It's shade not of night,
It's a rest from the flight
A poem more holy than any from page
A play with more grace than what makes the stage
More reverence there than buttress can bring
From the ground to the arch, apart from the wing
More grandeur than even more lofty a spire
More solid in nature than we can conspire
Giving shade through the day and rest through the night
For all who have need to retire from flight
It's a loss, there's no doubt
Whether storm, ice, or drought
Cellular, cellulose, wearing a crown
Grown all the way up… to only come down
When it's time to leave the sky to the wind
The leaves and the branches no longer to bend
Thence came the life that gave life to the lyre
That would raise up a canopy meant to inspire
More than a point, or a joint, or an arch
The oak and the elm, the maple and larch
Are reduced, as all things which sprang from the dust
To the fruit we produce to provide what we must
When it's time to be borne on the shoulder it's best
To have taken a stand between restless and rest
What we leave's what we're made of, leaf, branch, or tome
Make the most of your time, for we all join the loam
Chicken aroma haunts the booth
Colonel watches from his highlander, heavenly roof
Realizing gimmick, more nourishing than a baby ruth
Candy bar
Named after the major league diamond star
Crispy crunch
Microphones record the munch
From the perfect afternoon lunch
During eleven's hour
Clutch play was the power
Being able to respond
Using leather glove wand
Answering where to go
Enjoy a good show
And a meal
Base hit steal
Served up Freddie style
Working utilities, going the extra mile
Where nothing gets by
Unless the ball is a fly
Experiencing a short stop at the concession stand
Feeding hungry traditional fans
Taking daily win to the bank
For those pinstriping Yanks
Even if game ends with a strike out
Solid defense will earn a healthy shout
“Cluck it
We have a real cool beach bucket!”
On the road I try each guise,
Today I’ll meet them with new eyes.
Life has left me time to spare,
I bring some idleness to share.
Some may perish in this flame,
I live on gladly, all the same.
A boundless show, yet sweet refrain,
Their voice keeps singing out my name.
Are these feelings just in vain?
Still alone, to them I wend my way again.
J-ack
O-f
Y-our
V-ehicle
I-s
L-iterally
L-ifting
A-utomobile,
N-eeded
U-ntil
E-mergency
V-alues
A-rise
©bfa060225
Monocrostic (Birthday of Joy A. Villanueva)
I had the neurosurgeon do a little utility work in my head.
The electricity in there had somewhat gone dead.
And the duct that dripped a driblet of water on my brain ~
she was able to fixed with great industry and pain.
But as to how that foul gas smell got there ~
she was at odds to explain.
As we live, the utility of life becomes like a shadow,
The universe unfolds like a canvas of hidden perfection,
Everything we call useful finds its essence in the eye of the beholder,
Uselessness reveals its value like a pearl in the depths.
To live is to open like a flower to new horizons,
Which expand the soul, enriching it with shades of light,
The longing to give becomes a search for an unseen meaning,
We embrace uselessness as a treasure of truths.
Within the duality of our desires lies a balance,
Fragile as a silk thread connecting the stars at night,
In the seemingly useless silence, we feel the hidden pulse of the world,
And we understand that each moment becomes an eternity.
Life transforms into a mosaic of experiences and contrasts,
Where the useful and the useless dance in cosmic harmony,
Creating a universe of deep and mysterious meanings,
That carries our soul towards higher and purer understandings.
It's cold though sunny, the temperature's twenty,
as Samantha flies out the door..
I try to explain again and again, it's not summer any more..
She opens it wide.
My heat goes outside.
My gas bill will surely soar.
I remind her each day, this utility she will pay,
but all she does is ignore..
The sign you hold:
a) says either stop or slow
b) is a matter of perception
c) makes for moments of conversation
d) is a pause in time
When one lane is closed:
a) cars must stop and wait for others
b) another lane is open
c) each of us must live another life
d) time stands still
The pilot vehicle:
a) will take off on Runway #1
b) is painted in psychedelic colors
c) leads cars through the work zone
d) will take you to the stars
When an emergency vehicle approaches:
a) the old man down the road must be sick
b) close your eyes and hope for the best
c) realize everything works out in the end
d) hold traffic so it can pass
A change of weather:
a) observe the clouds as they sing and dance
b) soon it will rain
c) work pauses
d) lightning never strikes twice
e) all of the above
At the end of day:
a) skies are painted
b) all lanes are re-opened
c) the sun falls over the edge of the earth
d) someone will cry
February 7, 2023
Utility companies are unforgiving.
Relentless.
Mean.
Money-grubbing.
Nasty.
Then they add taxes.
Dirty coal tax.
Tuesday wash day tax.
Dog scratching tax.
Garbage day tax.
Always adding to your bill.
Never letting up.
I hate utility companies.
Others do too.
But can we eliminate them?
Apparently not.
When Women Like a Sickle
Women are not from a rib or bones
Nor curved or crooked
You need a metaphor to understand truth
Said a sage his name is Aristotle
Don’t straight a stick
Or make a spoon flat
They will be broken and become useless
If a woman appears like an angle
Or looks like a moon, sickle
Find them a corner or a swath of grass
You will get her the best
Or see the best of her
In cutting and collecting while brightly she will shine.
You need not to be so big
Or so great
That people could touch you
And could not get your fruits
The shade vanishes into air
In the way of falling upon the heads scorching
From the height of the place you reside
And the breeze you produce
Lost its force
For whom it is meant
Just be as huge as you like
And attain the glory of a mountain
And keep protecting people from the harsh winds
And I think that would be enough.
A blank page a hollow one
Its plainness sickening
A page without a scribble is faceless
Without a story or experience behind it
Nothing for emulation
But with a little colour or few words
Life is breathed into it
So is a life without direction
And a drive to push for change
For life isn’t a statue
It’s always on the move
We only need to wake and prioritize
It matters not where we stand
Or how long we’ve been standing there
What matters is if we want to move past the stand
Pens are never too far from reach
For dreams they are
Knowing how to pick them up
Strategizing goals out of them
And scoring achievement
Is the procession from a vacuum life
To a life that resounds meaning every day
I’m waking up;
Making myself utility
©GraceM Composition
plays more than one base
the utility player
good player to have
Night flowers abloom
And joy without new perfume
Hills lit with houses
No light in the room
His breathing guides where she feels
She snuggles to him
Wait until the fall
The fawn suckles at the breast
Making milk in spring
This stag brown in leaves
Will invisible exist
Till feelings touch him
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.