azure ...
quite sublime …
cloudless, clear and bright
I watched the birds -
the strange, colorful birds
flitting in the sun of
a perfect, pristine morning
taking to the sky in flight -
soaring, drifting, falling ... falling
from heaven, into the
hands of God …
odd they had no feathers - no
wings to press against that
glorious, sparkling September air
but beautiful in their way
in their deadly, dancing descent
until their screams
were close enough to hear
and the sickening
thud of sinew meeting …
pavement.
#neverforget
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art by Richard Drew borrowed copyright-free by the author from public domain files at FreePik / Picasa )
I bootstrap bobcat , was hastily enlisting a badmouth bystander to hound the tiddley hippies into fiendish fluster ?
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 7–13, 2026)
A strange night
At night it comes
A tick, a knock, a sound
From the parlor to the bed
A tick, a knock, a sound
At the window shade
To then raise the skin
and wash me from ankle to head
From there it neither moves nor goes back
What can it be
From where does it go
To only repeat again the next night
she sits on the porch
filled with anticipation...
the scent of pears floods the house
she cannot even guess how softly
I steal inside…
through the half-drawn curtain
cradling a broken rainbow
in my arms
Isn’t it strange to admit
That body and soul live separately
I feel the ground at my feet
Being far from here consciously
It’s three thousand miles away
Maybe more, but no less than that
There I have some good mornings to say
For the feathers flown off from your hat
Every time I can open the door
To the pictures you took for me
Isn’t it strange that we hoped for more
Knowing it wasn’t to be..
At least not in this life, as they claim
Will we end up following this
Unconscious life of the blamed
Only for one more kiss..
I need you to need me, and
I need you to not need me,
Because I love you, and
I cannot be without you.
The dividing line
Between shadow and I
Lies between the twain
Set upon a mirrored surface
That itself does contain
Some differences
In reflective
Surfaces.
Poets, make spells,
And good poets, make them well
Enough, that you might
Come, to understand
Your Self
Better than
You, could ever tell.
Wakes with a misaligned fanny
this tale is strange and uncanny
much unscrewiing it seems
with the man of her dreams
Her unfortunate state puts the blame onto Danny
Wont accept bhitch but accept a jolly good bonk
Discuss the size of willy......the wonk
I don't usually swear
or discus private hair
Here's the truth! This bard's not a shonk
You smile and wave
catching my attention
you introduce yourself as Dave
I quickly wonder about your intention
I have never had a sense of belonging, I have always been strange to a common Joe in the streets, I have remained resolute in my weirdness, a courageous individual of note, I have always chased clouds, my pen has been a friend to me, a loyal friend indeed, powerful beyond measure, I use it to strike the nerve in this resource driven society, the most outspoken genius Outcast in the history of outcasts.
The world is built on bent-back spines,
Of those we draw outside our lines.
We treat them as a hollow space,
A blur of limb, a void of face.
But should they tire and step away,
The glided roof would turn to clay.
How strange to build a house so tall,
On folks we claim aren't there at all.
The sour with the sweet makes a good palate,
Aroma with the breeze has a dreamy fill great;
Odd with the even sounds might make a muse
While scattered colours in order, often do fuse
Thus forming the whole out of shards lost apart
And diffuse well on the cryptic imagination chart
All goodness may go ignored with full timidity
As aversion lets down the innate noble quiddity ;
Unless foiled by a vice that lends a salty contrast
Stangely,things warped are liked crazily too fast;
And a faultyoddity in an unfeigned just act or fact
Is often savoured and passed on with rich impact
Sheer, pristine things manifest though,are queried
And a dubious,sham,masked present is unparried
A flaw makes the good sufferer, to heights swell
While a virtue in an evil one casts no such spell
The domain of percepts is a mingled motley set
Perhaps picking the sorted and the lost ones yet
a Crown Oddquain poem
Strange
wind blowing,
a cold harbinger
of darker things to follow
soon.
Much
closer now
than the day before,
much closer now than sages
know..
Yes,
bad fortune
is nigh upon us,
and yet we will not listen
still.
Do
we forget
every past lesson,
all those we lost in senseless
war?
Blast
us into
mass oblivion,
let nature grow the garden
new.
Oddquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of seventeen syllables distributed 1, 3, 5, 7, 1 in five lines, developed by Glenda L. Hand.
Crown oddquain-a five stanza oddquain sequence
Shadow Poetry - Poetry Types - Oddquain
don’t do that to me
really hurts when you do that
be gentle with me
Sub Categories
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