Trundle Poems | Examples

Toward the Faraway

I travel incognito, using a name I once found
in a book of minor sorrows.
I have a longing for the sea, yet languish here
behind the wheel of a rental,
crisscrossing arid lands with many miles ahead.
A white plastic bag flaps on a thorn bush
it could act as a windsock but turns listlessly
in the breathless air.
A GPS guides my mind over a flickering map
toward an ocean that is too far away to reach today,
a place where silver fish leap in the aqueous air,
only to pause as still as stone in an ice-marbled sky.
That shore for now, is bereft of place and time
it can only be imagined through gaps in
rising walls of dust.
The hatchback seems to trundle slowly over
dinosaur bones, dry axles groan under
tired springs.
A hundred miles ahead a fish-restaurant
is getting ready to close its doors for the night.
A Motel 8’s neon lights flicker in a sea spray.
On an unseen shore, snow crab dance and sing
like sirens in the rolling surf.

Revenant

Dank
darkness
was always
settled around.
It was all I knew
of the near universe.
Stale, stifling, suffocating
in my broken and spilt trundle
leaving bitter, morbidly clammy
earth enshrouding my body and being.

A crack in the soil, or in time perhaps.
Slivers of light split the filthy floor,
crawled over ornate catafalque,
and continued its approach,
like winter's blinding ice,
to my exposed bones.
Warming flesh grew
and coursed with
new - life
blood.

Full Carriages Trundle On

I don't have a return ticket
not sure if this train
is coming from somewhere or going onward.

In the next seat a 'mick' relative,
we converse in a grunting verse.
Rough hands caked with unspoken words
indicate long pauses.

On the move trying to recall
something familiar, a town, a stretch
of passing scenery. A once fractured memory,

Some kid is beating a tin toy drum
I think it is me, his short pants are dark blue,
they are too tight;
he is going to the seaside one day.
The child is annoying.

A journey battles on.
it whistles through the bygone:
will someone meet us in loco parentis?
I am an outgrown poet full of the Irish,
I am a jigsaw piece
for the numbed seekers of unfilled holes.

This is a video game,
this is a play station
with play passengers
getting on and leaving.

Bareboned is the bodkin that grooves
a map far from anywhere.
Passengers stare out of my window
I begin to count the eyes.

I have much time to ponder,
to wonder if this rattling line
has an end
or perhaps has been pulled up
long ago
by ice Mammoths?

Cemetery Grass

A billowing sheet of white geese 
Trundle across the street
Onto grass rich and green
From winter melt
Black river rolls like a fat man
Trying to get outta the way 
Stumbles and falls 
On smooth gray rocks
And tumbles merrily away
Sweet scent of decay passing
Cemetery opposite the river
Headstones flowing over hills
To distant and future days
Feet ache a little on the asphalt 
I'm old not dead
Walk the water down 
Geese eating cemetery grass
In my wake
Probably raining in Arizona 
But I'll stay here a while
Maybe go to Boston 
Easy in North Country
And won't be family here 
To visit soon
So, yeah, probably hit Boston
Then I don't know 
Be grass to cut when I get home
Say hi to the bars for a week or two
And I'll be looking for
Somewhere to go
Something to do

Role Playing With Strangers

We paddle through small talk,
I like her, she has style.
I imagine we have a history together
back in an old movie that I have yet to see.

I begin to construct a lost and anecdotal life.
In another place we’re a vaudeville act
wisecracking between meal tickets.
Our home, a trunk covered in Midwest decals.
We share the occasional Spam sandwich,
theater gossip and sleaze; we cuddle
as we trundle along
long defunct rail tracks.

We date in elevators,
make out in a battered Oldsmobile.
In Bangkok, we share a ride in a Tuk-Tuk
careening down narrow streets.
On any sidewalk, we meet regularly
as reflections in windowpanes.

Today you’ve gone to Guatemala
to fight for a right.
Marimba music plays
as you climb up my spine.

Time now to rent more space
outside these traveling dreams.

Heeding

I listen to my neighbors toilet flush,
it takes a long time for the sound
to drain away and refill,
I settle deeper between my ears
cognizant of the cadence
of its slow rise and fall.

The trash compactor chews on
for a grinding stretch after I switch it off.
Uncomfortably heated body-bellows voice out
as a hurried meal speaks on.

This is not silence
minor notes trundle and tumble,
heightened by being weighted
to a lower registry.
Sonic trickles detonate into auricular
spouting’s.

The distances between
unremarkable moments
eavesdrops,
listening to its own earthly poetry.

Ignorance Be Bliss

1.

I think love be quite fastidious
With a priggish clear intent
To fester hurly burly
On whom it should torment.

One thing is absolute...
'Tis that and that shall be.
Love's rudimentary motivation
Be to source my misery.

          The End

               2.

If ignorance be bliss, and
Foolishness the coinage of the realm.
'Tis dark the days that fade away
With an unknown spectre at the helm.

As we trundle through the shadows
Where pride and arrogance oft compete.
Portion out a spat of hubris and naivete...
Thus our abasement be complete.
                
                  The End

                     3.

A child may fear its shadow
And the perturbations in their head.
They dread the midnight poltergeist
Lurking menacingly beneath their bed.

They may fret about a spelling test
And abhor the dimming light.
They tremble at the boogeyman
Who torments them late at night.

The fear that haunts them most of all.
The fear that shakes them to their core.
'Tis the monster they both love and hate...
Outside their bedroom door.

                 The End

* Follow my cartoon at Webtoon Bob's Your uncle.

In a Forest

In A Forest


                       Hearts chanting beating in tandem in a forest

                       Navigating love birds hightailing towards east

                       Haze lace stream seem rain could soon arrive
                    
                       Under bare soil tenacious toads toil to survive


                       Fiery ants pull then trundle sweet honeycomb

                       Mushroom zoom out of a dark mystical womb

                       On grass dewdrop wasp grasp a rare blessing

                       Sunrays embrace trees invigorating the living

                                                  ------

                       Eyes wander and search wonder exuding zest

                       Weaving undying scenes of wildlife in a forest







            









08/14/2020
12:34 a.m.
Woodspring Suites
Lake Worth, Florida
USA

Woolgathering, Until Dawn

A silver moon arrives to bathe me with her moonlight 
sending me into a dream state of beauty and respire 
With feet of  feather weight I never touch the ground
as I gaze at the beauty  that surrounds this  gauzy lake 
Accustomed to the shadows of the night I gather long 
around the hem of stars that shine down on my estate 
I watch the flowers in my garden lay withered at me feet 
while I trundle by the angels, one thousand more to keep 
Some earthlings like to babble in their little cafes at night 
but its all Greek to me for I rather lay between two clouds 
swinging from a hammock, woolgathering, until dawn .


October 7, 2020
Words Used:  Greek, Moonlight, accustomed, shadow, withered 
Taken from a book called, "Fugitive Pieces"      Author: Anne Michaels

So Much Coming

Down the pike, seasonal traps,
and festive lures trundle in,
weave ways through orange barrels,
past Red Lobster’s neon’s
a surf and turf backwash of traffic.
Pumpkins drop dead gradually.

Bedside Halloween costumes,
seams worn to a frazzle, no longer dazzle.  
Yet we cheer for the sexed-up masquerade
with its side-offering of ghoul-masked kids.

A sidewalk Santa fumes;
gives us the finger behind his sandwich board.
Shoppers both freeze and simmer in puffer jackets,
coalesce in electric clumps.
Strip Mall's hum and glare.
Plows push a gathering sludge
from here to there.

A Second Stored

Here we
Here we
Here we ing go
Snarled from within the orange
comfort glow
as i passed
by local pub
Churlish laughter
from a lass
searching for the knight
to give her forever after
ends up with a bastard
Cough and sneezed diseased
Staring at their feet
drawing on paper sleeves
deformed amber gargoyles features
choking on the winters cause
Music tremors ripple
blackened puddles
Not a t-rex in sight
snuggle my own collar
Blowing smoke and mist
Focus on the point
where both mix
Fermented caveman scrawls
echo
and trundle
through
through
a chill that kills the air
Aired secrets crumble
beneath a love undone
the ghost child
waiting outside for a father
that will never come
Take a step
perhaps to be the last
Losing grasp
feeling through the darkness
for homes path.

Christmas Trees

I do not buy a Christmas tree
(I’m Jewish, after all)
Yet wonder every year as people
Trundle with their haul.

What makes them buy one weeks before
Or just on Christmas eve?
Is Norway spruce or Douglas fir
The best with which to leave?

Do ceiling heights determine
If they splurge on one real tall?
Will it decorate the living room,
The entryway or hall?

I know that boxed-up ornaments
Are meant to be reused.
Will new ones join the party, though?
(I’m just a bit confused.)

My neighborhood is filled with stands
Of evergreens in wait,
So questions bounce inside my brain
Each year around this date.

sleepwalking -

I long to fold my eyes and softly creep

                    beside the brook of fancy, as it flows

          to tumble off my trundle bed and sleep

                              and dip the stardust with my drowsy toes



within the world of reverie and dreams

                    I cast my cares, like nets, upon the sea

          so woven as the moon, within its beams

                              imagination's breadth, now comes to be



with all the dreamy pathways that I stroll

                    the routes are always varied, always new

          and still, each destination brings its toll

                              as all my sojourns find their way ... to you



but I would ne'er deny my heart that ache ...

                    if only you'd come with me ... when I wake.






~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Most Comments Received Poem 2018" Poetry Contest, July Morning, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 1st Place ~  in the "Sleepwalking" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Sponsor & Judge.

~ 5th Place ~  in the "Contest Number 470 Any Form Or None" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor & Judge.

Transitional Tears

Transitional Tears


A r d u o u s  day, both sunny and gloomy.

the payment sought — a trundle of great worth.

My tender eyes in  t r a n s i t i o n a l  tears —

the dew of pink and blue as I give  b i r t h.


6/7/2018

Aches, Breaks and Cakes

Rejoice each day no matter how much love breaks
Instead cuddle the bundle and trundle of the joy you reap
Rise and migrate to a new platform although love aches.

Improve your love profile to avert new mistakes
Beware of hasty decisions lest love should fall asleep
Rejoice each day no matter how much love breaks.

Love, my friend, exacts a high price in the midst of high stakes
Do not enable a lull in affection to make you weep
Rise and migrate to a new platform although love aches.

If you hold her dear, my friend, on love do not apply brakes
Unless you desire love fire to die while you creep
Rejoice each day no matter how much love breaks.

Project, protect and perfect love art; commitment is all it takes
Promises you made long ago ensure for love’s sake you keep
Rise and migrate to a new platform although love aches.

Although love sometimes hurts, grant her your creamiest cakes
Discern, my friend, love vows you ought to keep
Rejoice each day no matter how much love breaks
Rise and migrate to a new platform although love aches.

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