“My Hero”
When I close my eyes the inside of my soul cries/
All the times that people he loved signed onto lies/
About his life and how he felt about the lives and his spice/
How they would dive so low upon his demise was a crime/
They say good drive as ending hard times left liars lives in a better place/
A brow raises high as a decision larded with liars lines was direly played/
I know praise is ripe with opinion departed from factual finds frayed/
But a canoe race to a type of fabrication restarted a number of ways weighted/
Out of the know in light of the parted nutrients to slumber away dated/
Shout out to my hero bright in the heart to new truant stumblers prated
God finds His rhyme
in echoes of dolphin’s cries
His meter is reflected
in the change of seasons
He looks upon us
would-be wordsmiths
with a smile
perhaps even a chuckle
stumblers through glory
created by His hand
no image we create with a pen
can match the weave of His design
we describe trees
personify them and give them voices
fill them with nests of blue robins’ eggs
wail as they shed their splendor each fall
far more beauty is found by listening
God’s heaven-sent breeze
filters through branches
dropping acorns on the earth below
we forage for words
deep into late-night attacks of creativity
indoors, in man-made structures
while God’s poetry remains outside
perhaps, by hand, He will guide us
allow us to soar above deep seas
grant us entry to volcanoes’ depths
view plants and animals He has created below
only then will we know
God’s kind of poetry
*Written September 28, 2014
In the middle of the night they squeak and squeak,
A house enchanted by the past evil of ROSE cannibal
The tormenting souls sway the air grasping for hair,
A tiny piece to finish her hairdo for people to glare.
Darkness rents as the building sings an unfamiliar tune,
The rotten wood fluting there wind into an Beethoven tune,
Rose awakes from slumber to crush her new stumblers,
The ghost of eve rose pampered like cream that screams,
Howls that stop the beating heart to mere plucks of strings,
The new stumblers awakened by the cry of unexplainable things,
A Grimm to be a new being in him the king of the haunted crib,
They sweat,he swears no harm to them,he dares but hes scared,
Mute of silence encroaches the vacuum like a cave all are enslaved,
Then a halt of pace and a scream from the king they all believed,
Rose a cannibal lusts for blood to relieve her soul thirsty of love,
Deprived by love from man she loved eaten to bits piece by piece,
Now she bellies her lust with fear tears a heart to mend her own,
Now she deprived a family just like hers till the next one to call her own.
Tis a hallowed place...
This cobbled maze of alleyways
Which bond these rat infested streets
Yet, gas lamps lit, stand betwixt the corners
And lone Bobbies patrol beneath their feet
London,
A littering city of homeless ashes
Falls shameful underneath the moon’s pathetic light
The darkness is the seductress... soon to be accomplice
As the hooligans, once again reanimate in mist of twilight
Scruff tooth kings of domains, self proclaimed
The dagger and a pocket flask, two most closely guarded friends
And in the dank corner pitch kingdom, we anticipate
From a realm dubbed “The London Dead End”
Lush stumblers...
Streetwalkers or simply naïve
Entry here, our law says you must pay the toll
Or pay the piper before you leave
I partake of liquid courage
And then I set my blade
To foot falls around corners this way come…
Among this lonely blackened place...
This maze…
Of streets and alleyways…
Paved over each eve with lost shadows
Never again... to witness a morning sun
Tis a hollowed place
This maze of hidden alleyways
Which in blackness bonds
To these rat infested cobble streets
Where the gas lit lamps betwixt the corners stand
With the lone Bobbies, statues upon their beat
London, a smoldering city of ashes
Falls, tranquil within the first of lunar light
But, looming darkness transforms
Becomes the she, of accomplice
As we, the brutes are once again
Reanimating in the midst of twilight
Kings on our own
With daggers and a flask of scotches
Domains amid the sacred ruin
And greed with gain
We are home among our friends
And in the dank corner pitch kingdom, we anticipate
From a realm dubbed “The Dead End”
Lush stumblers, streetwalkers or the naïve
To enter here, our law says you must pay the toll
Or pay the piper before you leave
Then, spirits bestow a courage
As my bony fingers raise with the blade
Unresistant to the temptation of foot fall innocence
That soon comes unto this way
Tis a lonely hollowed place
This maze…
Of streets and alleyways…
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.