There are doors but you can’t knock upon them
And if they were opened
There is nothing to see if they did
Just a hollowed out space
Large enough for the width of a door
And no more
Some temples are like this
A dry sandstone and façade and fascia
Not the delving warrens of the tombs of Kings
There is nothing deep to them
The architecture is all outwards
A structure chiseled only far enough
Into the rock to suggest mighty halls within
All inwardness is written upon the outside
Depth only suggested
Rooms for these ancient vaults of time
Would be mere adornments
Their purpose is confusing
Perhaps they point to an interior
That is on the outside
An edifice that attempts to mirror
soul
Away from the cities, far off beaten roads.
Stillness surrounds, the quiet humble abodes.
The webs, the dens, the warrens and the nests.
Step over the threshold, be natures guest.
Yonder the footpath and over the fences.
Away from the chaos and human pretences.
Clamber over the sty, walk over the field.
Approach the trees and the brook they concealed.
Chirps and chimes, breeze and rustle, natures song fills the air.
The birds and the bees, living life without care.
The brook babbling on, forever and always in motion,
Modest the beauty of nature’s creation.
So, let go of your worries, take time to digress.
Undo the tension, your fears and distress.
Get far from the city, go yonder the fences.
Walk over the fields, let down your defences.
Let beauty surround you, put down your phone.
Observe life we forget, so wrapped up in our own.
Haiku for Hidden Habitats
Mournful doves coo
Bullfrogs call from tall green reeds
Traffic rushes by
Fox quietly treads
Rabbits from their warrens peak
Traffic rushes by
Snake moves soundlessly
the hawk glides on wind whispers
Traffic rushes by
Shy yellow flutters
Doe statues stand in the field
Traffic rushes by
Traffic rushes by
Unaware of hidden gifts
Precious habitats
Written after walking in
open space near a highway
I trod the volcanic soil of past relationships
Down until the river ran red
And where the cobalt ribbons threaded
Skies with golden studs embedded,
Encrusting precious metals in my centrifugal head.
As they turned and spun the alchemy of ages past
Round until their substance re-combined,
And the chemical reactions
Changed the future days by fractions,
Revisions of the outcomes in my sore eccentric mind.
How I walked the blind-alley warrens of stone
Out onto the cliff-tops by the sea,
Where the gulls were made of wires
And they dripped baptismal fires
Upon the alternate alternatives of my reality.
I cried and consumed the static of lingerie
Face first into the channel of her breasts,
Whereupon perfumed emissions
In her loin of nuclear fissions,
I consumed her sex and life and then began on all the rest.
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.