My muse showed up at sunrise
with a grin I didn’t trust,
whispered, “Let’s write brilliance!”
though my brain was gathering dust.
My notebook’s overflowing~
every page a scribbled plea:
Why do ideas strike at midnight
but ignore me during tea?
I chase down inspiration
like a tumbleweed in flight~
it rolls off toward the mountains
while I trip in morning light.
My drafts are wild stampedes,
every sentence bucking free;
I wrangle them with coffee
and a whispered, Mercy me…
Every age and shape and size,
Dressed in jeans or dresses,
Wearing varied baseball caps
Or showing off their tresses.
Sporting shades or complex tats,
Earrings all a’dangle,
Backpacks, bags of straw or skin,
Kids they need to wrangle.
Speaking tongues I do not know
With accents not quite local,
Conversation mingling with
Some jazzy sounds, sans vocal.
We sit on benches near a band,
The music cool and gentle,
With melodies familiar and
A little sentimental
And watch the people passing by,
The weather adding pleasure
To such a perfect New York day
And one that I will treasure.
MORBID-19
Gain of function? *
Fauci says it's fiction **
So without hesitation
I embrace salvation
First shot
Globalist propaganda
What's their agenda?
Trusting the media
I welcome mRNA
Second shot
Side effects appear
Should I mutineer?
As I wrangle my fear
The next jab I cheer
Third shot
Again they stab my vein
I feel an intense pain
Clots invade my brain
God I invoke but in vain
Fourth shot
Am I being foolish?
Swimming in a Petri dish
My free will I relinquish
One more dose to finish
Fifth shot
Now and forever
I am a cadaver
Notes:
* Gain of function (GOF) is research to make a pathogen x10 to
x100 times more dangerous than normal.
** Anthony Fauci; infectious disease expert, director of NIAID,
funded Coronavirus GOF research in Wuhan lab in China.
Went searching for good enough and discovered it can only come from within myself
So I went back to the future in a DeLorean to try to pinpoint when things began to veer off track so I could alter time to put them back
It took a few trips after realizing I couldn’t quickly flip the script
Started by slowly chipping away to release the image I was trying to portray
Then pivoted to rewiring my circuits to help wrangle my inner circus
The process pivoted me from my head to my heart which granted me a fresh start
But it was only after I made the choice that I was able to hear a new inner voice
It started as a whisper but turned into a roar that I could no longer ignore
To wash over me to say what had been so tough, that I can relax and rest easy now since I am good enough
'I think, therefore I am!'
I write to bang and clang,
to play with words, cast spells.
Wrangle and entangle readers,
with thoughts dredged from memories,
resonating, reverberating within selves,
aligned on shelves, waiting to join in.
An audience of thinkers shaken not stirred,
by the clang and jar of poetic,
rhythms, rhymes, images and ideas.
Rendered with razzmatazz and syncopation,
in the written words rendered,
improvised, and concocted in a group session.
On a stage, on a page,
of prismatic selves,
jamming and jarring,
banging and clanging,
jangling with Mr Joe,
in worn out shoes.
Afraid,
that no one is listening, or
that no one,
really, truly, bluesy cares?
my mind is a jumbled-up mess,
it thinks it’s a game of chess,
with pawns in a line,
and knights in a bind,
it’s chaos, but i must confess.
it ponders like cats in the night,
chasing things just out of sight,
with dreams in a chase,
and thoughts all misplaced,
it’s nonsense, but it feels just right.
so if you catch me in a tangle,
as my scattered thoughts wrangle and mangle,
just laugh with delight,
and join in the flight,
where logic and silliness dangle.
The entrance of Spring, seasons well the vibrancy of greens evolving greener.
Age was hers and time was ours,
Love is the verbs blossom as roses scented reserve suite line composes,
Time marks a question measured to wrangle,
Gemmed Ivory and Ebony, host o'er our bejeweled Pearl.
Ships neither sink nor swim in tranquil Springs
Seas calmness...falsely trains expert yachtsmen,
Lost lamb hopes his roll's called up yonder ... as his last words read ...
Words that stem from the heart seldom a mind,
Good hopes and goodwill--righteousness succeeds,
Sanctuary
Carpe Diem With Heart
September Reflections
Diaphanous Dichotomy
It Came Upon A Midnight Clear Parody
Voice of a Silent Crib: New Poetic Form - Tearassonancenet
Walk The Tightrope
Nearer My God to Thee, Be A Cross That Raises Me
Poetry Soup Main Fixings: Words
My Afterthought's My Goal
A rainbow or counterflow … symmetry,
Time marks a question measured to wrangle,
Quantity taxes or pay quality.
First, the chick or egg, begs the novelty,
Harmony and anarchy vie tango,
A rainbow or counterflow … symmetry.
Highs and lows, trials on trails that Odyssey,
Couples meet ... kneels, and fingers … betrothal,
Quantity taxes or pay quality.
Germane proportionate necessity,
Bidders will empowerment substantial,
A rainbow or counterflow … symmetry.
Blind contends, an object than rivalry,
A contest midst, wins or lose, a gamble,
Quantity taxes or pay quality.
Observant confident, sees victory,
The keenly bid, competitors scramble,
A rainbow or counterflow … symmetry.
Won prize stashed, slips by geniality,
Bewildered notes calm, auctioneer’s gavel,
Quantity taxes or pay quality,
A rainbow or counterflow … symmetry.
Super Souper 9-16-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Super Souper
Super Soupers wrangle rhymes
into verses quite sublime
Taming wild-eyed metaphors
into iambic strophes galore
Lassoing doggy ironies
with clever lines, entendre ease
Galloping alliterations
corralled by personifications
Silencing cacophony
with gentle mooing euphony
Bucking wild imagery
herded into symmetry
Stampeding loco thin illusions
bulldogged into chutes of allusions
Bad hoss herds of assonance
saddled for a dressage dance
Bucking broncos hyperbole
Juxtaposed by analogy
Anaphoras on loco weed
settle into quatrain reads
Super Soupers let words rip
in rodeos of craftmanship.
Freedom to think, freedom to give'
Can't pay for Love
Why do we wrangle and sieve?
From scales, un-shown we'll never learn
Within prisons of opinions
Our sensibiltys so burn.'
Offerings of idols, some eat it up.?
Oh so many ape and preen!
When will we see? We bought a pup?
Can humanity ever leave this shore?
On-load raise a sail strong and sure.'
Sharing valid resources, good lore; and more.'
The pre-dawn rang
as cat choirs sang
in waring gangs
sharp and rank
before they sprang
with claw and fang.
Isn’t it an overweening piety
to think that diverse cat societies
would address conflicts more politely
observe more cultural propriety
and politic more peacefully and quietly
than our own species, which behaves violently
Are we not, in part, their masters?
Don’t we war for goals we’re after?
Aren’t some of our leaders practically gangsters?
Does any species author more disasters?
Humans are - frankly - alpha-predator bastards.
If the language of cats, we could unscramble,
and into their feral dialogs we could wrangle,
perhaps we’d see that they’re just following our example.
sneakers twisted over hydro wires
co-joined
dangling from tied laces
tracks to an unhappy ending
a runner's castoff
erasing the scourge of a race lost?
an overhead tale of something snapped
when expectations erode
forlorn scuffed shoes
undone by some soul
weary of ownership
fused to the wrangle of wind
where secrets shake
heavenward
till summoned back to ground
this unburdened rejection
on a current for altering it
an indifferent toss losing its grip
when laces fray
gnarled by friction
an ending
like depleted affection
with nothing neatly laced up
Walking on eggshells
Tight lipped
Uncertain of every word spoken
Least the tempest
Will be released
Roaring
Waves splashing
Wind storm blowing
Boat rocking
Turquoise water falling
Aimed for shore
Making no headway
Two feet forward
Three feet back
Capsizing imminent
Apocalyptical
Which way will it end
Will there be a future
If I wrangle in emotions
And keep a chain on tongue
Nothing can harm
Wherein there lies
The Holy Spirit
Who my strength
Provides
Always remember
Like in the song of old
Peace, be still
Peace, be still
Peace, peace be still!
finis'
in wheel missing cog
Trump had been an under dog
brain like lump on log
never will want here
hope that he does disappear
part of a bum steer
could tell by the thunder
a bus Trump was caught under
one more big blunder
will commit a crime
Trump never has been on time
did write a poor rhyme
Trump had day in court
missed paying his child support
sold all of us short
has been a real pill
when Trump wiil veto bill
head hit window cill
Trump in each essence
never had any pleasance
mangled many pheasants
opponents strangle
many deals Trump will wrangle
things together tangle
Trump did tare his shirt
He has put us on alert
put his hand up skirt
children chalk sidewalk bricks
in fresh colors of bravado, pinks, blues, reds
rhythmic brushing
mystic threads merging,
handled meticulously
child pedigree to erase the bland
on splashed bricks, laced up in color
hope that blooms out with jelly-roll laughter
in late summer ripeness
like pieces that fall in chess game slumber
outside my window
midst the stammering wrangle of life
children kneel
handle strokes of plump chaulk
like a wash of offerings
for a different world, coming
that lurks
in the rattling rain of October
Sub Categories
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.