Rough and tumble like a wasp getting pulled into the sludgy earth.
Sleep and I.
Gave up twilight.
Separated.
We both eat butterfly legs or so we think.
Sleep and I tangle with other stuff like old coffee mugs with a musty smell.
And chalk boards in a secret room that I thought was hidden by keeping my eyes open.
I feast on whatever is left on the floor.
After most stuff sinks in.
Sleep borrows stuff like that.
The scorching yellow has dim
and the cuckoos call out to each other.
parading above the paddy of gold
are grey tufts of warm and humid clouds
lunging onto the trees,
with crackles and flashes of silver light.
Boughs of ripe mangoes sway
marigolds and freesias cup all they get
quenching their thirst after a rigid summer’s reign.
Tapping on my roof
like a child playing drums on dinner plates
the pitter and patter goes on.
the earthy smell rise as weeds stretch and flowers yawn.
the season of rain
of nature’s music, of cold nights and
new blooms.
The season of mirth as woodsmoke
tangle with petrichor.
Rain like a true Knight
galloping around.
I’m a seashell.
No one inside, but spiraling patterns and maybe memories.
No one knows how to tangle with seaweed anymore.
Or how to live off slime.
I used to know these things.
Nothing works underwater.
Except fins and eyes.
No one knows how to survive ocean things.
Anything good about me…
Got washed away like something unstructured.
Living like slime so what does slime eat?
Disastrous.
I’m a seashell or something.
With nothing except horrible thoughts of cave divers.
I’m a seashell.
I’m beautiful and I used to be alive.
I’m still part of the sea this summer.
I certainly never heard of things.
Like summer, humans, or how to live a long life.
lazy lips in tangle with A I
breathing secrets
I wonder why
why not
organize your thoughts, o scatterbrain
don’t be
a brain full of hay
eventual outcome -
the crows will pick your brain
s$it for brains
forgive my insane outburst
but the storm’s a-coming
a storm of flying monkeys
a witch to boot
the only way to beat the rap
is to hammer home
don’t
you ain’t fool’n no one
you’re a fool yourself
the witch has turned over
the hourglass
none of Dorothy’s friends
are clamouring to save you
they are not in pieces
but at rest
they’re courage
came when doing the right thing
jumping through glass, falling asleep
the witch had fear and poison on her side
but Dorothy was good and kind
she scolded the wrong, bucketed the witch
exposed the lie behind the curtain
then the runaway went back home
home sweet home
where the poet’s heart
brains and courage
reside
A plea for freedom, not in vain.
Palestinians yearn to break the chain,
Yet Hamas' grip, a binding bane.
Frayed hopes tangle with despair,
Courage whispers in the air.
To rise against the darker crest,
And claim the right to freedom's quest.
Yet complexities tell this their tale,
History's wounds, a heavy veil.
Yearning hearts, a common theme,
Struggle unfolds, a turbulent stream.
In unity, a power untold,
To reshape stories yet unfold.
The choice to rise, to break the ties,
For freedom's call within their eyes.
“This place is mine, a lovely garden, sublime.
Just look at those veggies!” Said Bunny Divine.
“I will make it my own, I won’t have to roam;
I have found a wondrous, luscious new home.”
“I’ll burrow beneath that shed, covered in green leaves
and oh, so happy, I’ll forever be!”
“Oh, what was that sound? Something’s coming around.
Oh no, it’s a cat, that I see!”
“Well, so much for that, I must fly, like a bat;
I have no desire to tangle with a cat and that’s that!”
Early Summer
Birds awake with the dawn
Their twitters break the last defending line of spring
Air becomes light
Like a vegetable soup that I can bottom up at once
The mist and rain no longer tangle with my eyes
The deepest blue in the sky appears
When all other colors fade
A new one is riding high on the hill
It's the greenness of life
A burst of beauty after a long hibernating
They're bustling in the same direction
With the dream of the earth, a pilgrimage
Here is my every other...
15 minutes until the hour-
I have my tech tool powwow to scowl,
30 minutes from the end-
I'm in the descend,
I know I'm the key to this pen,
I know I know how to spend...
But the people are there to descend,
and they loved being alone without my advice and rent.
So many different problems I've personally never experienced arrived,
Guns, Drugs, Bad Adults, Spies...
I want mine-
145 years alive,
I want to dine,
in the distance with the friends who are alive-
But I can't...
I'm not conceded like an appointed hump,
I'm just endangered and a little bleeded,
like I have no other,
like I am a dove in an oven,
So don't tingle-tangle with them,
Represent this!
Exemplify the print!
It's older than Bible spins!
It's cold as me in the fires of ancient fins-
forget desire's so that this can reward you heart'd and leave them with no other mother to inspire,
get at the slow jam because they aren't fast enough to perspire!
Do this thing!
Be a M'F'in' Tower!
Be that that doesn't design or cower!
We're Bo and Luke Duke and we fight crime.
When criminals tangle with us, they do hard time.
Uncle Jesse gets his fat carcass stuck every time he gets in the General Lee.
When we tell him that he's getting too fat, he puts us over his knee.
It's really embarrassing when grown men get spanked.
Our asses are still stinging because of Jesse's hand and he sure doesn't get thanked.
We have to run from Enos, Rosco and Cletus.
Most people shoot at us when they meet us.
We're good ol' country boys, we do nothing unlawful.
But the fuzz keeps chasing us anyway, isn't that awful?
Whenever Luke and I get arrested, Uncle Jesse has to use the mortage payment for bail.
Maybe we're not such good crime fighters because we can't even send Boss Hogg to jail.
(This poem was inspired by The Dukes of Hazzard TV show.)
Sweetheart you dont want to tangle with me sexually
Cause I study bodily positions extensively
And I've been known to passionately,
explore womanly creations so aggressively,
I leave them breathing heavily
I especially love when they teasingly touch me enticingly
That turns my nature beastly
And I never enter their privacy wrecklessly
Just ravage it nightly relentlessly
I make it increasingly hot in that special spot
When I adamantly give it all I got
I mean picture me intruding consensually on the restricted potions of your anatomy freely
The end result closely resembling someting nearly heavenly
Birds speaking into rhyme
Tangle with all twisting time
Give me one
All telling sign
Spring is here
Insense divine
Sons of daughters
Birthing now
Heaven preening
Telling how
See it's life
Does gather now
All his children
Take a bow
Great has formed us
Made it so
And we are but
A seed to grow
In harvest reap
A crop to sow
In time to bear
And garden grow
Poems of my thoughts
Tangle with my mind
Let the world know them
Try make them rhyme
Share with them most
To people online
Say how it is
In that moment of time
Comments come forward
With encouraging words
Makes the day brighter
To know that I’m heard.
Sometimes its someone
Who offers a hand
Who gives me a friendship
With no want for what’s mine
Want to say thankyou
To dance with your words
To form a good friendship
To join our two worlds.
At times I have wondered:
Is my reality riddled with dreams?
When logic embraces reality,
Maybe reality slips through the seams
At times I have pondered:
Am I dreaming or am I awake?
When dreams tangle with reality,
A division I find difficult to make
These times I now blunder:
Was the thought ever truly of me?
And my mind now does wonder
If it can truly ever be free
Wrestling with consciousness
fading in and out,
the darkness threatens to sweep me away
Where am I?
How did I get here?
What happened?
No voice escapes my lips
dry, parched tongue mouths wordlessly
as dreams tangle with reality
swimmingly, a face appears
in a moment of lucidity
in the storm of incoherency
I remember your face
your love
your lifeline to me
a tenderness fills me with warmth,
as I sink back into the darkness
but now there is a light....
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.