraction comes 
as the point of insight lessons
 
the love 
beneath our caring tears 
accepts the imperishable entity,
I'm seeking you 
horizon after horizon, 
this tour consciously to finding you not as alien 
call in all of you as heaven  

In pinnacle of desire 
I sow my loving seed, 
here every green leaf for you,
every fruit for you, 
every root which none can see 
where I pour my love philter for you, 
its sough touches you thoroughly,
its breath kisses your flying smile,
its swinging twig greets you-
“O’ love come, come beneath the shadow
Come hither, wait a while to mow
The grassy leaves of life for good morrow”

o' dear
into my heart sphere 
I find you as flair



-March 28, 2019, Chattogram

The Stars Have Roots

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.

Word Worthy Luptoz Groovey

BEFORE HE DID ANYTHING
THEY FOUND WORDS TO
 DESCRIBE HIM
BEFORE HE SOUGH LOVE
THEY SAID WHY HE AS A MAN
WASN'T MAN ENOUGH
FOR THOSE HE WISHED TO BE WITH
BY THE TIME THEY WISHED TO
 ADJUST THEY SAW NEITHER
HIM AS A PERSON OR HIM
AS AN INDIVDAUL
ONLY HIM AS A MEMBER OF A GROUP
THE WHINEY ONE HIM WHO COULDN'T
AND HE WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO ACHEIVE
BECAUSE THEY WOULD
MAKE IT SO, THAT HIS INDIVDAUL EFFORDS
WOULD BE HINDERED BY THOSE
WHO WISHED HIM UNLOVED
AND UNADORED
ONE EVEN SPOKE OF THEIR UNDOING
SO THAT THOSE ACHEIVMENTS WOULD BE
LIKENED TO THOSE OF AN UNLIKELY
PERSON OF FILTH AND SCUM

FROM WORDS BY.....
ARKCODEZ " THE SOUTH BOSTON FLUTIST" DELGRIN
FROM THE WORKS OF HUSSY, BASHER THE MAN HATER!

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