Nepal
Nepal, I know little of this country nestling
Among colossal mountains
It used to be a kingdom, but the king was so
Autocratic, he lost the job.
Later on, I have this from memory, one of the princes
Shot the royal family as they were sitting down for tea.
This didn`t help him to become a king,
He is a monk now and gets fed by the poor.
Nepal is also a place where Pakistan and India sometimes
Shot at each other when not freezing to death
At high altitude in summer uniforms
A recent earthquake brought Nepal to the news for a day
They have been promised help to rebuild Kathmandu
As usual in such cases, the money gets syphoned off and little
Reach the people of Nepal.
To whom it may concern, Nepal is also the birthplace of Buddhism.
IT’S A BEE’S LIFE
I flit about from flower to flower,
Cross-pollinating, hour after hour.
All the plants rely on me.
They can’t make love like you and me.
Each day I cover many a hectare,
Collecting many a pint of nectar,
Before I return to the buzzing hive
With food to keep us all alive.
But the food is not just for ourselves.
It helps to fill the grocer’s shelves.
For half of what we bees produce
Is syphoned off for human use.
So spare a thought for us poor bees.
Imagine what our life’s like please.
Twenty thousand in one house,
Excuse me if I have a grouse.
No chance of quiet relaxation.
A constant buzz of conversation
Deafens us from dusk till dawn.
Sometimes I wish I’d not been born.
I yearn for a bit of peace and quiet
And even perhaps a change of diet.
So I’ve hatched a plan, a new ambition,
Departing from the bee’s tradition.
I’m saving hard, selling jars of honey
And when I’ve saved sufficient money,
The other bees will find I’ve flown
And bought a new hive of my own.
26th May 2022
Bee Creative poetry contest
Sponsor - Matt Calari
lets give it a shape
twisted lines of 3-d scribbles
starts and ends nose to tail
maybe
marshmallow squidges syphoned through gossamer ether
missed mist of missing moments
nope how about colour
black and greys that shamble between each other
blushing pinks with lips of rogue rouges
Golden slips that shimmer with simpering sympathies
Blacks of oil slick sins and surrenders
yells of yellows bloated blues
kinda missed again
no shapes no sides
no hues to tag its worth
easier to describe the blessings of the wind
the dribble on the chin
tell the end of the begin
holding tear upon the eyelid
sometime shown others hid
when pain begins to turn
the abyss beauty viewed from within
feverishly cold
intensively simple
intimately confused
the touch that must be felt
braces with a belt
insanity making reality melt
love is what
caught in an octopus’ arms
rip tide of tentacles
underwater currents
the black ink indelible
syphoned protection
can’t see the circling sharks
in my cocoon of false shadows
a surreal embrace
suction caps in action
in surprise
that it is me who
holds on for dear life
a fairy tale because a dolphin
comes to my rescue
until I glow in the dark
disentangle my fear
make friends with an imagined foe
condense spray into light
dissolve and reflect on
what could have been if I
had not been at rock bottom
not caved in to the pressure
sometimes life sheds its meaning
in dubious squirts
allegories and metaphors
until you dive in murky gloom
and take a tight squeeze
decompress on ascent
accept inklings of surrender
16th April 2021
Rain washing through my open heart.
Glistening in the breaks and lacerations.
Bloodless drips abolish the evocation of pain.
Faculty of mind syphoned, immediate sublimation.
I roam eternity, interstellar dust once more
From where I came, I shall return
To wit, the editor
the murderer’s axe
To slay the innocent
with sharp attack
To wit, the editor
last drop of blood
Now drained and syphoned
—in victimhood
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Nepal
Nepal I know little of this country nestling
Among colossal mountains
It used to be a kingdom, but the king was so
Autocratic that he lost the job.
Later on, I have this from memory, one of the princes
Shot the royal family as they were sitting down for tea.
This didn`t help him to become a king,
I think he is a monk now and get fed by the poor.
Nepal is also a place where Pakistan and India sometimes
Shot at each other when not freezing to death
At high altitude in summer uniforms
A recent earthquake brought Nepal to the news for a day
They have been promised help to rebuild Kathmandu
As usual in such cases, the money gets syphoned off and little
Reach the people of Nepal.
To whom who cares Nepal is also the birthplace of Buddhism.
My doctor says I’m overweight,
I’m in the orange band,
To make it to the yellow zone
I’ll need a helping hand.
So he’s cancelled Sunday breakfast
And sworn me off scotch eggs,
He’s drained my car of petrol
Chuckling ‘Learn to use your legs!’
But I don’t really buy it.
There’s alternatives to diet.
I used to have a ponytail,
So first I had that chopped.
I filed off my fingernails -
They didn’t do a lot.
I syphoned every orifice,
That’s ears and nostrils too,
Then shaved all up and down the stairs
And blocked my pores with glue.
I bought myself a leotard
All webbed and made of feather
And leaf-thin flip-flops filled with air
(I’m hoping for good weather).
So the morning of the retest came,
I wandered down the road
And got savaged by a pit bull,
Who chewed off all my toes.
And thanks to that good fortune,
When I stepped on the machine,
The doctor said ‘I’ve got good news!
You’re one gram in the green.’
hatred and love
She took me in, inside her heart, out of the raging storm of solitude
Dragged me. Pierced my tissues with the horn of a unicorn….
I levitated at daybreak and floated to the middle of the night
I felt the wind and the fire and the ice and the weird heart throb…
Sweet when she made me laugh and bitter when she was hurt
It literally tasted that way in my tongue- the touch of a perfect love…
She hates me....
Insults me
She makes me
Hate myself so..
And now I am a show for the town to watch, lone walker, paces undefined
And mostly taken down by my untied laces; the ground- so hard- embraces me…
That hydrogen that carried me through my gleaming days and lit my nights
Has ran out, syphoned from me by the love of another man, or money?, no difference.
That’s what, I didn’t have
Or provide, long before our love had hit its core, she lied...
That’s what I hate
Like I hate her
That’s what I hate
Like I do myself now.
And i never thought id hate that much
I guess i never knew love that much...
(This is a fictional poem)
When I syphoned some gas out of my brother's car, part of it went on my shirt.
He set me on fire with his lighter and it really hurt.
The gas on my shirt made me light up like a Christmas tree.
If you look up the word pain in the dictionary, you'll see a picture of me.
My brother is losing patience and he keeps getting meaner.
I have third degree burns all over myself, even on my wiener.
I have some advice that will save your ___.
Never steal any of my brother's gas.
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.