"woodworms" poems - Hello Poetry

I was sitting in my old rocking chair Taking in the mountain air All of a sudden I was filled with panic! Oh no, for goodness sake! not another earthquake! But then these words I do declare woodworms taken a liking to my chair woodworms taken a liking to my chair I rub the place where I had hair! woodworms taken another rocking chair woodworms taken a liking to my chair.

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Apr 15, 2013

Apr 15, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC

Nick-Moore

Old Rocking Chair

I was sitting in my old rocking chair Taking in the mountain air All of a sudden I was filled with panic! Oh no, for goodness sake! not another earthquake! But then these words I do declare woodworms taken a liking to my chair woodworms taken a liking to my chair I rub the place where I had hair! woodworms taken another rocking chair woodworms taken a liking to my chair.

11

I was sitting in my old rocking chair, Taking in the mountain air All of a sudden I was filled with panic! Oh no, For goodness sake! Not another earthquake! But then these words I do declare, woodworms taken A liking to my chair I rub the place Where I used to have Hair! Woodworms taken Another rocking chair

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Dec 22, 2011

Dec 22, 2011 at 2:21 PM UTC

Nick-Moore

Old Rocking Chair

I was sitting in my old rocking chair, Taking in the mountain air All of a sudden I was filled with panic! Oh no, For goodness sake! Not another earthquake! But then these words I do declare, woodworms taken A liking to my chair I rub the place Where I used to have Hair! Woodworms taken Another rocking chair

14

The woodworms are coming And they’re gnawing through the room… A little death this morning, A little death this afternoon. Wormwood is coming, Green leather revelations, The fairy is humming Through her sugar-soft foundations. Merveilleusement dérangé, Louchily deranged, Strangely marvelous… Marvelously strange...

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Sep 5, 2013

Sep 5, 2013 at 6:12 AM UTC

a-mareship

absinthe

The woodworms are coming And they’re gnawing through the room… A little death this morning, A little death this afternoon. Wormwood is coming, Green leather revelations, The fairy is humming Through her sugar-soft foundations. Merveilleusement dérangé, Louchily deranged, Strangely marvelous… Marvelously strange...

13

frying plantains in Tanzania with rice - so much rice ageing postmen with bus passes and metal knees carrying keisters of it a thousand different ways slow walkers married, always frittering away chances or just connected, with the mortal coils of the market? big coat on in the Kalahari your scorpions absent from the guest list, exiled. the brown bears caged, but should things have really. come to this? fierce heat. fizzing geysers rumpled by grey fluorescent lights and plagued, by the speeding steam trains of their past that took them to SO MANY GREAT PLACES but they only recall the endings. the crashing off the tracks, the unexpected landslides revolve navigate the ridge and don’t funk from looking down. it is better this way. stamp the scorpions in. £5 on the door. take the free round and dance around their nimbus because even though you WILL NEVER know them, you would NOT BE HERE. without them. your corner patch a feral patch given over to woodworms and weeds but a patch without chains, shaded by roses suffering a kind of pressure you will never understand. the naan breads arrived 40 minutes early and ruined your bath but WHAT A PRIZE. to exist in a rainforest where naan breads are possible. and ferns unfurl, then hang, and rise again. frying plantains in Tanzania slow married women bearing grain carry your cactuses out into the sun. feed them. watch them. be naked with your scorpions and really feel the football finals the canal gates the shooting stars, zooming by through the windows of the train.

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Sep 28, 2020

Sep 28, 2020 at 3:03 PM UTC

MoBoone

frying plantains in Tanzania

frying plantains in Tanzania with rice - so much rice ageing postmen with bus passes and metal knees carrying keisters of it a thousand different ways slow walkers married, always frittering away chances or just connected, with the mortal coils of the market? big coat on in the Kalahari your scorpions absent from the guest list, exiled. the brown bears caged, but should things have really. come to this? fierce heat. fizzing geysers rumpled by grey fluorescent lights and plagued, by the speeding steam trains of their past that took them to SO MANY GREAT PLACES but they only recall the endings. the crashing off the tracks, the unexpected landslides revolve navigate the ridge and don’t funk from looking down. it is better this way. stamp the scorpions in. £5 on the door. take the free round and dance around their nimbus because even though you WILL NEVER know them, you would NOT BE HERE. without them. your corner patch a feral patch given over to woodworms and weeds but a patch without chains, shaded by roses suffering a kind of pressure you will never understand. the naan breads arrived 40 minutes early and ruined your bath but WHAT A PRIZE. to exist in a rainforest where naan breads are possible. and ferns unfurl, then hang, and rise again. frying plantains in Tanzania slow married women bearing grain carry your cactuses out into the sun. feed them. watch them. be naked with your scorpions and really feel the football finals the canal gates the shooting stars, zooming by through the windows of the train.

56

The solid front door remembers the hand that made it - You are the key - and the creak of the universe — it's your sole secret You lean your dreams and future against it. For its sake you endure the woodworms gnawing through your heart the reek of damp the hammering of enemies and relatives. (Long is the absence of light that paints things awake - Long is the presence of paint!) You come home exhausted — from wherever you've been the wind at your side — just as you wished toyed with by traumas. Once he made necklaces from seashells colouring them with his own fairytales once he made friends with strange frogs - and all the while she's watching him from behind the door /from out the window (when she runs to pick him up he will not raise a cry!)

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Jul 25, 2016

Jul 25, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC

islambader

Long

The solid front door remembers the hand that made it - You are the key - and the creak of the universe — it's your sole secret You lean your dreams and future against it. For its sake you endure the woodworms gnawing through your heart the reek of damp the hammering of enemies and relatives. (Long is the absence of light that paints things awake - Long is the presence of paint!) You come home exhausted — from wherever you've been the wind at your side — just as you wished toyed with by traumas. Once he made necklaces from seashells colouring them with his own fairytales once he made friends with strange frogs - and all the while she's watching him from behind the door /from out the window (when she runs to pick him up he will not raise a cry!)

22

tickling the rocks dancing around woodworms drinking tequila with dandelions the floor is no place for a young fern with ambition beanstalk said the big unfurling fern to the little unfurling fern beanstalk all the way to the ozonosphere if you endure and you harvest the best sunbeams and nitrogens and you cheat at quizzes you'll climb as high as that great rose and you'll be happy and strong and powerful but I am happy said the little unfurling fern to the big unfurling fern and I don't wish to be strong and powerful and that great rose I've heard is a real pig and he doesn't share his Easter eggs and he has no pride in his hedges and he plays bad music really loud on buses this floor is the floor but it is my world and I like the woodworms and the two leafed clovers who don't know their androecium's from their gynoecium's and the dandelion - well he drinks too much tequila but he has a strong heart and if the world was on fire and everything was lost he'd share his last mini eggs with all of us. it is true - that I am small but in my scrubby wisdom I know I know that it is better to stay down low among cheap friends and dance with ugly woodworms and tell stories to bluebells and play flute with the clovers than it is to grow tall and handsome and have only the spiteful rose for a friend and have to listen all day to ******* Morrissey. now there's a lad said the big unfurling fern to the little unfurling fern as the dandelion racked up the tequilas.

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May 7, 2020

May 7, 2020 at 2:48 PM UTC

MoBoone

weeds

tickling the rocks dancing around woodworms drinking tequila with dandelions the floor is no place for a young fern with ambition beanstalk said the big unfurling fern to the little unfurling fern beanstalk all the way to the ozonosphere if you endure and you harvest the best sunbeams and nitrogens and you cheat at quizzes you'll climb as high as that great rose and you'll be happy and strong and powerful but I am happy said the little unfurling fern to the big unfurling fern and I don't wish to be strong and powerful and that great rose I've heard is a real pig and he doesn't share his Easter eggs and he has no pride in his hedges and he plays bad music really loud on buses this floor is the floor but it is my world and I like the woodworms and the two leafed clovers who don't know their androecium's from their gynoecium's and the dandelion - well he drinks too much tequila but he has a strong heart and if the world was on fire and everything was lost he'd share his last mini eggs with all of us. it is true - that I am small but in my scrubby wisdom I know I know that it is better to stay down low among cheap friends and dance with ugly woodworms and tell stories to bluebells and play flute with the clovers than it is to grow tall and handsome and have only the spiteful rose for a friend and have to listen all day to ******* Morrissey. now there's a lad said the big unfurling fern to the little unfurling fern as the dandelion racked up the tequilas.

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