"frollicking" poems
Across the blistered gibber plain where flies die in the sand
Through swamps of prickly sago where rotting death is planned,
To stride in windblown tussock hills where wind vanes carved their say
To saunter groves of green tree fern where moa giants did play.
In clearings cut with alkali, tusked elephant would loom
With crevassed hides, Methuselah, once aged in terms of doom.
Whilst high above the rocky crags of ancient mountain high,
The keening screech of kestral soaring up to deep blue sky.
Heavy boots in crusted sand where tiny lizards flee
Amidst the rust red rubble of volcanic rock and scree,
To clamber up the ignimbrite, great Vulcan's steps of stone,
Encrusted with thick epiphyte in lichen's mossy home.
Up into the altitude where dark cloud clusters here
And the threat of rolling thunder indicates that rain is near,
Torrential in it's downpour with sudden squall of gale
Surmounted, all quite suddenly, with a blinding blast of hail.
Staggering to shelter in a tiny alpine hut
To find hot coffee on the woodstove and a curvy, hot young ****
To find us frollicking together beneath a patterned patchwork quilt
Was quite beyond my imagination's comprehensions built?
And afterwards in slumber through the curtains of our room
I watched, in fascination, at a hanging, frozen moon
And wondered, in amazement, at the doings of the day
And speculated, sleepily, where tomorrow's prospects lay.
Blearily I stretch out from the covers, nicely warm
To nullify persistence of that alarm's intruding horn,
Yawning into morning I remove myself from bed
With panicked realisation....all dreams evacuate my head.
Vanished are the alpine hut, the dolly bird, the caves
The crash of rolling thunder and the plunge of mighty waves,
Gone are those phantoms which dwelt inside my mind
Devestatingly dismissed until re-dreamed another time.
M.
Pukehana Paradise
13 December 2014
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
Winter is up to my ears
Water's in my eyes, the dull chanting squeaks of
Frollicking field mice, dark hungry souls eat dark hungry shrubs
They tear apart the grass until the dirt is overturned. The ministry is dead, into the shapes they throw, weapons in the syllables where voices dear to go. The Spring is hazing the moon, and the gallow falls, the Pines of Rome are just a symptom of autumn's calls. The mouse while he saunters in, gives no notice to the gray wolf's evil grin. Panting the tousle takes them both, no insides give, into the night I sit and stare from my window's ledge.
No apothecary seems to work, all the medicines they give like names, until the doctor fools the patient she's well again. Cloaking in the shadowy stirs of the wicked herbs we picked from our garden and yard. Mellow to the taste, cold to the face, and stings like the tantrum does when the pain is just too much too much.
Have you seen the stirring woes of the frogs, stuck to the cement, thrown from the heavens by so many angry gods. Children hated for their voice, their skins and arms and legs dispersed, any dolt can name a common cure. Sicker than the pain it shoves, while the mood settles into to a rain water bath. In a crevice their may be some thought, but it doesn't even help at all, then the cold comes in and shucks awe and feeling where the aches and screams haunt the unhealthy whims.
After Easter and beyond each birth, no one calls and everything's inert, in the desert we call to the stars, but the birds return to us and make us stop asking for cause. Misunderstanding takes its awful view, and the children stop asking too. The events of hatred unfold weirdly, broken glass bottles splinter on the ears, even blood runs warm, we run hot, and shake our chills through the spine until stranger's call us out on our eyes. Even the wanting can't, and no one can. But the help makes the worst of it even more wrong. Until they can't speak or sing to themselves, whispers on the night break the shapes on the shores.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 12:44 AM UTC
Let's pretend
For however fleeting of a moment
That you really do care
In a fantasy, we could exist together
That you're more than just a body devoid of feeling
Not just living, but loving as we were meant to do
That your words held depth
Only in my head
You're mine.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
In the land of shattered dreams
Shadows follow my every step
Demons gather around me in reams
As Dancers leave blood where they've leapt
Frollicking through meadows of gray
While picking bouquets of death
On a dark cloudy day
And with each shaky breath
I take the darkness in and exhale with ease
In the land of shattered dreams
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
I still remember
Frollicking in the garden with you
Falling in love with
Magical colorful lights
Your hand entwined in mine
Sweaty palms
Widened pupils &
Your pretty eyes
Infront of mine
A fairytale,
As psychedelic
Trips usually are
That's what you were
One big trip
An illusion
An idea of who
I thought you were
What I thought we were
What I was to you
Wasn't enough
Didn't mean more
Than the next party
We escaped to
It wasn't until
Frollicking in the garden
Past cold fingertips &
Warm coffee sleeves
A beautiful family
Holding hands
Fresh baby face
All theirs to hold
Did I realize
That's what I
Wanted
Instead
-It was within that one moment I wanted to escape to reality for a change.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 2:34 AM UTC