"sparsely" poems
JANUARY
Delightful display
Snowdrops bowing pure white heads
To the sun’s glory.
FEBRUARY
Fresh green buds appear
Indicating spring will soon
Energise us all.
MARCH
Lambs gambol in fields
Frisky with the joys of life
Bleating happily.
APRIL
Bluebells stand so proud
Beneath trees now sparsely dressed
Fresh green leaves unfold.
MAY
Much awaited sound
Echoes heard amid dense trees
Cuckoo has arrived.
JUNE
Parks and gardens burst
With sounds and vibrant colours
Perfect harmony.
JULY
Beaches become full
Of families having fun
In sand and big waves.
AUGUST
Ripe golden harvest
Burning sun in azure skies
Labours rewarded.
SEPTEMBER
Swallows congregate
On telephone wires ready
To migrate down south.
OCTOBER
Red and gold leaves fall,
Crunchy as cornflakes beneath
Feet on a crisp morn.
NOVEMBER
Frosty webs sparkle
In the early morning sun
Brightly bejewelled.
DECEMBER
First few flakes of snow
Dust gardens like icing on
A chocolate cake.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 12:44 PM UTC
Nina Simone, occupying ears singing about bed and dressers.
Sparsely populated
young couple
Interrupted by saying amusements.
Only two stops
I know where to get off
I knew to mind the gap
I'm a responsible citizen
Voter with a valid railcard
Only two stops
Purchased a ticket
Only two stops
I can not throw up in that time
I can not clear my system of over-priced beer
A niche in the market
Exploited in the name of money Making let's just raise them
let's charge extortionate rates for an autoimmune disease
Paying to support a normal drinking culture embedded into the narrative
Growing by in the western world Listening to Nina Simone
Only one stop now you'd never know what life would be like
Without loud pop charts entertaining a few leaving the others yearning the return of ABBA when times were simpler and people cared about Eurovision and illegal music was your own
“Tickets please”
He seems awfully jolly for a late night shit-shift on Arriva Trains Wales
Who's making him work and why's he So ******* happy about it
Real extra effort! Soul sapping in my opinion
Last stop gotta get off.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
There's a sharp frosty switchback that never sees the sun in winter
skies of blue. The frost heave cut-bank rocks tumble down to the
side of the road, in the ice shard mottled ditch lay frozen stiff
Tall Sitka spruce marbled gray shadows mat the sparsely traveled
corridor, paved with potholes, where the roads have no names
Sometimes listening quietly to the bare stillness, there are
rhetorical questions heard in the silent reverie's say:
"Have you ever been afraid?"
The tree-line gaps above the jagged gray stone ravine, disappearing
down the rugged mountain shade, falling into the pillow-top fog bank blanketing the canyon's murmurs below — headed towards the ocean
Crystalline spring waters gurgle up roadside — out of nowhere,
where tired boots stand in reverent contemplation as it all sings out harmoniously to the trees in the key of silence; it was there
in a gust of restless forbearance heard the frozen peacefulness say:
"Have you ever felt alone?"
Gathering a deep breath of marbled gray shadows, silence bears
a loud holler's scorn — echoing back and forth down canyon walls,
with the spirit of a voice a multitude strong, evanescent
as winter's outgoing tide.
January 2019 — Jesse Stillwater
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 6:19 PM UTC
To be in a revolving happiness,
Is a wish to be granted sparsely.
It's a rare gift for those,
Who have been through the struggles that no one should have to.
To think of myself as "one of those",
Is a new, unfamiliar feeling.
I believe I deserve this forever bliss,
But tis new regardless, and somewhat unwelcome in the dull reality I've succumbed my mind to.
I am the all "deserving" creature that you see fit to grant happiness... Peace.
Of all things peace.
Too early in my life to have earned this,
Give it to someone who has only a short while to enjoy it before their judgement day.
I can wait, there is always time.
I can wait.
No? Those have not earned.
Well okay,
Then lay my earned happiness, peace, bliss upon my soul until it shines through.
You have given me this eternal happiness an for that I am forever grateful.
And of course,
Happy.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
There was an eerie quiet peacefulness
in the small sparsely furnished room.
The only sound that may have been heard
was of a solitary man wearing a brown robe
with the hood pushed carefully back in order
that his head would bared before God. He was
breathing in and out in a steady and relaxed way
as he occasionally and deliberately turned a page.
The man, perhaps in his sixties, one couldn’t tell
but for the age-worn hands that rested gently on a tome
before him. He was deep in thought and concentration
as he studied his Bible, something he did daily.
These were his moments of quiet contemplation,
but ones that he never shared, but with his God,
and upon finishing, he quickly rose and rejoined his Brothers.
He felt at Peace.
©Joe Wilson – In quiet contemplation 2014
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 2:37 AM UTC
What is wrong with using "not"?
It is a negative to an eloquent adjective, verb or noun.
Simply the opposite state of being; which one should NOT frown
For programmers, "not" is a logical complement,
which helps us filter-out things we do NOT want.
And is used sparsely and NOT to flaunt
By simply twisting our thought at 180-degrees,
it's used to portray an abrupt reversal image in our mind.
A quick look at a mirror, and NOT you will find.
Affix a k-, yet "knot" still sounds the same
but it will help keep our things secure.
From our pretzels, shoes and the ribbon-wrapped gifts we procure.
Add an s-, and the children will be amused;
defiance is in its nature, is it NOT?
That is, to disgust their friends with each others snot.
So, to be or NOT to be.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 4:18 AM UTC
The ocean waves lap over the shore
crashing into the little girl sitting there
her arms crossed over her legs,
hands clasped
her hair in messy waves down her back
a big purple bow holding parts of it together
She sings a sweet tune
of love and beauty
The sun sets in the west
creating a soft glow of deep orange
and light pink
her blonde hair glowing like fire
in the shadow of the setting sun
Her hands dip into the water
creating a ripple in the now still water
She watches as the ripple spreads
like a fire does when oxygen is added
The stars peep out from under the sparsely placed clouds
and the moon casts a peaceful glow on the girl
illuminating a small smile
splayed out on the little girl’s face
As her hand wiggles in the cool water
a small fish starts to nibble on her finger
A laugh bubbles up from her throat
creating a sound like small bells tinkling
Just then her mother calls
she gets up
her yellow dress crinkled from sitting on it
and she walks up to the house
where her mother stands, arms outstretched
the love clear on her face
and all she knows in that moment
is that this love is all she’ll ever need.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
I am a writer, yet often the little daily goal box to "write something" remains unchecked.
I am a photographer, but my camera has dust on it and my uploading sites are sparsely filled.
I am an academic, yet for the most part I find myself only studying what is given to me while the material I've collected remains halfway read.
I am a reader, but I keep rereading the same books and they don't get opened every night.
I am a loner, but I have those I love and those who love me.
I am quiet, but I must speak 80,000 words a day.
I am a horse owner, but the leather of my saddle creaks and groans with disuse.
I am a fan, but episodes are left unwatched.
I am young, but I do not have much energy.
I am in love, but I do not get to see her but once every few months.
I am in a long distance relationship, but I'm not much good at setting up Skype dates or leaving her messages on Facebook.
I am a performer, but I have not touched a stage in over a year.
I am a gamer, but I only play one game.
I am a dork, but I smoke cigarettes and drink black coffee.
I am a nerd, but I was never much into comics and I do not wear glasses.
I am mentally ill, but I talk to therapists as though I am upbeat and I am not behind on my schoolwork.
I am a musician, but I cannot play an instrument though I've tried many times.
I am a blogger, but I've let many die and I do not network well.
I am of the computer generation, but I could not explain how a computer works.
I am a daughter, but for many years I hated my parents.
I am a sister, but I have to remind myself to speak to my siblings.
I am a friend, but I prefer to keep to myself and I don't always have the right thing to say.
I am American, but I don't know much about politics and I don't like apple pie.
I am a vegetarian, but I have to eat fish sometimes.
I am gay, but I don't know exactly how to explain so that other people who have questions understand.
I am a student, but sometimes I don't feel like I'm much good at "critical thinking."
I am sad, but I smile.
I am an optimist, but I am cynical sometimes.
I am guarded, but I spill myself.
I am myself, but I don't know who I am.
I am not much good at being the things I am.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
Darling, when I try
and write to you, all format
flies from my grasp. Haiku and ten
always too little, and prose
I would have to fill with beauty-
words I do not have to describe us
anymore. You see, unlike the family tradition, I was
never a good Scrabble player. Always
only 100 tiles and short, obscure
words never enough to tell a
story that should be rich, not sparsely
populated with only 1 Z, or
2 Ys or 2 Cs. With you I feel
I am playing scrabble with my words. As always,
my darling, (with) you I am losing.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 4:11 AM UTC
A lovely tree, so carefree,
In serene tranquility
With it I would spend my night,
And let come whatever might
Red-yellow leaves, sparsely wreathed,
Life into the air it breathes
Dying breaths, it pays a price
Gives its solemn sacrifice
It’s not fair, you’ll soon be bare,
Most will not even care,
At least for now, your leaves so bright
Make for such an enviable sight.
Oct 27, 2021
Oct 27, 2021 at 12:04 AM UTC
You are beside me.
Silent and steady.
I am not alone.
I wish I can hold you, elusive.
With daylight, you are gone.
Moonlight on my bed.
Your body writhing.
Breathing, sparsely pinstriped with gasps and kisses.
Drawing curves already there, perpetual perfection.
Lustful passion, glazed with yearning, crowned with jealousy, jaded with affection.
A constellation of emotions, collapsing with just one whisper.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
The spidered light of a September night,
shallow and sparsely flung about the room,
reminisces the sound of a phoenix in flight,
while webs inside the rafters loom.
The phoenix song is like the pallid glow of a chandelier.
Waning, yet resilient,
it coos in mystic merriment
melodies in the key of a rattling nearby mirror.
Every so often the song completely stops,
filling me with a silent bit of despair.
Commonly this follows loud scores of pops
indicating the cycle residing in the flare:
into ashes the song bird bursts again.
It's Rudolphish nose begins to scrunch up ---
I see it even now as I fill my water-cup ---
a sort of reincarnation acumen.
But the bird isn't really real or here;
it's more of a half-truth or memory,
similar to tales of the origins of tea.
It sways, forgetful on my cerebral pier,
nearly falling into the waves of my brain,
dipping it's feather mid-refrain,
repeating it's song again and again,
and again.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 2:18 AM UTC
Perfect is worthless seen through the eyes of a serpent
A word I'm sure is uncertain, spoken from any one person
I've come to realize earth is a curve of choking emotions
Seventy one percent ocean but see, the fire is the potion
We keep a flame in our hearts just to keep away the commotion
Forsworn and broken, stuck to a preconceived notion
We heat the coldest of parts but we don't foresee the explosion
We've chosen hate over love and we let our minds remain frozen
We're hopeless roamers and loners subject to being torn open
We stumble through the black, hands splayed blindly groping
For some sort of hope although we're lost in the ***** mess
Of pretending to be alive, free and full of alertness
Too often we keep our hearts rib-caged and vested
Let nothing come between our minds and this message
A vestige of optimism found underneath a veil of depression
But being hopeful for a future is a subtle transgression
To the laws of the present where we learn only one lesson
"Sever the bonds between eyesight and connection"
Dissecting human nature and replacing it with technology
Follow me I'll show you our true psychology
We seek a light in a cave but digging used archaeology
We advance not through screens, but 'forward ideology'
We accept a flawed system and in return are plagued harshly
By the 'gods' of the world because 'goods' are placed sparsely
Mark my words, the hand of time is our only true opponent
We believe the hand of 'him' to be the earths advancing component
So we fake smiles and play this game but we don't own it
We just bought it of the market that we created unknowing
Listen because I am showing independence in words
Not trying to preach, I just want you to learn
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
An olive branch, hurriedly raised,
sparsely leaved, sans any grace
sadly a belated thought she had,
a wingless bird's attempt to soar,
a withered symbol of an inept pair's
egomaniacal overdrive, a betrayal
in the name of a love lost it's soul
prickly floats down, as he watches
it swirls and turns on the turgid flow
a storm water drain keeps no memories.
Along with it a love, utterly vapid
too goes down, breathing it's last.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 5:53 AM UTC
Rain-drenched
with the bad weather of tiring moods
I dream of landscapes
and shores drowning
in an abundance of sun
and simple sand-and-spade castles
and silhouettes dancing shimmeringly
against an immense horizon -
blue and blue and blue
dotted sparsely by pure white sails.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 6:31 PM UTC
We all negotiate this precipice
In a file towards the same.
Some walk, some tiptoe.
We do it in our own way.
We all roll the dice.
We all progress different,
when we play this game.
But in the end we’d be together...
Sharing the ground we shall sparsely lay.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 5:39 AM UTC
Who is he, Who is he
The broad shouldered
Stubbly chinned
Tired eyed
He is a young man
Who is she, Who is she
The sloping shouldered
Sparsely peach fuzzed
Bright eyed
She is a young woman
Why is he, Why is he
Squishing inside her small frame
Scraping his beard against her shaven face
Marring her youthful eyes with his tiredness
He is a young man
Why is she, Why is she
Crippling her stroll with his swaggering stomps
Darkening her skin with his brunette stubble
Masking his age with her dazzling irises
She is a young woman
Who is he
Who is she
Why is he
Why is she
Trapped
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
we are astronauts,
alone,
among the stars seeking solace
in an infinite unknown.
we are suns.
we are daughters
of carbon—gravity-bound
to disposable celestial bodies
revolving against a cosmic background
radiation.
we are space stations.
we are planets,
populated sparsely.
if to each other we matter,
we matter only darkly.
Aug 17, 2021
Aug 17, 2021 at 7:22 PM UTC
love loses
and slowly, sparsely
it’s fading away from me how it feels to
be shot?
to be burrowed into the night’s portal of regret and despair and urge to escape.
and to write even,
and to see life pass by with a name intertwining each of its pieces.
in whole all I can say is maybe it isn’t so extreme but
when the heart aches it is drowned down below you and drips out salt from your eyes until the cries can’t go unnoticed ;
it’s challenging to sleep.
on the other hand for now my sleep is whole and I dream often
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC
Fifteen years ago I melted
mini Lego faces with sunlight and a magnifier, only
to test peering into their minds.
Ten years ago I traced the textures on my walls
with black pen, and found images of ***
I slept beneath women taking
the deepest breaths through mouths like ghosts.
Five years ago I asserted that the eye
is a portal through which we
believe madness.
Yesterday I realized the human mind is
a sparsely written program that generates
feelings and functions less efficiently
than a melody hummed into a paper cup.
So I re-wrote it.
Yet, I still find faces
where there are no faces.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
*My locum outer self is identified as a conferer,
A deep **** stirrer; I frod miserably when trouble occurs
Out in the open I am hidden from sight of Earthly cures
Sparsely telluric on my own
Adroitly celestial in my dome
Scape goat from head to toe;
I'd drown in and out too many populating
Coruscating as you'd spy
Balky the opposite: Illuminating inside
My barbaric inner self un identified as unseen;
Real keen are my advances
I'm a tone deft prancing like I can carry tune
An elitist with the perfect groove
That's what you;d say if given impression hand first
Of course, I'd finish the enitire plate without the quench for thirst
And I'm hard to capture by pithy eyes too
And I'm hard to real inside outside
And neither never am I ever; on cue*
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 2:37 PM UTC
serenity is a euphoric surrendering
to the cerulean sky
the green grass swaying with
dandelions releasing
their soft feathery bristles
as tender as the gentle breeze
sending them far and wide
pillowy clouds
suggest ever moving images
the kaleidescope of a child's mind
taking on different shapes
along the sparsely trodden path
trees waving leaves in welcoming greeting
song birds endlessly composing a captivating melody
the air as clean and fresh
of purified aroma
breathing the deep
earthly essence
with each sigh
attaining tranquil purity
thoughts of stilled
quiescence and calm embalm me
in translucent cocoon.~~lorilynn
copyright*lorilynn 2010
Nov 10, 2010
Nov 10, 2010 at 10:48 PM UTC
We survived progress
The three of us
Secluded high on Mt. Ararat
Safe from radioactive fog
We have all we need
More than we could ever want
We have everything
What kind of bees gather in such masses?
You're raining and then you're clear again
They'll pay to hear you babble such nonsense
You're surfing in near perfection
You're ruined by the pure maybe
After the loss, In the shadows
Fly fly fly fly fly
Float
I'll throw this to the ones watching
See just how hungry they are
On Ararat we long for a new language
To express the confusion of loneliness
Knowing that nothing will change a thing
But still, to talk
We must remind each other of who we are
Once in a while
It's not easy being the world
What did you come for?
A soliloquy?
A sonnet from a madman?
Madmen, true madmen don't do sonnets
They assault and jar
They resent being toyed with
In no uncertain terms will they tell you
What they think of you
In the guise of a poem
But chances are you won't get it
I sat in front of a wood burning stove
Feeding pages from a spiral notebook
To the fire
Leaves and more leaves sparsely scribbled on
Because there was a conciseness and brevity
To my poetry that conveyed the stark nature
The rudimentary nature of my state of mind
The flames ate it up
I apologize
I haven't smiled in such a long time
It's hurting my face
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
I dreamt we were somewhere, I don’t know where, just far away from anywhere, on a soft-grassed singular hill amidst plains, rolling amongst forests and streams to distant mountains puncturing the crystal ocean of the sky at horizon. We sat on a thick blanket, with a picnic basket and no cares. A breeze ran along the carpeted grassfields and the sky blinked, washing the sparsely clouded above to a clutter of delicate stars in but an instant, hanging, two centimeters between stolen glances and the whispered fractions of my slowing heartbeat. I shuffled my lips to make words, but it was silent. Everything was silent, save for the distant murmur of twinkling lights, like drops of still water on the endless shoreline of morning, just waiting to fall once more.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
She was a weird slipshadow of a girl
All churlish silences and artless gloom
She’d come to realise herself before her waking time;
Lost happiness in periodic tantrums and cold looks,
Ate little, and immersed herself in books
Found solace in the solitude of sparsely-furnished rooms.
She knew herself too well - she took her flaws
And scrawled them on the wall in solvent ink
Her logic being that her social standing
Was diminutive
And nobody would truly give
A righteous **** should she be found
Floating face-down, amongst the bullrushes.
Perhaps there would be solitude in death,
Solace in God.
Because it’s ****** to be free,
And that’s too sad.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC