I do not like poems that resemble hay compressed into a geometrically perfect cube. I like it when the hay, unkempt, uncombed, with dry berries mixed in it, thrown together gaily and freely, bounces along atop some truck-and more, if there are some lovely and healthy lasses atop the hay-and better yet if the branches catch at the hay, and some of it tumbles to the road.
quote by Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wonder Atop the Dunes
Will your Summer breeze,
Captivate my thoughts on Fall.
When the air is thick,
And hot with sticky humidity?
Will my Autumn wishes,
Be of those you select and pick?
I like to sit atop the dunes,
At Cape Cod and Padre Island.
I am closer to my thoughts.
When the seagulls and waves,
Exchange as nature wishes.
With sounds that attract,
My need to be distracted.
Then I make eye contact with it.
Pulling me in like a magnet!
And I see you...
This attractive distraction.
Relaxing to instigate,
My delusions of being laid...
On Labor Day.
And throughout the festivities of the holidays.
Will your Summer breeze,
Captivate my thoughts on Fall.
When the air is thick,
And hot with sticky humidity.
Will my Autumn wishes,
Be of those you select and pick?
And we discover a great happiness.
Will we be sharing Thanksgiving?
Or comfortable enough to be sitting...
Under the Christmas Tree butt naked.
And exchanging gifts with kisses?
To sweat if we let it get done.
Near the grate of the fireplace.
To quietly lay to hear 'carols' we hum.
I like to sit atop the dunes,
At Cape Cod and Padre Island.
I am closer to my thoughts.
When the seagulls and waves,
Exchange as nature wishes.
With sounds that attract,
My need to be distracted.
And I am...
When I think of how we met.
And I am...
Full of regret,
I did not extend to you an invitation.
Will your Summer breeze,
Captivate my thoughts on Fall...
Again?
Will your Summer breeze,
Captivate my thoughts on Fall...
Again?
But,
When again?
I wonder atop the dunes.
When will this move I make?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Will I be perceived as a faker?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Will I share this escape?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Could mistakes be made to make up?
I wonder atop the dunes.
When will this move I make?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Will I be perceived as a faker?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Will I share this escape?
I wonder atop the dunes.
Could mistakes be made to make up?
I wonder atop the dunes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Triolet: The Robin's Song
The robin perched atop the tree
Signals spring his warbling song;
How long will I be pleased to see
The robin perched atop the tree?
Because it seems he sings for me,
I feel I want to sing along
With the robin perched atop the tree
Who signals spring his warbling song!
poem by Richard St. Clair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The stability of happiness
Happiness stays
When you feel safe and at base.
Happiness trembles
When you assume weight and at height.
Happiness tumbles down
When you are atop, base out of sight.
Be content with
What comes to you. There comes delight.
03.10.2000, Palasa
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This One I Picked For Christmas
How many Angels can sit atop a tree.
This one I picked for Christmas,
To bring such joy for me.
And how many lights can twinkle bright,
As stars?
Trimming branches candycaned.
That lightens up my heart!
How many gifts wished,
Will I get this year?
And how many will share Christmas,
With laughter and not tears.
How many bells will ring,
As carols are heard sung?
How many will make sure,
Goodwill is felt...
By everyone.
How many Angels can sit atop a tree.
This one I picked for Christmas,
And sits so beautifully.
Where is that magic made,
That comes we celebrate?
How can we keep it here...
With us like this always?
How many bells will ring,
As carols are heard sung?
How many will make sure,
Goodwill is felt...
By everyone.
And stays.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Berries! ! ! ! !
Mulberries
On a visit to granny in the Doon valley
It was March, the old tree full of Mulberries.
Red, purple teasing from far, ran with cane basket.
Picked one, ate some while the birds created a racket.
Strawberries
Strawberri es in white boxes, one atop other
The hawker sat on his knees, said go no further.
I protest too expensive, not for the masses.
Rich eat raw, make a tart or with cream in glasses.
Wild Berries
On way back from school at noon, attack wild berries.
Are for free and so yummy, home a lot we carry.
We laugh and shriek as our skirts get stuck in thorns,
Satiated, come back home, with berries, skirt torn
Written in ancient japanese form Sitigotyo
06.04.09
Mamta Agarwal
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Possum
I come from atop the mountain baby
Where the people come to pray
I come from atop the mountain baby
Where the people come to pray
There aint no truth in action
less you believe it anyway
I was riding down the road one day and
Someone hit a possum
I was riding down the road one day and
Someone hit a possum
The road was his end
His end was the road
So they say
Whoa possum...
Possum, possum...
Possum
Whoa possum...
Possum, possum...
Possum
Whoa possum, possum
Your end is the road
I was riding down the road one day and
Someone hit a possum
I was riding down the road one day and
Someone hit a possum
The road was his end
His end was the road
So they say
Whoa possum...
Possum, possum...
Possum
Whoa possum...
Possum, possum...
Possum
Whoa possum,
Your end is the road
Whoa possum, possum
Your end is the road
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green Grow the Rashes
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, O
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
The warl'y race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O,
An' warl'y cares an' war'ly men
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Dusk
Clouds gathered in the southwest
Hastening the early darkness
Given to this early time of the year
A few flitting silhouettes
Of birds flashing by..
Nest-bound...
Book placed gently
Atop end table
Reading glasses placed
Gently atop book
Lights left unlit…
Gaze fixed out the window
Blanket of night’s darkness
Tucked tight under chin
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Preference
Mastah drink his ol' Made'a,
Missy drink huh sherry wine,
Ovahseah lak his whiskey,
But dat othah drink is mine,
Des' 'lasses an' watah, 'lasses an' watah.
Wen you git a steamin' hoe-cake
On de table, go way, man!
'D ain but one t'ing to go wid it,
'Sides de gravy in de pan,
Dat 's 'lasses an' watah, 'lasses an' watah.
W'en hit 's 'possum dat you eatin',
'Simmon beer is moughty sweet;
But fu' evahday consumin'
'D ain't no mo'tal way to beat
Des' 'lasses an' watah, 'lasses an' watah.
W'y de bees is allus busy,
An' ain' got no time to was'?
Hit's beca'se dey knows de honey
Dey 's a makin', gwine to tas'
Lak 'lasses an' watah, 'lasses an' watah.
Oh, hit 's moughty mil' an' soothin',
An' hit don' go to yo' haid;
Dat 's de reason I 's a-backin'
Up de othah wo'ds I said,
'Des 'lasses an' watah, 'lasses an' watah.'
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Steel Cowboy
I was a steel cowboy most of my life
On top of eighteen wheels
Oh what a sight
Runnning the highways
Looking at life
From behind a big steering wheel
I've seen everything there is to see
From naked women to jacking off queens
Nothing gets missed atop my great steed
The beauty of Gods hand across this great land
Everyday was an adventure that couldn't be planned
I've parked my truck now
I'm now just a man
poem by David Kush
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Cotton cany kisses
Mixed in taste
is a touch of Peach Brandy
and kisses flavored
like cotton candy
with panoramic views
in luminescent hues
from atop a Ferris Wheel.
Calliopes made
the Monkeys dance
while Pipers played
and Poodles pranced
pleasured feelings grew
which upon I drew
this goodness I did feel
Nosratollah Masoudi
Three short poems by Iranian poet Nosratollah Masoudi. The first two are love poems and the last is an elegy.
------
Four
The wind that does not leave your skirt,
Tempted nobody except me.
-----
Seven
I’m so naked these days, that
Your coyness can not be found in any shirt.
------
Eight
I rush around creepingly,
I even pass the dog and
In this unheard race
Near the side road,
I’m waiting for the mercy of the run away truck.
Poems translated from the Persian by Azadeh Davachi
poem by azadeh Davachi
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Emptying my Lungs at the top of the World
Sitting atop the westernized
version of Haleakala,
my own Molokini;
staring at my feet and
the following abyss.
a road going nowhere.
wisps of elder hair amongst
a blue face,
pulling at my lips
enveloped by the bliss
life to the left, the right,
in front and behind.
a preferred isolation.
poem by Kale Beaudry
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Be beauty conscious
Loosely plaited, you are homely.
Tightly plaited, you are tiny.
Without plait, if just thrown over
Behind, you are catchy.
Light in colour and thick in fabrics,
You are good in all saris.
You shine in gold but dull in pearl.
Wear studs small and round.
Atop all, if you have a diamond
On your nose, it will change your face.
You must be as rosy as even
After your menopause. It is my wish.
06.04.2000, Mannarghat
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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On Kusu Terrace
The old gardens of Kusu Terrace
are a wilderness, yet the willows
that remain still put out new branches;
lasses gathering water chestnuts
sing so loudly and with such
clarity, that the feeling of spring
returns to us; but where once stood
the palace of the King of Wu, now
only the moon over the
west river once shone on
the lovely ladies there.
Balancing Act of Choices
Balancing act of choices
tight rope of our actions
What is Perfect?
Is it making healthy choices
one hundred percent of the time?
If that's true than perhaps no one is perfect
but if it's achieving the right balance of healthy/ non healthy
than perhaps its true we all achieve perfection in our own
unique and individual way
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Twenty-Nine Hand
Whaling city, corner of Brownell and Court,
a screened in porch masks a red maple card table,
A worn deck of Bicycles neatly stacked atop a
Scrimshaw-laden cribbage board,
straddled by two glasses of bittersweet lemonade.
The game begins with Ned Martin's pregnant pauses
as Yaz slams one over the Green Monster,
and grandpa grins and gives me a wink.
His fisherman hands expertly riffle the cards.
Little ears perk to chants of ' Louie, Louie, Louie'
He pitched three fives, two threes and a Jack of Hearts.
Threes to the crib, an eight cut and double skunked again.
Another tragic season, the Red Sox get nineteen.
Quiet corner, Watson Road
old red brick farmhouse, sony TV with surround sound
atop a well-aged red maple card table.
'Gwenivere, the Green Monster is the wall in left field.'
I grin and give her a wink as the Red Sox
pitch to her a twenty-nine hand.
poem by Darlene Perry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lambs On The Road
The lambs on the road were dismayed
Bleating all along they wandered
There lay the slain shepherd
The sun descended.
A flock lost!
The new sky was cast ever clouded
The men from the East never frowned
Their wisdom was long before eroded
And their return was irredeemably abandoned.
A nightmare unveiled!
The lambs still bleated along the road winding
They were to reach a peak triumphing.
The shepherd was thenceforth forgotten for ever!
And the bleating had given way for a shout of joy before.
An euphoria unyielding!
The bleating music has been on and on
The shepherd has somewhere been laid to rest.
The new shepherd first looks around and up on the peak.
But there is no road descending from atop
A truth spoken!
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moment to Moment
Living compassionate minded
moment to moment
looking for the eternal beauty joy
humor or humanity
present within all
omnipresence of God
Keeping active exercising Mind and body
staying alive maintaining healthy
balanced spirit
Balancing act of choices
tight rope of our actions
What is Perfect?
Is it making healthy choices
one hundred percent of the time?
If that's true than perhaps no one is perfect
but if it's achieving the right balance of healthy/ non healthy
than perhaps its true we all achieve perfection in our own
unique and individual way
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Appearances
I hated them when I was four years old,
The bright pink berries on the pepper tree.
And now they seem quite beautiful to me.
My tower of dreams when I was four years old
Was such a tree. Its branches hid me well,
Although I so disliked the berries' smell.
I had my dreams when I was four years old . . .
But groundling now, who once could mount in air,
I judge the high-swung bright pink berries, fair.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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