Wettest Poems

Song of The Chrysiridia Rhipheus Butterfly No 14: AABB

Rare grandness and extravagant appeal,
Chrysiridia Rhipheus ideal,
classified initially as a moth,
butterfly reborn as man of the cloth,
females, too, together metamorphized
Papilionidae catergorized
found on the island east of Africa,
one of the world's largest, Madagascar,
on its wettest, forestry, windward sides,
as they flit the heights where the odd tree hides,
gift with six tails they'll lose in their lifetime,
still with lengthiest wings ease skyward climb,
with their marveled proportions, like those trees
blessed world as Grace spreads nature guarantees.

Date With the Moon

The sound of a cow peeing
is the wettest sound, let go

like a bucket slush on a barn slab
or so my grandfather used to

say. When my son comes home
I hear his fire hose upstairs

and remember how it was to
decompress so quickly. Grandad 

once came out of the men’s
room shaking his head, and when

I asked why, he said that the room
was full of old men, half of which

couldn’t get started, and the other half
couldn’t stop. It’s my date with the moon

tonight--out the window of the master loo
at 3am. Perfect view, the creek trickling on.

Elven Berry Cream

It’s true, the afternoon is young;
I’ll make a bet:
Before the sun has set,
Strawberries will have sprung
From underneath your tongue.

Delectable, yes, tres delish
You won’t forget: 
Exceeded, not just met,
Beyond your wildest wish,
A creamy berry dish.

The finest, richest creams -
The forest elves
Again outdid themselves:
Confectionary dreams
From unicorns, it seems.

In fields of magic dust,
Wild-grown berries
Picked by woodland fairies:
A culinary must,
A name the elvish trust.

Sweet crystals, careful mined
Where dragons roar,
Demanding always more.
By serpent’s fire refined,
Then stolen from them blind.

Stirred over elvish flame,
The paddles turned
By giant ogres, learned
Before before the dark lord came
and sullied their great name.

Quick-flashed in icy streams,
Both fluff and stiff,
A jazzy berry riff,
With old world notes it teems,
A tastebud’s wettest dreams.

Alas, we must regroup!
Supply chain blues,
There is no time to lose:
Store-bought, pink berry goop -
Perhaps a double scoop?

—————

for the Ice Cream Poetry Contest
sponsored by Julia Ward
written 06/21/2022

St Valentine Celebration

Paint never would smile at Turpentine
And I tell you The Serpentine
Wouldn’t at The Truest Valentine
“Hither I Come!” from Far- Off Turpentine
In Paint’s eardrums, A Monstrous Frankenstein
And-trust me- to The Serpentine
The love avowals of The Dove-Like Valentine.

Anyhow, mind-blowing gifts now part of it
From even the guy overflowing wit, 
Endorsing Michael Jackson’s levying of men
In his Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin of then;
For, indeed, if one can’t feed one’s baby
One shouldn’t try to have a baby…

Then, from your account graciously withdraw
For those who often close to you draw
And to him things are awfully hard,
For his woman a dollar recharge card:
Faithfully actualizing that wonderful line:
A decree that one mustn’t one’s woman sideline.

And valentine may be partly lips paintings
For men who’d see it and start fainting 
Or wearing the whitest upon the wettest
And it won’t read as old martyrdom clinching fresh protest…

Also about cleaning one’s sanitation-begging house
To lovingly rid it of every mischievous mouse!

The Wettest Spring I Have Ever Seen

There were slimy spotted frogs jumping out of the oaks, 
Slickest yellow raincoats worn by the bravest of folks.
And giraffes trying to hide in the daisy flowers.
While we were saturated with April showers.

There were earthworms as large as giant red fire trucks
Oozing and itching their way down the green grass
Rapidly squirming their way down the sidewalks of mucks.
Shinier than slimy wet spit on holiday glass.

It was the wettest spring I had ever seen.
The neighbors were so wet, they truly turned into mean.
It became even more wet in my backyard
When three hippopotamuses named Jack, Joe and Jard.

Escaped city zoo, and ran to my little known place.
They were mean to each other, slapping each face.
They tried to sit daintily on my pond’s lily pad.
Flooding my house, and making me really mad.

Effervescently Fascinated

i am way too hyped to think
i see it and i am entranced
it is not an infomercial
it is not an advertisement
it is not even the wettest of dreams
it is the real thing....right in front of my eyes....live and in color
my heart begins to pound
my mouth falls to the doggone floor
i feel splinters in my bottom lip, but right now i am impervious to pain
i start with a fast walk
then i begin a light sprint
then i run Run RUn RUN with no regard for regards
i suddenly stop abruptly when i am there
the comfort and the consumption begins to ease all my stresses away
i look at the whole of the horizon
i feel as if i am home in this oblivious paradise
i am way to Lost In Love sense

Summer, Finally

It's late August, summer's finally arrived
Up until now, we've really been deprived
Rain up to our ears
In all my years
The wettest summer since Jack was baptized

An Old Mammal

Wettest summer in Ontario in the last twenty annuls
Turning quite aquatic, could swim the English Channel
That used to be a big deal
Now it's lost it's appeal
I'm really no hero, just an over-the-hill mammal

An Ancient Poet's Muse, Just a Playing

An Ancient Poet's Muse, Just A Playing

Snow outside, was whitest white, so I wrote
Cream and butter, sisters on fine tables.
Sang I, out of tune, nobody took note
Now sure, there are true heroes in fables.

Rain outside, was wettest wet, so I penned
Coffee and donuts, brothers in pleasing.
Cried I, cast thee that hard stone, I have sinned
Not really, just old poet teasing!

Sleet outside, was coldest cold, so I spun
Bake me no pies, I tell thee no true lies.
Screamed I, no fresh bread, too tired to run
Why such downpours from big belching skies?

Snow outside, was whitest white, so I wrote
Ancient poet's words, hope thee took kind note!

Robert J. Lindley, 1-08-2017


Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 	112

Cant Be Trusted

With diamond like skin, she cut me deep with her venomous attitude 
Frustrated at the sound of her voice,
nauseous at the smell of her breath
My blood pressure boils angrily,
turning my head into a tea pot
As she slithers closer to me, my skin begins to crawl
For she is slimy like the wettest reptile

Dewdrop Dreams

Wettest dewdrop hangs soundless on the edge
Of flashy, cheerful orange red lily
Mirroring emerald green foliage
Balanced close by, aimless, o’er the beauty

Dew drenched pea green shrubbery is carefree
With bright and showy blooms seen everywhere
Bold blue purple and yellow or cherry
Beside soft pinks and deep, dark red fanfare

Exquisite colored hues caught by prayer
Leaving murky shadows across lush grass
Light summer breeze falls across thoroughfare
Caressing, softly touching to surpass

Mild morning dew carries soft melodies
Contented moments spent with elegies







Written on August 10th, 2014
©2014 by Regina Riddle

This Pose

2 lips kissed then froze, the heat of passion unfroze this pose, love chose to impregnate our spirits to give birth 2 our souls, your breast I tenderly squeeze, your ******** arose, I gently penetrated your pink pretty rose, those tight walls of your wettest wine, makes me explode, we froze and again, the heat of passion unfroze this pose, love chose 2 open our nose, the scent of love I suppose, the sun shining, the sky fell low, I’m still enjoying your pink pretty rose covered in snow, I love this pose, I love your soul, I love your pink pretty rose ,we can survive the cold, let’s stay froze I love this pose.

Whether Weather

March was the merriment of an English high summer as
                     
                     April was being the wettest of the wet, as May could not 

                     make its mind up how to be unique, so autumn in June 

                     topped it by its rallying cry for rain as clouds scud by in the 

                     sky's rush hour, then tree branches start several animated 

                     arguments that lead them to clouting each other, over what 

                     the rest of the year will bring to our perennial topic of     

                                                      conversation

Our Love

Our Love

My heart starts aching late at night,
When I start dreaming of you.
Remembering all the memories of light,
All the good times and the bad with the feelings due.
I'm crying every night,
Because of all we lost.
I remember when our love shinned bright,
Now the light smoldered by the cost.
My love for you,
Is true.

I'm sorry that or love has died,
Black as the darkness of a winter night.
I can't imagine that you cried,
Not even in the wettest winter night.

Now I came strolling by,
Looked through the window and saw him.
I tried my best not to cry,
As the light in my heart grew dim.
I tore up the flowers I bought.

I thought about busting down the door,
But there's nothing to say
That I haven't said before.

Now I just continue strolling,
Around the corner and down the street.
And I still don't know
Why things happened like they did,
But I just walked on home,
And dreamt of what I dare not did.

Now I just lay there,
Like my heart has fallen out.
I miss you dear,
But now my light has burnt out.
My love for you,
Was true.

06/06/1999

Rain

Rain beating down
covering everything it touches
in a liquid molten way
rivulets of the liquid stuff
weave their way
down the hill
pooling
at the bottom
creating a pond in which children can play

Rain plus sunshine
a life giving pair
showers the foliage and grass
producing flowers so rare
this rain
keeps pounding down on my head
flashes of water
sprayed up from the cars
as they hydroplane in comic motion
and drizzle it's spit from their fenders
this lovely rain
a wonderful change
from the most arid of days
to the wettest of ways.

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