It rose and rose
The limits it cross
Striking you
And then me
Words once shot
Leave you hurt
Hands on clock chime
Making me mum
A minute of patience
Brings a bit conscience
Often thought of taming
Yet temper never relieving
Most everyone falls in love with the raw and beautiful.
Whether it be a raspy woman or an evergreen forest.
We free-fall because they're untamed and indifferent.
Bathed in shades of Vincent Green or Pablo blue.
The sable nature of a man is to tame wild things.
The very things that made them unique and free.
We are greedy-want it all for ourselves -all the goodies
Of course, without properly and fully committing.
We poke endless holes in the soil of the evergreen psyche.
Glean oil from the skin of earth-gems from pristine eyes.
We trample the wild petal 'till it finally withers and dies.
The tighter we squeeze freedom, the more freedom flees.
Mother bear devours the roughneck and explorer.
The woman's heart becomes calloused and fleeting.
Her heart bleeds out the blues and the greens.
Like a firefly in peril or a fiery midnight aurora.
Spectacular serene sapphire sky stoops
Low to tame tumultuous foamy wild waves !
Sitting alone, iPad in hand,
to pen a poem on demand,
attempting to translate bliss beats,
the rapture refrain that repeats,
feeling within joy germinate,
we write because we cannot wait,
for once symbols in rhythm are belled,
with our creative tempests quelled,
what’s imbibed in form is ingrained
by both head and heart, entertained,
by merging feeling with thinking,
as pure awareness unblinking,
even though none but us may know,
the way nectar in us does flow,
birthing ethereal cool heat,
in which we’re bliss drenched head to feet.
Taming the fire
By Michelle Morris
27/09/2020
When your world is on fire and
they're watching it burn,
enjoying the flames and
your torture internal...
Remember that it will pass,
as all things do,
and when the flames go out,
you'll be as good as new...
A phoenix risen,
powerful and mighty;
no one can touch you,
you're above it and flying...
And they will never
be as strong -
For taming the fire is only
For the special ones...
© Michelle Morris, 2020
The deer tamer came in the shape of a gnome.
He lived in a house in the valley of Rome.
Not the Italy Rome, but the whimsical valley.
Where he raised deer up right, along with his wife, bright Sally.
TAMING THE TRAUMA
a leitmotif
forever
a delicate moment
buffeted &vulnerable
a microcosm
of sentiment
unsubtle
reinforced
complications
of the
romantic relationship
which
elicits an
emotional
response
broken fragments
devastation
suspended
&
carefully
reassembled
in shadows
on the wall
precariousness
a crucial
component
feels
resonant
again
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
King of the Jungle
Queuing with my homies
Houdinis every one.
No sharpened tongues, but scissors,
To calm the shaggy throng
Not all blokes in this queue,
Despite lockdown's grooming blooper,
As I stand here and review,
Will contest my Bradley Cooper
Alas, Delilah wins.
It's time to shave my greying locks
Hirsute-less head, Yul Brynner,
Now the look my ego rocks
Now a simple peasant
With falling dreams, so vain.
No more the Isolation King
With glorious flowing mane..
My crowning jewel.
Majestic theft!
The jungle cries, her heart bereft..
As gothic curls now hit the floor;
The swooning fans will be no more
And yet..
Enthroned here, buys me precious time..
To formulate this simple rhyme
And meditate upon what's passed
As hairy shoes I have amassed.
I dwell on more important things
While scissors snap, and clipper sings
Of friendship. Love.
Of breathing air.
Despite the loss of debonaire..
The blessing of recaptured choices.
The privilege of freedom's voices.
And now my head, so strangely free;
Reminds of who I'm meant to be.
Jinjagoliath
13th April 2021
Someday I'll get this sonnet writing right.
Sure, I can count ten syllables and rhyme,
then set my flock of metaphors to flight
and spin ten-dollar words from time to time.
My tiger-words I train with chair in hand
and meter's whip. Good syntax I require,
true spelling, decent rhythm - I demand
they jump iambically through hoops of fire.
I seek out synonyms with sound appeal
plus apt alliteration and aplomb,
but end up sacrificing soul and feel -
it rhymes; poetically though, it's a bomb.
To touch the heart is something you can't teach;
a tiger in a cage - just out of reach.
written 5 Aug 2020
eerie odds itched
fumbling frails flipped
saucy syllables puked
nosing nocturnal nude
lanky lust birthed
heaving haughty pandemic
ordeals awed strife
taunting tuning thrives
wielding whooshing wiles
dark dribbles dripped
tracing bruised tips
laced wit's lips
trained technology thrilled
taming teenybopper's twigs.
'20:05:09:19:21
Note: Of trained technology.
might we tame the bison
his strength shall
pull our carts
and carry our grains
that we might then show
these people who
great we are that they
have been lame
in there ability to
even have this breed
fenced.
yet these mens shall learn
that wild
is wild
and what is tamible can be tamed
but what refuses to be tamed
will not be tamed.
they tried and tried
and these types
were not tamed
and were put in a place
where men might know where they were.
when they sought to hunt,
they found the bufflo
and hunted them so they might have meat.
never wishing to tame this beast again.
why?
My scars look like stripes
I am almost a tiger
Her fingers caress my furs
Like brushes on unfinished paintings
And she laughs like a whip
Husband
Thoughtful, Kind
Sharing, caring, loving
Committed, Solid, Unsure, Wavering
Wandering, Preening, Seeking
Lost, Confused
Wolf
Before mankind evolved on Earth
or mammals roamed the land
t’was only bugs and dinosaurs
that God had ever planned.
But monkeying around one day
he thought he’d have some fun
and made a man to pass his time,
thus mankind had begun.
But boredom overtook him
nothing changed within his land
so he thought I’ll make a creature
that I cannot understand.
That way I’ll be surprised each day
by how this creature plays
and my boredom will be over
and bring interest to my days.
He named this creature women
but he didn’t get it right
he forgot to give her reasons
why she wasn’t always right.
So God or Man or creatures
could not ever prove her wrong
and now universal language
shares in woman’s nagging tongue.
Its not that I’m complaining
cause it would be just in vain
and anyhow my ear holes
really couldn’t stand the pain.
But my God if you could ever
see your way to tame the shrew
then I’m sure that man would turn from her
and start to worship you!
Ivor G Davies
there's not a flower
can't grow wild
thrive neglected and ignored
but how much better
some can do when caged
tied to stakes
and pruned
their buds collected
to encourage growth
the sun, the rain, the earth
and care and harvesting
no less important
to renew the bloom.
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