She is picture perfect in broken glass,
Wearing the look of a heartbroken lass,
Lilacs bloom, but she's not aware, alas!
~
Lavender life goes on, leaves her behind,
For it knows of her hopeless state of mind,
She's in a flux, a depressed black hole bind;
~
Who can rescue her from this forlorn mood?
For she seems saddened and by sorrow blued,
Shards pierced her heart, she cries in solitude;
~
Let her free her mind and bawl in silence,
Bipolar woes have given her license !!
Help her stand against strife in defiance !!
~
Be there for her when she goes through such times,
Pick up the shattered mirror shards sometimes,
Aid her as she builds from them tinkling chimes !!
©Joanna Daniel (26.08.26)
Like a murmuration,
they suddenly appear,
swirl, swoop and storm the
ancient, familiar compound,
perching on the strongest bough
of the school’s pine tree,
a brawny Methuselah,
chattering loosely about long-departed
waves of creamy city gossip, and asking one another,
“How do you do?”
When the clock ticks a little further down
the aisle of a wailing theatre,
“And how have you been?”
At the time of the greedy feasting —
hollow, glass-tinkling buffet,
“And where are you now?”
Just like in a romance —
Your ex-lover is that person you’re curious about his
or her present life.
Your present lover is that person you’re curious about his
or her past life.
So it is with school reunions.
I seek the thunderclouds
on thunderous nights
when karma roars under sieving clouds
bolting within, driven by desires
the darkness of Brahman & vitality of Krishna
rumbling earthlings, throbbing arteries
blood rushes the heart
lightning striking limbs succumbing
my knees weaken,
streaked is a surrealist’s sky lit,
shamed shadows hide
tinkling rain droplets
quenching naked napes
given into those elements
evoking God's wrath,
judgement alive, awoken I’m gaining
invoking reality, unearthing its
primal pathways
Sorry to have worried anyone unnecessarily. To me, Crystol was missing since she hasn't been active in PoetrySoup for some time but was probably doing fine. In fact, after posting this, a reliable source tells me that Crystol is Alive and Well!
"Lift open to hear The tinkling sound
Of a music box dancer going round and around"
~ from Music Box Dancer by Crystol Woods
Do you recall our poet, Crystol Woods?
I haven't seen her work in quite a while.
If you haven't read her, she deals the goods -
tears, laughter, sincerity and a smile.
About the same time, on Soup we started.
Her presence, known soon after she'd begun,
shined humanity. She was big-hearted.
Her creative contests were always fun.
She writes a good poem and a good song.
Will, one fine day, we be happy to find
that she has come back? And will it be long?
What kind of questions might come to her mind?
What color is the sky? Crystol, it's blue!
Your poems and words - Crystol, they're so true!
Granddaughter reindeer fell apart that fine April Day
This cannot happen said her grams, it is not yet May!
She has to be at full capacity by December twenty-five
I have to push her together, she has to survive!
Grandma was a seamstress, so she made a quilt
She began to patch, and she went full tilt
She added some tinkling bells and some ribbons too
Her granddaughter was complete by December twenty-two
My spinner’s simply not a match
For when the wind is rough.
I reinforce its pole with stones
But that is not enough.
The ground is hard and rocky
So it’s tough to hammer in,
Though as soon as it’s erect,
The slightest breeze will make it spin.
I’m on the back porch writing
With the wind chime’s tinkling sound
When, with one big gust, that spinner
Tipped and fell upon the ground.
I’ll head outside and stand it up
And it will work, I trust -
At least until the next time
There’s a more insistent gust.
The last of us
meander in rolling hills
by the misty stream
tinkling round slate rocks.
A doll size cottage
hewn of ancient limestone
silhouetted in rainbow flares
creeks and rumbles forlorn.
Withered lace murmurs languid
framed by dark embrasures.
We enter the void
over a parquet threshold
to greet mirrored visions
in ever rewinding portals
that unveil the stories
of our dreams unlived.
fashion queen witch spent gobs of time fashioning her attire
attaching ribbons, ruffles, and tinkling bells we all could admire
Dot is such a diva, she must be stuck up we all said, without knowing her
She was a kind soul, with a generous heart that was immensely pure.
The moral of this tale is to say, just because someone is fancy and sleek.
Does not mean they are in any way a bully, or a strange kind of geek.
Fashion queen witch taught the girls in the neighborhood to sew.
And one interested boy too, his name was Little Le Beau.
Acoustic Shadows 4-8-26 Craig Cornish
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Acoustic Shadows
As screen doors slam an audible footprint of sound
Echoes in phonics of ice in glasses
And tinkling bells of ice cream trucks.
The solstice ripens
Growing large in the splash of rainbirds
And telltale whirr of hummingbirds at feeders
As humidity buzzes, the breath of summer’s envoys
Sound out a boneless resonance
With chords that tease and tantalize
Alluring in fleeting notes hatching hazy inklings.
Haunting memories of a solstice oratorio renewed,
Veiled in the caress of a mirage,
Reverberate in noisy shimmers of Luna’s fullness.
Ripples of ghostly illusions speak in clues
Like bards of déjà vu
When sounds trickle down furrows of skin and soil
Leaving hints that foreshadow dusky shades
Recalling the hum of warmth in cold bones
And cues that foretell of the season of crickets.
Lift open to hear The tinkling sound
Of a music box dancer going round and around
Magical childhood filled with sweet things
This beautiful life that serving God brings
Little ballerina winding down now
Little girl twirling round and round
Round and round, round and round
Childhood bedroom packed up and gone
Grown up and moved out, yes she's moved on
No more scary monsters under her bed
No, now he sleeps beside her instead
How did she lose the magical way
Her dancing ballerina made it all okay
And lying awake her thoughts take
Her round and round, round and round, round and round.
Climbing silently from their bed
She looks at her reflection black blue and red
She decides to look in boxes over her head
Lifting the lid to hear the tinkling sound
Of the music box dancer going round and around
She hums along to the familiar song as her heart pounds!...
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saves a wretch like me
I once was lost but now I'm found
Was blind but now…I see
I once was lost but now I'm found...
She twirls and dances round and round
Round and round, round and round, round and round…and round.
A glimpse of yours
or your gentle touch
Talk with the eyes
or a deadly glare
The tinkling bangles
that sound everywhere
marking that you're home
that you're there,
Happens in a second
yet stays forever
Times when I'm away
I call you out of nowhere
only to realise
"I'm here by myself"
A flashback of your scoldings
when I'm about to commit an error,
I laugh at times so sudden
at your annoyed version
All covered in a second
You are magical
In seconds to look back at
or those to let go,
You've taught me more
In seconds than as a whole
#Mom #Indian
I am a mural
of seasons patched in nectar
slowly—bit by bit I falter
Tinkling tinkle—
bicycle bell
bashes my pieces back to
where they belong; Where
they were sort of a whole. At least
I remember them making the decision
that we hate tomatoes
as a collective.
And they ride
on one bike, towards
nowhere specific—
—tinkling, tinkling
Now the shred of rainbows despise
the fragments that watch yellow leaves die;
Flakes of white scoff in frost
when they hear laughter from chips of sun
—No one is right yet
nothing can be wrong
Binded with
what I had, I am—or I was—
no, I am
a Cubist mosaic
the evening is alive with promise
dogs lie on their porch, loving the breeze
chimes are tinkling in a happy manner
there are two sounds – the air conditioner and crickets
the wind picks up strength; leaves rustle
one dog’s head comes up; he gulps some wind
in the distance a dog barks. My two dogs are on their feet.
They run up the hill barking with serious intent.
Written: August 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Mark Toney
***********
Corset of steel tightens—ratified pain,
Vestigial breath trapped in ischemia thrall.
The ductile hope failed to placate
This Pyrrhic ache, this woebegone gall.
A sojourn in the squalor of soul,
Where sylphlike dreams maunder, downcast.
Ogle the embers of the miraculous nexus—
A seraphic visage lost, quickly.
Vivacious once, now virile with woe,
Panacea tastes of pabulum, slipshod, and cold.
Tinkling memories coruscate as zeugma—
Bright, yet untoward, they never hold.
Quixotic penchant for connection,
Grasping too late the nebula beneath.
What puissance is this—this throe, this tumult—
When tulle-wrapped love meets a gyre of grief?
Ululation beneath pavonine skies,
Adumbrate every glance, every sigh.
Crimson weave keeps a skirt in place,
Valuable, stained, adorned, and slain.
As I lay on the forest floor,
peacefully gazing at the starry sky,
I wonder about the blessings,
~that are numerous,
than the stars passing by.
The sodden forest ground,
the smell of ferns and fronds,
chirping night voices,
~ earth's blessings,
and bond,
with creatures roaming along.
Soft brumal winds,
their tinkling hints,
snowflakes floating around,
jewels of wintry crown,
~ seasonal blessings,
lovingly,
showered down.
Placed second
Peace of mind poetry contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
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