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The Terry Tree Dec 2014
In fields you walk with cloven wanderlust
With blankets carried on your back as fleece
Protecting fellow sheep-fold innocence
From devious behavior in the flock
Smiling as you bleat and stride as golden
Reflecting rays like sunlit drops of milk

A lamb of God your knowledge is your milk
Your curiosity breathes wanderlust
A message from the ancient one baas golden
Engraved upon your heart and curls of fleece
Observe the blessed range within your flock
Stray not for you may lose your innocence

A fog in hills may blind your innocence
Beware the wolf will take more than your milk
And with each day you bond among your flock
Behold the beauty of group wanderlust
We thank you for your warm and cherished fleece
That soothes us as earth's twilight breaks golden

Glory to the impossible golden
For myths of your spiritual innocence
Merely trumpets what liberates your fleece
The holy grail is your chalice of milk
Discovered in a cave of wanderlust
Restful within the shadow of your flock

What joy is raised in stables of your flock
An offering of ritual golden
Pasture of thirsty hearts in wanderlust
You teach us to hold fast to innocence
How precious is the richness of your milk
Our comfort is to rest our heads on fleece

A new dawn to behold an age of fleece
A new dusk to protect an ancient flock
A new day to preserve the gift of milk
A new memory to hold futures golden
A never ending age of innocence
A satiated age of wanderlust

Fruitful wanderlust of black sage fleece
Shepherds innocence to a white cloaked flock
Prepare ye golden moments with thine milk

© tHE tERRY tREE
Poetic Form | Sestina
A sestina is a form of poetry that uses a method of repeating words at the end of each line. It has 6 stanzas of 6 lines each, with an envoy (or tercet) of three lines to conclude the poem.
The horizons ring me like *******,
Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.
Touched by a match, they might warm me,
And their fine lines singe
The air to orange
Before the distances they pin evaporate,
Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color.
But they only dissolve and dissolve
Like a series of promises, as I step forward.

There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
I can feel it trying
To funnel my heat away.
If I pay the roots of the heather
Too close attention, they will invite me
To whiten my bones among them.

The sheep know where they are,
Browsing in their ***** wool-clouds,
Gray as the weather.
The black slots of their pupils take me in.
It is like being mailed into space,
A thin, silly message.
They stand about in grandmotherly disguise,
All wig curls and yellow teeth
And hard, marbly baas.

I come to wheel ruts, and water
Limpid as the solitudes
That flee through my fingers.
Hollow doorsteps go from grass to grass;
Lintel and sill have unhinged themselves.
Of people and the air only
Remembers a few odd syllables.
It rehearses them moaningly:
Black stone, black stone.

The sky leans on me, me, the one upright
Among all horizontals.
The grass is beating its head distractedly.
It is too delicate
For a life in such company;
Darkness terrifies it.
Now, in valleys narrow
And black as purses, the house lights
Gleam like small change.
The horizons ring me like *******,
Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.
Touched by a match, they might warm me,
And their fine lines singe
The air to orange
Before the distances they pin evaporate,
Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color.
But they only dissolve and dissolve
Like a series of promises, as I step forward.

There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
I can feel it trying
To funnel my heat away.
If I pay the roots of the heather
Too close attention, they will invite me
To whiten my bones among them.

The sheep know where they are,
Browsing in their ***** wool-clouds,
Gray as the weather.
The black slots of their pupils take me in.
It is like being mailed into space,
A thin, silly message.
They stand about in grandmotherly disguise,
All wig curls and yellow teeth
And hard, marbly baas.

I come to wheel ruts, and water
Limpid as the solitudes
That flee through my fingers.
Hollow doorsteps go from grass to grass;
Lintel and sill have unhinged themselves.
Of people and the air only
Remembers a few odd syllables.
It rehearses them moaningly:
Black stone, black stone.

The sky leans on me, me, the one upright
Among all horizontals.
The grass is beating its head distractedly.
It is too delicate
For a life in such company;
Darkness terrifies it.
Now, in valleys narrow
And black as purses, the house lights
Gleam like small change.
Aslam M Nov 2018
Na Maluum  Hai Meri Manzil
Bas Rastaa Par Chaal Raha Hu.
Kabhi Rukh Jaata Hu.  
Kabhi Thaak Jaata Hu.
Manzil Aanai Mai Daair Hai.  
Sauchta Hu Ki Baas Chaalta Rahu.  
Manzil Mili Ya Na Mili Aaab
Kya pata Yeh Chalna hi Tha Meri Manzil
Ryan O'Leary Sep 2018
Dr. Klaus will be happy,
Fratricides and Pesticides
destroying The Greens,
trampling on Wildflowers,
Reversing s'ovloV & s'baaS
against the palindromic
monument to ABBA in
Soddermånland. Båstad's!
Election results.
Sweden Democrats.
MOUMITA SARKAR Mar 2016
Sunday
8:45 pm
22/11/15

Everyone has their needs. But needs does not mean.. About money or things they want to. Needs I something called UNDERSTANDING… between whom we love the most and wants to be happy with them. That is my parents... And no one could be more than that “your child”, does not want that thing which we tell you to buy or that is not a love which been brought through money...
We just want is TRUST, LOVE, SPEND TIME WITH ME TO TALK, UNDERSTANDING, BELIEVE, if I listens to you.. I too deserved that... You should too must hear my voice that what I want to say! What I want to do.. What is my wishes! What is I wants! At least talked with me just for 2-5 minutes..! But u do not have time for me.. to talked with me.. No time to hear my words too.. EVERYTHING HAS TO DO BY FORCE. !! I hate it… I wish someday... U would understand it dad-mom...
Baas hope that... It wouldn’t be so late.. That u both would lost your daughter forever 
Amanda Kay Burke Oct 2020
Baa
I wrap my ribs in blankets and attempt to get some sleep
But I am kept up by “baas” from imaginary sheep
I have counted so many I lost track of the number
Yet not one nudged me an inch toward my slumber
And even in the quiet hours foreplaying dawn
No tiredness is found
My mind races on
I am comfortable like my bed is made of bricks
Turning and tossing as the second hand ticks
Knowing I am not going to get a wink of shut-eye
But optimistic enough to try
Close my eyes to the movie playing outside my window pane
Colors changing
Black to pink to blue
Do not entertain
It washes over me slowly
Like the tide rolling in
I surrender to insomnia
Not strong enough to win
I listen to the rustle of wind sifted through branches on trees
And let my brain be carried away to fond memories
It’s not the same as drifting off but it comes pretty close
If my head must remain active at least it's engrossed
I would like to catch some Zs but they keep slipping away
Hands as slow as the transition from night to day
I'm looking for an escape to ease my weary soul
Some sun to light my insides
Darker than coal
My weakness gets the best of me
Drowning me in fear
Convincing myself demons are worse than they appear
But as the blackness inhabiting my room begins to lift
Something stirs my senses and I feel a distinct shift
I forget all the obstacles in the way of my rest
A weight is no longer pressing on my chest
Just as everyone else starts their daily routine
I finally doze and enter a world more serene
The dreams I wished to visit but were too far for so long
Are now mine to live in
Only to me belong
It may have taken more time but was surely worth the wait
When it comes to sleep no such thing as too late
Insomnia can be a real ***** sometimes
btp Sep 2019
ik ben ******* *******
ik ben ******* gek
ik ben ******* gaar
ik ben ******* raar
en ik ben ******* moe
ik heb ******* hoofdpijn
en ik heb geen ******* social queue
ik ben kankerskaffa
ik zie alleen een waas
mn depressie is de baas
ik hou van SOA's
ik drink bier met een dikke lul
ik smoke van dat groene spul
ik ga hard op je *****
ik neuk je moeders snitch
word wakker in een ditch
gelukkig kan ik lekker snuiven
en de coke van mn nagels wuiven
Khoisan Sep 2021
Die son het geskyn oor die more
van ons mense,
terwyl die mis stilletjies inbeweeg oor hierdie toe nog rustige waters,
Ja wit skuim soos 'n skim
was met duisende
jare van ons voorvaders se rus en vrede verwelkom.
Met bloed van verwoerd het die wit skuim en die skim gesien hierdie paradys is vir hulle baie goed en met 'n spieel en versteekte dolk en drank
agter die kraag
ons"primatiewe volk" se gehee
sistematies
vertraag, belieg, omgekoop
verslaaf
verkrag
vermoor
ultemiet
ook
soos 'n dwaas
heeltemal
verplaas.
.
Die son skyn oor die more
van ons mense terwyl die mis
stilletjies uitbeweeg oor hierdie
onrustige waters, honderde jare
van marteling kan jou brein so
KONDISIOENEER,
om te luister na die valse profeet wat vir jou
dan!!
met
hulle leuns
BEKEER
en
REGEER.
Skrik wakker my mense
dit het tyd geword
om braaf terug te veg vir ons
EER,
want "hierdie pyn"
is van ....lankal af
SEER
.
Jy is eintlik sy baas
Dit gaan oor waar jy jou kruisie plaas,
BRUINMENS
stem!!!
EG
hierdie plek gewaarborg
deur geskiedenis
is
eintlik
JOU
  geboortereg.
Faye Dec 2021
De nacht is eindeloos,
zeker als je de dageraad onverwacht
begroet na een uur of zes
verlangend naar slaap die niet komt.

The night is eternal,
especially when you greet the dawn unexpectedly,
after six hours of tossing and turning
longing for a sleep that will not befall you.

Ik ben fysiek ziek
van dit alles.
Er raast een manie door mijn lijf
en ik ben bang dat het mij de baas zal zijn.

All of this
has made me physically ill,
mania rushes through my veins
and I fear it will get the best of me.

Mijn maag draait en tolt,
het wentelt zich als zeerovers
op een schip, tiental keren op z’n kop.

My stomach twists and turns,
tips from side to side,
like pirates on a ship,
tons of times upsy-daisy.

Ik ben heel de nacht wakker geweest
radeloos over elke beweging,
peinzend over elk woord
dat jouw lippen verliet.

I have been up all night,
guessing about every move you made,
pondering the meaning of every word
that crossed your lips.

Het is haast infantiel
dat jouw aanwezigheid
zoveel invloed op mij heeft,
ik weet niet waarom ik dat toesta.

It is absurd
how much your presence
affects me,
and I don’t know why I let it.

Ik heb mijn huiswerk gemaakt
naar muziek geluisterd
wel twintig webpagina’s geraadpleegd
mijmerend over jouw gezicht,
schrijf ik gedicht na gedicht.
wat je dan ook wordt,
een muze blijk je in elk geval wel.

I did my homework,
listened to music,
took the advice of two dozen websites,
musing over your face,
I write poem after poem,
whatever you might come to mean to me,
a muse, for now, that inspires endlessly.

Ik heb een nacht slaap verloren
en heb het gevoel dat ik nu
langs de wereld heen leef,
deelnemend, maar niet participerend.

I lost a night’s sleep over you
and feel like I am
living alongside myself,
watching but not interfering.

De nacht heeft mij sterker gemaakt,
ik weet weer waar ik toe in staat ben,
*** ik in elkaar zit,
en ik heb mijn zelfvertrouwen weer herwonnen.

The night has given me strength again,
I am aware once more, of my capabilities,
what makes me tick,
and have found my confidence again.

Ik weet niet waar wij
tweeën naar toe gaan,
of we hetzelfde pad zullen betreden,
of bij de splitsing ieder een eigen weg gaan,
maar ik weet wel dat ik niet wil verdwalen,
en ik zal op het rechte pad blijven,
ook al is het misschien mistig.

I don’t know where the two of us
will end up,
if we will tread the same track,
or at the fork in the road,
will each pick our own path,
but what I do know,
is that I will not allow myself to get lost,
and will follow my trail till the end of the line.

Voor hem tien anderen,
en voor mij misschien vijf.
Ik weet dat ik beter kan krijgen,
ook al lijkt dat niet zo wanneer ik met hem praat.

There are ten others like him out there,
and maybe five like me.
I know I can do much better,
even if I forget during our talks.

Drie dagen,
niet eens drie dagen,
en hij heeft zich als een worm
in het klokkenhuis van mijn hart gewurmd,
en neemt hap na hap,
tot de appel op is.

Three days,
not even three days,
and he, much like a worm,
has burrowed itself
into the core of my heart,
and bite after bite
devours me,
until there’s nothing left.

Ik ben misselijk,
en ik mis je,
een maladie
van eenzaamheid
overspoelt mij.
Dit is niet wie ik ben,
altijd zo helder en duidelijk,
standvastig en vastberaden.
Jij doet mij ijlen
en daarom mag jij het contact
maken tussen ons,
ik heb al genoeg geleden.

I am sick to my stomach,
I miss you,
a fevered loneliness
overcomes me.
This is unlike me,
usually so clear,
determined and steadfast,
you make me delirious,
and that is why you
have to keep up the conversation
between us,
because I have already suffered enough.

Ik controleer zo vaak
of je al iets van je hebt laten horen,
dat mijn ogen langzaam vierkant worden,
ik mis geschreven schrift.

I have been incessantly,
obsessively checking my messages,
to see if you have texted me,
so much so,
that I fear I will end up like Mike TV,
I miss hand-written letters.

Er zal nooit gevoel bij hem vandaan komen,
en bij mij ook niet, zeker nu niet.

He will never reciprocate,
and neither will I, not presently.

Waar komt deze plotse last vandaan?

From whence came this plague, to plague me?
Daan May 2023
Hij vertelde *** de vork in de steel
of de wind in de zeilen.
Hij zei wanneer trop te veel
en wanneer wolken neerwaarts pijlen.

Als we niet wisten, naar boven keken,
handen in het haar, of muts, of pet,
barstend van onzekerheid, haast bezweken,
dan was er steeds dat paar oogjes vol met pret.

De waarman sprak de weerheid op
meer dan wekelijkse basis.
Hij, die de lucht, de druk, de mop
en menig fenomeen de baas is.

We nemen afscheid van jou en je praatje.
In thermometers reflecteert voorts jouw
schrijdend zicht, voor deze generatie
een boegbeeld, een rolmodel, een maatje.
Wij z-waaien naar Frank en hij z-waait 'blijer' terug.
nivek Dec 2023
storytellers around the Sun
spoon fed pictures early...on.
A cow MOOS a sheep Baas
and the wolf has BIG TEETH.
What stories do YOU TELL.
Have you a story to tell?
Storytellers sat around the fire.
Jy moet daardie swart hond binne jou beveg
Voordat hy oorneem
Staan teen hom op en wys vir hom wie is baas
Maar hy kan so oordonderend blaf sê jy
Met tye maak hy jou eie stem stil
Hy lieg baie vir jou
Vertel jou dinge wat jy vrees
Hy speel op jou gevoelens
Hy ken jou swakhede
Hy byt waar dit die seerste maak
Maak stil daardie verdomde hond
Jy gee hom te veel kos  
Hy teer op jou gedagtes
Hy's deel van jou
Jy wil ontsnap
Maar net waar jy gaan
Daar is hy ook
Soos 'n skaduwee wat volg
Jou enigste wapen is jou gedagtes
Di's al wat jy het om hom te oorwin
Verander jou gedagtes
Verander *** jy ****
Verander dit nou

26-Sept-2024
Sean Achilleos
https://g.co/kgs/5W1Wq5k
Yenson Sep 2021
Purging their innards
to find freedom of expression
the naysayers sit in the mud crying
this is power
from ******* comes organised *******
in mire we stand as we throw stones from
our glass houses
hooked on red laxatives from
bargain buckets
the elixir of our anodyne statures intoto
go on baa baas
go do one
for how else will you all find
your raison d'être

— The End —