"gamboling" poems
Zinging the zen-zone I was in
A zany request zig-zagged my way.
Princess Zinnia from the Zuider-Zee
Required a zippy line or two
To paint the zeitgeist of our times.
With the strength of a Zamboni-
With the power of a Zeus-
And an uncommon zeal I set out
To zap the doubt that slowed me.
With the flair of a Florenz Ziegfeld
And his zoftig choir of beauties,
I morphed into a zealot
Gamboling in the zephyrs
That wafted in from Zurich and Zaire,
Not to mention Zanzibar.
I felt like a Zacharias
When my zealous work went bust.
The writing turned into a zonk-
The accolades were zilch.
I felt like I’d been zippered up
Like a zebra in a zoo.
I lost my zest for going on
And slopped around in old Zoris,
Listening to zydeco’s beat
And feeling like a zit.
But then the Zodiac-
My zinging-singing sign
Came to my rescue
And I was marching off to Zion.
I was one wowie-zowie-zucchini
As I zipped across the pages
And zoomed from one idea
To an even zippier one.
So here, Sunprincess, is your verse
I’ve used up every letter zee
And gone from very bad to worse
But of this challenge, I am free.
ljm
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
A family man, running spandexed and puffing
reaches into the stroller at the crest of the hill
as the day sighs away the last of its dusk
hands a three year old a flashlight
and makes her a secret-wink promise.
*You'll move so quickly on your path,
it's your duty to carry a light with you
to keep you and others safe.*
A stern man and a hot scratchy washcloth
removing a Spice Girls bubblegum tattoo from
the nose of a seven year old, molecule by molecule.
*As soon as you get caught up in superficiality,
that's when you'll make mistakes. Don't make
mistakes that will last.*
A medic man returns from a surgery
from a rural village with more kindness than money.
Lays a basket of apples and a banana loaf on the table
in lieu of a cheque and says:
*There will be opportunities in your life for
your actions to define the kind of person you are-
always take them-
and never forget your common humanity.*
An animal man bursts into the room
with a puppy as new as a sparrow
gamboling, loving, seeking faces and laps.
*When choosing your first dog, look for
one that has more loyalty than shrewdness.
Choose your friends that way, too.*
A tired man breathes deeply instead of shouting
at the quivering teen and the confession of the bumper
and the scratch that shouldn't have happened.
Hurt softly with the truth.... but never with lies.
A romantic man recounts his history
raising his eyebrows at the score of his frolics
and makes me swear to fall madly in like
with every soul who my heart should kiss-
*but Love, reserve Love as the most sacred
of words, deeds, beings. When you Love,
you and he shall become one another,
and be one life.*
A sentimental man wears a silver crown
at the head of his dinner table meditating in
silence after the laughs and mayhem of his
family clan have subsided to the fireplace.
He looks at his daughter.
She looks at her father.
The fullness of her adult face
and Polish eyes reflect in his irises
blue inside blue inside blue inside blue-
making any separation between them
redundant, intangible, like-
mirrors facing mirrors-
as the roots of the
Tree run as deep as soul itself
and he murmurs:
*The day you hear the cry of your firstborn child
is the day you discover the meaning of your life-
and nothing will ever, ever be the same.*
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
A Sufi Cowboy
rides an incandescent star
gliding to the ground
pouring light like a shiraz
into his heart, he drinks bliss.
A Heavy Metal
Buddhist slamdances beyond
the shadow tree glades
nourishing the grass with tears--
her crying mediation.
Their eyes connecting
to echoed crystal heartbeats
of their higher selves.
He strikes a match across air,
flame kisses the dangling zoot.
Their eyes hold the gaze.
A mellifluous voice glows
from her, singing odes
of buzzing deja vu jazz
and gamboling dragon flies.
Cowboy & Buddhist
decide to share a few drinks
in the Cosmic Bar.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
I try to measure the overwhelming depth of the ocean,
And with a sly deception shudder at my fantastic obsession.
The Me Within opens his wings, flies high in the sky,
Lovingly callous about the miles treaded by.
*
I weave around myself, an aura of hapless piety,
Adorn my helplessness with a cocoon of sincerity.
The Me Within emancipates – out of the golden cage,
To soar the mountains steep with an astounding rage.
*
I look at my past with guilt, remorse and sorrow,
And search outward for an excuse that I could easily borrow.
The Me Within looks ahead never to turn back,
His burlesque gestures mock at me for the pluck that I lack.
*
I live in a world of purity, of rituals, of rights and of wrongs,
Content with the legacy of my notes, happy with the tyranny of my songs.
The Me Within is mischievously charming, gamboling in between,
And I hear his whistle blowing, humming a tune so serene.
*
I count my days, count my time, and count my blessings, to win,
And relinquish the countless moments of joy, scared of committing a sin.
The Me Within is a careless lad, who happily loses with a smile,
And brandishes his joyful hat, every once in a while.
*
I wish I could be like him, and he’d live my life like me,
I’d paint the sky with freedom, and dive through the depth of the sea.
Reality shrieks yet again, with her deafening draconian din –
When he leaves me, and I leave him, I’d meet the Me Within…
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
This is the third time
I've planted climbing roses
The first two failed to fulfill
my romantic fantasy of
efflorescent roses
flaunting their naughty
frilly pink bodice
and hooped skirts
draped in loops
like gingerbread scroll-work
or fleur-de-lis
gamboling, sauntering
across the white French trellis
I guess I'm really a fairy trapped
inside this 5' 8" terrestrial body
I love how the amethyst moon-flowers
with the pentagram tattooed on their
belly button petals
cast a magic spell over the garden
And the night blooming jasmine's
enchanting fragrance wakens the
dreaming gardenia and makes everybody
including our blue eyed ragdoll kitten
a wee bit tipsy
I curl up on my midnight Jhoola
topiary shadows crouch
like royal sphinxes
in the starlit courtyard
and reflecting pools of water
from summer rains
swirl open their third eyes
~portals to another world~
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
This dream of consciousness will not end alarmingly,
though it leaves lines on Billo's face
smushed against pillows placed
strategically
The strategy?
To look tragically well put-together
to get her to lie in the bed I made hastily
Well - I say this, but the presentation's done tastefully:
Big blanket tucked
IN with style
OUT of luck since I've not been...
...touched in a while
I grinningly smile - it'll all be ok
(I'm not much for physical lovin' anyway)
...beyond hugging and kissing and getting to stay
for the night curled up close whispering "sweetie, sleep tight"
I've not got these dreams, but I've some aspirations
No sweetie, I'm not sweaty,
- I've no *** persperation
My room is too cold with the wind's drafty laughter
My bed is too cold since I've not quite yet asked her
to lie with me and lie to me that she is the one
and I will be won over,
over-nighting done right
...
Left to the imagination, day-dreaming's my vision
Pigeon-holing my gamboling gambling rambling
Not quite in shambles, see?
I get it: regretting is letting me settle into misery
"Mysterio the (not-so) great" is dutifully bound to wait
Patience is love doctors' medication - "Just wait!" they prescribe
and in time their patients' trepidation will end.
Inner peace outer space and I pace.
(without her face to grin at)
synapse fired
for nodding off on the job
**** awake, up for work
Woken, spurred
on toward spoken word
March forwards - four words
Reverse reverie never hurt
"But I don't dream!" I think
Does it stop me from trying?
From lying to and by myself,
in doubt in a drought
Good - buy myself a drink:
rootbeer, two shots of espresso
let's go, caffeine-Billo tag team
on the rocks, off the clock
(talk about self-deprecation, why don't you)
Chew on the cubes with contextual frustration
The drink's gone, I think long and hard at long last
ARRRG I yell in a fit mentally I'll
sleep on it.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
Aunt Louise was a rodent
Who preferred to call herself, mouse
And out in the gamboling country
Had a sleek modern hideaway house
The door was disguised by a boot
Whose toe was quite deftly chewed out
And a quaint little stair descended
To show a most well concealed route
The soil was a clay most compacted
Excavated most patiently slow
And no water nor creatures could crack it
Neither hail, nor sleet, nor snow
The neighborhood creatures would marvel
What a crafty genius, Louise
She'd say come down for a spot of tea, now
And close the door behind, please
The door was most clever of all
For it looked like a fragment of sock
Left behind by the boot's missing owner
But concealed there, a small sandstone rock
When the painted side of the rock
Was in sight at the top of the house
It meant that Louise was at home
Like the most respectable mouse
When the raw side of the rock was showing
It meant, don't bother to come down
For Louise was bound to be shopping
Over in the nearby Mousetown.
The rock was bright red at Christmas
On St. Paddy's, was bound to be green;
But her most favorite day was Valentine's,
When a gorgeous pink was there seen.
But one day a terrible accident
Befell poor Mrs. Mouse's door
It was a hulking monster of metal
With a disconsonate roar
A lawn mower chewed up the boot
And it spit out the piece of sock
And it crumbled the hapless sandstone
Till it no longer looked like a rock
So Aunt Louise had to move then
To another den down the way
Where she never again would mention
The quaint little house of old days.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 7:59 AM UTC
I wonder if you remember Eloisa
the wind gamboling in your sand-colored hair
drifting scents of orange tree flower
and you holding on your chest a crystal swan
with a lithe neck
but he’s gone and you
alike the blessed peace makers
dreamed of forgetting the wedding bells
and the silver trout jumping
or the rain plashes in limpid water
to forget how the vine branch cut before the leaves show out
cries drops of cloudy sap
to cry full of joy because the moon melted the clouds
and you have a blank look and there’s so much silence
that you cannot hear your eyelashes
trembling on your pillow
like a faraway call
Eloisa
the name of forgiveness is not forgetfulness
a north star fell over the frozen lilies in your *****
hoarfrost flowers slowly fall off from the empty cell’s window
a vestal once more
the one who forgets is therefore forgotten…
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
Universal unction
A beatific box
Friction in the function
A tutorial. A talk.
We winnowing the worship
We wiser for to seek
Here harrowing through
Hardship
We winkle out the "weak".
How holy is the hilltop
Which cannot help at all
How horrible the House of Pride
Which cannot help but FALL.
Please pray for persecution
Let them not stay their hand
GOD BLESS the repercussions!
The ground on which to stand.
I beg that I won't barter
Without nor yet within
I pray that I won't falter
I'll stand against the sin.
For the Church as it emerges
From underneath the waves
Surfeit in the surges
Gamboling in her grave
Wreaks havoc on true holiness
Divides doctrine "uncouth"
Gutting out the Bible
Laying waste the TRUTH!
The "Universal Union"
"All for one, and one for all"
"All roads lead to Rome"
How the mighty fall!
There are, in truth, just 2 roads
At the tolling of the bell.
The narrow to eternal life...
... *and the broad road straight to
HELL.*
SøułSurvivør
(C) 10/31/2017
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 5:16 AM UTC
It seems I'm caught in a love dream
Sometimes, often, in fact
In deep unrest I reside
I wonder if it’s really love I feel
Is it possible?
I doubt it highly.
Or perhaps I’m fooling myself—-
Is Whimsy whisp’ring in my ear?
Is Folly fondling my sleeve?
Do they join hands and cavort about me
Gamboling and giggling in my bewilderment?
Has Verity vanished and I’ve made myself companion to droll Devils?
Surround me
For in this state, I know not whom is Truth
and who at present dons Deceit’s disguise…
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 8:55 PM UTC
my vodka-drenched Valkyrie,
you're a star, pirouetting around
Pluto, gamboling amongst galaxies, you are
terrible to behold, awe-inspiring in your
beauty and petrifying in the same.
a mouthful of liquor, and eyes
near-translucent; I can see your
soul, and I have never loved you
more. you are
silly when sober and
downright derelict when drunk,
a crumbling monument to
late nights and
later trysts; railed out
lines of Xanax
internalized through paper money:
this is the life.
this is what we wanted?
we aspired to more than we were, we
flew too close to the
moon, our wax wings
held up to solar scrutiny, but our
intentions
did not; we were
only kids, but that's
no excuse. just because you've
reached the
Age of Majority
doesn't make you any less of a child
of the universe,
scrabbling in the dust for a
semblance of meaning:
I am Sorry, you were Right, but
it doesn't matter now.
hold my hand.
please. I am
afraid to die
without you by my side.
with your fingers
clenched around mine,
I feel less alone.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
The Air moves by with a rush and a sigh
A brisk or a gentle blowing
It travels unfettered, wild and free
Raising restless ripples with its going.
The breeze goes gamboling
Along the mountain trails
It moves the branches of trees about
As it moans and sings and wails.
A cooling north wind scatters clouds
Tosses colorful leaves about
It crisps the days of autumn
And turns hardy people out.
Pitiless winds of winter
Shriek across the frozen land
A time for inner reflection
Turning to others with a gentle hand.
Warming winds awaken the Earth
Sending the cold of winter on its way
It stirs the life in growing things
And freshens a summer day.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
Here lies another black spot on the palm of my hand
which comes as no surprise to me.
I look and can see
Blind Pew,
gamboling away
as surely as the light gambols
through every second of each day.
Pew is me and mine
another ship of the line
a small dot on the radar screen
coming and going to places
I have been.
I wonder if Pew has seen them too
or imagined them in his dreams,
I'm not sure if he's blind but
one day will come when I capture him
taking a reading by the noonday sun
and then
I will know for sure.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
Night and day, a thrashing
like an invisible whiptail
surge van hail,
doth swell me *****
excruciatingly, doggedly blackmail
capriciously be-numbingly,
aggravatingly assail
mine conscience in
what paltry pale
capacity of this gamboling male,
I can "pay forward,"
whatever means shale
be moost apropos avail
to offset bewail
ling (internal psyche doth ale
hankering) against utter
lifetime (mine) peppered
with emotional, physical
and social destitution
bereft, viz fail
ling to maximize inspiration
reverberating as vibrant detail
lacking even justa minimum
desire to live
(visa vis no way
discover ring, nope nar even
"FAKE" king minuscule appeasement
of my body, mind,
and spirit triage during)
hell...shove (shelve) aside
such gloriously noble benighted role,
amidst upending folktale
re: King Arthur and His Knights
of the Round Table
futilely searching for holy grail
where steadfast conviction
emboldens this heart and hale
spirited mindful,
sincere hard drive spurs
(neigh saying horse
sense of mine)
where ambition saddled
to air (dan sing) quailing,
yen propelling (yours truly),
with sincere humanitarian,
(i.e. blood driven)
philanthropic spiritual zeal,
I tried to unveil,
this reasonably rhyming thumbnail
sketch poetically versatile
within this spurious verse despite
any trials undermining travail
rather mine heart felt genuine
motive fueled by impetus
to contribute within e kale
logi, fizzy hollow gee, humanity,
with integrity, magnanimity,
and quality fervency,
while still adept, adroit,
agile, and alert,
(cuz America needs more lerts
to become great again)
ironically steel tougher than nails,
duh pleating ability dovetail
to bug (or wug) gee wholesale.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 6:42 PM UTC
I saw a dance today
That whirled and jumped and laughed on its feet.
An old folk dance
Kalidescopic roiling upon a cool breath
Of autumn’s excitement of being alive
A dance observed by a reflective summer
Gamboling leaves of red, orange, ambers and browns
Phrenetic leaping twirling jumping flipping
And landing with glee
I saw a dance today
Whose steely precision punctured the earth
An operatic ending
Piling blue-ice masses on frost annealed soil
Of winter’s excitement on being, of existence
Impervious to life, alive with death
Hard percusive articulation, blunt statement
Tap, tap, beat and pound
Thud and thrum with efficient punctuated finesse
I did a dance today
Tears and sorrow and sonorous wings flailing
Old and intimate
Terminus found rhythm stand still, now done
Of winter no more, and blindness onset, for the morrow
Moves stopped but not so its ripples
Wave celerity, an expanding profound smile
Leg, arm and head pause
While all effects and causes silently, strongly take wing
Take wing
A cacaophonic stirring, but quiet and motionless and brimming with void
Except in spirt where muscle and wings and winds alight anew.
I did a final dance today, spirit born and coda bent.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC
Amidst aimless wander my head is full of nothing
But the birdsong of finches in their morning roosts,
Shrouded by berry-laden bushes; musical bushes,
With tiny red beaded bells ringing, softly shaken by dawn’s breath.
My dog runs on before me; the birds take flight,
Silencing the bells’ shrill.
Entering the field; ghost footsteps have left their mark
In the silver dew, bending the grass wearily.
Far across the field another man walks with his dog.
An echo alerts me; there is a connection. In that instant
A recognition of a moment yet to pass.
Although separated by some hundreds of metres
It is as if I were stood by his side.
His face is indiscernible and I know nothing of him
But that we’ll meet.
He walks toward the middle of the same field,
Then bears left to where the trees break,
Throwing their arms open in wide embrace
To draw you into the heart of the wood.
Sensing the unavoidable encounter
And not wanting it to occur,
I change my route, drift under the oak,
Through the gap in the undergrowth,
Through to the adjacent field.
We skirt the edge, my dog gamboling freely,
Sniffing out invisible visitors from the past
And anything edible. Our progress meanders,
Idles and pauses, as must, I suspect, our now unseen companions’.
Seemingly still connected, though, we move on
To the inevitable confluence of our paths,
So bound in time and space as the meeting of two rivers,
The calm of morning solitude disturbed by the white waters
Of the unwanted salutation we exchange:
“Good morning.”
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC
The more I learn, the more
I realize how little I know…
which insightful, gutsy,
entrancing, catchy apothegm
attributed to Socrates by way of Plato
subsequently self ranking myself
amidst Phylum Chordata with the Dodo bird
Class Aves (namely
said extinct flightless winged creature
with a mass of 29 – 51 pounds Oh!)
once endemic to the island of Mauritius,
east of Madagascar in the Indian Ocean,
none would be espied,
no matter how thorough
going across aquatic spreadsheet,
one might row
eventually coordinating
dropping vertical column in toto
arriving back to original
mentally ponderous premise
gamboling feint enroute to see
Old Man Wizard Of Oz
meets Crow Medicine Show
pitching thy quasi recursive query - bro
ching concurrence with another maxim to boot
“ignorance iz bliss”, which lack o'learn'n
doss appeal to this old coot,
yet such pithy accordance came
to this smart *** to late,
a mister wordsmith
with a palm pilot maximum glute
clamors (at risk of life and limb) to hoot
and holler when new kernel
of knowledge gleaned finds me mute
as if raw bit of savored information akin
to unearthing a rare gem,
or rare species of newt
temporarily allaying fervent quest to root
thru hefty tomes of great literature,
and tracts that suit
many other subjects,
less to be arrogant and toot
my own horn, but more so...
to satisfy an increasingly
insatiable hunger grow
wing nsync with unquenchable
thirsty ambition less for dough
(cuz bing po'
with treasure trove of voluminous
expansive bookish notions doth shaw
surpass becoming suddenly wealthy tin *** hustlers
with un hewn fifty nine shades of gray straw
this haint no cowardly lion seeking Androcles
to extract thorn from hum my faux paws.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 7:01 PM UTC
Today I walked past our spot
under the Sycamore where we used to lay
and all at once, those memories
of you and I
came rushing back like a flood.
I watched as they set the skies on fire
and the shadows cast were a golden hue
the violent winds danced with our silhouettes
gamboling in the shade of that lover's tree.
In that moment
you took my hand,
your incendiary stare igniting desires
setting fires
as you cast your handprint on my soul.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
the sequence requires a temporal pretense,
thusly prescribing time to thoughts that i tend to frequently frequent,
learning to liken my notions to pen strokes, ascensive.
harmonizing with the world, instead of agonizing over it,
prosperous from this defective preemptive pension.
remaining aggressively pensive, and peaceably gamboling,
towards a dangerously receptive conscious-less contemplation.
never unrelenting with the questioning, iron-fisted in the leavening.
perpending, then comprehending viable praxis and cognation.
flirting with what i initially anticipated, practicing diurnal satiation.
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC