When the toilet paper roll
is almost empty,
it may cause panic,
but only temporarily!
You just have to make sure
a full roll is close by,
for if not, there may be no one
to hear your anguished cry!
In my parents' house, the extra bumwad
was in a closet,
but not in the loo;
a circumstance that should have been outlawed,
for what was a child to do
with the poo
that was still stuck on his smelly backside?
Some ingenuity must be applied!
Well, the toilet paper roll is paper too!
Unroll it, smooth it out. That oughta do!
When sitting down to dine
altho' before digging in
I unroll it or unfold it
and tuck it under my chin
or more often than not
place it on my lap
as table etiquette indicates
but never on my napper (nap)
where it would do least good
yet if nowhere known as chinkin
why is it called a napkin
as it seems to me it should
henceforth be a lapkin
In the hush of dawn when the world is still,
Your eyes awaken the sky with a thrill.
Like twin galaxies lost in a lover's gaze,
They hold the stars in a smoky haze.
Not just mirrors, but portals to soul,
Where silence whispers and dreams unroll.
They speak the words your lips leave behind,
In languages only the heart can find.
In storm or sun, they never disguise
The truth that rests in your beautiful eyes.
Warm like twilight, sharp like flame—
Once they look, you're never the same.
They’ve seen the tears, the laughs, the lies,
But still shine pure—those beautiful eyes.
A thousand poems, a thousand tries,
Still can’t capture their soft sunrise.
So let me drown, no need to save—
In eyes that heal, in eyes that crave.
The world may blur, but I’ll memorize
The universe held in your beautiful eyes.
a house abandoned
walls caved in
the windows no panes
and the floors creek
yet still a spark of beauty
flawed and few
nothing inbetween
i stay reflecting on the past…
it used to be thriving
full of life
kids playing, people residing
the memories the walls hold
indents of several souls
the history of not one but two,
i take a step back
a dark shadow sweeps through
i slowly watch the rug unroll
its clearer now,
a story unfolds
the faint echo of screaming
and the vision of blood shot eyes gleaming
tear stained curtains rip off the wall
the cracks aren’t just age,
they’re scars, i withdrawal
the hands of man destroyed her beauty
left her falling apart, while neglecting his duty’s
i can’t help but think
she’s stayed so strong throughout the years
still standing tall despite hers scars and constant fear
but,
she’s abandoned now, all withered and torn
at the hands of a man she once adorned
but beneath the surface her foundation stayed strong
it’s the beauty within that’s made her last this long.
The sun retreats in anguish
As winter takes control,
I stare out the window blankly
As I let my thoughts unroll
I think of the isolation
Of the sadness I solely consume,
Betrayed by so called “friends”
And left to my own assume
I’m tired now and I have to go
But it’s not in my nature to give up,
Maybe that’s the beauty in life
The change, the growth, the disrupt
I bring my pen to the page
And utter my desperate cries,
I know my selfish leaving
But this is my last of tries.
From where so a fault comes to call,
There from hint comes how to forestall:
Boils and blisters that burn,
Back by hot foments turn,
From ailment does its cure unroll.
_____________________
Translation |11.01.2025|
Poet’s note: Sanskrit has thousands of verses of wisdom called Subhashhitam. The wisdom of this verse tells us that remedy arises from the melody. The transliteration of the Sanskrit verse follows:
Yatah eva agatah doshah
tatah eva nivartate |
Agni dagdhasya visphota
shantih syat agnina dhruvam ||
It might begin with the sweet songs of birds
when sunrise blooms its glow, seeming divine.
We view the month to see those written words;
“Spring now begins” confirms our current sign.
The resurrection from grim Winter sleep
will move full-swing while buds unveil to stir.
Soft colors of new willow greens will sweep-
blot Winter drudge while brighter views recur.
Fresh hope rebirths the life in every soul
when Springtime flowers crown the rolling fields.
While gushing brooks from melted snow unroll-
the feeling of new life within us yields.
This mystery of rebirth gifts our Spring;
gives promise in new life for everything!
Will the thrown newspaper
land on the lower or upper step?
The odds are forever even.
The percolator has mixed together.
a thousand mornings
yet it arrives in normal time,
as one brew.
Outside, twiggy beds creak in the treetops.
leafy blankets unroll.
The dawn gathers enough weight,
to fluff up pillows of sunlight.
We find ourselves on the verge,
of all previous awakenings,
swinging one tentative leg,
to touch a floor
that rises up to meet us.
Beyond a small stream’s margin lay we two
beneath a giant oak which spread sweet shade.
We barely knew what next we ought to do
there, pleasure-sated from the love we’d made
within deep foilage like a carpet lush.
The grass, which from the bank seemed to unroll
with wealth of buttercups and trim of brush
continued past us, up a gentle knoll.
Wrapped in one another’s arms, we pondered
how the rill, once sprightly, now seemed subdued,
and how it once had rippled as it wandered
toward this sheltered spot of solitude.
Our brook, which kissed each boulder on its way,
in vacant time – with us – now sparkling lay.
(a haiku and a monoku formed from using the bolded words in this sonnet)
grass seemed to unroll
beyond a small stream’s margin . . .
wealth of buttercups
our sprightly brook - which had kissed each boulder on its way - now sparklng lay
Whilst pensive and serene
and seated on the loo
contentedly having
my morning number two
my serenity was shaken
torn asunder
by a massive mistake
a terrible blunder
someone had installed a new toilet-roll
hopelessly bungling this very simple op
the paper, oh horror of horrors
was not being fed from over the top
as quick as a flash
not missing a beat
I swopped it around to feed as it should
restoring my serenity with this simple feat
business now concluded
with a nod of approval I watched it unroll
but, this glaring absurdity
had taken its toll
with hands properly washed
and soap in its receptacle, right side up
I saw something else that had my nerves all ajangle
another absurdity whose jig was now up
the towel on its rail
was not folded in two
but haphazardly bunched
and hanging askew
drying my hands
I folded it neatly as it will be on show
then hung it back up
ends equidistant from the tiled floor below
leaving the bathroom a tad overwrought
I immediately felt my sanity slipping
with a nice cup of tea and some toast on my mind
my senses were assailed by the kitchen tap dripping.
In life's stormy race, find peace,
A balm for the mind's unease.
Nature's embrace soothes the soul,
In flowers' scent, worries unroll.
Sunsets paint skies with gold hue,
Stillness under stars so true.
Friendships warm, laughter's delight,
Calmness grows in love's pure light.
Gratitude eases every thought,
Mindfulness in moments sought.
Amidst turmoil, find release,
Embrace calmness, inner peace.
My pen is the savior of my soul,
It's the place where my thoughts unroll.
I write to keep my mind at bay,
To give my emotions a place to stay.
The paper is my trusted friend,
With it, my thoughts will never end.
I pour my heart out on the page,
And my inner turmoil starts to fade.
My pen is a key to my mental state,
A tool I use to contemplate.
It helps me deal with what's inside,
And keeps my soul from being tied.
Writing lets me be free,
And from my worries, I'm able to flee.
I put my thoughts on display,
And I'm able to find my way.
So I write to keep my thoughts in line,
To keep my soul from being confined.
Why do we rebel
when bliss beats propel
our soul?
Know God does indwell
each and every cell.
Our role
is just to dispel,
dark fears that repel;
love troll.
We cannot control,
bliss scriptures extol.
To rise,
peep through love’s keyhole;
there’s then no loophole,
monk wise!
Love does love cajole
to here now unroll,
heart’s prize.
Heed not ego’s cries
as they so apprise
and scroll
soul’s light that then dies,
misled by fear’s lies;
sinkhole.
Before love’s ink dries,
welcoming surprise,
be whole.
30-March-2023
Virelai
The azure ecstasy of the glistening autumn sky
fades away with the blizzard of the polar wind.
As on the wings of winter the golden leaves fly,
gone with the surge the fleeting joy of the mind.
On the concave canvas of the hazy horizon grey,
rainbow dreams gleam as the transient arc of art.
In the clasp of the curling clouds they melt away,
gone with the rains the hues of the broken heart.
To a verdant vase the sunny vale turns from brown,
the petals of the life flower called happiness unroll,
shred by the cloudburst sky coming crumbling down,
gone with the thunder the volatile bliss of the soul.
The sparkling crystals of luminous mind’s chandelier
shatter at the sudden strike of the sequential strife.
In abyss the ephemeral flickering candles disappear,
gone with the wind the last flash of the transient life.
______________
February 23, 2023
Contest : Inspired By Robert Frost's Nothing Gold Can Stay
Sponsored by : JCB Brul
If you have time on your hands
and nothing much to do
(no plane to catch or appointments to keep,
perhaps stuck in a small motel room
on-route to nowhere special).
Then allow me to recommend listening to
a Mahler or Bruckner interminable symphony.
Your whole life will unroll before you
yet seem but a fleeting minute of purgatory.
You will have climbed a mountain in your mind,
a peak which was probably too high
and not worth it.
Sub Categories
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.