Chaos and riots
Epidemics and wars
Confusion like tornado hurricane
Confinement, speechless, quiet, calm, rest and unspoken words
However people are drowned in the sounds of nature
Rattle of the rain
Whizzing of the wind
Rustling of the leaves
Wheedling of the birds
Chirping of the crickets
Echoing in the caves, jungles and mountains
Roaring of the sea
Murmuring of the stream
Buzzing of the bees
Hissing of the snake
Quacking of the ducks
Mooing of the cows
Woofing of the dogs
Groaning of the sick
Wheezing of the lungs
Humming of a lullaby
Grumbling of the oldies
Mourning of the dead
Sighing of the loser
Applause of the winner
Any other voices may be drowned
During this political, economic and epidemic crisis
Stay speechless ,calm and cool
As the ushering in of the Chinese New Year
Looking forward to a better year
Only melodies but no blasting or booming
Maybe some sounds buried in the wind
That's the voice of your heart
Stop violation, politicking, trafficking and hegemony
As the world
Is a part of everybody's legacy in a will
Although all along the world is speechless and unspoken
time marches on
reality's fire consumes—
dreams go up in smoke
Dishonest weights, deceptive scales forsake
as chains of injustice rake the flesh
of the preyed-upon bleeding, amid wild
wolves feeding, soft sheep bleating,
protestor's pleading, jurisdictions cheating,
cajoling, wheedling, injustice repeating—
jurisprudence at the confluence
of affluence and influence
~undocumented lies exhumed
unmitigated truth entombed~
They have their thumb on the scale! We
have sussed every detail on the field of
debris, some so fiercely taking a knee,
others shot trying to flee! "I can't breathe,"
"I don't care!" Why don't they care?
Of what justice is meting beware!
One higher than the highest is watching,
waiting to signal the one riding to conquer
and complete his conquest. What's the true
future view? What more can we do
before we become past tense?
tragedies worldwide
flooding my senses daily—
fill my bag of tears
Last night I dreamed I was being sexually assaulted. It was happening behind a big store sign set up on a sidewalk. The guy at first was just talking in a wheedling way about having to take care of a child and wanting my advice. I said I had none but he insisted on telling me all his boring ****.
I tried to leave from behind the sign but he grabbed my shoulders and was tossing me on the ground while grinding his face into my neck. I tried to yell but couldn't; tried to fight back but was paralyzed. Suddenly the natural sleep-paralysis broke and I threw myself forward, landing hard beside the bed, twisting a leg muscle pretty badly. I think it may be the first time I ever fell out of bed.
Delete, Delete, It’s Not!
I picked a poem from a poetic past,
Self-pity, lost love, and dramatic,
Pressed the keys that shared it with the present,
And then, and then
There came a needling wheedling finger point,
“Your ego is in the way” it said
“Someone will be saddened by your words,”
“Not impressed,” a dread, and
This dark feeling pressed on my mind,
My experience could be best forgot, and
Not taint the mind of another, and so
Delete, delete, it’s not!
With breathless zeal I did the deed
In this, Pandora’s dorm-room bed,
Self-gloating how I did succeed
At wheedling such a pert coed,
A playground chum, for years I’ve known
This blithe tomboy with pigtailed locks
Whose beauty, swiftly, has so grown
That I unsealed Pandora’s box.
Oh! Involute our lives will twine,
Amity quashed, once more, by tryst
And all because this lust of mine
Considers women millstone grist.
So now, too soon, does deep regret,
Companion constant in my life,
Deride this fling I did beget,
It chides me for this latest strife,
With dread it fills me that, this morn,
I must snuggle with face contrite,
While she extolls a love just born:
I see no hope to flee this plight!
December 8, 2016
Three Choices Plus Two … Poetry Contest
Sara Kendrick, Sponsor
.
"This is Spring" said I
what could go wrong
The sun shining
with a soft warmth
mine eyne glowing
my brain trouncing mine heart
wheedling me on
"Look there
in the garden
presenting Spring's
soft breeze
pining affection
leaning
pointing in my
direction
her florescence"
The bait shop was
Green and worn with age.
The ancient wheelbarrow
Nestled beside it outside
Like a last, clinging friend.
The water below the pier
Was an odd sky brown,
And everyday was paper white.
The fresh and light wooden windows
Of the shop were ripped off
Either from a move or
God knows what…
No one ever used the one-dimensional bait shop
Other than to gaze at it. It is a relic of my grandfathers,
Made by Him,
And found by me like a madman
Wheedling away treasure from the chest
So I can sit here, and gaze at the
One-by-one foot bait shop,
Which hangs like everything else: Unfinished.
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.