Wetly Poems | Examples

The Golden Oriole Found - A Fantasy Story

Martin came to a cleft in the rocks
The oriole must have gone this way
It was narrow and curving
A sudden turn, and everything seemed to change.
Shrill, reedy music of pipes filled the heavy air,
A smell of musk of goats and their dung. 
Invisible cicadas sustained the piper's lament.

Suddenly, he found himself in front of a small but deep lake.
Weeping willows, large copper-coloured beeches 
Surrounded by a large pool of azure water. 
There was a calm tranquillity about the place 
Whilst the air was saturated with a fragrance 
Of exotic flowering lavender-like trees.

He heard a splash, and out stepped a young woman. 
Her canary yellow elegant swimsuit
Clung wetly to her honey-coloured body. 
Damp citrine hair formed a frame around an oval face
That was highlighted by an upturned, pointed nose. 
He did not move but stood mesmerized, 
Looking into her blue, limpid eyes.
A sweet smile shimmered on her lips.
"Hello," she said in a mellifluous voice. 
Her smile was inviting. "My name is Goldie Oriole. 
Come, sit near me 
And tell me how you found this place."


To be concluded in Part 3

Fear

Bending close so I can hear
bringing darkness all too near
it whispers wetly in my ear
this clammy thing we call fear.

Holiday Rain

Traffic is slow.
In the drizzle
the holiday crowd complain and grizzle.

Magpies and currawongs are carolling.

The morning is silvery now.
A heavy sky bends down,
dropping diamonds 
wetly on the ground.

Mounds and hills will grow emerald grasses.
Rain sings the treasure of life as it passes.

Aunt Rose

Politely stood 
with feet together 
and socks not up
resigned and ready 
the boy awaits 
as towards him sails
coos and quivers
powered cheeks
and bright red lips
gently lifted 
and tightly folded
into that powerfully perfumed 
and well known chest
the boy succumbs
at last released 
the boy stands silent 
stoutly anchored 
by straightened arms
whose purple-painted pointers 
firmly grip 
a set of shoulders not yet manly
then steeled and stoic 
with eyes shut tight 
the boy endures
as lips swoop down 
still tirelessly exclaiming
to leave on his forehead 
all wetly red
the grand finale
to the ever exuberant 
softly yielding 
yet firmly buttressed  
obligatory embrace  
duties now performed
and ritual complete 
they return to their different worlds
carrying with them that inner glow
that mysterious warmth 
each gives the other 
that wondrous bond
the love of family
the power of blood.

Storm In a Butterfly House

It rained for 3 days,
drenching torrents plunged down
as if a dam had breached.
There was some local flooding
but by and large only minor damage
a lot of litter and flotsam though
‘sky wreckage’ some called it.

The butterfly house was swamped,
its netted walls were ripped ragged
by broken tree limbs,
the seams in the wooden roof
split apart and a wild,
wind-riding rain rode in.

Purple Admirals were beaten down
by the gusting blows,
then drowned.
Painted Ladies were murdered
their mangled decorative forms
no longer cosmetics.
Longwings no longer flew
but in death, swam limply
in the splashing puddles.
A disarray of broken wings
carpeted the deluged floor.

Somewhere in this caged house
sodden chrysalids sway upon fractured twigs;
eventually there will be fluttering wings,
but not here in this ruined shelter
were the air still drips wetly
onto unreceiving
and unmoving antennae.

The Temple

Millions of cells in the body temple.
Thousands of cells rupture every day,
fall way;
tear-drop ghosts spill and puddle wetly.
They all must be reincarnated
as the same God.

A Warm and Welcomed Shelter

To search for the angelic chord that 
describes the melodic sound of your voice 
expressing the music in your eyes 

To seek your unique persona in your Angelica Jolie smile
displaying the fullness of your fleshy lips that 
stoke the fires of my psyche

Come quickly, my Love! 
let me touch your mound of Venus and
Play in your forest of desire as I did then 
when you lay on our crumpled sheets and 
kissed me wetly

Today you’re gone but your aroma 
hints at your presence still here
desires emanating from all my pores
seek escape and respite

Your music plays on and on and on
in all the cells of my body 
relentlessly throbbing 
until they beg to burst

Trumpets and bones blow your hearts out!
bring her music back the one she sang that night to
excite my soul up to where her thighs did hide
our springboard to the stars

Let me find once more the bliss ensconced in
your mysterious abode that once
I called mine and found
a warm and welcomed shelter.

The Bygones

Eroding names on long-faced headstones,
a small graveyard marooned on a patch of past;
long rooted and confined while beside it
2022 blares unseeing past the forgotten lot.

An old-fangled America right there
forgotten crypts
tucked between gas station and strip mall,
a small deposit of once horse-drawn bones
amid a modern thoroughfare.

A haze of traffic emissions half-hides the secreted,
the tucked away,
yet, there are whispers on mossy mounds,
mouthless echoes of forked-over farmers,
matrons of dispersed parishes,
tanners wrapped in musty mule skins.

An olden daze leans toward us,
tilts into the present, slides sideways into
a ‘Wendy's’ car-park.

Voices sweat into the skin of a biker filling his tank;
beneath his dew rag they wetly whisper.
He shudders in the warm sunlight,
thinks about a lime phosphate soda
long defunct.

A cloudy memory follows a teenager
toward a newly opened store,
but the new won’t thrive long.

Nothing around here survives
longer than the bygones.

Life In the Body Temple

It’s a kind of habituation,?
it’s a kind of a life?
you walk in it, over it?
through it.?
?
What you see or don’t see?
is still all there,?
coming through from the past.?
The future also comes through,?
tomorrow has already painted next steps,?
they are just waiting to be taken?
then hung on a mind gallery.?
?
You can see millions of cells,?
brain cells, dead squamous cells,?
octagonal memory cells?
bee hive stacked.?
Some cells have ruptured,?
tear-drop ghosts spill out drop by drop,?
puddle wetly.?
They all must be reincarnated?
breathed life into.?
?
Now you can look back and see?
if you have cleaned house,?
or just used time to litter?
the temple grounds.?

Premature Tongue Cabinet

A knock, knock from the shadow box
rattles raw-boned words that collapse and flail
in another scribbled knot that snags in
straining throat and slackened mouth.

I have lost my train crash of thought in that
desolate transmission so many times my 
faltering breath simply rolls over and plays dead
like an obedient and desperate puppy.

On hidden shelves they wetly sit in their thousands, 
those interrupted ruminations, my aborted utterances 
as they tap out their sloppy, forgotten code and
plead for the key to the door.

They were once nestled deep in my flesh where
they gestated, fattened, and rapidly struggled for 
an early delivery that would ultimately see them 
born cold, grey and premature.

So they wait and ripen in that cramped little cupboard,
relegated to the dark and left neatly in line until inspiration
once more arrives to release them back into the already
crowded world of interminable prattle.

My Heart Was the Liar

what is it, pretending to be
one of the monsters that creep,
roaring through life, keeping
a secret self, safe down and deep.

all others will see,
scaled armor and sin,
(it's all I'll ever let myself be),
a shadow with red eyes, steaming skin,

but...

my downfall was mine,
lacking faith, spitting fire,
but when she was gone,
only my heart was the liar.

there is no gratitude,
no company,
going through the motions,
if love was never, truly, here 
illusion quickly fades out,
like synthetic emotions.

to learn what it was,
and what it was not,
castles get built up on sand,
dire wounds that won't clot.

so, does this refrain,
have a resounding conclusion?
or wetly subside,
into deeply malicious illusion?

the dawn doesn't care,
the planet will turn,
wounded hearts, shattered minds,
will either burn out or learn.

Storm In a Butterfly House

Wings in puddles.
There must have been a leak,
and in the sky nothing fly’s 
but a crippled gale,
it limps now, yet howls still
from the far side of lost town.

Wind-drones moan in bare trees
sky wreckage litters.
Dead Purple Admirals
have gone down in rainy heaps.
Painted Ladies rest forever.
Longwings no longer sail,
for the roaming Yellow Swallow Tail
It is trails end.

Who broke the netting and the roof?
What dashed all 
upon a fluttering flood?
Was it the piratical gulls?
No, like this emptying daylight
they have been flung into hiding.

Somewhere in this arboretum
new chrysalids sway on twigs,
soon there will be wings,
but not here in this ruined shelter
wear the air drips wetly
as if with tears.

She Said

Poem by: Piet Mashele 
                    2sides

Title: she said....

She directly said, protect me 
Like how wetly you get for your Bentley
Hold me so gently
For when you accept me
It will exactly be about 
How you met me...
And she said let me 
Let the blessed me 
Empty the belly of your worries
So do not be in a hurry 
To sing to how sexy I'm 
Especially when you 
Expect me not to be attached 
To this strange feeling 
That fairly kept me 
On my toes 
For this heart knows how to bulldoze 
These shadows that are there to slow down 
My heart beat
My blood knows its own flows 
It allows me to grow to another direction 
With total perfection
She sat and said...
Let me grow inside of you 
So that when u breath for both us 
You will know that I said let m be yours 
So she said...

Kitty In the Garden

Here, Kitty! Come...
Outdoors all is pandemonium!
Lashing wind and driving rain--
You're too young to be slain!

Does she cling wetly to a rock?
Can she survive this shock?
Tiny kitten, third month of life,
Whose eyes have never seen strife.

I hear you, but cannot see you...
Please come in 'til skies are blue?
Yet, you're in search of the unknown;
One day you'll come home fully grown.

Here, Kitty! Return to me...
Never dreamed from safety you'd flee!
Is it that you've places yet to be,
And myriad faces yet to see?

So lovely how the garden grows...
When summer's habitual beauty shows.
And after the stormy night has gone,
Comes the sunny, rosy dawn.

Thunder and Lightning Rain

Thunder & Lightning Rain
Sheets of Sound, Flash Sights,
Splashing Wet Plops Flood Curb Heights,
Tires Spray-Splash, No Dry Rights.

Wipers Streak Streaming Deluge,
Quick! Witness a Nature Drama Huge,
Winded Inside-Out Umbrellas, Vainly Stooge.

Downpour Cascades Onto All Creation,
Clouds Release Mayhem to Consternation,
Raincoats Surrender! Umbrella Hibernation!

Take Off Your Galoshes, Splash in Puddles,
Hug Your Loved Wetly Warmly in Cuddles,
Roof Leaks Trap Using Cooking Pot Huddles!

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