My joy surrounds me with character
beauty essence I bow to the on lookers
I dance to the sweetest sound all over town
of lovely joyous Caribbean tunes melody
opens my eyes just one more time mon
for old time sakes erasing 1984 I don't dare
remember buildings burning screams wails
sirens panting being badgered breathing in
this wondrous earth free from identity theft
hatred forgiveness evolving my nature capturing
my senses I'm blessed to be me no one
could ever become this brilliant queen
covered in chiffon and lace torment
dissolved by gods wrath upon all those
willing to bring harm my way above a whisper
I seek solace moving about this world
a new existence a new creature
incorruptible by 1984 wingtip bathe
in my identity criminal groups marvel
through the smell of my perfume I am
comforted by the holy spirit camels
carry my sparkling rose' my presence
devours all manhood I am beautiful
I've always known you
to be a monarch, a fairy
golden wingdust scatter
all over my psyche
Do you remember
when we were flightless
like caterpillars?
Now you fly in a private jet, I bet
Do you still curve your lips
into a Mona Lisa smile?
Or do you weep now, from afar?
Do your tears stain the very petals
you touch with your wingtip?
Oh joy, why must you dance just out of reach
fairy princess - mocking – shimmering wings
flitting through a realm of restless dreams
haunt me, sweet princess, with your soothing speech.
Awake, I search the dust for wingtip touch
arise alone, await a shadow’s growth
for sunshine lacks a herald once she’s fled
creeps wearily across the false dawn’s blush
Dew drops in sparkling glint of rising sun
mimic the flutter of her shim’ring wings
rekindling soft steps - as dreamer’s dance
embrace the web night’s fairy princess spun.
©5/27/2019
AN UPLIFTING FEELING Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier sponsor
Crossing the mud flats
of the bay daily,
on 137,
back and forth,
back and forth,
I see lives with choices
and freedom.
Birds free to take wing
and float on a warm
updraft,
bask in the sun,
wiggle in the mud,
hunt for grubs in the grass,
paddle around with
the new ducklings,
walk on water
for awhile,
fly in formation
for the heck of it.
Freedom in the twitch
of every muscle,
freedom in a wingtip
hitting the water, while
I trapped in modern bondage
travel back and forth
on 137.
harbingers of hope
heavenly understudies
waiting in the wings
4/3/2016
submitted to – Senryu on Angels – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Marvin Celestial
There's a knack to carving wood that most don't have.
It's the way whatever you're carving changes in position and
expression with the pictures in the grain,
Even a shock of hair twists from constant wind or
a rock too big for a root to move.
sometimes a dragon's wingtip bends to grain.
That's after the first deep cuts that tend to change muscular structures.
What started as an arm becomes a goose's neck and fingers change to beak as a tree reaches for sunlight.
Then again some works stay human but less heroic, sometimes more so in their infirmity.
I've seen a belt sander change a fish from fat to sideways and large mouth to calico with just a simple turn.
Sometimes it's the grain, sometimes it's the knife that cuts too deep,
but just like painting in oil mistakes can make perfection from imperfection.
It's sorta like my life has been an' how things turn out.
HURRICANE MEMORIES
That blasted storm
had come up the coast
all the way to New Jersey;
nothing could stop it.
The pigeons were diving
coasting sideways
one wingtip to the sky
the other to the ground.
It was a playground to them
something to play with
as I watched in amazement
my fears calmed.
If they were so at ease
who was I to worry
safe behind my storm windows
watching their carefree ways?
SKB, relieved Fay never developed, it was a washout here.
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.